Sinbi

woman in stem in the morning, whore in the evening they/she , doyoung and kun

[dieharddoyoungsquish]

i need more jaemin fics, i feel like i’ve read every single jaemin fic on tumblr 😭

[neowonderland]

Sweet || l.jn

Summary: Jeno promises he'll use "just the tip" Pairings: Lee Jeno x Reader Warnings: 18+, smut, dubcon, manipulation Wc: ~1.0k

Dark Content, Minors please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

You’re so sweet, like sugar melting on Jeno’s tongue. Your honeyed tongue and voice melting away all Jeno’s defenses, overwhelming his thoughts with the sweet thoughts of you. You’re so innocent, too, with wide eyes gazing up at him in admiration whenever he talks. Your sweet voice is like honey, always there by his side to congratulate and praise him. 

It’s addictive, like the gummy candies Jeno’s so fond of, and Jeno just can’t get enough of you. He wants you for himself, to taste your sticky sweetness, to corrupt you so you drown in only thoughts of him. 

But it’s apparent that you don’t feel the same way, only viewing him as a brother. Your affectionate gaze and kind words were followed by calling him adorable, by calling him the younger brother you never had. Jeno knows you mean well, but uncomfortable, even patronizing, for Jeno, who wants something much more from your friendship. 

So Jeno comes up with a plan. You’re always so eager to help him right? You’re always weak to his pleading gaze and his pouting lips, never being able to say no when he asks something of you. 

“Just the tip, please?” Jeno pleaded with you, eyes gazing up at you as you two sat on his shared bed. “I promise it’ll just be the tip. I’ll be gentle. I’ve just been so stressed with my schedule recently.” 

You let out a sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Shaking your head and trying to change the conversation. 

But Jeno doesn’t relent, begging and begging for him to fuck you, promising that it’ll just be the tip, saying that it’s for stress relief, that he hasn’t had the time to blow off some steam. 

And so you relent, lying down and opening your legs to let Jeno sit between them. 

Jeno tries to be gentle when he works you open, sticky lube dripping down his fingers and mixing with your essence. But it’s difficult when you look so cute trying to muffle your moans, biting your lip as Jeno continues to pleasure you, your hands clawing at the sheets trying to ground yourself from the pleasure. You look so cute with your cheeks flushed, and hair splayed out, shirt riding up to expose your chest. And fuck– you feel so nice around his fingers, so warm and tight. Jeno can’t stop imagining how amazing you’ll feel wrapped tightly around his cock. 

It’s not long until Jeno becomes impatient, opting to keep his shirt on and only take off his bottoms. Jeno can tell you’re scared by the way you look at his length, eyes zeroed in on his hefty girth and length. It’s red throbbing and veiny, angry from being neglected while Jeno pleasured you. Jeno sees you bite the inside of your cheek in worry.

“Just the tip, right Jeno? You promised,” You ask, your voice shaky. 

“Just the tip, I promise,” Jeno answers, pushing in the head of his length without warning.

You let out a yelp as Jeno pops in. The stretch burns, even with the prep Jeno had previously given you. It feels like no amount of prep would have prepared you for taking Jeno’s length. 

The pain melts into pleasure as you begin to adjust to Jeno, pussy dripping around him, creating squelching as Jeno tries his best to control himself. Your eyes close as you begin to lose yourself in the pleasure. Jeno’s skillful, trying to make you feel as much pleasure as possible and minimize your discomfort. 

Jeno lets out a groan. You feel much better and sweeter stretched around him than imagined, your fluttering hole struggling to take his tip.  He thrusts in and out shallowly, eyes focused on where you two are connected, obsessed with how you seem to want to push him out and take him at the same time. You feel amazing around him, your warmth sucking him in, as if begging for him to give you everything. 

“You can take more, right?” Jeno pants, speeding up his thrusts and feeding you more and more of his length. 

You squirm and try to move away from him, discomfort spreading throughout your body. You let out a whine and shake your head trying to show that you don’t want him to go any further.

“Too much Jeno, you’re too big!” You whine, placing your hand on his pelvis in an attempt to stop him from thrusting into you. But it’s futile, as Jeno’s much stronger than you. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until hot tears drip down your cheeks and you let out a choked sob. Jeno’s thrusting roughly and harshly now, bashing his tip against your cervix almost as if he was trying to force it open and fuck your womb. It hurts more than it’s pleasurable, and you want more than anything else in the world for it to end. Jeno shushes you, running his thumb across your cheek to wipe away your tears, shushing you and your cries. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry– You just feel so good I can’t help myself. You were so warm and wet. Your insides were just begging for more, I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry–” Jeno rambles, trailing off into mumbles. Your hand moves back from his pelvis, opting to make a fist with your hand and dig your nails into the palms of your hands.

You let out a sniffle as Jeno does a particularly hard thrust, kissing your cervix and releasing hot warm, sticky cum into you. It fills you up to the brim, some cum leaking out from the where you two are attached, forming a creamy white ring around the base. 

Jeno pulls back, admiring your wrecked body, your hair messy, your hole spent with his cum leaking out of it. And Jeno realizes he thinks you’re the sweetest when you let him use you like this. 

[hyuckiefluff]

how to lie like lovers | part 2

pairing: slytherin! na jaemin x gryffindor! fem. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating, fluff, smut, angst wc: 17k summary: A Gryffindor prefect and a Slytherin golden boy fake a relationship to avoid an unwanted marriage pact, but as staged kisses turn real and secrets unravel, their hearts end up tangled in ways neither expected. Now, with love and pride on the line, they must decide if risking everything is worth the truth. content warnings: explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, protected sex (contraceptive charms), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cursing, alcohol consumption, miscommunication, emotional hurt/comfort, anxiety, self-consciousness, emotional manipulation (though not malicious) lots of harry potter references (obvs), hogwarts setting, slytherin/gryffindor stereotypes and prejudice, pureblood politics, brief mention of emotionally distant/cold parents. a/n: finally!! i’m so sorry this took forever, i really meant to post it the same day as part one, but i kept adding more (like… a lot more), so i really hope it was worth the wait. i had so much fun writing it though and i’m actually really proud of how it turned out. this fic fully consumed me for months lol😭 i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. please feel free to scream in the comments/inbox, i wanna hear all your thoughts <3 ps: if anyone cares for a bit of music while reading i made this playlist for the fic.

Read part 1 here

In the wake of that catastrophic lapse in judgment at the Three Broomsticks, you had spent the remainder of the weekend engaged in a heroic attempt at total social erasure. Under the flimsy pretext of Prefect patrols, you’d spent twenty four hours haunting the castle’s most desolate corners and developing an encyclopedic, almost intimate knowledge of the drafty corridors behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the specific, rhythmic drip of the second-floor lavatory.

You lived in mortal fear of a confrontation, your brain a frantic pinball machine of panicked justifications. How does one even begin to explain away the fact that you’d essentially tackled Jaemin with your mouth in front of half the student body? You couldn't even blame the butterbeer; no one was that much of a lightweight. 

All that strategic hiding, however, proved to be a spectacular waste of time.

Because Monday morning arrived and with it, the unavoidable horror of Double Potions. Jaemin, of course, decided to plop down next to you, looking both freshly pressed and utterly unbothered by recent events. All the while had to physically force yourself not to bolt in the opposite direction.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said pleasantly. “Fancy another go?”

You nearly slid off the stool. “I—beg your pardon?”

His mouth quirked as he leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was a secret shared only between your skin and his lips.

“Just a thought,” he drawled, “since the entire school has already watched us snog, we might as well get our money’s worth, don’t you think?”

You gaped at him, your indignation warring with a sudden spike of heat. Jaemin just watched you, a picture of insouciant grace, clearly having decided that his new favorite hobby was seeing exactly how many shades of scarlet he could make you turn before Slughorn even called the roll.

“I—well—” You faltered, the sentence dying pathetically in your throat. There was no good exit strategy here, no witty retort that could dismantle the sheer smugness radiating off him. “Wasn’t that a bit… much? In the Three Broomsticks?”

His gaze turned positively feral with glee. “I believe the many witnesses there that night will say that you started it. I was merely an innocent bystander, swept along by the current of your passionate improvisation.”

You pressed your lips together, an exercise in sheer willpower to deny him the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“Swept along, my arse. You’re the one who—” You clamped down on the thought before it could manifest, but the phantom sensation of his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck flashed through your mind.

Jaemin tilted his head, a lock of blonde hair falling over his brow, as if to punctuate how useless your walls were against him now.

“Look, if we’re going to commit to this performance, we might as well aim for the stalls,” he said. “The school already has us pencilled in as the frontrunners for ‘Best Couple’. It would be a tragedy to disappoint the fans now, wouldn't it?”

He slipped his hand into yours, as if nothing at all had changed. But now you were horribly aware how your skin prickled with nerves and the pulse in your wrist kept skipping whenever he brushed his thumb along the side of your hand.

Slughorn, bless his velvet-clad heart, seemed absolutely determined to overwhelm the gloom of the dungeons with his boisterous goodwill. He was in rare form today, circling the room like a parade master, “Today, my dears, we will be brewing Amortentia! The mother of all love potions! Now, who can tell me its greatest danger?”

You raised your hand with perhaps more enthusiasm than Slughorn's question warranted, if only to reclaim it from Jaemin's grip.

“It can’t create real love, sir” you said, voice admirably steady. “Only a very strong infatuation. A kind of obsession, really. And it’s different for everyone who smells it, the scent changes to reflect whatever attracts you most.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Slughorn beamed. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now then, pair up, everyone, pair up! Today we brew!”

 Naturally, this was when things went from bad to infinitely worse.

Brewing Amortentia while in the throes of whatever this mortifying situation with Jaemin was? Spectacularly poor timing. Working close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, to have his fingers brush yours with every ingredient passed between you? Absolute torture of the most exquisite variety.

“Pass me the pearl dust, would you, love?” Jaemin murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the scant space between you.

You passed it quickly and focused back on the cauldron, determined to at least finish before him. You added the frozen ashwinder eggs, stirring counter-clockwise until the liquid began to shimmer.

“You’re quite good at this,” Jaemin noted. “Almost as good as you are at improvisation”.

“Focus on the potion, Jaemin,” you bit out, though you could feel your face go scarlet.

After almost two hours of gruelling labor, the potion was perfect. The steam rose in characteristic spirals, and the surface gleamed with a lustrous, opalescent sheen. You smiled at your technical triumph.

But the smile died on your lips the moment the scent hit your nose.

You'd hoped—prayed, really—for something ordinary. Like the comforting smell of old books, perhaps. Or the woody scent from the fire in the Gryffindor common room. But what you got instead was far more specific, and infinitely more damning.

Expensive cologne that smelled of bergamot and beneath that was the distinct, slightly oily musk of broomstick polish. The exact olfactory combination that seemed to have permanently infused itself into the fibers of Jaemin’s robes, the scent that enveloped you whenever he pulled you close in the corridors.

Godric save me, you thought, your stomach performing a sort of sickening swoop.

Your mind scrambled for a rational explanation. It’s just a common scent, it argued desperately. Half the Quidditch players use that polish. And any posh tosser could wear that cologne. 

But the Amortentia didn’t lie. Your Herculean attempt at self-delusion was failing utterly in the face of the irrefutable truth spiralling out of your cauldron.

Fear metastasized across your body, becoming a cold weight anchored in the hollow of your sternum, pulsing in time with the frantic thrum of your heart. If you acknowledged the bergamot and the broomstick polish, you were surrendering the only fortress you had left. To speak it would be to dismantle the safety of the 'fake' and leave you standing raw and defenseless in the debris of your own design. 

You were terrified that the moment the truth escaped your lips, the delicate, agonizing balance of your world would tilt, sliding you both into a reality from which there was no clever improvisation to save you.

“So?” Jaemin’s voice was suddenly right at your ear, making you flinch. “What are you getting, Y/N? Freshly bound books and new parchment, I’d wager.”

The proximity forced your lungs to pull in the real version of the bergamot you had just been mourning.

“Yeah, uhm…I smell old books,” you said, the lie ashen on your tongue. 

Jaemin turned to look at you, and it was as though he were reading the very thoughts you were trying to bury. Beneath the table, out of sight of the professor and the prowling eyes of the room, his hand found yours again

“Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes visibly darkening as they swept over your face. “Well. I’m getting a very distinctive note of vanilla. And that floral soap you use in the Prefects’ bathroom.”

His words were so utterly devoid of the frantic panic currently hijacking your nervous system, that for a moment, you simply stared. Your brain suddenly tripped over his transparency. He’s joking, you realized, a hysterical sort of relief blooming in the wake of the shock. Of course he is. If he actually smelled that from the potion, he would be guarding that secret with his life, burying it under ten layers of Slytherin steel.

“Aha!” Slughorn crowed, making you both start. He peered into your cauldron, his face shining with delight. “A perfect brew! The spirals are unmistakable. Tell me, Mr. Na, is the aroma potent?”

Jaemin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Distractingly so, Professor,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that made your entire body go on high alert. “It’s enough to drive a man to madness.”

Slughorn clapped his hands together, mercifully oblivious to the silent conversation happening right under his nose. “Splendid! Simply splendid. Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now, for your homework, I want a foot of parchment on the dangers of Amortentia and why its use is so strictly regulated. To be handed in next lesson!”

As the class descended into the frantic clatter of copper stirring rods and the rhythmic scrubbing of stone, you moved through the motions in a total sensory daze. What were you supposed to do with this knowledge? How were you meant to deal with the fact that the scent of your Amortentia, the very distillation of your most primal desires, was inextricably tied to Jaemin?

Right before you exited the room Jaemin’s fingers brushed against your own so briefly it should have been negligible, yet it sent a jolt of fire anchoring itself in the marrow of your bones. He leaned in, his shadow eclipsing you for a fleeting second.

“Think about what I said earlier, yeah?” He murmured, the words ghosting against your skin before he deposited a soft kiss on your temple.

You stood frozen as he merged into the tide of students. A sinking, leaden certainty settled in the pit of your stomach, making your breath hitch in your throat. You were well and truly doomed, there was no more room for clever denials. The Amortentia had stripped away the artifice, laying the raw, pulsing truth bare against the cold dungeon floor.

You liked Na Jaemin, and Merlin help you, there wasn't a potion in the world that could fix it.

Part of you was almost giddy about the novelty of actually fancying someone, of feeling your stomach swoop when they walked into a room. But mostly you were terrified. When had Jaemin stopped being an inconvenience and started being this? 

Maybe, you reasoned, you could indulge it. Just a little. Lean into the dating act a bit more and let yourself feel it without examining it too closely.

That’s how the boundaries started dissolving.

Slowly at first, then all at once, every rule you’d established became negotiable. Jaemin would pull you into empty alcoves where no one could possibly see you, press you against cold stone and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. “We’re not in public,” you’d manage between kisses. He’d just smirk against your mouth. “Practice makes perfect.”

No one batted an eyelid at the sight of him pulling you into empty rooms. Even Giselle had stopped questioning you, and became rather repulsed by your sudden displays of affection. 

Meanwhile, you walked around feeling as if you’d lost the original plot of this whole thing. Your brain became a pinball machine: every glance from Jaemin sent the ball ricocheting wildly, every brush of his fingers over your knuckles set your whole body on high alert. He, on the other hand, seemed to delight in turning up at the least convenient moments—snagging you between classes, kissing you in the shadow of the greenhouses, catching your hand when you tried to slip past him on your way out of the library and kissing you against the stacks.

You coped by remembering it was all for show, the same way you might recite lines in a play. Only actors didn’t typically wake up thinking about the curve of their co-star’s mouth or lie awake at night replaying every touch of their calloused fingers.

You ran into him outside your common room one evening, just as curfew loomed. Jaemin looked up from a parchment he was pretending to read, tucking it away as you approached.

His eyes seemed to visibly darken at the sight of you. It would have been easy to walk past, make some excuse about homework or an early morning. Instead, you hovered, dithering between the impulse to run and the urge to close the gap.

Jaemin broke the stalemate, stepping forward and catching your wrist. “I was hoping I’d see you,” he said and then pointed at the portraits on the walls that watched you silently. “Thought we might keep the neighbors entertained.”

He didn't wait for an answer. He tugged on your wrist to guide you forward, and then his hand was sliding upward, fingers tangling deep into the hair at the base of your neck. He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before he leaned down to claim them.

His lips moved against yours with devastating confidence. As the kiss deepened, his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, a private noise of satisfaction that seemed to echo against your own heartbeat.

High above, the painted figures in the frames whispered and tittered. The Fat Lady let out a bright, trilling giggle that rang through the hallway, but Jaemin didn't stop. He only pressed closer, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he turned the kiss slower, more rhythmic, and infinitely more distracting than any textbook could ever be.

When he finally broke away, he didn't pull back more than an inch. His breath hitched against your lips, and the dark intensity in his eyes seemed to catch fire.

He had just begun to trail his lips from your mouth to the sensitive line of your jaw when a shrill, cackling whistle echoed off the stone walls.

"Ooh, lookie here! Little lions in a knot! Or is it a tangle? A right royal muddle!"

Peeves the Poltergeist swooped down, hovering upside down just inches from your faces. His wide, malicious eyes darted between you and Jaemin, his tongue poking out through a jagged grin.

Jaemin didn't let go of you, but he let out a long, frustrated exhale against your skin. He slowly turned his head to glare at the spirit. "Not now, Peeves. Go find a first-year to pelt with ink pellets."

"Ink pellets? Boring! Stale!" Peeves blew a loud raspberry and started spinning in a dizzying circle. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of stale, rock-hard Cauldron Cakes. "I’d much rather watch the lovebirds try to coo while I practice my aim!"

With a wicked flick of his wrist, he tossed a cake. It whistled past Jaemin’s ear, narrowly missing him and thudding loudly against the frame of a disgruntled landscape painting.

"Jammy and the Pouter, sitting in a hall! Kissing 'til the portraits scream and the ceiling falls!" Peeves sang at the top of his lungs, his voice shrill enough to wake every sleeping student in the nearby tower.

Jaemin finally pulled back fully, though he kept a protective arm slung low around your waist. He looked up at the cackling poltergeist, a dangerous, tired sort of smirk playing on his lips. "You’re going to get Filch up here, you menace."

"Filchy-poo? Even better!" Peeves shrieked, preparing another handful of projectiles. "Double the trouble, double the fun! Run, little students, run-run-run!"

Jaemin’s jaw tightened, and the last traces of the kiss's softness vanished into a look of sharp irritation. He reached into his robes and flicked his wand upward with a lethal grace.

"I warned you," Jaemin muttered dangerously. “Waddiwasi!"

The Cauldron Cake Peeves had been preparing to throw suddenly zoomed upward, propelled by an invisible force. It jammed itself straight into the poltergeist’s left nostril.

The poltergeist let out a high-pitched scream of outrage, spinning wildly in the air as he tried to claw the stale pastry out. Realizing he had lost this round, he zoomed through the nearest wall, leaving nothing behind but the faint sound of his frantic thumping as he retreated toward the floor below.

Jaemin let out a huff of a laugh, finally tucking his wand back into his sleeve. The intense look returned to his eyes as he turned his full attention back to you, his hands sliding back to their previous spots on your waist.

"Now," he whispered, pulling you back against the wall. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

You pressed a hand to his chest before he could close the distance. “Wait—did you hear that?”

“No.” The word was muffled against your neck, which he’d apparently decided required immediate attention.

“Jaemin, I’m serious. I think that’s Filch—”

He went still, listening. Sure enough, the shuffle of uneven footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“Your common room,” Jaemin said immediately, tugging you toward the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Come on—”

“Wait! She won’t let you in!”

He stopped short. “What? Why not?”

“Because you’re a Slytherin? We’ve been over this.”

“I thought you were drunk when you said that.” Jaemin stared at you incredulously. “So you’re telling me she won’t let any Slytherins in? And we’re the prejudiced house?”

“I mean she could, technically. But then she’d absolutely tell Filch about it.”

Jaemin made a sound of disbelief as Filch’s footsteps grew louder.

“Fine. Come on.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” you hissed, jogging to keep up as he led you through several corridors and down the stairs.

“The dungeons.”

“What?! I am not going to your common room—”

“Oh, come on.” He threw you an exasperated look over his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Slytherins actually mind their business when it comes to sneaking people in. Unlike you lions, apparently.”

The further you descended, the more aware you became of where this was heading. You’d never set foot in the Slytherin common room, and now you were sneaking in at night to… Well. The thought alone was enough to make your heart ricochet against your chest.

“Right, here we are.” Jaemin stopped before a blank wall.

 “That’s it?” You stared at it with a raised brow. “Kind of underwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, did you expect a giant fanged mouth?”

“Alright, ease up on the attitude.” You glared at him.

He smiled, and spoke to the wall: “Serpensortem.” Then, catching your eye: “Feel free to use that. You know, if you ever need to find me.”

The hidden door (which did, in fact, have serpents carved into it) swung open to reveal a narrow corridor of stairs descending even deeper. How Slytherins didn’t lose their minds being this far underground, you had no idea.

Inside, the common room was both exactly what you’d pictured and nothing like it. Dark stone, high ceilings, and a green-filtered light casting everything in a sort of underwater glow. Because…Oh. The ceiling was glass. There were actual panels looking straight up into the Black Lake’s murky water and the shadows of the occasional creatures drifting by.

Stunning. Also deeply unsettling if you thought too hard about it.

“Nice view of the Giant Squid you’ve got.”

Jaemin was right, his housemates truly didn’t care. The handful of students still up barely registered your presence, offering cursory glances before returning to whatever they were working on. Apparently a Gryffindor in the Slytherin common room wasn’t that much of a strange sight.

“Want to go up to my dorm?”

You gave him a look. “Where all your dormmates are?”

“They’re at the Three Broomsticks getting properly pissed.” He shrugged. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“It’s way past curfew. How’d they even get out?”

“There are secret passages that lead straight to the village. They’re all over the castle.”

“How am I only just learning this?”

His smile turned wicked. “Well, you’re such a good girl.” He pulled you closer by the waist. “A very good girl who owes me a kiss.”

You were completely out of your depth. Although the flirting had become familiar, the fact that Jaemin seemed to want you with the same desperate intensity you felt for him was uncharted territory that left you dizzy and unmoored.

So you didn’t fight when he led you upstairs. You let him pull you into a kiss on the steps, let yourself kiss him back with abandon until you stumbled into the warm sanctuary of his dorm. Only then did you surface long enough to catch your breath and actually take stock of your surroundings.

There were four four-poster beds with dark emerald hangings, the standard Hogwarts setup, but each corner had been claimed and personalized by its occupant.

You recognized Jaemin’s immediately. The one nearest the window, if you could call the glass panel looking into the lake a window. His Quidditch gear was piled carelessly beside his trunk: broom propped against the bedpost, leather gloves draped over the footboard, a jersey with “NA” embroidered on the back slung over his desk chair. The nightstand held an impressive collection of cologne bottles and a few books stacked messily beneath them. 

But it was the wall above his bed that caught your attention. Photographs pinned in no particular order of what looked like his family, him and his Quidditch team, a few older shots of him with other friends you didn’t recognize.

“Snooping already?” Jaemin’s voice came from behind you.

You turned to find him leaning against the wall, watching you with a raised brow.

“Just… observing.”

“Mhm.” He pushed off the post and crossed to you in two strides. “And what have your observations concluded?”

“That you’re messier than I expected.” You gestured to the Quidditch gear. “But also weirdly sentimental.” You nodded toward the photographs.

You turned to the other sections of the room and caught on a collection of what appeared to be hand-drawn comics pinned above one bed, surprisingly good actually, depicting what looked like Quidditch matches gone horribly wrong.

“Are those—did someone draw these?”

“Renjun.” Jaemin followed your gaze. “He’s got a thing for documenting Donghyuck’s Quidditch failures. It's quite therapeutic for him, apparently.”

“Donghyuck and Renjun—wait, I thought you roomed with Changmin and Sungchan?”

“I used to. Merlin, don’t remind me.” Jaemin collapsed onto what was clearly his bed—the one nearest the lake-view panel. 

“That bad?

“They both snore like bloody dragons. Together it was—” He shook his head. “I got about three hours of sleep a night for two years. Finally cracked in third year and begged the head boy to switch me.”

You laughed. “So who’d you end up with?”

“Jeno, Donghyuck, and Renjun.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “They’re a nightmare in different ways, but at least they sleep quietly.”

“Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

He got up and started slowly towards you. “I didn’t bring you up here to psychoanalyze our dorm though.”

“No?” Your hands settled against his chest when he pulled you to him. “What am I up here for, then?”

His smile turned wicked. “I believe we established you owe me a kiss. Several, actually, if we’re keeping count.”

“Are we keeping count now?”

“I am.” He leaned in, mouth barely brushing yours. “And you’re severely in debt.”

You could’ve pointed out the flawed logic, could’ve reminded him that you’d just spent the last several minutes kissing him senseless on the stairs. Instead, you closed the distance between you, letting him walk you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed.

“This okay?” he murmured against your lips, even as his hands slid up your sides.

Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. This was different from the corridors, from the alcoves and the performances. Just you and him and the choice to cross whatever line you’d been toeing for weeks.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “This is okay.”

His smile was soft before he kissed you again. You reciprocated with much enthusiasm making him sigh against your lips. His hands slid into your hair as the kiss deepened, and you let yourself get lost in it . 

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent heat racing through you. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, palm warm against your ribs, and—

Suddenly you heard voices. Loud and slurred, echoing up from the common room.

“—telling you, Hyuck, you can’t just Accio the entire bottle—”

“It almost worked though…  I’m just— hngh— a bit wet”

“Shit.” Jaemin pulled back. “They’re early. Fuck.”

“What—…” You scrambled into a sitting position, trying to finger-comb your hair into something less incriminating. “How do I look?”

He looked at you and tried to hide a grin behind his hand. “Like I’ve been kissing you for the past ten minutes.”

“Jaemin!”

“Right, sorry—” He reached out, gently attempting to smooth down your hair. It was possibly the sweetest thing he’d ever done and absolutely not helping your emotional state. “Okay, just act natural?”

The door banged open and three boys tumbled through in various states of inebriation— a muscular lad with short black hair barely keeping another upright, while a third brought up the rear looking significantly more sober than his friends.

The first one stopped short when he spotted you. “Oh, shit.”

“Jeno, move, you’re blocking the—” The one being held up peered around his friend and broke into a massive grin. “Na Jaemin, you absolute legend.”

“Shut up, Donghyuck.” Jaemin stood, positioning himself slightly in front of you. 

The sober one closed the door with considerably more care than it had been opened with. “We can go back down if—”

“No, it’s fine.” You stood as well, acutely aware of how warm your face felt. “I should probably get back to Gryffindor tower anyway.”

“Gryffindor!” Hyuck crowed, stumbling further into the room. “So you’re the Gryffindor. Jaemin’s been—ow! What the fuck, Jeno—”

Jeno had elbowed him, hard. “Subtle as a brick, mate.”

“I’m just saying, he’s been in a better mood lately and now I know why—”

“Hyuck, I will literally hex your bollocks off.” Jaemin’s tone was pleasant. His expression was not.

The sober one gave you an apologetic look. “Ignore them. They had approximately five Firewhiskeys each at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Five and a half,” Hyuck corrected proudly.

“Right. Well.” You smoothed down your skirt. “I should go.”

Jaemin caught your wrist. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I think your friends need more help than I do .”

“They’ll live.” His jaw was set and you could tell he was still annoyed about the interruption.

“Awww, he’s being chivalrous,” Hyuck stage-whispered to Jeno. “That’s so—ow, fuck, Renjun—”

Renjun had slapped the back of his head. “Please excuse Donghyuck. He becomes aggressively annoying when drunk.”

“Just when drunk?” Jeno muttered.

You bit back a smile despite yourself. “It’s fine. I can find my way out.”

“You sure?” Jaemin was still holding your wrist.

“I’m sure.” You gently extracted your hand, very aware of three pairs of eyes tracking the movement. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You made it approximately two steps toward the door before Hyuck piped up again. “Hey, Gryffindor girl?”

You turned. “It’s—”

“Oh, we know who you are,” Jeno said, grinning. 

“He’s absolutely miserable when you’re not around, you know,” Hyuck announced cheerfully, ignoring Jaemin’s death glare. “Like, genuinely unbearable. So thanks for that. You’re doing Merlin’s work, truly—”

“HYUCK—”

You escaped into the corridor before you could hear the rest, but their laughter—and Jaemin’s protests—followed you all the way down the stairs.

By the time you reached the common room, your face was burning and your heart was still racing and you had absolutely no idea how you were going to look at Jaemin tomorrow without remembering the weight of him above you, the heat of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like—

No. Not thinking about it.

Except you absolutely were going to spend the entire night thinking about it. You shook your head sharply as you climbed back through the castle, taking a different route to avoid Filch. 

The interruption was probably for the best. It had stopped you from doing something you couldn’t take back, from crossing a line that would make the whole “fake dating” excuse completely untenable.

“Wow, he’s even convinced you to go to a Quidditch game?” Jo said as she observed you putting on the green scarf you’d borrowed from Jaemin. “And wearing his colors? Okay, who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just one game. Plus, he’s been asking me to go for the past few weeks and I’ve already rejected him too many times. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t go support her boyfriend at a game?”

“A fake one?” She offered with a knowing look.

“I’m already committed to the bit, Jo. Cant back out now.”

“I just want to remind you that there are only 2 more weeks of this arrangement. Personally, I haven't even seen Yuna bother Jaemin in a good while, so there’s really no need to keep extending this thing.”

She was right. Yuna had been conspicuously absent lately. No more pointed stares across the Great Hall, no more appearances in places you and Jaemin frequented, no more saccharine interruptions during your library study sessions. You’d been so caught up in the elaborate fiction of your relationship that you’d stopped monitoring the very threat it was meant to neutralize.

Had she given up? Moved on to easier prey, perhaps? Or had the performance been so convincing that she’d accepted defeat?

And if the threat had dissolved, what justified the charade’s continuation?

More pressingly: did you want it to end?

The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome, and stubbornly refused to leave. Two weeks. Fourteen days until you’d presumably sit down with Jaemin and declare mission accomplished, shake hands like business partners concluding a transaction, and return to being polite strangers who’d once played at intimacy for an audience.

“I’ll leave it to Jaemin to decide,” you said finally, the words emerging more brittle than intended. You avoided Jo’s reflection in the mirror, suddenly fascinated by the intricacies of your braid. “It’s his arrangement, technically. His problem we were solving.”

Liar, your reflection seemed to whisper. Coward.

Because the uncomfortable truth you’d been studiously ignoring was that you had no idea what Jaemin wanted anymore. 

When he kissed you in empty corridors with no witnesses, was that practice? When his thumb traced absent patterns on your hip during meals, was he performing for distant onlookers or had it simply become habit? When he looked at you like that, was he acting or had the fiction begun consuming the actor?

You didn’t know. And you were terrified to ask.

Jo made a small noise of sympathy. “Just… be careful, alright? I know you think you’ve got this handled, but—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted, perhaps too sharply. “Everything’s completely under control.”

The lie hung between you, obvious and ignored.

At the Quidditch pitch you headed to the Slytherin side of the stands. Thankfully, the finale was against Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor, otherwise you would feel like a horrible disloyal witch by not supporting your own house. 

The place was already packed by the time you arrived. You’d expected to sit with the general crowd, but before you could even start climbing the stairs, you felt a hand on your arm.

“You’re with us,” Giselle said, appearing out of nowhere. She was dressed head to toe in green and silver, her house pride on full display. “Come on. We’ve saved you seats.”

“Saved me—what?”

Giselle led you to a prime spot right at the front of the Slytherin stands, where Changmin and Sungchan were already waiting.

“There she is!” Changmin grinned, as if this had all been planned.

“Jaemin’s good luck charm,” Sungchan added with a wink.

You blinked at them, too stunned to speak. These were the same boys who had barely tolerated your presence a month ago. Now they were scooting over, offering you the best view on the pitch, as if you belonged there.

“Jaemin said if we didn’t make sure you had the best seat, he’d hex us into next week,” Sungchan continued breezily. “And I quite like having my kneecaps intact, so.”

You sat down, feeling extremely self-conscious about being front and center in the Slytherin section wearing Slytherin colors. People were definitely staring. You could feel their eyes on you, could hear the whispers starting up.

"Wait," you started, your voice slightly breathless as you looked between their relaxed postures and the players currently mounting their brooms on the pitch. "Why aren't you two down there? Don't you both play?"

Changmin let out a dry snort, adjusting his sleeves. "Suspended," he said, "the Ravenclaw Beaters didn't appreciate my 'aggressive' tactical maneuvers during last week's scrimmage."

"And I'm on the bench today with a 'mysterious' wrist cramp," Sungchan added, though he looked entirely too healthy for an injury. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. "Truthfully? Jaemin didn't want us on the pitch. He wanted us here. Guarding you."

What?

"He’s a bit possessive over you," Giselle noted, settling in on your other side and smoothing her skirt. "He didn't trust the general Slytherin population to behave themselves while his head was in the clouds. Consider them your personal gargoyles for the afternoon."

Before you could process the idea of Jaemin hand-picking his friends to act as your shield, the teams flew onto the pitch, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You spotted him immediately. He was easy to pick out, even among the other players in their green and silver robes. He was a Chaser, and even from a distance, you could see the easy confidence in the way he handled his broom.

He did a lap of the pitch, clearly scanning the stands, and when he saw you sitting front and center in the Slytherin section wearing green his entire face lit up. He changed direction, flying closer to where you were sitting, and the crowd around you started screaming louder.

“Watch this,” Changmin said, grinning. “He’s showing off.”

Jaemin pulled up right in front of the Slytherin section, hovering there on his broom, and blew you a kiss. An unsubtle, utterly ridiculous kiss blown in your direction in front of the entire school.

You felt your face go absolutely scarlet, but you couldn’t help smiling. He looked so happy. So genuinely, completely happy, and it was directed at you.

"Salazar's ghost," Giselle groaned, pointedly looking toward the sky. "The two of you are going to make me sick."

The whistle shrieked, a sharp, piercing herald that set the game in motion. You quickly discovered that Quidditch was an entirely different ordeal when your attention was tethered to a Chaser. It was no longer a sport but a grueling exercise in cardiovascular distress. Every time Jaemin’s fingers curled around the Quaffle, your breath hitched, trapped in the tight column of your throat. Every time a Ravenclaw Beater sent a Bludger whistling toward his skull, your stomach performed a sickening, leaden drop into your heels.

You were on your feet more often than not, screaming yourself hoarse, your dignity dissolving with every reckless maneuver he pulled. Your knuckles were white, clutching the edge of the railing as if you were the one hanging onto a broomstick three hundred feet in the air.

“Look at you,” Giselle observed during a brief lull in the carnage. “You truly have it bad, don’t you? You’re vibrating.”

“I’m simply—invested in the match,” you ground out, refusing to look away from the green-and-silver blur circling the hoops.

“You’re invested in him,” she corrected, a smirk playing on her lips that was equal parts amused and knowing. “It’s a bit pathetic, really. But I suppose he deserves someone who watches him with that level of frantic devotion.”

Whatever biting retort you were preparing to mount was violently incinerated by the roar of the crowd. A deafening, earth-shaking thunder erupted from the Slytherin stands as Jaemin executed a barrel roll that seemed aerodynamically impossible, slamming the Quaffle through the center hoop.

Slytherin dominated the match with embarrassing efficiency, their Chasers running rings around Ravenclaw’s defense, and Jaemin in particular seemed determined to make a personal statement. Then their Seeker caught the Snitch about an hour into the match, ending things decisively. The moment it was over, the Slytherin section erupted in celebration, and before you quite knew what was happening, people were pouring onto the pitch.

“Come on!” Giselle grabbed your hand, pulling you along with the crowd. “We’re going down!”

You let yourself be dragged down to the pitch, caught up in the excitement. The Slytherin team had barely landed when they were being mobbed by supporters, everyone screaming and hugging and celebrating.

You were just trying to stay upright and not get trampled, when suddenly hands grabbed your waist and you were being lifted, spun around, and then you were looking directly into Jaemin’s face.

He was sweaty, and disheveled, and grinning so wide it looked like it might hurt his cheeks.

“We won,” he said, as if you might not have noticed.

“I saw,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You were brilliant.”

“You wore green,” he said breathlessly. “You actually wore green for me.”

“Of course I did. I’m your—”

You didn’t get to finish the sentence, because he kissed you.

He kissed you like you were the only two people there, like he’d been waiting all day to do this, like winning the match was secondary to getting to kiss you. His hands cupped your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, and you forgot about everything except the feeling of his mouth on yours.

People were cheering. You could hear them, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just kissed him back, your hands fisting in his Quidditch robes to pull him impossibly closer.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. “That—” Jaemin said, thumbing sweat and hair from your cheek, “was the best part of the whole day. Actually, my entire bloody year.” 

He kissed you again, quick and fierce, before setting you down. 

The chaos of the pitch threatened to sweep you up—Haechan was flying mockingly around the dazed Ravenclaw Keeper, who looked two seconds away from swearing off Quidditch forever. Jeno was being hoisted onto someone’s shoulders while holding the Cup, still in his gear, a lopsided grin plastered across his face as a small army of younger Slytherins began a chant.

You barely had time to process anything before a dozen Slytherin hands were clapping you on the back, dragging you into the noisy throng. Jeno slung an arm around your shoulder, while Haechan bowed with the sort of exaggerated flourish only he could get away with.

“Oi, Y/N! You’re practically the Slytherin mascot at this point,” Haechan crowed, earning a fresh round of chanting. Jeno nodded and said, “We’ll need you at every match. Jaemin plays like he’s got something to prove when you’re here.”

Jaemin slipped an arm over your shoulders, fitting himself between you and Jeno. It wasn’t the casual sort of touch affectionate boyfriend would do but rather the kind of grip that signaled territorial intent, both “look at me” and “hands off, Lee Jeno.” Jeno raised his brows, smirked, and stepped back with a dramatic sigh as if to say, “I know when I’ve been outmaneuvered.”

Jaemin lead you out of the crush, across the pitch, past the green-robed ruck of his teammates still shrieking and high-fiving each other senseless.

You found yourselves in the lee of the stands, momentarily invisible to the hooting masses. Jaemin bent over, hands braced on his knees, still catching his breath. The flushed tips of his ears glowed through sweated hair, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were shining, open, utterly unguarded.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “We agreed—no more public spectacles.” He grinned, sheepish and shameless at once.

You laughed. “That was entirely your fault. You were the one who just put on a whole air show out there.”

“Had to impress you,” he said, then he straightened, hands on your hips. “Did it work?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but Jaemin’s voice always lilted up at the end, as if the answer mattered even if he already knew it. Your heart did the embarrassing somersault you’d tried to train it out of, and you could only nod, which made him gloat without mercy.

“Good,” he said, and tugged you in for another kiss, backgrounded by the muffled roar of the stadium and the granular crunch of pebbles underfoot. 

Suddenly a broomstick whirred to a stop nearby and Jaemin loosened his grip on you, letting you sway back ever so slightly. You barely had time to school your features before Madam Hooch’s voice rang out.

“Na, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing back here?” She hovered just above, her yellow hawk’s eyes narrowing as she took in the flush on your cheeks and the state of your hair. “This isn’t the broom shed, though you two seem determined to treat it as one. Save the snogging for after hours—if you must.”

A mortifying heat swept up your neck. Jaemin simply grinned at her. “Just appreciating my good luck charm, Professor.”

Madam Hooch sniffed, unimpressed. “If you’re quite finished, the rest of the team would like their Chaser back for the cup photo.”

She fixed you both with one last look that could have stripped paint from the stadium, then gestured briskly for Jaemin to join the others.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, and winked “I’ll meet you in a bit for the celebration”

As the door to the Slytherin common room opened, you were met with an emerald-hued wonderland teeming with giddy, flushed-faced revelers. It was like being inside a shaken bottle of champagne, the air practically fizzing with elation and an infectious sort of glee.

Despite wearing green, you felt distinctly out of place. Like a single rose petal that had somehow fluttered its way into a bouquet of silver-tipped ferns. But Jaemin’s hand was warm and sure in yours.

“Stick close,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost in this snake pit.”

“And here I thought you’d be eager to feed me to your housemates. Y’know, as a victory sacrifice.”

Jaemin’s laugh was a rich, dark thing, like molten chocolate. “Tempting. But I think I’ll keep you to myself a bit longer.”

The wicked glint of his gaze as he said those words made heat rush to your cheeks. But before you could think much of it, you were swept up in a whirlwind of backslaps and high fives, the team descending upon their star Chaser in a giddy mass of sweat-damp robes and Firewhisky-fueled cheer.

You found yourself passed from embrace to embrace, your hair mussed and your face peppered with exuberant kisses. It was overwhelming, dizzying, this sudden immersion into the tight-knit camaraderie of Jaemin’s world.

But through it all, his gaze never left you. Even as he was jostled and jolted by his teammates, his eyes remained locked on yours, a searing, steady connection that made your pulse stutter and your knees go curiously weak.

As the night wore on and the festivities showed no sign of waning, you found yourself gravitating closer and closer to Jaemin, drawn by some irresistible magnetism. The heat of so many bodies packed into the subterranean space, the buzz of one too many Butterbeers, the maddening drag of his fingers along the small of your back as he steered you through the crowd…it was all blurring together into a delicious haze.

And then you looked up at him in a sudden moment of perfect clarity amidst the chaos, and everything else simply…fell away. The noise, the crush of bodies, the very air seemed to shimmer and warp, narrowing down to the electric pulse of connection stretching taut between you.

In that suspended sliver of time, you knew with bone-deep certainty that there was no going back. No more pretending, no more lines in the sand. There was only this, only him, only the truth of what had been building between you from the moment this mad charade began.

You crashed together like colliding stars, mouths and hands and hearts falling into desperate alignment. Jaemin kissed like a man possessed, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and make a home there, and you matched him beat for beat, pouring months of pent-up longing and frustration and fierce, helpless wanting into the slant of your lips against his.

When you finally surfaced, gasping and glassy-eyed, Jaemin’s face swam into focus, his usually sharp features softened by a look of tenderness.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice a rasping, wrecked thing.

You could only nod, mute and dizzy with want, and let him lead you out of the common room and into the labyrinthine tangle of the dungeon corridors. You walked in silence, the only sound the ragged counterpoint of your breathing and the distant, muffled thump of music.

When he stopped at a stretch of unremarkable wall and began to pace, you knew with a jolt where he was taking you to The Room of Requirement.

Where else would one go to tumble headlong into inadvisable, paradigm-shifting passion?

Jaemin reached for the handle, but then he turned to you with a question in his eyes and an uncharacteristic hesitance in the set of his shoulders…you knew that stepping over this threshold would change everything.

“Y/N,” he said, and there was a whole universe of unspoken things layered into the shape of your name. “Are you sure…?”

“Jaemin,” you said. “Kiss me.”

In the next instant, his lips were on yours again, and you stumbled backward as the hidden door swung open. You didn’t spare a glance for the room that bloomed before you. Couldn’t focus on anything beyond the heat of Jaemin’s body against yours, the desperate, reverent drag of his hands over your curves.  The room could’ve been an empty Quidditch pitch, for all you cared.

Every romance you’d ever read and even scoffed at came to life in that moment—the world receding, time slowing to a molasses crawl. There was only sensation, only feeling, only the drugging slide of his lips along your jaw, your throat, the dip of your collarbone.

Your pulse was fucking riotous. You’d talked yourself into this, hadn’t you? Marched up here on legs so wobbly you could’ve blamed the many stairs, convinced yourself you could handle it because it was Jaemin.

His calloused hands roamed with urgent purpose, fingers digging into your hips as he backed you against the nearest wall. He broke the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.  You immediately turned to flame when his gaze tracked all over you. From your swollen lips, to your flushed cheeks, down to the way your chest stuttered with every shaky breath. His hands found your jaw. Steady, so steady.

“We can stop whenever you want to.” he murmured against your ear.

You managed a nod because your speech simply wasn’t coming. Every nerve was pulled taut with both anticipation and terror at the realization of what you were about to do for the first time in your life.

His fingers unclasped your bra carefully, and when the straps slid down your arms, you tried to fold into yourself, awkward and too aware of skin and imperfections. Jaemin’s eyes caught yours; they were dark but promising patience even as he bent to take your nipple in his mouth. 

You arched into him, a gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your nipple. “Jaemin,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair to hold him there.

He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You’d never been touched like this before. There’d been secret snogs, awkward fumbles in broom closets that had never gone further than shirt buttons, never left you feeling more than flustered and underwhelmed. This was different.

Your body reacted in ways you hadn’t expected, hips twitching, thighs pressing together, the ache between your legs suddenly urgent and embarrassingly obvious. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing desperately. The sensation was almost alien, and you had to fight the impulse to cover yourself, to pull his hand away and to say wait, let me catch up.

Thoughts scattered in all directions. Was it supposed to feel this good? Did he know how much you were trembling? Could he tell this was your first time? Did he care? Did it matter? You worried you might be doing it wrong by making too much noise, arching too eagerly into his hands, looking foolish and overeager. But his gaze fixed on you, pupils blown, jaw tight with want.

He suddenly straightened, fingers smoothing back the hair from your face. “Hey,” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Still with me?”

You nodded, a little wild-eyed. “I—yeah. Sorry. I just—” You swallowed, eyes locking on the bland pattern of the carpet. “I haven’t…”

When you looked back up, his eyes flashed with a kind of darker satisfaction. “I know,” he murmured. “I thought so.” His hands slid down your waist. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

You responded by tugging at his shirt, nails scraping against the hem until he chuckled low in his throat and let you have your way. He pulled back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the lean, muscled planes of his chest and abs. His sun-tanned skin bore the faint ghosts of bruises from Quidditch, a testament to the fact that he played rough today. 

You stared shamelessly, hands twitching at your sides, before you finally gave in and mapped every line with your fingertips. The kiss that came next was messier, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in a rhythm that promised what was to come.

Jaemin's fingers worked at the button of your trousers, and you remembered with mortification that your knickers did not match your bra. Cool air hit your bare skin, but his body heat chased it away as he pressed closer, his clothed erection grinding against your thigh. You could feel how hard he was, the thick length straining against his trousers.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with desire. “I've wanted this for so long.” His hand slid between your legs, fingers parting your folds to find you already slick. He groaned at the discovery, circling your clit with his thumb while a finger pushed inside you, drawing out tiny sparks of pleasure. Hehen he slipped two fingers inside, your hips jerked in startled delight. He moved slow at first, letting you get used to the stretch, his other hand splayed over your hip, grounding you, steadying you. 

You moaned, hips bucking into his hand as he pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you, preparing you. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths. He added a third finger, scissoring them to open you wider, his thumb pressing firmer on your clit until you were trembling, on the edge.

“Merlin, remind me to–… to read a book on this before next time,” you blurted breathlessly.

Jaemin stilled, and for a second, you wondered if you’d killed the mood entirely. But then his mouth curved into a wolfish grin, and he pressed a slow kiss to your cheek, trailing down the line of your jaw.

“Oh, I think you’re doing just fine,” he murmured, voice gone gravelly. “But if you want me to demonstrate…”

He kissed a path down your throat, across your collarbones, pausing to worship each new inch of skin revealed. It seemed like there was no part of you he didn’t want to learn. When his lips brushed the top of your breast, you gasped, the joke you’d been about to make dying on your tongue.

“Jaemin—what are you—?”

“Trust me,” 

You whimpered in protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, guiding you toward the bed. He stripped off his own pants and boxers, his cock springing free, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your eyes locked on it, pulse racing at the sight.

He pushed you down onto the soft sheets, following you immediately until his body was covering yours. His mouth trailed lower, kissing a path down your stomach to the apex of your thighs. He spread your legs wide, settling between them, and looked up at you with eyes dark with hunger. “I need to taste you.”

“Wait—” you started, nerves rearing again.

He glanced up. “I promise you’ll like this.”

Then his tongue flicked out, lapping at your core in one long stroke, and the sound you made barely qualified as human. He sucked your clit into his mouth, alternating with broad licks along your slit, his fingers returning to thrust inside you. The combination of his relentless tongue and his fingers fucking you deep and steady was overwhelming.

“Okay, wow, that’s—oh—bloody hell—”

Right. So. That was new.

In fairness, you thought you were reasonably experienced. You had been alone with yourself often enough. You knew what you liked, had your own routines abd methods. A careful system involving muffled pillows, and a great deal of optimistic trial and error.

This was definitely not that.

This was like discovering you’d been trying to play a symphony on a recorder and Jaemin had just sat down at a grand piano and casually dismantled your entire understanding of music.

Your hips rolled against his face instinctively, chasing the building pleasure. He held you down with one arm across your waist, not letting you escape the onslaught. You gasped, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.

“Jaemin,” you gasped. “Please—”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for.

For him to stop. For him to continue. For him to explain how this was happening. For him to never leave this exact position.

Suddenly he added another finger, and wow…. that was certainly not how it felt when you did it. It probably had to do with the fact that his fingers were way longer and he seemed to know what to do with them.

He hummed against you, the vibration along with his tongue and fingers enough to push you over. Your orgasm crashed through you and you clenched around his fingers as waves of pleasure ripped you apart. He didn't stop, licking you through it until you were shaking.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and a dumb smirk on his lips. “How was that?”

He looked far too smug for your liking, and you—who had spent years pretending to be unflappable—actually giggled. Like a third year after her first Butterbeer.

“It was—” Your cheeks burned. “Brilliant.” 

His smile widened. “Alright. Just one more thing before we…” He trailed his wand through a complicated motion. The tip shimmered blue, a faint ring of light settling across your pelvis.

He caught your eye. “Contraceptive charm. Unless you’d rather I hexed my own bollocks off instead, but I hear Madam Pomfrey’s got enough on her hands.”

Another nervous laugh broke from your lips, but Jaemin just pressed a reassuring hand to your thigh and leaned in. 

“Tell me to stop if you want to. I mean it.”

You shook your head, want eclipsing every doubt you had. “I want to,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they nearly tripped over themselves. “I want you.”

Jaemin lined himself up and watched your face as he eased forward slowly. The stretch stung at first—your body fighting to accommodate the unfamiliar width. It hurt more than you’d expected. 

Your walls stretched, burning, fluttering around him, the ache gradually giving way to a dizzying pressure as he bottomed out. He stayed perfectly still, forehead resting against yours, both of you shuddering through the intensity of it.

“Alright?” Jaemin asked thickly, as if it cost him everything not to move. A low groan escaped him as your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around his cock, the sensation clearly testing his control.

“Yeah, it’s just… a lot,” you admitted, your breath hitching.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his hips twitching slightly despite his efforts to stay still. “Yeah, I know. I’m quite big.” The joke pulled a surprised giggle from you, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. His eyes crinkled with warmth at the sight.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, a whimper threading through his words, his fingers digging into the sheets beside your head. “It—it’s taking everything not to just pound into you right now.”

He was flushed, hair damp with sweat, the strands sticking adorably to his brow and temples. His cheeks were tinged rose-pink, his jaw clenched tight as if the effort of holding himself back was an actual battle. His lips, swollen from kissing you, parted as he panted, every exhale ghosting warm across your face. A single bead of sweat trickled from his hairline, skimming down to the curve of his cheekbone. You couldn’t help but reach up, tracing it with a shaky finger. He caught your hand, pressing his lips to your palm, and the gentleness of it nearly undid you.

You’d never seen him look more beautiful. All that cockiness and swagger stripped away. This was just Jaemin, undone, desperate, trying to be gentle for your sake and barely managing.

A sudden warmth loosened in your chest, chasing away the last of your tension. You wanted this.  The pain ebbed slowly, replaced by a deeper need. You shifted beneath him, hips rolling tentatively, and found the sting softened, yielding to a heady pleasure that made your toes curl.

“Merlin,” Jaemin groaned in response.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, focusing on the sensations: the fullness, the way your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around him, sending little sparks across your body. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tense muscles under your fingertips, and you whispered, “Please Jaem, move.”

Jaemin pulled back slightly, just an inch or two, and pushed in again slowly. A deep groan rumbled from his chest at the drag, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Shit… so good,” he panted. 

The motion made you gasp, the initial burn fading into a deliciously pleasant heat. He repeated it, shallow at first, giving your body time to adapt. Each gentle thrust coaxed a soft whimper from your throat, your nerves firing in ways you’d never even imagined. It wasn’t seamless or effortless like in the stories you’d read; there were awkward pauses, a slight shift when he slipped a bit, both of you chuckling breathlessly to ease the tension.

Then he started moving faster, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. Each stroke hit a perfect angle, his hips grinding against your clit with every push. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder.

The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, skin slapping against skin. Jaemin's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as he drove into you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was tenderness in the way he held you, even as his pace turned brutal, chasing release.

“You’re doing so well, princess,” he murmured, brushing your temple.

A jolt of pleasure shot through you as the head of his cock nudged a deeper spot. “There… right there,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure.

Jaemin pinned your hand above your head gently. His eyes bored into yours. “I’ve dreamed about this so many times,” he confessed between thrusts, voice punctuated by a whimper as your walls gripped him.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He released your hand to slip between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He circled it slowly at first, matching the tempo of his hips, then faster as your moans grew louder. “Come on, let go for me… you’re so close, I can feel it,” he urged, his own groans growing more frequent.

The added friction served its intended purpose. Your orgasm built fast, coiling tight before exploding, your walls fluttering around his cock, milking him.

He followed you over the edge with a broken cry muffled against your neck, burying himself deep as he came. He collapsed onto you afterward, both of you panting, hearts pounding in that particular post-coital unison that poets find romantic and medical professionals find concerning. He stayed inside you as he softened, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

You lay tangled in Jaemin's arms, limbs pleasantly loose from exertion and spine somewhat less pleasantly compressed by the world's most questionable mattress. 

The Room of Requirement, in its infinite wisdom, had conjured a heap of velvet blankets to cover yourself with. You suspected Hogwarts's taste in romantic furnishings had been shaped by decades of adolescent fantasy and the castle's own flair for the dramatic. Regardless, your back ached, your hair was a catastrophe, and you found that you didn't mind at all.

Jaemin, for his part, seemed content to lounge beside you like a Renaissance painting of decadent youth, one hand idly tracing the curve of your hip beneath the sheet. It was all terribly calm—if you ignored the thunderous panic building in your own chest.

You propped yourself up on one elbow and regarded him in the low light. In repose, the sharp edges of him softened into the boy you now knew existed underneath all those sneers. You'd always been rather undone by his eyes, if you were being honest, but now, seeing them half-lidded and so unguarded, the usual sardonic glitter banked to embers, you felt something dangerous clawing its way up your throat.

Don't, warned the sensible part of your brain. Don't you dare.

"I love you," you said.

The words escaped before you had a chance to wrap them in plausible deniability or cushion them with caveats.

Jaemin went very still.

For one absurd, hopeful moment, you thought perhaps he simply needed a second to process. That was reasonable, wasn't it? People usually needed time to absorb emotional declarations. Any moment now, he'd turn to you with that devastating smile and say—

He rolled away. Sat up. And began an unhurried search for his shirt, which had vanished somewhere beneath the bed during earlier, more optimistic proceedings.

Ah.

Ah.

"Jaemin?" you ventured. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

He didn't turn around. His shoulders, you noticed, had gone rather tense. "It's getting late. We should probably head back to our dormitories."

Your heart, so stupidly full just moments ago, plummeted somewhere in the vicinity of your stomach. "What?"

"It's late," he repeated, to the floor, or perhaps to the shirt he'd finally located. "We have classes tomorrow. We should get some sleep."

You felt as though someone had upended a bucket of ice water directly over your head. You sat up, pulling the sheet around yourself with hands that had begun, rather inconveniently, to tremble. You'd been pleasantly naked in front of him not five minutes ago, and now you couldn't bear the exposure.

"Jaemin." You hated how small your voice had become. "Did you hear what I said?"

He finally looked at you. His expression had shuttered completely, all the warmth and softness of moments ago locked away behind those dark eyes.

"I heard you."

"And?"

He exhaled. "This... what we just did... it doesn't change anything." A pause. "We had an arrangement. A deal. It was never supposed to be more than that."

The silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

You stared at him, vision blurring treacherously, and thought: of course. Of course he didn't love you back. How could he? You were merely  a solution to a problem. The fact that you'd been foolish enough to fall for your own charade—well. That was your fault entirely, wasn't it? No one to blame but yourself and your own ridiculous heart.

"Right," you heard yourself say. "Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—that was too—I'm sorry."

"Y/N..." He reached for you, and you flinched away so sharply you nearly toppled off the bed.

"No, it's fine." Your voice had gone brittle, the way it did when you were trying very hard not to cry. "You're absolutely right. We should go."

You stood on shaky legs and began gathering your scattered clothes with trembling hands. Your jumper had ended up draped over a candelabra, and you couldn't find your left sock, but you decided that you didn't care. You needed to leave. You needed to be anywhere but this room that had witnessed your greatest vulnerability and your most thorough humiliation.

Jaemin dressed in silence. His movements were impersonal, as if the tender lover of minutes ago was replaced entirely by a distant stranger pulling on his trousers like this was simply another Sunday. Perhaps, for him, it was.

When you were both clothed, he cleared his throat.

"I'll walk you back to—"

"I know the way," you interrupted, shoving your single sock gracelessly into your back pocket.

His jaw worked, as though he were chewing over some final, unsatisfying thought. You found you didn't want to hear it.

"Goodnight," you said finally.

You turned on your heel, crossed to the door, and walked out of the Room of Requirement with your chin held high and your heart in approximately seventeen thousand pieces, wishing desperately for a Time-Turner and the sense to use it.

You walked back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, barely registering your surroundings. Your mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt shift from blissful intimacy to cold rejection. You stumbled through the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's concerned look. Thankfully, the common room was empty at this hour. You stood there for a long moment, staring into the dying flames, feeling the weight of your own foolishness pressing down on you.

You'd let yourself imagine it, hadn't you? A future where this thing between you and Jaemin was something real. Something that would survive the end of your little arrangement, that would unfold into late-night conversations and stolen kisses in corridors and his hand finding yours under the table at breakfast. You'd let yourself believe it so thoroughly that you'd forgotten it was never real to begin with.

A beautiful lie. A fairy tale you'd spun for yourself, heedless of the inevitable unhappy ending that had been written into the story from the very first page.

And now you were alone in an empty common room at half past midnight, with nothing but the cold truth and the aching, echoing space in your chest where your heart used to be.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

You turned to see Jo descending from the dormitories. She was in her pajamas, hair piled in a messy bun, face still creased with sleep. But the moment she saw you properly, whatever drowsy inquiry she'd been planning died on her lips.

Her eyes went wide. Understanding flooded her features, followed swiftly by something fierce and protective.

"Oh, love," she breathed, and crossed the room in three quick strides to pull you into her arms. "Oh, no. What happened? What did he do?"

And that was all it took. The dam broke, and suddenly you were sobbing into her shoulder, great heaving gasps that shook your whole body. She held you tightly, stroking your hair, murmuring soothing nonsense as you cried.

"I t-told him I l-loved him," you managed between sobs. "And he... he just..."

"Shh, I've got you. Breathe."

"He said it didn’t change anything." You choked on the words. "That it was never supposed to be more than that. And I just—I stood there like an idiot—"

"You're not an idiot." Her arms tightened around you. "You're not. He's the idiot. He's a complete and utter prat, and I'm going to hex his bollocks off, see if I don't—"

A small, inquisitive mrrp interrupted the proceedings. 

You both looked down. Whiskers had appeared from somewhere behind the sofa. He blinked up at you with large, knowing eyes, then began weaving between your ankles with pointed determination.

"Oh, Whiskers," Jo murmured. "Good boy. You tell her."

The cat, apparently agreeing that emotional support was required, rose up on his hind legs to bump his head against your knee. When that failed to produce adequate acknowledgment, he meowed again and began climbing your leg in pursuit of a better vantage point.

You laughed, it came out watery and hiccupping and rather awful, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

"See? He thinks Jaemin's a prat, too." Jo said solemnly, scooping Whiskers up and depositing him into the narrow space between you both. The cat immediately began purring and butted his head against your chin. 

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, still trembling. "I feel so stupid, Jo. I knew this was how it would end. I knew from the beginning it wasn't real, and I just—I let myself—"

"Hey." Jo pulled back to look at you properly. "Falling in love isn't stupid. It's brave. Even when it's messy and terrifying and the other person is a monumental coward who doesn't deserve you."

"He's not…"

"He is." Her voice brooked no argument. "Anyone who looks at you the way he does and then pretends it's nothing? That's cowardice. That's someone too scared to admit what they feel, so they make you feel like you’re imagining it instead."

You opened your mouth to protest, because surely it wasn't like that, surely you'd simply misread everything, surely the fault was yours for wanting too much, but Jo cut you off.

"No. Don't do that. Don't even try to make excuses for him." She softened, just slightly. "I know you love him. And I know that doesn't just... switch off. But you deserve someone brave enough to love you back out loud, yeah?"

A fresh wave of tears came, because she was right. You did deserve that. And you’d thought, for a few perfect hours, that maybe you’d had it.

“I really thought he—” You couldn’t finish.

“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “I know you did. And maybe he does, somewhere under all that stupid hair. But maybe isn’t good enough.”

You pressed your face into Whiskers’s fur, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest.

"Right," she continued. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit here, and you're going to let Whiskers work his magic, and you're going to cry as much as you need to. And tomorrow, we're going to eat an absolutely obscene amount of chocolate at breakfast, and you're going to ignore Na Jaemin so thoroughly he'll wonder if he's gone invisible. And if he tries to talk to you, I'll hex him. I’ve gotten really good at Bat-Bogeys."

"Jo, you will get detention."

"I don't care," she wasn't smiling anymore. "No one gets to make you feel like this and walk away unscathed. Not while I'm around."

You leaned into her, letting your head drop against her shoulder. Whiskers purred on.

"I really love him," you whispered. "Even after tonight. How pathetic is that?"

"It's not pathetic at all." Jo's voice caressed your heard, all the protective fury banked into comfort. "Love just doesn't care about timing, or logic, or whether the other person deserves it. It just is." A pause. "And for what it's worth? I don't think he's as unaffected as he's pretending to be. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."

​​You didn't answer. You weren't sure you believed her at all, to be honest. But you let her hold you, let Whiskers purr and let the fire burn down to ash while the ache in your chest slowly, slowly dulled to something almost bearable.

Jaemin had never felt more like a prat in his entire life.

No—that wasn't quite accurate. Prat implied mild social incompetence. A tendency to say the wrong thing at dinner parties, forgetting birthdays, laughing at funerals. The sort of harmless foolishness that people forgave with a fond eye-roll and a muttered oh, that's just Jaemin.

What he had done went rather spectacularly beyond that.

He had taken something fragile and rare, something most people spent their entire lives hoping to stumble across, and placed it directly under his own boot. Deliberately. With malice aforethought, or at least malice afore-panic, which hardly seemed better.

He had watched you gather every ounce of courage you possessed. Had felt you trembling against him, breath shallow, voice catching on the edges of words you clearly hadn't planned to say. You had offered him something honest and unguarded and terrifying in its vulnerability, and he had responded by retreating behind technicalities and arrangements like a child hiding behind a curtain and insisting, with full conviction, that he was invisible.

We had a deal.

Merlin. He wanted to reach back in time and throttle himself.

It was never supposed to be more than that.

What a thing to say. What an absolute masterwork of emotional cowardice, delivered with the sort of cool detachment that would've made his father proud. He could practically hear the old man now: Well done, son. Keep them at arm's length. Never let them see you bleed.

Coward.

That was the word. The only word that fit.

A coward with decent grades and a Quidditch record impressive enough to distract people from the fact that, emotionally, he possessed all the sophistication of a flobberworm. Less, actually. Flobberworms at least had the excuse of being invertebrates.

He replayed it in his head for the forty-seventh time that hour, the way your voice had softened when you said it. I love you. Three words, plain and graceles, tumbling out like they'd escaped against your will. Your fingers curling against the sheets and the tiny pause afterward—that breath of suspended time where you had waited for him to meet you there.

And he hadn't.

He had stood on the very edge of everything he'd wanted for six years—six years, which was roughly forty percent of his entire existence and one hundred percent of his adolescence—and he had convinced himself that stepping forward was more dangerous than falling back.

He had finally kissed the girl who'd haunted his thoughts since he was eleven years old and too stupid to understand why her insults made his chest feel strange. He had finally heard you say you loved him to his face, with your whole heart in your voice.

And instead of recognizing it for the bloody miracle it was, he had panicked.

As though being loved were a trap. As though affection were some elaborate con, and you were merely waiting for the right moment to spring it.

As though you, of all people—brilliant, stubborn, infuriatingly principled you—were something he needed protecting from rather than running toward.

He laughed under his breath. The sound came out thin and joyless, startling in the empty corridor.

Afraid of being loved.

Such a stupid thing to be afraid of. It ranked right up there with afraid of winning the Quidditch Cup or afraid of someone handing you precisely what you've desperately wanted and asking nothing in return.

He had spent years wanting your attention.

Years engineering excuses to speak to you, picking fights in the corridors because negative attention was still attention, stealing your quills, hexing your textbooks, memorizing your class schedule so he could accidentally-on-purpose cross your path between classes.

He had told himself this behavior came from an innocent rivalry or perhaps even house pride, just the natural antagonism between Slytherin ambition and Gryffindor recklessness.

He had watched you from across the Great Hall, the way you laughed with Jo, the way you chewed your quill when you were thinking, the way the light caught your hair in the morning, and convinced himself it was harmless curiosity. Academic interest. The detached observation of a worthy opponent.

What a spectacular amount of bollocks he had fed himself.

He had wanted you persistently. Recklessly, in a way that would've horrified his younger self, who had been very committed to the aesthetic of cool indifference.

And when he finally had you, when you were warm and real and trusting in his arms, when you'd given yourself to him completely and then offered your heart on top of it like some undeserved gift—

He had recoiled.

Because being loved meant being seen.

It meant showing up. Being present. Letting someone witness all the parts of himself he usually kept buried under six layers of charm and sarcasm and ambition. It meant responsibility. Knowing that someone else's happiness was now tangled up in his own choices, his own failures, his own capacity to be something more than the sum of his defense mechanisms.

He had spent years telling himself he was being sensible.

Protecting people, he'd called it. Keeping them safe. As though his emotional unavailability were some sort of public service, a kindness he performed by keeping parts of himself locked away where they couldn't do damage.

He lived by three rules: feelings were liabilities, distance was safety, and caring too much was the fastest way to hand someone a weapon and hope they didn't use it.

It had been easy to believe that, growing up in a house where affection came with conditions and approval came with expectations. Where love had always been something that could be revoked at any moment—a privilege, not a given. A reward for good behavior, withdrawn the instant you failed to meet the mark.

So he'd learned early how to ration himself. How to care quietly, in ways that couldn't be measured or weaponised. How to want without asking. How to feel without admitting it, even to himself.

And it had worked. For years, it had worked.

He had been fine. Perfectly content in his carefully constructed fortress of emotional self-sufficiency.

Until you.

You, who had looked at his defenses not as walls to be respected but to be climbed. Who had called him out on his nonsense and refused to be impressed by his posturing and seen through him with a clarity that terrified him.

You had dismantled his entire system without even trying.

And now you were crying in the Gryffindor common room, probably being comforted by Jo who rightfully thought he was the worst sort of person, while he stood alone in a dark corridor with nothing but the wreckage of his own making for company.

He pressed his palm flat to his chest, as if he might physically restrain the ache there.

It didn't work. The ache remained, steady and insistent, a bruise that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. He had been given exactly what he wanted and he had thrown it away because he didn't believe he was allowed to keep it.

Because somewhere deep in the foundations of himself, in all the places his parents' voices still echoed, he had decided that love was not something people like him got to have. Not permanently. That wanting something too much was the surest way to lose it, and the safest course was to let go before it could be taken.

He had pre-empted his own heartbreak.

And in doing so, he had guaranteed it.

The realization settled over him slowly, and Na Jaemin—Slytherin Prefect, Quidditch star, heir to a name that opened doors across the wizarding world—had never felt more utterly, unforgivably small.

He thought of you, somewhere in Gryffindor Tower, believing you had been foolish to love him.

And he thought: No.

The only fool here is me.

Jaemin spent the next few days turning it over. You saying those three words and him saying it didn’t change anything. What a lie. It changed everything and he could feel every new fault line spider out beneath his feet, threatening to split him open.

At first, he tried to convince himself he needed this: to have the edge. He thought of the next two weeks as a sprint, a countdown to the end of the deal, a chance to reset before anyone saw how scrambled he’d become. But the more he tried to hold that line, the more he found himself drifting. A wordless longing in his veins, a kind of hunger not easily starved out.

He looked like hell at breakfast. Sungchan greeted him with a commence-the-mocking whistle and immediately began recounting every detail of the party—especially the part where Jaemin had “dragged his girlfriend off like the end of a Victorian bodice-ripper and nobody saw either of them again until morning.”

Jaemin grunted in response. He’d hoped that the Slytherin table’s perpetual ruckus would drown out his mood, but word had apparently traveled at broomstick speed that he and his Gryffindor paramour had disappeared into the night and returned separately.

“Did you see Y/N?” Giselle asked, low-voiced as she slid onto the bench next to him. “She didn’t come down yet. Jo said something about a headache, but you know what that usually means.”

Jaemin played dumb. It was one of his most reliable talents. “Hangover?”

Giselle’s lips thinned into an unimpressed line. “Try again.”

He almost managed a laugh. “What, mid-semester flu, then?”

Changmin leaned across the table to whack him on the forearm. “Knock it off. You know what she means.”

For a second, Jaemin's lip curled with the beginning of a sneer. Then he caught the genuine concern in Changmin's eyes, and something in his chest constricted painfully. He knew he was being intolerable, but couldn't seem to stop himself. Besides, when had his friends developed this sudden interest in your wellbeing? Just weeks ago, they'd barely concealed their disdain whenever your name came up.

He shrugged. “Didn’t realize you lot were so invested in her.”

Sungchan, mouth full of toast, said, “Are you thick? She’s basically our in-law now.”

Giselle, who had never in her life let a moment of vulnerability pass unremarked, pinned him with a look sharp enough to cut. “Stop pretending you don’t care,” she said quietly. “It’s pathetic.”

Jaemin tried to brush it off, but her words dug in. The table fell into a brief, uncharacteristic silence, broken only by the scrape of utensils and the dull roar of the rest of the Hall. His eyes betrayed him, sweeping across the Great Hall in search of your face. It was four minutes to the start of first period when you appeared, rumpled as a stray leaflet, hair yanked into a bun with a quill, the red in your eyes unsoftened by any attempt to conceal it. You didn’t look in his direction. Not even once.

Jo steered you to a seat as far from the Slytherin table as possible, and for the first time in living memory, you didn’t have a book open with breakfast. You just sat there, picking at a single triangle of toast, the very opposite of the person he’d chased across the halls for half a decade.

He watched you, hating himself for it but unable to stop. Any moment now, you’d look up with a tiny smile and mouth, “What are you looking at?” and the axis of his world would correct itself by one degree. Instead, you slipped out before the first bell.

At least he was reliably consistent. Second period hadn't even started and Jaemin had orchestrated a trinity of fleeting, meticulously planned collisions. He'd spent the first break loitering by the Charms corridor, just to see your profile as you debated something with Jo. You never saw him. Or if you did, you made a point of acting as if he were invisible—a feat that, for someone as volatile as you, must have taken immense restraint. Still, his pulse hammered at the mere proximity, the knowledge that you occupied the same ten-meter radius.

Then, after Defense, he'd shadowed your route to the library, walking the long way around just so he could pass you by the statue of Dymphna the Dazed. He’d spent so many hours studying your gait, the bounce in your step, the way you always fiddled with your wand as you walked that he could predict, to the second, when you'd arrive at the oak doors. The actual moment was almost an anticlimax, though: You breezed right past, not even a flicker of recognition in your gaze.

By the time he wandered into the stacks, he’d convinced himself that running into you was serendipity and not the carefully plotted vector of a moth to its own funeral pyre. He saw you perched at the edge of a reading table, surrounded by towers of books and an aura of such prickly concentration that even Madam Pince hovered before daring to approach. He pretended like he needed something from the Potions section, just adjacent to your fortress of solitude, but when you looked up and caught him standing there, he nearly dropped his armful of textbooks.

But you simply returned to your reading, jaw tight, quill moving in furious dashes. The rejection was as comprehensive as any hex, and it landed him two rows over, staring blankly at a shelf of moldy periodicals and trying to pretend his hands weren't shaking.

This was how the day went: Jaemin planning collisions, you dodging each one with exactness. He wondered if you knew you could destroy him just by looking his way.

You didn’t bite either way. You only spoke once to him, and it was to offer one brittle “Excuse me” as you slid past. He caught a whiff of your hair then and realized he’d missed that scent. It filled his head, left him dizzy. He didn’t turn around as you disappeared down the aisle. He only stood there, polysyllabic apologies crowding the back of his tongue—and not a single one fit to say aloud.

You knew the aftermath would be the hardest part, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the days that followed. They stretched out, elastic and punitive, filled with silences so loud you imagined they could split the castle at its seams.

In a fit of what you would later call “productive despair,” you doubled down on your schoolwork. Every study hour became a refuge, your textbooks a bulwark against thinking. Whiskers responded to your newly-acquired hermitage by laying siege to your lap at all hours, claws lightly sheathed, tail flicking in his sleep like he was chasing the very feelings you’d tried to outrun.

You became an expert at avoiding Jaemin. You timed your arrivals to classes, hung back until the corridors thinned, and made peace with the fact that every now and then, you’d have to let a Slytherin Prefect dock you house points for lateness. Sometimes it was even Jaemin himself; he’d hand you the slip with his eyes fixed somewhere behind your left ear.

Even the Slytherin first years who’d once delighted in blocking your path seemed to shrink away from the tableau, as if the story of your heartbreak had filtered down through the stone like cold water, softening even the nastiest traditions.

Jo, goddess among friends, never pressed. She introduced you to a new array of comfort snacks and developed a proprietary cocoa recipe that she claimed could “reanimate a troll.” She helped you with Charms and let you rant about nothing in particular. When you occasionally faltered—when your hand shook during practicals or you lost your place reading out loud in History of Magic—she’d bump your knee under the desk and say, “We’re almost there, kitten. Keep your chin up.”

You kept your chin up. It hurt but you did it, because Jo was watching, and because Whiskers was watching, and because you refused to let him have any more of your dignity than you’d already handed over.

Four days before the end of the arrangement, your N.E.W.Ts loomed like a darkening storm. You’d just finished revising for Arithmancy when Jo spoke, “We’re doing a girls’ night tonight. No arguments.” She produced two vials of Smuggler’s Pumpkin Spice Spirit (questionable provenance) and a deck of Exploding Snap. “And we’re inviting Yuna.”

You nearly choked. “Yuna?”

Jo nodded seriously. “I saw her crying in the North Tower last Tuesday. She needs it. We need it. Besides, she’s been relentlessly normal lately.”

The idea felt so surreal that you couldn’t bring yourself to object. At exactly ten, Yuna appeared outside your dormitory, balancing a tray of suspiciously glittery shot glasses. She wore pajamas patterned with tiny cats and a hesitant smile, both of which seemed calculated to defuse ancient hostilities.

The three of you sprawled on the floor of the dormitory. You, cross-legged and trying not to look like your entire emotional landscape was scorched earth; Jo, already red-cheeked and deploying her patented “I’m-not-drunk-you’re-drunk” strategy; and Yuna, who poured drinks for everyone.

The first round was vile. The second was marginally less vile, or perhaps your tongue had simply given up. After a few more, your nerves had been numbed enough that you no longer cared if anyone brought up the name “Jaemin”. Or maybe you wanted them to.

Eventually, Jo passed out. She did so with Whiskers pillowed on her belly and her arms flung overhead.Yuna watched her for a long, pensive moment. Then she poured each of you one last shot and raised hers in a slightly wobbly toast. “To stupid boys,” she said. “And to the girls surviving them.”

You clinked glasses. The spirit went down like molten pudding and settled somewhere near your spleen.

A companionable silence fell, the pleasant, boozy sort that felt safe enough to say things you would otherwise never let see daylight.

Yuna was the first to break it.

“He’s terrible at hiding it, you know,” she said. “Jaemin.”

You blinked. “What?”

“What he wants,” Yuna clarified. “It’s…not subtle.” She swirled her shot glass, watching the dregs coat the glassy bottom. “I think he makes things hard for himself, but harder for the people he cares about.” She flicked her gaze up. “And you must know. You’re the only one he’s ever actually cared about.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out flat. “I think you’re mixing up ‘care’ with ‘use as a convenient shield for his own problems.’”

Yuna’s expression shifted to puzzled. “Convenient shield?”

You blinked at her, a little dizzy, a little stunned that Yuna, one of Slytherin’s most preternaturally well-informed gossip, didn’t already know every miserable detail. “You—oh, come on. The arrangement.” You mimed air quotes with your fingers, nearly upending your glass in the process. “We only did this to get you off his bloody back.”

Yuna opened her mouth to say something,but then just burst out laughing. Not even a sly titter but a full-throated snort that startled Whiskers off Jo’s belly and into an escape beneath the bed.

“Oh—oh, Merlin’s balls—” Yuna gasped, clutching her ribs. “You—wait, you actually believed—oh, this is precious.”

You felt yourself flush with irritation. “What’s so funny? That you lost your shot at Jaemin?”

“No, you adorable idiot, not that.” Yuna shook her head, wiping away a tear of mirth. “Are you serious? I’ve only ever talked to Jaemin because he’s Changmin’s best friend, and Changmin—well…”

She trailed off, her cheeks going very pink, then, as if you weren’t present at all, she laid her head back against the bottom bunk and stared at the ceiling, a contented smile on her lips.

You waited for more context, a swirl of confusion tangling up your tongue. There was a thud as Whiskers landed on the foot of the bed, followed by the faintest prickle of claws as he padded up beside you.

Finally, the implication of her words hit your tipsy brain. “Wait. You’re not—I mean. You weren’t even—?”

“Into Jaemin?” Yuna finished for you. “Merlin, no. Not since third year at least—and even then, only in the way you want a new pair of boots.” She shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “He’s nice to look at, but a nightmare to date. Total self-saboteur.” She glanced at you, curious. “You really thought I was after him?”

You felt lightheaded. “I mean you were everywhere—”

“I was following Changmin, you dolt.” Yuna’s face went even pinker if possible. “I set this whole thing up to make him jealous. I mean, it worked, he finally asked me to Hogsmeade, but—” she broke off, suddenly shy. “Sorry for the collateral damage. Truly.”

You stared at her, the pieces of the last months threatening to explode through the air. All that plotting, the drama, every humiliating emotional contortion you’d endured, and all this time… Jaemin hadn’t been fighting off Yuna. He’d just, what?

Did he just want an excuse to be near you, because he was pathologically incapable of admitting how much he needed it, even to himself? Every ounce of dignity you'd sacrificed, every moment of your life spent embroiled in this nonsense, and the object of his supposed self-sacrifice had been pining for Changmin the entire time.

You took a long, bracing inhale, thumping your head once hard against the edge of the bed frame.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered.

Yuna, to her credit, had the decency not to gloat. She nudged Whiskers toward you. “He’s always liked you, you know,” she said. “Even before. He used to ask me how to get you to stop hating him, like I had some kind of… girl code manual.”

You eyed her. “Did you?”

Yuna nodded, propping her chin on her knees. “I told him to try being honest for once. Clearly, he didn’t listen.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the only person who makes him utterly lose his composure. He’s usually… impossible to fluster. Kind of his thing. But around you it’s like—you light a match and throw it into his brain.”

“Well, I certainly managed to set something on fire,” you said, and surprised yourself with a half-laugh. “Just not in any useful way.”

Yuna scooted a little closer, lowering her voice. “I know you probably don’t want my advice, but… maybe give him a chance to fix it. He’s genuinely bad at this stuff.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to forgive him, but if you’re waiting for him to say the right thing, you might be waiting forever.”

Her words slotted into place in your exhausted brain, like the last piece of a hopelessly complicated puzzle. Horrible, giddy amusement bubbled up your chest: all this time, you’d been fighting the wrong war, arming yourself against an enemy who’d never even taken the field.

You left Jo and Yuna asleep in each other's arms, Whiskers curled into a protective gray-striped crescent at the foot of the bed. Every portrait squinted with suspicious half-lidded eyes, and every suit of armor clattered medieval disapproval as you ran past them.

You didn't think much about where you were going, but the probability was as precise as Divination could ever muster: the Slytherin common room. Because if there was a single neuron left swimming in your firewhisky-addled brain, it was firing like a desperate flare directly toward Na Jaemin.

You padded soundlessly through the dungeons, fingertips trailing along the cool stone walls for balance, only to round a corner and nearly collide with a tall silhouette legging it up from the other direction. Jaemin, hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours, shirt untucked with three buttons misaligned, and eyes wild as a cornered hippogriff, skidded to a halt so abrupt you both nearly toppled over.

You just stood there, staring, every cell in your body screaming and also quite possibly vibrating. Through the haze of fatigue and shame and liquor, you registered every heartbreakingly specific detail of him: the spike in his breathing, the way he braced one hand against the wall as if he needed it to hold up the rest of him, the deep crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was actively terrified.

The words queued up, fighting to be first out. “I—” “Listen—” “Can we—” “Please—”

A jumble, then an accidental harmony: “I need to talk to you.”

For one second, you considered turning around and running. But the way Jaemin looked at you pinned you to the spot.

He spoke first. “Come to the broom closet? I think I saw Mrs Norris nearby, which means… ”

“Filch,” you finished for him. “Okay, let’s go.”

You followed him in silence, down the corridor to the oversized closet that Slytherins had used for centuries to hide everything from illicit liquor to first-year snoggers. He held the door open, then closed it behind you, which left you not even three feet apart.

Jaemin propped his back against the door and exhaled so slowly it sounded like the last breath of a dying man. You tried not to notice that his hands were shaking. Or that he looked, for all his composure, completely lost. “I, um.” He looked down at his own shoes. “Y/N, I fucked up.”

You blinked. You’d come here to yell, maybe. Or at least to interrogate some truths out of him, like why he had so thoroughly detonated your entire sense of self. But he’d opened with the guilt and you weren’t ready for it. Unpracticed, unbuffered by the ice of pride or wit. It landed inside you with an unexpected warmth that left you unable to launch the first missile of your prepared invective.

He tried again. “I said things I didn’t mean. Or… didn’t say things I was supposed to.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, and for the first time in your long and bitter acquaintance, he looked his age. Not the chiseled, archvillain Slytherin but a seventeen-year-old boy who’d just spent the last week eating his own heart.

You pressed your back to the shelving, feeling a bristle of ancient brooms poking into your shoulder. It was easier to focus on the physical discomfort than the absolute riot of feelings inside you. “Why did you do it, then?” you asked, voice trembling but louder than you felt. “Why pretend? Why go through all of it if you didn’t—”

He looked up then, and the world stopped. You'd always known Jaemin had pretty eyes, almost stupidly so, but you'd never seen them this stripped of showmanship. There was nothing left in them but the need to be understood.

He ran both hands through his hair, almost laughing at himself. “Growing up, love was like a… currency. My parents, they’d dole it out in rations, make you earn it, then yank it away when you needed it most. Every hug, every ‘I’m proud of you’—it was an investment, and nothing was free. I don’t want to do that.”

He broke off, looking at you as if every word took a year off his life. “But then you—fuck, Y/N, you just loved me. Out loud. Not because you had to, or because I earned it, but because you wanted to. And I didn’t know what to do with that, so I panicked and did what I always do, which is ruin things before they can ruin me.”

You might have laughed, if it hadn’t stung so much. “You could’ve just said it back, you know. Or at least not torched me on the way out.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I wanted to. I do. I just—” He exhaled again and met your gaze. “I actually love you so much, and it scares me so bad I’d rather light the whole thing on fire than tell you to your face.I thought if you ever knew, if you ever saw how fucking much it was, you’d run for the hills. I was scared.” He huffed a laugh. “I’m still scared.”

You stared at him, the old defenses rising out of habit—sarcasm, skepticism, the impulse to twist anything freely given—but something in his voice made them shrivel away. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t even posturing. He was sweating through his shirt in a freezing stone corridor, admitting in the most un-Slytherin way possible that he wanted something enough to break himself for it.

He took a faltering step toward you. “I love you. I love you so much it makes my head hurt, and every time you look at me, I feel like I’m being given something I’m not allowed to keep. You’re so smart, brilliant really, you make everything feel less small and stupid, and I like how you argue even when you know you’re wrong, and sometimes I go out of my way just to hear you laugh at me, because when you do it I feel like maybe I’m not a total waste of oxygen—”

He broke off, eyes wild and shining. “You make me better, from the inside out. And I was so terrified that if you ever saw the real me—if I let you in even a little—I’d ruin it. Or you’d hate me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But I ruined it anyway,didn’t I?”

You listened in shock, because this was the Jaemin you’d believed existed only at the very edges of his brittle, cocky mask. The one who’d made a study of you, who’d learned all your favorite spells and matched your every move. You weren’t sure you knew how to reply. The gravity of his confession pressed you to the wall.

"I'm not going to say it was fine," you whispered, voice cracking. "It felt like you'd reached inside my chest and—" You pressed a trembling hand to your sternum. "God, Jaemin. I couldn't breathe for days. But even then, I never—" Your voice broke completely. "I never really hated you. Not even when I probably should've."

He breathed out. “You’ve no idea how much I wanted you to hate me properly. Would’ve made everything simpler.”

“Why spend all that time and effort in this charade? You could've just been honest... You had no idea how I would take it.”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose as if the pain of the question might physically rupture his skull. “Because I didn’t know how else to have you, and I thought the only way you’d let me close was if it was an act.”

You wanted to spit something cruel, but it collapsed against the lump in your throat. “You incredible, galloping idiot,” you said instead, mostly to yourself.

You were about to speak again when he slipped a hand inside the folds of his robes. A familiar spine emerged, its dark leather cover worn soft across the creased corners, the gold lettering faintly dulled by time.

Wuthering Heights. It was the very copy you’d pressed into his hand weeks ago, at Tomes and Scrolls, half in jest. You’d expected him to snort and set it aside unread, or skim a few florid passages, shrug, and call it melodramatic nonsense. But now its pages were dog-eared, edges curling; a thin gold ribbon marked a specific chapter. The paper around it was so softened that you could almost see the imprint of fingertips pressed into the margins—tiny scrawled notes in cramped handwriting, evidence of long, late-night wrestling matches with Emily Brontë’s tempestuous souls.

Jaemin’s fingers trembled as he thumbed to the ribboned page. He cleared his throat, that quiet catch sounding louder in the hush around you, and lifted his gaze. The brown of his eyes locked onto yours so fiercely your ribs felt oddly vulnerable, as if he were staring right through your chest. Then, he began:

“Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You stared at the book, at the margin notes, at the little crease in the paper where he’d returned again and again.

“You read it,” you whispered shakily. “You actually read it.”

He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear and offered you a shy, sheepish smile. “I got about three pages in and thought, ‘This is the most overwrought melodramatic nonsense I have ever encountered and she’ll never let me live it down if I admit I liked it.’”

Your breath caught, and you laughed softly. “So the Slytherin prince secretly studies Muggle love tragedies for—what? Sport?”

“For you.” His words fell simple and straight, but you saw in the tense set of his shoulders how much it cost him. “I remembered what you once said. That words could be more powerful than any spell. That some stories could make you feel things magic never touches.” He swallowed, eyes flicking away for only an instant. “I wanted to understand. I wanted to see the world the way you do. Even if… even if you never spoke to me again, I needed something of how you think.”

Your throat tightened around all the things you wanted to say.

“I love you,” he said suddenly. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. I’ll resign as a Prefect, stop dining in the Great Hall… never speak to you again, if that’s how it has to be—”

“Jaemin—”

“And if you think I’m not worth the effort, if you find some sensible bloke that's smarter and more emotional available instead of—” He gestured at himself “—a stupid prick with a habitual avoidance of feelings, that’s fine too, I unders—”

“Jaemin.”

He stumbled to silence, eyes wide, braced for your anger or dismissal. Instead, you stepped forward. “I think,” you said softly, “I’d rather take my chances with a Slytherin who panics at his own heart.”

His whole face broke into a tentative, trembling smile that brightened by the second, like dawn’s first light spilling over the lake.

“You don’t hate me, then?”

“Oh, I do,” you teased, closing the distance between you. “Just not enough to stop wanting to kiss you.”

He laughed a breathless, disbelieving sound that left him momentarily speechless. “That’s… a very low bar.”

“It’s the bar you set,” you said, reaching up to smooth the crease by his temple. “I’m just acknowledging it.”

He was so close now you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the restless hours he’d spent reading. His breath hitched, and his fingers, still warm around your forearm, shook.

“One condition.”

“Anything.”

“No more schemes. No more elaborate lies to keep me close. If you want something from me, you ask. And if you ever feel like sabotaging yourself again, you write it in a journal like every other teenager, and you keep me out of it.”

His eyes shone with relief and determination. “Deal. I swear it. Honest to Merlin, I’ll be so transparent you’ll beg me to tell a little white lie.”

“Unlikely.” You tousled his hair affectionately.

“I’ll be boring and straightforward and—”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“—and I’ll read every book you recommend, even the ones you hate, so at least we can hate them together. I’ll tell you if I’m scared instead of running away, and I’ll—”

“Jaemin.”

He stopped and blinked up at you, a hopeful question in his gaze.

“Shut up and come here.”

He closed the last few inches between you, cupping your face as if it were made of spun glass. His thumbs traced the damp paths of your tears, his eyes pleading.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the soft curve of your lips. “For all of it—for the lies, the running, the… spectacular emotional incompetence. I’m so sorry.”

You rested your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart. “I know.”

He drew a shaky breath. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

You pressed your forehead to his “I will.”

"Yeah?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Already there."

And then, finally, his mouth found yours.

The kiss was unhurried. A little clumsy. Both of you slightly out of practice with each other, slightly hesitant, slightly afraid this might still evaporate if you moved too fast.

But it was real.

You could taste the years of wanting and the weeks of pretending and the days of heartbreak. The sharp edge of pain, slowly dulling. The first green shoots of something that might, given enough time and care, grow into something lasting.

You smiled against his lips. Let your fingers curl into the collar of his robes. Kissed him back with every ounce of mortifying hope you'd sworn you'd bury.

There was nothing staged here. Only the press of his mouth saying yes and sorry and I love you and please, over and over, until the words became simpler.

Stay, his kiss said. Stay, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.

When you eventually separated, both breathing heavily, your foreheads touched.

"Let's see how long it takes you to mess this up," you murmured.

He laughed, eyes bright with joy. "Reckon I've got until dinner at best."

"Don't push your luck."

You kissed him once more, simply because it was possible. Because you wanted to. Because for five endless days you'd believed this door closed forever, and now finding it open seemed too precious to ignore.

Gossip would explode anew, inevitably. By evening meal, whispers would spread about you two emerging from an empty classroom, looking thoroughly kissed. By morning, a dozen conflicting stories would circulate. Within a week, the castle's most creative rumormongers would have you practically married.

But in this moment—his hand entwined with yours, his smile against your temple, your future sketched in pencil rather than vanishing ink—the entire castle seemed beautifully uncomplicated.

For a pair of hopeless liars, it made for a surprisingly honest beginning.

taglist: @horanghaepaws @ww8hao @alwayswithjaemin @enhalovie @yhyhyhh26 @soominis @leehaechie @beachbabe4ever @markiesfatbooty @chaoticallytaken @notmastyle

thank u so much for all ur support <33

[jikookncity]

Nerd Jeno x Reader (smut)

Wc: 4.6k, unprotected sex, shower sex, DOM/MEAN JENO, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, manhandling, oral sex, fingering

Popular girl y/n is irritated when the campus nerd Lee Jeno has to tutor her, she makes it clear they are NOT friends and it will never turn into anymore more....until it does.

------------

If there was one thing Lee Jeno knew about Y/N, it was that she was untouchable.

Not the kind of untouchable people whispered about because she was sweet and shy—no, she was the kind people talked about in locker rooms, over beers, in hushed, jealous tones. Every frat boy had tried to get with her, every varsity player had shot his shot, and every single one of them had failed spectacularly. She was bratty. She was hard to get. And she was damn good at making sure nobody even got close.

Which was exactly why Jeno had spent the last two years watching her from a very safe distance.

He wasn’t stupid—he might be able to solve advanced calculus in his head, but even he knew the odds of a hoodie-wearing, glasses-pushing, lab-loving nerd like him ever getting a girl like her were less than zero. So he kept his crush locked away, buried under assignments, coding projects, and chess club meetings.

Until today.

“You’re going to tutor her.”

Jeno blinked at Professor Cho, who had just dropped the bomb in the middle of a quiet afternoon lab session. “I’m sorry… what?”

“You’re top of the class. She’s…” The professor trailed off, clearly choosing his words carefully. “…not. If she doesn’t pass the midterm, she’s done for the semester. You’ll meet twice a week.”

Before Jeno could argue, the classroom door swung open, and Y/N walked in—late, unapologetic, tossing her bag on the desk like she owned the place.

Professor Cho’s smile was tight. “Perfect timing. Y/N, meet your new tutor.”

Her eyes slid over to Jeno, a slow, assessing sweep from his sneakers to the hood pulled over his head. The corner of her mouth lifted in the faintest smirk.

“You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

“Not at all,” the professor replied. “You start tomorrow.”

---------

The first session went… surprisingly well.

Jeno was patient, methodical, and annoyingly good at explaining things. She didn’t roll her eyes as much as he’d expected. She even laughed once—soft, quick, like she didn’t mean for it to slip out.

But as soon as she closed her notebook, the warmth vanished.

“Okay,” she said, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Ground rules. We’re not friends. This isn’t some cheesy romcom where we bond over study sessions and fall in love.”

Jeno’s throat went dry. “Right.”

“The second you’re done tutoring me, we go back to being strangers. Got it?”

He hesitated, just long enough for her to notice. “Got it.”

She gave him one last look—something unreadable flickering in her eyes—before walking out, leaving him staring at the empty seat she’d just occupied.

He told himself he was fine with it. He’d take whatever he could get.

But somewhere deep down, a dangerous little thought whispered that maybe… maybe she wouldn’t be untouchable forever.

Y/N’s best friend nearly choked on her iced coffee when she heard the news. “Wait—Lee Jeno? That Lee Jeno? The nerdiest guy on campus?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing her phone into her tote. “Yes, I know who he is.”

Her friend grinned. “You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to survive this,” Y/N corrected. “Barely.”

The library was quieter than usual when she arrived, the sound of low chatter and the occasional shuffle of papers filling the air. She spotted Jeno already sitting at a corner table, laptop open, neatly stacked notes beside him. Of course he was early.

She was halfway across the main floor when a loud voice rang out from the gym doors on the far side. “Heads up!”

Y/N barely had time to register the orange blur flying toward her head before another hand shot up, catching the basketball midair with an easy, practiced motion.

Jeno.

He didn’t even flinch. Just turned toward the group of sheepish basketball players and tossed the ball back with a clean arc. “Careful,” he called, calm but firm.

Y/N blinked at him, slowing her steps. “Uh… thanks.”

His mouth curved slightly, almost shy. “No problem.”

“You’ve got… surprisingly good reflexes.”

He shrugged. “Play with friends once in a while.”

She tilted her head, feigning shock. “You have friends?”

The way his brow lifted made her immediately backtrack. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he said, chuckling. “Nerds have friends too, you know.”

Something about the way he laughed—low, warm—made her glance at him a second longer before pulling out a chair.

They fell into the lesson easily, Jeno explaining concepts in that calm, patient voice that made even the most boring material feel manageable. Y/N jotted notes, nodding along, but her mind kept wandering.

Maybe there was more to Lee Jeno than the hoodies, the glasses, and the straight-A reputation.

Maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t as untouchable to her as she thought.

--------------

Y/N had promised to give Jeno’s textbook back once she was done copying his notes. She told herself it was no big deal—just a quick drop-off, maybe a nod of thanks, and she’d be on her way.

But when she turned the corner onto his street, she froze.

Jeno was outside, crouched next to an older silver sedan with the hood propped open, a smudge of oil on his cheek. He wore his usual hoodie, but the sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing lean, toned forearms she had never seen before. His skin caught the late afternoon light, veins faintly visible beneath it, and for some ridiculous reason, she forgot what she’d come for.

Clearing her throat, she held the textbook up like a shield. “Uh, hey. Here’s your book.”

He glanced over, smiling faintly as he wiped his hands on a rag. “Thanks. Wanna come in for a quick study session? Test’s tomorrow.”

She shrugged, trying to act unaffected. “Sure.”

Inside, his apartment was exactly what she expected—clean, tidy, and organized down to the last detail. The couch cushions were aligned perfectly, the shelves neat, not a speck of dust in sight.

They settled at his small dining table, laptops and notebooks spread out. The next hour passed in focused work, Jeno calmly quizzing her, Y/N tossing back sarcastic remarks when she got something wrong, only to roll her eyes when he smirked and corrected her.

The test itself was online but proctored in class the next day—no notes, no help—so this was their last practice run.

When they finally clicked submit, both leaned in toward the screen. The score appeared in bold.

Y/N squealed before she could stop herself, jumping up from her chair and throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh my god! That’s the best grade I’ve ever gotten!”

Her smile was so wide it made Jeno’s chest feel strangely tight.

She pulled back abruptly, cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I just—got too excited.”

“You’re all good,” he said softly, still smiling. “I’m glad the tutoring’s helping you out.”

Something about the way he said it—genuine, with that small glint in his eyes—made her linger just a moment longer before stepping back.

Their next tutoring session went smoothly, almost too smoothly. Y/N answered questions faster than before, her handwriting neater, her confidence sharper. Jeno noticed, but he didn’t say anything—he just let that small, proud smile tug at the corners of his mouth every time she got something right.

When the session ended, she pushed back her chair a little too fast, standing in one motion—and promptly tripped over the strap of her bag.

“Shit—” she gasped, but before she could hit the ground, Jeno’s arms wrapped around her waist, steady and strong.

Her breath caught.

She knew Jeno was tall under all those hoodies, sure, but she hadn’t expected the sheer solidity of him. His chest was firm against her shoulder, his arms steady and toned, nothing like the slouchy sweaters he wore every day suggested. For a second, it felt like she’d stumbled into a completely different version of him—one nobody else knew about.

She pulled back quickly, mumbling, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, releasing her gently, as if he hadn’t just completely thrown her perception of him off balance.

Y/N grabbed her bag strap, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat was still skipping around. “Come over later, okay? We should study for that test next week.”

Jeno shook his head, slipping his notes back into his folder. “Can’t. Busy tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

Her brow arched. “Busy doing what?”

“Got a date,” he said casually, straight-faced.

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening on the strap. Something in her chest twisted sharply.

But then he laughed, the corners of his mouth curving up as he shook his head. “I’m kidding. Just hanging out with some friends.”

She forced a laugh of her own, rolling her eyes like it didn’t matter. “Wow, hilarious. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

But the whole walk home, she couldn’t shake the question from her head.

Why had the idea of Jeno having a date bothered her so much?

-----------

The next day, Jeno was bent over a textbook in class, quietly explaining a problem to a girl from the row behind him. He didn’t notice Y/N at first—until she suddenly appeared at his desk, sliding in beside him with a sweet smile that made his explanation trail off.

“Jeno,” she said, voice softer than usual, her hand brushing his sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world, “I need your help with something.”

He blinked, stuttering. “O-oh… sure.”

The other girl gave a polite smile before heading back to her seat, leaving Y/N to plop down right next to him, closer than she usually sat during their tutoring sessions. She rested her chin in her hand, not even looking at the notes as Jeno started explaining again.

Her eyes weren’t on the page. They were on him.

When he paused to push his glasses up his nose, she tilted her head. “Can I try those on?”

Jeno looked at her like she’d asked to borrow his laptop password. “…My glasses?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sweetly, reaching out before he could really answer.

He hesitated, then sighed, sliding them off and handing them to her.

She slipped them on, the oversized frames slipping down the bridge of her nose. She looked ridiculous. She looked… beautiful.

Jeno’s stomach lurched as his cock twitched, heat pooling low before he forced himself to keep his expression steady. He swallowed, hard.

“Wow,” she said, blinking as she squinted through his lenses. “Your eyesight’s terrible.”

Then, carefully, she leaned forward and slid them back onto his face, her fingers brushing his temple, light and deliberate.

Jeno sat perfectly still, trying to breathe evenly.

Something was different about her today—she was clingy, playful, almost flirtatious. He didn’t understand why, and it left him rattled.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” Y/N said casually, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She smirked as she stood. “At my place. Don’t be late.”

Jeno watched her walk away, still trying to piece together what just happened.

And why, for the first time, he was starting to think she wasn’t untouchable at all.

When Jeno showed up at Y/N’s apartment that evening, he almost tripped over his own feet.

She opened the door in a short, pleated mini skirt and a soft pink top that dipped just low enough to make him swallow hard. But what really got him was the faint, fruity scent that hit him when she leaned close while pulling him inside—watermelon and strawberry, sweet and dizzying. Lip gloss.

He tried to focus on the open textbooks spread across her coffee table, but every time she leaned in, her hair brushed his arm, and the scent of her lip gloss teased his senses. He wondered, not for the first time that night, if she’d gotten just a little more dressed up for him.

They worked through a few practice problems until Y/N suddenly pushed the book shut with a thump. Jeno blinked at her.

“Can I ask you something personal?” she said, tilting her head, her eyes shining with curiosity.

“Uh… sure,” he said cautiously.

“What’s your type?”

He froze, letting out a small, awkward laugh. “Why… why do you want to know that?”

She shrugged, twirling her pen lazily. “I just want to know you more.”

He raised an eyebrow, reminding her gently, “Didn’t you make it clear we’re not friends?”

Her smile faltered, and for a second she actually looked guilty. “Yeah. I was rude before. I’m sorry. I’d… like to be friends now. If you're cool with that?”

Something in his chest eased at that. Slowly, he smiled back. “Sure.”

Y/N squealed, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Jeno stiffened at first, the warmth of her body pressing close, the faint smell of watermelon gloss lingering right under his nose.

She pulled back just enough to look at him again. “So… you never answered my question.”

He gave in with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Someone confident. Willing to learn. Open-minded. And nice.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, her gloss catching the light. “Interesting.”

And for the rest of the evening, Jeno couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to figure out if she fit that description.

-----------

The courtyard was buzzing with students, laughter carrying on the breeze, the grass warm underfoot from the afternoon sun. Y/N and Jeno sat cross-legged on a blanket beneath a wide oak tree, books and notes spread out between them. For once, studying didn’t feel so heavy—it felt easy, almost… nice.

Halfway through a practice question, a shadow fell across their notes.

“Hey,” a guy with a soccer ball tucked under his arm said, grinning down at Y/N. “Sorry to bother you, but… can I get your number?”

Y/N didn’t even blink. “No.”

The guy frowned, undeterred. “Come on. Just one date?”

Jeno shifted uncomfortably, but before he could say anything, the guy’s gaze flicked toward him. “What about him? Is he your boyfriend or something?”

“Yes,” Y/N said instantly, her voice sharp. “So you better leave.”

The guy’s brows shot up, confusion written all over his face. He glanced at Jeno, who sat there frozen, before finally muttering something under his breath and walking off.

Y/N let out a long sigh, slumping back against the tree. “Sorry. It’s just… easier to reject guys by saying I’m taken.”

Jeno recovered quickly, offering her one of his soft, lopsided smiles. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

She cursed silently in her head. Damn him. He was so sweet—so genuinely kind—that it made her chest ache. And worse, it was happening: she was actually falling for him.

They wrapped up their notes as the sun dipped lower, golden light brushing against Jeno’s face every time he glanced up from his laptop. When they finally packed their bags, Y/N stood and hesitated for just a second before leaning in.

“Thanks for today,” she said quietly, brushing her lips against his cheek.

Jeno went absolutely still, heat rushing to his face.

By the time they parted ways, both of them were walking in opposite directions with the same dumb smile tugging at their mouths—completely unaware of how obvious they looked to anyone watching.

----------

Y/N had made up her mind.

She wanted him. Lee Jeno—hoodies, glasses, nerdy reputation and all. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. She wanted him, and she wasn’t going to waste another second pretending otherwise.

That’s how she ended up at his apartment again, sitting on the floor beside his coffee table, textbooks and laptops open between them. Only this time, she wasn’t paying attention.

Not at all.

Her chin rested on her hand, her eyes on him instead of the notes he was explaining. The way his brows drew together when he concentrated, the curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of muscle under his hoodie—it was all she could see.

Jeno finally exhaled, closing his book with a soft thump. “Y/N… why did you even come over if you don’t wanna study?”

Before he could lecture her, she leaned in and kissed him.

Jeno froze, eyes wide behind his glasses. But then something inside him broke loose, and he kissed her back, warm and desperate. She crawled into his lap, straddling him, her fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging softly.

His hands found her waist, gripping tight, pulling her flush against him like he’d been dying for this moment. He broke the kiss just long enough to look at her, his voice low and careful. “Are you sure you want this?”

She nodded without hesitation, eyes bright. “I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

He kissed her again, harder, but this time something shifted. A tension that had always simmered beneath his quiet demeanor finally surfaced. Jeno’s hands slid lower before, with shocking strength, he flipped her beneath him on the carpet, one palm pressing firmly against the side of her neck, holding her there.

Y/N gasped, her eyes going wide as he leaned down, his breath hot against her ear.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered, voice rougher, darker than she’d ever heard it.

Her pulse raced beneath his hand, shock sparking through her—but mixed with it was something else. Something that made her body arch toward him instead of away.

Jeno’s mouth was everywhere—claiming hers, trailing down her jaw, biting lightly at her neck until her soft gasps filled the apartment. His hand stayed firm against her throat, not choking, just holding her there as if to remind her who was in control.

He pulled back just long enough to search her eyes. “One last time. You’re sure you want this?”

“Yes,” Y/N breathed, her voice almost frantic. “Please.”

Something snapped in him at that. His expression darkened, a rough smile curving his mouth. “That’s all I needed.”

He tugged at her top, peeling it off in one fluid motion, his fingers skimming her bare skin as if memorizing every inch. Her skirt followed, leaving her flushed and writhing beneath him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Jeno muttered, voice thick as he pushed her panties aside and slid down between her thighs.

Y/N barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on her, hot and hungry. His tongue licked slow, deliberate strokes before delving deeper, sucking at her clit until she cried out. She tangled her hands in his hair, hips arching helplessly, but Jeno only gripped her tighter, groaning against her like he couldn’t get enough.

Her moans filled the quiet apartment, her pleas spilling from her lips until he finally pulled away, his chin slick. He wiped it carelessly with the back of his hand, eyes dark with want.

“Up,” he ordered, hauling her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She squealed, clutching at him as he carried her down the short hall to his bedroom.

The moment they crossed the threshold, he dropped her onto the bed, pulling his hoodie over his head in one sharp motion.

Y/N’s breath caught. His glasses stayed on, slightly askew, but nothing could distract from the sight of him—broad shoulders, thick arms flexing, abs carved sharp under the low light.

“I knew it,” she whispered, a grin breaking through as she crawled toward him on all fours, kissing across his chest, her hands roaming greedily over muscles she hadn’t even imagined before.

He caught her chin in one hand, yanking her head back with a fistful of hair, his mouth crashing against hers. His tongue licked into her mouth, biting at her lower lip until she moaned.

Jeno smirked against her lips, mean and hungry. “Beg for it.”

She did, breathless and desperate, as he shoved the rest of his clothes off, revealing the last of him.

And with his glasses still perched on his nose, hair mussed from her grip, he had never looked hotter.

Jeno shoved her back into the mattress, caging her in with his body. His mouth latched onto her chest, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before sucking one nipple into his mouth. Y/N’s back arched instantly, a helpless moan spilling from her lips.

“Jeno—” she gasped, clutching at his hair, nails raking across his shoulders as his tongue flicked mercilessly.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he growled against her skin, his hand squeezing her other breast rougher than she expected. He switched sides, biting just enough to make her whimper.

“More,” she begged, her voice cracking, her bottom lip trembling in a pout. Her eyes watered with frustration, overwhelmed with how much she wanted him. “Please, Jeno, I need more—”

He pulled back, smirking down at her, chest rising and falling heavy. “You’re crying for it already? Pathetic little thing.” He brushed his thumb across her damp cheek almost mockingly. “I love it.”

His hand slid down between her thighs, teasing her slit with his thick fingers before he pressed them inside her. She jolted, crying out, but he only laughed, curling them deep and slow until she was dripping for him.

“You’re so ready I could just—” he cut himself off with a sharp curse, dragging her hips closer until he lined himself up.

Her breath caught as she looked at him, desperation clear in her eyes. “Please. I want you.”

“Good girl,” he muttered darkly, then pushed into her in one hard stroke.

Y/N’s gasp turned into a cry, her hands clutching his arms, eyes squeezing shut as he filled her completely. The stretch was almost too much, but it was exactly what she needed. Her pout turned into trembling moans, tears gathering again as relief washed through her body.

Finally. Finally, she had him.

Jeno’s jaw tightened, a low groan ripping from his throat. “Fuck, you feel better than I ever imagined.”

He shoved his glasses off, tossing them to the nightstand before pinning her wrists above her head, thrusting hard and steady. Y/N couldn’t stop kissing him, pulling him down over and over, her lips clinging to his as though she couldn’t get enough.

“Stay still,” he barked when her hips lifted to meet his, his palm slapping against her ass in a sharp spank that made her squeal. “You move when I let you.”

Her whimper only made him pound into her harder, the bed creaking under the force. Each thrust had her unraveling, her nails digging into his back, her lips chasing his even when he tried to pull away.

“Jeno—oh my god—”

“Mine now,” he muttered into her mouth, biting at her lips again, his rhythm growing rougher, hungrier.

She shattered beneath him, her cries muffled against his mouth, and he followed seconds later, groaning her name as he drove into her one last time.

Exhaustion hit them both at once. Jeno collapsed against her, his sweat-slicked chest pressing to hers, his breath hot against her neck.

And Y/N… she was utterly satisfied, boneless beneath him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his back.

Jeno lifted his head just enough to look at her, lips curving into a rare, soft smile. “Finally got you,” he murmured. “The girl I wanted all along.”

Y/N kissed him one more time, slow and tender, and for the first time that night, he kissed her back just as gently.

-------------

The shower filled with steam almost instantly, the water hitting hot against YN’s back as Jeno pinned her to the tile wall. Droplets rolled down his broad shoulders, running down the thick muscles of his arms that caged her in, his body towering over hers in every sense. His lips claimed her mouth again, wet and insistent, his tongue sliding deep as his hands gripped her thighs. He lifted her effortlessly, her back pressing harder against the tiles.

YN’s gasp broke against his lips when he pushed into her, her nails instinctively clawing at his damp skin. “J-Jeno—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, biting down on her bottom lip before pulling away to look at her. His gaze was dark behind his fogged glasses, mouth curved into that cocky, cruel smile she was learning to crave. “Taking me so good, baby. Look at you—bouncing like you’re made for me.”

He slammed into her again, harder, and YN couldn’t help the broken moan that tore from her throat. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support, biting down on the hard swell of his bicep when he picked up the pace. Jeno growled low, the sound vibrating against her ear.

“Marking me now?” His teeth grazed her jaw as he thrust deep enough to make her cry out. “Go ahead. Leave your little scratches and bites. Everyone on campus will see me walking around with them and they’ll have no idea what they mean.”

YN whimpered, dragging her nails across his abs, watching the way the water slid down his ridges, making every muscle twitch under her touch. She couldn’t stop kissing him—his neck, his jaw, his mouth, anywhere she could reach—while he took her relentlessly.

“Fuck—look at these tits,” Jeno grunted, eyes locked on her chest as they bounced with each motion. He brought one hand up from her thigh to palm her breast roughly, his thumb flicking over her nipple before pinching hard enough to make her gasp. “Perfect. You’re mine, you hear me? None of those losers you hang around with could ever fuck you like this. They couldn’t even dream about it.”

“Yes—only you,” she moaned desperately, hips rolling to meet his thrusts. Her voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes from the overwhelming pressure building inside her. “Just you, Jeno. No one else.”

His mouth crashed onto hers again, tongue dominating, biting at her lips as he groaned into her mouth. The words fell filthy and cruel between kisses, every thrust a reminder of his control.

When her orgasm tore through her, it hit hard—her body spasming in his grip, head falling back against the wall as she cried out his name. Jeno watched her fall apart, lips dragging against her throat, murmuring filth into her skin. He didn’t stop until he was chasing his own release, hips jerking against her as he spilled inside her, groaning low and deep against her mouth.

Her body shook in his hold, but he held her up, kissing her softly now, his tongue gentler, contrasting the roughness from moments before.

The shower washed them clean, but nothing could wash away the heat between them.

The next morning felt surreal. YN woke tangled in Jeno’s sheets, his heavy arm draped around her waist, his chest pressed firm against her back. When she shifted, he stirred, lips brushing the curve of her shoulder. “Morning,” he muttered, voice husky from sleep.

She smiled to herself, warmth spreading in her chest.

By the time they stepped onto campus together later that day, Jeno’s hoodie sleeves were pushed up his forearms, showing off faint crescent marks she’d left behind. His hand was firmly locked with hers, no hesitation, no attempt to hide it. Heads turned instantly, whispers rippling through the crowd of students like wildfire.

“Is that—?” “No way…” “Since when?”

YN’s cheeks burned under the stares, but Jeno just smirked, tugging her closer to his side like he wanted everyone to look, wanted them to know. His thumb stroked the back of her hand absentmindedly, grounding her even as her heart raced.

Her best friend appeared suddenly, eyes wide as they landed on their interlocked hands. “What is this?” she blurted out, disbelief written all over her face.

YN squeezed Jeno’s hand tighter and met her friend’s gaze with a calmness she didn’t quite feel. “We’re dating,” she said simply.

Her friend blinked, looked at Jeno, then back at her. The silence stretched a beat too long before she finally muttered, “Okay… wow. Okay,” and walked off, still looking shell-shocked.

The whispers only grew as they made their way across the quad. Nobody—not a single person—had any idea what Jeno was really like behind closed doors. To them, he was still the quiet, unassuming guy who sat in the back of lecture halls. To YN, he was something entirely different—rough, commanding, devastatingly addictive.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

--------

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[jenostarr]

"Safety First" (M)

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jeno x Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Genres: Smut/Mature, Romance, College AU, Innocence Kink, Domestic/Private Moments

Content Warnings: NSFW/Smut themes, sexual content (explicit discussion and demonstration of condom use), mature language, light dirty talk, power imbalance themes (senior/junior dynamic), mild teasing/student roleplay undertones, reader innocence/naivety kink

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: When Y/N stumbles across a box of condoms in her boyfriend Jeno’s wardrobe, her innocent curiosity leads to questions he never expected to answer. Patient but flustered, Jeno decides to give her a real demonstration—careful, teasing, and just a little wicked—reminding his “little student” exactly who she’s learning from.

-------------------------------------------------------

The evening light filtered softly through Jeno’s bedroom window, casting warm streaks of gold over the neatly arranged furniture. You were sprawled comfortably on the floor, sifting through the bottom shelf of his wardrobe where he’d told you to grab one of his hoodies. You pulled out a folded stack of shirts, humming absentmindedly, when something unfamiliar caught your eye—a small box, tucked against the side.

Curiosity got the better of you. You picked it up, turning it over in your hands, studying the smooth packaging. The letters on it were bold and clear. Condoms.

Your brows furrowed, innocence and curiosity mixing. “...Jeno?”

He looked up from where he sat at his desk, scrolling through something on his laptop. The second he saw the box in your hand, his entire body stiffened, like he’d just been caught doing something illegal.

“Uh—w-wait—where did you—” He stood up quickly, scratching the back of his neck as he crossed the room toward you. “That’s—uh—that’s not—”

You tilted your head, lips pursed, holding the box up to him. “What are these? They look important. Why do you keep them in your closet?”

The tips of his ears burned red. He gently took the box from your hands, turning it over like he wasn’t sure how to explain. “They’re… condoms.”

You blinked at him, expression soft and utterly clueless. “Okay… what are condoms?”

Jeno froze for a second, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were joking. “Wait—you don’t know? Babe…” He groaned, running a hand through his hair, his tone equal parts shocked and amused. “Seriously? You’re twenty-one. And we’ve… you know.” His voice dropped a little lower, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. “We’ve done it before.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, remembering those nights tangled up with him in his bed. “I-I know… but you never used these.”

Jeno exhaled sharply, sitting down beside you on the floor, the box resting between his fingers. His jaw flexed like he was searching for the right words. “That’s because I was careful. But these—” he lifted the box slightly, giving you a look somewhere between disbelief and fondness—“are basically the most common thing. They’re for… protection. Like, during sex.”

Your eyes widened slightly, more curious than embarrassed. “Protection? From what? Like, do they… hurt?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, they don’t hurt. They’re not like… that.” He sighed, clearly flustered. “It’s just—ugh, this is harder to explain than I thought.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then gave in. “They’re… basically like a cover. A thin layer that goes over a guy’s… you know. His… thing.”

Your mouth parted slightly. “Thing…? Oh!” Your cheeks flushed, finally catching on to what he meant. “Wait, over that?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, averting his eyes, his neck red all the way down. “They’re used so… well, so you don’t get pregnant. And also to… keep things safe.”

You hugged your knees, watching him closely, your innocent curiosity making him squirm. “So… it’s like a… safety jacket?”

That actually made him laugh, albeit nervously. “Yeah, you could say that. A safety jacket. A really, really thin one.” He picked up the box and tapped it against his palm. “You put it on before… doing anything.”

You leaned forward slightly, whispering like it was some secret. “How do you even put it on? Does it just… slip over?”

Jeno’s lips parted, his brain short-circuiting at the image that formed in his mind. He groaned under his breath, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Y/N, you can’t just—ugh, you’re really gonna make me explain the whole thing?”

You nodded innocently, eyes wide. “Please?”

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. Then, with an awkward laugh, he gave in. “Okay, fine. You open the wrapper carefully, right? And then you, uh, pinch the tip so there’s space. And then you roll it down… over the length.” His voice dipped lower, almost like he was embarrassed to say it out loud. “It stays snug. And then… when you’re done, you tie it up and throw it away.”

You blinked again, soaking it all in like he was giving you a science lesson. “That sounds… complicated. Do you practice?”

Jeno choked. “Practice?! No—what—Y/N—” His laughter broke through his flustered expression, his shoulders shaking. “No, it’s not like a test you study for, okay? You just… learn how to do it. It’s not that hard.”

“But you keep them here… does that mean you were going to use them?” Your voice was small, curious but not accusing.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked at you with a gentleness that steadied his flustered nerves. “I only bought them because… well, because I care about being responsible. I’d never pressure you into anything. Not until you’re ready. You know that, right?”

You smiled faintly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Mm. I just didn’t know what they were. Now I do.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, sliding the box back into the wardrobe. “I swear, my little girlfriend… you’re gonna be the death of me with these questions.”

But the way his hand lingered against yours, fingers brushing, told you he didn’t really mind explaining—even if it left him flushed and awkward.

You were still curled up on the floor, processing his awkward but thorough explanation, when Jeno slid the box back into the wardrobe. His lips curved into a sly smirk as he leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your cheeks heat.

“You know…” he drawled, his dark eyes glinting with mischief, “if you’re still confused, I could always give you a demonstration.”

Your breath hitched, eyes widening as you hugged your knees tighter. “W-what?!”

He chuckled lowly at your reaction, clearly enjoying the way color bloomed across your cheeks. Tilting his head, he added, “Relax, baby. I’m just teasing.” His fingers brushed over your jaw, tilting your face up toward him, that same playful smirk still tugging at his lips. “Unless…” he let the word linger, deliberately unfinished, before leaning back with a laugh when you swatted at his arm in protest.

“Jeno!” you whined, your pout only making him laugh harder.

“God, you’re too cute when you panic,” he murmured, affection softening his grin. “Don’t worry—I’ll save the demonstrations for when you’re really ready to see one.”

Your cheeks burned, heart thudding wildly, but you still managed to whisper, “...I think I’m ready.”

Jeno froze where he sat, his head snapping toward you, eyes narrowing in surprise. “Ready? You mean…” His voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You nodded shyly, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie in your lap. “I want you to show me. For real.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling a little faster, as if he were making sure you weren’t just saying it out of curiosity. Slowly, he leaned in, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Y/N… you’re telling me you want me to demonstrate? Not just explain?”

Your breath hitched at the weight of his gaze, but you nodded again, firmer this time. “I’m sure, Jeno.”

Something shifted in his expression—still protective, but darker now, heavier with intent. He lingered a second longer, then sighed through his nose with a small, crooked smirk. “Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He stood, the soft stretch of his shirt rising as he reached into the wardrobe again and pulled out one silver packet from the box. He held it between two fingers as he turned back to you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Watch carefully, baby.”

Your eyes followed every move, your body buzzing with nerves and anticipation.

Jeno hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them down. The outline of his length strained against the dark cotton of his boxers, the fabric already showing a faint damp spot at the tip. He caught your stare immediately, smirking as heat spread down your neck.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he teased, voice low and rough. “You’ve seen it before. You’ve had it inside you before. And you’re still blushing?”

Your throat tightened, but you whispered honestly, “It’s different like this.”

He chuckled softly, then asked, his tone firm, “One last time, Y/N. You really want me to do this? To show you?”

Your lips parted, and though your chest fluttered with nerves, you nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I want to see.”

That was enough for him. With one slow tug, he pulled his boxers down, freeing himself. Your mouth went dry instantly, your thighs pressing together instinctively as your gaze fell on him—big, thick, and already heavy with arousal. Your lips parted before you could stop yourself, a small trail of saliva threatening to gather as you quickly swallowed hard, your cheeks blazing.

Jeno caught it all, his smirk deepening. “God… you’re so innocent it kills me. Look at you—just staring at my cock like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

You flushed even deeper, but your eyes didn’t leave him.

“Alright. Lesson one.” He tore the silver packet open with a practiced flick of his thumb, pulling out the thin rolled latex. He held it between his fingers and tilted it so you could see. “This little thing? It’s what keeps you from getting knocked up when I’m inside you. Feels almost like nothing, but it does the job.”

You bit your lip, nodding as if you were actually in class.

“Step one—” he pinched the tip lightly, just as he’d explained earlier. “You pinch here. Gotta leave space at the top. If you don’t, it can break. And that defeats the whole point.”

Your thighs pressed tighter together, heat pooling low in your stomach as you watched him cover himself completely. He gave himself a small squeeze once it was on, exhaling softly, his eyes flickering back to your flushed face.

You gulped, eyes wide, your breath caught as he pressed the base of his cock with his free hand, steadying himself.

“Step two—you roll it down. Like this.” His voice dropped lower as he placed the pinched tip of the condom at the head of his erection. With his other hand, he began to unroll it, the latex ring traveling down his length as he rolled it to the base. The material stretched, hugging him tightly as it unfurled, his movements deliberate and slow, making sure you saw every inch. “See how snug it is? No slipping. No mess.”

“And that’s it,” he murmured, his voice husky, a teasing edge curling into his tone. “That’s how you keep your innocent little girlfriend safe while fucking her nice and deep.”

Your breath caught, eyes snapping up to his. “Jeno—”

He smirked, adjusting himself casually as if he hadn’t just made your pulse race. “Light dirty talk, baby. Part of the demonstration.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against your temple, his breath hot against your ear. “So… what do you think? Did my little student learn something today?” Jeno asked, his smirk tugging wider as he adjusted himself lazily, the condom rolled snugly down his thick length.

You swallowed, your eyes wide and your voice small but steady. “Yes.”

The single word made something flicker in his eyes — heat, amusement, a dangerous kind of softness. He leaned down, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “Good girl.”

❀ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ❀

Thank you for reading! feedback and reblog are always appreciated ♡ and if you want to be tagged in future jeno fics, join the taglist here ✦

[haechaninmyheart]

feel it

the image does not belong to me. credits to the original owner.

summary: during an afternoon spent in a practice room, you learn more than just the dance routine from jeno.

pairing: idol!jeno x afab!reader.

genre: smut, idol!au.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: accidentally feeling jeno’s boner?, blowjob, a lil bit of facefucking, kinda pinning reader against wall, nipple play, creampie.

author’s note: bonjours! i found some jeno smut hehe >:) also i do apologise for any errors but I don’t have the brain cells to proofread :< hope u enjoy this shawties luv camisole.

MDNI/18+ CONTENT AHEAD

Jeno’s body is moving sharply as music blasts from the speakers within the practice room. He’s learning the choreography to the latest song you two have been working on. It's not due to be released until next Saturday, but both of you have been perfecting the choreography for it. The teaser had already received a lot of love and support from fans so you don’t want to fall below their high expectations. 

He continues to carry on as you stroll into the room, the squeaking of his trainers against the floor sounding unpleasant to your ears and making you grimace for a moment but you know you’ll soon be able to ignore the awful noise. 

Setting your bag down in one corner of the room and leaning against the wall with a water bottle in your hand, you watch Jeno complete the last steps of the choreography. The steps he was planning on teaching you today. 

As the room falls quiet, Jeno saunters over to where you’re standing, mirroring your body against the wall as he soon slides down to the floor. The sweat beads on his forehead glisten under the lighting of the practice room, suggesting that he’s been here for a while. 

“You’re better than me.” You chuckle, leaning down to pass him the bottle of water. You’re referring to the earlier parts of the dance routine you’d already learned. 

Jeno chugs it down in one go before responding with a thank you and bounces back on his feet soon after. Squishing the plastic bottle in his hands with ease, before dropping it on the floor. His strength always amazed you and made you wonder what he would be like in bed?

“Right!” You chirp and pace to the middle of the practice room, feeling ashamed as if Jeno could hear your thoughts from how close he was squatting next to you. “Teach me the choreography.”

. . .

It’s 2:35pm when you finally master the whole choreography from start to finish. Your legs are beginning to feel a little weak and you nearly want to fall to the floor when Jeno says- 

“Now, from the beginning.”

You face scrunches into a frown and you want to complain about how you are tired but you understand that your performance was quite soon. Any time spent practising for it was going to help you give a better show to your fans. 

The song starts and before you know it, your body starts moving to the music blaring from the speakers. You even catch yourself mouthing the lyrics as you study your moves in the mirror, your eyes occasionally wandering to Jeno’s figure when he got close. 

You’re more than halfway through the song when you feel a slight pain in your calf and mess up your step. 

Jeno’s awfully fast to notice.

“We were so close!” He cries out, raising both his arms, dramatically flailing them as he falls to his knees. 

You blurt out a long string of apologies but before you can explain that the discomfort in your leg is what led you to mess up, Jeno’s behind you. He begins to guide you through that specific step, his body dangerously close to yours. 

You feel as if you even moved back an inch, you’d be pressed right against him and that’s the only thing that occupies your mind as he directs you with his hands. It’s not until they move to your hips to instruct you that you nearly throw yourself away from him. 

“Jeno!” Your tone sounds panicked when you blurt out his name but you try to hide it with a light laugh. “Not, not too close… ” Your face feels hot.

“Why?” Jeno questions you, innocence and sweat painting his face. 

“Because, uh, because,” You pretend to fan your face, “it’s too hot in here, wow.”

“You can take off your sweatshirt, you know.” 

You pause. 

If there was another level of embarrassment that one could feel, you were surely feeling it at this moment. 

“Uh, I, I can’t...” Nervousness laced in between your words, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.” 

“Huh?”

The song stops, for a moment but it feels too long with how Jeno is staring at you, your confession repeating in his hand. He watches you roll up your sleeves and then the music begins again, automatically. 

You go straight performing the dance routine as if this interaction never took place but underneath your terrible poker face, you want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.  

Jeno doesn’t join you in the choreography this time, instead his eyes remain focused on your figure in the mirror. He’s giving you the same look you were giving him as he crushed the bottle.  

Soon the song reaches the part where you messed up a couple minutes ago and with his full attention on you, he can see your body tense up. He guides you once again but this time there’s a few more inches of space between the two of you. 

However, it doesn’t stay this way for long. With an unfocused mind, you find yourself tripping over your own feet and falling backwards- How unprofessional- but the cherry on top? You bring Jeno down with you and in doing so, his boner presses against you and you feel it right against your ass. 

Jeno tries to hide it, adjusting his t-shirt and moving onto his feet before asking if you were alright. 

“Oh my god, you’re hard.” 

Jeno’s cheeks begin to go pink. 

“Are you?” 

He can’t believe you’re actually asking him that after nearly taking a seat on his lap as if it were free real estate but gives the slightest nod down. 

“Is this… just from watching me dance?” You harshly whisper, covering your mouth. Unsure if to apologise to him or thank yourself for being clumsy. 

Another subtle nod. 

“I’ll be right back.” You watch Jeno stand up, the shape of his cock visible from underneath his top and he begins to pace towards the door. 

“Wait!” Your voice causes him to stop mid step and he turns around. “I can help.” 

Jeno turns around and your eyes go straight down to the bulge in his joggers. 

“If you plan on jerking off in the toilets… I can give you something better.” 

Jeno doesn’t even think twice when you offer, not even questioning what you may have on your mind. Right now, anything you could give would be better than his own hands. 

Soon you have the man against the wall with you kneeling by his feet and his cock in your mouth. He’s packing more than you had thought but you weren’t an amaetur to blowjobs. Deep throating his length as you looked up at him. 

Jeno could just cum from the way you were looking up at him, your glistening pretty eyes and his cock stuffed into your mouth. Your pretty lips wrapped around his dick made Jeno want to facefuck you until his climax. 

Whilst one hand holds up his t-shirt, the other plants itself in the roots of your hair. Jeno’s tugging at the strands gently but when he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, his grip tightens and you move back. 

“Take your sweatshirt off.”

You pull it over your head with caution, trying to avoid getting the mixture of precum and saliva on your lips and chin, on your clothes. You’re down to your bra and leggings. 

Jeno gives you a hand, pulling you up before pushing you against the wall. It feels cold against your back as Jeno tugs down the straps of your bra before he begins to kiss and suck your boobs. Whilst his lips were on one, he massages the other, a few times tugging at the nipple but not too harshly. He didn’t know what your pain tolerance was but still he enjoyed being mean in the sheets. 

One of his hands trails down to your core and his palm massages you over your leggings, leaving a wet spot from your arousal. Jeno hears you let out a moan, the sound like a melody to his ears and his dick twitches against your thigh. With one swift movement he flips you around, your face against the cold surface and your ass against his cock. 

Something in you makes you want to push your ass back against his length, so you do and earn a warning from his. 

“Don’t.” For the first time in a while you’re intimidated by Jeno. 

He yanks down your leggings with such force, it’s got you wondering if he’s mad at you and more importantly, if he plans on showing you an mercy as he fucks you. 

The answer was no to both.

The mix of precum and saliva of his cock acted like lube, but it’s not like you needed any with how damp that one spot on your leggings was. 

When Jeno pushes himself inside of you, you let out an even louder moan and he urges you to keep it down. You two were still in the practice room and the song wasn’t repeating to drown out your lewd noises. Your moaning, his grunting and groaning, you two hoped that these noises went unnoticed by anyone walking in the hallway. 

Since you wanted to push your ass back, Jeno would gladly have you doing that with his hand on your hip yet again and the other on your wrist. Your left arm lays flat against the wall and your other hand is down, massaging your own clit. 

“Oh god, this feels so, so fucking good.” Jeno groans as you pant, you pussy squeezing his cock so nicely. 

“Yeah, yeah, so good…” You gasp, “Jeno, Jeno, I’ll cum… soon, Jeno please.”

“Cum, cum, wherever you want.” Jeno tries to maintain the steady pace of his thrusting but he could feel himself nearing his own orgasm. He tries to delay it, but with the force of your squeezing he could only put it off for so long. 

Even after climaxing Jeno doesn’t stop fucking you. His hand moves from your hip to your clit in such a subtle manner, you don’t notice until you feel him push your hand away. The way his fingers circle your most sensitive spot, have you going numb with pleasure against the wall. 

His cum drips out onto your leggings and the practice room floor and finally, he’s got you to cum as you chant his name like a mantra.

As you lean against the wall, Jeno’s own body pressed against your back, you think that this may be a regular occurrence if you keep messing up the choreography. 

You can feel it.

© haechaninmyheart, 2025 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarise, translate, or share my work on other platforms.

this is a repost :>

[yojeongin]

farmer's daughter | l.jn

→city boy!jeno x country girl!reader

genre: smut, horror, suspense, southern gothic, 70s au, x/pearl au

synopsis: high and mighty jeno think’s he’s too good for the country side. maybe a lonely naive farmer’s daughter can help him waste time… well, he should've really thought about it beforehand.

warnings: ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! heavily implied murder, religious themes, sleazy jeno, “naive” reader, manipulation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, riding/cowgirl position, rough sex, obsessive love syndrome, sheep and fawn as symbolism, fight over control, implied fragile masculinity and creepy men, violence, blood, lowkey descriptive animal x animal consumption.

wc: 14k+ || anothology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: well summer has been over but I’ve spent my entire summers in the countryside with no wifi unless going into town so trust this is as accurate as it gets. and again, remember this is part of a series that touches on immorality.

Jeno doesn’t always seem to notice many things. He didn’t notice the job application his cousin gave him said he had to move to Austin. He didn’t notice the road he'd taken as a 'shortcut' was actually the longest way to the city. And he definitely didn’t notice his gas tank wailing and begging him for the past hour and a half to fill it up, to feed it. Starving, and in no short amount of time, it would tire, conceding its responsibilities. 

That came faster than expected and while Jeno sang his lungs out to the melody of when I die, the cows eating away the weeds laughed at him with every forced push and huff to make the truck keep going. Jeno didn’t understand why this was happening and he was growing scared that perhaps the biker with the billiard eye had cut a wire or drained the gas he had put in before returning to the station for a bathroom break.

But that wasn’t it. Crossing paths with the man was four hours ago and if anything he was a sweetheart to the raven haired man.

No, his negligence is what led him to this horrid path, finding himself stranded in front of mocking cows and temperamental winds which laugh in his face. If it’s a cool breeze, it’s a light chuckle. If it’s hot — well, the wind can't help but cackle at his misfortunes.

By these events, what most bothered Jeno was being stranded in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere with disgusting yellowing fields, hideous beasts, and horrid heat that couldn't be masked by open windows and blaring winds.

“God fuckin’ damn it!”

What was there to do besides complain? Worst of all, there was a gas station twenty miles behind he passed due to his ogling of a go-go dancers’ billboard for a club off the road. Yes, that’s the only reason why he took this bump hell of a ‘shortcut’ marked by the clawing of tractors and herds stampedes.

As words and filth spew from his plump lips, Jeno’s eyes roam his surroundings in hopes that someone will come by and save him from this self-inflicted misery.

Despite being punished by the tarnished old piece of metal, it had left him right in the entrance to a farm. It wasn’t anything special. A traditional old farm house with dirt clinging to the grooves of swollen wood and red tiled weathered down roof.

It wasn’t anything special. 

That’s what he saw first beside the yellow tall grass, oddly colored for summer. The chilly breeze was treacherous next to the harsh Texan sun that blinded him if he ever so slightly lifted his head. Perhaps the sun was his enemy, blinding his eyes and heart with every step he took in direction towards the tattered old home.

In the trajectory towards the high risen creaky porch, Jeno hadn’t been able to see or hear anything, only the rusty door screen which he believed remained locked while the home door was fully opened. 

Shade the porch granted took him out of the trance the sun fooled him into. His ears cleared up and the sound of sermons on full blast danced into them, prickling with preaching and scoldings that reminded him why he has not attended a service in years.

That alone made him contemplate on whether he should knock and ask for aid. What if they try to indoctrinate him? What if he gets scolded when they learn he only took the off road to see topless women in thongs? 

But hunger was stronger and his awoken stomach was now notifying him of such. A whiff of roasted vegetables and cooking meat drew him closer to the screen, enough to feel the rusty mesh against his sweaty face. He didn’t care for the hygienic issues, for now he wanted to be fed. Something he ignored after finishing his last kolache from breakfast. The sausage might have been cold and the bread stale but the sheer concept of food was enough to satiate his hunger at the time.

Jeno’s knuckles softly rap against the stained wood of where a pushed-in doorbell resided. The metal was beginning to oxidize similarly to the doorknob that he unconsciously held. Ever since he stepped foot past the gates of the farm, the sun seemed to take control of him.

There was an eeriness to the premises and with every passing minute he felt observed. Strange though, because despite all his knocking and pacing around the loud creaking porch, no one came to his aid.

He knew there was someone home, he could see a hand holding a lit cigarette between stub-nubby fingers. The swirling smoke even made its way towards him just to laugh through minty giggles. 

“Hello?” Jeno elongates the last vowel frustratedly. His stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling and with the increase of his desperation, so did the sound of the television.

A peeved huff left his lips as his body swung in desperation, taking in the decoration and furniture of the porch. Below the dock, empty milk glasses left to aerate while the chum sat next to his feet.

Almost every inch of the overhead was filled with bird feeders and wind chimes. Some metal and others glass or ceramic, but they all aimed to irk him with their constant howls. At least that was better than the preacher calling him a sinner for the fiftieth time since he arrived.

Regardless, the amount of crosses above every window and door won't allow him to forget where he is. Everything may be rusted or dirty but these weren’t. All spotlessly clean from what he could tell, almost as if they were cleaned daily. 

Jeno knocked once more after glancing at the rocking chairs on the left side of the porch. Both covered in blankets and cushions. Stools next to them, and what seemed to be a rotting plate of chitterlings.

The sight disgusted him immensely, enough to gag — crawling maggots clinging to the piece. Surprisingly enough, there was no smell, he justified it with being out in the open-air.

One.

Jeno had given up and in his petty mannerism, knocking again, spewing a loud: “Bye, I won’t bother you any longer!” In his most faux friendly voice when under his breath he cursed whoever was inside rotting away just like the home and their gross habits. 

Unlike last time, Jeno was aware of his surroundings now. He could hear every creaking floorboard, the clanking of pebbles under his feet, the giggles of the wind chimes, the cows asking if he had given up like a coward who would soon wait for someone to pass by. But, most of all he could clearly hear sing-song screeches battling with liquid against a metal bucket.

Jeno couldn’t believe he had missed the remaining buildings. A few feet away from the house, a tattered small barn with broken off bits of wood. A lighter wood covering cavities held by rusted nails. This was less special than the house, with no decorations and the barn doors on their last whim. One huge slam and it’d fall off its hinges.

The pebbles were replaced by straw, dry and crunchy under his boots but not loud enough for the sitting figure whose back faced him to notice that a strange man was approaching her.

Jeno took in the view before him. Sitting on a stubby stool — rendered useless as essentially squatting was the position. Hair tied in messy pigtail braids that swung around with every tug of the cow’s tit. The image of wrapping his fingers along those locks while his hands caressed the bare shoulders brewed. A bit more movement and he'd witness side boob. 

There was a blue button-up tossed across the fresh straw stacks against the wall. Left in only scuffed leather boots, bandanna, and some short overalls that rode up to your upper thigh with the position you were in. 

If Jeno wasn't going to experience his topless girls at least he's thankful for you. Teeth clinging to his lower lip, eyes scanning the bits of bare skin he could view while Jim Morrison screamed at you for being lost through the radio.

The weather was always treacherous. When he had been dumbified by the scorching sun, the coolness from within the dark barn had forced you to reach for the blue button-up. You could’ve easily turned left to grab it, but the ducks had other plans, waddling in loudly, demanding from whoever they saw first. 

“Oh stop the whining you fatt—”

You didn’t finish scolding the pestering animals. In lieu, you abashedly stood up from the stool, nearly kicking over the half full bucket of milk. Your eyes grew and your hands went behind your back. He couldn’t see it but you were grasping the pitchfork while reaching for the blouse to cover up. The overalls were doing fine but you knew better than to be this exposed in front of a man, especially a stranger.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin'.” His hands may have gone up to show surrendered peace but yours went down with the pet name. Your grasp on the object loosened and your eyes sparkled every time he spoke. That perfidious smile luring you further in. It was that easy.

“My truck broke down in front of your home and I was wondering if there’s any way you could help me. A phone, some gas, a ride to a gas station?... Is your pop around?” He breaks out another smile, as friendly as he could, clasping his hands before him. A smile that often helped him out of troubles with lonely women. Steadily, he walks closer, stopping when your head negates all of his requests. 

Disappointingly, his smile falters with a sigh that’s ready to turn into a complaining groans, denying it upon hearing your voice. “Daddy went to the city with my brother for some tractor pieces. They took the last gas can and I can’t drive.” Your grip on the pitchfork was gone, clinging instead to the denim over you.

“Surely there’s a phone, no?” He nervously asks, another step closer. Denied again.

“Mama doesn’t like all that fancy technology. The pastor gave nana a TV last winter and she hates it. But nana and daddy love it, otherwise it’d be silent here.”

Two.

Jeno hums, he points to the small radio near the bucket, a cheeky smile on his lips as his hand drops, similar to your head with an embarrassed tinge decorating your face. “Brother-in-law snuck it in for me. He’s kinda weird but he gets me gifts so I think that’s okay.” A giggle leaves your lips, weariness fading the longer his smile remains. Disregarding the fact this one was out of his own weariness.

“In that case, is he here? I just need some gas and I’ll be out of sight, I promise.” “No!”

There’s no denying of the desperation in your voice, and this time it was you who took the initiative to step closer. The button-up sagged and had fallen off a shoulder, long forgotten by you. “I mean, he’s not. He ain't allowed to come on his own especially when it’s just me and nana, only when sissy visits but she hasn’t shown since Easter.”

This was a lost case then. Who knows when your family would come back or if they’re willing to help. Whoever was in the home a clear example of unwillingness.

"Well, alright… Thank you.”

Ready to part, he gets stopped by your voice once more. “Would you like to wait? Nana and I cooked earlier — If you’re hungry.” Such a sweet smile decorated your lips, moistened by your tongue when he was distracted. His stomach woke up again, rumbling in a frenzy. He wanted to deny the offer. ‘Ew’ bouncing off every crevice of his brain with the thoughts of staying any longer but his hunger was stronger.

Ultimately, he smiles, nodding with gratitude rolling off his lips.

“Is your ma around, then?” He questions to begin conversation, watching your every move. Good enough for him as you crouch to grab the bucket of milk. Unbeknownst to you that the button-up and overall are doing a poor job over you.

The heaviness of the bucket made you stumble. Jeno enjoyed these moments as the fat of your breast moved around, taunting him with a nip slip that never came but was sure enjoying the game. 

“Mind turning?” The blue fabric rose with your hand the second you noticed his wandering gaze. He didn’t say anything upon taking the hint. The rustling and clanking of fabric, buttons, and clasps filling the silence until you let him know it was fine with a tap to his own clothed shoulder. 

Jeno hadn’t offered to carry the bucket but he knew not to make a bad impression. You country folk already think all city folks were impolite and if he wanted to win any brownie points, he oughta act otherwise. It's not like it's hard when your impressionable heart is thumping on your sleeve. “Thank you…” You timidly squeak, walking beside him and rubbing off the ache the thin metal handle left on your palm. Jeno opts to smile with a quick wink the way he knew girls liked. 

Truth be told, the inside was more horrendous. Dirty carpet took over the living room where more and more cigarette swirls followed him around. The sermon hadn’t finished but the volume was definitely lowered. Besides preaching, the hacking of the one ruining themselves greeted both. No words, just hacking, coherent enough for you to understand. Almost as if it was a language of its own.

“He’s gonna wait until daddy comes back to get some gas, I’ll give him something to eat.” Received with a grunt and more hacking, obvious enough the other person wasn’t pleased with him in their home. You didn’t say anything anymore but it was obvious that whatever was interpreted, it wasn’t nice.

There was nothing special about the inside of the home. More crosses and religious imagery took shelter in the tattered wooden walls.

God, what a horrible home.

That wasn’t all that decorated the walls. In some areas, family pictures glared at him in hopes he’d leave. Not welcoming in any sense. But there was nothing special about the house, nothing in this farm was special.

Not the omniscient feeling of being watched and judged. Not the singing congregation on screen, and not the horrendous kitchen he walks in. Every inch, full of meats and dairy ready to be taken into town to be sold. Nothing special.

"Nana don't like guests.” Pointing at the counter next to an empty chum, Jeno leaves the bucket of milk there. “But as long as she don't see you, you’ll be fine.” The awkward pity smile turns joyful when you look at him, leaning against the sink. He mimics it, whispering a "Thank." he doesn't believe he should’ve uttered overall.

An overwhelming smell of spices tickle his nostrils, he figures it's the meat and what came from the oven. Ignored by the image of land before him, brighter than the grass patches he stepped on from the barn to the home.

There weren’t many trees besides a large one with a tire swing attached by old rope. A long overdo change of twine. Just like trees, no houses either. It was simply this dinky place only. He doesn’t think it’s beautiful but it is better than the ranch he had to work at in Paris or the one in Valentine.

“Beer?” Your voice removes his focus from the window, looking at the steaming plate in your hand and wide eyes, almost puppy-like. He found to like that, a smile forming on his lips seeing them glisten. “Yeah.” You return the gesture, placing the plate at the head of the kitchen table, back to the fridge where you take a can and open it for him. 

You sat on the chair beside him, cheek to your palm, watching him fondly like this is a rare sight to see. A fantasy you're dreaming of and one he's playing with. Jeno smiles at that, a soft laugh leaving him the while he raises the can to thank you once more. It was awkward to say the least but he knows he'll have his fun.

“You’re a good cook.” He nervously laughs, taking a sip of his beer to down the grease. “Really?” You perk at his words, hands to the table and an excited smile as you lean closer to him. Precisely how he figured you'd react.

“Mama thinks I have much to work on. She says I add too much spice but I think she only says it 'cause daddy finishes the food when I cook but hers lasts until church.” An animated giggle left your lips, feeling more comfortable in his presence. He liked that, he liked seeing your cheeks round every time you smile or laugh, or your eyes shutting when he compliments you.

“My mom would say you’re ready to get married. She jokingly told my sister and months later she booked it to DC with this fancy pants. Now she doesn’t let me cook, she fears I’ll do the same.” You both laugh at the anecdote, your hand gracing his, something he won’t dismiss.

“So what were you doing around here? No one ever takes that road.” Your hand didn’t move, inching closer and closer, something he looked at with a growing grin.

Swallowing the piece of chicken in his mouth, his back straightens. “I start a construction job soon so I took a few days to enjoy the beach. It’s a little murky and cold but Galveston is all I can afford for now.” He laughs, playing your game and gracing your knuckle. Covering it with the motion of picking up another hash brown wedge and plunging it in his mouth.

“I've never been to the beach. Mama says the lagoon is better than the beach and it’s more decent.” You shrug, “It’s dirty and stinky from where the cows go in so I don’t see what she does.” A pout replaces the smile on your lips, slumping over the table, only pushing your hand further into his. Jeno musters another laugh before taking one of your fingers into his own.

He wonders how your lips would feel against his. More so when you reach for a strawberry in the basket next to the napkin holder. Jeno watches your every move, admiring the small bite of the berry, your lips wrapping around it and having a tiny sliver of juice trickle down the corner of your lips. He’ll have to lick it clean, essentially.

“I could take you if you want.” He mentions flirtatiously, taking the leftover berry from your fingers to get a taste himself. His plump lips turned red, suckling on the juices to avoid your mistake. Your teeth took your bottom lip under them, legs closing slowly at the image before you. 

“Mama won't let me. Not with a stranger.” Right, he was a stranger after all. He found this comical, mainly because you had warmed up to him instantly.

Laughing, “I’m becoming less of a stranger now aren’t I, sweetheart?” He grasps your arm, the tickling warmth pricking your skin deep to the bone. If his touch felt this way, what about him?

“Where you headed to after?” “Austin.”

“Oh daddy says it’s full of— well, Pastor Mark said we shouldn't use foul words.”

If only you could read his mind and what he’d ought to do to you. 

"Mama said it’s full of whores, though.”

You couldn’t say other words but whore was fine? He’s not surprised. Matter of fact, he receives this with a laugh. “I’ve heard so.” He shakes his head with a smile on. 

“More food?” You offer, he immediately denies. Jeno agrees it's delicious, but immensely fatty for only one in the afternoon, even if he scarfed it down. “Pecan pie, then?” He denies desperately again. You’ll have to kick him out rolling if he ate so.

“Please? Just one bite…” You pout pleadingly, those same eyes he liked earlier, staring into his dark ones. Damn them for he has fallen for your antics. “Maybe just a taste.” He reluctantly answers, your glee making the annoyance fade away. 

Giggles escape through the crevices of your teeth, scooping the warm crust and filling onto the metal spoon. It was as warm as the pie, but cool against his tongue. The sweetness of the filling is intense but acceptable. He wondered if this is how you liked it. Tooth aching and warm with no ice cream.

Maybe this is how your tongue tasted.

“Mm, so sweet…” Almost like a hymn while looking straight into your eyes. “Mama’s recipe. I tweaked it a bit.” Your gaze doesn't falter, bodies closer than before. He took this as an opportunity to take a hold of your hand. The small touches —although fast paced— were becoming unbearable and all he wanted to do was have you in his arms. Your light touches, stares, and smile were driving him crazy. He could kiss you — was it not for the elder in the other room. 

A harsh thud from the other room prevents anything to come into fruition, and in a frenzy you stand up. Perhaps he thought too lowly of your grandmother's mobile ability and too lowly of your care that he sighs heavily as he rises to his feet with faux helpful pleasure.

But the worry he thought he saw on your face was wiped with the harshness of your voice, like that of someone scolding a child. He couldn’t hear anything but the tone was firm enough. On occasions, harsh whispers and scoldings were audible between hacks.

“Whores go to hell.” “Give it a few days, you should know.” Your words left in between gritted teeth leaving her in silence, the sermon on the television increased its volume like when he first arrived. He wondered what had led to that, but he couldn’t blame your reaction. The lady had been a nightmare without even talking to her directly.

Returning to the kitchen with an ashtray and cans of beer, the look on your face was one of annoyance. You tried hiding it from him with a smile but the fire in your eyes remained. The only thing that made you forget your grandmother, was seeing him doing the dishes — something you rushed to stop.

“Oh, please don’t. I got this, you can just sit.” Jeno felt the whiplash hit him. One second you were angry and sad, and now you're panicked. Practically begging him to stop on something so menial.

He should know better. Especially with how easily you were to open up to him. But, when his interest is not with how you feel rather with how quick he can get what he wants, Jeno would rather staple on those rose tinted glasses — just like you have.

“It’s no problem at all, anything to take some responsibility from you.” The dried side of his hand caresses your cheek, an embarrassed grin replacing your worried pout. “I appreciate it but mama won’t like it. You’re a guest, I can’t let a guest do this.” There was a hidden panicked whine in your voice, he wanted to drown it and wonder how much deeper it could go. If you weren’t so pretty and enticing, he wouldn’t be there to begin with. 

Stapled heart shaped rose tinted glasses.

“You talk so much about her, but she’s not here. I doubt she’ll notice.” 

Your gaze lifted with his words. The warmth in your eyes was not there anymore, almost as if he had struck a nerve. The seconds felt excruciatingly long in the silence of your heavy glare — albeit, nervous, as well. The creaking floorboards in another room making it worse. He figured your mother was a sore subject, but he can't find it in himself to care for this to continue.

“She’s on a church retreat, should be in Midland or Odessa by now. They’re going all around the state to leave the word of God.” The Almighty's name broke away your gaze from him. “Sissy went with her but they told me I had to stay to take care of nana and daddy.” That whine was back, bitter this time.

Jeno was beginning to understand your role in the family. He didn’t care much for it but it was entertaining for now; not everyone opens up this quickly. Besides, it's not like you’re angry you weren’t performing your religious duties, you just wanted to get off this damn farm rather than deal with the mess it is.

“How old are your siblings?” He turns to you, drying off his hands while you now put away the dishes. “Sissy is thirty and Bubby— my brother turned ten last month.”

“How about you?”

Turning to him and lowering your arms from the cabinets, a bright grin is shown. 

“Legal.” That is all Jeno had to hear. 

Soon as he was to approach you, you turn to the back door. “I’m going back to the barn. Daddy will be madder than a wet hen if I don't finish my chores.” He took this as an invitation even if it wasn’t. There was no way he was staying in there while every crevice yells at him to get out or be stuck with your geriatric grandmother. Who knows, maybe she’ll hack in his face if he dares to greet her personally.

No, you won’t leave him alone in that horrid home.

Trailing behind you with rushed steps, you swing turning to look at him. “You know, mister… you’ll have to help if you oughta stick by me.”He nodded knowing he had no intentions on doing it well. If he slacked off maybe you’ll grow annoyed and forget the conditions. 

“Great. In that case, you’da clean the pigsty.” 

Pigsty? Perhaps staying with your grandmother wasn’t so bad. 

To be frank, Jeno did not want to help. He only reluctantly agreed in order to get more brownie points with you. He felt like goldilocks; he’s eaten your food, enjoyed the comfort of the kitchen, but now he wants a perfect bed to lie in. Preferably with you on top or below him, but for that he can’t just take it, he’s not a monster after all. The bears are awake and bright, he has to win the cub over. 

Through the passing of time and his constant gagging from to the horrid smell, Jeno was coming closer to giving up. Things got worse when cleaning the corners. All were stained with an oxidized red he didn’t know too well but was weary of. The initial stench was only worse with this discovery. He had been too immersed in the filth that he hadn’t realized the red splatter across the wood.

The pigs hadn’t left him alone the past near two hours. They tried biting him many times but the shovel in hand coming in contact with their head made them pull away with a harsh squeal.

Their hunger seemed to become worse, and when fending them off, Jeno can only focus on the horrid feeling beneath his foot and crack that came with it. Alerted when the pigs rushed to his feet, making him tumble enough to see slimy red under his heel and fresh blood ooze from where he had stood. Jeno didn’t have time to curse the pigs, left in horror when he noticed he had stepped on a few developing eggs, a matter squashed under his heel and sticking to it.

No worry for these horrid animals; these beasts carelessly devoured the matter grotesquely.

He knew pigs were filthy animals, heinous and the most disgusting but he never thought to this extent. To see them gleefully munch and lick the soft red lumps was making his stomach churn. Hearing their mocking snorts as the cartilage grinds from their teeth. Red stains they flash his way before snorting again.

His intestines push up his throat and mirror the chitlins he had seen on the porch earlier. Was this what they were trying to do to him with every thrown bite? Those snorts and grins were nothing but a mockery of fate. Telling him he has saved himself this once.

This once.

The cow on the other side stares at him, almost communicating that he should get over it and man up, this was the farm life. As patronizing as your grandmother, she huffs, laying in the corral — hers was clean. Cows, ever so sacred and understanding of their fate.

Soon enough the mother of those eggs came in. A clueless goose, with no mind to the devouring pests until the shells she created with much pain came into view. Her desperate pecks and significantly loud honks deafened anyone. Yet, the pig kicked at her like he had done to them. Futile; her creations were gone.

The beak left some lesions on their thick hairy flesh, but nothing could make them grown a sense of guilt. If anything, the depravity of one made it turn to nip her neck, enough for the goose to fall limp.

Jeno couldn’t handle it. There was no need for him to experience this. Indignantly, he rushes out the barn with a look of disgust and breathing in the fresh outdoors air, cleansing his sinuses of the filth pigs create.

Resting his hands —with a tremble he had not noticed— on his knees, gagging at the memory, Jeno tries hard to breathe properly. He’s on edge and anything will throw him off, just like the soft touch on his lower back. Startled, Jeno turns with a harsh grip on the hand, eliciting a pained groan. “I— was just checking to see if you’re okay.” Your voice was careful and eyes frightened.

“I’m sorry, darlin'. I didn’t mean to— you startled me.” He pants, hand running to his thumping chest. Your own hand took a hold of his forearm, worry plastered on your face.

“Come on, let’s get this cleaned.” Confusion and annoyance was filling him. Jeno didn’t understand what you were talking about, he was almost worried you were meant finishing the pigsty together and there is no way in hell he was going near those beasts again.

“What are you talking about?” He questions with a harsher look and tone, enough to startle you. “The cut on your arm…” You calmly explain, but there was a brewing disappointment with his attitude that was made him grown more irritated.

You weren't allowed to see him as anything else than what he's been showing you. No. 

Jeno hadn't grasped the severity until he saw a large gash on his forearm. It didn’t hurt, wasn't aware when he got it but it was slowly trickling with thick dark beads of blood unlike the stream from the eggs and then their mother's neck.

A sense of dread filled Jeno the while you drag him inside the house. He couldn’t help comparing himself to the pigs who didn’t react to the goose's poking until they had enough. Almost like he had with your nagging.

But he was no pig. He's no damn pig, and should not feel this dreaded guilt. At least not when he has not yet done any damage. 

You were nagging him about something that he didn’t bother listening to. He had put up with you long enough and there was no delicious whining to your tone which did nothing but irking him further.

The plate of chitlins was replaced with fresh ones and cobwebs in the corner of the overheads were gone. The clothes on the drying line were also gone, the empty wire was a sight for sore eyes to him but not as much as the figure in one of the windows that made him jump in his step, jolting his arm out of your grasp so he could hold onto his thumping chest.

Messy and filthy Jeno. Can he not see he has now stained your last pair of clean work clothes? Ungrateful, pesky guest.

He knew the house was old, and things were odd since arriving, but the occurrence in the barn and this was driving him mad. As far as he knew it was just you and your grandmother in this farm. And, there's no way the woman that could only hack to communicate had cleaned outside let alone rush to the attic simply to glare at him.

“What?!” You ask confused and justifiably as annoyed as him. He was being fairly rude as a guest and you knew mama wasn’t going to like this. Most of all, you didn’t want nana to be right about him. That hag should never be proven right. 

He wanted to describe what he saw, yet the words wouldn’t leave his mouth and his limbs froze in place. His tongue formed a knot and he was unsure of how that was possible. Unfairly, it felt like barbwire the longer he tried to unravel it. Scraping the pink muscle and leaving its geographic marks.

Jeno could swear it was that woman in the attic. Wearing a white dress, almost prairie like, covered in the same splatters he saw on the barn’s wood. Her gaze followed his every move, terrorizing him furthermore. It's far more uncanny that he can't get a clear look of her face, blurred every time he tries to look at her directly. He turns to you, eyes practically begging you to help and see with your own eyes. But when he looks back up, she not there anymore, making him seem like a fool before you.

"God bless your heart." You scoff, pulling him inside the home, muttering something under your breath while he regains his. He feels foolish and lost. Oxygen had left his brain for too long, feeling like he was losing this game he created and which you willingly went along with.

The house was of no help, deliberately mocking him. Showing that it knows he's weary of nothing and he's simply a coward. The feeling of angered impotence intensifies the while you drag him towards the bathroom. Your grandmother's hacking is refined and clear to him now. It's not simply a cough, it's a cackle that haunts him, louder with every step.

She's laughing at him, she is being proven correct about him.

Everything mellows out when you slam the door behind him. The scratching of his brain and tongue leave. The static that rings in his ears and sermons are completely gone. This rickety dark bathroom proves to be his own saving grace and with a heavy sigh he thanks it. A "You're welcome." returned to him in morse code by the flickering light bulb hanging by a cord on the ceiling.

Your movement is noticeably hostile. Stretching the gauze to the point of nearly ripping each fiber, drowning cotton in rubbing alcohol and pressing it delicately on the wound just to increase the pressure. Jeno winces, eyes shutting from the sting. It's torture, he knows it is but he does not think it's on purpose.

The hostility forces the safety barriers to decay; your grandmother's TV sermon seeps through the cracks and crevices to bury into his wound and sting further. Jeno doesn't think he's ever been this miserable in his life. Not even on the long periods of forced labor by his father as a child. Was it not for his interest in you, he would've remained in that damn truck.

Right, his interest in you. Jeno isn't in your best graces at the moment, evident in the way you rub soaked cotton balls around the wound. Not as bad as the first time but still painstaking.

"I'm sorry, love." He breaks the silence, drowning the preacher's muffled voice. You grumble in response with a shrug. He doesn't back down, taking your hand into his before you can keep on punishing him with alcohol soaked cotton balls. The action only makes you glare at him, albeit it doesn't last long, slowly fading with the playful pout and wink he sends your way.

You don't outright say the words, but he can tell it's forgiven with the tone of your following words. "So what's the city like?" He sets your hand free, your rubbing of his wound proving you could be delicate. Jeno bites the inside of his cheek, holding back any resentment and weakness.

"Loud, crowded, people rushing everywhere and into big skyscrapers." His free hand pushes away the fly-aways from your braids. Some strands sticking to your cheeks. He hadn't realized how hot and humid the restroom was. Jeno chalked his sweating to the reaction from your petty cleansing and freighted soul.

"But?"

He laughs, patting your cheek. "But at night the lights are bright, music is loud, clubs are booming, and cinemas are full. You've been to a cinema?" A rhetorical question that you still answer. "What is it?"

Jesus Christ, how sheltered have they kept you?

"Really? It's where you go and watch movies on a big screen. Have you ever watched a movie, even?" You shrug with a nod. "Yes… but, only the ones the channel on TV run."

"In dark times such as these, we must all remember to look to the Lord for guidance." Your grandmother's sermon grew louder, blaring under the shut bathroom door.

"Well, some cinemas are huge. It gets nice and dark, you sit down with a cup of pop and eat popcorn. I went last week to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Alice, Sweet Alice. They had a revival event going on." He leans closer, similar to earlier in the kitchen. "And there's also drive-in's. I like those more, you get nice and comfortable in the truck or the bed and… you get to have some fun…" The latter he whispers, breath fanning against your cheek. You could feel his free hand caging you in.

"Resist the Devil…"

By the graces of God, you turn to face the sink, washing your hands viciously. Maybe it's the sin in your head, maybe your grandmother was right, but this man is nothing but Satan personified trying to lure you as it has with Eve.

"I could take you." He laughs, wrapping his arms around you just to deceive by joining in washing his own hands. "We can lay out some blankets in the bed. The cabin is spacious enough, if privacy is better." He laughs, each word prickling your skin. Any grime from the pig pen leaving his body as he releases those words. It feels liberating to an extent, painful the second he registers his hands prickled from the nearly boiling water.

He pulls his hands away, eyebrows furrowed when yours remain as if you were in thought. No signs of pain. If you weren't so endearing and alluring to him, he would not feel guilty for thinking you're insanely weird.

"Mama won't let me." Glumly you respond, wiping you hands dry. He hums along the creaking floorboards, feeling your warm hands against his injured arm, wrapping the gauze around the wound. His finger goes under your chin, forcing you to look at him. "She's not here is she?" Pity swaddles every word.

The increasing volume of the sermon and creaking floorboards leave you silent for longer. That impotence he felt earlier, clinging to you when it's all heard too near for your liking. "I guess not…" Your timidity leaves with each whispered word, a semblance of peace anchoring itself the closer Jeno gets. The more silent the floorboards became.

"…And he will flee from you!" The preacher's attempts are futile the second Jeno chuckles. Pearly whites shining under the yellow bulb before you feel his plump lips cling onto yours. It's shocking and strange. His lips are too wet and cold despite the horrid summer heat but they're also soft and they force a tingle that brews from your stomach down between your legs.

Like a sinner with no redemption, you sigh against his mouth. Arms wrapping around his toned torso, warm and hard under your flesh. Jeno seems pleased with this reaction, one he rewards with snaking his tongue inside your mouth and lapping your own. It's sweet and bitter, the mixture of pecan pie and lingering beer still there. Nothing unfamiliar.

His hands knead your ass desperately, finding a way to cup your bottom and hoist you on the sink; Jeno nestles himself between your legs. Insatiable as the beasts he denounced, Jeno can't seem to separate himself from you. Hands in a frenzy kneading any skin he can feel and lips latch to yours despite how much his lungs beg for air.

It's not granted to him until his fingers fumble with the clasps of your overall, attempting to take them off with no avail when you push him back. "Promise you'll take me with you?" Panting you utter, pecking his lips. He reciprocates them in attempts to deepen the kiss again. "Of course." He rushes, kissing you once more. Fruitless, because you can't seem to drop it and he's growing irritated with every hesitation.

"I'm serious." It's clearer and with no waver in your tone. Jeno takes notice of it but doesn't dwell on it, not when he can feel the warmth between your bodies increase. "I promise, love." He forms a cross over his heart and one with his fingers that touch his lips. It's blasphemous and makes you feel sickly aroused.

You cup his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. It's messier than those prior and his use of too much tongue doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how good it feels to have him dry hump you. The denim you both wear makes it painfully pleasurable. This is what sin truly must feel like, you figure. You know it is.

Jeno attempts to unclasp your overalls again. And again you halt the action, much to his displeasure that his eye twitches to his understanding.

"Here?" You ask trepidatiously. "Yeah." He shrugs, doing his best to hold in the agitation. "It's inconvenient… uncomfortable." His fingers rake through the raven locks, scratching a little too hard. "Lead the way, then." He sighs heavily, moving back to help you off the sink.

Jeno knows he's being irrational and a dick. The thought of the beasts back in the barn haunt him with the way he's acting with you. He hates the way his brain is forcing parallels between the two when he knows he's nothing like them.

The lapse between the bathroom and wherever you're leading him outside of the home was met with your grandmother's hacking becoming louder. Mixing between rage and begging for something that only caused you to dig your nails into your thighs. The grumbling from earlier returns, just as inaudible as prior. It's maddening but anything within these acres will make you feel so.

One thing is for sure. Jeno has caused something that meant that hag lost whatever him and her had unconsciously begun. And Lord, does it feel fucking good…

His pride blinds him the way the sun had done when he first arrived. Further confused when he notices clothes back on the clothesline, this time muddied and… bloodied? Solid specs of something cling to the cloth, dehydrated immediately by the sun.

While questions pop in his head, his need for an orgasm is far bigger. He doesn't care if the clothes are disgusting and hanging on something meant for clean clothes. He doesn't even care that they've popped up when no one but you could have placed them there, yet you've been with him for a significant amount of time to do so. And as far as he knows, the wheel chair next to your grandmother's recliner prove that she can't even roll down the porch's steps.

Jeno is blinded by lust and pride. Five more sins to black out from the list.

It's fairly nice in the shed you dragged him to. The wood seems newer than the one that composes the main home and the barn. It's waxed and polished. It reminds him of the trailer home he shared with three other coworkers when working in Ruidoso. Oddly cold for New Mexico.

You seem to have caught on to his curiosity, wrapping your arms around him, leading him onto the bed. "We had a worker. Nice guy until he started to rid of the animals." That should explain the splatters in the barn. They looked too large to only be the doing of the pigs.

"You never truly know people…"

Three.

A slight push is enough to sit him on the bed, rebound present in the spring's creaking. His eyes fixate on your hands, the way they waltz over the overall's hardware. Nimble fingers swaying with them to cruelly drop it and move onto the next. Jeno doesn't mind, he welcomes it with a grin and his bottom lip trapped by his upper teeth. Increasing the crimson hue of his flesh.

He leans back on his palms, the stretch of his limbs cause a sting on his gauze cladded arm. It's bearable if it means he gets to enjoy the striptease he was promised.

It's a loud thump against the floorboards by the heavy denim and hardware that force him to look at your bottom half. Eyes raking the smoothness of your legs to the frail and thinning panties. He notices some loose threads, overshadowed by the satin pink rose in the middle that scream at him for a touch.

"Would'ya do me the honors?" You ask, fingers toying with the delicate buttons of the shirt. The top button must've been undone when he was busy ogling your nearly see-through worn panties. He chuckles, sitting up only a mere inches to get a glance at your present cleavage. The buds of your nipples teasing the further you pull down on the grotty fabric.

"Don't I deserve to have you do it after getting wounded? No veteran discount?" You shake your head, "No. You ain't finish your task and you're distracting me from mine."

Jeno takes this gracefully, amused, even. He laughs, properly sitting up, with his hands on his lap and more blood staining the gauze. "Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I guess you're right." It's slightly patronizing —fake, if he's honest— masked by the comedic relief he felt after being here for a few hours.

Fingers feel rougher than prior. He makes sure to tease and taunt in the process of sliding his digits down the fabric. Some touches 'sliding' off onto your skin for a feel of flesh. It's warm and sticky, sweat slowly drying off but visually present. It smells like a warm angry summer that leaves you never wanting to experience it again but you embrace when it returns — torturously familiar.

When Jeno finishes working on your buttons, he lets the fabric fall slack off your shoulders. You stare at him, his attempts to distract you by unbuttoning his own flannel work. Jeno is fast with it, much desperate and unruly to the point you hear some stitches popping here and there.

He's as glorious as Satan had been. The image of a fallen angel sculptured to be perfect by the hands of God personified before your eyes. He's as tempting as the fruit of Eden and if you've fallen before, you'll fall once more.

Your hands perch on his pecks, nails softly raking through the taut skin. He smirks, reveling in the feel so pleasurable to him.

Jeno takes your distraction as an opportunity to latch his fingers onto the elastic of your panties, slowly pulling the fabric down your legs. He lets out a pleased hiss, licking his lips upon noticing the slickness that clings to your lower lips and the fabric.

Neither speak, everything is comprehensible enough with the way you look at each other. The hunger of a wolf enticing him to the delirious sheep staring in curiosity. Unaware it is only another wolf in sheep's clothing.

He takes the bait, grinning at you the while pulling you forward roughly, his warm hand clinging to the soft mound of your ass as his boot clad feet tap your heels apart. His mouth feels hot against your stomach, and his tongue delicious as it licks wherever he kisses.

Your fingers thread through his locks, scraping in anticipation with every nip on your hips. A shudder when his mouth closes on the mound of your pelvic bone, followed by a desperate moan. Jeno has hit gold.

It feels awkward at first, his nose rubbing against you while his lips kiss between your legs. It slowly feels better with the stimulation his tongue provides.

Jeno is more interested in the silent moans you let out. In the way your head throws backs following with a tug at his locks. That is what brings him pleasure, the kind that he rewards by wrapping his plump lips around your clit, sucking to stimulate you further and keep this vicious cycle going.

He doesn't know what it is that makes you taste so deliciously different than the many others he's had before. A certain sweetness that lingers in his tongue when it swipes through your labia. Parting them to inspect every crevice with the soft muscle.

The writhing of your body in between his is something else he has discovered to like. There's a certain thrill which brews within him knowing his grip is what keeps you flush against him. If he wants to let you go, he will. If he doesn't, he won't. That's the control those arms you enjoy so much grant him. It's not like you want him to let you go either. That same depravity fills you, furthering the feeling of playing tag where both win or lose no matter what.

With such a foreign activity, it doesn't take you long to come undone from his mouth. Shuddering as he sheathes his tongue within you. It's a strange feeling, to have him open you up with his tongue and lap at the aftermath of your orgasm. To have his eyes so intently on you as you moan, howling in pleasure followed by scratches to this biceps and arms.

You're not telling him to stop, you're begging him to continue torturing you into overstimulation. But he rather torture you otherwise by pulling back, cum and saliva connecting you both. The image is tempting enough to have you lean down, capturing his glossed lips. Tongue feeling just as soft and the taste of you moving into your own taste buds.

Jeno moans into your mouth, feeling the tugs at his hair fairly more aggressive. The pleasure going down to his groin, hands rushing to unbutton his jeans and freeing himself from those restraints. One of his hands go between your legs, fingers prodding where his tongue had done earlier.

His fingers work slowly, comfortably sheathing themselves within the velvet walls. He's not intentional with anything, lazily pistoning them, slowly… dragging it out to understand what your inside feel like…

You've never felt this taken care of before, it's always quick and unsavory. Sure, some feel great but many don't. It's always take, take, take. Maybe your grandmother was wrong about Jeno, he's very giving, very doting, very hungry.

Whatever pleasure you felt left within seconds, forcing your eyes open to look at him taking his hand and wrapping it around the painfully erect leaking cock. A hiss leaves his lips with a simple touch, a painful whine that brings you the same delight yours have brought him.

You've allowed him to give so much, perhaps it's best if you return the favor.

Your eyes never leave his moving hand, jerking himself off, wanton moans flood the confines of this shed. He's rough and fast with himself, his fist applying pressure at the bottom of the base and on the tip to expel spurts of pre-come. A sheer layer of sweat, small beads cling to his pecks.

Lowering slowly to not distract him, your knees hit the dusty floorboard, some debris clinging to your sticky skin already. Your shoes had been long gone, his boots still stuck to his feet like the bunched up fabric on his thighs.

Your touch forces his eyes open, feeling awfully selfish for worrying about his pleasure rather than adding more to yours. Despite his intentions all day, he still wanted you to feel great, to have you remember him even when he was gone. Because he was special and he knew you were too.

Your nails rake his legs slowly, a red train left behind as you drag his jeans down to his ankles. He watches you kiss his thighs and knees the while you undo his boots, placing them neatly next to your own shoes. He wonders how often you've done that task, it's always a struggle for the other girls he's been with. Is it in your nature or your duty to remove boots for many men before him? Men outside of this situation, men in authority — respectable men.

It's when your lips kiss a trail up his shaft, shuddering and writhing — the way he has made you — that Jeno halts your actions and his, forgetting his inquiries. Strong and clammy hands clasp your shoulders to pull you back. He stares at your swollen lips, parted ready for another taste. Your eyes dilated as if the taste of him was enough of a strong drug.

Your head dips forward, attempting to get him in your mouth this time, yet he denies the action again, squeezing your flesh softly. "No, I won't be able to hold longer if you do." He cries, helping you up to your feet. A light stumble from the jeans that land you both on the creaking bed.

Perching some pillows, Jeno gets comfortable on the sheets, patting his thigh with a cheeky grimace to signal for you to get on. You return the expression, a giggle added the while you settle your weight on him. A kiss as a reward, his hands on your ass again, kneading softly this time. It's rather soft, more tender than the ones before.

A slap on it breaks the rhythm of this kiss, biting his lower lip from startling you. He laughs, massaging the welted area that doesn't really hurt but stings enough for it to feel good.

He watches your moves, the crouching above him while your hand works up and down his cock, using your thumb to lather his pre-come on it. Smiling skeptically when your lips pucker, letting a strand of spit fall on the tip. His tongue caresses his lower lip, eyes narrowed watching you work, positioning yourself above him before letting the tip tease your entrance.

A breathy sigh leaves him, perching his hands on your hips. Softer, nicer than before. "Not your first time, is it?" He asks calmly, not judgemental nor perverted. You shake you head reluctantly, free hand hovering over his toned torso. He doesn't say anything, simply hums, contemplation on what to think.

The innocent farmer's daughter act finally cracked.

Jeno guides you through it. Hand wrapping around yours leading his cock between your folds. You glance at him, his eyes glued to the connection between you. Shaky breaths slither through ajar lips, louder the second he holds onto your waist, helping you down on him.

Jeno's eyes shut tight feeling the warmth of you around his aching cock. It's a different feeling to you around his tongue. It's a nice stretch, a nice sting. His slow fingering hadn't done much to prepare you for his girth but the feeling of enveloping him unprepared made you feel deliciously full.

You shimmy around, hips gyrating over him the while you get comfortable. Eventually those gyrations become intentional, clinging to his torso while lifting your hips up and down, the friction between both of you forming sheer sheets of sweat on your bodies. Returning that bittersweet fruit.

Jeno wasn't shy in letting you know how good you made him feel. Lips parting and forming an 'O' shape. When they touched it was to give a pleased smile, opening them again to utter sweet nothings that made you hot in the face and lower stomach.

A hardy chuckle leaves him, pulling you in for a kiss, hands kneading the hot flesh of your waist, slowly moving upwards. "Look at you, pretty! You feel so fucking good, baby… Taking me whole, you're pretty like this, definitely fate has lead us together." His words slurred, drunk off the high you gave him. The air in these acres poisoning him further.

You reward him with light kisses that trail down his neck, nipping the salty skin. He smiles, meeting your hips halfway with his own thrusts. Breathy moans leave him, eyes closed drowning in the sensation of the warm mouth and cunt on him.

Strangled they become, writhing under you with the feeling of your teeth scraping over his nipples. Nipping them for the effect of his hips pistoning harder. It's intentional on your behalf, but not unappreciated by him. Rather, Jeno pulls you back with a mock offended grin and an airy laugh. Your gaze faking innocence, pushing his intentions forward.

"Cheeky… Cute." He nods conditioning, acting immediately by latching his mouth on your chest. You laugh, replaced by a loud moan when his teeth cling to your perked nipples. Looking down at him the while he pulls back with a shit eating grin like he "got you". It's a juvenile action, one that means nothing if this didn't make you any more wet and impassioned.

It doesn't take him long to realize what he has done. It doesn't matter either because he can feel your depravity seep into his flesh and his groin, causing that fiery arousal in him to hold onto you harshly. And when you lean down to kiss him, chest to chest, Jeno takes this new angle as an opportunity to lift his hips and fuck into you relentlessly.

This pace or position isn't foreign to you but the delicacy and the detail is. He's calculated when he thrusts forward, rushing to grip your jaw and force you to look at him before allowing his hand to take it's original position on your welted ass.

If you moan, he wastes no time to swallow it, pushing his tongue into your mouth and letting the sound slide down the muscle. And if he plans on being extra nice to you, his thighs lift off the mattress to allow the position to create more friction between your bodies, enough for your swollen clit to garner stimulation that forces cries out of you and those… those Jeno relishes upon with languid kisses that sear each other's lips.

Jeno's thrusts ultimately become sloppy and less volatile, his testicles no longer coming in contact with your bottom and for a second you miss that contact. That searing sting that felt too good but wouldn't voice in the occasion Jeno wanted to punish you by stopping, for teasing.

Ragged moans and skin against skin are the only sounds left within the vicinity of these walls. His thighs burn, the exertion tiring his body but he won't give out until you're finished. For a second, you could swear tears welled in his eyes, some spurts of come painting your walls despite how much he's holding off.

Yet, Jeno knows you're a sweet girl, and when your hands cup his face delicately, bringing your lips to him in a tender and slow kiss, he can sigh contently feeling your body begin to relax over his. One of his hands treading lightly to where you're connected, index and ring finger rubbing rapid but delicate circles over your clit.

It's you now that mimics those tear filled eyes, broken moans against his mouth, and shuddering over him with every rubbed circle. He relishes in the feeling when your cunt clasps around him. Swallowing your last moan as you come on him; he knew he would be damned if you were the one with the upper hand.

He takes it all away almost immediately, laying flat on the bed to rest his burning muscles. His fingers leave you, getting you off him, letting you sit on him the while he jerks himself off rapidly. And within seconds, his scorching spurts of come paint your stomach, dripping down the sweaty skin and down to your pelvic bone.

If he had a camera, he would cherish this moment forever.

There's a heaviness in your chest seeing the image, panting with those tears still welled in your eyes when he pulls you down for a kiss. His poor attempts of being tender not gone unnoticed but will go ignored for an ounce of affection.

Neither utter a word, Jeno laying in the atmosphere of post sex and trying his best to ignore how loud an old TV meters away could get. It's almost unfair that after he has won this little game, your grandmother's antics still linger.

"Resist the Devil and he will flee from you!"

He's not too sure how long you've laid there, with you on his chest and his arm around your body. It feels disgustingly domestic and he's glad he hears tires over gravel that force you off of him immediately.

In a spur of a moment, he watches you jump from the bed to the restroom already modestly clothed in comparison to what you and your grandmother had seen all day. There's no traces of sex or the stench of it on you that leaves him awfully surprised on how quick you could get rid of something he had worked hard to leave traces of.

The feeling deepens the moment you rush to toss his clothes at him, his boots no longer neatly tucked under the bed. "Daddy's home, hurry up!" You hiss at him, smoothing the dress that seems oddly familiar. Albeit, this one is pristinely pearl white and not stained red.

He feels like a mouse in a maze throughout these seconds. Treading lightly, almost tip-toeing around craggy gravel and rancid pasture to avoid being seen by your father and younger brother. He watches you change your mind almost a million times when deciding where to come out from.

Eventually you decide to sneak into the barn, the option causing a shudder out of him with memories of those pigs. He wonders if they're waiting for him, grimaces or maybe mocking grins letting him know his opportunity to escape was gone and now it won't be eggs and geese, it will be him. Like they initially intended it to be.

The bile rising up his esophagus begs for clemency to be let out and stop this obnoxious suffering but your spur of energy won't allow it. Pulling him out of the barn from the front and pushing a bucket into his hand with rotten gruel so disgustingly foul that he doesn't have the courage to ask what you could possibly need this for in the house.

His ears won't stop ringing either, whether it's from this inconspicuous dread that fills him — freight could be a better word — or the pitched hunting call that slowly makes his brain spin, drawing him closer without needing your aid, and a dizziness that fuels his bile's case.

All Jeno knows is how rapidly pleasure can turn into uncertainty. As odd as he finds it, the sun is to blame once more.

"Hiya daddy!" Jeno decrees this is what grounds him slightly, the floor under his feet still feels shaken and the air within these acres feels far worse than before. The poison's effects getting worse and worse.

In a blur Jeno watches you jumpily hug your father, the man's years very present in his face and stance. The sun's kisses obviously over his weathered skin, cuts on his hands from farming from days on end.

He thinks his brain can relax when he looks to the left, a fairly quiet kid with a bat in hand. There's a bow on it, something your father obviously rewarded him with for this trip. Jeno forces a smile when he notices the kid staring intently at him. Not curiously the way kids stare, but in a haunting way, warningly.

"Bubby, new toy?" Your voice breaks the gaze they share, the boy smiles with a nod. He takes your hand, skipping around the while picking up some dust, enough for it to taint Jeno's boots you had carefully managed and for the dust to enter his aching lungs.

He hadn't felt like a stranger this entire time, you instant hospitality and friendliness made him feel as if he knew you and your family for longer than the hours he's been here.

It's your brother's hostility and father's curious glare that make him feel left out. The man spits out his chewed tobacco to the left, somehow finding itself near Jeno's feet. He holds back his grimace, swallowing the spit pooled in his mouth.

"Who's this?" He grumbles, trudging heavily towards the house without tearing his gaze from Jeno. "His truck broke down," You motion with you head outside the gates, his truck nowhere visible. "Needs some fuel, daddy. Got an extra can?"

The older man grumbles again, Jeno silences his own snicker. You're just like your father.

"No. We'll fill it up after dinner, hun." Jeno can't help wince this once, your father's voice disgustingly familiar to how his had been all day with the exception that he expected nothing from you. He shouldn't, he's your father after all.

But nothing changes how suffocating and ill Jeno feels knowing he's slowly morphing into this, this that he hates so much. And if he couldn't expel his bile earlier, this and the image above on the top window sure helped.

His loud lurches and hurls force the three of you to look at him with grimaces. Confusion on your face, indifference on your brother's, and offense on the faces of your father and the figure on the window. The splotches of blood bigger than before. Brighter and fresh.

Jeno thinks it feels worse when you don't rush to his aid like before. He's used and ragged, what he wanted to do with you.

"You oughta wash up, yeah?" That's the most you throw his way, hand hovering over his back but never touching. It's frustrating how your warmth isn't felt either.

Jeno looks at you, then at the window again. There's nothing— again. Nothing for him to blame and to further make him look like a fool. Jeno can't stay here any longer, he needs to get out.

His feet think otherwise, trudging along towards the house while he kicks some dirt over the mess he's made. He winces, gagging occasionally, retrieving it when he catches your father shake his head disapprovingly from the corner of his eye.

"Man up." He's sure that's what he's thinking, sharing a sentiment with the cow.

The instant the threshold of that rickety home is crossed, your grandmother's hacking becomes louder, strained to let out everything she had in her system even if he doesn't understand it but you do. You understand it enough to rush her way and raise the volume of the TV while stuffing her mouth with some cookies she had on her side table.

A seething rage in the way you shove the dry matter into her weathered mouth, with hushed words that Jeno isn't sure he's proud of or concerned that you're showing this brash part to him. This isn't the you he has liked for the time being, he has no interest in knowing you.

Jeno is unable to hear what you tell that wretched woman but he thinks it's bad enough to make her deflate and wince like a kicked puppy. The anger of your words linger in your eyes that attempt to blink away while making your way to the kitchen in a rush.

It's reminiscent of the pace back in the shed. You move through these halls in a pace he can't keep. Clanking and open cans are heard, a sermon so muffled by now that he thanks god for once. Your grandmother's hacking stifled by the cookies she's struggling to dissolve in her mouth. And your brother like the odd little shit he is, stares and stares at him. Tapping his bat against his foot, continuing to chip off the stain until it's gray underneath.

The older offers a polite smile, waving his hand even the while he rocks on his heels. But the child minds nothing of that, in a state of mild catatonia that only applies to how he interacts with Jeno.

"Alright, daddy, I'll check if there's any." Your voice snaps him out of it, smiling your way as you lead him to the restroom so he can freshen up. There's an authoritarian pep to your step, distressed and too mature for how you had been with him — prior to their arrival — that he didn't like. He thinks the dress only adds onto this persona you've picked up.

And the while he washes his mouth clean of the contents of his stomach, Jeno notices the way you stare at him through the mirror. A semblance of worry as you chew on the skin of your lower lip.

"What is? Round two?" He attempts to tease, his chuckle comes out broken instead. When he's met with that same blank stare your brother had given him, Jeno swirls in his spot before spitting out the mouthwash.

He leans against the sink, the trimming digging into his lower side. "What is it, love?" He asks seemingly concerned. Your eyes flicker to his, mouth twisting to a side before sighing.

"I just don't know how to tell daddy that I'm leaving with you today."

What?

"What?" Jeno's eyebrows furrow, standing up properly. "You should help me pack actually." The glimmer in your eyes make him feel sick again, the grimace on his face growing.

"Today? Baby, I don't have a place of my own yet. I can't have you live with me in a trailer home with three other men, can I?" Jeno thinks of all the excuses he can muster to kill this stupid idea you have.

He offered to take you to a stupid movie, not to live with him.

"You promised…" your voice meek, eyes settling on his offended ones. He doesn't recall ever doing such thing, but he will lie if he has to. "I know, I know, baby… I'll come back for you though, yeah?" His hand reaches your arm, soothingly rubbing the clothed skin — an unfamiliar image.

"I'll come back for you, I promise." And it's disgustingly believable that your guts churn, twisting with an inexplicable anger.

"You promised you would take me." It's not whiny nor meek. Your voice is strong enough to be heard outside these walls and for the words to cement themselves in his ears. Jeno can't differentiate if what he feels is trepidation or frustration. Why is it so difficult for his words to get through your head? It's not natural for someone to get this attached to someone they met a few hours ago.

"And I will… I will, but not now. Let me get settled on my own first and I'll come back for you, darling. In the meantime I'll come visit every weekend." He smiles ridiculously, confident it will work on you. The stupid, inept farmer's daughter that will do what he wants. What everyone wants.

Jeno watches you sigh, nodding while a slow smile forming. "You're right. you're right." You relent with a content resigned smile, one he mimics finally complacent. "That's my girl." He hums, cupping your face and connecting his lips to your temple. "I'll go check my truck in the meantime."

He strides over to the door, flinging it open to have you follow behind. Your grandmother's hacking laughter is what pushes away whatever semblance of tranquility you had within you. Before he can manage to leave the house, you hold his wrist — a little too tight in comparison to any of your grasps.

"Mind helping Bubby check if there's a canister of oil from the basement? They're too heavy for him to bring up." The sweetness in your voice returns, satiating whatever Jeno clung onto from first meeting you. He's reluctant of course, his body aches and he'll go insane if he spends any time with your weird little brother.

But he has to remain in your graces if he wants to leave peacefully. So he nods, smiling tightly and having you lead him towards your brother that stands in between the threshold of the kitchen and the basement door.

The boy kicks something into the corner, Jeno can't get a good look of it but it has a foul odor and the squelching is loud enough for either to hear. You pay no mind which makes it eerie when the boy manages to cover it with the brand new bat.

"Bubby, daddy needs a canister. He'll help you, okay?" The boy doesnt respond, he simply unlocks the door to the damp and dark basement, brushing past Jeno with a shove that nearly makes him stumble. You give him an apologetic smile, gaze lingering for a while.

There's an uncomfortable silence that rises the hairs on the nape of his neck, the longing in your eyes makes him shift uncomfortably that Jeno can only think to kiss your temple again to rid of this moment. Your grasp on his wrist softens, squeezing softly before nodding to the door. Your brother had long been down there in the dark.

When he looked back to see if you were still there, Jeno's breath hitches in the back of his throat. The odd familiarity between that woman in the attic and you formed a pit in his stomach the further he went down these stairs.

He makes small talk, nervous and quivering when the wood continues to dip under his step. Your brother doesn't respond to any of this and Jeno curses under his breath. Not an ounce of light has touched this place and he's unsure of how Bubby has found his way around.

Jeno nearly stumbles when your brother turns a lantern on, shining the underside of his face. For a second he finds familiarity between your brother and the woman that he could only see in blurs.

"Easy, bud. You scared me." He jokes, hand clutching his chest with labored breaths, attempting to pat the child's shoulder before he dodges the contact.

"Your sister is real sweet…" Jeno continues his attempts. "I like her, you know." There's almost a semblance of truth in his voice that anyone else could believe, but children aren't as easy to manipulate. Your brother halts in his spot.

Jeno thinks he's getting somewhere, smiling in relief when the boy looks up at him. His face doesn't show any signs of hostility but he's also not lax about the news. Jeno can't really blame him, especially if he knew how much of a dog Jeno was.

"I'll swing by next week. Anything you think she'll like?" "You all say the same darn thing."

Jeno thinks a kick to the balls would hurt less. No, scratch that, he's not hurt but he's utterly confused and almost freighted with the way your brother clearly states those words.

No hesitation, no childlike tone. He's well spoken and angry.

He swivels around, continuing like nothing but Jeno swears there are eyes on him now. It's reminiscent of the time he went hunting with his father once. How hungry and depraved the older man looked when finding some fawn and how Jeno pretended to root for his father.

A pit forms in his stomach the way it did then.

"I do like her, buddy." Jeno tries to laugh it off even when his voice quivers on its own. Your brother doesn't immediately respond, pointing up at the canister that in Jeno's opinion was fairly light enough. No reason for him to come all the way here when your brother could have pulled up a chair.

"Just like brother in law… just like everyone."

His ears ring, watching the way the brother takes the canister from his hands like nothing. Feather light with a tight grasp that Jeno has never managed to have.

The child's strides were fast, skipping past him with an odd melody humming off his lips. With every one of his steps, the stairs creak, singing that same melody — pushing Jeno further into that feeling he's been straining.

"Do you even know her name?" The boy chides, stepping heavily on a step enough for the wood to crack. Jeno feels his soul leave his body, the step bellow his teasing him as to tell him that his is next. He shall fall with the weak wood, as weak as him.

The boy giggles, jumping onto the other step. Jeno didn't know your name and it hadn't dawn upon him that he's given empty promises to someone virtually anonymous. This shouldn't ache as much as it does, but it makes him feel the weight of his sleaziness. He's hit a new low.

"Mama don't like bad guests." He lets out in a sing song while unscrewing the cap of the canister. Jeno can't act fast enough to stop him from pouring out most of the liquid or from intentionally dropping the canister. Running up the remaining steps with loud cries, tears immediately pouring out enough to drag you to the top of the steps.

The worry on your face is clear as day. Hands cradling the crying child for any signs of foul play, but for him you'll always believe anything he says.

"What happened, Bubby?" "The can, it fell… it was too heavy."

Your soft gaze drops, turning to Jeno with a cold glare he could never expect from you. Those soft features he has learned to enjoy are gone and there's a meanness to your puckering lips that make him feel sick.

"That wasn't nice of you—" "What? Love no. I- he took it—"

Jeno slips a few steps back, holding onto the concrete walls — the material ragging his hands and nails. He winces, holding his fingers in his mouth; muffling his words. "I had it, he took it from my hands. I didn't make him do anything." Jeno defends, managing his way to the top in slow strides, holding onto the same walls that are making his palms bleed.

"That wasn't nice of you…" you repeat, softly like he likes. He sighs, looking down at the boy in your arms that grins his way in between cries. Jeno attempts to defend himself again, reaching for your shoulder just to be rejected the way your brother had done.

Rejection… it's a disgusting and vile feeling. The one that clogs your throat and poisons the acid in his stomach making it far more painful to spew. Indignantly, his voice pitches. "You can't be serious?" He scoffs, trying again, to be once more rejected with a sharp hiss.

"It's not nice of you to treat a child like that." Jeno rolls his eyes, hands on his hips staining the denim. He shakes his head, a scoff louder than prior. "And it's not nice of you to take advantage of my generosity." The seething anger in your voice snaps his head up, eyes narrow and awfully offended by your choice words.

"You've been a bad guest and mama don't like bad guests."

Jeno can't process the words he's heard so much throughout his time before he feels the ache of the wooden bat against his shins. The pain increases with another blow to his back, and lastly a push so delicate he can tell that one came from you. He's not sure if what he hears cracking are his bones or the stairs — he reckons it doesn't matter.

The words won't leave his mouth, like a new born he can only complain through moans and cries. His body aches all around, no space more than the other and he wonders if this is what that fawn all those years ago felt like when it wasn't his father nor him that finished its days. How anguished the screams had been, trampled by it's own scared herd and not yet dead when the coyote launched over.

"There's gruel if you get hungry." This wasn't your voice, he doesn't think so, even if it comes from you. Whatever force there's left of him, Jeno stumbles up rushing as fast as he can over the barely stable steps. It's futile, they only end up pushing him off with the help of the oil that stinks beyond belief. It coats his clothes and skins, marking his wrong doings.

And the only thing left for him is to cry at the top of his lungs watching you glare at him. The hands that once held him forming a cross over your heart and kissing the one your fingers make.

His gaze begs you, trembling as he pleads for clemency that does not come; the door creaks shut with the melody your brother and those steps had sung. A voice joins the door once it is shut, a creep crawling through his spine and embodied through his screeching cries.

Peace is gone, the light he didn't know existed in the attic turns on. As yellow as the bathroom light that had been the only true warmth within these walls. And like the prior one, this light can only whisper apologetic: "This is the end, my friend…" directing him towards the creeping figure that has haunted him all this time.

The stains on her dress had completely covered it, a nice crimson he sees on women at night. It's fresh, he can tell this much from the stench it emanates with every step. The splatters on her face and hands show no sign of drying any time soon.

Jeno hadn't registered his surroundings. The stacks of bloodied clothes, flies over them, and the faded polaroids hidden under. He scoots back, his blood running cold all over his body when he notices his extra pair of work boots and jacket his mother had made lazily thrown over with his own polaroid. Freshly taken of him waiting for someone to open the door when he first arrived.

Jeno had never thought he'd be the fawn or the sheep he's hunted in the past. It wasn't in his nature, he's been told all his life, but here he is now. Screaming at the top of his lung with silent prayers that he mimics from your grandmother's sermon playing at full blast.

"The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not be in want!"

The large circle over his face on the picture, red from the blood he's not sure where the woman has gotten it from. It doesn't smear nor disappears under his frantic thumb. His words jumble to drown the woman's croaking. Her cold and harsh grasp cling to his leg the while he attempts to crawl up the stairs that have betrayed him.

"He restores my soul!" But Jeno doesn't have it in him to believe these words which have betrayed him his entire life. What he does believe is the pain in his body that increases with her grasp and own blows. The rancid smell of her breath fanning over his face and it's uncanny how familiar her features are to yours that he never could guess you'd have these nefarious genes.

"You've been a horrid guest… worse than those before and I don't like bad guests…"o

taglist: @ant-onie @cookydream @luv4rj @bacons-thighs @ilikekpop-c @valentinetown @bluedbliss @shiningnono @parkitonandy @the-universe-in-you-jjh @yukisroom97 @ddolbyong @bananinhazz @weiweific @sugaringgcaramel @sweetdreamczennie @revlada @shadysnoopyy @neostraytiny @bizidolly @the-divine-femme-fatale @flaminghotyourmom @fatbixchwithanopinion @mi1kteaa @deny4l4 @aliexsblog @fancypeacepersona @saranghoeforanton @sibwol @94vsmonbebe @hchanslut @bananinhazz @numberoneprincessenthusiast @i-kwosooy @horr0rv4cui @rosierlluv @dior-15 @cathy-1997

[alreadyblondenow]

Won't take no for an answer

▸ Lee Jeno x Female reader ▸ 1,616k ▸ Fluff, Smut, not much Angst but drama hehe ▸ oral sex (female receiving), swearing, mentions of alcohol ▸ FROM MY FIC: A not so Cinderella story

After what happened between you and Jeno in the showers… you can’t help but think about that moment when you saw him walking towards you, towel wrapped around his waist, shirtless, looking very sexy in his wet hair. You remember how your body became warm in an instant and it’s not because you just got out of the showers. You were a hundred percent sure that it’s because of Lee Jeno. And you can’t believe that you’re affected and you’re not immune to his charms. You are just like the other girls that go crazy about him. The kind of girl that notices how his super black hair is so sexy and that his eyes disappear whenever he smiles.

And you refused to be like the other girls.

Maybe this is one of Jeno’s games to fool you? One of his crazy jokes? Even though he already explained himself… there’s still this uneasy feeling whenever you think about him. You don’t know for sure.

But you feel like avoiding him at school is the right decision.

Maybe teasing him back is not the best way to start your day.

Or maybe flirting with other guys will finally make him go away and make him stop pursuing you.

It’s been days after that moment in the showers. He’s been teasing you at school, calling you at night, texting you every day. He even tried picking you up from your house. But somehow you managed to dodge everything and avoid him.

Come Saturday night, it was a perfect time to party because you knew the football team would be busy with training very late. But everything was ruined when you saw Jaemin, another member from the football team… and the next thing you know your space was invaded and Jeno was sitting in front of you while you laughed with your friends on the couch and teased Jaemin for his black eye… little did you know that it was not a very great time for teasing.

“You look like a panda, Jaems…” you teased.

“And you’re so annoying that you’re the number one reason that Jeno is pissed the whole training—“ Jaemin blurted out. He was completely angry out of nowhere and Jeno was quick to calm him down. “What? You call her annoying all the time!” Jaemin defended again.

“I get it you’re mad. But only I get to call her annoying… okay, Jaems?” Jeno said calmly.

“Whatever,” Jaemin said and walked away.

After Jaemin’s anger outburst, you found your way out of the party, squeezing through the crowd and quickly looking for the exit. Jeno was a mistake, you thought. As you walked fast away from the house party, the streets were dark but you didn’t care. All you cared about was how you’re going to hate Lee Jeno again.

“Stop… stop, Y/n, please.”

Then suddenly Jeno was chasing you in the middle of the street, stopping you from walking away from him. But you were so angry and you didn’t want to see his face right now… so you pushed him over and over again. You pushed him hard but he accepted it, trying to catch your arms and calm you down with a hug.

It worked.

Your heart was beating so fast and you… suddenly didn’t want to get away from this warmth.

“You’re trouble… I get this feeling of uneasiness when I’m involved with you. I’m… scared to fall in love.”

And hearing that broke Jeno’s heart.

“I thought we were okay? After that moment in the showers… I thought we were on the same page? Is this the reason why you’re giving me a hard time these past weeks?”

You didn’t answer him.

“Well, it’s working! I’m going crazy! I wish you could have just…” he was trying to bottle his anger too, you could see that his feelings were there. As if they were kept hidden for a long time. “I wish you could have just talked to me.”

You watched him take deep breaths.

“Sorry. I’m just gonna say it. I like you and I’m not planning to let you go. But if you want to give me a hard time, so be it. Fuck it! I’m going to accept whatever shit you throw at me, I don’t care. I’ll pour my heart out and I’ll leave you to it. As long as I could try!”

You heard him. Every word he said. And you kept it in your heart.

That night ended in silence. He watched you walk from behind until you reached your house. Not a single word from you after his confession.

One rainy day, Jeno finished cleaning his car and found one shoe while he was cleaning. He figured it was yours, it must have fallen from your gym bag during the last time you rode in his car. That was a beautiful day, he thought.

He rushed to your house, only to find out that you’d already left for training and that your parents weren’t around. The house was empty. He knew your training schedule, so he knew that you were almost done with training and he was going to wait for you. But the rain had other plans… it poured hard and he waited for quite some time outside. Even though your porch had a shade, he was drenched because of the wind. He was also freezing.

When you arrived, you were so shocked that he was at your door, drenched and freezing, standing with a wet paper bag in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in front of my house all drenched… come inside,” you invited him and you saw him smile as if he wasn’t freezing.

He gave you the paper bag with the shoe in it… and you smiled and laughed because he came all the way just to give you your shoe. You quickly left him in the living room to get a towel with a smile on your face. Quickly you returned and wrapped him up.

“Follow me,” you said as you went to your room and found dry clothes for him. He was silent the whole time, still couldn’t believe that he was inside your house… inside your room… “You can change there,” you said and handed him clean clothes.

By the time you two were settled with hot cocoa in your hands, you let him sit next to you while you two watched the rain from outside your window. He bravely reached for your cold hand, kissed it dearly and placed it on his cheek. You giggled at his bravery and told him,

“Can you keep me warm?” you said with a flirty tone, pulling him closer to you.

“I got a few ideas in my mind but… I can only keep you warm until 12 pm?” You both laughed at what he said. You oh-so wanted him to ditch training, but you knew he couldn’t.

“We have 15 minutes?” you said and started kissing him deeply until you were laying flat on your cold bed. His hands were swift to remove your shorts and underwear, and to your shock you didn’t know that he was already going to eat your pussy before he left.

“You motherfu—“ you tried to curse him out but his tongue was giving you a hard time processing your words and stopping you from thinking straight. He kissed your inner thighs softly, blowing cold air on your already wet slit before burying his face in your pussy and starting to lick up and down. Giving your clit a few licks that completely made you moan and close your legs, squeezing his head in between your thighs. He laughed then spread your legs open with his strong arms, pinning them on the mattress while he licked you non-stop until you came a few times.

“Do you still hate me now?” he teased and proceeded to kiss your lips and catch your moans while his finger was playing with your slit and teasing your sensitive cunt. You couldn’t feel your legs already. You felt so weak, hot, but very satisfied.

You just read a removed scene from a full fic that I wrote years ago. I’ve been doing short fics from the full fics I’ve written before, so I could somehow update them for 2025 because I thought that they’re really good 🥹

If you want a specific fic that you want to have a short fic, LET ME KNOW!

♥ Masterlist ♣ Ask ♠ Follow for more!

-B.

[jenostarr]

"More Than a Game" (M)

Pairing: Jeno x Fem!Reader x Haechan

Genre: Smut/PWP

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+/mature audiences only), threesome (Jeno x fem!reader x Haechan), implied foursome mention, dom!Jeno & Haechan x sub!reader dynamic, rough sex/rough oral, recording (voyeurism kink), dirty talk/degradation(consensual, playful), praise, light ass fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum play, light breeding talk, possessive/competitive dynamic between Jeno and Haechan

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Being their spoiled little doll comes with consequences—like ending up on all fours in a messy competition between Jeno and Haechan. Cameras recording, hands gripping, mouths and cocks using you until you break. You belong to both of them… though one of them swears you’re only his.

✦ ──────────────────────────────────── ✦

You don’t even know whose bedroom it is—Jeno’s, Haechan’s, maybe even yours—but you can’t think straight long enough to care. They’ve already stripped you of control, leaving you on all fours at the center of the bed, your panties tugged down and bunched at your thighs like a pathetic little reminder of how quickly they ruined you.

Jeno’s behind you like a starving man, big hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread wide for him. His tongue pushes into you with a messy hunger, fucking your pussy hole with wet, filthy strokes before dragging up to your clit and sucking hard enough to make you jolt forward. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just buries himself deeper between your legs, groaning into your heat like he’s addicted to the taste of you.

The movement pushes you forward—right into Haechan. He’s already on his knees, cock hard and heavy in his fist, stroking himself lazily while watching Jeno devour you from behind. His smirk sharpens when you look up at him with glassy eyes, lips parted like you’re waiting for orders.

“Open up, doll,” Haechan says smoothly, pressing the head of his cock against your mouth. “Be a good girl and suck.”

You part your lips, and he pushes in—slow at first, letting you adjust before sliding deeper, making you hollow your cheeks to take him. You whimper around him, tongue swirling against the underside of his shaft, desperate to please him the way Jeno’s tongue is tearing you apart from behind.

Jeno growls when he feels your thighs clench around his face. He spreads them even wider, forcing you open more as he fucks your pussy with his tongue faster, rougher, like he’s competing with Haechan for your sounds. His hands are unforgiving, fingers digging into your skin to keep you still while his tongue drives you insane. Then—sudden, filthy—one of his fingers slides down and presses against your ass, circling lightly before slipping just the tip in.

You choke on Haechan’s cock, eyes watering as your body trembles from the overwhelming mix of sensations. Haechan laughs breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your head to hold you steady as he starts thrusting into your mouth. His pace matches Jeno’s—rough, relentless, like they’re both determined to ruin you first.

“That’s it, baby,” Jeno mutters against your soaked cunt, voice muffled but firm. “Take him down your throat while I eat you raw.”

“You look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Haechan groans, guiding his length deeper until he hits your throat. “Good little slut… you’ll choke on me, won’t you?”

You gag softly, but you don’t pull back—you take it, tears slipping down your cheeks as Haechan keeps you steady with a tight grip in your hair. His thrusts grow harsher, his cock hitting the back of your throat again and again until drool spills down your chin.

Behind you, Jeno’s not letting up either. He drags his tongue over your clit, flicking it, then sucks it hard enough to make you see stars. His finger presses deeper into your ass as his tongue thrusts into your pussy again, and you can’t stop the muffled cries spilling from your stuffed mouth.

The air is thick with their groans and your desperate sounds—Jeno’s possessive growl against your cunt, Haechan’s breathless curses above you, and your own helpless whimpers around Haechan’s cock.

“She’s mine tonight,” Jeno snarls suddenly, tugging your ass back against his face like he needs you closer.

“Not if she keeps sucking me like that,” Haechan shoots back, thrusting rougher into your throat. “Look at her—taking it like the perfect little doll she is.”

Your whole body trembles between them, overwhelmed but obedient, letting them use you exactly how they want—Jeno devouring your pussy like a jealous wolf, Haechan fucking your throat with possessive strokes. And all you can do is take it, messy and ruined, their spoiled little toy.

Jeno finally tears himself away from your soaked pussy with a wet, obscene sound, his lips and chin glistening with you. You barely have time to gasp before he’s shoving his pants and boxers down, cock thick and leaking as he positions himself right behind you. His grip is firm, possessive, fingers digging into your hips like he’s branding you, and then—he pushes in.

You cry out around Haechan’s cock as Jeno sinks into your pussy with one deep thrust, stretching you to the limit and filling you so completely your arms tremble just to hold yourself up. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, either. He pulls back only to slam into you again, hips snapping hard against your ass, the sound of skin slapping mixing with your muffled moans and Haechan’s low groans.

“Fuck, baby,” Jeno grits out behind you, rutting deep, relentless. “So tight—so fucking good. You were made for me.”

“Not just you,” Haechan taunts above you, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. He grips your head firmly, holding you steady as he fucks your mouth rough and unyielding. Drool runs down your chin, your eyes watering, but you take it like the good girl they want, choking prettily on his cock as he laughs breathlessly. “She’s our doll, remember?”

Jeno growls at that but doesn’t stop pounding into you from behind. His thrusts are deep, calculated, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body quake. Each time he slams in, your pussy clenches tighter around him, dragging a grunt from his throat.

You’re so overwhelmed—Jeno fucking your dripping pussy hard from behind, Haechan stuffing your mouth and throat from the front—that you don’t notice the door creaking open.

“...What the fuck,” a familiar voice murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open, watery and wide, and there’s Jaemin—standing at the door, frozen for only a second before a crooked smirk spreads across his face.

“Can I join too?” he asks casually, like he just walked in on something normal.

Neither Jeno nor Haechan stops. Jeno snarls possessively, his thrusts growing sharper as he grips your hips harder. “No. She’s mine right now.”

“Ours,” Haechan corrects with a dark chuckle, pushing his cock deeper down your throat, groaning at the way you gag around him.

Jaemin shrugs, clearly amused. “Fine. I’ll wait. But…” His eyes flick down to the way Jeno’s cock disappears into you, the sound of wetness filling the room. “Want me to set the phone somewhere? Record everything for later?”

Jeno doesn’t even hesitate, groaning as he drives into you. “Yeah. Set it somewhere only me and her are in frame.”

Jaemin smirks. “Got it.” He props his phone by the door, angled perfectly to catch the view of Jeno pounding into you, his hips smacking against your ass over and over, his cock stretching your dripping pussy. Not a hint of Haechan in sight.

“Fuck,” Jeno groans when he notices the little red light blinking on the phone. “Look at that, baby. Just us. You and me.” His hand comes down to spank your ass hard before gripping it again, spreading you wider so his cock can slide even deeper.

Haechan notices instantly, and irritation flashes across his face. He stills for a moment, then pulls his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop. You gasp for air, chest heaving, only for him to smirk and dig his phone out of his pants pocket.

“Two can play that game,” he mutters, thumbing his camera on. He sets it on the bedside table, angled down to capture only him—your messy, spit-slick mouth stretching around his cock as he pushes back into you.

“There we go,” Haechan groans as he grips your head with both hands, thrusting in rough and deep, hitting the back of your throat until you gag and drool spills down your chin again. “Now I get my own pretty little recording too. Look up at me, doll—show me how much you love my cock.”

Tears streak down your cheeks as you look up at him, lips stretched around his thick length, and he grins wickedly, groaning louder.

Behind you, Jeno growls low, slamming into you harder, each thrust making your ass jiggle, your pussy squelching around him. He bends low, his breath hot against your ear. “Ignore him, baby. You’re mine. My tight little pussy. My good girl.” His hips rut deep, hitting that spot again and again until your walls flutter helplessly around him.

You’re nothing but a mess between them—Jeno’s cock fucking into your pussy with rough, hungry thrusts, Haechan’s cock filling your throat until you can barely breathe. Both of them recording their own angles like they’re competing to claim you, to prove you belong more to one than the other.

And all you can do is take it, trembling, dripping, choking, their spoiled little doll.

Haechan’s thrusts into your mouth grow more desperate, his grip on your head tightening until your scalp tingles. He fucks your throat rough, unrelenting, groaning deep in his chest as his hips snap forward faster. His cock hits the back of your throat again and again, and the messy, gagging sounds only make him curse louder.

“Shit, doll—” his voice is strained, rough, “—gonna cum if you keep sucking me like that.”

Behind you, Jeno snarls at the words, pounding into your pussy even harder, his thrusts sharp and punishing. He leans low, voice a growl against your ear. “You don’t cum until I make you cum. Only me.” His cock drives deep, hitting your sweet spot again and again, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the room.

Haechan lets out a low, broken groan and yanks your head down on his cock one last time before pulling out suddenly, your lips slick with spit. He strokes himself fast, teeth gritted, and then he’s spilling hot over your tits—ropes of cum painting your skin, dripping down between your breasts and onto the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” he pants, leaning back against the headboard with his chest heaving. “Look at you, doll… messy little slut covered in me.” He grins lazily, watching the way his release shines on your tits while his phone catches every filthy second.

But Jeno doesn’t stop. If anything, Haechan’s climax seems to fuel him. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting deep and rough into your soaked pussy, every stroke making you jolt forward. One of his hands slides around your body, down between your thighs, and then he’s rubbing your clit—fast and rough, just enough pressure to drive you over the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” Jeno growls, his voice rough with strain. “Clamp down on my cock—milk me like the good girl you are.” His fingers circle your clit relentlessly, matching the rhythm of his deep, punishing thrusts.

Your body trembles violently, your walls squeezing tighter and tighter around him until you break. The orgasm crashes over you, hard and messy, your pussy fluttering and clamping around his cock, sucking him in like it doesn’t want to let him go. You cry out, muffled and wrecked, your arms giving out so you slump into the sheets while he holds you up by the hips.

Jeno doesn’t let you breathe through it. He keeps fucking into you through your orgasm, using the tight, wet spasms of your pussy to push himself closer to the edge.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” he groans, rutting into you rougher, hips slamming against your ass. “That sweet little cunt was made for me. Should stuff you full—breed you like my perfect doll.” His thrusts get sloppier, his groans louder, until he finally pulls out, stroking himself fast.

With a guttural sound, he spills hot across your ass cheeks, painting your skin with thick ropes of cum. It drips down your curves, some sliding to the back of your thighs, sticky and obscene. He gives your ass one last smack, watching his release glisten on your skin before groaning low in satisfaction.

Both phones are still recording—Haechan’s capturing the aftermath of your ruined mouth and cum-soaked tits, Jeno’s catching the sight of his cum dripping down your ass while your pussy clenches around nothing, fluttering from the high he forced out of you.

Haechan smirks through his ragged breathing. “Guess she’s ours tonight after all, huh?”

Jeno shoots him a dark glare, still gripping your ass possessively. “No. She’s mine. Always mine.”

And you—wrecked, dripping, and ruined between them—are too far gone to argue, just trembling on all fours as their cameras record every filthy claim they’ve left on your body.

─── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ───

Thank you for reading! reblog and comment are always appreciated!.

Taglist: @multifandomania, @bluedbliss, @cookydream, @reveries01, @dior-15, @flamminhotlemon

If you want to be tagged in my future jeno/nct dream writings, join the taglist here.

[dollhoonki]

✰ ── SERGEANT POLITENESS ⋆ LEE JENO。

⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾  yours and jeno's friends manage to snag a reservation at the fanciest restaurant in town. too bad they coincide with jeno's plans to wreak havoc.

李帝努 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ──2k    explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、 dom!jeno、 sub!reader、 semi public sex、 use of a toy、 spit kink、unprotected sex (don't do this)、 creampie、 dirty talk、praise、light degradation/humiliation、petnames (baby, good girl). let me know if any more are missing! ⌇ℳ.list

⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ hellooooo! back again with another fic amidst bigger ones! i finally got my hands on a prompt list for kinktober and this (as well as other future fics) came into being. i hope you enjoy this. you've really amazed me with all the support on this blog and for my writing, it genuinely warms my heart 🥹 thank you so, so, so much! also (!!!) the title is based on the song by failure, which i felt matched the vibes of this fic (not the 2nd last line though 😐) anywho, let's dive in, shall we? much loveeeeeeee! <333

The cutlery is polished enough to magnify every pore on your twitching face. Nothing is out of place, no creases in the black and white of waiters’ garments, imported wines dating back generations and chandlers that shine so bright you clutched onto your humble jewelry with the sinking feeling of inferiority. It’s the perfect painting of opulence and sophistication and here you are, anything but.

Canines make a home in the flesh of your bottom lip, trembling in fear of what tortured sound could come out if you don’t gain some shred of control. Your knuckles rival the porcelain white of your pasta dish, hinged on your fork and knife so hard they’re bending. Conversations whizzes past you, words and ideas jumping at your dwindling attention but it’s a tedious task, thinking of anything else except for the silent whirr inside you, incessant and troublesome. So very troublesome.

Jeno doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, he may as well be ignoring you with the hard slopes of the side profile he gives you, sterling silver rings resting on the very slender fingers that were inside you not even thirty minutes ago. You stew at the memory, hating how putty in his hands you are despite its recurring consequences. Of course everything he does is a suggestion, something that always requires your agreement so maybe your annoyance should direct itself towards the foolish doll that agreed to this absolute mess of a plan, one that slowly unravels the longer this impossibly-long dinner takes.

“Should I turn it up?” he mutters, barely above the string quarter not far from your booth. He doesn’t bother with a glance, fork gathering his half-eaten truffle pasta. You’ve maybe managed to ingest a corner piece of your lasagna - it’s embarrassing. “Seems like you’ve gotten used to the speed.”

Only then he looks your way, nose strong with eyes behind frameless glasses that makes the room several degrees hotter than before. It’s his fault this happened really. For dinner plans amongst his friends and their partners, he cleans up in a way that weakens your buckling knees, pinstriped suit tailored to the muscles your hands long to run over. He’s everything out of your wildest dreams, so how could you stop yourself from making a move? A few throw-away minutes is all you needed, he could undo you in less and that he did, except before you pile into his car, he perches your high-heeled foot against his shoulder, sliding the toy in you with a kiss to your ankle. The kiss of death, your hindsight bitterly recaps. Your compliance aligns with a fantasy you revealed to him days before, a conversation you didn’t think would bare fruit this soon, but that’s not of any significance now.

“You okay?” Jaemin asks from across the table, intuitive as ever. You could really do without it now though. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

Panic straightens your sagged posture, wide eyes darting to Jeno in salvation as the buzz persists, blending your insides to molten hot burn.

“He’s got a point honey,” he feigns innocence with the knit of his eyebrows, having the audacity to envelope your hand with his. You are going to kill him. “Lasagna’s your favourite, no?”

It is, it really fucking is. If not for the brain fog-inducing toy between your quivering legs, you’d be licking the plate clean with classless demands for seconds, the only demon you’d have to fight being your appetite, not your own boyfriend.

In an attempt to compose yourself for a table focused on only you, you shift against your two-person velvet booth seat, making the grave mistake of pushing the toy against the place Jeno knows so well he smiles before you react. The yelp is instant, knee knocked against the table that jumps in your wake. What’s saving you is the fact nothing spills except for stray drops of your table’s water pitcher, what doesn’t is the concern crossing their faces as they exchange worried looks between themselves, then you.

“S-sorry,” you manage, voice small and shaky. If not for your poker face, they’d know something is up, embarrassment running your body hot. “Thought I, uhm…felt something against my leg,”

You pick up the draping tablecloth previously brushing against your calf as evidence. "Must've been this.”

“See? It wasn’t just me getting spooked,” Jisung argues, sucking off tomato paste against his thumb.

Beside him, Chenle rolls his eyes, slicing into his medium rare steak. “I refuse to support any notion of you being anything but a scaredy-cat.”

Jisung opens his mouth to speak, but Haechan beats him to it. “I’ve seen your head hit the ceiling when you caught sight of your own shadow. Let’s not even.”

“There was a spider! A big one!”

Haechan simply cannot help himself. “Big like this-”

“And here I thought we could have a nice meal,” Renjun interjects, staring daggers at the man beside him, Haechan cowering into a shell half his size.

Conversation continues like this - childish bickers, innuendos in the face of disappointment. It’s a comfortable rhythm you either playing along with or watch fondly, but you’re incapable of neither. All too soon, the buzz intensifies in speed and sound, your mouth falling open in a silent cry, Jeno’s arm being grabbed in rising desperation. Ecstasy scrambles your half-baked thoughts, your ankles crossing as if it’ll stop the inevitable. You couldn’t be any more thankful for the low candlelight of the establishment, doing you favours as your back falls against the plush of the booth, fingernails sinking into Jeno’s biceps.

“It’s like you want people to know,” his voice claws through your blurring vision, lights glossy and smudged. In the haze, his face draws closer, woody musk engulfing you. “Is that what you want? Our friends knowing how some dumb little toy melts that brain of yours?”

The pinch of your lips doesn’t do much to insinuate your whimper, head falling to his shoulder as your hips chase missing friction - the toy not enough and unbearable all in one.

“Turn it off,” you dim your voice to a whisper, scared of what’ll escape otherwise. You’re looking up at him with eyes half-lidded, a painting of pleasure and torture. “Please. I can’t - not here.”

He stares down at you, hypnotized by the tremble of your thighs, your low pants for his ears only.

“Why not, baby? Don’t you wanna come?” A lone lip corner lifts, his wolfish grin only adding to the damp of your underwear. “You’re so pretty when you do. You know I love dinner and a show.”

The room spins, thrown off its axis as you will your body to not show its tells - the sharp short breaths, the pinch of your brows, the part of your lips that echo moans unnoticed in polite chatter and classical string instruments. On the highest setting, your tolerance wanes, heart pounding against your bruised chest with sweet release so close you can taste it. You might not want to come, but your body isn’t getting the message, senses zeroing in on the buzz that pushes you closer to the end.

Jeno shifts against you, the toy turning off shortly afterwards. Air filters into your lungs again, vision clearing with the flutter of your eyelashes as your hold pries off Jeno, disappointment sinking your stomach, lose of friction too severe.

Warmth hovers your ear, tilting your head as your ears hear the message: “Bathroom. Now. I’ll go in after you.”

Your body moves before your brain can rationalise, on your feet with eyes on you yet again. A false look of discomfort crosses your face, hand on your stomach all you have to offer, mumbling some sham about needing the bathroom. Navigating your way through winding walkways, accented in marble and shine proves to be more uncomfortable than imagined, the drench of your underwear forcing your legs further apart, your head hung to hide the growing smile on your face.

No expense is spared in the restaurant, not even in the bathroom with its designer tiles and luxury soaps, your survey of the room cut short as the door flies open, a flash of silver hair all you see before his lips crash land on yours. It’s a mess of folded noses and impatience, Jeno's mouth swallowing your moans before his hands slide to the back of your thighs, exposing more skin as he inches your dress upwards, a whisper against your lips amidst hungry kisses.

“Jump.”

Your compliance makes him smile against you as your legs wrap around him, supporting you under your thighs as he settles you against the cold brass-coloured countertop, content humming from you who welcomes the brush of Jeno’s tongue, its glide wracking shivers down your spine.

A familiar hand rests under your chin, Jeno only distancing himself enough to give you what you need. “Open up.”

Jaw falling slack, your inside turn in anticipation, eyes peering up to watch his expression. It pulls tight as quick spit drops to your tongue, the keen in your throat audible as your mouth closes to swallow. You don’t miss the smirk on his face before lips overlap again, the circle his hands draw against your thighs pushing your dress up until it bunches up at your hips, underwear on full display.

Pity paints the pout on his swollen lips, its mocking undertone making your body shudder under his dark gaze. “Poor thing. You might’ve stained the booth with how drenched you are.”

You mewl, head lolled back enough for a thin string of spit connecting your lips to appear. Your tongue disconnects it with a run over your lips, hips lifting off the counter to help him peel your underwear off.

“Won’t be needing these,” Jeno tucks them into his trousers pockets, eyesmile so sweet despite the depravity of his actions. “They’re soaked through anyways.”

He pulls needy sounds out you, finger hooking into the string of vibrating egg tormenting you all night. Its buzz amplifies in the stark silence of the bathroom when turned on again, bouncing off the tiled walls that bear witness to your wildest fantasies and then some.

Against your clit, the vibrator hums to the buck of your hips, Jeno gliding into you with an ease that pulls sighs of relief out the two of you. He holds himself there, eyes falling closed as you adjust to the stretch of him, toes curling with all the want that spills over as your hand yanks his tie forwards, bringing his lips to yours. The pressure of him is so sweet against your lips, but nothing compares to the pressure of his hips smacking against you. He’s everywhere all at once and you can’t get enough of him, the messy exchange of breathy tongue kisses trailing drool down your chin, trickling down to where you meet.

You’re fucking on borrowed time, so close you’re clenching down on Jeno like a vice, swallow thrusts all he is afforded as you teeter at the edge, fingernails sinking into his back.

“How dirty are you to like this so much?” he mumbles into you, the taste of his smile on your tongue. “Gripping me so tight, baby. Might have fuck you in public more.”

You’re fraying at your edges, coming down tighter against Jeno who ruts against you, kissing you like it’s air. Even if he robs you off it, knocking against the spongy part that makes you whine, eyes rolling.

It’s too much - the buzz against your clit, the heavy glide of his cock touching you in the right places, kisses starved and sloppy. Your body folds into itself, preparing for the rush on the horizon.

“Make a mess of me, baby,” Jeno whispers in a gravel tone that has you seeing stars. “Soak my cock like a good girl.”

You come with his teeth biting into your bottom lip, body convulsing with the violent wash of an orgasm rendering you limp against the mirror behind you. Jeno follows soon after you, buried to the hilt as he spills inside you, ropes of come coating your walls. The same come that leaks between your thighs as you bid a lame goodbye to friends, citing a sore stomach for your early departure. While Jeno is not nice enough to tease you amongst company, he makes up for it by rearranging that 'sore stomach' later onwards, your cold lasagna abandoned for another day.

likes, reblogs, comments/feedback is always appreciated. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

thank you for reading! ᰔ

[jthis-jthat]

Beyond the Surface

PAIRING: friend!Jeno!, friend!fem!reader

GENRE: smut, angst, comedy (I TRIED)

CONTENTS: explicit smut (kissing, breeding(USE PROTECTION EVERYONE), (will add more)

WORD COUNT: ???

SUMMARY: Lee Jeno is a man of silence and steel. Haunted by a past that taught him love is nothing more than a dangerous game of betrayal, he’s built a fortress around his heart that no one—not even his closest friends—can breach. He is the observer, the mysterious anchor of his chaotic social circle, content to live in the shadows of his own making.

Then there is Y/N. A survivor of her own darkness, she has transformed her trauma into a radiant, defiant light. She is the fire to his earth: outgoing, fiercely loyal, and dangerously intuitive. They have spent a year existing in the same orbit, separated by an awkward history and the unspoken rules of their friend group.

What starts as a night of protective gestures and quiet comfort spirals into a moment of undeniable heat. In the silence of a shared room, Jeno realizes that Y/N isn't just a girl he needs to protect—she is the light he’s been starving for. But when the mysterious heartthrob finally breaks his oath, the collision is more than just physical; it’s a soul-shaking revelation that neither of them saw coming.

SONG : Back to friends - Sombr

NOTES: This.. this is inspired by my own love story.. We recently broke up and.. I made this story to try to cope. Well.. I hope you’ll like the initial chapter! I’ll post the rest soon if I’m not so busy.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

The dynamic of their shared circle was a well-oiled machine of chaos and charisma, but Lee Jeno was the quiet hum beneath the noise. He was the anchor, the immovable object amidst the whirlwind of his friends. To the outside world, he was the unattainable jock, the handsome dude who hangs out with crazy lads. A man who has sharp intellect and an even sharper jawline, draped in an air of mystery that wasn't cultivated, but rather a byproduct of self-preservation.

He didn’t brood, exactly. He just… existed at a slight distance. He would sit in the plush booth at their usual hangout, a half-smile gracing his lips as Haechan spun another ridiculous tale or Jaemin charmed a waitress just for practice. Jeno would laugh, a low rumble in his chest, but his eyes rarely gave anything away. He was grounded, incredibly patient, and stubborn in his solitude. He appreciated stability and comfort, things he had been cruelly denied in the past by a love that turned venomous—cheating that shattered his trust, manipulation that twisted his reality, and physical outbursts that left him swearing an internal oath to never let anyone close enough to wreck him again. He built a fortress around his heart, brick by silent brick.

And then there was Y/N.

If Jeno was the steadfast earth, Y/N was a supernova blazing in the center of the room. She was loud, unapologetically funny, and fiercely protective of her people. She moved through life with an intensity that was both terrifying and magnetic. She had an uncanny intuition; she could smell bullshit from a mile away and wasn't afraid to call it out, a trait born from her own ashes. Having survived heartbreak that felt like a habitual betrayal and a childhood trauma that stole her sense of safety, she had fought tooth and nail against anxiety to rebuild herself.

Now, she was radiant. She was the kind of person who would drop everything to help a friend move at 3 AM, who laughed with her whole body, and whose kindness was a deliberate act of defiance against the darkness she’d known. She had a reputation for being wild in the past—a coping mechanism of fleeting connections—but beneath the bubbly exterior lay a deep, intensely passionate soul that craved a loyalty as fierce as her own.

They existed in the same orbit, acutely aware of each other but never colliding. There was a history there, a thick layer of awkwardness born a year ago when Y/N, oblivious to her limits, had gotten stuporously drunk. She’d started stripping on a table, a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and it was Jeno—silent, reliable Jeno—who had bodily hauled her down, covered her up, and made sure she didn’t become the campus tragedy. They had barely spoken since.

The intervention happened on a Tuesday.

"It’s time, Jeno-yah," Mark said, his earnest church boy demeanor cracking with desperation. "You’re existing, not living."

"You need to get laid," Haechan corrected bluntly, dodging the pillow Jeno threw at him. Haechan, the mercurial flirt who couldn't sit still, was always direct. "Seriously. Your aura is dusty. You need to ruin someone, just for the sake of science."

The air in the room was thick with the smell of expensive cologne and the lingering scent of the pepperoni pizza Haechan had been inhaling. Jeno sat at the center of the leather sofa, looking like a statue of a Greek god who had accidentally wandered into a frat house.

Haechan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a chaotic, predatory light. "Think about it, Jeno! The beach. The waves. The visual of you in slow-motion coming out of the water like a Bond girl, but with more deltoids. You find a nice, willing participant, you share a few margaritas, and then—" Haechan began a series of suggestive, rhythmic eyebrow wiggles and a truly unnecessary hand gesture involving a donut he’d found on the table. "You know. Hydraulics."

Mark’s face went through three different stages of physical pain in five seconds. He lunged across the armrest.

"Dude... Jeno’s supposed to... Jesus!" Mark hissed, his voice cracking under the weight of his internal moral crisis. "Don’t drag your horny antics into this!"

With the precision of a man who had reached his absolute limit, Mark’s hand flew out and delivered a crisp SLAP to the back of Haechan’s head.

"Ow! My creative process!" Haechan yelped, rubbing his skull.

"You’re a menace," Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. "We are trying to help him find a soul connection, a genuine spark, a reason to open his heart again—and you’re out here talking about mechanics."

Jaemin, who had been buffing his nails against his designer silk shirt, finally looked up. He didn't even blink at the violence; he just stepped over Haechan’s sprawling legs with the grace of a panther in Gucci loafers.

"While I admire Haechan’s commitment to the 'National Geographic' approach to romance," Jaemin said, his voice smooth and dripping with practiced charm, "maybe we should lower the frequency. Jeno doesn’t need a physical therapist, Mark. He needs a distraction that doesn't feel like a chore."

Jaemin pivoted, leaning his hip against the table right in Jeno’s line of sight, effectively cutting off the bickering duo.

"Look," Jaemin continued, "the beach isn't about 'ruining' anyone. It’s about the fact that Y/N is going to be there. And we all know that whenever she’s in a three-mile radius, Jeno forgets how to breathe through his nose."

Jeno’s jaw tightened—the only sign that the arrow had hit the bullseye.

"She’s loud, she’s a disaster in a sun hat, and she’s the only person who makes our Resident Monk over here actually look like he’s part of the living world," Jaemin finished with a wink. "So, let’s focus. No more talk of 'hydraulics.' Let’s just focus on getting Jeno into a situation where he has to talk to her for more than five seconds without pretending he’s suddenly interested in the architecture of the ceiling."

"We just want you to be happy, Hyung," Jisung, the tall, shy giant of the group, murmured from behind his hands.

Jaemin, leaning against the doorframe looking effortlessly expensive, nodded. "We’re going to the beach for your birthday. A nice resort. Sun, sand, and an opportunity to break that vow of celibacy you seem to have taken."

.𖥔 ܁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚.✦ ݁˖ .𖥔 ܁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚.✦ ݁˖ .𖥔 ܁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

And they invited the girls. When Y/N got the text in the group chat, her internal alarm bells chimed. It felt… curated. But she loved the boys, and a beach trip with Ningning, Winter, and Joy sounded like heaven. She agreed, ignoring the slight pinch of anxiety in her gut.

The resort was breathtaking, a sprawling expanse of white luxury against the cerulean sea. The air smelled of salt and expensive sunscreen. By the time the sun began to dip on Jeno's birthday, the party was in full swing by the massive private pool.

Jeno watched Y/N from behind his sunglasses. He hated that he was watching her.

She looked devastating. She wore a swimsuit that was both simple and entirely too distracting, highlighting curves that she carried with an easy, newfound confidence. Unlike the usual chaos, tonight Y/N was drinking sparkling water with lime. She was laughing with Joy by the pool edge, kicking her feet in the water, radiant and sober.

Jeno, uncharacteristically, was not. The pressure of his friends’ expectations and the sheer sensory overload of having Y/N look like that near him had driven him to the tequila faster than usual. The alcohol chipped away at his fortress.

The resort was everything Jaemin had promised and more. White cabanas dotted the perimeter of the infinity pool, fairy lights strung between palm trees, and the faint thrum of a carefully curated playlist filled the evening air. Jeno, perpetually looking like he belonged on a billboard, nursed a sparkling water, his gaze discreetly tracking Y/N. He hated that his eyes kept finding her, but he couldn't help it.

She was devastating. Her swimsuit, a simple emerald green one-piece, managed to highlight every curve with an effortless elegance. Gone were the wild, slightly desperate energy of her past; tonight, Y/N was radiant and sober, laughing with Joy by the pool's edge, occasionally splashing her feet in the cool water. She radiated a quiet confidence that made Jeno’s fortress-heart clench just a little.

"See?" Jaemin murmured, sidling up to Jeno with a fresh mojito in hand. "I told you she cleans up nice. Who knew sparkling water could look so… alluring?"

Jeno just grunted, taking a long sip of his own drink.

The sun was dipping lower, painting the sky in bruises of violet and gold, but the atmosphere by the pool was anything but peaceful. Haechan was currently treading water like a frantic otter, circling the spot where Y/N sat with her feet submerged.

"You know, Y/N," Haechan started, wiping water from his eyes with a grin that spelled trouble. "I’m genuinely concerned. A year ago, you were the life of the party—dancing on tables, giving us a free show, living on the edge. Now? You’re sitting here sipping cloud-juice and looking... stable. It’s disturbing. Is this a mid-life crisis at twenty-three? Do we need to buy you a knitting kit?"

Y/N didn't even look up from her glass, swirling the lime wedge with a straw. "It’s called 'evolving,' Haechan. You should try it sometime. I know the concept of a pre-frontal cortex is a bit advanced for you, but it’s actually quite trendy these days."

"Ouch," Haechan barked a laugh, splashing a bit of water toward her. "The claws are still there! But seriously, look at Jeno. He’s over there looking like a lonely gargoyle because his favorite entertainment—that's you, by the way—has gone corporate. Give the birthday boy a thrill. Jump in. Do a backflip. Accidentally lose a strap. Something!"

Y/N finally looked at him, her expression deadpan and sharper than Jeno’s jawline. "Haechan, the only reason you want me to cause a scene is so the security guards will focus on me while you sneak into the resort kitchen to steal more dessert. I’m not your tactical diversion."

"I am a connoisseur of fine pastries! It's a noble calling!"

"It’s a buffet, you moron. You don't need a distraction, you just need a plate and some dignity," Y/N retorted.

"Dignity is for people who aren't having fun," Haechan countered, reaching up to tug at her ankle. "Come on, jump in! Your aura is becoming dangerously beige."

"Haechan, I swear to God," Y/N warned, leaning back.

Mark, who had been chatting nearby, rushed over, sensing the impending escalation. "Okay, okay, let's keep it friendly, guys! It’s Jeno’s birthday, remember? Positive vibes only! No physical altercations!"

Jaemin, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar looking like he was posing for a luxury watch ad, leaned down toward Y/N’s ear. "You know," he whispered loudly enough for Haechan to hear, "he actually hates it when people hit him with the foam noodles. The vibration really messes with his internal monologue. Which, granted, is just a dial tone, but still."

Jaemin subtly kicked a bright blue pool noodle toward Y/N’s hand with his toe, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Don't encourage her, Nana!" Mark pleaded.

"I’m not encouraging, I’m facilitating justice," Jaemin replied smoothly, stepping back to give Y/N a clear path. "Focus, Jeno. Focus on the raw athleticism about to be displayed."

Y/N didn't hesitate. She snatched the noodle and brought it down with a resounding WHACK right on top of Haechan’s wet head.

"Go be 'beige' somewhere else!" she laughed as Haechan sputtered, sinking below the surface for a moment.

Mark threw his hands up in exasperation. "Y/N! I just said no physical altercations!"

Y/N tossed the noodle back into the pool, dusting her hands off with a triumphant smirk. "He asked for it. And for the record, Mark, it was a foam altercation. Completely different."

Jaemin, meanwhile, clapped his hands together, looking utterly delighted. "Excellent form, Y/N! A clean hit. He really did have it coming." He then shot Jeno a look, as if to say, See? She’s perfect for him.

Jeno, despite himself, let out a low chuckle, a sound that made Y/N glance over, a small, genuine smile curving her lips as she caught his eye.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆ 𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ 𖦹⋆

The music shifted to something slower, heavier with bass. Jeno found himself standing before he realized he was moving. He approached Y/N, his usual stoic presence amplified by a hazy, dangerous intent. He actually isn’t sure why he’s walking towards her. Is it the alcohol? Was it his dick? He’s not sure. He’s all awkward when he walked up to her.

"Dance," he said. It wasn't a question. His voice was deeper than usual, roughened by liquor.

Y/N looked up, surprised. The air between them crackled with the memory of their last disastrous encounter. "Jeno, are you okay? You seem…"

"Dance with me." He held out a hand. It was large, steady, and demanding.

Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up with surprising strength, drawing her into the shallow end of the pool where others were swaying. He didn't hold her politely. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his firm chest.

He smelled of expensive cologne, tequila, and scorching heat. He didn’t speak while they danced; he just looked at her with eyes so dark and intense they felt like a physical touch. He moved with a heavy, languid grace, his thigh slotting between hers as they swayed in the water. It was suffocatingly intimate. Every nerve ending in Y/N’s body caught fire. He was pushing boundaries he didn't even seem to know existed, his silence more seductive than any pick-up line.

Suddenly, he stopped, his forehead dropping to rest on her shoulder for a fleeting second. "Sorry," he mumbled against her skin, the word vibrating through her. "I'm drunk. I shouldn't… sorry."

He pulled back, the mysterious fog clearing just enough to show genuine regret. "You want a drink? A real one?"

"I'm pacing myself tonight," she managed, her voice breathless.

"Good," Jeno murmured, his eyes tracking a droplet of water down her neck. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you if you do."

That promise, delivered with such sudden, ground-shaking sincerity, broke her resolve. "Maybe just one."

:)

∧＿∧

　 (｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。

⊂/　 /　 ・゜

しーＪ　　　 °。+*°。

.・゜

゜｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ

╱|、

(˚ˎ 。7

|、˜〵

じしˍ,)ノ

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Three hours later, the villa was a disaster zone of passed-out bodies. Haechan was asleep under a lounge chair; Jaemin was moodily staring at the ocean; Mark was trying to preach to a potted plant.

Only Jeno and Y/N remained relatively functional. The shift was palpable. The loud music was off, replaced by the rhythmic crashing of waves. They moved in tandem, a silent team herding their chaotic friends into the massive communal bedroom they had all agreed to share for the sake of "bonding."

Jeno was efficient, lifting Haechan as if he weighed nothing. Y/N covered Winter and Joy, brushing hair off their faces with maternal tenderness. There was a quiet intimacy in the shared domesticity, a stark contrast to the earlier heat in the pool.

Once the room was silent save for the symphony of snores, Y/N clutched her stomach, wincing. The single drink, combined with the rich dinner, had triggered her hyperacidity.

"You okay?" Jeno’s voice was instantly at her side, low and sobered by concern.

"Stomach," she whispered, pale. "Acid."

Jeno didn't hesitate. He guided her to the far side of the massive, king-sized bed cluster that remained empty. "Sit. I'll get you antacids. I saw some in Mark’s bag."

He returned quickly, handing her the tablets and a glass of water, watching intently as she swallowed them. He didn't leave. He sat on the edge of the bed, his solid presence radiating a comfort Y/N hadn't realized she was starving for.

"Lay down," he instructed gently. "It helps if you're propped up a bit." He arranged the pillows behind her.

When she laid back, still grimacing, he remained seated. The room was vast, the air conditioning humming too loudly. She felt small and vulnerable, the old anxieties prickling at the edges of her pain.

"Jeno," she whispered, hating to ask but needing the anchor. "Can you… just stay for a second? Until it settles?"

He didn't just stay. He shifted, kicking off his shoes and lying down on top of the covers beside her. He turned on his side, facing her, propping his head on his hand. It was the most purely gentlemanly thing he could have done, yet having Lee Jeno in bed with her sent her heart rate skyrocketing.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rough velvet in the dark.

"Yeah. Thank you."

Minutes ticked by. The pain began to recede, replaced by an acute awareness of the man beside her. He was so solid, so unwavering. He reached out, his large, warm hand resting tentatively on her stomach over the duvet.

"Helping?"

"Mmhmm."

The door creaked open. Ningning stumbled in, stopped dead, her eyes widening as she saw Jeno's hand on Y/N's stomach in the dim light. She didn't even process it; she just turned on her heel and bolted back out, likely traumatized.

Y/N let out a soft giggle, which turned into a groan as her stomach protested.

"Careful," Jeno murmured, a smile sounding in his voice.

Eventually, exhausted, Y/N started to drift off. The air conditioning was freezing now. Instinctively, seeking heat in her half-asleep state, she scooted backward, pressing her back against Jeno's front. She grabbed his arm, the one resting on her stomach, and pulled it tighter around her waist, snuggling into him like he was a giant teddy bear.

She meant nothing by it. In her mind, Jeno liked innocent girls, not girls with reputations like hers. This was just survival cuddling against the cold.

But for Jeno, it was agony.

He was wide awake now. The tequila haze had burned off, leaving him with stark, terrifying clarity.

He had spent years building walls, convincing himself he wanted quiet, uncomplicated things. Yet here was Y/N—bright, loud, complicated, messy Y/N—pressed against him. Her hair smelled like strawberries and chlorine. Her body was soft in all the places his was hard, fitting against him with devastating perfection.

He was incredibly hot. The blood rushed in his ears. He was painfully hard, the sensation maddening against the fabric of his swim trunks. But it wasn't just lust. It was the way she trusted him enough to pull him close. It was the memory of her laughing by the pool, the fierce way she loved her friends, the vulnerability in her eyes when she asked him to stay.

He realized, with a jolt that nearly stopped his heart, that he didn’t want to be mysterious anymore. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines. He wanted to be the one she clung to when it was cold. He wanted to be the only one who got to see this soft, sleepy side of her. He wanted to bask in her light forever.

She shivered again in her sleep, burrowing deeper into his warmth.

Jeno couldn't take it. The dam broke. The oath he swore to himself shattered against the reality of her warmth.

He shifted, rolling slightly so he was leaning over her shoulder. He used his free hand to gently, ever so gently, cup the side of her face, tilting her head back just enough.

Y/N stirred, blinking open sleepy eyes in the darkness. "Jeno? Wha—"

He didn't give her time to think. He leaned down and captured her lips with his.

It wasn't a tentative, testing kiss. It was deep, desperate, and overwhelming. It was years of restraint crumbling in a second. His mouth moved against hers with a possessive hunger that shocked her awake. It was hot and demanding, tasting of lingering tequila and raw need.

Y/N gasped against his mouth, her hands flying up to grip his biceps, which were rigid with tension. She should have pushed him away. This was Jeno. This was a mistake.

But it felt like coming home.

It felt inevitable. Like two pieces of a fractured universe finally snapping back together. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, an unspoken confession poured directly into her soul. The kiss deepened, becoming slower, wetter, an intimate tangle of breath and heat that made the rest of the world fade away. It was the kind of kiss that promised everything he had been too afraid to say—that he was hers, that he was terrified, and that he wasn't letting go this time.

[jthis-jthat]

Claimed in Tandem

(The Doberman’s Debt part II)

PAIRING: college!!jeno!, friend! jaemin!fem!reader!

GENRE: Pure SMUT, slightly Enemies-to-Lovers (Slow Burn), Dark Romance (Lite), cheating

CONTENTS(18+ content scroll away if you’re a minor): Pinning, missionary, light bondage, oral (fem receiving), 3some, and some more MINORS DNI

SUMMARY: The Apartment 402, is a place where the lines between protection and possession have been irrevocably blurred. After a week of orchestrated tension and a night of soul-shattering surrender, Y/N wakes up to a terrifying new reality: she isn't just Jeno’s girlfriend anymore, but the shared prize in a game designed by two men who play for keeps. As the bruises fade and the Doberman and his Menace resume their roles as the campus's untouchable elite, Y/N must navigate a life where every public touch is a secret claim and every private moment is a lesson in who truly owns her breath.

Note: I removed the angst haha I thought I could finish it in an hour but I never thought I needed more time. But tada!

well, again, this was pre-written. I forgot about it, and found it again.. i decided to have this posted here so I could share it

But tada! Hehe here you go. 🥹 actually, I wasn’t supposed to post this because It was supposed to be only for my friends’ eyes only. However, since I love you all I decided to tweak it a bit and rewrite it for you guys. I am not confident with this part because again, it’s a story formed out of my friends’ combined imagination. You guys judge. Love ya’ll!!!!

To those new here, this is a part II for this. Or you can read The Doberman’s debt alone. If you don’t wanna get freaky with Jaemin. ;)

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

LOML<3 (Jeno) : Just finished the late shift at the gym. I'm outside your door with those overpriced macaroons you like. Open up?

Y/N: It’s 11:30 PM. I’m in my homeless pajamas, Jeno. Go away.

LOML<3 (Jeno) : I've seen you in flannel pants and a library t-shirt, Y/N. You still look like a ten. Plus, the macaroons are getting lonely. Don't be heartless.

When she opened the door, he wouldn't just give her the food. He’d lift her off her feet, bury his face in her neck, and let out a long, weary breath—the kind that said she was his only "off" switch in a high-pressure world.

"You're late," she’d whisper into his shoulder. "I'm here now," he’d respond, his grip tightening. "And I'm not going anywhere."

For those two months, that was the truth.

They were untouchable. They were the gold standard. They were the couple everyone assumed would end up with a house, a dog, and a shared bank account by twenty-five.

To the students of the West Wing, Jeno and Y/N weren’t just "dating"—they were an institution. They were the couple that made the library look like a movie set and the campus cafeteria feel like a five-star lounge.

If Jeno was the Doberman Captain—all sharp lines, discipline, and a protective streak that could freeze a room—then Y/N was the only one who held the leash. She didn't just walk beside him; she challenged him.

They had a specific frequency. You’d see them in the common room at 10:00 PM: Jeno with his head in her lap while he memorized baseball plays, and Y/N ruthlessly highlighting a 500-page audit report.

They were walking across the quad, Jeno effortlessly carrying Y/N’s heavy leather laptop bag over one shoulder while his other arm was draped firmly around her waist, pulling her into his side.

"Jeno, give me my bag," Y/N teased, reaching for the strap. "You have practice in ten minutes. You’re going to be late because you’re playing bellhop."

Jeno didn't even look at the bag. He just tightened his grip on her waist, his eyes scanning the crowd with that terrifyingly calm gaze that made other guys look away. "I’m the Captain. Practice starts when I get there. Besides," he leaned down, his voice dropping to that silky register, "if I let you carry this, how am I supposed to justify keeping you this close?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was bright enough to blind. "You’re so dramatic. It’s finance textbooks, not a child."

"It’s your textbooks," Jeno corrected, stopping in front of her lecture hall. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her jawline. "Which makes them more important than the game. Pick you up at four?"

Jeno was still staring at the lecture hall doors with a faint, uncharacteristic soft smile when the peace of the morning was violently dismantled. He watched as Y/N slid inside the building.

"Oh, look at him. He’s glitching. The Doberman has been rebooted into a Golden Retriever," a voice sang out with malicious glee.

Jeno didn't even have to turn around to know Haechan was leaning against a nearby tree, looking like he had spent the last ten minutes recording the entire interaction for his "Evidence of Jeno Being Whipped" folder.

"I’m literally going to be sick," Mark groaned, standing next to him with his face buried in his hands. "I saw the thumb on the jawline, Jeno. I saw it. That’s my cousin. We shared a sandbox, and now you’re... you’re doing that with your thumb."

"It’s called affection, Mark. You should try it sometime," Jeno deadpanned, sliding back into place as he adjusted his grip on his own gear.

"Affection? You looked like you were ready to guard that door with a riot shield until she came back out," Chenle chimed in, stepping out from behind a pillar while aggressively checking his watch. "Also, Jeno, if you’re going to be a bellhop for free, you’re ruining the market. I have three suitcases arriving from Paris this afternoon. I’ll pay you in protein shakes and silence."

The three of them swarmed Jeno before he could make a break for the baseball fields.

"Seriously though," Mark said, finally looking up, his expression a mix of betrayal and genuine confusion. "How? It’s been two months and I still wake up in a cold sweat remembering that I’m the one who introduced you. I’m the catalyst for my own nightmare."

"You’re just mad because Jeno doesn't look at you with predatory hunger when you ask him for help with your lyrics," Haechan teased, dodging a half-hearted shove from Jeno.

"I don't look at anyone with predatory hunger," Jeno muttered.

"Liar!" Chenle shouted, pointing a finger at him.

"I saw you at lunch yesterday. Y/N took a bite of your sandwich—the sandwich you never share, the one you’d fight a freshman for—and you just sat there looking like you wanted to thank her for the privilege of her saliva touching your bread. It was pathetic. I almost lost my appetite, and my lunch cost sixty dollars."

"Does she actually have a leash, or is it metaphorical?" Haechan asked, circling Jeno like a shark. "Because I heard a rumor that if she snaps her fingers, you’ll actually sit. We should test it. Mark, snap your fingers."

"I am not snapping my fingers at my friend," Mark hissed.

"Do it, Mark. For science," Chenle urged.

Mark let out a frustrated sound, his eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline.

"I just... I don't get it. Jeno, you’re the guy who used to scare away her dates by just standing near them. Now you’re the one she’s yelling at for not wearing a coat when it’s 50 degrees out. And you put the coat on."

Jeno stopped walking, looking at Mark with a terrifyingly calm expression.

"Because she was right. It was cold."

"He’s gone," Haechan whispered, horrified.

"The Doberman is dead. He’s been replaced by a sentient Husband Material robot."

"He’s not a robot," Chenle corrected, looking at his phone.

"Robots are efficient. Jeno is currently five minutes late for practice because he was busy tucking a stray hair behind a girl’s ear. That’s a hardware malfunction."

Jeno finally broke through their circle, starting a light jog toward the fields to avoid further roasting.

"Go to class, you losers! And Mark—tell your aunt I’m coming over for dinner on Sunday!"

Mark froze, his jaw dropping as Jeno disappeared around the corner. "Dinner? On Sunday? That’s family night! That’s my night for galbi!"

Haechan patted Mark’s shoulder with mock sympathy. "Face it, Mark. You’re not the favorite son anymore. You’re just the guy who lives in the shadow of the Doberman and the Finance Prodigy."

"I hate it here," Mark whispered to the sky. "I actually hate it here."

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶🐶 🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶

The West Wing was usually quiet on Tuesday afternoons, a sanctuary of high ceilings and the distant sound of the campus clock tower. Y/N moved down the hallway toward Apartment 402, the weight of a heavy leather tote bag on her shoulder and two iced Americanos in her hand. She was early, a rare occurrence, but the thought of surprising Jeno before his late-afternoon seminar was too tempting to pass up.

She slid her spare key into the lock, the mechanism clicking with a familiar, heavy thud.

"Jeno? I brought the caffeine fix, don't say I never—"

The sentence died in her throat, air evaporating from her lungs.

The living room was bathed in the amber glow of the 3:00 PM sun, but it wasn't Jeno waiting by the window.

Jaemin was leaning against the marble kitchen island, his back to her. He was freshly back from a run, his chest heaving in a slow, rhythmic cadence that made the muscles of his back ripple under skin slicked with sweat.

He didn't scramble for a towel. He didn't even seem surprised. He just tilted his head back, letting a stream of ice-cold water from a bottle pour over his throat, the excess droplets racing down the carved lines of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the dangerously low waistband of his grey joggers.

"Well, well," he hummed, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to travel across the floorboards. He turned around slowly, the smirk on his face sharp enough to cut. "The Princess is early. And here I thought I had at least ten more minutes of freedom."

Jaemin didn't move to close the distance immediately. He stayed against the island, his arms folded over his bare chest, showcasing the terrifyingly perfect definition of a man who treated his body like a temple and his charm like a weapon.

"Jeno’s at the library," Jaemin said, his eyes tracing the way Y/N’s grip tightened on the coffee cups. "But you knew that, didn't you? Or maybe... you were hoping for a change of scenery."

"I... I thought he was here," Y/N managed, her voice a pitch higher than usual. She tried to look at the fridge, the toaster, the wall—anywhere but the way the sunlight was dancing off the damp curve of his shoulder. "Put a shirt on, Jaemin. It’s a shared space."

"It’s my space," he corrected softly. He finally moved, his bare feet silent as he prowled toward her. Every step was deliberate, a predatory grace that made the room feel suddenly, claustrophobically small. "And it’s hot, Y/N. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the heat."

He stopped just inches away. The scent of him—sea salt, cedar, and the raw, electric heat of a workout—hit her like a physical force. Jaemin was taller than he looked when he was sitting in class; he loomed over her, his presence an intoxicating weight.

He reached out, not to touch her, but to take one of the coffees from her trembling hand. His fingers brushed hers—cold condensation meeting his searing skin—and the contact felt like a live wire. He didn't pull away. He let his knuckles linger against the back of her hand, his gaze dropping to her neck, where her pulse was jumping frantically.

"You're staring," he whispered, his voice dropping into a register that was purely for her. He leaned down, his face hovering just beside her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Is it the sweat? Or is it the fact that for once, the Doberman isn't here to keep you on your leash?"

Y/N felt the back of her knees hit the edge of the hallway table. She was trapped between the wood and the heat of him. Jaemin tilted his head, his nose almost brushing the line of her jaw. He was being utterly, ruinously shameless.

"I wonder," he murmured, his eyes dark and swirling with a playful, dangerous light as they finally met hers. "If I leaned in just an inch more... would you scream for him? Or would you keep it our little secret?"

He let his hand slide from the coffee cup to the small of her back, his palm flat against the fabric of her shirt, pulling her just a fraction of an inch closer until the heat of his bare chest was nearly touching her. The tension was a cord pulled so tight it was vibrating, the air in the room thick enough to drown in.

"Jaemin..." she breathed, a warning that sounded more like a plea.

He just smiled, a slow, devastating curve of his lips. "Your heart is racing, Y/N. I can feel it through your clothes. Tell me... does Jeno make you feel this nervous? Or am I just that much more... interesting?"

What the fuck is going on? Y/N mind was racing; she doesn’t wxactly know why Jaemin is doing this. Jaemin is such an eye candy. He’s pretty and really hot. She acknowledges that. However she has Jeno.. His best friend. Why would he tease her like this?

The heavy thud of the front door swinging open broke the spell.

Jeno walked in, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the disciplined Captain—until he saw the scene in his living room. His eyes narrowed instantly, his protective streak flaring like a signal fire.

"Jaemin," Jeno’s voice was a low warning, the kind he used before a confrontation on the field. "Why are you standing three inches away from my girlfriend while you’re naked?"

Y/N practically jumped back, her face a bright, incriminating crimson. She began fanning herself with her hand. "Jeno! You're back! It’s... it’s really hot in here, right? The AC must be broken."

Jaemin didn't even flinch. He just straightened up, flashed Jeno a dazzling, perfectly innocent smile, and finally grabbed a discarded towel from the back of the couch to drape over his shoulder.

"She was just helping me look for my contact lens on the floor, Jen," Jaemin lied effortlessly, patting Jeno’s shoulder as he walked past him toward the hallway. "You really should keep the place cleaner. It’s a hazard for our guest."

He paused at the door of his room, looking back over his shoulder at Y/N with a final, devastating wink that only she could see.

"Have fun studying, kids. Try not to let the 'humidity' get to you."

He shut his door with a soft click, leaving Y/N standing there, still flushed and clutching the takeout, while Jeno dropped his bag and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, his eyes still fixed suspiciously on Jaemin’s door.

"What was he actually doing?" Jeno asked, his voice dropping into that protective, silky register as he tucked her head under his chin.

"Being Jaemin," Y/N exhaled, finally feeling her heart rate slow down. "Which is to say... being a menace."

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶🐶 🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶

The common area of Apartment 402 was a battlefield of highlighters, discarded snack wrappers, and chaotic energy. Even without Jeno, the West Wing felt crowded. Mark was aggressively debating a case study with Donghyuck, while Chenle and Jisung were hovering over a laptop, laughing at something that definitely wasn't academic.

"If I see one more derivative, I’m dropping out to become a professional gamer," Donghyuck groaned, tossing his pen at the ceiling.

"You'd have to actually be good at games for that, Hyuck," Jaemin chimed in from the armchair, his legs draped over the side as he flicked through a magazine. He looked effortless, a contrast to the frantic stress radiating from the table.

"Y/N, save us," Mark pleaded, looking at her. "Tell them my logic is sound."

"I’m staying out of this," Y/N laughed, standing up and gathering her hair into a messy bun. "In fact, I’m going to go make those homemade pizzas I promised. If you lot stay out of the kitchen, you might actually get fed."

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The muffled shouts and laughter from the living room became background noise as Y/N stepped into the kitchen. She started laying out the dough, the flour dusting her fingers as she tried to focus on the simple, tactile task.

She didn't hear the footsteps—Jaemin was notoriously silent—but she felt the shift in the air.

"Need a hand, Princess? You know I'm the only one here who actually knows the difference between oregano and basil."

Jaemin was suddenly there, leaning against the counter. He didn't wait for an answer. Before she could move, his large hands settled firmly on her waist. It wasn't a tentative touch; it was a heavy, shameless grip that pulled her back just a fraction.

"Jaemin, stop," she whispered, her heart doing a frantic staccato against her ribs.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice light and airy, the picture of innocence. "I’m being friendly. Jeno’s busy, and the guys are starving. I'm just here to help."

He leaned over her shoulder, ostensibly to look at the sauce she was prepping.

"What are we doing first? The crust looks a little thin."

Y/N tried to keep her hands steady, explaining the process of the toppings, but she was acutely aware of how close he was.

She doesn’t know if she liked the attention—the pretty boy of the group was focusing all his gravity on her—and that realization made her feel sick with guilt and dizzy with adrenaline.

As she reached for the cheese, she felt it—the ghost of a sensation.

A soft, lingering brush of his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck. It was so subtle she almost thought she imagined it.

"Did you just..." she turned her head, her face flushed.

Jaemin let out a melodious, teasing laugh, his eyes crinkling. "Did I what? What are you talking about, Y/N?."

He stepped even closer, his body now flush against her back. The friendly pretence was evaporating. As he moved to "help" her spread the sauce, she felt the unmistakable, hard pressure of him against her.

His hard cock was pressed against her ass. Her breath hitched, her hands hovering uselessly over the pizza dough.

The playful mask didn't just slip; Jaemin threw it away. He let out a low, dark hum as he leaned into her, his hips beginning a slow, agonizingly deliberate grind against her.

"You're so tense," he whispered, his voice dropping into a demeaning, velvet growl right in her ear.

"Is this too much for you? Does the perfect little girlfriend feel like she's breaking? You're a mess for me, aren't you?"

Before she could protest, his hands moved from her waist, sliding up with predatory speed to cup her breasts. His palms were large, covering her completely as he began to massage them through her shirt with a rhythm that was purely carnal.

"Jaemin... t-the guys... t-they're right there," she choked out, her head falling back against his shoulder.

"Shh..they aren't looking," he hissed, his grip tightening as he forced her to lean over the counter.

He was in heat now, the shamelessness reaching a breaking point. He bent her forward, his weight pinning her against the cold marble as he continued to grind into her with a desperate intensity. "Jeno doesn't have to know how much you like this. He doesn't have to know how good you feel against me."he whispers.

The reality of the situation hit Y/N like a bucket of ice water. The sound of Mark’s laugh from the other room snapped the tether.

"N-No" she gasped, using every bit of her strength to shove back against him. She scrambled away, her chest heaving, her hands shaking so violently she had to grip the edge of the fridge. "This... this is wrong. You’re—you’re his best friend, Jaemin! I can’t—"

She couldn't even finish the sentence. Stuttering and humiliated, she smoothed her shirt with trembling hands and practically bolted back into the living room, her face a frantic shade of red.

Five seconds later, Jaemin strolled back into the room. He looked perfectly composed, not a hair out of place. He caught Y/N’s eye and gave her a bright, cheery smile as he sat back down in his armchair.

"Pizza’s gonna be a few more minutes, guys," he announced to the group, his voice steady and light. "Y/N just needs a moment to let the dough... rise."

He winked at her—a silent, wicked promise that this was far from over—before picking up his magazine as if he hadn't just tried to dismantle her world.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶🐶 🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶

The air in the apartment was thick with the frenetic energy of a man preparing for war. Jeno was in Captain Mode organized, intense, and radiating a magneti power. Cardboard boxes of protein bars and stacks of freshly laundered West Wing jerseys littered the sofa, while the sharp, metallic tang of his favorite cologne clung to every surface.

Y/N was kneeling by his open suitcase, carefully smoothing out a hoodie, when she felt his shadow loom over her. Before she could tuck the sleeve in, Jeno’s large hands slid under her arms, lifting her with effortless strength and settling her firmly onto his lap as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

"Focus on me for a second," he murmured. His voice had dropped into that low, authoritative thrum that usually made people move out of his way on the field, but for her, it was laced with a thick, persuasive sweetness.

"Jeno, the flight is in four hours, and you haven't even packed your cleats," she laughed softly, trying to twist around to look at him, but his grip on her waist was ironclad.

"The cleats can wait," he said, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "I’m more worried about you. Stay here while I’m gone. Just for the week. The city is a mess during championship season, and I’ll be a thousand miles away. I’ll feel better knowing you’re behind a keycard I trust. Plus... Jaemin will be here to look out for you."

Y/N froze for a fraction of a second. "Jeno, I have my own apartment. It has three locks and a doorman." She pulled back, searching his dark, steady eyes. "And Jaemin? He’s... he’s a handful. You know how he is. He doesn't exactly have a 'protective' bone in his body that isn't wrapped in sarcasm."

Jeno chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated against her chest. He looked so sincere, the picture of a concerned boyfriend. "He promised me he’d be on his best behavior. I’ve already talked to him. He’s going to make sure you’re fed, keep you company, and—most importantly—keep everyone else away."

He leaned in, pressing a lingering, possessive kiss to her jawline, his lips warm and demanding. "Do it for me? I need to know my girl is safe so I can keep my head in the game. Please, Princess?"

He looked the part of the devoted protector so perfectly that Y/N felt her resistance crumble. She didn't see it—couldn't have seen it—but as she rested her forehead against Jeno’s shoulder in a silent 'yes,' Jeno’s gaze shifted.

Over her shoulder, he caught Jaemin’s eyes. Jaemin was leaning against the doorframe, a half-eaten apple in one hand and a dangerous, knowing glint in his eyes. There was no words spoken, just a slow, imperceptible nod from Jeno—a "passing of the torch"—and a sharp, predatory smirk from Jaemin in return.

It wasn't a request for a babysittxer; it was a silent, orchestrated invitation to a game Y/N didn't even know she was playing yet.

"Good girl," Jeno whispered into her hair, his hand giving her hip a firm, final squeeze. "Nana will take excellent care of you. Won't you, Jaemin?"

"The best," Jaemin’s voice drifted from the doorway, light and utterly devoid of its usual mockery. "I’ll make sure she gets exactly what she needs."

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶🐶 🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶

Three days into the trip, the apartment was quiet.

Y/N was sprawled across Jeno’s bed, her oversized sleep shirt riding up her thighs as she focused intensely on a mobile game.

The door creaked open. Jaemin didn't knock; he never did. He was dressed in loose gym shorts, his hair damp and messy.

"You’re losing," he remarked, flopping onto the mattress beside her. The bed dipped under his weight, and the sudden heat of his body made the air feel thin.

"I am not. Go away, Nana," she muttered, elbowing him.

"Move over. If you're going to occupy my best friend's bed, the least you can do is share the screen."

He began to poke at her phone, sabotaging her moves and sparking a chaotic flurry of banter.

They wrestled over the device, laughing and breathless, until Jaemin pinned her wrists above her head, looming over her with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Suddenly, the laughter died. Jaemin wasn't looking at the phone anymore. His gaze had dropped, heavy and hungry, to the wide neckline of her shirt. Because she was lying flat, the fabric gaped open, offering a clear, unobstructed view of her bare breasts.

"Jaemin..." she warned, her voice trembling.

"You're not wearing a bra, Princess," he whispered.

His shamelessness was back, but this time it was darker, more concentrated.

"Does Jeno know you stay like this when he’s gone? So... accessible?"

"Get off," she breathed, but she didn't push. The thrill of his attention was a forbidden drug, and her body was already reacting, her nipples hardening under his intense stare.

Jaemin tilted his head, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip. "I have a question. A very polite, friendly question." He leaned down until his nose brushed against the valley between her breasts. "Can I suck them? Just for a second."

:)

"W-what? No—"

He didn't wait for the 'no' to land.

Jaemin disappeared under the hem of her oversized shirt like a predator into a cave. The darkness of the fabric tented over them as he found her.

When his mouth latched onto her nipple, Y/N let out a broken gasp, her fingers tangling in the sheets.

He wasn't gentle. He used his tongue to swirl around the peak before drawing the whole length of her into his mouth, sucking with a rhythmic, demanding pressure. The sensation sent a direct jolt of electricity to her core.

She was already slick, her body betraying her loyalty to Jeno with every wet, needy pulse.

"You like that, don't you?" his muffled voice came from beneath the shirt, vibrating against her skin.

He crawled downward, his hands sliding up her inner thighs to pry her legs wide. He didn't bother removing her lace panties. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of her groin, licking her clit through the thin, damp fabric. It was agonizingly slow.

The friction of the lace combined with the heat of his tongue was a specialized torture.

"Please, J-Jaemin..." she sobbed, her hips arching off the bed.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his face flushed and his eyes wild. His pretty face glistening with her wetness.

He let out a menacing, low chuckle.

"Please what? Please stop? Or please remind you why you’re such a good little cheat?"

He didn't give her time to answer. He shoved two thick fingers past the edge of her panties, driving them deep inside her. He began to fuck her with a brutal, relentless pace, his thumb working the fabric against her clit until the world blurred into a haze of white heat.

"Look at you," he taunted, his voice a demeaning silk.

"Drenched for your boyfriend's roommate. You're so pathetic, Y/N."

The climax hit her like a physical blow, her walls clamping down on his fingers as she cried out his name—a sin she couldn't take back.

Jaemin watched her come, a look of pure, arrogant triumph on his pretty face. When she finally slumped back into the pillows, spent and shaking, he slowly withdrew his hand. He looked at his glistening fingers, then—with a direct, soul-piercing gaze—he sucked them clean.

"You're pretty when you're ruined," he said casually, sitting up and stretching as if they had just finished a casual conversation. He stood up, adjusted his shorts, and headed toward the door. "I’m going back to the gym. Try to get some sleep, Princess. You look exhausted."

He left without a backward glance, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Y/N in the silence of Jeno’s bed, wondering how a lookout had managed to set her entire life on fire.

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶🐶 🐰🐰🐰🐰 🐶🐶🐶

A few days went by and Y/N is basically still thinking about what happened. The air in the apartment had become a physical weight. Every time Y/N moved from one room to another, the hair on her arms stood up. She felt hunted, but the predator wasn't hiding; he was simply waiting.

She spent the evening in a state of high-alert avoidance. When she tried to watch TV, she heard Jaemin’s door click open, and she immediately bolted for the kitchen. When she tried to read in Jeno’s room, she heard his low, melodic hum in the hallway, and she locked the door. But the West Wing wasn't big enough to hide from a man who had the keys to every exit.

By midnight, thirst finally drove her out. The apartment was bathed in the ghostly blue glow of the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She moved silently, her bare feet padding against the hardwood, heading for the kitchen island.

She had just touched the cold glass of the faucet when the temperature in the room seemed to spike.

She didn't hear him approach, but suddenly, the scent of sea salt and adrenaline was everywhere. Jaemin didn't just walk up to her; he materialized like a shadow. Before she could turn, his large, calloused hands clamped onto her waist.

"Still running, Princess?" he murmured against the shell of her ear. "You're going to trip if you keep looking over your shoulder."

"Jaemin, let go," she gasped, but her protest was weak, muffled by the sheer gravity of his presence.

He didn't listen. With a sudden, explosive movement, he gripped her under her thighs and hoisted her up. Y/N let out a startled yelp as he slammed her down onto the cold marble of the kitchen island. Her phone and a stack of Jeno’s mail were swept aside in one violent motion, clattering to the floor like discarded afterthoughts.

He stepped between her knees, his body a solid wall of heat that pinned her in place. He looked down at her, his eyes dark, blown out, and utterly devoid of the playful persona.

"Jeno’s gonna be here soon," he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet promise that sent a shiver of terror and longing down her spine. "That means for meantime, he doesn't exist. Tonight is mine. I’m going to make sure that when he touches you again, you still feel me screaming in your bones."

He reached for the hem of her shirt, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of her stomach. "You’ve been a very good girl this week, Y/N. You stayed where he told you to stay. You let me 'look after' you. But you haven't learned the most important lesson yet."

"And what's that?" she breathed, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on his broad, bare shoulders.

Jaemin leaned in, his lips hovering a breath away from hers, his gaze fixed on her mouth with a terrifying hunger.

"That you don't belong to a man who isn't here to claim you," he hissed. "You belong to the one who’s actually willing to break you."

He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He reached for the button of his shorts, the metallic click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet kitchen. He was already fully, dangerously hard—thick, veiny, and pulsing with a demand that made Y/N’s head light.

Unlike Jeno’s usual gentle, reverent approach, Jaemin grabbed her hair, tilting her head back to expose the long line of her throat. He looked at her with a predatory smirk before he positioned himself.

"Last chance to run, Princess," he taunted, though he didn't move back an inch. "But we both know you’ve been waiting for this since the second Jeno walked out that door."

With a sudden, forceful lunge, he drove his painfully erect big cock into her, the sheer size of him stretching her until she thought she might snap.

His thrusts were painfully slow but really harsh, only for her to let out sounds of pleasure.

She was screaming at this point; it is being swallowed by the high ceilings of the apartment as the final lesson officially began.

He didn't let her recover. He hauled her off the table and dragged her toward the bedroom, the very place she was supposed to be "safe." He threw her onto the mattress and dived between her legs, his thrusts getting even faster, even more relentless.

The bed frame groaned under the violence of his movements. Jaemin leaned down, his mouth catching her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth with a punishing pressure while his hand reached down to find her clit. His, handsome sweaty face smirks down at her, licking his lips as he continues to fuck the daylights out of her.

He worked her with a cruel, expert precision, his fingers a blur as he whispered filth into her ear.

"You're ruined, Princess. You're never going to be able to look at him the same way. Every time he touches you, you're going to feel me inside you."

Y/N was losing her mind. Her eyes were crossing, her vision swimming in white spots as she felt her climax building like a tidal wave.

She was screaming, her voice raw, her body arched in a perfect, desperate bow under his weight.

Jaemin’s pace became frantic, a blurring speed that pushed her over the edge.

He didn't slow down; he drove deeper, his teeth baring as he prepared to release. Y/N tried to gasp out a warning, to tell him not to, but the words were lost in a moan.

Jaemin let out a low, guttural growl as he filled her completely, his body shuddering with the force of his come.

The silence that followed was broken not by a heartbeat, but by the sharp, violent slam of the front door.

Y/N froze, her chest heaving, her skin slick with Jaemin's sweat. "Jeno?" she wheezed, terror flooding her veins.

The bedroom door flew open. Jeno stood there, his baseball bag still on his shoulder, his eyes dark and unreadable as they took in the scene: his girlfriend pinned to his bed, dripping with his best friend's release.

Jaemin didn't scramble. He didn't even look guilty. He slowly pulled out, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room, and sat up, leaning back on his elbows. He looked at Jeno and gave him a slow, knowing smirk—the kind of look shared between teammates who had just executed a perfect play.

"Perfect timing, Jen," Jaemin said, his voice completely calm. "She was just starting to learn her lesson."

Jeno didn't yell. He didn't charge at Jaemin. Instead, he dropped his bag and walked over to the bed, his gaze raking over Y/N’s trembling, ruined form. He reached out and ran a thumb over her swollen lip, his expression shifting into something terrifyingly satisfied.

"I told you he’d take good care of you," Jeno murmured, his voice dropping into that possessive, velvet register.

He looked up at Jaemin, a dark, orchestrated understanding passing between them.

"Did she give you any trouble, Nana?"

"None at all," Jaemin chuckled, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands.

"She’s a fast learner. I think she’s finally ready for the both of us.

Y/N looked between them, her heart dropping into her stomach as the realization hit. The "lookout," the trip, the isolation—it wasn't a mistake. It was a trap.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from chaotic to cold and calculated the moment Jeno dropped his bag. There was no comfort for Y/N, no soft reunion. Instead, Jeno stepped toward the bed with a look of dark, simmering hunger that made the Doberman look like a wolf.

"Rest?" Jeno echoed her silent plea, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips as he unbuckled his belt.

"You’ve had all week to rest while my best friend did my job for me. Now, you’re going to show me how much you missed me."

Without a shred of his usual gentleness, Jeno grabbed her by the hair, his knuckles white as he forced her to her knees at the edge of the bed. He didn't ask; he commanded.

He shoved his cock—already thumping and heavy—into her mouth with a forceful thrust that made her eyes water instantly.

"Suck it," he growled, his voice a low, demeaning vibration.

"Show me you haven't forgotten the taste of your boyfriend while you were busy being a slut for Jaemin."

He began to fuck her mouth with a relentless, rhythmic pace, his hands gripping her head to guide her deeper.

Tears escaped her eyes, tracking down her cheeks as she struggled to keep up with his dominance. Jeno didn't care. He spat out mean, dirty words, mocking the way her throat worked until he finally groaned, his body tensing as he came down her throat, forcing her to take every drop.

Jaemin leaned over, his thumb catching a stray tear on her cheek. "Aww, look at her," he cooed, his voice sweet but his eyes freezing cold.

"She’s so sensitive now." Suddenly, his grip tightened on her chin.

"Stop crying. Sit on him. Now."

Jaemin forced her to straddle Jeno, who was lying back against the headboard, his eyes hooded and dark. He made her face him, her legs spread wide, exposing everything to his predatory gaze.

"Ride him, Y/N," Jaemin commanded, kneeling between her open knees.

"Let's see if you can still handle the Gold Standard."

She struggled, her muscles aching and her mind reeling, but as she began to move on Jeno, Jaemin leaned in.

He buried his face in her exposed, dripping pussy, his tongue found her clit with a terrifying accuracy.

The overstimulation was instant. With Jeno filling her from below and Jaemin eating her out from the front, Y/N’s head fell back, her screams echoing through the apartment.

Jeno reached up, his large hands catching both of her nipples, pinching and twisting them in sync with her frantic movements.

"You like being our toy, don't you?" Jeno hissed, his hips bucking up to meet her with bruising force.

As she reached the peak, her body vibrating on the edge of a shattering climax, both men suddenly stopped. The silence was deafening.

"Please..." she sobbed, her hips twitching in a desperate search for friction. "Please, I need to—"

"Need to what?" Jaemin laughed, his face glistening with her wetness as he looked up at her.

"You want to cum? You have to ask properly."

"Kneel," Jeno ordered, his voice like iron.

Broken and completely undone, Y/N slid off them and onto her knees on the mattress, her head bowed. "Please... can I cum? Please, Jeno... Jaemin..."

"Pathetic," Jeno remarked, though his eyes were blazing. "Let's give the little toy what she wants."

They flipped her onto her stomach, the transition fast and professional. Jeno positioned himself at her pussy, while Jaemin—whose cock was pulsing with an aggressive, veiny heat—lined himself up with her ass.

They drove home at the same time.

Y/N’s world ended. The dual sensation of being filled in both holes, the sheer girth of them stretching her to her absolute limit, fried her nervous system. Saliva dripped from her chin onto the sheets as her mind went blank. They fucked her with a brutal, synchronized power, their bodies slamming against hers until the bed hit the wall repeatedly.

"Ours," Jaemin growled, his hands digging into her hips. "You belong to both of us now."

Jeno gripped her neck tightly, slightly stopping her airflow as he thrusts in and out of his girlfriend.

Y/N was too overwhelmed, pleasure was all over her body.

Until the final explosion. They both came deep inside her at the exact same moment she hit a screaming, soul-shattering climax.

She collapsed into the pillows, a ruined, beautiful mess, while the two men looked at each other over her body, the plan finally, perfectly complete.

Y/N had finally thought she could rest now that it’s done.

Or could she really?

©️jenoppang 2026

[yujisabs]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 - 𝐋.𝐉𝐍

It's one of the most important meetings in your career. Meeting your ex-university rival Lee Jeno wasn't on the list for it, though. Unexpectedly, he backs you up in the conference, suggesting a big collaboration between your brand and his. What you don't expect is how friendly he seems to be with you afterwards. In the end, one thing leads to another, and you find yourself tangled in the sheets of his hotel room.

pairing: Ceo!Lee Jeno x femCeo!reader

genre: smut, porn with plot, a hint of past rivals

warnings: business talk (I am sorry, I have no idea how the business world works, so don´t behead me for being unrealistic), oral (fem receiving), fingering, penetration, no condom (y´all pls use protection. idk why my characters never do), some edging if you squint, a hint of exhibitionism maybe, only halfway proofread bc I´m too lazy (sry)

wc: ~7.5 k

an: So, I finally finished this. It´s been sitting in my drafts for a few months now...😅 which is mostly because writing smut isn´t as easy for me as other things. I also wouldn´t consider smut to be my strongest type of work. I am so sorry if it´s disappointing. I tried my best🙏, I swear. Anyway, I think smut may not be that regular on my blog. At least not until I finally feel less cringey about it because...omg the amount of times I crashed out over this because writing it was just so... bizarre? Like, I kept crashing out about the wording. Reading smut is so damn easy. But writing it? Help, how do y´all do it??? Anyway, I hope you like it. Likes and reblogs are appreciated💕

Happy belated Valentine's Day, I guess? I know I missed it by one day, but I´m even glad I finished this 🫣

Your heels echo in the hallway as you come close to the door to the meeting room. With a swift push, you enter the room. Five pairs of eyes immediately land on your figure as you stride over to your designated place at the table. You don´t spare them a glance until you are seated.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” your voice sounds, a calm demeanor evident in its tone.

The men at the table nod, greeting you shortly. When you look over them, your breath slightly hitches as your eyes land on the man to your right. Mr. Kim, Mr. Park, Mr. Byun, and Mr. Cha — all familiar faces that you have seen countless times at other business meetings you´ve attended. But to your right sits a familiar face. One you´ve seen a lot as a student at university. There he is, your former rival, Lee Jeno, CEO of his own brand. One of the rising faces in the industry, alongside yours.

You collect yourself, your face staying neutral as you take out a folder from your bag. “As you all know, I am interested in expanding my brand into other branches of the market. I specifically proposed the idea to your businesses, thinking that you fit my concept the best.” You open the conversation, briefly reexplaining the reason for the meeting today. Your short presentation starts after. You show them the key things that make up your brand, and explain where you see possible partnerships.

When you are done talking, you look at them with an expectant look. Now it´s their turn to tell you what they have in mind. Everyone in the room is aware of the power you hold. Being the CEO of the brand that has had the highest market value for the past three quarters. The fashion brand that´s exceptionally positively received by the public for its authentic cuts and wearability for women of all ages and sizes. The only fashion brand that seems to outperform the old empires that used to rule the market over the past decades.

You lean back in your chair as you watch them mumble to themselves, crossing your arms. The men know each other. They´ve worked together before, too. So you are curious about what they come up with. In the corner of your eyes, you see Jeno take some notes. Unlike the older men, he keeps to himself, calmly writing down information he deems important, maybe even possible expansions for his own business — clothes specifically made for men.

When Mr. Cha clears his throat, you give him your full attention, allowing him to voice his suggestions. “Ms. L/N, I am aware of the rise in popularity AZURE Fashion has earned the past year. I am very interested in working with you. As you know, my brand focuses on accessories, shoes, and bags for mostly women, but also men. I could imagine a collaboration in which we design a collection together, and present it in our shops in all of Korea, possibly even globally.”

You let his words sink in for a second. The reputation his brand has is big. He sells a lot of products every year and has stayed in the top ten for many years. The proposition doesn´t sound bad. But there is one thing you need to ask first. “Will you cover production costs fairly, too? Will you take part in the costs for distribution and marketing? Or will you just sell my clothes in your shops, advertising it as a collaboration, when you just want my clientele?”

This wipes the arrogant smile off his face. You know his business runs well. But what he´s trying to do is use your name and items for his own benefit, earning all the profits. Mr. Cha tries to say something, but because he fails to come up with a reply right away, Mr. Park steals the attention. “Ms. L/N, we could offer you a share of our company in exchange for a cross-brand stake in yours. A strategic alliance between our boards.”

You chuckle at his offer, shortly looking away in amusement. Do these men really think you are that stupid? You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table and resting your chin on the backs of your intertwined hands. “So you´d like a hand in my decisions, Mr. Park. I thought I proposed a collaboration, not a merger.”

The mocking undertone in your voice makes Jeno smirk in amusement. He knows what these men are trying to do. It´s as clear as day that they just want a collaboration for their own benefits and to ruin you in the long run. They fail to see the vision you have, genuinely wanting to expand your brand into a different branch to reach more loyal customers who trust in what you provide.

Mr. Park clenches his fists, seeing that you have seen through his scheme. He leans back in his chair and clears his expression into one of neutrality. “Gentlemen, I don´t mean to offend you when I say this. But do you really think I am stupid enough to give any of you rights to my company that will inevitably ruin my business in the long run?” Your voice cuts through the air, mocking their shameless attempts to sabotage you. “I know all of you are great businessmen. But I aim for something genuine. To expand my brand.”

“You aren´t seeing the bigger picture,” Jeno interrupts, looking at the older CEOs. Surprised to hear him actually speak in your favor, you give him room to expand on what he is saying. The seniors in the room also pay attention to what he says, not exactly pleased with his choice of words, though.

“Ms. L/N.” Hearing him use your last name in such a formal way feels weird, but you don´t let it shine through on your face. You keep a calm demeanor and listen to him. “Seeing how your current focus is authentic fashion for women, and seeing how my brand focuses on men´s fashion so far, would you be interested in a possible collaboration that expands to couples? A collection that matches each other visually while focusing on what´s practically needed for both.”

His proposition sounds interesting. You´ve thought about it before. The dating market is big, and a lot of people pay attention to matching looks, especially when it comes to certain formal events. “That´s a very ambitious proposal, Mr. Lee. A collaboration like this would mean shared creative control. Especially to create the customization options I usually offer for most of my designs.”

“I am well aware of that. Couples already put a lot of meaning into shared items like jewelry, shoes, and other things. Even for clothes, people like to feel like they belong to each other. It´s just missing the aspect of something that´s not only pretty, but also fits well and works for everyday life,” he expands on his thoughts, matching your energy in the process. It feels like a debate you used to have with him in class all the time. The training of argumentation about business deals, trying to win the other over. This time, it´s simply that it´s a real offer. One that possibly impacts the future of your brand and his brand.

“Matching fashion for couples? That´s no sustainable revenue.” Mr. Byun scoffs, unimpressed by the idea. Clearly, he still doesn´t understand where you want to go with your brand.

Mr. Kim mutters something under his breath, looking to the side, annoyed. “Sentimental marketing. What a joke.”

Jeno can´t help but chuckle to himself. “Neither is ignoring what people feel when they buy your products.” His voice sounds professional, yet dominant. His bold statement shocks the older, more experienced men.

“He´s right. Emotion drives loyalty, and loyalty brings sales. Why else do you think your target groups slowly start to try out with newer brands that actually meet their needs?” You back up Jeno´s statement, enjoying the sour expressions in front of you a bit too much. “Your focus is on quantity. You don´t listen to what people complain about. That´s what separates us.”

Mr. Park slams his hands onto the table. He´s heard enough. He won´t endure this kind of slander to his brand any longer. Mr. Cha looks at him with a glare, trying to keep the tension from snapping, because he knows it won´t look well if his colleague makes a scene.

But before any of them can say much more or do anything, you clap your hands together. “Mr. Lee, I will think about your proposal. It has potential,” you voice sounds firm and authoritative. The men in front of you stare at you as you gather your folder and the notes inside. Then you stand up, finally looking them in the eye again. “I thank you for your time and consideration. I will see you in the future.” With that, you start to walk out of the room, leaving them behind. You feel eyes on you, but you ignore them, letting the door click shut with a soft sound.

Your feet carry you through the building, back to your executive assistant. You give her the folder and update her about the proposition from Jeno. In the next beat, you ask her about your schedule.

“Miss, your schedule is clear for the rest of the evening. The next appointment isn´t until tomorrow at 1 pm,” she tells you. You nod and decide to review some files in one of the offices on the floor.

⪩.⪨

While the other CEO`s slowly take their leave, Jeno stays in the meeting room. He writes down the important bits from the negotiation. In his mind, he is stuck with your portrayal of yourself. He obviously recognizes and remembers you. Very clearly. Back at uni, you already had this confidence. You wouldn´t step down from your vision just because someone felt like you had no right to voice your opinions. In the end, it was always him placing second when you took first place on the leader boards for the year. And it was always you who stared him down when he aced a test better than you did.

To him, your expressions were so cute. He always had an interest in your intellect and how you thought about the material you had to review for presentations and other projects because you had such a way with words. But somehow, he was always met with a certain disdain. He placed it as a result of the rivalry you unintentionally created. Seeing you again, in a serious setting, brings back the memories, and he´s reminded of why he liked you so much.

The possible collaboration means a lot to him. He knows how seriously you take your work and that you value what your customers think. It´s exactly what he needs and wants for his own business. So when you invited him, he couldn´t say no.

Done with his notes, he finally gathers his things and gets up. He moves out of the room, through the corridor, and coincidentally runs into your assistant. “May I ask if Ms. L/N is still in the building?” he swiftly asks, giving her a small smile.

Your assistant, too stunned by his handsome face and the sudden question, stutters. “S-she´s busy reviewing some files in one of the offices on the upper floor.”

“Great. Is she busy for the rest of the evening?” he adds, professionally.

The woman in front of him nods. “Do you want to request a separate meeting with her? I can try and arrange something,” she proposes, but Jeno shakes his head.

“It´s fine. Thank you for telling me. Have a nice evening,” he says his goodbye and moves to the elevators. Inside, he calls his assistant. “Say, Jaemin, can you clear my schedule for the rest of the evening? Something came up.”

Jaemin, on the other side of the line, looks into the calendar, surprised to hear from his friend so suddenly. He usually never requests this, so it must be important. “Jeno, you have another meeting with the president of the manufacturing company later. Are you sure you want me to clear your schedule?”

“I am well aware of that. Please go ahead and reschedule the appointment for me,” Jeno says, clearly set on something else for the night.

“Alright. But please stay available in case there is a call back from him,” Jaemin requests, already knowing there will be some issues. The president has quite a temper and doesn´t like sudden cancellations.

“I will. Don´t worry.” With that, he ends the call, right as the elevator arrives at the floor with the offices. He walks through the hallway, determined to find you. And when he finally sees you sitting at one of the tables, busy writing something on a piece of paper, he goes and knocks on the glass door.

The sound catches your attention, so you look to the side. Surprise is written all over your features as you´re met with Jeno standing there. You don´t say anything, yet, and instead roll around the chair a little to face him directly.

“It´s been a while,” he starts and strides forward.

“Indeed, it has,” you respond, your eyes following his figure as he gets closer. “Can I help you with something?” you then ask, curious to see what he wants from you.

“Not exactly. I just wanted to catch up. See how you are doing,” he says casually. His hands find themselves inside his pockets. His gaze never leaves yours, either.

You scoff at his answer. “Please. Catch up? See how I am doing? Since when do you care?” you retort, not believing your ex-rival wants to catch up.

“Y/N please. Don´t be mean. I am genuinely asking. It´s not to taint you,” his voice rings in your ears. The mention of your name with that deep rasp does a few things to you, but you don´t relent easily.

“Are you trying to be nice to me for the sake of the collaboration? Are you that scared I will back out of it?” you ask, finally standing up to be on equal footing with him.

“Not at all. I am confident you are professional enough to keep personal matters away from business decisions. After all, you´ve always had a talent for it,” he says, looking at you fairly gently.

You eye him with skepticism, but decide to give him a chance. “Fine. But I won’t catch up with you in this stuffy office.”

“That´s fine with me. I wanted to invite you over for a talk anyway,” he smiles, showing you the famous eye smile that had girls swooning over him when you were students.

You roll your eyes, but your feet move regardless. Within minutes, you are no longer inside the office but situated inside his car, on the way to his hotel room. The ride over is silent. You are busy looking out of the window. You look calm on the outside, but inside of you, it feels like a storm is brewing. His sudden interest in you gives you a weird feeling. In the past, he never really acknowledged you, only viewing from afar. He used to be very timid. This change in his presence is unfamiliar. Scary even. Because you no longer know what to expect from him.

When you reach the hotel and manage to get to his room without any weird or awkward incidents, you let out a breath you didn´t know you held. Inside the neat room, he moves over to grab a bottle of water and two glasses, filling them equally. You don´t move away from the door; instead, you watch him from a distance, arms crossed in front of your chest.

He looks at you, holding both glasses, and chuckles. “Do you plan on standing there the whole time?” He is sitting down on one of the armchairs, waiting for you to join him.

Your eyes roll again, not in the mood for any teasing from him, so you relent and walk over to the other armchair, slowly sitting down on it and crossing your legs. He hands you the glass of water and smiles at you. “How have you been? Like, seriously,” he asks, taking a sip from the cold liquid.

“I´ve been fine. In fact, striving describes it quite well. I see you are well off yourself,” you entertain his question, still not relaxing and keeping your defense up.

He chuckles, which doesn´t go past you. “Are you making fun of me?” you ask, slightly irritated.

His hands immediately move up, waving the question off. “No, no. No, don´t worry. I actually find it quite cute how you want to stay professional even though we go way back.”

“You say that as if we dated. What´s it with you, suddenly showing so much interest in me?” You can´t help but rub your palms over your knees in a fit of nervousness. It´s too unfamiliar for you to hear him talk like that. So boldly.

“I´ve always had an interest in you. You just kept ignoring me,” he says calmly, slowly leaning back in his chair. His eyes never leave your figure. In fact, he actually takes the time to look you up and down. You´ve always been attractive. And the experience from managing your own brand has given you even more confidence, which, in his mind, translates to sexiness.

“I didn´t ignore you. I was busy focusing on my studies,” you defend yourself, trying to mask the sudden heat that crawls up your whole body. Why is he looking at you so intensely? And what does he mean by he´s always had an interest in you?

“You are always too focused on such things. Even now, you can´t even let go enough to talk to me on a more personal level,” he calls you out, his eyes finally coming back to find you staring at him with an intensity he didn´t expect.

“That´s quite mean of you to say,” you retort, clenching your hands with the uncomfortable attention you feel on yourself.

“It´s the truth, Y/N. I´ve never really seen you as a rival. That was all you, making it a competition when there was none. We could have been good friends. A strong team, even,” he says, voice dipping into a lower register. The change in tone has you clench your legs slightly. Something starts to feel really uncomfortable between them. You don´t think you can sit here for much longer.

“I don´t think I have the time to listen to you say such nonsense,” you say, rising to your feet. You really can´t stand it any longer. The air feels thick around you. The sudden rise in tension is suffocating. The way he looks at you has your heart skipping a beat, while heat keeps filling your body.

Your legs move towards the door. You try to open it. But before you can, a strong hand grabs your wrist and spins you around, right into his arms. “Where do you think you are going?” Jeno asks, not really expecting an answer from you. You are too stunned to speak. His grip on you is too strong. The way he holds you, the sudden proximity—it all messes with your head.

“Admit it, Y/N.”

You gulp. Your gut tells you to free yourself and leave, but deep down, your heart wants you to stay. To see what else will happen. “Admit what?” you ask, voice a little raspy from the way he stole your breath with his actions. He is intensely staring at you, not allowing himself to miss any reaction. It makes it harder for you to stay composed.

“Admit that this stupid rivalry was a one-sided thing, and that you were simply too afraid to recognize what it really was.”

Biting your bottom lip, you look to the side. Do you want to admit that? Not really. Is he right? Maybe. You always found him attractive. And you are sure you could have been a thing back then. But you didn´t want any distractions. Especially not the boy who´s right behind you in placing. The one who might steal your scholarship from you by scoring higher.

The way you bite your bottom lip has him swallow. He knows you aren´t one to give in easily. But right now, he feels like you are playing with him. Even if it´s unintentional. The silence is loud. It´s clear that you don´t want to answer him. So he prompts you one last time.

“Y/N.”

“Urgh, fine. Maybe it was a one-sided thing. What does it matter now anyway? It´s way in the past!” you finally snap. Your eyes are boring into his with a stern expression. You are no longer in the mood to play this game. The fact that he is still holding you like this kind of annoys you, too. “Can you finally let go of me now?”

Your reaction has him chuckle. He shakes his head in amusement while his grip on you loosens a lot. When he looks at you again, his eyes have a lot more of this innocent but daringly cute fire to them. It has you swallow once again. “You are so cute, you know that?”

“And you are still a big asshole,” you retort, unable to fully comprehend his compliment.

“Wanna know something, Y/N?” he suddenly asks, ignoring your comment.

“What is it?” you entertain him. What could he possibly say now? Isn´t he already done teasing you?

“There is something I´ve wanted to do for quite a while now. Actually, since the day I´ve gotten to know you,” he continues. His gaze is focused on you. And even though he isn´t holding you as strongly anymore, his thumb starts to caress your hip. His hand is still resting there. Just more gently.

“And what would that be?” To say you are curious is an understatement. But you don´t want to show him that. Or even tell him. The way he touches you sends a shiver down your spine, too, but you really focus on not giving any reaction. To your dismay, your heart is beating in your chest as anticipation rises.

“I´ve always wanted to kiss you,” he mumbles, slowly getting closer to you. He keeps eye contact. His breathing slows a little. But he won´t take that last step. Not without your consent.

Hearing him say that has your eyes widen. You expected anything but this. Is he really that attracted to you? And since university at that? You look at him—really look at him. His eyes are filled with intensity. His hair looks neatly done. The glasses that sit on top of his nose bridge complement his face shape a lot. His lips look plump and oh so kissable. So what´s stopping you? You are both adults. Professionalism aside, the rivalry you had in the past isn´t there anymore, either.

Your eyes return to his. And while your head is still spinning, you throw away all the thoughts that keep you grounded and tell you not to do it. With a swift movement, your hands move from his shoulders to his face. And in the next second, you crash your lips onto his.

He responds instantly. His hands grab your waist tightly. His lips move in the rhythm you set for the two of you. He is taking in how you taste, how you feel. And oh, is it satisfying. He can´t get enough of you, which you notice by the way he presses you against him.

Through the fabric of the formal attire you are both wearing, and the close contact of your bodies, you can feel the solid muscle beneath. It fuels your sudden hunger. Your imagination is filled with possible outcomes of how this night will end. And while it ignites fire that transforms into a very apparent wetness between your legs, you can feel how something hard touches your stomach.

Out of breath, you break the kiss for a few seconds. Your eyes find his face. You see how his skin is flushed with heat. The hunger in his eyes sends a bolt of electricity right to your core.

Before you know it, your back lands on the bed. He is on top of you in an instant. His lips meet yours once again, more fierce and ready to devour anything you give him. It makes you moan into his mouth.

“You are so hot,” he manages to rasp out before his mouth finds your neck, sucking at the delicate skin. The action has you grab his biceps while a breathy moan leaves your mouth.

The sound goes right to his dick, and before he knows it, he can´t stop his hands from moving to your blouse. With a strong pull, he tears it open, barely leaving the buttons intact. When his gaze drifts to your breasts, he can´t help but pull away and admire the sight.

A grin paints itself onto his face as he shakes his head, amused, which leaves you confused. “What? What´s the problem now? Why are you grinning?” you question, flustered from all the kissing and his sudden motion of tearing your clothes open.

“Why did you wear lingerie to an event like this?” he asks in disbelief. He isn´t mad about it, per sé. But damn, what a decision for a formal meeting with stakes that high.

“It´s my lucky underwear. How do you think I aced my exams? Confidence doesn´t come from nothing,” you defend, feeling the amusement he is getting out of this, even if he is also very much turned on by it.

“You mean to tell me that every time we´ve had an exam, you wore lingerie?” his eyes grow a little wider when he realizes what you just said.

“Yeah? What about it?” What´s his issue again? You wonder why he always finds things to complain about. Much to your oblivion, he has multiple images of you as a university student running through his mind, now imagining you with your short skirts and tight tops on, and below, that sexy underwear.

He doesn´t answer your question. Instead, he presses his lips onto yours and uses the force to push you into the mattress. Before you know it, he positions himself between your legs, fully caging you between himself and the bed. He keeps his pursuit of you going while swiftly moving his hands to undress you further.

Quickly, your pants and blouse are fully discarded, leaving you in just your underwear. When he shortly sits back to admire you with hungry eyes, he lets out a groan and bites his bottom lip. “I can´t wait to get a taste of you.”

You swallow involuntarily at his hidden declaration. Anticipation floods into you, and you feel yourself get wetter and wetter. The way he stares at you has you shiver for a second, but then you realize how much he´s still wearing. So you sit up a little and pull at his tie.

“You’d better take off something, too, or I won´t let you touch me any further,” you warn him. Threaten even. Your eyes scream at him to listen, displaying the fire inside you very clearly. And he really likes it. Because he doesn´t let you wait.

With quick motions, the tie around his neck is loose. The blazer he wears is thrown onto the armchair you sat on earlier. And his shirt is gone within seconds.

The way his abs shine under the light, all toned and on full display, has you drooling. And as your eyes drift down, you see the visible erection.

“Satisfied?” he asks tauntingly, a smirk gracing his mouth. He doesn´t let you answer, though, because he is back on you as soon as the word leaves his mouth, and starts sucking on your neck.

Your hands find his shoulders, his back, his chest. You can´t help but roam them over his body. He has always been fit. But back then, he used to be a little skinnier. When did he build all these muscles?

The way he sucks on your sensitive skin has you out of breath. The more he does it, the hotter it makes you feel. With the way the air gets thicker and thicker, you start to roll your hips against his, craving friction.

When he feels you on him, he groans into your neck. One of his hands grabs your hips tightly out of reflex. Determined, he starts to litter his kisses downwards, making sure not to neglect any part of you. And when he reaches your bra, he looks at it, then at you. “Let´s take this off,” he mumbles.

Before you can protest, his hands are already working on the piece of clothing. As soon as your tits hit the air, you suck in a short breath. Jeno gives you a small smile, then dives right back in. His mouth sucks on your left nipple while his hand takes care of the other.

You are left speechless at the sensation as the air gets knocked out of you. You are extremely sensitive and haven´t had any action in months. So his skilled work riles you up so much, it´s hard to bear.

The way your body shudders as he keeps going, eventually switching sides with his mouth, doesn´t go past him. He takes in how your body reacts to his touch, noting every little detail in his mind. It causes a chuckle to escape his mouth.

With a plan formed in his mind, he descends, slowly kissing down your chest to your stomach, then to your thighs. He takes his sweet time, licking over and sucking your skin until he is greeted with your soaked-through panties.

He looks at it for a bit, a smirk displayed on his face. Then you squirm a little and face him. “Are you getting to it, or do you wanna take a picture to admire it some more?” you hiss, clearly flustered from the way he has you on edge.

Your impatience makes him chuckle, but he quickly relents and pulls your underwear aside. Your pussy greets him with a gleam from all the juices that leaked. The sight fuels his hunger even more, and without waiting any longer, he dives in like a starved man, ready to devour every last drop of you.

The moment his tongue laps at your pussy, drawing a long lick from your hole to your clit, a loud moan escapes your lips. His eyes are focused on you as he finds a rhythm—incorporating a good mix of sucking on your clit and licking between your folds as if his life depends on it.

Quickly, your hands find their place in his hair, grabbing and pulling at it thanks to all the pleasure he´s causing. There is a hiss here and there, whenever you pull a little harder, but he doesn´t care. He keeps going until he can feel you squirm more and more.

“Fuck, Jeno, keep doing that~” you moan, already feeling that edge you are so familiar with. The man between your legs chuckles, sending vibrations to your pussy and making you moan even louder.

When your thighs threaten to close on him, trapping his face between them, his arms are quick to grab them and hold them in place. It makes you whine as your first orgasm threatens to hit you at full force.

“Ah-fuck, I-I´m so close,” you whine, lost in the feeling right before tipping over the edge.

Feeling the way you tense up right after, arching your back, totally lost in the pleasure, he keeps his rhythm steady, fucking you through the high that hits you the moment your sentence ends.

Only when you suddenly push at his head due to the overstimulation does he back off. With a slight pant, he looks at you. He licks his lips in satisfaction while his chin and mouth glisten with your sweet juices. “You taste so good. Gotta do this again later,” he mumbles and slowly climbs back over you. “You came so fast, I didn´t even get to use my fingers,” he then adds, the slightest chuckle accompanying his words.

“Shut up,” you pant and lightly hit his arm. While catching your breath, you hear the buckle of a belt and the rustling of fabric once more. Curious, you open your eyes to look for the source and are greeted with the sight of a leaking tip and the biggest, thickest dick you´ve seen in your life as an adult.

Swallowing, you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him. He looks so damn attractive, it makes the wetness pool between your legs once again. When he´s done, he turns to you and grabs the sides of your panties, pulling them down and off your legs.

“Let me prep you a little more,” he mumbles, caressing your thigh with gentle strokes of his fingers. The gesture has you relaxing, and a sudden, comfortable warmth blooms in your stomach. Automatically, you nod at his statement and lean back until your back lies flat on the mattress.

You can feel his fingers move to your inner thighs again, and soon the tips of his index and middle fingers start circling your clit. At the same time, he leans down and places feathery kisses on your collarbone and neck. The mix of both has you moaning, as you can feel the pressure build.

Then, he inserts one finger and slowly moves it in and out. Your walls immediately tighten around it, but soon relax again. When he feels that you are ready for the next, another finger is added, stretching you wider. You moan every time he grazes that sweet spot inside you, and one hand of yours moves to his cheek to pull him up so you can kiss him again.

You are so lost in his taste and the way his lips feel on yours, you don´t even notice the way he adds a third finger until another moan tears through your throat, breaking the kiss. You gasp as he fastens his pace, and when his thumb gives some attention to your clit, you can feel the orgasm close in on you.

“Cum for me, tiger. Let me hear how much you like my fingers,” he encourages you. His deep voice is music to your ears as you focus on how he´s rubbing against your G-spot with every pump of his fingers.

When your second orgasm hits, he helps you through it. And the moment you start to come down from it, his lips land on yours with a certain hunger. He enjoys your sweetness and the lingering taste of the cherry lip gloss you´ve had on earlier. You are so lost in the feeling and taste of him, you barely notice the way he repositions himself between your legs again.

When you break apart with a gasp, hungry for air, your eyes meet his. You can sense the way he wants to move and get a condom, but you stop him, grabbing his wrist with urgency.

“Keep going,” you demand.

“But-” he tries to argue, but you interrupt him with a kiss.

“It´s fine. Just fuck me already.”

There is a pause. He´s observing your face for any sign that says something else. And then he exhales and chuckles. “Alright. But don´t you dare complain later.” His hands are around your hips, and a second later, he´s pulling you closer to him. His gaze dips down to your pussy—hunger flashing in his eyes. And then he´s aligning himself.

Anticipation has your heart racing like crazy. You prepare yourself mentally, trying to push the need for him down since it´s hard to deal with the fact that you want him so damn much it hurts your pride.

When you feel his tip and then his length pushing inside you, the sting is the first thing you feel. He´s so big, your cunt can barely take him, even though he prepped you just fine a few minutes ago.

A gasp leaves your mouth as you try to adjust to him as fast as you can while he slowly inches deeper. The way Jeno´s thumbs caress your hips makes it a little more bearable, but it still takes a lot of energy from you.

When he´s finally bottoming out, he stills, letting you breathe through the sting. To make it easier for you, he carefully leans down and crashes his lips on yours again. His hands also move back to play with your nipples, making you whine into the kisses. Meanwhile, you cage him with your arms slung around his neck to keep him close to you.

“Ngh, you can move,” you mumble at some point in between kisses. The casual tone has him chuckle, amused, but he obliges anyway, because he´s waited long enough. He may not say it, or let it shine through, but deep down, it took him every ounce of willpower to keep from just slamming into you right then and there. The way you moan so sweetly has him so hard it hurts.

With a smooth move of his hips, he pulls back until only his tip is inside. Then, he slams back in. The feeling of your tight walls around him has him groan in satisfaction as he repeats the action, slowly finding a rhythm.

“Fuck, you are so damn tight,” he mutters, totally lost in the feeling of you. “Feels so good.”

Feeling the pleasure rise with each of his thrusts, and hearing his low moans, has you see stars. You can feel him everywhere, rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you with every push and pull. You can´t get enough of it.

“Harder-, aah~, go harder please,” you whine, nails digging into his arms as he´s drilling into you. The moment he hears your plea, he follows through, obeying your wish. There is nothing he wants more than to make you feel good.

So he slams into you harder with the following thrusts, keeping his rhythm as steady as possible. There is no way for him to keep his mouth shut, either. Moan after moan leaves his mouth with the sensation your gummy walls bring him. He could get lost in it.

When you start clenching around him more, feeling the third orgasm close to forming, a sudden ring of a phone interrupts the bliss that both of you are in. Jeno groans, annoyed at the distraction, and ignores it at first. To steady himself, he grabs your hips harder, probably leaving bruises there with how strongly he´s holding onto you. But when the ringing of the phone won´t relent, you give him a teasing look and tap his forehead. “Maybe you should get that call. Seems important.”

Seeing your grin, he rolls his eyes. “Can´t ever get time to fuck properly,” he complains, and only unwillingly reaches behind himself to try and find the source of disturbance. When he finally grabs his phone and looks at the caller ID, he sighs. Jaemin did tell him to stay available after all.

With stilled hips and cock still stuffed inside of you, he brings the device to his ear after accepting the call. You watch him with curious eyes as he starts talking to someone seemingly important, trying to decipher any words that could give away who it is.

Then, Jeno glances at you. There is mischief in his eyes as she does. Your intuition immediately tells you he has something in mind. And before you know it, he suddenly starts moving again.

The slow but intense strokes have you gasp, but as soon as the sound leaves your mouth, a hand covers it. On instinct, you grab his wrist to control the strength a bit, but you don´t push it away, too afraid of revealing the lewd things he´s doing to you while calling.

“Yes, I understand. I´m sorry for the sudden change of plans, but something personal came up,” he explains to the person—the president of the manufacturing company—and thrusts deep inside of you, biting his bottom lip to not let out a groan.

Seeing him do this so casually, and feeling like you are doing something way too naughty, you can´t help but feel turned on even more. Annoyingly, the caller seems to keep discussing something and bringing the man who´s supposed to bring you over the edge another time back to the conversation again and again.

Jeno still keeps going with his hip rolls, however, making sure to keep you close to the high. There is no way he will disappoint because of something like that. The intensity of the situation has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, with how insanely good it feels.

To tease him just a little bit, though, because it´s still his fault that someone interrupted your shared fun, you clench around him hard every time he almost pulls out. The light stutter and the heavy breaths that come with it whenever he tries to answer the man on the other side are very satisfying to your ears, and you can´t help but grin the tiniest bit about it.

When he finally ends the call, almost blowing the covers, and throws his phone to the side to refocus on you, he takes his hand from your mouth and gives you an accusing look. “You naughty little thing.” There is a grin gracing his mouth as he says this, and you can only feign innocence and look at him with big eyes in return.

“What? Did I do something?” you say, obviously knowing what you did.

“I almost gave myself away because of you,” he accuses.

“You didn´t, though. Besides, that´s what you get for your poor self-management,” you taunt.

He only clicks his tongue, done with your bullshit, and before you know it, he has your legs thrown over his shoulder. The sudden change in position has you shriek in surprise. But before you can complain, he´s back at slamming into you, changing your forming words into loud moans.

“Shit-, Jeno-” you let out, already feeling almost dizzy from the increase in pleasure. And then, when you think there is nothing more that can add to it, his thumb brushes over your clit, circling it in quick motions.

You are a mess, arching your back and holding onto the bed sheets for dear life as he tries to keep his rhythm steady. But even he is close to tipping over, his hips barely keeping up with the pace he´s set.

There is another breathy groan coming from him when you feel your pussy clench harder. “I-I´m cumming! Fuck!” you almost yell. And then your mind spirals into the land of pleasure, overwhelmed by the orgasm that hits.

The spasm of your cunt around his dick throws him over the edge seconds later. Hot spurts of cum paint your walls white while he fucks you through it, praising you with the sweetest words. “Such a good girl, all fucked out and beautiful.”

When the overstimulation hits, your palm finds his lower stomach. Feeling your warm skin on his, his hips slowly still. He waits a few moments, panting a little, and then he slowly pulls out, watching as the cum leaks out of you shortly after.

There is a hiss on his end, and his eyes roam over your body. “You look so fucking hot with my cum dripping out of you.”

gain, you slap his arm for the choice of words he has, but the satisfied smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. “You´d better take me out on a date after this. Or else I will have to rethink a few choices from today.”

The warning is subtle and totally not serious, but he laughs anyway and leans down to kiss your shoulder, your cheek, and then your lips. “Of course. Only the best for the best.”

[lovesuhng]

cold

1.9k / fluff, co-workers to lovers

Since you started working at that company, there was one name that made you shiver every time you heard it: Lee Jeno. You hadn't worked together, only exchanged a few formal greetings, but it was impossible not to hear what people were saying about him in the hallways. The comments were always made in hushed tones by your coworkers, afraid he might show up and hear everything they were saying about him:

"I heard an intern cried because she had to share a room with Jeno."

"They say a manager was fired from the company after arguing with Jeno in a meeting, and he just stood there, watching it all."

"I've been working here for two years and I've never seen him smile at anyone."

"He doesn't go to happy hour, he doesn't have lunch with the staff, he doesn't participate in anything."

"There's a rumor that he joined the company in a senior position without going through the selection process! He must definitely know some dirt on one of the bosses."

That was the image people had of him: cold, calculating, distant from everyone, and he avoided forming bonds with people as much as possible.

Until, in the middle of a meeting to present the company's new project, your boss said:

"____, Jeno, I need you two to work together on this project."

An immediate chill went through your stomach. All you did was nod and direct your gaze to your newest work partner, who was on the other side of the large table. He might be cold, but he was certainly one of the most handsome men you had ever seen: perfectly styled hair, a body hidden by a black suit that looked tailor-made, glasses resting on a perfectly sculpted nose, just like every other part of his face. He also looked at you and nodded, saying a quiet "Understood." That made you more nervous than it should have.

The meeting ended and the room quickly emptied out. You ended up staying behind, wanting to use the now-empty room to organize some pending tasks, when you felt a presence beside you. It was Jeno. "Can we align the project schedule?"

It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you. "Yes. Of course. The schedule." If you could, you would have slapped yourself on the forehead.

Jeno took a chair and promptly sat down next to you, perhaps too close, because his scent invaded your senses. Although it was a woody aroma, it was comforting.

"I was thinking of dividing it into three stages: research, execution, and validation," he said in a professional manner, pointing to the notes he had taken on his laptop during the meeting, explaining each point. But your attention was on his hands: large, firm. For a fraction of a second, you wondered what it would be like to be gripped by them...

"What do you think?" he asked, bringing your attention back.

"I... I liked it.”

"Which part?"

"Uh... all of it?" Clearly, you hadn't paid attention to a single word he had just said.

He let out a short, quiet laugh. "I can explain it again if you want." Jeno was calm, patient, as if he could explain the same thing a million times.

"I'm sorry, I'm not managing to concentrate properly today."

"It's okay," he said and simply began to explain everything again in the most patient way possible.

In the following days, messing up around Jeno became something that happened almost all the time. Partly because you thought he would lose his temper with you, partly because he was too handsome up close.

One day you spilled coffee near his desk, another day you forgot to do the research he had asked for. You even mixed up his name with your best friend's. But he would always say, accompanied by a half-smile: "It's okay."

Another time, you were walking past the break room and dropped the pile of documents you were holding. "My God, what is wrong with me?" you whispered, frustrated with the whole situation.

Then, you saw a hand enter your field of vision. Jeno was crouching beside you, helping you gather all the papers scattered across the floor. He was very close, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body and his shoulder brushing against yours.

"There's nothing wrong with you." He had heard the complaint you made to yourself.

"Maybe, but I've been very nervous lately."

"Nervous around me?"

Your eyes widened in a way you didn't think was possible, and you ended up stumbling over your own words: "No... I mean, yes, maybe... I don't know..."

He observed you for a moment longer, trying to understand what you were trying to say. He simply handed you the organized pile of papers.

After spending so much time with him, you were slowly realizing that he wasn't the monster people said he was. He was always willing to help you at various points in the project. But your impression of him truly changed one night when you stayed a little later at the office and heard someone crying. When you found where the sound was coming from, you realized the person was with Jeno, who was speaking in a firm, yet soft tone of voice.

"Take a deep breath, everything will be fine."

You recognized that he was talking to a colleague from the finance department who had probably made a mistake at work.

"I messed up everything and missed the deadline. They're going to fire me!" she said between sobs.

"No, they won't. I'll help you," he said calmly.

"But you're still so busy with work."

"It's not a problem. I'll help you."

And he did. He explained, helped and kept your colleague calm the whole time. It was then that you realized everyone was wrong about Jeno. Your heart began to fill with something you didn't understand, but it was very comforting.

After that moment, your relationship with Jeno gradually changed, as if you were starting to feel more comfortable around him.

He noticed it.

From then on, he always brought you a coffee before starting work, organized the files to "make your job easier," and even made "jokes" to lighten the mood, making you laugh because they were so bad.

One night when you both stayed a little late, it was raining and you had forgotten your umbrella. Jeno looked at the rain, then looked at you.

"I'll drive you home." He wasn't asking. He was just saying he would take you home.

"You don't have to, I live nearby."

"But you might catch a cold, and I don't want that to happen." Seeing that Jeno cared about you made your heart skip a beat.

You walked to his car, sharing the small space of the umbrella. Upon reaching the car, Jeno opened the passenger door for you to get in, and then took his place behind the wheel.

Indeed, you lived very close, so the drive was quick and quiet.

"We arrived! Thank you so much—" You were about to get out of the car, but Jeno was faster: he rushed to open the door for you and already had the umbrella open to guide you to the door of your small house.

"You didn't have to do all that."

"It's no trouble at all."

Jeno stopped in front of the door, still holding the umbrella above the two of you. You twirled the keys between your fingers, a little nervous:

"Jeno..." You called him before he could say goodbye and leave.

"Hmm?" He tilted his head slightly, as he always did when you spoke. If you weren't so nervous, you would have said he looked like a lost puppy, but you just swallowed hard.

"Can I ask you something?" He just nodded his head, and you asked: "Why are you so kind to me?"

He furrowed his eyebrows slightly. He didn't seem offended, just confused by the sudden question. "Kind?"

"Yes... kind." You gave an awkward laugh, trying to make the situation a little lighter. "I always heard you were cold, that you didn't like to socialize with people at the company. I confess that, at the beginning of the project, I was a little scared, that's why I was so nervous and messed up all the time." You laughed again, looking away. You wouldn't be able to handle seeing the confused expression Jeno was making at that moment.

His gaze softened. He began to understand the reason for your nervousness, but one part of your speech caught him: "You were scared of me?"

"Not exactly scared of you, but I was afraid you'd hate me..." You sighed, but before he could answer, you completed. "But as time pass by, I realized I was completely wrong. That there was no reason to be afraid of you."

Your eyes returned to his, which were looking at you intensely. Then, he smiled, relieved.

"I'm happy to hear that, because I would never hate you." Your stomach flipped, your hands started to sweat. "I was the one who was afraid that you would have the same view of me that everyone else does."

It took your brain a whole second to process what he was saying. Lee Jeno was afraid of what you thought of him? "But, why?"

For the first time, you saw a totally nervous Jeno, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, trying to calm down somehow. After a few seconds, which seemed eternal, he told you: "Because I like you a lot."

Everything seemed to stop. The rain, the cars, any sound on the street. There was only you and Jeno. It was his turn to let out an awkward little laugh. "I know... I'm not very good at this. I've liked you since the beginning of the project... I mean, even earlier. I just didn't know how to approach you without making you uncomfortable."

Your heart was beating so fast that you were afraid he could hear it, but even so, you moved even closer to him, as if that were possible.

"You never made me uncomfortable, but I thought you were just being polite."

Jeno didn't answer, he just touched your cheek, as if that touch could convey all the affection he felt for you. You didn't pull away or ask him to stop at any point, you just smiled. Jeno understood that this was a signal, but even so, polite as always, he decided to ask you.

"May I?"

You couldn't seem to answer, you just confirmed by looking at his lips. Jeno got the message. The space between you slowly closed, your breaths mingled, and slowly, Jeno touched his lips to yours, in a calm, almost shy kiss, but warm enough to make your hearts race at an inexplicable rhythm.

When you felt him starting to pull away, you held him by the collar of his overcoat, pulling him back for a second kiss, more intense, to the point where Jeno dropped the umbrella without noticing and took hold of your waist. Jeno's warm touch contrasted perfectly with the cold wind caused by the rain.

When you separated, you remained with your foreheads touching and in an intense exchange of glances. You smiled and broke the silence. "It looks like it's not raining anymore, huh?"

Jeno smiled, finally realizing that the rain had stopped. For the first time, you saw Jeno smile openly, very different from the contained smiles he used to give, which you already found beautiful.

"Are you still scared?"

You chuckled softly, feeling your face warm. "I'm not scared, because I realized I've liked you for a while now."

Jeno's eyes sparkled, truly happy to have heard that. "So, can I kiss you again?"

Once again, you didn't answer. You just opened the door, took Jeno's hand, and pulled him inside the house while joining your lips in another kiss.

[yutafrita]

Silver and Gray

Wolf Hybrid!Jaemin x Bunny Hybrid!Reader

WC: 5.4k Genres: Rom-Com with some tension, fluff and slight angst. Omg there was only one bed trope You're working on a post-doc and are given an assignment- taking three weeks to drive throughout the country to pick up physical data files. The only issue? The person meant to work with you is a shy, gray wolf hybrid.

Warnings: Sexual tension but nothing overt written, mentions of pornography, swearing, medication use, mentions of food and eating, extremely stupid/ awkward scenarios

You scratched your ear instinctually. It wasn’t an itch you were trying to get at, it was the thoughts swirling around your mind. That morning, you had meticulously brushed the gray fur of your rabbit ears, and yet within a moment's notice were causing cowlicks as your brain went several miles a minute. 

“I thought you’d be excited,” your fellow post doc, Jisoo, hummed. She recently dyed her own bunny ears a pale pink and was brushing them down as she sat in the seat next to you. You both shared the office space since she was the only other bunny in the program. 

“Why would I be excited?”

“Well, last time we had an all hands department meeting, you told me you thought he was hot,” she shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean I feel exactly comfortable having to go on field assignments with him. Especially one like this,” you whispered, knowing that only she would be able to hear. Your office was in a corridor assigned to the department, but no one else there that day had ears as strong as you two.

“Puh-lease. He’s a wolf, not a monster. Plus, apparently he’s like, super shy and quiet.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Jennie told me. He was in her orientation group. He apparently just kept to himself the whole time.”

“Ah,” you nodded at her reminder of her capybara hybrid roommate. You were all part of the university’s post-doctoral program and were set to be working there for a year. Jaemin, Jisoo, you and another student were all in the Hybrid Health Sciences department, albeit all with different focuses. 

“Yeah, he won’t even go out drinking after work with the group,” Jisoo frowned, “I doubt he’ll even go to lunch with you on the trip.”

You both went quiet, going back to doing your grading. Well, you tried to get back to doing your grading, but you ended up digging through the upcoming trip you and Jaemin were being assigned to. You two were tasked with passing through different partner universities and institutions, picking up different files and assisting with certain rounds of paperwork. It was a three week assignment that would also require you two to drive over a thousand miles together.

You got a notification on your teams and clicked it open.

NA, JAEMIN: Hi, I noticed there was an opening in your schedule. Conference room B is open in about 30 minutes. Do you want to meet and start working on logistics?

You didn’t mind wolf hybrids, per say. Most wolves were on suppressants to manage their heat cycles and aggression levels. However, they were still usually physically larger than other people in the room, and because you were a bunny hybrid, they almost always talked down to you. You had to claw your way to have a seat at the table, and wolves were naturally allowed to take up as much space as they wanted. 

You swallowed your nerves and replied with a simple thumbs up. 

While you may not mind wolves, you couldn’t say the same of your parents. Before you were born, your parents had moved you all to a town that was primarily composed of other prey types. When you told them you were moving away to a major metropolitan city that was known for having hybrids of all types, they panicked and made sure to warn you to stay safe. They even shoved outdated fox repellents and a wolf foggers into your hands.

Jaemin was already in the conference room when you arrived. Even with his shoulders hunched you could tell he was broad. His gray wolf ears twitch as you shut the door behind you. He looked up and gave you a polite smile- one you did not return.

Instead, you slid the manilla folder in your arms across the table to him as you sat down. You set up your laptop and oriented yourself as you heard the wolf wordlessly go through the information packet you had been compiling.

Your nose quivered, his smell overwhelming your senses. He didn’t reek of dogs like most other canine hybrids did. He instead smelled… nice. A musky, oak smell blended with a small twinge of honey that seemed to calm down your initial senses. 

“Great, this is perfect. I can go ahead and call the listed hotels and get our rooms booked up. Do you want to be the one to contact the partner university teams?.”

You blinked, “you don’t want to lead the discussion with the teams?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and gestured to the manilla folder, “you clearly know what you’re doing. I’m fine being your support and covering whatever you need from me.”

You didn’t trust him, and you could feel the hairs on your ear standing on end. Judging by the way Jaemin was staring at them, he could tell you were not comforted by his affirmations at all.

“Um… I’ve seen you speak to faculty members. You have excellent soft skills. I think it would be foolish of me to butt my nose in when you’re plenty capable,” he added.

You nodded, agreeing enough to let your ears relax slightly.

“The main thing is the collection of field notes,” you added. You typed in your email and open an attachment to turn it over to Jaemin, “we need to collect data regarding the health outcomes from a few institutes that manage the hospitals of a few small towns.”

Jaemin nodded, scratching his ears as he looked over the assignment details from your advisor. You noticed it then- that he had two piercings on his wolf ears. It wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before, but from how quiet he was it wasn’t something you had anticipated.

“... health outcomes for rodent hybrids?” you had only caught the tail end of his question, seemingly distracted by these piercings.

“Sorry?”

“Your doctoral thesis focuses on health outcomes of rodent hybrids in the military, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you frowned at yourself, searching your brain for any memory of Jaemin mentioning his doctoral thesis but coming empty, “what was yours?”

“Housing inequality in small mammal hybrids and its long term effects,” he shrugged as he slid the laptop back to you. 

That night, after you made the round of calls to the universities, you returned to your apartment. Thankfully, you didn’t have many personal arrangements to make. You didn’t have any pets or someone at home that was going to be worried about you being alone with a wolf for so long. You were assured there was room in the budget for you and Jaemin to have separate rooms, and he seemed well managed enough to behave on the long drives. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine and sighed, defeated. He was hot- and the fact that he was a wolf made him even hotter to you. You hated admitting this, because you’ve lost count of the amount of creeps that had fetishized you for being a bunny hybrid, but you couldn’t help it. He was so quiet, and you could tell he was at the gym often by how tight his long sleeve clung to his arms muscles. His face was so cute with eyes that seemed to analyze every detail in a room around him. His ears were almost always twitching as it picked up new sounds, and his earrings would occasionally ring together as he had the same habit as you of scratching at his fur while thinking.

You took a sip of your wine and sighed.

After weeks of planning and debating over what rental car to get, the two of you planned to meet at dawn in the university parking lot. You yawned as you climbed out of your car that was tucked away in the parking garage. You took out your phone as you made the trek outside of the building towards the parking lot across the block where Jaemin said he was. 

JISOO: HAHAH Jennie says you’ll need this for your assignment ;)

You squinted as you saw the attached blue hyperlink. You opened it and were immediately greeted with the title, ‘BUNNY HYBRID IN HEAT GETS RAILED BY ALPHA WOLF HYBRID.’

“Oh my god,” you cringed out loud at the forced moans coming out of your screen. You quickly exited the browser and told Jisoo to fuck off. You groaned, rubbing your forehead. Thankfully Jaemin shouldn’t have been close enough to hear, even with his heightened sense of hearing. You tucked away your phone, and mentally tucked away the fact that the duo in the video had the same colored ears as you and Jaemin.

“Here,” Jaemin eventually greeted you not with a wave, but instead a large cup of coffee.

“I thought you were driving first?”

“I need you awake. You need to help me with the GPS and the music.”

“Ah,” was your response. You took a sip of coffee and immediately gagged.

“It’s just seven shots of espresso.”

“Oh my god. Did I do something to you?”

“What?” Jaemin seemed perplexed as he drank his own variant of the drink.

“What have I done to deserve this monstrosity?” 

“It’s my usual order, and like I said- I need you to stay away,” he continued with his own coffee, nonchalantly leaning over and grabbing the duffle bag you had in your hand. Jaemin picked up the rental car prior to meeting you, and now with your duffel bag in hand, he walked you across the parking lot to the sedan the university was covering for your journey.

“I already grabbed the boxes,” Jaemin popped the trunk, and gestured to the two neatly marked boxes you needed for the journey to deliver, “so, are you ready to hit the road?”

The first half an hour was painfully awkward. It felt like being an elevator- waiting for your floor to come so you can leap out of the uncomfortable space. But alas, you were on this ride for a while. So, you played music and begrudgingly drank the coffee he got for you.

“If you had gotten your own coffee,” Jaemin broke the silence, his hands steady on the wheel, “what would you have gotten.”

You thought for a moment, before reciting to him your typical coffee order.

“I see. Yeah, my roommate did tell me that my own coffee order was too intense,” he admitted.

“He sounds like a smart guy,” you quipped.

Jaemin shrugged, “he is.”

It was quiet in the car again until you cleared your throat, “I’m gonna connect my phone… is there any music you want to hear?”

Jaemin gave you a few songs to add to the queue, and you got music going. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you suddenly bursted. It had been something you’ve been chewing on since Jaemin had told you about his doctoral thesis and his research interest.

“You just did,” he cracked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his eyes being fixed on the road, “yes, go ahead.”

You tugged down one of your ears, scratching it nervously as you finally voiced your inquiry, “why are you focusing on small mammals in your research?”

“It took you longer than most people to ask,” he chuckled before he answered, “my closest friends are all small mammal hybrids. It happened to be the type of work I want to work in.”

You frowned. It seemed simple enough. You couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction you felt at the image of such a large mammal like him working for small mammals. It was unnerving, but he clearly didn’t mean any harm by it.

After taking a bathroom break at a rest stop, the two of you switched and you were driving. 

“Hey, can you change the song?” you asked him and told him your phone password so he could open your phone and easily change it.

“Yeah,” he skipped the song and paused, “Jisoo sent you a message by the way? Don’t know if you want to know what it is.”

“Yeah, can you read it off to me?” you mindlessly asked, annoyed by a few of your fellow drivers.

“Um… she asked if we’ve headed out yet,” he voiced, “and then she sent a hyperlink in response to your earlier message. Do you want me to open it?”

“Yeah sure… God all these drivers suck,” you complained as you mindlessly agreed.

Wait. What message did you send her earlier? 

“W-Wait,” you barely got your protest out before exaggerated moans started blaring through the car's speakers. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, bunny!” the wolf moaned out before Jaemin quickly exited and tossed the phone into the middle console. 

Your entire body tensed, your knuckles screaming as you gripped the steering wheel as tight as physically possible. You wished that the ground could swallow you whole as your entire face heated up in embarrassment. You were going to kill Jisoo. Kill her with your bare hands.

“Um- I- she sent that as a joke,” you sputtered out once you realized how long you had been quiet for.

“O-Okay,” Jaemin coughed out.

You ignored the sheen of sweet you could smell now rolling off of Jaemin that further enhanced the smell of honey that he had.

“She thinks it’s funny to send stuff like that,” you were just saying anything now, hoping to quell the shame that built up in your stomach and was making your ears stand on end, “I mean just because I apparently said you were hot and I don’t even remember saying that!”

Your eyes widened as you realized what you said. You were fully panicking now, not even breathing as you tried to not accidentally crash the car to escape this situation.

“... oh Professor Kwon is calling me,” his phone only had a single ring before he noticed and picked it up. You had to mentally send your thanks to whatever higher power had decided to spare you and put you out of your misery. Between the wolf/bunny porn and you admitting that you thought he was hot, you wanted to completely vanish. However, this was only the beginning of your journey together.

“... I see. And there’s nothing that can be done?” he asked, sounding distressed. Your ear twitched as you focused your hearing slightly to try and hear what Professor Kwon was saying.

“Unfortunately our hands are tied. Let me know when you guys make it to rest tonight,” was all she replied with before hanging up.

“What’s going on?” you asked as soon as he hung up.

He sighed, “well. It looks like they needed to trim some more funding from this trip.”

You tilted your head, “what do you mean?”

He meant, it turns out, that instead of you guys being given separate rooms, the two of you would need to share a room each night of your journey.

Your small sliver of hope to have a space of refuge was snuffed out. 

“Do you snore?” Jaemin asked this as if you weren’t still dying of embarrassment.

“I don’t think I do,” you replied. You lived alone and didn’t really have many overnight visitors that would bother to tell you if that was the case.

“Okay, cool. I don’t think I do either.”

“Cool, cool,” you hummed.

You drove the next few hours until finally arriving at the first university on your stop. It was a small private institution two professors you worked with had done a joint study with twenty years ago. Unfortunately, that meant that some of the files needed were stuffed in dusty boxes and all in paper. 

Both you and Jaemin immediately reacted to the old storage room the graduate student walked you to. You couldn’t stop sneezing, the dust kicking through your nose and into your lungs directly, causing your eyes to water.

“Yeah, maintenance hasn’t cleaned it in a while,” the human shrugged as they walked through the space and guided you two to the back, “just these two boxes.”

After both you and Jaemin calmed down your sinuses, he immediately grabbed both boxes as if they were as light as feathers. He zipped out of the room, and you followed suit. You were eager to leave the room and breathe in clean air. 

The walk back to the car consisted of both of you coughing aggressively, the dust dissipating but still hurting the strong sense of smell you two shared.

“They were trying to kill us,” you finally sputtered out once you opened the trunk so Jaemin could place the first two boxes of data inside.

“They were pretty close,” he cleared his throat again, “thankfully the hotel isn’t too far from here so we can clean up and just work on data entry without dying.”

Right. The hotel. The room you now had to share with Jaemin.

After checking in and having to awkwardly explain to the manager that you two in fact were not a couple- you insisted that Jaemin should shower first. You wanted to start up on entering some of the data into the software, and preferred to do it before having to shower.

You just cracked open the first data file when your phone started ringing. You glared when you saw Jisoo’s name jump across your phone. After a few seconds, you finally decided to pick up.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” you practically growled, your bunny ears twitched.

“What did I do?” she sounded surprised. She was clearly eating and was calling to check in on you, not knowing what she did to elicit such a reaction. You paused, focusing your hearing on the hotel room and making sure you could still hear the shower running, ensuring to you that Jaemin was preoccupied.

You whispered to Jisoo what her sending a new porno link did, promoting her to basically yell on the other end of the line.

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?” She defended before sputtering out into laughter.

“This is SO not funny!” You responded, but ultimately joined in her laughter.

“Dude, I mean, has he said anything about it?”

“N-no.”

“Well, I mean… we’re bunnies. We get people all the time treating us like sexual objects. The fact that he, a wolf of all things, is being respectful enough to not further humiliate you over it…” her voice trailed off. You heard the shower shut off then, and immediately said goodbye before hanging up the phone.

You had started work on the first data file when Jaemin entered the room. You glanced over your shoulder and paused. He was passing a towel through his still damp hair and ears, a few droplets hanging on his clavicle that was exposed due to how loosely his t-shirt hung on him. His scent hit you next, his natural smell refined after washing off the dust from the day, and it was now mixed with fresh soap. If you didn’t have self control, your mouth would have started watering.

“The shower is weird,” he frowned before gesturing back to the bathroom, “let me show you really quick.”

You froze, your brain short circuiting as you digested his words.

“O-okay,” you got up and followed him into the cramped bathroom that was still steamy from the wolf’s shower.

“You have to do this to get to heat up,” he twisted the knob awkwardly, a stream of water flowing into the shower, “and wiggle it like this for the shower to start,” he then wiggled it at an awkward angle to get the shower head going. You nodded, and he shut the water off.

“You started on the data entries?”

You blinked, trying to ignore that Jaemin was now speaking to you casually as if the bathroom wasn’t small, steamy, and like his scent was numbing your senses.

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Okay, I’ll finish what you started then,” he nodded before leaving the bathroom.

-----

After clearing past the awkward and humiliating air, you got to know Jaemin more. First and foremost, he was an avid planner. He had coordinated every part of the trip down to the minute with stipulations for stipulations. Any possible question you could have had, he already had an answer for you, and was eager to explain his thinking. You were used to having to do all of the planning for trips with friends, so you admittedly really loved this aspect of being able to comfortably rely on someone else.

The second thing you learned was that he was viciously observant. After you told him your ideal coffee order, he made sure to always grab it for you each morning. He also made sure to have a small brush in his pocket and would hand it to you whenever he noticed the fur on your ears were becoming a nest throughout the day.

The third thing- and you hated to admit it- was that he was hot. Like, fucking hot. It made you feel so stereotypical- a bunny attracted to a wolf of all hybrids. But, fuck, he was hot. Every night when he’d step out of the shower and had droplets clinging to his clavicle, you had to struggle to not express how badly you wanted to jump his bones. Instead, you took your rut suppressant medication before bed, and kept it together as best as you could.

“... thinking?” the tailend of Jaemin’s sentence brought you back to the diner you two were eating at that night. 

“What was that?”

“I said I was thinking of getting pancakes and was asking what you were thinking?”

“Oh,” you frowned. You stared at the menu but hadn’t actually looked it over.

“What’s on your mind?” he set the menu down, his attention fully focused on you. You felt your heart hammer in your chest, and you hoped to god he couldn’t smell the sweat forming as you felt pinned by his gaze.

“Um… I guess I just miss my apartment,” you chuckled, “are you missing your place, too?” 

“Oh, definitely,” he chuckled, picking his menu back up. “My roommate, Mark, keeps telling me that he loves not having to clean up as much without me there. I can’t wait to be back and get everything as clean as it should be.”

“Ah, so you’re a neat freak,” you stated this as if you hadn’t already noticed this about the wolf. While your own suitcase had fallen into disarray, the wolf meticulously folded all of his clothes every night before bed and kept his side of every hotel room impeccable.

“Mmm I prefer things to be organized, yes,” he hummed

“I know my suitcase must drive you crazy, then,” you chuckled.

“It does, actually,” he admitted, “if you folded your clothes, you wouldn’t be fighting to close it everytime.”

You shrugged, “I was in charge of laundry my house growing up, so I guess when I lived on my own I got tired of having to fold clothes.”

“Did you have to do the laundry a lot?”

“I have seven siblings, so yeah all the time.”

His eyes widened then. Before he could respond; the server arrived and asked you both for your orders. After placing your orders, you returned to a comfortable silence with Jaemin before he spoke up.

“So your parents have eight kids?”

“Yeah…. Pretty small for a bunny family,” you chuckled at your own joke. You saw Jaemin’s eyes widen, and a smile creeping on his lips. 

“… can I make a joke?” He asked, his smile now fully present.

You raised an eyebrow, “I suppose?”

“I guess that explains the video Jisoo sent your way,” his teeth were fully exposed as he smiled mischievously at you. 

You felt your whole body heat up in embarrassment, “sh-shut up! She was trying to be funny…. It wasn’t,” you argued, crossing your arms. Jaemin kept laughing though, shaking his head as his laughter filled up the small diner.

It was an infectious laughter, so much so that you couldn’t help but join in.

“She’s insane,” you sighed.

“I’ll admit something to you,” he fished out his phone from his pocket, “Mark sent me the same link,” he then turned his phone to you, showing you the message with a hyperlink and Mark’s caption. 

“‘You’ll need this for your assignment!’” you read off his message, chuckling at the fact that Jaemin’s only response to his roommates porn link was disliking the message.

“So we’re both friends with freaks,” you giggled as you slid the phone back to him. The server arrived then, and you both quickly ate before going to check-in for the next hotel for the night. This hotel you’d be at for two days since it sat in between two colleges you needed to pick up boxes from and meet with professors.

It was this hotel room that made your moment of calm and connection with Jaemin slip.

“... I’ll sleep on the floor,” Jaemin  spoke quickly. That was bold, considering how small the room was and you weren’t even sure if your suitcases could both be on the floor, leaving you to shove your luggage on top of the desk.

You showered first, and Jaemin showered shortly thereafter. You watched him struggle to figure out a corner to sleep in, and relented.

“Jaemin, just sleep on the bed,” you sighed, scooting over so he could have a side.

“No, I-.”

“Jaemin. Get. In. The. Bed,” you asserted. You watched the gray wolf’s ears twitch before sighing.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you yawned. The bed was full sized, but Jaemin was much bigger than you, leading to him taking up more of the bed than you anticipated. You didn’t necessarily mind it, though. You had been sharing a space with him for about a week and a half at this point, and you couldn’t get over how freaking good he smelled. It felt like it had been infecting every pore in your body and you just wanted to sink in deeper.

Oh, yeah, need to take your rut medication. You leaned over to the nightstand, quickly taking out the pill from the medication bottle and taking a sip of water to ease it down.

You laid back down and noticed Jaemin’s eyes were stuck to you, ignoring his open phone screen. His pupils were slightly more dilated, but you chose to attribute that to the dim lighting offered from the light on his nightstand.

“You don’t wear perfume, do you?” he asked suddenly. You blinked quickly, lying back down onto your side so you could face him. The shadows the dim light offered darkened Jaemin’s gaze as he analyzed your face. You swallowed the saliva that had built up and breathed deeply so you could try and slow your heart rate. He was so close.

“I haven’t been on this trip since I know wolf hybrid noses tend to be sensitive,” you explained, “plus, even as a bunny hybrid, I am pretty sensitive to certain smells. So it’s not like I wear it a lot anyways.”

“Ah,” was his response.

“You don’t wear cologne?”

“Not really, and because you’re a bunny hybrid I didn’t really have any incentive to do so… didn’t want to mess with your nose.”

“That’s really thoughtful.”

“I’ve been told before that wolves smell like dirty wet dogs, so I’m not sure how thoughtful it is, really.”

You chuckled, “you don’t smell like a wet dog.”

He tilted his head, closing his phone and placing it on the nightstand before lying on his side to give you full attention and ask, “what do I smell like to you?”

You thought it over before replying, “you smell like a musky, oak blended with a small twinge of honey to sweeten it. You smell good… not like a wet dog at all.”

He hummed, “well, I’m glad I smell so good to you.”

“What about me?” you asked, ignoring the way your heart was pounding as his gaze studied you so intently, even ignoring the way you could see his tail wagging under the sheets.

“You smell like hazelnut and honey. Pretty safe combination,” he nodded before adding, “really good.”

It was quiet then, a weight sitting on both of you as both of your smells grew intense due to you both sweating. The AC was working fine, but your heart was pounding and your whole body was singing as neither of you broke eye contact. Your rut medication was usually enough to get you by, but you also weren’t being faced with a wolf hybrid who was this hot, this close to you, and was analyzing every part of your face.

“I-I should turn the lights off,” Jaemin muttered, “we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Y-Yeah, yes,” you nodded, turning away from the wolf hybrid.

----------

The day was off to a rough start when the graduate assistant giving you the boxes asked how long you and Jaemin had been dating for.

“Oh, we’re not,” you tried to explain but they kept talking.

“It’s just so wonderful to see a bunny hybrid with a wolf hybrid. You guys are so inspirational!” They jabbered on as they slid to you a small shoebox that had all the data files mixed inside.

“Have you guys even bothered organizing this?” Jaemin ignored her, instead lifting the lid and showing you the way files were slap dashed inside.

“Not my job,” she shrugged, “nice meeting you guys!” she waved you off then, leaving the two of you to walk back to the car complaining.

“I don’t know how this can even be organized,” you crossed your arms, watching as Jaemin rifled through the box, his muscles flexing slightly as he carried it. He truly looked like he was sculpted by the gods. 

“Why do you think she thought we were dating?” He asked, as you popped the trunk open. The trunk was now overflowing with the boxes  as the trip progressed, and you hoped you could ignore his question as you pretended to find a spot for the next box.

“Well?” He asked after following your direction as to where to place it down.

“She probably just assumed that, I don’t know why,” you shrugged, “it’s not that serious.”

He scratched the back of his neck before getting into the driver's seat. You guys still had one more school left for the day and it was about a two hour drive to get there.

“What about you?” He asked once he started the car up. You were puzzled as you buckled yourself in.

“What do you mean, Jaemin?”

“I mean… Do you think it would be that strange? For a bunny- any bunny- and any- any wolf to be together?” He sputtered out his question. You blinked quickly, fixing your gaze on the road instead of the wolf who had been taking over your mind.

You thought quietly to yourself for a moment, the only sound being from the car as you did so.

“… I think it depends. It can’t just be any bunny and any wolf. They need to trust each other. They need to trust each other a lot,” you looked down at your hands, “maybe, if there’s that trust… I don’t see why not.”

You turned back, and saw him nodding without much else of a reaction on his face.

“What do you think, Jaemin?”

It was his turn to be quiet and ponder. The longer he took, the more you fussed with your bunny ears, a cowlick forming for every second he took.

“I agree with you. I think trust is the most important thing,” he affirmed. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, before you nodded.

“I think it could work even better if their fur matches,” Jaemin whispered it so low, you weren't sure if you were supposed to even hear it. But, you did, and you let out a small giggle.

“Of course,” you joked, gently so as to not disturb his driving, you shoved his arm. He shot you a glance, scanning over your bunny ears before his eyes returned to the road. He shuffled around his pocket before handing you the brush in his pocket.

“Better brush your ears, bunny. Apparently the director of the department at this next place wants to meet with us, and won’t take too kindly to your cute little ears being askew.”

Tags! @nini0620

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[writemekpop]

Rockstar | Na Jaemin

Summary: It's not easy being the secret girlfriend of playboy idol Jaemin. But it's sure as hell worth it.

Genre: Suggestive, Idol!Jaemin, Angst

Word count: >1k

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jaemin asked, as you stepped out of his dark van a few streets away from the house.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your lips quickly to his. “Yes. I’ll get to meet all your friends…”

”But as a waitress? Won’t that be weird?” he said.

“Would you prefer to tell everyone that NCT Dream’s Jaemin has a secret girlfriend?” you said.

Jaemin stole another kiss, lingering near you, breathing you in deeply. “Who cares about the media? Let’s tell everyone. Let’s tell them right now.”

You laughed and pushed him off. “This is best way, okay? Now go.”

Despite all your teasing, you quivered inside. It would not be easy seeing Jaemin wander around the room, dazzling everyone, and not be able to even hold his hand.

As soon as you entered the huge ballroom, your wrist straining under a plate of canapes, you tried to keep track of where Jaemin was - but you soon got distracted.

“Didn’t you hear? He’s got some bimbo hidden away in Seoul,” a man, possibly an idol, whispered.

Jeno was standing next to him. “That’s just gossip. Jaemin’s nothing like that.”

You froze at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. You hadn’t even realised they were talking about you.

“I heard she’s a normal person. Wow, there must be a line of groupies just begging to sleep with him.” the man continued.

Another man chimed in, winking, and said “I wonder what special skills got her the job.”

They all laughed.

Chenle rolled his eyes. “You guys should work for a newspaper.”

They turned to look at you, and you realised you were standing next to them, frozen.

“C- canapes?” you said, your voice hoarse. They turned away without saying anything.

You rushed away, bumping into someone as you went, desperate to get as far away from that man as possible. But it seemed like the same conversation was happening across the room. You spotted Jaemin, and moved quickly towards him.

“You have to tell us who she is!” an company executive was saying, clapping Jaemin on the back. Jaemin wore a slight smile, but you could tell from his dark cheeks that he was embarassed.

“I’m not going to tell you a thing,” Jaemin answered.

“So there is a girl!” the man said. “Look, Jaemin” he said, dangling a set of keys in his hand. “You can use my Ferrari anytime. Now what do you have to say in return?”

Jaemin shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. I… love her.”

The tray of canapes fell from your hands and bounced over the floor.

”Oh, for god’s sake!” the man said, looking at you.

You crouched down to pick them up. Jaemin bent down, too, to the amazement of the other people in the group.

Jaemin sighed. “I’m so sorry about my friends, I’ll kick them all out, I’ll get new friends!”

You placed a finger on his lips, then quickly drew it away.

“You love me?” you said quietly. “That's what you said, isn't it?”

Jaemin smiled. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you, and you don’t have to say it back-”

“I love you too,” you said, and Jaemin’s mouth fell open.

You barely made it into Jaemin’s apartment before his lips were on yours, his hands racing over your back as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

“We’re never talking to those people again,” Jaemin moaned.

You smiled. “What? Don’t you like being the rockstar playboy?”

He rolled his eyes.

You couldn’t fight a laugh. “Maybe I should go, so you can move on to the next girl in your long line of groupies.”

Jaemin groaned, “Y/n-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, Mr. Bachelor,” you said, grinning.

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

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[nashyuck]

Undeniable

(college friends, friends to lovers, dream dorms, sexual tension, creampie, oral sex, unprotected sex, pet names)

summary; The tension built up between y/n and Jaemin finally breaks when a hopeless y/n shows up at the Dreamies college dorm only to be welcomed by a shirtless irresistible Jaemin.

warnings; mature content MINORS DNI!

______________________________________________________________

The chemistry and sexual tension between you and Jaemin was undeniable. Your friends had started to catch up with the little looks exchanged between the both. Despite the evident sexual tension, you and Jaemin had never dared to make any sort of move. It was risky, you had been friends for over 7 years, it was risky to ruin the friendship and make things awkward for the rest of your friends. 

“Y/n have you packed?” Haechan asked as you maintained silence lost in your own world. Questioning how you’d get through this getaway knowing that you’d hear Jaemin morning voice for a whole week! Full of pure temptation. 

“Yeah I packed last night, I wanted to come in and check in with you guys about timing” being at the dorms was normal for you,  you spent a lot of time at their dorms, yes a apartment full of men might seem outrageous but it was better then staying in your dorm and listening to your roommate argue with her boyfriend 24/7. 

“This getaway is needed, midterms are finally over and we get a whole week off school” renjun whispered. 

“Drinks, girls, parties, and good music sounds like a vibe to me… can’t remember the last time I hooked up with someone” Haechan’s horny ass was known to be passed around on campus, the man has the looks, charisma and confidence. It wasn’t a surprised to the to everyone when a random girl snuck out of the dorms mid night. 

“Who knows maybe Y/N will finally hook up with someone” Haechan laughed.

“Unlike you i’m not a whore who sleeps with anyone” and its true the last time you hooked up with someone was a year ago right after your break up with Jaehyun. It didn’t feel right to have sex with just anyone. But one of the main reasons was your time spent at their dorms, men assumed that you were part of some orgy or that you were in a relationship with one of them. 

“Starting sound like a bitch to me” Haechan giggled

“Alright you fucken whore sincen you want to talk all that shit I’ll prove it to you that im fuckable” you claimed, noticing Jaemin’s gaze from the corner of your eyes. 

……………………………………………………………………………

Sleeping at your dorm seemed impossible considering the fact that your roommate continued to argue with her boyfriend through the phone. Not that it was the first time you had failed to fall asleep due to the noise, although most days you didn’t mind today was different, tomorrow would be long date of traveling to Busan and you didn’t want to be tired. 

Grabbing your belongings and making your way to the guys dorm in hopes that the fuckers weren’t already in the gaming mode or asleep. The walk was short so carrying your bags wasn’t such a hassle. 

Despite the 10 failed calls to Haechan, mark, Renjun, Chenle, jeno and Jisung you still made your way to their dorms in hopes of one of them opening the door. Calling Jaemin would have to be your last resort, you hated asking him for help despite his constant pleading and nagging of always calling him first. 

Finding yourself at their door, not a single call back nor reply to you knocking their door, there was no other choice but to call Jaemin. 

“Hi beautiful, why are you calling so late? We have a long trip tomorrow” Jaemin’s voice sounding tired, it was evident that he was ready to sleep. 

“I wasn’t able to sleep, my roommate is arguing with her boyfriend again, was hoping I can crash here can you open the door for me nana” you said sounding tired and upset. 

Jaemin loved it when ever you called him nana. He found it adorable how it sounded coming from you he didn’t know if it was because the nickname was only known by those close to him or if because it was you saying it. 

“Of course beautiful” 

One thing about Jaemin is that he never failed to call you sweet names like beautiful, gorgeous, princess, sunshine and pretty. He never failed to praise you and call you sweet names. Sometimes it gave you hopes that maybe he liked you a little but you knew Jaemin was just so soft spoken. 

Seconds later a shirtless messy hair Jaemin opens the door welcoming you with a smile, he looked sleepy. It was moments like this were you wished you could jump his bones and give him the best head. 

“Sunshine you walked here in those shorts ? Its late, it isn’t safe for a beautiful girl like you to be walking alone in the dark” despite his concerned words, deep down he wished this sight of you in those small shorts, messy hair and oversized hoodie was a sight only for him. He wished the hoodie you were wearing was his and not marks. He wished you had called him so he could’ve walked with you and make sure you were safe. 

“The walk isn’t long, and most people already left campus jaem, im pretty sure I was the only one walking at this time on campus” you said taking your shoes off and walking in with your bags. Jaemin didn’t notice them at first, taking your bags he placed them in the couch.

“You can sleep in my bed sunshine, I don’t mind sleeping out here” jaemin didn’t like the fact that you’d have to sleep out in the living room while everyone else slept in their comfy warm beds. 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind sharing a bed, we’ve done it before” 

it was true, you and Jaemin had shared beds before, when there was limited rooms at Chenle’s family beach house, you had no choice but to share a bed with one of them based on a game of rock paper scissors. 

Making you way to Jaemin’s room you felt butterflies, you’ve shared a bed before but this times it felt different. Maybe it was because the shirtless man kept walking extremely close tp you. Not that you mind but his body heat was intense and you loved the fact that he smelled like fresh soap and cologne. 

Hearing haechans and marks screams, only made you feel more hot considering the fact that both of the fuckers were up yet none answered made your blood boil. 

Jaemin’s room smelled just as intoxicating as him, you could spend hours in here. 

“You lay down first princess, Im going to edit some photos for a while, I really want to have these done before our trip” Jaemin sat in this chair man spreading its like he wants to purposely drive you insane. He has such broad shoulders and amazing tits, it drove you insane how he was just sitting there focused on his computer and had you rubbing your thighs together. 

Feeling hot, the hoodie not longer felt comfortable

“Nana can I borrow a shirt? I want to change into something more comfortable” 

Jaemin felt his heart skip, you had never worn his clothes before and it was a sight he was hoping to see. Giving you as smile while walking to his drawers and grabbing a pain white t shirt he wore on a daily.

Walking out of the bathroom now in jaemin’s shirt turned you on even more. 

“Hi y/n I just saw your message, but it looks like jaemin already helped you, see you tomorrow” Haechan said from this room still wearing his head set. 

“Whore, I called you like 10 times not a single call back, hope you choke in your sleep” you said rushing to Jaemin’s room pushing the door closed. 

Jaemin turning around to a new sight that only made feel hot and bothered. He could bend you right over his desk and make you scream his name. 

Not 10 minutes go by when you feel someone a second body lay in the bed. Making you feel nervous at the presence, feeling a pair of hands wrap around your waist pulling you in for a cuddle. He was so intoxicating that you didn’t even feel yourself rubbing against his crotch. 

“Princess don’t tease, I will not have any self control” Jaemin’s voice was so deep and sodding. 

Feeling his tent made you whimper, it was like music to Jaemin’s ears. 

“jae.. jaemin please” 

“Please what baby.. I need you to use your words” 

“Please touch me nana” 

Jaemin didn’t need any further instructions, moving his hands up to cup your breast and play with your nipple making you moan. 

“So soft and perfect for me princess, how I’ve been wishing to make you mine” 

Removing his hands off you and hovering over you, taking the white shirt off exposing your chest to him. 

“Look how perfect, such perfect tits bet you’d like it if I put them in my mouth” 

Jaemin was always so soft spoken and hearing these words made your mind cloud. He was so sexy. Chain hanging from his neck, abs so evident it was impossible to keep your hands off him. 

He leaned down for kiss that turned into a deep passionate make out session inviting his tongue in your mouth pushing up against his bulge, a groan escaped his mouth. 

“Why don’t we remove these lovely shorts off you, want to help my princess feel better” 

He moved down, removing your shorts and panties, he wish he could take a picture of you with his camera, you looked so beautiful, it was driving him insane. Spreading your legs open he licked his lips. 

“You’re soaking baby all for me, look at that pussy perfect just for me, bet you taste lovely” 

Feeling a wet kiss at your cunt, it was like heaven, jaemin was gentle and slow. Your pussy was so addicting to him, he could eat you out for hours and never get tired of your taste and smell. Pushing a finger in you made you gasp, having his fingers and mouth was making you dizzy. Seeing stars, jaemin began to rub circles against your clit senting you over the edge. 

“Fuck Jaemin im cumin” you screamed as your orgasm hit. 

He watched you as you rode your orgasm salivating. You looked so hot messy hair and chest rising due to your overpowering orgasm. Jaemin brought his fingers to his mouth licking your juices . 

“Are you going to continue looking at me or will you finally fuck me” the sudden confidence only made his dick twitch. 

Pulling him in for a wet kiss tasting yourself. Shoving one of your hands down his pants to release his members from his sweats. 

“Stop teasing me princess” jaemin groaned against your mouth. 

Rolling both of you over, you’re now on top of him wet pussy right on top of his dick that was partially sticking out of his sweats. You begin to grind against him making a moaning messy out of jaemin. You wanted him so bad, moving down to remove his sweats and boxers releasing his pink, pulsing dick. Licking your lips you take his tip in your mouth and begin to suck. 

“Fuck princess, you feel so good” 

Taking all of him gasping for air, Jaemin was big. You knew he’d be big but never imagined you’d be gasping, tears rolling down your face. Pulling out leaving a mess on his dick. Jaemin’s eyes were now dark full of lust.

“On top of me Now” 

Obeying his orders your get on top Jaemin naked parts meeting, you being to aline his dick against your enters. Pushing down to only take the tip both a moaning mess. 

“So big” you moan as you slowly push down taking him whole. The stretch wasn’t painful, it felt good. You began to grind in circles clenching against him causing to groan to escape. 

“Fuck baby if you keep doing that ill cum fast” 

You continued to move faster, jaemin thrusting up made you scream as he hit your cervix. 

“Fuck im gonna cum” he moaned.

“Please Jaemin cum inside me” you pleaded, wanting to feel him paint your walls. 

He began to rubbing your clit as you continued to ride him, sending shivers down your spine, making you see stars and jaemin spilled his seeds in you triggering your second orgasm screaming his name. 

“Jaemin… fuck… so good” 

As you laid on top him dick still inside of you, jaemin rolled you over now laying naked on his bed seeds spilling out of you. 

“let me get a towel and clean you up princess” 

As he stood up putting on his boxers, the realization hit you. You just had amazing sex with jaemin, the man you had been edging yourself too for months. Part of you felt embarrassed, he had now seen you naked, what he regretted having sex with you. What if he saw this a fling. 

“Angel, you’re all cleaned up how about you put on this t shirt and we cuddle, we have 5 hour before we have to be up” Jaemin looked sleepy and drained out. 

————————————————————————

Feeling the sun kiss your skin your stretch, a body cuddling you. 

‘“Good morning beautiful, how did you sleep?” 

Jaemin looked so beautiful, puffy face, messy hair and raspy voice.

“I slept good, ready for todays trip” sitting up looking around seeing your shorts on the ground. 

“How about we take a shower together and replay last nights activities” jaemin was bold for assuming you’d have shower sex with him knowing the guys were right next door. Not that stopped you last night.

Hearing a knock at the door a tired Haechan spoke “are you guys up or fucking again, geez jaemin let the poor girl breath” 

Oh that was so embarrassing, they heard you last night, Jaemin smirked proud of himself. 

“Now princess there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, they need to get used to hearing you, after all im going to be making my girl feel good all the time” Jaemin’s words make you blush. Suddenly being hit with the realization that he came inside of you. 

“Omg Jaemin you came inside of me we need to go buy a plan b and some condoms” 

“Whatever my princess wants, now how about round two in the shower”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-nashyuck

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