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yeonghosins · 9 months

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CHANGE | III : I PULLED OFF YOUR WINGS (L.J)

GENRE | angst, suggestive, band au PAIRING | lee jeno x reader, nct dream x reader WARNINGS | angst, toxic behavior, jeno is NOT a good guy, slight SA (not glorified, but read at your own risk pls) WORD COUNT | 4.7k PREVIEW | "i’d never admit this openly, but, like, i’m one of most well-known members of the band. people love me. i belong there. where people love me, praise me. i’m a fucking star.” DISCLAIMER | this work is purely fictional. it may mention real idols, but is not meant to exist as a true account of their behaviors, conversations, and character traits. situations, conversations, and character traits featured in this story and any adjacent works are entirely fictitious. PLAYLIST | TBI SERIES MASTERLIST | INTRO | I | II | III | IV | EPILOGUE

THEN – COLLEGE, FIRST YEAR.

you really shouldn’t have called him, of all people. donghyuck was probably at renjun’s place trying to write songs, jaemin was probably out in some stoner’s house smoking up a bowl, and renjun was more than likely trying to get donghyuck out of his garage to get some sleep. jeno was really, honestly your last ditch effort not to be all alone that night.

you’re not even that close to the guy, only having known him mutually by the ways of his step-brother, but one vulnerable moment followed the next and you were dialing his number to ask him for ‘guy advice’. he showed up at your doorstep not twenty minutes later, all broody and smug and chiseled with his messy jet black hair and his stupid piercings. you swear you haven’t the slightest idea how things ended up the way they did.

hey, at first you really did just want to ask about guy advice––but one beer turned into three, and suddenly you’re on your couch with his head between your thighs.

“jen––fuck,” you moan, clutching desperately at his already unruly hair and at anything you could get your hands on as he grips your thighs and hips in an attempt to keep you still. “this is––this is not what i meant by ‘guy advice’––“

he leans back, using his strength to split your legs apart as far as they can go, and to your utter shock, he spits.

“shut up,” he says before diving back in, lapping at your core as if you were his last meal on earth.

you concede with a loud moan, and you hear him laugh, continuing with his ministrations in an attempt to coax the sound out of you again, likely to the chagrin of your neighbors and the cohabitants of your floor.

he circles his tongue ‘round your clit and you tug on his hair harshly, arching your back and practically grinding your hips against him, his tall nose bumping against the bundle of nerves and the sensation bringing you closer to the edge.

he laughs again, darkly, his pants growing tighter at the way you use him for your own pleasure. there’s a rough touch to the way he handles you, his slender fingers digging into the fat of your thighs in an attempt to still your movements and leave you helpless against his mercy.

he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for an opportunity like this. he barely knew you the way the other guys did, and this is one hell of a bonding activity. every time the two of you were in the same room, there were always three other figures there stealing up all your attention. whether it be you sat in jaemin’s lap (far too comfortably for two ex-lovers, jeno’s always thought), or letting renjun cuddle in during movie nights, or, hell, the dreaded situation of walking into his dormitory and finding it empty, meaning donghyuck was staying over at your place all alone––jeno was never given the time of day.

sure, maybe he was a little cold. a little mean sometimes. a bit more emotionally distant, not coming over to your house like his stepbrother, donghyuck, does all the time to cry about getting dumped, like a pussy––but can’t a guy like him get the same amount of attention from you that you so love to give donghyuck and his friends?

safe to say, when his phone lit up with your name, he’d never snuffed out a cigarette so fast. hell, he was barely halfway through the menthol stick before he grabbed his jacket and ran. so, when he arrived at your place, greeted by you in your cute little pajamas, swollen eyes and––oh, no bra, he could barely pay attention as you rambled on about the new guy who’d ghosted you. all he could do was stare at your pretty lips, or into your pretty doe eyes, or––and without shame––at your perked-up nipples against the fabric of your shirt. who’d ghost a piece like this? a dumbass, jeno thinks. that’s who.

“i––i’m close,” you whine. it’s music to jeno’s ears. “please, fuck, i’m gonna cum.”

pulling away from you with a smirk and a swipe with the back of his hand at his mouth, he unbuttons his jeans slowly. “only way you’re coming is on my dick, baby,” he groans, watching as you gape at the sheer size of him as his cock sits in his grip.

he laughs at your reaction. “never seen one this big before?”

he watches as you swallow. he might as well pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming this up. “n–nuh-uh,” you respond slowly.

“good,” he smirks, aligning himself at your entrance. “better take it slow, huh?”

before you can even respond with a nod, he betrays you completely by thrusting in all at once, forcing air out of your lungs and a harsh gasp to escape you.

“fuck!” you exclaim, gripping at the cushions and squeezing your eyes closed. “what the fuck?”

he laughs to himself, feeling your slick coat him and easing the friction of his thrusts. he’s not letting up, and you arch your back at the overwhelming pain and pleasure. “just having a lil’ fun, baby,” he coos condescendingly. “don’t like it?”

“n-no, no,” you moan, practically clawing at his shoulder blades. “no, fuck, i fucking love it, please, d-don’t sto–op!”

“wasn’t planning on it, gorgeous,” he says, groaning and planting a slap against the side of your thighs. he feels as though he’s in heaven, the angelic chorus of your moans and cries filling his ears as all he chases is more, more, more.

he flips you over and thrusts in again, palming the fat of your ass, feeling his high come closer as you squeeze around him desperately. fuck, he can’t get enough.

he makes a mental note to remind you not to tell his brother of any of this, and makes another to tell you to call him the next time you need “guy advice”.

you call him again the next day. and the next. and the next.

as it turns out––you’re pretty desperate for guy advice, and jeno’s more than happy to satisfy your needs.

NOW – THE TAXI CAB

a veiny hand wraps around a cardboard cup. jeno turns it on its end against the wooden table of the booth he’d sat you both down on, far from the entrance. he sits facing away from most of the people populating the café, a slight smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“what do you want?” you finally speak through tight lips, staring daggers into him.

he snickers lightly to himself, taking a sip of his black coffee. “i’m guessing you spoke to jaemin.”

“yeah, i spoke to jaemin — after you let him nearly overdose last night,” you say coldly.

“he’s stupid,” he laughs slightly, scrunching his nose. “i mean, i hate to call him out on his shit, but nearly a decade into this thing, you’d expect him to get his shit together or at least try to. instead, he’s getting high off his rocker on a weekday night and fucking his ex.”

blood burns from your chest to the tips of your ears. “how’d you find out?”

he smiles, brightly as ever, and looks you straight in the eyes. “made a guess. you just told me.”

you shift your gaze, finding focus in the stack of tissues atop your table.

“what, shy, now?” he chuckles lightly, leaning leisurely against the backrest, tossing his arms over it. “c’mon,” he says, tossing out your last name lightly. “’s not like you’re unpredictable.”

you stare into his eyes, letting him know to watch his footing as he talks to you.

“i’m just saying!” he holds up his hands, lazily, in surrender. “not the first time you’ve called one of us up late at night for some dick, is all.”

you shoot up out of your seat, fists clenched by your sides. just as you grab your own drink, his hand wraps around your wrist.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he apologizes with a laugh, coating his jabs in sugar. “sit down. i’ll stop.”

you grit your teeth, sighing through your nose. you should’ve expected this of him––he’s never been the most sufferable type, even when he had your head pushed into his pillows. and yet, there’s always been a charm about him that got you in his pillows in the first place, so you sit.

“what did you two talk about?” he asks after a long pause between the two of you. the tension could be cut with a chainsaw.

“him,” you start hesitantly, making eyes at anything else except for the man in front of you. “what’d happened. your label. you.”

“me?” he asks with a sharp grin, leaning forward. you shift away from him. “you were talking about me, gorgeous?”

you look him in the eyes again as a warning. “about how shitty you and donghyuck are towards him and renjun, yeah.”

he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shrugs. “jaemin’s weak.”

“jaemin’s struggling,” you correct, shifting slightly. “always has been. you should know that.”

“i’m not his fucking babysitter, if he’s gonna waste away with a goddamn needle in his foot i won’t be fucking responsible for it,” he snaps suddenly, his face on the edge of contorting into a distasteful grimace. “he just wasn’t born for fame. you’ve seen what it’s done to him, he’s a standing pile of bones.”

“don’t say that,” you hiss.

“what? ’s not like he’d care. jaemin and i aren’t friends,” jeno shrugs again.

you scoff. “you’re talking about this like it’s high school all over again.”

he laughs dryly. “we didn’t like each other then, i don’t think we plan on liking each other now.”

the conversation lulls. his aggression tones down, at least by a little.

“whatever happened between the two of you, anyway?” you ask.

he laughs again, rather sarcastically, taking a sip from his coffee. “so we’re talking about me, now?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“yeah, we’re talking about you, now,” you answer.

you realize you never really knew that much about jeno, despite what your history together might reveal. he was never one to speak up, mostly sticking to donghyuck and, more often than not, avoiding interacting independently with the other people in your friend group.

“guy stuff. fuckin’ unimportant now,” he deflects indifferently.

you raise an eyebrow at him, unconvinced.

jeno’s demeanor changes. his shoulders sink slightly, though he straightens them within a split-second. you catch a slight twitch in his face as he avoids your stare.

he grits his teeth, the muscles of his jaw visibly shifting under the skin of his cheek. “it’s dumb shit. goes way back.”

“could you just tell me?” you sigh at his stubbornness.

he stays silent, gritting his teeth. “this wasn’t supposed to turn into a therapy session.”

“surprise therapy seems to be the theme of the week,” you say.

he forces a laugh. jeno was never the one to crack so easily. you would have to think of some other way to get a confession out of him.

jeno was never, ever the emotionally vulnerable type. before the two of you started sleeping together, you barely spoke, even two years after being donghyuck’s step-brother. you only really knew what there was to be known about him — his mother died when he was a kid. his father, whom he didn’t care for much, had married donghyuck’s mother just before your junior year of high school. you were invited to their wedding. him and donghyuck were thick as thieves by the end of the summer.

his and donghyuck’s parents dated for less than two months before deciding to get married –– for mrs. lee, any man would have been better than the one she’d previously been married to. donghyuck’s father was never around, and when he was, was an awful person to be around. jeno and his dad were welcome guests.

he had never gotten close to the rest of you. you never knew why, you always felt as though you, renjun, and jaemin were extremely personable, but he preferred to stick by haechan’s side more often than not. he was always distant, like the shadow following behind donghyuck’s every move. he never opened up. only laughed at jokes when they spat vulgarly from donghyuck’s mouth. never cried, rarely smiled, and only got drunk enough to scurry on back to his room and doze off for the night.

so, if you were to dig your nails deeper into the story that lurked underneath the band’s pop-punk image, you would have to think smarter than just easing jeno’s emotions out of him at a mom-and-pop café.

“you’re not gonna get it out of me by sitting and chewing on the inside of your cheek,” he says, picking at his nails. the corners of his mouth threaten to tick up when he catches the way you glare at him.

you have got to stop letting him get the upper hand on you.

“stop fucking reading my mind,” you say curtly. he laughs.

“but yours is the easiest to read,” he says. you realize this may be the most the two of you have talked about anything, likely ever. he’s fun. “that’s why it didn’t take me too long to get my head between your legs.”

he can be fun. most of the time he’s an irritating prick.

and what you hate the most is that with every filthy word that spouts from his mouth, you find yourself pressing your thighs together, ever so slightly. he’s a jackass.

before you can respond, your phone starts to vibrate atop the wooden surface. your work alarm.

“shit,” you mutter under your breath. “i have to get to work.”

“work?” he asks. you stare at him blankly.

“yeah, dumbass,” you spit, tugging at the lanyard ‘round your neck to reveal your press pass and ID. “my job.”

“no, i know what you meant, but—“

you interrupt him by shooting out of your seat, already fishing at your pockets for your keys. “we’ll finish this later. i get off this afternoon, i’ll come by the hotel.”

jeno clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly. “donghyuck’s not gonna wanna see you,” he says in a singsongy tone. you could punch him.

“yeah, well, he’ll have to deal with it. we can meet at the hotel bar,” you hurriedly respond, raking your fingers through your hair in an attempt to self-soothe. if you leave any later, you’ll get stuck in morning traffic.

as you walk away from him, he shouts, “don’t miss me too much!”

you roll your eyes.

“kick him in the nuts first, then punch him,” you mutter under your breath, making your way down the street to get in your car.

jeno slots a cigarette between his teeth. he stands against the railing of the hotel bar’s balcony, looking down at the lights that begin to flicker on as the sun sets, leaving the small city in the shroud of night.

flicking at his lighter, flame strikes the tip of his stick and he takes a pull.

he doesn’t know why, but he’s nervous while he waits for you.

there’s a part of him that offers up the fact that he shouldn’t even care about the fact that you’re here, that you’re finally back, because he’s got more to worry about than some girl he’d fucked years ago.

but he pushes that part to the back of his mind. for you, he couldn’t give less of a fuck.

so why is he standing on this balcony waiting for you?

he’s nearly halfway through his cigarette when you push through the glass doors, and he smiles to himself.

“got all dressed up for me, huh?” he says through his cigarette, which stays pinned in his teeth.

“yeah, well,” you shrug, pushing hair out of your face. “i didn’t wanna be in my work clothes at a fancy hotel bar.”

jeno smiles again. he decides to pull the cig out of his mouth and hold it out between his two fingers. “want some?”

you look at him incredulously.

“no.”

“okay. your loss.”

“could we start?” you ask, and jeno blows smoke off the balcony.

“on what?” he asks.

you look at him again, as if you were hoping he’d get the message. “on what we were supposed to do? talk?”

jeno scrunches his face up in thought. that’s the last thing he’d want to do. “let’s go to a club.” he says, bluntly.

you’re just about to continue talking when he snuffs out the cigarette with his boot and walks back inside.

his hands are shoved in his pockets as he makes his way to the elevator. he hears your high heels walking quickly towards him.

“jeno,” you call. he stifles a laugh at your frustration. “motherfucker, we’re not going to a club.”

the doors open, and he steps in. you’re stood on the other end, holding onto the button. you just won’t listen to him, won’t you?

“yeah, we are,” he contests, and tugs you into the elevator and presses a button to close it.

“what the fuck?” you ask. he puts his arm over your shoulder.

he turns his head to look at you, at your angry eyes and all the thoughts flitting around that little brain of yours. he thinks of the questions you might ask him, at how your reappearance in his life nearly broke him down after all these years. “i need a drink.”

“we were at a hotel bar,” you sigh as you wait for his car by the curb, stood next to him. you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso. “and i left my coat.”

you’re shivering in the cold of the night. he feels a twang in his chest at the sight of you, and catches himself feeling guilt over pulling you around at his every whim.

“here”, he says. he shrugs his oversized blazer off and throws it over your shoulders. “what?” he says, after seeing the way your eyes try to read his. “i can be nice.”

“okay,” you respond quietly, wrapping his blazer tighter around you. he’s been using the same cologne since college. you’re getting deja vu. “i’m still mad at you.”

his chauffeur drives up to the curb when he reaches out to open the passenger door for you, gesturing inside. “i know.”

you realize the position you’d put yourself in the second jeno stops you from opening the car door for yourself. stepping out of a rockstar’s car, with him holding its door open for you, to walk into a club. would you be photographed? what are the lengths you’d go to fit the puzzle of your past back together?

you don’t have the time or the attention to focus on answering such a question, as he rests his hand on your lower back to lead you into the club. the music thumps and swells in your ears as you make your way inside.

walking you to the bar, jeno leans against the counter as he waits for the bartender to finish a drink they were stirring up.

“what’ll you get?” jeno asks you, lunging closer to shout the words into your ear.

“an iced tea?” you respond. he looks at you incredulously. “fine. a pale, i guess.”

“still your drink, huh?” he smiles, repeating your order to the bartender. “double whiskey for me.”

“since when were you a whiskey guy?” you scoff.

“since i could afford it,” he smiles wider, handing you your drink. he downs his in one go, and suddenly the bottle in your hand feels ten times colder than it was when he’d given it to you.

you try to chug at least half of it, but the bitter taste and the carbonate that swims down your throat makes the task increasingly difficult.

somehow, he’s found you both an empty booth to sit in. you sit on the outer edge of the crescent couch. he shimmies his way practically next to you. he asks a wandering waiter for another drink, while you nurse half your beer in your hands. you’d think it better to let it warm in your palm over drinking the whole thing, anyway.

“i missed you, y’know,” he shouts over the noise. it’s an awful venue to be having a deep conversation, but you suppose you’d do whatever made jeno comfortable enough to talk.

you look at him, then roll your eyes. he laughs at your reaction. “you? missing me?”

“hey, it’s the truth. we got signed to our record what, two weeks after i ended things?” he says, throwing his arm over the booth’s backrest. “didn’t have nearly enough of you yet.”

you have the urge to laugh. “you didn’t end things. i did.”

he purses his lips and squints at you. “pretty sure i did, babe.”

“no,” you insist, “i ended things. i found out you hadn’t told donghyuck yet and ended things right then and there.”

jeno’s eyes practically twitch at the mention of his stepbrother. he sucks at his teeth for a second before conceding. “okay, gorgeous. you ended things. silly me.”

you try to read his expression afterwards, but all you’re getting are loud signals that he’s giving you that look that means he’s just itching to have a taste of you. you don’t know how well it settles in your stomach.

coughing, you try to switch up the subject. “so,” you shout. the strain on your voice will definitely have its consequences in the morning. “let’s talk.”

‘’bout what?” he says. a busboy had handed him the drink that sits in his hands.

“quit acting dumb, jen,” you sigh. “i wanna talk about you. about everything that’s happened. about why you’re so different now.”

he looks at you questioningly. “different?”

“yeah, different. like a switch flipped from the time you left to now.”

he chuckles lightly, tilting his head before taking another sip of his drink. “i don’t think i’ve changed. i’ve just… found where i belong.”

something about what he says twists your tummy in the wrong way. “where you belong? like, with the boys?” you know that statement is far from the truth. if he’d felt like he belonged among his bandmates he wouldn’t be acting the way he does toward them.

he laughs, throwing his head back, as if you’d told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “not with the boys, no. well, donghyuck, i guess, yeah. but—with the attention. i’d never admit this openly, but, like, i’m one of most well-known members of the band. people love me. i belong there. where people love me, praise me. i’m a fucking star.”

it takes you a moment to process what he’d told you. if it isn’t the definition of letting fame get to one’s head, you don’t know what it is.

noticing your silence, jeno’s the first to speak up.

“now that i’ve talked, can we drink more or something?” he asks. you’re quick to notice how his hand falls on your knee as he moves closer to speak into your ear.

“i’m good, jen, but you can go ahead,” you respond, waving your nearly empty beer in front of him. you’re suddenly missing your warm bed and your quiet apartment more than ever. a light spin in your head doesn’t spell good news for you, either. your system is not very tolerant of alcohol. “i don’t think i’ll be getting any other straight answers from you, so i’d best just get home.”

“aw, c’mon, gorgeous. i paid off a bouncer for this booth. stay awhile,” he says, his hand slowly traveling up your thigh. “stay with me.”

though his touch on your skin is light, the grip he has on you keeps you still in your seat. the flashing lights and alcohol in your system cloud your judgement, spinning it into little spirals in your head. you stare into his big browns, the way they flicker between your eyes and down to your lips, that you barely even register that the both of you had moved closer to each other.

like opposite sides of two magnets, you’re drawn to him, into his eyes, the smell of his cologne that’d once seeped into every corner of your college apartment, and the slight whiff of whiskey and tobacco on his collar. in a split second, his lips are on yours. you pull away, ever so slightly, but he places his hand on the back of your jaw to keep you in place.

the pit in your stomach drops low enough for you to snap out of your haze, enough for you to writhe out of his hold and push his wandering hands away from you.

“jeno, i’m not fucking doing this,” you say shakily, brushing hair out of your face. you’re grabbing your bag before he can respond. “all these years, you’re gone, and now you take me out to a club, thinking you could sweet talk yourself into my pants? fuck off.”

you’re rushing out of the club, but you know he isn’t far, as the sound of his footsteps follow closely.

the doors open and you’re walking out onto the curb. “babe, come on—“

“don’t fucking call me that, you piece of shit,” you spit at him, trying to stand your ground despite the way the ground seems to wobble underneath you. “i’m calling a ride.”

you sense him walk up closer to you. you hold your hand out onto the street, hoping for a cab to make its way towards you when you feel his hands on the bare skin of your arms.

“don’t be that way, pretty girl,” he says, too quiet and close for comfort, into your ear. “i just wanna have a little fun with you. like old times.”

disgust bubbles within you as you shove him away. walking hastily down the sidewalk, you search in panic for a taxi to take you home. “could you just fuck off?” you say, but he refuses to relent. “i’m not fucking you.”

“you’re a fucking bitch, y/n.” he shouts as you walk farther from him.

all you remember is the blood rising to your head, the sound of your own rapid footsteps, and a solid slap across the face.

jeno holds his hand up to his cheek as he looks at you in shock.

“you’re a fucking piece of shit, jeno,” you repeat to him. “leave me the fuck alone. forever, preferably.”

you begin to walk away, still holding a hand out for a cab. adrenaline rushes through your system. your body is practically vibrating. jeno’s footsteps do not follow.

a cab rolls up to the curb, and you give the driver your address. you climb in and shut the door, feeling like an idiot for ever thinking he'd deserve a chance.

the tears start rolling down your face before you can register them at all.

you spend the weekend at home, avoiding your work responsibilities. you’ve decided to quit the project on daydream altogether. it’s clear that it isn’t a job you’re cut out for.

it’s the monday after, and it seems as though the entire world is shrouded in grey. the rain pounds down against your windows in waves, and fog restricts your view of the city outside. it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t bring yourself to leave your apartment.

you’re in the midst of brushing out your hair when you hear the doorbell ring.

simultaneously, your phone dings with a new notification. not from jaemin, nor renjun, nor jeno (thank god), but from an unknown number. goosebumps rise on your skin at the thought of who it might be.

it couldn’t be, though. not after how he’d so graciously greeted you several days ago. right?

from unknown number:

outside of your apartment. open up

the words are all too familiar.

as slowly as you can, you make your way to your front door. you swing it open.

on your foyer, drenched and soaked in rainwater from head to toe, stands the one person you’d known all your life as the living embodiment of the sun. he clutches a wet clump of cloth.

“you left your coat at the hotel bar.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE | third chapter done:) sorry for the long wait, i was caught up w a lot of personal stuff and writers block but im back! im really sorry for the way i wrote jeno lol. final member chapter coming soon im so scared TAGLIST | @snflwrhaerecs4u @niinjo @anniebyanto @lunaryoongie @wonyofanclub @turtash @savage-aespa @kayleeshinee @moonxiiey