Your life was simple. Work, sleep, eat. Rinse and repeat. Day after day, it was the same unchanging cycle, and strangely, you didn’t mind. There was a comfort in the predictability, a sense of stability that kept everything steady. This routine might have been repetitive, but it was reliable and safe. For as long as you could remember, you had lived by a quiet motto: Simplicity is security.

You didn’t go out much, only if absolutely necessary. Your hobbies were mostly indoor activities like reading, drawing, playing video games, or sewing small projects. The only thing that kept you from the comfort of your home most days was your job, but even that was about to change. You had recently been hired for a  work from home position that paid more than your previous job. When you found out that the new role would require you to move to a different town, you didn’t feel even a flicker of hesitation. Some might have called you a shut-in, but you saw it differently. To you, it was about protecting your peace

The day you moved in the neighborhood was quiet. Your apartment was tucked away on a cozy corner of the street. It was within walking distance of a small shopping center just a few blocks away, making errands convenient without the hustle and bustle. The apartment was a massive building that looked like it had seen better days. It resembled an old dormitory, its brick walls are weathered and moss creeps into the cracks. Despite its worn exterior, there was a certain character to the building. There was something warm and inviting about it.

The weather was dreary, gray clouds hung heavy in the sky threatening a light drizzle. Despite the gloom, you found yourself surprisingly upbeat.  Maybe it was the excitement of a fresh start, or perhaps it was the comfort of knowing you’d be in a familiar routine soon enough. Whatever it was, you clung to that small flicker of optimism as you carried your boxes inside.

The air inside smells faintly of old wood and dust. The wear and tear were evident. The paint on the wooden trim was peeling, and in some spots, the stairs bore dents and scratches where footsteps had worn down the wood over the years. 

You sat the last box from the U-Haul down with a satisfying thud. your arms aching from the day's work.The building had no elevators. Instead it just had a large, winding staircase that spiraled from the ground floor up to the upper levels. When you first received the keys to your apartment, you’d immediately complained about the lack of an elevator. The landlord had simply shrugged and explained that the old elevators had been deemed a hazard. The maintenance team had decided they were too risky to repair, so they’d been walled off and left untouched.

You breathe out a sigh, wiping your brow as you toss your keys onto the small table near the door. Your shoulders slump as you peel off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor. “I’ll return the U-Haul tomorrow,” you think with a quiet resignation. You have done enough today.

You settle onto the cool wooden planks of your walkway, stretching out on your back to cool down after the long day. Your eyelids flutter as fatigue sinks in. Just as you're about to drift off, faint voices drift through the open window. It sounded like playful bickering and laughter. You try to ignore it, but curiosity nudges you. You’re nosy by nature, Besides, nothing much ever happens in your quiet life. A bit of drama never hurt, especially when it’s not your own. You sit up slowly and glance outside. Through the window, you see a moving truck parked next to yours. Standing on the sidewalk is a broad-shouldered figure, patiently waiting as his smaller friend hurriedly loads boxes into his arms. You can’t see their faces, your window’s too high and the boxes obscure most of your view. You catch snippets of their voices. There is some teasing, some frustration, but mostly playful banter. You watch as they come and go, tossing boxes off the truck and joking around. Their laughter echoes softly in the quiet street.

After a few moments, you yawn and decide it’s time to retreat. You pull the blinds shut, feeling the tired ache in your feet. A long soak in the tub sounds perfect.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

It’s been a month since you moved in. Your days have once again settled into a predictable rhythm. Work, errands, sleep, repeat. Nothing much changes, and that's exactly how you like it. 

Early the next morning, your alarm buzzes insistently on your bedside table. You reach out and swipe it silent. You sit up and stretch before you toss on something comfortable. You settle on leggings and a loose top. Today’s plan was to beat the crowd to the farmers market by getting there right when it opens.

As you lock the door behind you, a sudden sound of footsteps makes your shoulders tense. You hate small talk with a passion. The idea of awkwardly exchanging greetings with neighbors feels like an unnecessary burden. The thought of having to stand there, forcing a polite smile and exchanging meaningless greetings, makes you start to retreat. Just as you finish unlocking the door a cheerful voice calls out, stopping you in your tracks before you can slip back inside.

“Oh! Hi! I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly introduce myself.”

 You freeze mid step and turn toward the voice

Standing there is a tall figure, someone around your age. His smile is charming,  the kind that looks like it comes easy. His eyes crinkle into crescent moons as he regards you with friendly curiosity and extends a hand.

“I’m Jeno,” he says confidently. "I just moved in down the hall."

You blink, caught off guard by his charm. For a moment, words evade you as you meet his gaze. Your grip is light and tentative as you shake his hand. You mutter out your own greeting and you think you’re speaking loud enough, but Jeno has to lean in slightly to hear you better.

“Sorry, one more time,” he says.

You chuckle nervously, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I don’t talk to people very often,” you admit, raising your voice just a bit. “I’m Y/N” 

“It’s nice to meet you. I think I’ve seen you a few times. You’re kind of hard to come by,” Jeno jokes.

“I don’t leave the house much,” you reply with a small smile, crossing your arms and shrugging. “But unfortunately, I need to go to the grocery store today.”

“Really? Same here,” Jeno says, his eyes lighting up. “I just came back upstairs to grab my wallet. Do you want to go together? I usually hit the little farmers market around the corner. What about you?”

“Me too,” you say, forcing a smile. Inside, you’re practically melting down. You’ve never talked this long to any neighbor, especially not someone as charming as him. You want to run in the opposite direction, but your not sure how to politely decline.

You walk down the stairs together, and Jeno keeps talking, but you can’t even meet his eyes. This was probably your worse nightmare come true, trapped in conversation with a really attractive guy.

“Thanks,” you murmur softly as he holds the door open for you.

Jeno nods with a warm smile and follows behind you as you step outside. The morning sun casts a gentle glow on his features. 

“So,” he begins casually.  “How long have you been living here?”

You fiddle with your keys as you walk. “It’s been about a month now,” you reply. “Not too long. I guess I’m still getting familiar with the neighborhood.”

He nods thoughtfully, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s a pretty quiet spot. Not much happens around here, but I like that. It’s a nice change of pace from where I come from.”

Curious, you glance over. “Oh, really? Where'd you move from?”

He smiles. “A bigger city. It was always so loud and crowded. When I was younger, I loved it. I was always getting into trouble. But now… I need something calmer. This neighborhood seemed like the perfect place to start fresh.”

“You’ll have to tell me some of those stories.” You say.

You were curious about Jeno, he had such a sweet face that you didn't take him as a trouble maker. The conversation flows more smoothly now that you’ve warmed up to each other. You learn that it was mainly Jeno’s friends who dragged him into trouble. They sound like a fun group they way that Jeno describes them. You can't help but laugh through most of his stories.

As you approach the corner of the next street, the distant chatter from the farmers' market grows louder. When you finally arrive at the market, you both share a small smile.

“Thanks for walking with me,” you say softly. “It was nice talking to you.”

Jeno grins. “Same here. Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again.”

You turn to head toward your own shopping. The world feels a little less ordinary today.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

Later, you’re almost finished with your shopping, checking off the last item on your list. You put the carton of eggs in your basket when a familiar face catches your attention. Turning slightly, you see Jeno standing in the dairy aisle, examining a block of cheese. He catches your gaze with a gentle smile. ”Hey Stranger.” 

You find yourself smiling back.  Without thinking, your lips curl up into a genuine smile.

“Hi,” you reply and start fiddling with the handle of your shopping basket.

He closes the distance between you. “Are you done shopping?” he asks casually.

“Yup,” you say, glancing down at your list. “What about you?”

He nods. "Me too. How about we walk back together? I can carry all your bags, make it easier for you."

You let out a sigh, feeling a sense apprehension. The first walk wasn’t terrible, he was surprisingly pleasant company. But the thought of being alone with him again makes your stomach twist nervously. Still, you remind yourself that carrying all these groceries home alone isn’t exactly ideal either.

“Okay, let’s check out,” you decide.

As you approach the checkout line, you steal a glance at Jeno's basket. It's surprisingly empty, considering the length of your shopping trip. You're on the verge of asking where all his groceries are when you catch yourself, unsure if it would come off as rude or nosy. You bite your tongue and keep your thoughts to yourself.

Jeno steps forward, placing his meager items on the conveyor belt. He pays swiftly, then turns to you, his hands outstretched to help with your groceries.

When your turn comes to pay, Jeno beats you to it, his card already halfway through the reader. You reach for your wallet, but it's too late. He's already signed the receipt, a nonchalant smile on his face.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you realize what he's done. Your jaw drops as you realize how much he had spent. You had put a  month's worth of groceries in your basket. Your hands shake slightly as you protest, "How could you pay for my things? That's too much!"

He waves off your concern, "It's no big deal. I don't mind at all."

"No, I need to pay you back," you insist. You hate the idea of owing anyone, and the thought of getting things for free makes you feel even worse. 

Jeno notices the seriousness in your expression and immediately softens. "Hey, you can just send me the money later," he says.

Relief washes over your shoulders, and you take a deep breath, feeling your tension ease slightly. Your shoulders relax as you nod, grateful but still feeling a bit awkward about the situation.

You make your way back to the apartment together. Once you make it home you ask Jeno for his cash app, venmo, paypal, or anything so that you could pay him back. He pauses for a beat, then pretends not to hear you. He helps you set your groceries down before he turns and walks off down the hall, leaving you standing there stunned. He had tricked you.

Jeno was an anomaly, something that shook up your daily routine. Jeno was unpredictable which made him dangerous in your eyes. Jeno was something you were not prepared for.

You don’t see Jeno for a while, choosing to stay inside most days, avoiding the outside world as much as possible. When it’s finally time to go to the market again, you pray to all the gods above that you won’t run into him. Just as you're about to head downstairs, a familiar voice calls out, “Can I join you?” 

Curse your luck.

He doesn’t even ask where you’re going, as if he already knows that you don’t leave for much other than shopping. You shake your head and keep walking, your steps steady and deliberate. Today, you really don’t want to be bothered. You’re wary of him buying your groceries again and putting you further in debt to him.

About halfway down the staircase, he calls out, confusion clear in his voice. "What’s wrong?"

You glance back at him, offering a small, polite smile. "Nothing, it's just easier to shop for myself if I go alone," you reply softly.

Jeno steps onto the middle landing, catching up to you. The sunlight from the wide window behind the staircase pours in. The window itself is tall and arched, with delicate stained glass details that catch the light and scatter tiny rainbows onto the stairs. He reaches out, his hand hovering near your waist, not touching, just trying to block your path. It's like a scene from one of the romance novels you read. 

"Listen, if it's about the last time, I'm sorry. I won't buy your groceries again if it means—" Jeno stops himself, rambling, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I should have asked. I didn’t think you would mind.”

It did make you uncomfortable. You're not used to this kind of attention, this level of closeness, you barely knew him. You know it was probably something stupid to complain about but the act of someone doing something nice for you just to hold it over your head wasn't a foreign occurrence. You instinctively step back just a little and speak again, your voice remains gentle but firm.

"It's okay," you say quietly, avoiding his gaze. "I just prefer to do things my own way. I appreciate your concern, but I’m used to taking care of myself." 

Your words are kind but clear, signaling that you’re not ready to accept his help or his proximity just yet.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

It doesn’t take a month this time for you to see Jeno. This time, it’s only two weeks.

You were busy playing a puzzle game on your DS when you heard the knock at your door. You groan in annoyance, your focus broken after ten minutes of trying to solve this frustrating puzzle. With a sigh, you shuffle over and crack the door open slightly, peering coldly through the crack.

Jeno stands there, a tentative smile on his face. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie or something?”

There he was again, asking to be in your company, as if it was nothing. He really didn't know when to give up. You’ve never known anyone to take this much interest in you. You haven’t had much experience talking to guys, you didn't really like their attention.

“They just added the new Studio Ghibli movie on Netflix,” he says, biting his lip nervously. “You mentioned it briefly the last time we walked. I thought maybe we could watch it together.”

“I love those movies,” you say, your previous annoyance fading as you think about the new Ghibli film. Your face brightens, and a genuine smile spreads across your lips.

“I just need to finish this puzzle,” you add, glancing back at the DS screen.

“Puzzle? Can I help?” Jeno asks curiously.

You nod determinedly. Two brains are better than one, and as much as you’d like to just Google the answer, you’d rather phone a friend. Without hesitation, you step aside and gesture for him to come in. He slips off his shoes by the door and sets them next to yours.

His eyes scan your quarters as you lead him into the living room. Your apartment feels warm and inviting. Plants hang from the ceiling near the kitchen window, swaying gently. You had a desk set up in the dining room space that Jeno assumed you had made into an office area. The mood lighting in the corners of the living room casts a soft, warm glow over everything. The TV is mounted on the wall opposite a small, cluttered couch with a throw blanket and pillows that leave barely enough room to sit. 

You make space for him on the couch and hand him your Nintendo DS. “Here,” you say quietly. 

He takes the device, eyes flickering between the screen and you. You lean in slightly, hopeful. “So, we have to cross through all nine dots with just four lines,” you explain.

Jeno studies the screen. He fiddles with the controls, trying to find a solution, but he doesn’t have any better luck than you. About twenty minutes pass, and both of you sit there more confused than when you started.

Finally, you sigh and admit defeat. “Let’s just Google it. I give up.”

Jeno shakes his head, determination flickering in his eyes. “No, we can do this. Believe in us. We’re so close.”

“My brain is going to melt. Can we at least try another one? I’ve been stuck on that puzzle forever,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice. The movie has been long forgotten in the back of your mind as you and Jeno sit close on the couch. You’re practically perched on his shoulder, watching him maneuver your character through the game.

Jeno continues on trying to solve the puzzle, determined to not let a game out smart him. You don’t realize how close you’ve become until Jeno finally solves the puzzle and turns to look at you with a triumphant smile on his face. You’re about a breath away but Jeno doesn’t lean away yet. The air around you feels almost magnetic, as if something wants to pull you closer. You can feel the heat crawling up your face, and your heart pounds a little faster. In your embarrassment, you're the first to look away as you shift awkwardly on the couch.

Jeno tries his best to break the tension. “Do you work from home?” Jeno asks, changing the subject. His attention was towards your office space and wondered if that was the reason you never left home.

“I do,” you reply softly, grabbing a nearby pillow to hold in your lap for comfort. “ But lately I think maybe it’s not so good for me.”

Why do you say that?” he asks, turning his body to face you, his tone gentle.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Well…before, at least I was forced to interact with people. But now since I don’t leave…there’s no one. I feel like I’m growing more antisocial by the day.”

Jeno nods in understanding. “You’re not as bad at socializing as you think,” he shrugs casually.

You shake your head and sigh. “You’re just saying that.”

Jeno sets down the DS on your coffee table and scoots closer to you, his expression earnest. “Hey, I mean it. I like you,” he says seriously. His eyes suddenly widen as he realizes what he just said, but he doesn’t take it back.

You blink twice before nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

Jeno offers a nervous smile. For the first time his eyes avoid yours as he awkwardly looks around your living room, trying to find something else to talk about.

“Do you still want to watch that movie?” He asks.

You nod with a shy smile, feeling a little nervous. You’d never watched a movie alone with a guy before, and right now, the setting feels unexpectedly intimate. You were so caught up in trying to solve your puzzles that you hadn’t realized how casual this all was.

“Let me know if it gets too cold,” you say, turning on the TV and settling into the couch.

Jeno nods, and you both focus on the screen. About halfway through, he shifts slightly to get comfortable, and somehow, he ends up even closer. His thigh pressed up against yours. The warmth from his body burns and your heart skips a beat.

You almost don’t hear him when he softly asks for a pillow. You follow his finger to the pillow resting in your lap, and your brow raises in question.

“You want to cuddle with one?” you ask.

He nods, pointing at the pillow in your lap. “I want that one,” he says with a daring smile.

Your eyebrows furrow and Jeno can't help but laugh at your expression. “Come on,” he says between a chuckle. “You have like ten pillows over there.”

“Choose another,” you say stubbornly.

He chuckles, amused by your stubbornness. “So stingy,” he teases. Then, without warning, he adds, “Fine, I'll just use you.”

You’re not sure what he means at first until he lays his head on your lap, looking up at you with a smile.

There’s something quietly domestic about the scene. The way his shoes sit beside yours by the door, him fighting over your favorite pillow and now his head resting in your lap. It feels intimate and unexpectedly comforting. 

Your heart flutters, but you quickly stomp down the feeling. Nothing good ever comes  from feeling things like this. You turn your attention back to the TV and press play on the movie.

You find yourself enjoying his company more than you expected. His warmth that seeps into your skin loosening up the tension in your body. You’re grateful he hadn’t made a move, that he was just content with cuddling and laughing along with you during the funny parts of the movie. It feels safe, but most importantly, it feels right.

When the credits roll, there's a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Your time with Jeno has come to an end.

You glance down, he had taken the pillow from your lap sometime during the movie and had been fidgeting with it. He was mindlessly humming along to the song that played during the credits.

You hesitate, your heart pounding a little. “Are you leaving now?” You finally ask.

“Yeah, it’s getting late,” Jeno answers, sitting up and stretching. He stands up from the couch, a gentle smile lingering on his face. “It was nice hanging out with you today.”

You sit up a little too quickly at that. “Can we hang out again?” you blurt out, immediately cringing at how eager you sound. 

Jeno’s expression softens. “Of course we can,” he says.

His hand reaches out toward your face, and for a moment, you think he’s about to pull you into a kiss. Instead, he picks something out of your hair. “Sorry, there was a lint,” he says casually.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and a small, relieved laugh escapes. “Thank you,” you say softly, your voice trembling slightly as you manage a shy smile.

You walk him to the door and bid him farewell.

You stand there for a moment after he leaves. Your heart was pounding with that familiar, annoying flutter in your chest. A flicker of fear rises in you. You couldn’t fall in love with Jeno. Love hurt, and you already carried enough scars to last a lifetime.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

You’re in your apartment’s lobby, checking your mail when you hear the door open and close noisily. You look up, and your heart is immediately stolen. Sitting comfortably in Jeno’s arms is a fluffy white puppy. 

"Aw, how cute," you coo, hurrying closer. In your excitement, you completely forget about checking your mail, leaving your keys in the mailbox and the little door ajar.

Jeno smiles at you, “I prefer handsome, but cute works too,” he says jokingly .

You laugh at the quip before focusing back on the adorable puppy in his arms. “What’s his name?”

“Hayan,” he tells you with a soft smile. “He’s my friend’s dog. I’m just watching him while he’s out of town.” He shrugs. “I'm more of a cat person.”

“Hi, Hayan!” you coo. “What does his name mean? Hayan?” you ask, tilting your head curiously at Jeno.

“Just means ‘white,’” he says with a shrug.

“Very creative,” you tease, grinning.

“I didn’t name him,” he says defensively.

You smile warmly and shake your head. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Sorry to keep you,” you say. Your eyes linger on the puppy.

Jeno knows you well enough to sense you’re just giving him an out. “It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, you know that, right?” He chuckles. “Do you want to come over and hang out with him?”

Your face lights up, and you nod enthusiastically, already starting to make your way toward the stairs. Jeno calls out after you, “Your mail!”

You glance down at the mail in your hand and shrug. “What about it?”

He points with a small laugh, “Your keys are still in your mailbox.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, and you quickly walk over to retrieve your keys, locking the mailbox. “Sorry, I got distracted,” you mumble.

Jeno shakes his head, “Come on.” The puppy in his arms yawning cutely as it falls back asleep on his chest.

The juxtaposition of the sight was stirring something deep inside you. Jeno’s strong arms and broad chest surrounding the small puppy. The way he held Hayan so carefully, so protectively, made your stomach flutter. You found yourself yearning for Jeno to be wrapped around you like that. 

You walk up the stairs side by side, your gaze flickering back to the adorable puppy whose peaceful face and tiny yawn make your heart soften. Once you reach the door, Jeno digs into his pocket for his keys, and you wait in anticipation. You had always wondered what Jeno’s place looked like.

“Wanna hold him while I get the door open?” Jeno asks.

You nod happily. You carefully take Hayan from Jeno’s arms, pressing a soft kiss onto the puppy’s fluffy head and petting him gently. Jeno opens the door, and you walk into his living room, placing your mail on the coffee table. Your eyes drift around his apartment, analyzing everything to get a better look into Jeno’s life. Jeno’s home smells of amber and something woody. The layout is identical to yours but the vibe was completely different. There’s a soft, plush rug covering the wooden floor and a comfortable looking couch sits on top of it. A bookshelf lines one wall, filled with a mix of manga, novels, and little trinkets. You look at all of the small souvenirs and photos that hint at his interests and personal life. 

You settle onto the couch. Hayan is still sleepy, and begins to doze off on your lap. His tiny paws and nose twitch adorably as he dreams. You don’t want to disturb his nap, so you sit perfectly still. Jeno just smiles softly before walking into the kitchen.

 “Are you thirsty?” Jeno asks casually as he gets a water bottle from the fridge.

You shake your head. Jeno shrugs, “I’m going to hit the shower. You can stay as long as you want,” he says before heading down the hall.

As he leaves, your eyes drift back around the apartment. You couldn't do much else, your phone was in your back pocket and you didn’t want to risk stirring Hayan. You occupy yourself with committing Jeno’s apartment to memory. Your gaze lands on a photo on his side table. It’s of him with a woman, both of them around the same age. Your heart sinks slightly, and you pick up the photo to get a closer look. You hope it’s his sister as you examine the image. Your eyes are drawn to Jeno first. You study him closely. His full lips, pretty eyes, and that charming mole under his eye have you under spells. 

Then your gaze shifts to the woman. She’s pretty. A twinge of jealousy flares in your chest, and you quickly look away, feeling suddenly self-conscious. You tell yourself you have no right to feel this way, but the emotion lingers stubbornly. Your mind creates all sorts of scenarios in your head as it tries to make sense of it all. Your eyes trail back to Jeno’s photo, and just as you wonder how long you’ve been staring, you hear the bathroom door open. Heart pounding, you hurriedly put the photo back where you found it. In your haste, you wake Hayan. He looks up at you with sleepy eyes and lets out a soft yawn.

Jeno walks into the room, laughing softly. “He’s still sleepy? This babysitting gig will be a breeze,” he jokes. He walks closer, crouching down to gently pet the sleeping puppy. “He must have been so tired,” Jeno murmurs, softly stroking Hayan in your lap.

He’s on his knees in front of you, and when he looks up, your eyes lock. His arms rest beside your thighs on the couch, boxing you in. The way his eyes shine as he gazes at you makes your breath catch. His hair is still damp from the shower, slightly dripping, and he smells like honey.

Your eyes drift to his lips. Full and tempting, just like in the photo. You take in each of his features, committing everything to memory. Without thinking, your hand reaches out, and your thumb brushes softly against the mole under his eye.  Your mind is in a haze and you don’t realize how close you’ve gotten. Suddenly you can feel his breath against your lips. Had he moved closer without you noticing? He licked his lips, and the way they shimmered with moisture made your breath hitch unexpectedly. The closer he got the slower time felt, almost like you were trapped in molasses. You felt a shy brush of his lips against yours. 

Hayan sneezes loudly, breaking the moment. He jumps down from your lap and trots off to find somewhere else to nap. Startled, you pull away from Jeno completely. You quickly readjust your position on the couch and avert your, focusing on anything but Jeno. Suddenly, you felt his hand take yours. He wasn’t going to let you run away this time. He carefully brought your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one softly while maintaining eye contact. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You were short-circuiting. Was this real life? Your heart felt like it could leap out of your chest. Jeno noticed the stunned look on your face and held his gaze, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. He was glad you couldn’t look away. He rarely got the chance to see you this close and he was savoring every second of it. You were effortlessly beautiful and he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

He gave you a mischievous smile, one you hadn’t seen from him very often. Deciding to take mercy on you, he slowly stood to his full height and backed off. With a playful glint in his eyes he dropped the wet towel on your head. The dampness made you cringe, and you swiped it off, tossing it back at him. 

“You’re so gross,” you muttered, trying to hide your blush.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “I only used it on my hair.” He settled down next to you on the couch.

You gather your composure, trying your best to act normal. “How long is Hayan going to be here?” you ask nervously, fidgeting with your nails to distract yourself from everything that had just happened.

“Until Friday,” Jeno replies. “You can come over as much as you want. I wouldn’t mind the extra company. Plus it looks like he already likes you.”

A bright smile spreads across your face. “I’d love to help!”

He nods. “I get home around 6 on weekdays. You can come then, if that works.”

“What if I take care of him while you’re at work?”

Jeno pauses, considering it. “That sounds like a good idea, but I hate to get you wrapped up in my responsibilities.”

You shrug. “Well, I work from home and don’t do much all day, so I don’t mind,” you add, eager to sell the idea now that it’s been proposed.

Jeno nods thoughtfully. “I don’t see why not.” After a few beats of silence, a look of curiosity passes over his face. “You seem to really like animals. Why don’t you have any pets?”

“Well, for starters, I live in a pretty small apartment, and I don’t go outside enough to officially get a dog.” Your eyes widen. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure I take Hayan out!” You reassure him even though he probably didn’t doubt you for a second.

“What about a cat?”

“Hm, I’d still feel bad keeping him cooped up inside all day,” you reply with a shrug.

Jeno grins. “Well, that’s okay. You’ve got me! I’ll be your pet,” he jokes.

Your face flushes, and Jeno smiles back. For a moment, you think he’s doing this on purpose. There’s no way he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Feeling a little bolder, you reach out and grab the collar of his shirt in revenge. “Gonna let me walk you too?” you tease, and for once, Jeno is the one caught off guard. His cheeks turn bright red, probably the reddest you’ve ever seen. Satisfaction bubbles up inside you, this was a small victory after the little stunt he pulled earlier.

You laugh softly, and a genuine smile begins to spread across Jeno’s face. A peaceful silence settles between you two for a moment before Jeno speaks again. His eyes search yours. “Do you ever get lonely?”

You pause, thinking deeply before answering. "I'm used to it," you admit, your voice low. "As you could guess, I don't have many real friends. The only other friends I have are online, so...I guess that counts, right?" You let out a small, hollow laugh. "I wish I was more outgoing, but I'm scared. I'm scared of meeting new people, and I'm terrible at socializing. It used to be lonely, but I've gotten used to it."

Jeno reaches out, his expression gentle. You feel a flutter in your chest as his hand brushes against yours. "You shouldn't be," he says softly.

You look down, a soft blush rising to your cheeks as you fidget with your hands. "It's not all bad, I guess," you say glancing up at Jeno. "And yeah, it means a lot that you're here and that you care. It's...it's a big deal for me."

“I’ll always be here.”

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

Jeno knocks on your door early the next morning, before work, and drops off Hayan along with everything you'll need to take care of him. Usually, you’re used to seeing Jeno in his casual clothes with his fluffy hair slightly tousled.  But today, he’s dressed sharply in a sleek black dress shirt tucked into tailored slacks and he has a heavy watch shining on his wrist. His hair is slicked back smoothly, with a few strands curled in softly on his forehead, giving him a charismatic look. 

He’s off to work, but there’s a lingering look in his eyes. You find yourself wishing you could keep him to yourself today, just a little longer. You feel like a doting wife sending her husband off to work, all that’s missing is him leaning in to kiss your cheek before he leaves.

“Have a good day at work,” you call out, watching him turn and head down the hall.

You take Hayan inside and you’re excited to not be alone all day for once. You spend hours taking calls for your job, playing with Hayan in between calls. During lunch, you pause to take Hayan for a walk and to get some fresh air. You capture a few funny videos on your phone, your favorite was of Hayan sitting by a flower bed and a butterfly landing on his nose. He freezes, eyes wide in wonder, before suddenly jumping up, making the butterfly flutter away. You couldn't wait to show Jeno later.

You were in such a great mood that later you decided to take Hayan to the local park. You had to work up the courage but once you saw Hayan having the time of his life it was worth it. 

As the evening settles in, Jeno arrives to pick up Hayan. He settles onto your couch, sleeves rolled up, shoes kicked off and hair a tousled mess. It was a stark contrast to his sharp, polished appearance from earlier that morning. He sits close, and you can smell the remainder of his cologne on him. You would drown in his scent if you could. 

You showed him the funny videos you had taken of Hayan. “He's so cute!” you laugh softly, your heart melting at the sight. “He’s a lot like you, you know.” You add.

Jeno gives you a smug look. "You think I'm cute?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You’d gotten a little used to his teasing, so you nudge him and roll your eyes. "Not in that way, dork."

Jeno looks playfully disappointed, then tilts his head in confusion. At that moment, you swear you've seen Hayan do the same thing. “Then, how so?” Jeno asks.

“Well, for starters, you kinda act alike,” you explain, reaching over to run your fingers through Jeno’s messy hair absentmindedly. Jeno leans into your touch without hesitation, closing his eyes briefly. “And you sort of look like him. I just can’t quite put my finger on it,” you finish.

Jeno tries to stifle a yawn. Your touch is so soothing, it feels like home. “You think so?” he asks groggily, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whisper and rest your head against his.

The scene is picture perfect. Hayan is asleep comfortably on your lap and Jeno is resting  against your shoulder. In that moment, you realize just how lonely you’ve been. You don’t think you could go back to that cold emptiness.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

Before, your days would blur together in a never-ending cycle of waking up, going to work, eating, and sleeping. You never realized how lonely it was until you met Jeno. Now, your days are filled with laughter, smiles, games, and a light you’ve never seen in the world before. The sky seems bluer and more vast, the air feels crisper as you breathe it in, and the sun shines brighter. Honestly, it scares you because it could all vanish in the blink of an eye. What if Jeno moves away? Or he gets a girlfriend and can’t spend time with you anymore? What if he only felt sorry for you all along, and you were just too foolish to see it?

You try not to think about it too much, your eyes drifting over the pile of puzzle pieces spread across Jeno’s floor. You had come over after work, and he surprised you with a new puzzle. He usually gives up on them pretty quickly but you loved putting them together. You had been working in silence, your brain deciding to think of fucked up scenarios to torment you. You nervously chew on your bottom lip to try to calm your nerves.

You hadn’t even noticed how tense you were until Jeno came over and kneeled beside you. You pull yourself out of your daze and look up at him. His thumb moved softly, tracing along your lips before he gently pulled your bottom lip free from between your teeth.

He massaged the flesh with his thumb for a moment, then slowly let go. “What’s wrong?”

You sat up and crossed your legs, you could see the worry etched into his expression. You licked your bottom lip and winced, your teeth had bitten into it too deep and split the skin.

“Sorry, it’s just a bad habit I have when I’m focusing,” you whisper.

“Liar,” Jeno says easily, sitting back on his hands. “You think I don’t know you.” There was no questioning in his voice, only certainty. “Something’s bothering you.”

Jeno’s eyes saw everything. They could spot every change in your expression and notice any shift in your behavior. Right now, you weren’t sure if that annoyed you or not. 

“I just really like spending time with you,” you say softly, your eyes drifting back to the pile of puzzle pieces as you continue fitting them together. “And sometimes, I get a little sad.”

“Why does that make you sad?” Jeno asks in confusion. 

You can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “Because all good things eventually come to an end,” you whisper.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “Hey. Look at me.”

You stubbornly keep your focus on the puzzle. You’re afraid to meet his gaze because you know that if you do, your walls will come crashing down, and the tears you've been holding back will spill over.

“Y/N,” he repeats your name softly, as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world, like it’s made of glass. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, you finally glance up at him. When your eyes meet, you see understanding and compassion. 

“You mean the world to me,” he says softly. “I enjoy spending every single day with you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”  The way he’s looking at you takes your breath away. For a moment, you believe maybe he could love you.

Your heart soars. It’s as if you could fly. Everything he just said matches how you feel about him, how you’ve felt all along. 

“You always know exactly what to say,” you say with a small smile.

“Of course,” Jeno says triumphantly, a proud smile spreading across his face. He’s happy he managed to bring your smile back to its rightful place. “You’re my best friend.”

It shouldn’t hurt when he says that, but it does. Obviously Jeno was your friend, that had been long established but for a second you believed he thought of you as more than that.  The smile on your face wavers just a little. But before Jeno can address it, Hayan suddenly bounds over and jumps onto your puzzle, sending pieces flying everywhere. Both you and Jeno startle, laughing at the chaos. You’re grateful for the distraction, and you’re glad the laugh that escapes is genuine because honestly, you didn’t want to think about the millions of pieces your heart just shattered into.

Once everything settles, and Jeno helps you clean up the puzzle, the room remains quiet. Hayan curls up contently in his dog bed, feeling satisfied after causing a little destruction. 

Jeno is the first to break the silence. “Are you hungry? I can make dinner,” he asks hopefully.

You love Jeno’s cooking, and you always enjoyed playing sous chef while he bustled around the kitchen. But tonight, you needed to be away from him, even if just for a little while. 

“No, I’m kind of tired already,” you lie. “I think I’m going to head back over to my place.”

Jeno’s face falls slightly, and he looks like a kicked puppy. The sight of it twists the knife in your chest even more, but you know if you stayed, things would only become more awkward.  

Jeno nods and walks you to the door. Just before you reach the threshold, he hesitates for a moment. “I forgot to ask but do you want to go to dinner on Friday? I’m inviting some friends, and I think it would be fun if you came.”

You hesitate to answer so Jeno offers you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll only be a few people, and you don’t have to stay the whole time if you don’t want to.

Let me sleep on it?” you ask.

He nods. “Let me know. I’d really love to see you there.”

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

The music was loud, and the place reeked of stale booze. The bar you were sitting at was sticky, and you were feeling beyond overstimulated. Where was Jeno during all this? You wish you could say you didn't know but your eyes kept drifting to him and you couldn’t look away. For the last thirty minutes you had watched him, he was dancing with the same girl who had his attention since dinner.

The night hadn’t started bad, Jeno had been right, the dinner was fun. You met a lot of his friends, and they were warm, welcoming and a little rambunctious, just as Jeno had described them in his stories. Jaemin, Renjun, Yuna, and Haechan sat around the dinner table, taking turns sharing embarrassing stories about Jeno. You thought it was cute how they teased Jeno. You had never seen him get so flustered. It was enjoyable, until Haechan suggested going bar hopping. Everyone seemed excited by the idea, and you didn’t want to be a downer. When Jeno shot you a hesitant look before answering, you gave him a confident nod. You’d learned over the past few months that sometimes, it was good to step out of your comfort zone. So you put on a brave face and gave it a try.

You all were about to split up in the parking lot, agreeing to meet at the closest bar, until a girl approached your group. After a quick introduction, you realize you have seen her before. She was the girl from the photo, the one Jeno had framed in his living room. Apparently she was one of his childhood friends. She quickly explains that she had been running late and missed dinner. She introduced herself as Sasha. You complimented her outfit and got to know her fairly quickly.  

She rode with you and Jeno to the bar, she had taken the passenger seat and left you sitting alone in the back. Jeno and Sasha laughed and rambled on without you. You wanted to join in and not feel so awkward, but they were talking about old memories, ones that you were obviously not a part of. You shrugged it off, telling yourself they were probably eager to catch up.

You finally arrive at the bar and walk beside Jeno. You’re about to reach out and take his hand to avoid getting separated inside when suddenly, someone rammed into you. You stumble to the side and you look up to see Sasha’s apologetic smile as she slips past you. She intertwines her fingers with Jeno’s, pulling him behind her with a confident air around her. Jeno’s eyes widen in surprise before he glances back at you in concern. His brow furrows as he quickly checks if you’re okay. You manage a small smile, offering a shrug and a fake nonchalance, pretending it didn’t bother you even as your chest tightens slightly.

Jeno’s other friends are kind enough to look out for you and offer to stick together inside the bar. Feeling a bit more grounded, you instinctively latch onto a girl named Yuna’s side for support and watch pathetically as Sasha drags Jeno into the crowded bar.

And that’s how you found yourself exactly where you were now.

“You're not going to ask him to dance?” Yuna says after ordering another shot at the bar.

“He seems pretty busy,” you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Yuna shakes her head with a knowing smile. “You know he’d drop everything to be next to you, right?” she says and you whip around to face her.

“If you’re just trying to make me feel better you don’t have to lie,” you huff, annoyed.

The bartender slides Yuna her shot, and she downs it in one gulp, making a face at the bitter taste before turning her attention back to you.

“Whatever. Sit and mope all you want,” she shrugs, then pushes off the bar and heads toward the dance floor.

You stare daggers at her back, then turn back to the drink you’d been nursing all night. Renjun catches your eye from further down the bar and gives you an apologetic smile as he approaches.  

“People tend to make that face after Yuna talks to them,” he says softly. “I’m usually the one who has to come and fix it. Please tell me she didn’t say anything rude?”

You shrug it off with a small smile. “No, nothing like that. She’s right. I can’t really fault her for it.” You meant it. Yuna was real and confident, she didn’t care if people couldn’t handle it. You admired that about her. You had talked to her a lot during the dinner and she was everything you weren’t. You wanted to be fierce like her someday. 

“From the look on your face, she probably told you to stop with the ‘kicked puppy’ act and go get what you want.”  Renjun chuckles and takes a sip of his drink.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Did everyone know you had feelings for Jeno?

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But luckily, Jeno’s an idiot and probably hasn’t caught on,” Renjun says with a teasing smile.

Your eyes drift back to the way Jeno dances with Sasha. “They look perfect together.”

“If it’s Sasha you’re worried about, those two broke up a long time ago,” Renjun offers, trying to lift your spirits.

You shoot him a surprised look. “Wait, they dated?” If you didn’t feel like shit before, you definitely felt worse now.

It was obvious he still had feelings for her. The way he danced with her, the way he looked at her. He even still had a picture of them together in his living room. Watching them, you finally chugged the alcohol that had been resting between your palms all night.

Renjun shrugs. “Yeah, but it was a long time ago. They’re just friends now.”

“Well, she seems like she wants to be more than friends again,” you say, signaling to the bartender for another drink. When it arrives, you don’t hesitate, you down it quickly.

“You don’t have to be scared. What’s the worst that could happen if you confess? You know the saying that goes “It's better to have loved and lost than never to love at all’?” Renjun prompts, making you laugh bitterly.

“I can’t risk losing Jeno. I can’t ruin what we have. Besides, I’ll never be brave enough to confess,” you say.

Renjun shakes his head. “Well… then, think of it this way. Would you rather lose Jeno knowing you tried, or lose him to someone else without ever saying a word?” His eyes meet yours. “The choice is yours.”

You swirl the straw in your drink, letting his words sink in as you contemplate them.

“Those who love don’t let themselves be ruled by fear,” Renjun continues softly. “They know it’s scary, and they know it will hurt. But they find the courage to love anyway. You’re scared of getting hurt and that’s okay. Because courage is what comes after fear.”

“Then I guess I’m just a coward,” you say, your voice tinged with bitterness. “Fear’s what’s kept me safe all this time. I’m okay with being scared. I’m used to being alone, and I don’t really need love. I’ve gotten this far without it.”

“But are you really living?” Renjun asks.

You bristle at his words, and suddenly, your mind spirals. He was right, he saw right through you. You'd just been getting by, day by day, nothing more than surviving.

Food, water, and shelter. That’s all you needed to survive.

But love, that’s what you needed to truly live.

You take a long swig of your drink, hoping the burn of alcohol will distract you from the tears that burn behind your eyelids. 

You’ve never gotten this drunk before, and the way the liquor mixes with the chaos of your emotions feels dangerous. You stand from the bar, and Renjun’s hands shoot out to steady you, but you shrug him off.  

“I’m fine,” you insist.

“Maybe I should get Jeno to take you home,” he suggests cautiously.

At his words, your eyes drift back toward the dance floor. A part of you wants to believe Renjun and Yuna. Maybe Jeno could have feelings for you, but the more logical side doubts it.

In the end he’s dancing with her, not you.

You tell Renjun you’re headed to the bathroom, but the truth is, you’re leaving. You don’t know where you’re going, but you can’t be in this dingy bar a second longer.  

Without saying goodbye, you slip out and start walking down the street. It’s probably a forty-minute walk to your place, but the cold, fresh air offers you a strange solace, and the stars above provide silent companionship.

About fifteen minutes into your walk, your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. You ignored it, sinking deeper into your thoughts and letting everything you’d been feeling toward Jeno over the past few months come bubbling to the surface. Love, then fear, then sadness. It was like a never ending cycle and it was exhausting.

You remembered what Renjun said at the bar and realized he was right. It was pathetic to keep living in fear like this. If you didn’t muster the courage to truly live, you’d just die alone.

You spot a park up ahead off to the side of the road. You had worn heels for the first time in a long time tonight and your feet were killing you. You steady yourself and carefully make your way across the wood chips, trying not to kick up any and get them caught in your heels. 

Finally, you reached the swings and sat down heavily. You were still heavily intoxicated and at first the quiet, rundown park offered a strange comfort. That was until you stared at the playground through your drunken haze, your mind began to distort things. Shadows seemed to hide inside the tunnel slide, ghosts haunted the swingset, and worse, you imagined a killer lurking in the woods behind you.

The longer you sit outside in the middle of the night, the more you regret the idea of walking home. A fresh wave of tears wash over you. You were drunk and alone, and you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The alcohol had kept you warm, but now as the buzz faded, the chill of the night seeped into your bones making you shiver.

You reach into your pocket to grab your phone, but before you can dial Jeno’s number, you're blinded by the headlights of a car. You raise your arm to shield your eyes, squinting through the glare as the car door finally swings open. A figure steps out, and you strain your eyes to discern who it is.  

Are you out of your mind?!” a voice yells out.  

You recognize it as Jeno’s, but the tone is unfamiliar. His tone is sharp and almost angry. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s never raised his voice at you like that before. You hear the wood chips crunch under his feet as he storms toward you, grabbing your forearm and yanking you up from the swing set. You stumble to your feet, caught off guard. 

He does a quick once over of your body from head to toe, searching for any cuts or bruises. When he seems satisfied that you’re unharmed, his shoulders sag in relief. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes briefly, then reopens them but his expression is still tense.  

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks. You could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to stay calm.  

“I was going home,” you respond as if it were obvious. What little alcohol is still in your system makes you unusually fearless. Is this how Yuna feels all the time?

He leans in, inhaling sharply, and smells your breath. “You’re drunk.” he states, disbelief evident.  

You shrug off his grip on your forearm and glare at him. “Of course I’m drunk, Jeno! You took me to a bar! What was I supposed to do?”  

“If you were ready to go home, you should have come to get me,” he snaps, frustration bubbling up.

“And what? Interrupt all the fun you were having? Don’t act like you’re so concerned about me now!”  

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? Do you think this is a game? You don’t just wander off like that!”  

“Stop acting like you care! All night has just been you and Sasha. You haven’t said a word to me since we entered the bar!” 

You’re in each other’s faces at this point, and you never thought it would be possible to be this angry with Jeno.

Jeno runs his hands down his face, sighing heavily. “I’m not having this conversation right now. It’s cold, and I need to get you home,” he says exhausted. 

“No! I’m not going with you,” you reply stubbornly, standing your ground.  

You don’t know why you’re acting this way. You were just about to call him before he showed up, but now that he’s here, all the feelings you thought you had under control start to surge to the surface. You couldn’t bear to be near him anymore. You start marching away from the park and head back toward the main road. You were determined to put as much distance as possible between you and everything else

You hear the sound of the passenger car door opening and the last voice you wanted to hear tonight speaks.  

“Where is she going?” Sasha called out.

“Just get back in the car,” Jeno responds, voice tense, as he begins to stalk after you.

Now, you’re mad and embarrassed. Sasha just saw you having a yelling match with Jeno after acting like a wet rag all night. She’s probably happy you’re jealous. The gravel crunches beneath his footsteps as he walks after you, calling your name. You hear Sasha call out again, equally frustrated.

“Y/N, come on! This isn’t funny. What’s your deal?” Sasha barks from her spot next to the car.

“I said wait in the car!” Jeno yells behind you.

You don’t dare look back. Stubbornly, you keep walking, your high heels clacking unsteadily against the narrow shoulder of the road. Cars pass too close for comfort and  their headlights are almost blinding but you don’t care. You’re being reckless but your feet refuse to stop. The embarrassment weighs heavy on your chest, and you’re too humiliated to face Jeno right now.

“No! She’s so annoying. It’s too cold for this,” Sasha mutters from behind in frustration.

You roll your eyes at her words, ignoring the sting they carry.  

Jeno calls out to you again, voice pleading. “Y/N, wait!”  

“Jeno, leave me al—” Suddenly, your knee buckles beneath you and the heel of your shoe snaps with a sharp crack. You try to catch your balance, but you’re a stumbling mess. You fall sideways, tumbling down the ditch beside the road.  

You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you feel yourself rolling down the slope while mud and leaves scrape against your skin. Your body hits the bottom with a dull thud, and everything blurs together. All you could feel was the cold, the dirt, and the sting of pain.  

Above you, muffled curses and hurried footsteps grow louder. Jeno and Sasha rush over, their faces etched with concern.  

“Shit,” Jeno mutters, voice tight.  

“Are you okay?” Sasha asks, her tone a little softer now.

You struggle to get to your feet, but you wince as pain shoots through your ankle.  

“I—I don’t think I can get out on my own,” you admit guiltily, bitterness choking your voice. You berate yourself silently. How stupid, how reckless. Now you’re stuck in this ditch, needing help from Sasha and Jeno to get back up.  

The ditch is deep, with a steep slope that, under normal circumstances, you could have managed to run up. But with your injury, it’s impossible. You watch Sasha unlatch her heels and kick them off with a faint glare.  

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps, eyes narrowing. “I may not like you all that much, but I’m not a bitch.”  

Without hesitation, Sasha and Jeno make their way down the hill bickering all the while helping you up. You lean heavily on both of them, one arm around Sasha, the other around Jeno. You finally manage to stand and look between their faces. Sasha's jaw was tense, while Jeno's eyes showed concern.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I should have listened.” Your voice trails off in shame. 

Jeno’s eyes soften, and he shakes his head slowly. “Save it. It was an accident.”  

Sasha remained silent for a moment before she clears her throat. She speaks quietly but firmly. 

“I know I’ve been harsh, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt. You’re not stupid you’re just drunk and tired. I’ve been there and I've seen Jeno do worse so don't beat yourself up.” Her voice isn’t cold anymore, it's just honest. 

Jeno looks over at her with a small, proud smile. She offers a small smile, but before it can fully develop, it's replaced by her usual guarded expression.  

Once you're back on the pavement, Jeno lifts you into his arms, carrying you bridal style. You instinctively rest your head against his chest, feeling safe in his strong hold. Sasha walks ahead, rubbing her arms for warmth. She was eager to reach the car and escape the cold.

“Are you jealous?” Jeno asks, breaking the silence. His voice is sincere and almost curious. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous of Sasha?”

You glance away, voice small and uncertain. “I’m not jealous,” you mumble, feeling exposed.

Jeno chuckles softly, "You can't hide it from me. I know you, remember? I know you can't look people in the eye when you lie, and you can't hold your liquor to save your life." He pauses, then adds, "And I know you think I have feelings for Sasha, but you're wrong."

“Then why dance with her all night long? Why ignore me?” Your voice grows stronger, laced with hurt.

"We were just catching up. I didn't mean to leave you alone, especially after I invited you. I'm sorry."

“You know how I feel tho… I was out of my element and you left me alone,” your voice waivers.

Jeno’s face softens. “I’m really sorry.”

 Suddenly, Sasha’s voice interrupts, echoing down the road, “Can we go now?!” Sasha yells impatiently, before rolling up the window and sinking back into the seat.

Jeno laughs fondly, "Sasha's not so bad once you get to know her. She's like a sister to me.”

You raise an eyebrow, "So you dated your sister?" You were too drunk to worry about the fact that technically, you weren’t supposed to know that.

Jeno rolls his eyes, "It's not like that. We didn't date long because our dynamic wasn't suited for a relationship. She's harmless if you give her a chance. I was actually telling her about you."

Your heart warms at his words. "I feel like such a brat," you say, covering your face in embarrassment.

Jeno teases, "You are, but it's cute. I've never seen this side of you."

You groan, knowing he won't let you live it down. Summoning the rest of  your courage, you speak, "Thank you for being there for me. I'm sorry for getting jealous and causing a scene." You finish by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Jeno stops walking and cups your cheek before you can fully pull away. He seals your apology with a soft kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. When you pull away, you're breathless and he kisses your nose and resumes walking.

When you get in the car, Sasha doesn’t say anything, just mutters a “Finally” under her breath and blasts the heater as Jeno starts the engine. The ride is surprisingly pleasant, Sasha sings along to the songs on the radio and encourages you to join in. You breathe a little easier now that she isn’t sending icy glares through the rearview mirror. You're still not entirely sure how you feel about her, but you're glad whatever beef she had with you has been squashed.

At your apartment door, Jeno hesitates before speaking.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. I don’t usually get that worked up, but I really thought something had happened to you,” he says.

“No, I’m sorry, Jeno. I shouldn’t have left. That was dangerous, and I wasn’t thinking. I feel like I ruined the night,” you reply, your voice tinged with regret.

Jeno closes the distance between you in two long strides and wraps his arms around you. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m just glad you’re okay. Truce?”

You nod and hug him tighter, and he kisses the top of your head.

You pull away, your gaze dropping to your muddy clothes. "Shit, I'm sorry," you mutter, scanning Jeno's shirt for any dirt you might have transferred. His once clean shirt now smudged with dirt and you grimace at the sight.

Jeno chuckles, grasps the hem of his shirt, and with a swift motion he pulls it over his head. You’re too stunned to speak. Your eyes rake over his toned body, his abdominal muscles ripple like waves and a deep V-line draws your eye down to the waistband of his jeans. You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth.

He tilts your chin up and offers a smirk. The expression on his face is a challenge, daring you to make the first move. "Do you want me to help clean you up, or would you rather I go?" His voice is a soft rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You can't find your voice, so you act. You strip off your muddy clothes until you stand before him in just your underwear. It was the most vulnerable you have ever been with Jeno, but you trust him. His gaze rakes over you, setting your skin ablaze. Both of you seeing a new side of each other, and neither of you could get enough.

He leads you into the bathroom, turning the shower on as steam begins to fill the room. He lifts you onto the counter before positioning himself between your legs. Your heart pounds in your chest as he carefully helps pick all the leaves and sticks from your hair, being gentle to avoid making it even more tangled than it already is. Once he's done, you hop down and stand before him, unsure of what to do next. Jeno decides to take the lead and he watches you with a lazy smile as he reaches for his belt. You can't help but stare at his hands. They are thick, manly, and veined. Your mind races, imagining those hands wrapped around your neck. Jeno likes the way you look at him, his smile turning cocky. He then slides down his jeans, revealing his muscular thighs and the prominent outline of his erection straining against his briefs. You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry.

He leans in, his voice barely a whisper over the roar of the shower, "Help me, yeah?"

You step closer, your fingers trembling as you hook them into the waistband of his briefs. He notices your shaking hands and bends down to look you in the eyes. "Hey, we can stop if you want. I can shower at my place, you know that, right?" Jeno would never pressure you into something you weren’t ready for and you appreciate him for taking the time to check in on you.

You shake your head, you were beyond horny at this point. "No, please. I need this. I need you."

He sends you a smile, a slow, sexy curve of his lips that drives you crazy. Then he nods, motioning for you to continue.

You pull his briefs down, and his cock springs free, slapping against his abdomen. You gasp, your eyes wide as you take in his size. He's thick and the head of his cock is pink and weeping. It was like a ripe, juicy fruit and you can't help the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips as you imagine tasting him.

Jeno tilts his head with a cocky smirk. "Your turn, princess. No more hiding."

You take a deep breath, unclipping your bra. It falls away, revealing your breasts to him. You shimmy out of your panties, adding them to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. You stand tall, your shoulders back, and your chin high. Your heart pounds in your chest as you do your best to appear as confident as Jeno.

You watch his eyes glaze over in lust. ““Come here,” he says softly before guiding you into the shower.

You step into the shower and Jeno's eyes never leave yours. He turns the showerhead, letting the water cascade down your body and  washing away the rest of the mud on your skin. You shiver under the intensity of his gaze.

He reaches for the shampoo and his fingers massage your scalp as he works the product into your hair. You close your eyes and your body relaxes under his touch. Once he's done, he rinses your hair.

He grabs the soap and lathers it up in his hands. He starts at your chest and his soapy hands glide over your skin making your breath hitch. Then he cups your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples until they grow hard. He pinches them and the sensation is new and unexpected, causing you to jump slightly and take a step back. He doesn’t let up though, he follows, pressing you against the cold tile wall so that he can explore your body. His hands roam down your sides, over your waist, until they reach your hips. He massages the skin there, continuously lathering you in soap before he reaches around and grabs the flesh of your ass. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed as he leans in and  captures your mouth in a searing kiss.

His tongue dips into your mouth and explores every inch of it. Your tongues dance, your teeth clash, and your breaths mingle. You grab onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. You want him, all of him. You want to know him in ways you never have before.

Your hands slide down his chest and over his abs until they reach his cock. You wrap your hand around it and run your thumb along the rigid veins. He freezes, his mouth agape and his breath hitches. You tighten your grip, stroking him slowly, your hand slick with water and soap.

You remember all the years worth of fanfics, sex articles, and porn you’ve consumed and you use that knowledge to guide you on what to do next. You had read that guys like a tight grip, so you grip him hard enough for him to really feel it. You twist your wrist as you stroke him and tease the sensitive head of his cock before gliding back down to the base. You watch as the water rains down on him, his hair plastered to his forehead and droplets rolling down his abs. You feel a sense of empowerment, knowing that you're the one driving him to the edge.

Jeno lets out a shaky moan, his brows furrowing as he hides his face in your shoulder. "Fuck, who taught you this?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. He'd assumed you were a virgin, but the way you touched him was anything but innocent.

You feel emboldened by his reaction and lean in to purr in his ear. "Shh, just take it. You deserve it." You can feel his body trembling, his grip on your hips turning bruising as you increase the pace, you add your other hand and they work in tandem to drive him closer to the edge.

He leans into you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hips thrust forward, meeting your strokes. You can feel his body tensing, his orgasm building. He lets out a guttural moan before he grips your wrist tight.

Suddenly, he pulls away, taking a clumsy step back. "Wait," he says, his voice rough. "Turn around."

Your stomach clenches in excitement. The look in his eyes promises that you're in for something special. You do as he says and turn to face the wall. You expect to feel his cock, but instead, you feel his warm wet tongue against your folds. He hums at the taste and sucks eagerly at your clit. He needs you ready and wet enough to take him. He slips two thick fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. You can feel your juices dripping down your thighs and your breath comes in short gasps.

Once he has your juices dripping down his face, he finally stands. Leaning over you, he runs the head of his cock along your slit. "You're so fucking wet," he growls. "You have no idea what you do to me, baby. I've jacked off thinking about you, imagining you coming to my door, begging me to eat your pussy." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "But now, I’m all yours. Whenever you want me, you can have me."

You whimper, your hips wiggling impatiently. You reach back, grabbing his cock, guiding it to your entrance. Testing the waters you dip the fat head of his cock into your cunt again and again until you can't take it anymore.

“All you have to do is ask, baby. Say it.” He grits out as his hand comes up to lightly grip your throat.

"Fuck me," you pant, your voice barely a whisper.

You gasp as Jeno presses his hips forward, stretching you open. It's a new sensation, and your initial instinct is to pull away. You rise onto your tiptoes, but Jeno's grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place. "Stay right there," he breathes, his voice ragged with desire. "Right there…" 

He pushes in deeper, and you can feel every inch of him as he fills you completely. You take a moment to adjust, your body throbbing and pulsing around him. When you start to move back against him, he takes it as a sign to begin thrusting.

He starts slow and shallow, testing the rhythm. "How do you want it?"

"Deeper," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the shower. "Faster."

He obliges, his grip on your hips tightening as he picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the bathroom, drowning out the sound of the shower. He uses his hold on you to move you up and down on his cock, fucking you against him with powerful snaps of his hips.

"You feel so good," he pants, his voice laced with praise. "You're taking it like a champ, baby. You're so fucking wet."

You were delirious and drunk off his words, you wanted more. You can feel your orgasm building and your legs tremble, but you don't want him to stop. "Harder," you beg, your voice barely a whisper. "Fuck me harder."

He growls, his hips moving like a piston as he rams into you., The hand around your neck moves down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles that send you spiraling over the edge.

Your climax hits you like a tidal wave and your body convulses as you scream his name but Jeno doesn't stop. He fucks you through your orgasm, his body tense as he chases his own release. "I'm so close, hold on for me," he grunts. "Make me proud, take it."

You're a whimpering mess in his arms, your legs shaking as he finally pulls out, painting your back with his cum. He strokes himself, ensuring he's spilled every last drop.

Your legs give out and you sink down onto the shower floor. Jeno bends down to your level. "You okay?" he asks.

You laugh weakly, shaking your head. "I'm more than okay," you say. "How are you... not even a little out of breath?"

He chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "I don't go to the gym for nothing," he says, his voice laced with pride. "Now come on, let me run you a bath." He helps you to your feet, his arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you as you step out of the shower.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯𓅰 𓅬

While cleaning around your house, you notice a small piece of paper slipped under your door. Your heart skips a beat as you see the handwritten message:

Meet me on the roof at 9

One of the main amenities you moved into this apartment for was the rooftop lounge. It’s a quiet, tucked away spot with a view of the city skyline. You start getting ready around 8, choosing an outfit that’s cute yet casual since you weren't sure of the exact occasion. You hesitate for a moment in front of the mirror, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You take a final glance over your outfit to make sure you feel confident then head out the door toward the rooftop. When you step outside the cool night air brushes against your skin.

The space isn’t often used, but tonight, it’s transformed. Twinkling fairy lights and lanterns are draped over railings and in the center stands a small, round table covered with a white cloth and a tiny vase holding a single red rose. A soft melody filled the space as a small speaker played a mellow playlist, setting the mood. It’s a cheesy setup but that makes you love it even more.

Jeno is already waiting at the table, leaning slightly forward with a gentle smile. His eyes light up when he sees you, and he stands to greet you.

He’s dressed in a simple white button down shirt and slacks. It's laid-back but with a touch of formality, which makes you feel a little insecure about the outfit you picked.

"You look amazing," Jeno says softly, and any doubts you had wash away in an instant.

Your cheeks heat, and you can’t help but smile. "What did you want to talk about?" your voice is a little tentative.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he says softly, taking a step towards you. His voice is gentle but steady. “And I know you’re afraid to let your walls down, but I promise I won’t hurt you if you let me in.”

His words hang in the cool night air as you think of a way to explain yourself. It’s true, you had been distant lately, unsure of what your relationship really was. You hadn’t talked about labels yet so you weren’t sure where you stood. 

He takes another slow, deliberate step toward you and reaches out to clasp your hand in his. His touch is warm and reassuring. He guides you toward the small, romantic table he’s set up.

As you walk, your eyes are drawn upward. The sky above is a deep blue, speckled faintly with stars struggling to shine through the city’s smog. When you reach the table, you notice a small insulated bag resting beside it. Jeno reaches inside, pulling out plates wrapped in plastic, their steam still rising, trapping the warmth inside. The faint scent of herbs and spices drifts up as he unwraps them, revealing beautifully prepared dishes.

He sets the plates down carefully, placing silverware and a single wine glass in front of you. From his seemingly endless “magic sack,” he retrieves a bottle of wine and he uncorks it. He pours a generous glass for you before doing the same for himself.

You wait until he’s finished, then raise your glass. The two of you sip the wine and the velvety flavor coats your tongue, and you hum softly in content. You offer him a small, thankful smile.

“I’ve been saving this for a special day,” Jeno says happily, his eyes shining. He digs into his food, nodding encouragingly at you to try yours.

You happily take a bite, the flavors bursting in your mouth. You were grateful you had an excuse to remain silent, you were still trying to find the right words. 

“Just relax,” he chuckles softly, breaking the quiet with a gentle laugh.

You hate how attuned he is to you, how he can read your mood with such ease. Sometimes it feels like he’s known you forever.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you whisper, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies softly. “We’re fine. We’ve always been fine. Let’s start from here. I’m not looking for an apology. I just missed you. I just want you here with me.”

Your stomach tightens with emotion, and even though you’ve already swallowed your food, the lump in your throat won’t go away. “I’m here. I’ll always be here,” you whisper back.

He offers you a warm, reassuring smile, one that seems to say everything you need to hear. Leaning across the table, he gently wipes away the tears you didn’t realize were falling, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

You don’t need him to say the words because he’s already shown you how he feels. His care is evident in every gesture, in the way he listens, in the gentle way he looks at you. He’s never too direct, and you appreciate that. Sometimes you think he’s afraid that being too honest might scare you away. 

Thank you Jeno, for always being the brave one, but I think it's my turn

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze directly. “I love you.” The words come out confident, steady, and unwavering. You don’t dare look away.

His head is on your chest, then he snuggles close like a kitten, "Babe, you did that to a plushie! I'm sure the teddy bear felt very violated." His stubble grazes against your neck. You let out a soft hum in response, pulling his hand over your chest and putting yourself in a very comfortable position for the cuddle session.

"Oh come on, it was soft and my fingers just slid in. Just like your cunt. What am I supposed to do?" His fingers explore your body, casual touches feather light on your skin. You let out gasps, trying to focus on the conversation because it's not everyday that you get to tease him, "I don't know, baby. Exercise self-control?"

His smug "Oh yeah" pisses you off every time. He's so hot when he says it. Your breath hitches for a short second. Two lithe fingers push the lace aside and your pussy starts to throb right away in anticipation.

It's muscle memory. The gentle caress of the tip of his fingers. The press of his middle finger with intention. The smooth slide. Your adorable gasp. Everything is practised precision. He hums this time, "You exercise self-control first. Then I'll think about it." These intentional movements drive you crazy. You want to curse at him when he steals your climax.

His soft words against your skin, make the heat pool in your lower stomach. "See, she just lets me in, just like that" He presses deeper, a second passes before the next finger slides in just as smoothly. "Your pussy is perfect for me— can't wait to just thrust in and sleep."

God his words are filthy, "Won't you keep me warm my angel? I didn't train your pretty little cunt for nothing, did I?" The feeling of his dick against your thigh sets off all scenes that had happened. The heat radiating from him does nothing to help, "Ah— fuck please oh my—" He doesn't let you up. Removing his shorts, he strokes his cock. It's thick, God, it's so thick and a little brown just like the rest of him—it's honey dipped— that's what you'll call it.

The stretch is too much. You've taken it before, but that doesn't mean you are used to it. He bottoms up with a groan of your name. "Fuck—baby, so tight" The raspy hum against your ear, flusters you even more, "Now let me rest like that," He sleepily kisses your neck, wrapping his arms around you to stop you from moving too much, "keep me warm, yeah?"

Skin flushed and sleep gone out of the window, you could only hum in response.

 People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason. 

You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.  

 It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.  

 “Remember when you used to be fun?”  

 “Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”  

 And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.  

 “Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.

The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session. 

 “Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face. 

 “It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."  

 “Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.  

 “Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”  

 “Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”  

 “Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.  

 “You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.  

 “Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”  

 “You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”  

 You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”  

He scoffs. “I have other friends.”  

 “Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”  

“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,”  He grumbles.

“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.  

 “Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”

 “It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”

 You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.

He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.

You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”  

“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.” 

“You'll drink what I pay for.” 

You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.

⟡

  “The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”  

 “It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.  

 “Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?” 

 The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“ 

 “Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?” 

 Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.  

 “Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.  

 “Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.

“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.

“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed. 

 “Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.  

 “Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.  

 “Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”  

 “Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?” 

 “Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”  

 You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.  

 “That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.  

 There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.  

 “Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”  

 You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him. 

 “Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.  

 You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”  

 “Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.  

 “Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”  

 He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”  

 “Delusion at its finest.”  

 His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”  

 You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”  

 “I could always prove it.”  

 Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”  

 “I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”  

Now, that sparks some interest in you.

 “You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.  

 He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”  

 “You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.  

 He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”  

“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.

He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”

“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.

“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.

This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.

You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”  

“I won’t.”  

 “You might.” You press again.  

 He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”  

 You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”  

 “I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”  

 You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.  

 “Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”  

 He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”  

 “I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.” 

 “I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.

“Good.”

He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”  

Oh god. This is actually happening.

 “Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”  

 He nods in approval. “Fair.”  

 You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.  

 “Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”  

 “See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“ 

 “Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”  

 You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.  

 “Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act. 

 You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.  

 “Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”  

You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”  

 “No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”  

 “My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”  

 His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.  

 He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.  

 And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.  

 “Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.  

 You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.

 He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should. 

 And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.  

 His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.  

 “Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.  

 You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.” 

 “Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”   

 You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.” 

 “Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

 You accidentally let out a giggle at his gentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.  

 Until now.  

 He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.

It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.

 He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear. 

 He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.

It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.  

 You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.  

 Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.  

 His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.  

 “Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.  

 He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.  

 “You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”  

 You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.  

 He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.  

 Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.

Did he just...smell you?

You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.

A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”

You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.  

 Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.  

 “Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.  

 He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole. 

 “Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—” 

 “Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.

You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.  

It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.

 He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.  

 “Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”  

 You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.  

 It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can. 

 He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.  

 Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.  

 No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.  

 It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.  

 His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.

That he really did prove you wrong.

But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.   

 “Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.  

 All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.  

 “I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same. 

 You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.  

 “Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”  

 His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”  

 “Why?”  

 He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought— 

 You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”  

 His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.  

 “Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”

 “Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.  

 “That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”  

 “I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”  

 His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”  

 “Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.  

 His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.

“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.  

 “You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.  

 He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”  

 You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.  

 “So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”  

 You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.

The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”

“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.  

 He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.

He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.

It feels like torture.

You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.  

 You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.  

 He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.  

 Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.  

 “Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.  

 “Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.  

 “I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”  

 “M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”  

 He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”  

 You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.

You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.  

 “Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.  

 He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.  

 “Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.  

 “Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.  

 He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent. 

You could eat him up. 

 “Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.  

 Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”  

 “Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.  

 You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him. 

 “Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”  

 Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.  

 You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.

Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.  

 “Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.  

 “Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.   

 He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.  

 You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.  

 It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.  

 You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek. 

 “Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.

 “Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”  

 “So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.  

 “Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.  

 He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”  

 “Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.  

 “And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”

 “Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea. 

 “Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”  

 You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.  

 “Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.  

 “Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”  

Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.

 He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.  

 “My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.  

 You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.  

 He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”

 “Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”  

 “So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”

A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.

“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”  

 “Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.  

A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.

It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.

 You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.

You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.  

 “Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?” 

 “Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”  

 His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.

His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.  

 “Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”  

He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.

 “What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”  

 “Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”  

You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.

 “Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”

The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.

An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole. 

 “I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.  

 “Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—” 

 “That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you." 

 “Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds. 

 You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.  

 “Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.  

 Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.  

 Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.

Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.  

 And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”  

 You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.

But you nod instead. 

 He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.  

 It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.  

 You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.

And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.

He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.   

 “Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.

You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile. 

 “In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.

He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.   

 “A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.  

 “Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.

 “Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.  

 “That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle. 

“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation. 

“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?

He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”

“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.

“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”

You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”

“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.

 “Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation. 

 He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.

“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”  

 The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.  

every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.

he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.

then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.

nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.

your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.

you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.

you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.

“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.

nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.

you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.

his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.

fuck.

he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.

“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.

he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.

every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.

he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.

he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.

he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.

“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.

his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.

“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.

“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.

he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.

he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.

nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.

the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.

he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.

you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.

your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.

“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.

“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.

nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.

and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.

+

a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.

nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.

it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.

it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.

he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.

you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.

each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.

he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.

tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.

the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.

nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.

you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.

“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”

he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.

he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.

you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.

the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.

nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.

he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.

“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”

you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.

your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.

the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.

his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.

you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.

he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.

you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.

nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.

he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.

you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”

“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”

you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”

caught him red handed. fuck you.

he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”

his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.

“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”

you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”

the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.

he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.

nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.

he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.

his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.

his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.

he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.

the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.

nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.

he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.

he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.

he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.

the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.

he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.

only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.

he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.

nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.

when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.

your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.

he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.

you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.

the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.

“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.

he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.

you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.

nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.

his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.

the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.

he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.

“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.

your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.

his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.

now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.

he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.

you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.

nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.

but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.

with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.

your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.

he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.

the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.

your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”

the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.

nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.

“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.

nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.

his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.

the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.

nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.

nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.

your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.

finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.

a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.

the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.

he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.

“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”

the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.

he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.

“Um yeah,” you mutter, because you may have to fake your body language, leaning away from him in a way that’s supposed to express discomfort, but you don’t have to fake your shyness. 

“Lemme buy you a drink. Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be left alone.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say, twisting your beer bottle around. 

“C’mon, just one drink. I don’t bite unless you want me to,” he says smirking, and the way he says it is so unlike Dean, it sets your teeth on edge. If you were really a girl he was trying to pick up, he would have taken no for an answer, but left the door open for you to change your mind, which you inevitably would. He would have said something like; ‘If you’re sure. You know where to find me, baby’ and taken his seat back with a flirty wink. He wouldn’t have insisted or thrown that corny, overused innuendo at you.

“No, really, I’m okay. Thank you.” And you’re squashing your eyebrows together, squirming in your seat, trying to look intimidated but this is Dean and nothing about him is intimidating. Not to you.

“It’s just one fuckin’ drink, bitch. Don’t be such a stuck-up priss.” 

Dean’s a good actor but you know he feels remotely uncomfortable having to say any of this to you. It doesn’t matter. The man beside you, taller than Dean but not quite as broad, stands up off his stool. 

“Didn’t you hear the lady? She said she doesn’t want a drink, punk.”

Dean makes a big show of backing off, raising his hands in submission and muttering something about how he was ‘only trying to be nice’, before backing away to his table once again. You turn to your saviour with a smile that you hope is radiant.

“Thank you so much,” you simper. “That got a bit scary for a second.”

He looks nice. He is lightly tanned with wavy brown hair, soft green eyes and a handsome smile that verges on shy. You think that this must be what Sam would look like, if life had been a little kinder to him.

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a modest shrug. “God, I can’t stand guys like that. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Happens more often than you think. Not many people would step in like you just did.”

His chest puffs out like a pigeon at the praise. “Maybe it’s because I’m a cop, but I can’t stand when people sit around and do nothing when something like that is happening in front of them. Makes me sick.”

“You’re a cop?” you ask, smiling and trying to do that ‘doe-eyed shit’ that Dean always accuses you of. It’s harder to do on demand. “That’s so cool, I really admire you guys. Your job must be really hard.”

He shrugs again, cheeks going a dusty pink. “It’s worth it if I can get to help people. But yeah, it can get a bit hairy sometimes.”

“I bet,”  you sigh. “I heard about this weird killing spree in the next town over. Those guys sure aren’t living the dream right now. I can’t imagine all the things they have to see.”

He straightens up immediately, animation dropping from his face. “Actually, I- uh, I’m working on those cases right now. You’re right, it’s not pretty.”

You’re losing him. His eyes are drifting away from you, away from the conversation. He’s searching for an out. You’re dimly aware of Dean’s eyes on you from afar, boring holes into your head. In a blind panic, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, one hand reaching out to his arm in a consoling manner. His eyes drop just once to where your hand meets his wax, green jacket and you feel him coming back to you. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry for bringing that up,” you say, teeth worrying your lip with anxiety that you don’t really have to falsify. “I had no idea. I’m a bit of a true crime junkie, but the last thing you want to do is talk about that right now on your time off. I’m just gonna go. It was nice meeting you and thanks for, uh-” You make a vague gesture towards Dean, who is still watching you with dark eyes.

“No,” he says, hand moving over your own one on his arm to stop you from moving. He smiles in such a genuine way, it almost makes you feel guilty. “I can let you in on a couple secrets if you promise to keep it between us.”

You brush your hair behind your ear and laugh, soft and shy.

“I’m Jeremy, by the way.”

You have to stop yourself from saying I know.

“Sold it a bit too hard back there,” Dean grumbles, leaning against Baby with his arms folded and watching you dart out of the bar. He’s wearing an irritated scowl.

“Don’t be an ass,” you say, rolling your eyes as you open the car door and slide into the passenger seat. It’s not often that you get to ride shotgun and it feels weird - like you’ve suddenly become more important. Dean follows. “You’re the one that told me to ‘charm the pants off him’ if I remember correctly, so-”

“Yeah, charm him,” he says. “I didn’t say to fuckin’ feel him up.”

“Feel him up?” you splutter with a half-laugh as Dean pulls out of the drive. “You’re ridiculous. I put a hand on his arm. I’ve seen you do worse.”

“Yeah, whatever. You get anything outta him?”

You launch into the story and try to share all the same bits that Sam usually does. You tell him how the victims were all men in their early 20s, recently discharged from a hospital not far away. How the cops are currently questioning the hospital staff but haven’t found anything suspicious just yet. You describe all the gnarly injuries, all the pieces of evidence left behind.

“Um- I think that’s it,” you say, eyebrows furrowing together as you try to figure out whether there is anything you left out.

“That’s it?” Dean says with surprise, eyes shifting from the road to you briefly. “You were in there for damn near an hour. Thought this was about to be some fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes shit.”

“Well I couldn’t just leave straight away once he gave me the information, Dean,” you say, frowning at him. “That’s suspicious. And rude.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second and shakes his head. “Never mind. What hospital is it?”

You bite your lip, face flushing. “Um- I don’t know. Should I have asked?”

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-”

“I can ask!”

“Ask who?” Dean frowns.

“Jeremy. The cop from the bar. I mean, I probably can’t just call him up and ask him outright but if I tell him I want to meet up then maybe I could-”

“You exchanged numbers?”

“Well yes,” you say, watching Dean carefully. He is looking more wound up by the second. “He asked and I couldn’t really say no after talking for so long. Besides, it’s useful now because I can ask him what hospital it was.”

“Jesus Christ. I asked you to charm information out of him, not to start a fuckin’ fling-”

“Well maybe you should have waited for Sam or done it yourself!” you say, voice raising in frustration. Your lip is wobbling a little bit and it feels like barbed wire is tightening around your throat. “I’m no good at this stuff, the flirting for information. I get nervous. You know that.”

Dean takes one look glance at you out of the corner of his eye and all his exasperation slips away. He lets out a puff of breath and his body deflates with it, eyes going soft and gooey like they always do when you get upset. It makes you feel like a kid in a horrid, humiliating way, but it’s better than being on the receiving end of his frustration. Dean being annoyed at you is your own personal hell. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know anything about that and you’d like to keep it that way for as long as you possibly can.

“Hey now, none of that. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll find out what hospital is it, don’t you worry about it.”

You nod once and turn to face out the window, still fighting the unsteady feeling in your throat and behind your eyes. Damn him - you’re so soft when it comes to Dean. No matter how much you rebel against it, no matter how many phases of denial or resistance you go through, you just can’t fight how you react to him.

He is still giving you cautious looks whenever he can pry his eyes away from the road. “C’mon, sweetheart. Y’mad at me?”

You shake your head because you don’t trust your voice to carry anything, but you still don’t look at him. He sighs and pulls in to a gas station at the side of the road. It’s one of those small, Americana-style ones you’d find on route 66. You can’t imagine he can get very much in there. He gets out without saying anything and you flinch as the car door slams shut.

You tap your fingers against the window as you wait for him and think resentfully about the fact that he, and he alone, seems to determine whether you’re going to have a good day or a bad one. One smile is enough to make you feel the sun on your skin even when the clouds are out, but his disapproval or disappointment shatters you in a way that not much else can.

It’s hard to remember a time when that wasn’t the case. You look back on your life before the Winchesters as boring - insignificant, even. It’s probably pathetic and un-feminist to admit, but it’s true. 

The before of your life seems grey. Before Sam convinced Dean to let you tag along with them because you had nowhere else to go. Before you managed to convince him that you were more than just a burden - that you could help with their jobs. Before you wormed your way into his heart, even if it’s not in the capacity that you might have wished for.

When Dean slides back into the car, he has a cherry cola and a pack of those sour green gummy worms that make your face scrunch up and your tonsils hurt. They’re your favourite.

He watches you as you take them from his hands and when you smile, so does he.

Dean finds out which hospital it is two days later. You’re not sure whether he called up Sam, who is out of commission in a motel a few towns back with the flu, or if he did some digging of his own while you were asleep. But he’s tugging on his jacket by the time you wake up in the motel bed, bleary eyed and sore from the awkward position you slept in.

“Dean?” Your voice is thick with sleep. “Where are you going?”

“I’m headin’ out to the hospital to poke around. It’s early. You go back to sleep, I’ll be quick.”

You would usually fight him on this, but your body is tired, having only recently shaken off the flu that you had so kindly passed on to Sam. You nod drowsily, a bit dizzy with sleep, and he gives you a fond, amused smile, as if you did something very funny. You watch him leave.

Your mind is too awake to drift immediately back into your stupor, and your body gradually wakes up with it. Within a few minutes, you’re too alert to even try. The red digits on the alarm clock read 7:09, and you suppose most coffee places would be open about now.

Dean has all your expensive hair products and shower gels out on the counter of the bathroom and you file that away to complain about later, even though you secretly kind of like when he uses your stuff. You like to think that he might have struck out a couple times because the woman could smell the sweet, girly scents on his skin and hair, and assumed he had a girlfriend.

The shower you take is short, only because there is a film of dirt on the shower floor that makes you feel like you might slip. Most of your clothes are in dire need of laundering so you pluck one of Dean’s plaid shirts up. You tell yourself that it’s ok because he has used something of yours too, even though you know you’re lying to yourself. This is very different. You’re wearing Dean’s shirt because some ugly, desperate part of you wants to feel close to him - wants to smell his scent on your skin. He’s explained to you why he uses your toiletries; “All that girly shit is fuckin’ luxe. Makes my skin feel like a baby’s goddamn ass”.

You check your phone for any updates from Dean before you leave the room, but you see only the same text that had been sitting there since yesterday.

JEREMY (COP FROM BAR - HOSPITAL MURDERS): I really loved meeting you last night. Let me know if you’re free any time soon. I would love to take you on a date.

You smile despite yourself as you descend the stairs of the motel, which leads directly onto the streets of the town. The guy really was sweet, but Dean’s reaction is enough to stave off any intentions to respond, even just for a ‘fling’, as he termed it. It’s hypocritical, really, that Dean has the freedom to chat up whoever he wants on a job but considers you to be ‘derailing the operation’ whenever there is the slightest hint of a connection on your end.

Ultimately, though, it’s fine. Your feeble old heart has a one-track mind and any attempts to satisfy it with some shoddy, off-brand replacement, whether for one night or more, leave you feeling sick and heartbroken. You’ve learned well enough by now that any time you try to move on, it just leaves you bereft.

It’s not even that you think that nobody can compare to Dean - not exactly. Dean is good and he’s kind and is smooth enough to make a nun blush. He’s smart, funny, loyal - the best kind of person there is. But you’ve met a lot of guys with those same qualities. It’s just Dean’s unique blend of those characteristics that you feel must have been concocted within him specifically for you.

And it’s fine that Dean flirts with other women. That he can pick up a girl as easy as others can tie their shoelaces and throw them away even easier. Because he has suffered enough and done enough good in this world to be allowed these kinds of indulgences, and you know that if he was aware of how you felt, he wouldn’t do it anymore. He would lock himself away to avoid hurting your feelings and eventually go insane with frustration and you know he would bear it for you if he thought the alternative was hurting you.

But you won’t let him. Because you love him and there aren’t many things you can do with your love. You can’t get rid of it, you can’t put it down anywhere, or give it to someone else. So you choose to love him in this strange, silent way instead. You suffer so that he doesn’t have to.

The diner you choose is straight out of one of those ‘small town America’ travel brochures. You’ve seen ones just like it in those autumnal TV comedies that you put on in the background. Sam watches them with you with mild interest, even if he pretends he dislikes them, but Dean complains about anything that isn’t chock-full with cars and guns and hot girls. It’s bright when you walk in and fairly clean, even if the red vinyl of the booths is cracking and there is a small stain on your table. A tall, pretty girl takes your order of coffee and scrambled eggs on toast and manages to bring them over to you almost immediately. The food is not great, but it’s not bad either.

“Hi there. Mind if I join you?”

Jeremy is standing in front of you, dressed in his blue uniform and hair askew. He’s smiling hesitantly, as if he’s not sure whether you’re about to tell him to get lost.

“Jeremy, hi,” you splutter, even as you do your level best to seem collected. “Of course. Please.”

He seems a lot more assured of himself as he slides into the booth in front of you, hesitant smile giving way to a charming grin. “You remember my name. That’s a good sign at least.”

You breathe an awkward laugh. “Sure I do. Wouldn’t forget. Are you on duty?”

“Nope, coming off. Just ordered some breakfast at the counter. Then I gotta head over to my niece’s seventh birthday party.”

“Ouch,” you say, wincing in an exaggerated way. “A seventh birthday party is a lot for the morning after a night shift.”

“Tell me about it. You kinda forget how loud kids are at that age.”

He uses the waitress’ name when he thanks her for bringing his order. It makes you smile.

“So you remembered my name and you’re good with me joining you, but you didn’t reply to my text,” he says with a small, teasing grin when the waitress - Justine, apparently - goes back behind the counter. “Trying to figure out what that means. Can you help me out here?”

Your face flushes with shame and mortification, your brain racing to come up with an excuse. He’s handsome and nice and not even trying to make you feel bad about the fact that you ignored him and he should be perfect for you. You should be jumping at the chance for someone like him to take you on a date.

“I’m so sorry,” you gush, real guilt pouring through. “Your text was so sweet, it was really shitty of me to not reply to you. It’s just- well, I’m only here for a couple of days and I didn’t want to waste your time.”

“Relax,” he laughs. “I wasn’t mad. Just don’t wanna be sitting here bothering you if you’re not…”

“You’re not bothering me,” you say, and it’s the truth. Jeremy smiles.

“Where do you live, if you’re not from near here?”

“I travel around a lot for work,” you say, and because you know that’s not really an answer that doesn’t raise suspicion - you add; “But technically Kansas.”

“Kansas isn’t that far from here. Just a matter of a few hours when the traffic’s light.” He’s not looking at you, cracking pepper onto his plate casually.

You’re not worth this kind of attention. Guilt, along with something much more complex and difficult to describe, gnaws low in your stomach. You know that you should be thankful that someone like him would even look twice at you, let alone suggest hours of travel to see you again after meeting you once. But your ungrateful heart can only scream that he is not Dean. Not even close.

“I’m in Kansas maybe thirty percent of the time,” you say with a regretful smile. “I really do move around a lot.”

Jeremy responds, but you don’t hear it. Because another sound has taken up your attention; something low and gravelly and something that sounds an awful lot like Dean.

Your eyes snap over to the counter where Dean has just ordered two coffees to-go. You watch in slow-motion while he looks around the diner - probably looking for a hot girl to chat up, your traitorous mind taunts you - before his gaze finds you. 

Sitting in the booth. 

With Jeremy. 

It looks so bad - it looks planned - and you can only gawp open-mouthed as Dean stomps over, looking completely murderous. Jeremy is giving you a strange look now, wondering why you have suddenly stopped responding, but there’s nothing you can say. You feel like a mouse in a trap.

“We’re going,” Dean snaps out when he makes it all the way over, placing his hand on your arm in a firm grasp. “C’mon.”

Jeremy’s eyes darken as he stands up. “Get away from her right now,” he spits. “Or we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Dean seems to remember the part he played in that little private investigation at the same time as you. The pushy creep who wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer. His eyes flick between yourself and Jeremy for a second, before he decides it’s not worth it to blow your cover, or to get arrested on charges of sexual harassment. He scoffs for just a second and shoots you a very unimpressed glare before walking out of the diner without his coffees.

“I told you to stay here!” Dean snaps as soon as you walk in the door to your motel room again. It has been over an hour since that moment in the diner and you had been dreading this every moment since. The rest of your breakfast was pleasant, if a little awkward after that interaction. Jeremy had insisted, insisted and insisted again on dropping you back to the motel in his cruiser in a show of gentlemanliness that did more to annoy than impress you. And sure, maybe a part of you understood that you would consider the same gesture charming if it had come from Dean, but Jeremy isn’t Dean so that doesn’t matter.

“No you didn’t,” you sigh, throwing the key onto the table.

“Well, it was fuckin’ implied.”

You give him a bewildered look before collapsing down to sit on your bed and peel off your shoes. “In exactly what way was it implied?”

“When there’s a ghost going around whacking people, your natural instinct should probably be to stay the hell outta the way.”

You roll your eyes and make sure he sees you do it. “Well I’m not a male in my early twenties, so I’m not really the target here, am I?” Your mind catches up a second later. “Wait, you found out it’s a ghost?”

“Yeah, it’s a ghost,” he replies, but he really doesn't seem to want to linger on that subject right now. “That little piggy you were with might be a male in his early twenties. You don’t know, which is why you should have stayed the hell inside.”

“He’s late twenties at the very youngest and you know it,” you say. “And since when am I not allowed to go get breakfast while on a job? Come off it, Dean.”

Dean is still furious, but he seems to be scrambling to figure out how to respond. You take advantage of his momentary speechlessness. “Tell me what you got.”

He is hesitant to drop it there, but he eventually does. He still looks displeased while he walks you through what he figured out - the fact that it’s a ghost; a female from the early 1900s who was left to rot in hospital in favour of a male patient in his early 20s and subsequently died from medical neglect. She has been enacting her revenge with a host of killings every ten years around the anniversary of her death. You will be going back to the hospital after hours, when it’s a bit quieter. 

“Pretty standard job. In and out,” he shrugs, and you thought he might distract himself with the details and have gotten over the whole diner incident by the time he finished telling you about it, but he’s still not looking at you. It sends a bolt of hurt through you but you shake it off.

“Right, in and out,” you agree.

The job is simple. In and out, just like he said. You distract the receptionist by asking after a grandmother that doesn’t exist while Dean chases the leads he had found earlier. He finds the bones within thirty minutes and burns them. He’s a bit banged up by the time he makes it back to where you’re waiting in reception, clothes askew and hair mussed up with a cut or two spilling blood through his shirt, but he won’t tell you what happened except that he ‘Sorted it.’ The receptionist gives you a skeptical look when you walk out with him, but she doesn’t say anything else. 

You feel exceptionally useless when you climb back into Baby. The power rush you had from riding shotgun has evaporated.

“I can’t believe you made me be the distraction again,” you mutter, scuffing your shoes against the car floor just to piss him off.

“Someone’s gotta to do it,” is all he says back. He still won’t look at you, not even to give you evils for the way you’re treating Baby. Hasn’t looked at you properly since this morning in the motel. It hurt before and it still does, but now you’re just fed up more than anything. There’s only so much awkward silence you can take. 

“Dean, will you- Goddamnit, can you look at me?” 

He takes a second, fingers flexing around the wheel as he pulls out of the carpark. His lips flatten into a thin line, before he looks at you for a brief second, raising his eyebrows as if to say; ‘There. Happy?’

But you’re not.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I don’t know what the big deal is. You can pretend all you want that this is about me going to get a breakfast, but it’s not is it? You just didn’t like that I was with Jeremy.”

Dean wasn’t expecting that. All exasperated sarcasm melts from his face as he steals an astonished glance at you, eyes alarmed and mouth somewhat ajar. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“You don’t want me getting distracted on a job.”

At that, he seems to relax, slipping back into the same easy grouchiness as before and you wonder what it was he thought you were getting at. “Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters lowly.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” you sigh. “How come you can do whatever you want but I can’t?”

You surprise yourself as much as you surprise him by bringing this up. That’s a subject you always stay well away from - Dean and girls. You look away and pretend not to hear when Sam teases him after he stumbles into the motel room the day after a job ends. You’ve smelt all kinds of perfume on him - sweet, spicy, cheap expensive and say nothing. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom so you can stop yourself from retching when he approaches some random table in a bar and shoots a suave smile to someone who isn’t you. But it’s spilling out of you now; not because you can’t hold it in anymore (because you can and you will until the end of time), but because it’s simply not fair. You couldn't move on if you tried, you know this, but who is he to tell you whether or not you can try?

“Because, sweetheart, it’s different,” he says, and the word ‘sweetheart’ is uttered almost sarcastically, in a way you had never heard before. You had always been his only sweetheart - one of the only things he could give you and you alone, but it was always said with a sort of gentle veneration - never like this. It feels tainted now. No longer yours.

“How is it different, Dean?” You’re trying to keep that damned barbed wire from closing in on your throat again. Trying, for once, to not be the baby that cries too easily and loves too easily and gives herself away to him for nothing in return.

“Because those girls don’t mean anything. They’re not distractions,” he explains, voice thick and low. “But you can’t have someone who doesn’t mean anything. You carry on with that asshole and you’ll end up in some fuckin’ picket fence house with a wraparound porch.”

He’s halfway there. He’s right, of course. You couldn’t just have an indistinct someone who doesn’t mean anything. You could never let them warm your bed without making yourself feel ill and blue - you had tried it before and it didn’t work out well. 

But he really doesn’t understand that you could go on a hundred dates with Jeremy or with anyone else and you still wouldn't end up anywhere but right here. Following Dean around like a slobbering puppy. Because your sick, stubborn heart decided what it wanted years ago and has not forgotten.

Dean must mistake your silence for something else, because he watches you wearily, frustration falling away from his face and giving way to a panicked sort of concern. “Unless that’s…” he coughs nervously. “Unless that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want,” you confirm glibly. You don’t mention that it could be what you want, if he decided that it was what he wanted too. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes now. You watch the rain stream down the car window.

“C’mon, I’m tired of fightin’ with y’, sweetheart,” he says and the designation of ‘sweetheart’ is once again yours to claim. He is speaking to you sweetly, coaxing you out of your corner. But tears are springing to your eyes so you keep them trained away from him.

It’s mostly for his benefit, that you hide this from him. It’s not his fault that your world is moved by his hands alone. It’s not his fault that all his attempts to take care of you have worked so well that they backfired and hurt you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-” he sighs and you can hear him running his hand through his hair, even though you can’t see it. You can smell a burst of your shampoo when he does it. “I don’t know how to… Did I upset you?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, and he seems ready to speak again. 

“I don’t want the… picket fence and porch,” you say, tracing raindrops with your fingers. There’s a wobble in your voice. “But it would be nice to just have someone, maybe.”

That ‘someone’ is Dean, obviously. But you can still dream of someday breaking free of these feelings - finding someone else. You won’t feel a fraction of this intensity for them but that would be ok, that would be alright. And they wouldn’t look at you the way Dean does and they wouldn’t be able to make you laugh like he can but you would learn to live with that, maybe even learn to numb your feelings for Dean from this fire into a dull ache.

Because what good is your love for Dean when you’ve had to debase it so many times? You’ve tried to bastardise it - to turn it platonic, to turn it familial, even to get rid of it altogether and none of it ever works. It returns to you, defiled and wounded but no weaker, every single time.

“You could have me.”

Even the tears in your eyes can’t stop you from looking over at Dean now. You’re searching for any sign that he might be making some sort of joke, but you can’t find it. His eyes are trained firmly on the road, a worried pinch between his brows. You almost feel like you imagined it.

“I… What?”

“If you wanted to have someone. You could have me.”

Your breath feels stuck in your lungs. Dean has no idea what he’s saying; how unintentional cruel he is being to you. You have no idea whether he means as a friend or as a warm body to satisfy some part of your longing. You don’t want to think too long about whether he means the latter - because you’re deathly afraid that you are weak enough to accept his offer and then the whole thing really will fall apart.

“I didn’t mean it in that way. I meant-”

“I know what you meant. I want to be that. For you.”

He is speaking so uncharacteristically soft. It’s not the same soft that he offers you when you’re scared or upset, the confident arm around your shoulder while he coos and comforts. This is another kind of soft. He always looks tired, but right now he looks exhausted. You’ve only seen him look this vulnerable a handful of times and you feel a strange discomfort when you realise each time has been when he was speaking to his dad.

You are soaking in his words as he puts the car in park outside the motel. Crickets croak to fill the silence between you. He is sneaking glances and you know him well enough to know that he is trying to get a read on you.

“Why?” you land on eventually.

He frowns. “The hell do you mean why?”

“Why are you offering to-? You don’t need to feel sorry for me, or whatever-”

Dean laughs, more angry than amused. “You really think I’d tell you I want to be with you because I feel sorry for you? I’m fuckin’…” Dean sighs, face twitching with discomfort and awkwardness. “I think if you just gave it a chance, I could maybe be the someone you’re talkin’ about. Maybe.”

Your face flushes with heat and your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you had for breakfast. Your mind is racing to make sense of what you’re hearing - he could ‘maybe be your someone’? “What…”

Dean shuts down, as if a sudden door slams over that vulnerability he had shown you just a minute ago. “Y’know what, forget it-”

“No!”

He pauses, his hand going still on the car door. Your thoughts aren’t making sense at this point but you’re desperate to say something - anything - that might stop him from leaving.

“I want to-” you stutter, clumsy as a baby goat. “I want you to be my maybe-someone too, but I want to know for sure that you… I don’t know how to talk about this, but please don’t leave.”

Dean is skittish when he looks back over to you. You see a flicker of something masked by a cloud of doubt. Slowly, he reaches his hand out for yours. You clutch it with urgency, holding it tight against your own. His hands feel big and rough against your skin. Your thumb glides along all the little ridges and bumps and callouses; the results of the dirty work he never lets you do. He looks as if he is almost afraid you’ll bite when he reaches the other hand out, hesitantly moving up to your face, and his throat bobs a little bit when you lean in to his touch. His pretty green eyes are watching you carefully while his thumb works its way slowly along your cheekbone and you wonder for the briefest of seconds if this is another one of your dreams.

But the next second he’s kissing you and you know it can’t be a dream. Because even in your dreams, you don’t allow yourself to imagine it would be like this to kiss Dean. In your dreams, his kisses are hot and rough, the same way you had seen him dole them out to an endless carousel of girls in dark corners of bars, while you and Sam play solitaire and try to ignore what’s happening in your eye-line.

Dean’s lips are warm and unsure, like he doesn’t know whether he is really allowed to do this. You melt into him slowly, because you had thought about this moment too often for you to freeze up when it is finally happening. He takes your bottom lip into his mouth, pulling you up against him, and chokes a broken sigh into your mouth, as if he was the one who had been waiting on this for years. As if he was the one who had to suffer all this longing, had to wield his love carefully so it wouldn’t pour out of him like water from a faucet.

You have gone astray in the feeling of his lips, of his large hands gripping your waist with such painstaking gentleness. Your heart is aching in your chest and you know it’s lost to him forever when he runs a careful hand through your hair, holding you with the same tenderness that he treats you with in all regards.

You’re not even thinking when you press yourself closer to him, clasping your hands around his shoulders and pushing your chest to his urgently. Your need for him - to just be close to him - is growing rapidly inside you like a fire. You shake a bit as Dean kisses you harder, mouth moving against yours, hot and messy.

Gone is the sweet gentleness from just a moment ago, but this is still not quite how you have seen Dean kiss strangers in bars. He’s holding you a bit tighter, kissing you with a bit more exigency. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you’re sure you had never seen him kiss anyone like this. Heat is pooling low in your stomach and you’re squirming, legs twitching as you try to get closer to him. Eventually Dean grunts, the sound sending sparks in your stomach and between your thighs. He splays a hand over your thigh and shifts it over his own. In this position, you become aware of how hard he is. You can feel it even through the layer of jeans and it makes you gasp.

“Dean,” you breathe, struggling for air. He’s undeterred. One hand moves to gently caress the side of your neck as his mouth moves to kiss you there, soft but insistent.

“Hm?” he hums against your neck. You feel its vibration.

Your brain is failing you. The need for him is catapulting you off the edge of sanity and all your focus is garnered towards that bulge below you. You press down without even meaning to and Dean groans at the contact.

“Hey now, slow down, sweetheart,” he says, pulling away from your neck and looking up at you with half-lidded, blown-out eyes. You make a noise that you don’t even hear. You think it’s a protestation. 

“F’you think I’m gonna take you in the front seat of Baby out in some scabby parking lot for our first time, you’re crazy,” he says, thumb reaching up to pull at your bottom lip. 

Your heart soars. First time.

“What, you think that mangy motel room is better?”

Dean laughs. “Maybe not. But ‘least there I can lay you out all pretty. Take my time with you like I always pictured.”

His words go straight to your abdomen in a strange, pleasant mix of love and desire. You clamber off his lap in record speed.

You frown. “Are you sure?”

“Am I - fuck - what the hell are you talkin’ about right now?”

Dean is sitting up against the headboard of the bed. His gaze is dark and unfocused, sweat dripping down his brow and on to his naked chest.

“Are you sure that you want to be my maybe-someone?”

He gives you a strange look, eyes squinting and corners of his mouth poking up in that Dean-is-very-bewildered way. “Huh?”

“I just want to make sure that you’re sure, because I don’t think I’ll be able to- Oh…”

Your mind trails off the subject as Dean uses his grip on your waist to thrust his hips up just a bit, hitting that sweet spot you had just recently (tonight) discovered. His cock is deep inside you, stretching you out in a way that is almost enough to make you want to drop the subject. If you cared about him any less, you probably would.

“I don’t wanna be your maybe-someone, sweetheart. I wanna be your someone. I love you.”

That brings you back. Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, and you have the odd compulsion to cry. Your body is experiencing a lot right now. “You love me?” The barbed wire is tightening again, but this time in a good way. That steamy grin Dean had been wearing crumbles into something softer. He nods.

“But what about the girls?”

“What girls?”

You flush. “Y’know. The girls you… in all the bars…”

His hands palm your hips with a bruising grip, flexing there as he bounces you on him experimentally, like he’s trying to get you to forget that any girls ever existed. Your cunt clenches tight around him, entire body buzzing, and black spots dance behind your eyes, but you sit still because you have really fucking great self-control. 

“Shit, baby,” he groans, head rolling back. “I don’t wanna talk about any damn girl except you right now.”

“Dean.”

His face scrunches up in exasperation as he fights to keep his eyes on yours. They keep travelling down to your tits. “I wasn’t lying when I said they didn’t mean anything, sweetheart,” he says, dropping down to press kisses to your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you unintentionally grind down at the wonderful tingly feeling it gives you. Dean grunts. 

“Tried to go on as normal for a while. Thought I could get over you, ‘cause I didn’t wanna burden you with my shit. Didn’t work. Just ended up with a loada pissed off girls who kicked me out after I said the wrong name. That’s it.”

You barely notice that you had begun to grind down on him again until Dean wraps his lips around one of your nipples and you let out a desperate moan. His right hand moves down, feather-light, to stroke up and down your thigh.

“How- how long?”

“Dunno. Kinda sleep-walked into it,” he says, gasping between sentences as you leisurely ride him. “Think I realised when we were at Bobby’s house that one time and I heard you bangin’ around in your room for at least twenty minutes. Walked in and saw you wrapped up in that bedsheet like a ghost ‘cause you couldn't get it on and wouldn’t ask anyone for help. ’S stupid but it made me laugh so damn hard.”

He laughs shakily as he remembers it. You try to recall, but the angle he’s hitting inside you is turning any thought into a tough feat. “I don’t remember that. Must have been years ago.”

He just nods and leans up to kiss you, pretty and desperate. You pull away, even if you would much rather not. 

“You’ve loved me for years?”

“Probably longer than that too, sweetheart. Everyone else seemed to figure it out before I did. Everyone except you.”

He’s trying to distract you again with his lips on your neck, but your brain is working too fast now.

“Everyone- Dean, does Sam know?”

He grunts and you can feel it rip through his chest under your fingertips. When he looks up at you, his pretty green eyes have gone a shade darker.

“Please don’t say another man’s name while I’m fuckin’ you ever again, sweetheart,” he damn-near growls. “ ‘Specially not my brother’s.”

You’re being flipped over then, your skull narrowly avoiding the headboard, until you’re under him, knees pressed up and he’s sliding into you at his pace this time.

“But yes. Everyone means everyone.”

He rolls his hips into yours and you can’t stop the breathy moan that escapes at how he feels inside you. He’s so deep and you’ve never been this full before, but there’s no pain to it because it’s Dean and he had made sure you were ready for him - of course he did. He had played with your pussy; rubbed it and fingered it and licked it in ways you didn’t even know were possible before sliding into you with a slow, loving reverence that made your legs tremble and your heart quake. He’d eased in slowly, despite you whining that you wanted to take him all the way. Dean has always taken care of you and he always will, especially now.

“And since you clearly can’t be trusted on top yet,” he says, punctuating his point with a brutal thrust that has you gasping and clenching around him. “I’m just gonna have to fuck all those thoughts outta your clever little head. Maybe then I’ll let you get back on top. When you can’t treat this like a job we’re workin’ on and all you can think about is me and how good I’m fuckin’ you.”

God, his voice is travelling right through your body and you still can’t quite believe that this is really happening. Your hips jerk up to meet his thrust as he turns you to ruins below him. You’re still fighting to hold on to your line of questioning, but he’s making it so hard.

“Dean, I- oh-”

His hand goes down to find your clit, gives it a rub with his thumb without losing any of his rhythm.Your eyes squeeze shut and your body moves against his as if your mind doesn’t have any say or involvement in the matter. 

“That’s it, let me fuck you stupid. Forget about everything else. I’ll sort you right out, baby.”

It shouldn’t be possible for him to fuck you like this. One hand still under your knee and the other playing with your clit, still maintaining a bruising rhythm that sends stars to your eyes. 

It’s not fair. 

Because for as many times as you had pictured being fucked by Dean, as much as you had known that nobody else could compare, you still had no concept of just how good the real thing could be. How thoroughly it would destroy you for anyone else.

“So pretty and dumb when I’m splitting you open like this,” he whispers, fucking himself so deep in that you can feel the tip pushing against your cervix. “Can’t believe you’re letting me have you like this. Knew you’d feel this good, sweetheart. Thought about you like this every goddamn day.”

You have already come twice. Once on his fingers, once on his tongue. And now he’s about to make you come with his cock. You love every woman he has ever been with for showing him exactly the ways to touch you in order to make pleasure flash in every nerve, and you hate them for ever having him like this before you did. But it doesn’t matter now, because Dean seems as far gone as you and his face makes you think that maybe he’s destroyed for anyone else too.

The noises you’re making are barely coherent - something about how good it feels, how deep he is inside you - but they make Dean smile at you, sly and patronising as his tip keeps hitting that spongy spot inside you.

“Yeah, baby?” he coos at you, and all you can do is nod, even if you’re not sure what exactly he’s asking you. “Doin’ so good. Tight pussy’s suckin’ me in.”

Your eyes flutter, fighting the instinct to close only because you want to keep watching Dean - you don’t want to miss a second of how sweet and wrecked he looks above you. He’s got the control now, but you can tell he’s close to losing it by the way his eyebrows furrow just a little and his face goes unfocused. His drooping eyes travel around your body quickly, shooting from your face to your tits to where you’re being split open by him, like he can’t decide where to look.

“Please, Dean. Need more,” you whine, just centimetres from coming. You’re not even sure you could take more at this point, but you want to see what he’ll do.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says, even as he slams his hips into yours harder. Your eyes roll back. “Takin’ you nice and sweet right now. Gonna make you come apart real pretty for me. Enjoy it ‘cause next time I’m not gonna be this nice.”

Your brain stutters at the thought that this is him being nice. This feels utterly filthy to you.

There’s an overwhelming pit of pleasure in the bottom of your stomach and it seeps low into your pussy. You twitch once, clenching down on him, and with one more brutal thrust you’re falling over the edge, grinding right down on him. You’re spewing out words incoherently, babbling in tongues. One thing that is coherent, though - one thing that is entirely unmistakable - is how you gasp out; “I love you” in a broken moan.

You hadn’t really noticed that you hadn’t said it back when Dean first admitted it. It had felt obvious to you, like a fact of life. The sky is blue, the grass is green and you love Dean Winchester. You didn’t really think about the fact that he didn’t know.

But you think about it now. When Dean’s half-lidded eyes suddenly shoot open and he’s marvelling at you with such open awe that it makes you feel like maybe you’re something sacred to him too. His face crumbles and he seems to lose control while you’re still riding your high, spilling so deep inside you that you can feel his warmth in your tummy.

Once he’s spent, he slows his hips down and thrusts shallowly while you twitch and jerk around him, his body folding over your own in a way that makes you feel wholly and completely surrounded by him. You feel lax and satisfied as you had never been before.

“You mean it?” he asks against your neck, lips pressing a small kiss there. You know that that kiss means; it’s ok if you don’t.

You shudder out a breathless laugh and your chest moves against his because of how closely your warm bodies are pressed together. 

“You really don’t understand. I’m crazy in love with you, Dean.”

His head lifts up and he searches your eyes with the same expression he uses to investigate a haunted house or look for evidence in some abandoned warehouse. “Since when?”

“Since forever,” you say, heat flooding your face. “Even when I was just some dumb kid you didn’t want tagging along with you and Sammy.”

He goes soft. He melts to a puddle and wraps himself around you even tighter, hand going to your face while he presses a hot, gentle kiss to your lips. “My girl,” he murmurs against your lips.

“You girl?” you repeat, pulling back even though you still feel like you’re floating. “Are you sure? I know you don’t really-”

Dean groans. “Sweetheart. You gonna make me fuck all those doubts outta your head again?”

You smile. “Maybe later.”