#I THINK I'M GOING TO CRY LOOKING AT THIS. DO YOU SEE

[moonstruckme]

Hello ! I hope you are okay, I have 2 Idea for the new girl/who's that girl au, so i'm sharing it with you ! First idea : she locked herself out of the flat (closed the door and left the key inside, so she is just here waiting for one of the guys to come home and hoppen the door. Second idea : she found a dog (a border collie , yeah it is clearly inspired from something that happened to me x))and she bring the dog home while she try to contact the owner. Or you can put the two idea together and she is locked outside her appartment with a stranger's dog. Thank you for reading my request , have a good day ^^

Thanks for your request angel! I did start to use both of these, but then I had an idea and the second one ended up somewhat altered haha, hope you still like it <3

cw: modern au

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re slurping up the last of your iced latte when the door to your flat opens. 

“Oh.” Remus stops short at the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hall. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” you say cheerily, careful not to jostle the pocket of your hoodie too much as you stand. You pat Remus’ shoulder as you go past him. “Thanks.” 

He had clearly been on his way out, but at your entrance he circles back inside the flat. “Have you been out there long?” 

“No.” You dump your empty cup in the trash. Your pastry’s gone cold, but you think it might still be good microwaved. “Just forgot my key, figured one of you had to go in or out eventually.” 

Remus tracks your movements with his eyes, taking another few steps in from the open doorway. “Why didn’t you knock?” 

“Didn’t want to wake anyone.” 

Your flatmate makes a sound you’re becoming familiar with from him, a sigh mixed with a laugh. Bafflement meets amusement meets exasperation. “You don’t need to worry about that. Please don’t, actually. James is out on his run, but I’ve been up for an hour. And whatever he tells you, Sirius doesn’t actually need to sleep until the afternoon.” 

You grin at him as you set your pastry in the microwave. The way the boys tease each other is immensely endearing to you, but you don’t feel familiar enough yet to partake yourself. And you certainly know better than to mess with Sirius’ sleep. 

When the loud beeps from pressing the microwave buttons makes you wince, Remus gives you a wry look. 

You shrug in response. The movement causes the slumbering creature in your hoodie pocket to stir. You cup your hand over it instinctively. 

“What do you have there?” asks Remus. 

“Uh…” You imagine you look very sheepish right about now. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to make us keep it.” 

His eyes narrow. Your pocket wiggles. “Why? What is it?” 

You reach inside the pocket of your hoodie the way a criminal suspect might reach for their weapon at gunpoint; slow, careful, showing you have nothing to hide. What you pull out is gray and striped and so small it nearly fits in the palm of your hand. 

“I found him outside,” you say. “Isn’t he cute? I couldn’t just leave him.” 

You didn’t imagine your flatmates would be thrilled about adding a fifth occupant to your living situation. You figured you’d probably have the best luck with James, but you’ve got your spiel all ready—how you’ll keep him in your room, only temporarily, just until you can find his owner. They have to live in the building, right? He was only just outside. But Remus does something you didn’t anticipate; he melts. 

“Oh,” he breathes, voice softening to a near whisper as he bends to see the tabby kitten currently cupped in your hands. “You found him by himself?” 

“I didn’t see any other cats around,” you say. You stroke your thumb down the kitten’s side. It leans into the touch sleepily. “And he was crying. You should have heard it, it’d break your heart.” 

“I’m sure. Hi, darling,” Remus murmurs, that lilt of his suddenly more prominent than ever as he scratches the kitten’s tiny head. “Hello. Were you making a fuss to get softhearted girls to bring you inside, hm?” 

You find your face warming for reasons you can’t discern. “It was a very convincing ploy.” 

“Mm, I can see that.” Remus pets behind your new friend’s ears, stooped so low he’s nearly at eye level with the tabby. His expression is all soft fondness, eyes warm and the hint of a smile ticking up his mouth. You catch yourself admiring the freckles that smatter across his cheekbones. “Are you sure there weren’t any others like him around?” 

“Not that I saw. Why?” 

“Well, there’s—” 

The microwave goes off. You react like it’s a bomb detonating, the beeping shattering your bubble of quiet and causing you to stiffen your back abruptly. Remus straightens back up, too, chuckling. He sets a pacifying hand on your head, and you relax some. This is his way of conveying affection, you’ve learned; James is incredibly liberal with it, Sirius slips it in through teasing and jibes, and Remus lays his palm atop your head like you’re a cat in need of calming. It makes you feel a bit like you’re glowing when he does it. No wonder you felt so drawn to your homeless little friend. 

You smile at him, sheepish, but you both turn when you hear the loud groan from down the hall. Sirius’ door opens. 

“Could we please stop setting off alarms and whatever the fuck before the bloody sun has come up?” he fumes, trudging down the hall. 

You look out the window, perplexed. The sun is well and high. 

But Sirius has stopped in his tracks. His eyes are fused to the kitten in your hands. “What is that doing here?” 

“I found him outside,” you say, holding him up for Sirius to see. “He’s sweet, don’t worry.” 

Your flatmate takes a step back like the creature might leap at him. “Remus—” 

“I know,” Remus sighs. “I was about to tell her.” 

You frown, bringing the kitten close to your chest. “Tell me what?” 

“That thing is fucking wild.” Sirius glares. 

“No, he isn’t,” you defend him. “He’s super friendly. He loves being pet.” 

“Nope.” Sirius shakes his head. “He comes from a twat mum, who had a bunch of twat spawn, and now they’re infiltrating our flat. It’s a fucking plot, is what it is.” He jabs a finger towards your chest, and the kitten hisses. Sirius reels back. “See?” 

“He does seem like a housecat, but there’s a colony of strays in the alley next to us,” Remus explains more gently. “One of the girls had babies before they could catch her to spay, and they all look a lot like this one.” 

“But…” You look down at the kitten nearly falling asleep again on your chest. “...he’s being so cuddly.” 

“It is strange,” Remus agrees. “Maybe he just really likes you.” 

“Um, hello.” James spreads his arms as he walks inside, sweaty and in his absurdly short running shorts. They make you stifle a laugh every time. “We’re just leaving the door open now? Is this some new attempt at being neighborly?” He, too, pauses once he sees what you have in your hands. “Oh, you’ve found one of Mrs. Norris’ kittens.” 

Sirius shudders, seemingly just at the mention of the name. “She’s brought it inside.” 

“I can see that.” James’ head cocks interestedly as he comes over. “Why?” 

“I didn’t know he had a family,” you explain dejectedly. 

“It’s good that he does, though,” says Remus, touching your elbow kindly, “isn’t it?” 

You sigh. “Yeah.” 

“And now that we know,” Sirius says emphatically, “banish it from whence it came.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Weren’t you sleeping?” 

“I was.”

“I can see why you didn’t recognize him as a stray.” James is rubbing underneath the tabby’s chin while it preens. “He hardly seems feral at all.” 

You hum. Taking the kitten from your chest, you hold him out towards Sirius experimentally. He hisses; Sirius scowls back. 

“Seems like it’s just you,” you deduce. 

“It is not.” Sirius crosses his arms. “That thing is evil.” 

James takes the kitten from you. It goes willingly into his arms. “Definitely just you, mate.” 

[mononijikayu]

thinking about volleyball player! sukuna getting upset because astrophysicist! reader doesn't wanna go with him in the shower after a long day of not seeing each other.

all volleyball player! sukuna wants is to hold reader's hand while he's cleaning his face for the night because he wants to feel you close after being touch starved.

because god forbid a loving devoted husband like him just wants to be with and feel his dear and beloved wife close to him after a long (heartbreaking) day of not being together. god forbid that this is his love language.

"are you actually mad at me?" sukuna pouts as he stands before you, still holding your hand. "do you actually not love me anymore?"

you sighed, looking at him. "my love, i did multiple labs today. i wanna be lazy right now."

"but i missed you." he whines to you, almost like a cat after not getting the belly rubs he wants. "come on, you can sit on the stool there while i look at you prettily at the mirror, still holding my hand."

"ryomen sukuna—"

"woah, just say you don't love me anymore at this point." he cuts you off, his face looking offended. "that's not my name. how dare you?"

"my love, really....." you sighed, rolling your eyes at his antics. you looked up and saw him glaring at you, like he was ready to cry. "its just the bathroom. you're just getting cleaned up."

"god forbid a man wants to multi–task." he huffs, shaking his head at you. his eyes looked like they were begging now. a sudden change from before. his hand squeezing your own. "come on, baby. just give in."

nearly a decade or so being together with such love with ryomen sukuna, you had always known that he was clingy but you never thought that he would be this clingy after getting married to you.

in some ways, marriage didn't really change your dynamics or your feelings for each other. that's just how it was when you've been so in love and continue to be in love after all this time.

but there was something about getting married that made the intensity of his desire to hold you, to touch you even more overwhelming. his life is incomplete when he's not feeling the warmth that completes the cold sweat that comes after he sits down and leaves the court for the day.

his body demands the warmth of you to complete him when the passion of the court cools down. because at the end of the day, he will walk out of that court. he will always go and in and out of it.

but you were the only one he could never leave. you were the only one that he will never resign himself away from. you were that only exception. because you bring him to life in ways not even the thunderous intensity of that ball hitting his palm ever would.

your warmth was more than anything that could ever be in this world. and he knows it. you knew it. so, yes, you could feel annoyed at the thought of him sulking and groaning and crying and moping with neediness for you and everything about you.

but it instantly goes away. because you love this man. and he loves you. that will never go away. annoyance is temporary but wanting to love him with everything despite it all is forever.

you looked at him for one more moment, seeing the tears threaten to fall down his eyes as though he was a little child about to have a crash out over not getting his favorite lollipop. you shake your head and started smiling and then laughing.

"alright, alright. just tonight, my love. after that, we'll go to bed."

you saw the threat of tears immediately disappear as he grins widely, almost as if his melt down had never happened. almost instantly, your husband became a golden retriever who has finally gotten a treat to enjoy.

he all but embraces you with everything in him, with you being nearly falling over as you get consumed by the warmth of his much bigger built. impressively, your hands are still locked in with his.

"my love—i'm about to fall!"

he laughs. "baby, you'll never fall. not when im here to catch you!"

and you like to think that's the case. he's never let you fall anywhere. he's never let you suffer or feel like he never cares for you or loves you. instead, he keeps you high above with him in the joyous clouds, enjoying the bountiful of the love he pours everything into.

when you both go to the bathroom, he's doing his facial with his free hand while his other one still remained wrapped against your own. you continued to listen to him talk about his day with enthusiasm, his bright scarlet eyes never leaving your own, which was full of love for him.

"did you know they're finally allowing me to have my uniform and shoes engrave the 'my love' on it?"

you blinked. "you requested it? and they approved it?"

"i mean, i've asked about it the moment i signed for them babe! been wanting to keep you with me at court if i can't wear my ring." he says, beaming at you. "but since im renegotiating my contract with the tokyo great bears and with the national team, it was the demand i asked for in my contract and they said yes!"

you could feel your entire chest feel warm and your entire body turn red as the blood in pumped high with pressure, feeling overwhelmed by the love your husband has for you. you use your free hand to hide your face in your palm, out of sheer flustered feeling taking over you.

how did you ever luck out in love in a world that has such a bleak look? how could one have such a big heart to love? how could you not love him and only him? how could every bit of everything that is negative just burst out in positives when he loves you like this?

"baby, why are you lowering your head like that—"

"ah, you're so...." you groaned at him, before looking up, still red. "you're so!...."

he turns around, moved closer to you and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. you were stunned as the smell of his vanilla creme echoes into your nose. you turn redder than before.

"love you too, baby." he whispered to you, his eyes blossoming in heartfuls.

how can he always just defeat you with his love?

".....hurry up, i'm getting sleepy."

"hey, don't sleep before i can!"

[leighsartworks216]

Yeah, 'Cause Maybe Then You'd Want Me Just As Much

Sylus x Mephisto!Reader

In the actual Nightplumes memory, Mephisto actually gets along with the dove but um fuck that, we want it to hurt. Also wanna say the "I'm busy right now" line is from the actual game, which inspired this tbh

Title from "Girl Crush" by Little Big Town

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues, body dysphoria, shapeshifting, biting, fear of water, storms, pet names, crying, possibly ooc

Word Count: 3,699

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Ugh, doves. They think they're sooo perfect just because they're so round and cute and everyone loves them. Those pathetic little coos. A bird should make real noise, not just those dumb sounds.

So why is Sylus - a man whom you were led to believe had good tastes in avian creatures - giving it so much attention?

You bite his earlobe. His head jerks away on reflex, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth. "Behave," he chides. Doesn't even look at you.

You glare down at the pathetic dove again. Somehow it hurt its wing. And for some godforsaken reason Miss Hunter brought it to Sylus to look after. You know for a fact she has a doctor friend, why not foist it on him until she gets back from her trip? Yeah, Sylus is great with animals, but that's beside the point.

You bite his ear again. He sighs. "Do I have to send you on a mission?" You bristle at the question, feathers standing on end. His brow is furrowed as he gets back to examining the dove's wing. It's not even a bad break; it'll recover in no time.

So why can't he spare a second on you?

You try a different approach. With a more delicate touch, you preen the ends of his hair. He still doesn't glance your way. "I'm busy right now. Go entertain yourself for a bit."

Oh...

You step awkwardly on his shoulder, feeling suddenly too out of place there. Your wing almost clips his head as you take off for your perch. Even here, the wood just feels wrong under your feet. Your feathers are ruffled. They can't seem to relax. A chasm opens in your heart. Synthetic as it may be, you can still feel it. Like a black hole, sucking in all the light.

The dove coos. You can't stay in here. You slip out of an open window and fly off. Where to, you have no idea. Anywhere but here.

"Anywhere" lands you outside the window of a fourth floor hotel room. The light is still on, just a small lamp by the bed, but it's enough to see a familiar figure sitting against the headboard reading a mission brief. You tap on the glass.

Miss Hunter looks up with a start. The surprise quickly turns to a frown. She gets up in a huff and jerks the curtains closed.

You can hear a phone ringing inside a second later.

"Sylus! What have I told you about sending your bird to spy on me?!"

The faint crackle of Sylus's voice answers with a sharp scoff. "I haven't told Mephisto to do anything," he retorts.

"Then why is it outside my window right now, huh?!"

"Why don't you ask?" he teases dryly. "Maybe they missed picking fights with you."

"You-!"

"Goodnight, kitten."

The beep of an ended call. You tap on the glass again, softer this time.

Miss Hunter huffs inside. Moments pass, but the curtains remain drawn shut. You can't tell if the lamp has been turned off; you can't even hear her moving around. Maybe she's decided to take the "out of sight, out of mind" approach. Unsurprising, really. If she isn't ignoring you, she's shouting abuse at you.

A large crack of thunder rumbles through your circuits, stirring the air with electricity. You hadn't even noticed the weather - the clouds are dark, covering every sliver of sky for miles.

You tap on the glass more urgently.

The first droplets of rain begin to fall. Slow, random. And then more and more, all at once in a barrage of water. You press yourself tighter to the window and tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

The curtains are thrown open. The window lifts from its sill. Before she can angrily ask why you won't leave her alone, you fly in as quick as you can. Just in the nick of time, it seems, as the rain turns into a proper storm, lightning firing through the sky in a burst of light. You tumble onto the end of the bed, feathers ruffled.

She huffs as she slides the window shut, ready to tease you or yell at you, but another loud boom of thunder makes her flinch and close the curtains quickly, words stolen. "Fine! I guess you can... stay the night," she relents. She rounds the bed to sit back down where she was before. She picks up the tablet with her mission data and holds it up, pointing at you accusingly. "And no telling Sylus about anything you see here, got it?"

You caw back at her. You don't wanna tell Sylus anything right now. It might distract him from his sweet, precious dove...

Knees bent, she sets the tablet on her thighs and starts reading again. Rain hits against the window, picked up by a growing wind that slams it into the hotel building. Another shock of thunder. She curls slightly more into herself.

You preen your feathers. Align them all once more, clean them from the long flight here, soothe your nerves. All the while watching Miss Hunter's reactions to the storm. With every boom of thunder, she's startled from her reading. She does well trying to hide it. You can see the twitch in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and hands as she holds tighter to the tablet, the way her knees pull in slightly more. It doesn't take a genius to see what's happening. The real question is why she's not doing anything to deal with it. Is it because she's trying to play it cool with you around? Not giving anything away so you'd have less to report back with?

You look around the room. It's nothing special. Certainly nothing as luxurious as the suites Sylus stays in. A suitcase is on the floor by the tv stand. A work bag is set on the desk. The perfect amount of stuff for a week-long work trip, you suppose.

You fly over to the desk, nails ticking against the wood.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

You poke your beak into a few of the pockets on the bag.

"Leave that alone! Don't go through my stuff!"

You wonder for a moment how soundproof these walls are, and just how confused someone listening in would be when she's answered by the caw of a crow.

You finally find what you're looking for in a side pocket and pull it out. It doesn't really fit well in your beak, but you make do. She's just tossed her tablet aside to jump up and bolt over to you, but she stops when you fly back over to the bed.

She blinks at you, confused. "What are you...?" You hop across the cheap bedding and hold out the item to her. She hesitantly accepts your offering, and you drop the earphone case in her hand. Understanding dawns on her. "Oh... thanks."

You walk to the other side of the bed, going around the tablet to roost on top of the untouched pillow. It's kinda hard and lumpy, but at least you're not outside. With that much water, you'd certainly shut down. You have no idea how Sylus would retrieve you if you had, way up here. A bitter part of you wonders if he would.

Miss Hunter watches as you tuck your beak under your wing. You don't really sleep during the night, but you'll manage. She slips the earphones in her ears and plays some music on her phone. The storm outside, the faint pulse of music, and her tapping on the tablet are the only sounds.

She opens the window for you in the morning, when the storm has passed. With one last warning not to follow her or report back to Sylus, she heads out for her mission and you take your time flying back home. She asked about the dove only once during your stay. A bandaid around her finger reminds her not to ask again.

-

"What time did you get back, pretty bird?" Sylus crosses the room from the doorway, fully dressed for the night and reaching out to scratch you under your chin.

You scoot away, further down your perch, glaring at the pretty white thing on his shoulder. He doesn't try to reach you. He lets you step away, hand dropping and eyebrow raised. "Are you going to be this feisty all week?"

You caw indignantly. Of course you are! That should be you perched up on his shoulder! You should be the one preening under his attention! Instead, Miss Hunter brings along a new, cute little thing, pestering him to take care of it "for her", and now it's the only bird around here he cares about.

He tsks. "You don't have to be jealous, sweetie. It's only for a week. As soon as she gets back, you'll never have to see it again."

The dove flies down from his shoulder to the perch. Your perch! You caw obscenities as you take its place on Sylus's shoulder - your rightful place. He winces at how loud you are directly in his ear, wings spread to give you a larger appearance as you speak your mind to the little dove that seems to only stare up blankly at you.

He smoothes a hand down your back. For a moment you forget how angry you are with him, too, for indulging Miss Hunter with this stupid task. For pushing you away in favor of caring for the pretty little dove. For not saying more when she called him about you. For just that moment, the firing synapses of your circuitry tingle pleasantly where his fingers brush over your feathers and seeing the dove on your perch becomes bearable as you stand on his shoulder, your favorite perch of all.

"Easy, pretty bird. It knows this is your territory," he assures. "It's still young, that's all."

And then you remember that none of this would be happening if this damn bird wasn't here.

You caw one last time at the dove, nibble harshly at Sylus's ear, and retreat through the living room door. You follow the familiar twists and turns up into the tallest heights of the base, into an alcove full of your treasures and soft bedding. You don't come up here often anymore, but it feels safe. The one spot of the house that really is just yours; no matter what Sylus says, this is his territory, you're just given more allowances than other people. And thanks to the times in the past when the twins would try to toss things up as a competition, tossing pebbles and jewels and even bullets, you have the privilege of pulling shut a little door, fully isolating yourself in your sanctuary.

Small lights turn on at the flip of a switch that makes a pleasant click. They shine and shimmer against your piles of trinkets. Coins, jewels, jewelry, a shell casing or two - all in their respective piles.

You hop over to your nest: the finest twigs woven together into a bowl shape, with strips of soft fabric lining the inside. Laying in it is like resting in cupped hands. You imagine they're Sylus's hands, clean from ever having held any other bird in his lifetime. His thumbs smoothing down your sides until your feathers are fluffed and eyes are relaxed shut. Pressing soft kisses to your head as he talks to you. You want to be cared for like that. Is the dove getting that same attention?

You get up from your nest. You can't think about it. Can't allow yourself to linger on the thought for any longer than you already have. So you sort through your things. You begin dividing them up into new piles with a different organization system. One by one, everything is shifted over. You're not sure how long it takes. You don't care.

But once you've finished, it feels wrong. Settles uneasily in your gut. Everything is out of place, even though it's all organized. Everything isn't where it should be. You spend even longer sorting it all back.

-

You squeeze your eyes shut. Tighten your hands into fists. Dig your nails into your palm as you will your shape to change. Grit your teeth as metal panels try to shift in unusual ways. Synthetic feathers standing up along your head, neck, back and arms, shuttering with the strain.

You release a breath and everything comes back together; metal in place, feathers laying flat, body un-tensed. You pant softly. Inhale deeply, and try again.

It feels wrong. It's like trying to squeeze into a too-small shirt. It won't happen, and the more you try to force it, the more it hurts, the more uncomfortable you are, and the more the fabric strains at the seams.

You gasp deeply. You're lightheaded. You wobble where you sit on the roof, supporting yourself unsteadily against the snow-laden tiles. It takes a minute to pass. Your skin feels misaligned, like a twisted sock. You try to ignore it; it just means you're a little bit closer to succeeding.

"I thought I might find you up here."

You turn away from the voice. From the sound of Sylus's shoes against the roofing. He sits down a few feet away, eyes never giving up their gaze on you. You hate it. For all the time you've known him, his attention on you has never made you uncomfortable or unsettled. Now, you wish he'd just look anywhere else. Go anywhere else.

Secretly, deep down, you're glad he's finally looking at you again.

He tilts his head. Frowns at the strange way your feathers stick up, and the odd shift of the synthetic skin on your back. "The dove is gone," he says.

You nod. "I know."

Quiet.

"Do you want me to apologize?" he asks.

You shrug. "Doesn't matter. It's gone."

"But you're still upset."

You pull your knees to your chest, but you can't pull them up as far as you'd like to. It's like there's too much strain. A rubber band drawn too far out and waiting to snap or break under the tension. You try to ignore it. Play it off. Pretend everything is normal and that this is intentional.

He doesn't buy it for a second. It's the curse of growing up with him. Of being by his side most of your lives. Of course he knows something is wrong.

You listen to the shifting of fabric behind you. Nearly jump at the feeling of cloth placed on your shoulders. His heavy black coat, long and still warm from his body. You don't feel the falling snow. Yet you can't stop yourself from pulling the front closed around you.

His fingers skillfully brush along your feathers, soothing them down with ease. And yet they keep standing back up a moment after, revealing the distress of your thoughts. Before he can say anything, you do.

"Do you wish I was a dove?"

His hand stops, pausing mid pet. He reaches out to turn you toward him. One hand on your knee to face you to him, the other on your shoulder. You wince as he does. And he notices - of course he notices. He's frowning, brow furrowed, as he pulls aside his coat to expose your legs further. You don't meet his eyes, but you feel them.

"Is that what you've been trying to do up here?" he questions, voice tight with concern and gravity. "You can't force yourself into changing-"

"But if I could, would that make you happier?"

You meet his gaze. Imploring, begging him to tell you. Tell you that he's been distant this week because he realized just how much better doves are. Because he realized how much trouble you are, mechanized and synthetic and fake. Because you aren't enough now that you can't be anything more than you are.

His large hands rise to your face, holding your cheeks, keeping your attention on him. He leans forward slightly, foreheads not quite touching. "If you could change again, I would be happy to see you become anything you wanted. Whether that means becoming a dove, or a hawk, or a hummingbird. The shape you take doesn't matter to me, because I fell in love with you. Crow, or dove, or human. Just you."

You search his eyes. Those pretty garnet eyes. Searching for any hint of a lie. But you already know he means it. "You were so dismissive of me..."

He frowns, brow pinched, but he nods. He doesn't deny it. "I know. I'm sorry."

Emotion chokes up in your throat. "You didn't even ask Miss Hunter about me. Or- Or keep that dove from getting up on your shoulder." You hate that you can feel your face crumpling as tears bite your waterline. See the pain in his face as he diligently wipes away the ones that slip free. You hate that you're so emotional over this - over a stupid bird, but- "I don't want to be replaceable. I don't want to be just a pet to you."

"You're not-"

"Then act like it!" His eyes widen, shocked by your outburst. "Just stop pushing me away for Miss Hunter. Stop... stop waving me off and ignoring me. You're all I have, Sylus. I can't- I don't want to be replaced."

A sob tears its way out of you. Sylus can't recall a time he ever saw you crying - before or after the experiments. You were always happy, or curious, or angry. But never had you cried. Synthetic tears wash down your face, and it's his fault. An ache clenches his heart like a closed fist. He did this. He pushed you away, he made you feel unworthy, unimportant. Let a dove take liberties in your territory.

He draws you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you. You don't resist, even as he feels your feathers standing on end. They shudder with your cries. He smoothes his palms over them. Brushes them down, scratches the nape of your neck as he gently shushes you. You press your face into his collar. Your fingers curl tightly into his shirt. You hold on. Cling to him like he'll disappear if you loosen up for even a second.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your head. He means it. Deeply. "I should have acted differently. You are my closest friend. My beloved. And I ignored you."

He rubs your back overtop his coat, slowly. Feeling along your spine, your shoulder blades. It's still misaligned. Shifted out of place. You're in pain - because of him.

He's careful as he gathers you into his arms. He scoops you up, cradles you against him while doing his best not to hurt you further; he can't bear the thought of making things worse than he already has. Snow crunches beneath his feet as he stands on the tiles. He turns and begins carrying you inside.

"Let's take care of you now, pretty bird."

-

Just like trying to squeeze into a too-tight shirt, the removal can be tricky. Sylus makes it seem easy.

He rotates your legs until they pop back into the ball-joint, never lingering any longer than he has to. You lay on your stomach, quietly sniffling, while he seems to massage your back, slowly easing the metal into place. Each fix releases the strain. Each soft click eases your feathers back into a resting position.

When he's finished, he helps you sit up. Your legs overhang the table, dangling in the air. He doesn't look at you at first. Busies himself with grabbing a cloth. But then he looks you in the eye as he wipes away the watery formula of your tears. His brow is tight. Lips pulled down into a frown. His eyes, filled with remorse. You can almost see the plan formulating: all the auctions he could go to to buy the shiniest, most interesting things you love to cheer you up; of all the jewels in his treasuries, which would you like the most, if he doesn't just give them all to you; where will Miss Hunter be and when to give you the perfect opportunity to play tricks on her.

You don't want any of them right now. After a week of being pushed aside, of being distant, all you want is right here in front of you.

You nudge his hand away. He obeys without hesitation, dropping the cloth to the table and holding it there, restraining himself. He watches, slightly bewildered, as you reach out for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him down to your height, and hold him there.

He stands still. Doesn't do anything.

You squeeze him around his shoulders and he finally moves. Arms circle your waist, hands resting open against your back. You breathe him in, soak in his warmth. Your feathers finally relax. You finally relax.

"I don't hate you," you whisper beside his ear.

He releases a long breath, shoulders sagging under your arms. He's still tentative, still careful as he brushes his nose against your temple. "How can I make it up to you?"

A thousand diamonds. A million. No amount is too much. Nothing too far for him to reach. He would bake in the sun for a week if you said. Fly across the globe in search of the perfect pebble. Give you a whole new set of feathers, darker than midnight and softer than a kiss. He's prepared to give it all - what lengths will you have him go to absolve himself? What would it take for you to forgive him? How can he fix the damage he caused?

"Stay with me."

"You can ask for anything."

You shake your head. Turn your head to bury your face solidly in his neck. "I just want you again."

'Again' tears his heart to shreds. He scoops you up once more, trading places so he sits on the edge of the table with you in his lap. Your territory. "You'll always have me," he swears. "And I will spend lifetimes making sure you never doubt that ever again."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I'm curious on your take on the winter soldier causing some genuine damage by accident in the middle of sex.. like . Maybe forgetting his strength or something

I love your writing ❤️

ok I fwt anon... here's how I imagine it would go

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji!!)

also disclaimer: homicidal ideations (NOT towards reader I promise.) fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship. dark themes. read at your own discretion.

~~~

like always, he's up on his knees behind you, while your own knees are digging into the sheets. you're holding yourself up on your forearms and whining, keening into every thrust.

there's nothing more than the sounds of his hips pounding against yours, the little breaths he takes with every movement, and your endless moans as he gives it to you just the way you both like it.

he's holding your hips, moving you against him in time with his rhythm as he fucks you.

maybe you try to move, try to adjust your positioning, and as you do, his next thrust hits wrong. it's some fluke thing that makes you scream out in pain.

he's immediately taken aback, hands falling from where he's gripping you, removing all contact entirely. his eyes open wide, scanning you from head to toe, unsure of what the fuck just happened as you fall to your side. you bring a hand to your abdomen, clutching your stomach in pain, and your other hand comes to your face, biting down on your knuckle as you try to hold it together, and try like hell not to cry.

you don't know what the hell just happened. he doesn't know what the hell just happened. but something went majorly wrong and now you're cowering in pain, curled in a ball, burying your face in the pillow and hiding your tears from him.

his mind is almost blank, staring at you, hands moving even further away from you so he can't hurt you any more than he already has, apparently. he's trying to figure out what he did wrong, what's wrong with you, what he's supposed to do now??

you lay there as the cramping in your stomach begins, hissing through your teeth. he glances down to see a trail of blood dripping between your thighs.

you're the one person this isn't supposed to happen to.

the one person he doesn't want to see bleed. the one person he doesn't want to see crying in pain. the one person he doesn't want to inflict damage on.

he's not a man of words.

so in less than a second, he's up, running for whatever he can find to help you. you assume he's not coming back, and through the cramping and stinging pain, you mentally plan the way you're going to curse him out later for leaving you here like this.

he comes back, carelessly throwing a water bottle next to you as he carefully maneuvers you onto your back and brings a warm cloth between your legs.

you just lay there as he cleans up the small trickle of blood and holds the cloth in place for a few minutes.

don't bleed out. don't bleed out. please.

when it comes to his victims? he loves watching the blood pour from every orifice, from every nook and cranny as the life slowly leaves their eyes, their skin going pale and cold. it feels like heaven to him.

not you.

this is his own personal hell.

after a while, he gets up and discards the cloth in the bathroom. you're not hissing in pain anymore, recovering quickly enough. he stands in the corner of the room and debates what to do.

you watch him for a minute, holding eye contact with him as you try, and fail, to read what he's thinking.

he's thinking about leaving and never coming back, if only to keep you safe from him. from what he's capable of, from what he can't, won't do to you.

"please," you say calmly, holding out a hand to him.

he waits. thirty seconds go by. a minute.

you roll your eyes and look up to the ceiling, letting your hand fall to your side. you should've known better than to ask.

and then the weight on the bed shifts next to you, and he's wrapping himself around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. he looks so small and vulnerable in a way you've never seen.

you thread your fingers through his hair as he breathes you in. you can hear it, his shaky inhales, as he listens to your heartbeat and feels the heat of your body against his. the signs of life he usually puts out are all still there, thank god.

he's cautious, ever so cautious to not put any weight on you below the waist. if he caused you any more pain, he'd be out the door without hesitation.

he clings to you like never before, and you hold him tightly. you know what it means. this is his version of an apology.

the closest he can get to telling you he cares.

~~~

I'm literally a sucker for this weird, fuck ass relationship they have. they're so weird I love them. send more ideas.

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bucky tag list:

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[lieutenantsluvr]

what the quiet hides | oneshot

masterlist

pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

❝ I'm the escape to somethin' that's worse I am the shadow drivin' the hearse ❞

synopsis: Joel struggles to readjust to life in Jackson—a quiet life untouched by the constant specter of death that once followed him. Learning to live as someone who's no longer a killer is no easy thing. When does a monster cease to be a monster? Simply put, when you love it.

a/n: i'd like to say this is the semi parallel universe as death trapped, clad happily—in other words, you know him, you know the terror he's caused, the lives he's taken. hell, you probably encouraged some of it. you aren't someone random. you're important—important enough that he keeps you an arms length away. I like writing the reader as someone who is just plain tired. you want to love, but you're also exhausted from the hell you've been through—and joel can be a frustrating man. you love him, definitely, but at the end of the day you're tired of the wall he's forcing you behind.

warnings/tags: heavy fluff, angst, sexual suggestions, implied intercourse, semi-established relationship, reader is downbad for joel, he's traumatized ofc, lots of dialogue, you play with his hair, something about domestic reader and joel makes me start crying andshitting at the same time

w/c 10.2k

“You have to talk to him,” Tommy says, low and slow, teeth grazing his bottom lip like the thought’s gutting at him. At this point, it’s less a suggestion and more a quiet plea. His fingers twitch against the warm surface of his coffee mug—white, plain. Trembling just slightly. Nervous energy in every motion.

“I don’t know who you think I am to him,” you say, the words scraping out of your throat like sandpaper. You inhale sharp and dry, coffee clinging to the back of your tongue like a ghost. “Whatever he’s doing, whatever he’s not saying—that’s on him. That silence? It’s his choice.”

“Maria’s on my ass—” he starts, but you cut him off before the rest can tumble out.

“I know how she feels about him, Tommy. I know how the whole damn town feels about him.” The words spill out hot, too fast, like you’ve been holding them in too long and they’re finally clawing their way free. “But I can’t just—fix it. He hasn’t said a word to me since we got here. Hell, I don’t even live with them.”

You pause, breath shaky, eyes fixed on anything that isn’t him.

“I traveled across the goddamn country with him—and Ellie,” you say, softer now, voice rough at the edges. “And this is where we ended up. Right here. Barely a word between us.”

The silence that follows chews at your throat. You try to swallow it, try to make it into something cleaner. Something that hurts less.

“You’ve known your brother a hell of a lot longer than I have,” you say, voice low, frayed at the edges. You drag a tired hand down your face, like maybe the weight behind your eyes will go with it. It doesn’t. Your fingers find the mug again, still warm, still useless.

“So, why don’t you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do?”

The words hang there—sharp, bitter, hollow in the way grief is hollow. You’re not angry at Tommy. Not really. But the question is more than a plea; it’s an admission. You're out of road. Out of maps. And out of whatever thread was holding all this together. Before there was a plan, a mission. Now? Nothing. It's all freewill.

Tommy doesn’t speak right away. Just stares, jaw tight, like he’s weighing the truth against the damage it’ll cause.

“I think…” he starts, then trails off, eyes dropping to the mug in his hands like maybe it’ll give him courage. “I think he’s scared. And Joel… don’t know how to talk when he’s scared.”

You scoff, dry. “Yeah, well. I don’t know how to wait around for someone who won’t even look at me.”

Tommy doesn’t rise to meet your frustration. He lets it pass, steady and silent. He understands—probably better than anyone ever could. He shared blood, breath, and a womb with that man. But more than that, he sees the truth for what it is. Sees it clearer than you’re ready to admit. Two people, equally wrecked, equally stubborn, and completely in love. It’s written all over both your faces, even when you won’t look at each other.

A few heartbeats drag by in silence. Heavy ones. Worried ones.

“Have you talked to Ellie?” he asks finally. Not so much a question as a sideways shuffle—dodging the heat of your words, giving himself something safe to stand on.

“Every day,” you reply, with a tired breath. Your fingers tap out some nervous rhythm against the table, soft and restless. “She drops by. Talks shit. Makes me laugh.”

You pause. The next part stings, but it’s true, and you owe the truth to Tommy, even if it’s ugly.

“She makes jokes, too. About Joel and I—says we’re professionals at pretending the other one doesn’t exist.”

A humorless chuckle slips out before you can stop it. “She’s not wrong.”

Tommy doesn’t smile. He just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say the one thing that matters most. The thing you keep dancing around like broken glass on a kitchen floor.

“I think she gets on him about socializing,” you mutter, words slipping out like they’re trying to escape your throat before your heart can catch up. “Hell, I know she does.”

And still, he doesn’t come around.

The confession comes quiet, bitter, reluctant.

Truth is—you miss him. God, you miss him more than you’d ever admit out loud.

You miss the almost-smiles, those fleeting little ghosts of warmth he used to give when no one else was looking. You miss the gravity of him—how the air changed when he was near, how the silence always seemed heavier, fuller. You miss the scent of coffee on his skin, like he carried the morning with him wherever he went.

You miss the way his eyes found you in a room like they were built for it. Always watching. Always knowing. Seeing right through you without ever asking too much.

You miss that laugh—barely a breath, a half-hearted exhale that said more than words ever could. You used to live for that sound. Now it’s just an echo in your skull.

And those eyes. God, those deep, forest-dark eyes. Like dusk caught in human form. The kind that made you feel seen. The kind that burned. The kind that made you want to stay.

You drag your fingers across your mug again, fingertips numb from the cold now. You’re not even drinking the coffee. Just holding onto it like it might hold you back.

“Tommy, I—” you start, voice catching on the edge of something you’re not sure you want to say. “I don’t want to look desperate. I don’t want to seem like I need him. Knowing damn well he doesn’t need anyone, not really.” You swallow, trying to shake the weight off, but it’s there. Always there.

A long, suffocating beat of silence stretches between you.

And then, quieter, as if saying it aloud makes it more real: “I don’t want to… get hurt.”

The words hang in the air, brittle with honesty, and they taste bitter on your tongue. The weight of them presses down on your chest like something you’ve been carrying too long, but never dared to unpack.

Tommy doesn’t rush to answer. He leans back in his chair, hands resting on his knees, his eyes searching your face like he’s weighing something heavy. He knows this—he’s been here before, watching people break without ever meaning to.

“Hell,” he says, voice quiet but firm, like he’s been carrying this truth for a long time and it’s finally time to share it. “You’re not the only one scared of gettin’ hurt. We all are. Joel, me, you, Ellie…” His gaze softens just a fraction, the edges of his expression sharpening with something that feels like regret. “We all keep our walls up, ‘cause it’s easier than lettin’ someone in and watchin’ ‘em leave. Easier than lettin’ them hurt you.”

A pause, long and measured, before his eyes flick to the empty space between you both.

“But you know what, kid? You can’t keep livin’ like that. You can’t keep waiting for the hurt to come before you decide to feel anything. ‘Cause it’ll eat you alive, piece by piece.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice softer now, a little more worn. “You can’t fight what’s real. Not forever.”

You laugh—more of a bitter chide than anything else. The sound of it barely even feels like yours.

“What, you think your brother loves me?” Your eyes lock with Tommy’s, deadpan and heavy with a kind of dark amusement, though the smile you offer is anything but genuine. It’s a fragile thing, a mask you slip on just to hide the ache beneath.

Tommy’s expression hardens at your words. For a moment, there’s a sharp edge to his gaze—something that goes beyond the casual brotherly concern. It’s raw, almost desperate, like he’s reaching through the layers of sarcasm and deflection, trying to make you see the truth.

“You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here?” His voice drops, low and urgent, as if every word matters too much to waste. “I’ve only watched you two—hell, for a few months, tops—and I see it. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.” He shakes his head, frustration in his tone. “But neither of you want to admit it. Both of you too goddamn stubborn to let the walls down.”

Tommy leans in, eyes locked on yours, a kind of plea in them that cuts through the sarcasm.

“Look, I know my brother,” he says, his voice strained with a rawness you don’t often hear from him. “He’s broken. But goddamn, he cares about you. He wouldn’t let himself care, but he does. And you—” He pauses, “You’re no better. I know you’re scared of getting hurt. Hell, I get it. But if you don’t stop pushin’ him away, you’ll lose him before you even get the chance.”

You'll lose him before you even get the chance.

A beat of silence hangs in the air. His voice softens, almost pleading.

“I want this for you both. I want you to make it work.” He exhales sharply, like the weight of it all is finally catching up. “But you’re gonna have to stop running, or you’ll end up with nothin’ but regret.”

You're gonna have to stop running. You'll end up with nothin' but regret.

You shift uncomfortably in the diner booth, your eyes drifting over the busy room, lingering on the Tipsy Bison—a familiar chaos of voices, laughter, and clinking glasses. It's louder than usual today, the air thick with chatter and the smell of fried food. You don’t even register it, though. Your mind’s elsewhere, caught in a storm of what-ifs.

“It’s complicated, Tommy…” you start again, voice hesitant, like you're not sure if the words will come out right—or even if you want them to. “What if Ellie doesn’t want us together? What if—”

Your throat tightens, and you break off. There’s a lump there, one you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try. Ellie. She's a part of this too, in ways you can't ignore, in ways that make the whole thing feel like walking on glass. You can’t just pull Joel out of the wreckage of his past without considering her, without wondering if you’re tearing apart something she holds together.

Shit, maybe you're making excuses at this point.

“I don’t want to make things harder for her, or him,” you mutter under your breath, eyes flicking back to Tommy’s. But even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice. It doesn’t feel like you’re talking to him anymore, but to the fear inside you.

Tommy’s gaze hardens, but there’s something in his eyes—an understanding, mixed with the frustration of seeing you wrestle with the same doubts he’s been carrying for a while now. He leans forward, hands pressing into the table as he speaks, voice low but firm.

“Ellie’s not gonna stop you from doing what you feel is right,” he says, the words carrying a heaviness that suggests he’s had this conversation with himself a thousand times. “She’s smart. She knows what’s goin’ on between you two. Hell, she probably sees it clearer than either of you do.” He exhales sharply, “And if you think for one second that you’re doin’ her any favors by staying away, you’re wrong.”

He pauses, staring at you with a kind of raw honesty you don’t often get from him. “Ellie’s already lost enough people in her life. She knows the damage of keepin’ people at arm's length. And I think she wants you and Joel to make it work. She wants him to stop runnin’. But you—” Tommy leans in closer, voice growing softer, more insistent. “You gotta stop runnin’, too. The both of you are too goddamn old, and scared of gettin’ hurt to even take a chance on what could be good.”

He pulls back, letting his words hang in the air, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. “If you’re waitin’ for things to be perfect before you let your guard down, you’re gonna be waitin’ forever. And by then… it’ll be too late.”

Christ.

You exhale—deep, shaky. The kind that comes from somewhere buried, where you've been holding it all too tight for too long. Your forehead drops into your hands, elbows on the table, the weight of everything finally pressing down.

“You gotta stop clocking me like this, Tommy,” you mumble through your fingers, voice muffled, worn thin with exhaustion. There's no bite to it—just a hollow kind of resignation. The truth hurts worse when someone else says it out loud.

For a second, neither of you speaks. The noise of the Tipsy Bison hums around you, distant, like you’re underwater.

Tommy leans back, arms folded, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter—gentler.

“I’m not tryin’ to call you out. I’m just tired of watchin’ two good people pretend they don’t want the same damn thing.”

“Fine.” You say it like a weight’s being dragged out of your chest. Your eyes flick up from the mug, settling on Tommy—guarded, but less so than before. “I’ll try.”

The words taste strange coming out, like they don’t quite belong to you yet. But they’re real. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, the wall you’ve been holding up cracks just a little.

You lean back in the booth, staring past Tommy now, past the crowd, into the blurry space where you let yourself imagine something different—something softer.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say to him,” you admit. “But I’ll try. If he still wants to hear it.”

. . .

It’s later now. The sun’s long gone, buried beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep blue and silver. The moon hangs heavy above Jackson, casting a soft, almost mocking glow over the dirt roads and still porches. The air’s thick—hot in that suffocating way that clings to your skin. You tug at your shirt, the fabric damp and stubborn where it sticks to you, like even it doesn’t want to let go.

Joel’s house stands quiet in front of you. Still. Heavy. That same heavy stillness he wears like armor. He's intimidating. Fuck, even his house is.

You stare at the door like it might lunge at you. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to turn around. To walk back home. To pretend like this never happened. But your feet don’t move.

You can’t run anymore. Not from this.

Your hand rises before you even realize it—slow, shaking just enough to betray you—and you knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each one lands like a heartbeat, louder in your chest than it is in the air. And then nothing. Just silence pressing down on you like a second skin.

You swallow hard, already halfway regretting it—but it’s too late now. You’re here.

And he knows it.

You wait, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat, like your body can’t quite decide whether to brace for impact or run. The seconds stretch—long and hollow—and just when you’re about to turn away, the door creaks open.

But it’s not him.

It’s Ellie.

You blink, your posture faltering ever so slightly. She’s standing there barefoot, hoodie slung half-off one shoulder, a brow raised like she’s been expecting something, just not you.

“Oh—” you exhale, breath slipping out in a sigh you didn’t mean to let go. “El, hey.”

Ellie leans on the doorframe, chewing the inside of her cheek for a second, eyes scanning your face like she’s reading a book she’s already halfway through.

“Hey,” she says, casually enough, but there's something knowing behind her tone. “Tommy send you?"

You glance past her, instinctively, but don’t see him. Just low light and a half-finished glass of water on the table inside.

“Is he here?” you ask, softer than you meant to.

Ellie nods, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “Yeah. He’s in his room. Pretending he’s not listening.”

She steps aside, wide enough for you to enter, then adds, dry as ever, “Try not to break anything, yeah?”

“Yeah, ’boutta wreck your house,” you tease, giving her a gentle nudge with your shoulder.

Ellie snorts, but her smirk is soft. “Figured. Thanks for the warning.”

You step just inside the doorway, letting the air of the house settle around you—familiar and heavy all at once. The door clicks shut behind you, but it still feels like the world’s wide open, pressing against your back.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, the words leaving your mouth on an exhale like they’ve been sitting in your lungs for weeks. Maybe longer.

Ellie’s smirk fades, and her eyes meet yours, more serious now—older, somehow. “I know,” she says, simple, sincere. “Me too.”

You nod, pressing your lips together to keep the ache at bay. “I know things have been… weird.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, shrugging one shoulder, “Weirds definitely the word.” Then she looks at you again, more gently this time. “But it doesn’t mean they’re broken.”

A silence passes between you, one that feels less awkward and more like mutual understanding. She takes a step back toward the hallway and jerks her chin toward Joel’s room.

“He’s not gonna bite,” she says, almost teasing—almost. “Probably.”

You stand there, staring down the hallway like it’s the mouth of hell itself—dark, quiet, unforgiving.

“Well,” you mutter, squaring your shoulders with mock solemnity, “just so you know… you’re in my will.”

Ellie quirks a brow, arms crossed, already bracing for the punchline.

“And if I don’t come back from this,” you go on, dramatic, waving a hand toward the hallway like you’re heading into battle, “I want you to have my jacket. The one with the fleece inline."

Ellie scoffs. “Wow. Generous.”

“Also, my stash of knitting spools. And—” you glance over your shoulder, dead serious for a beat, “—burn my journal. Don’t read it. I mean it.”

Ellie’s laughter finally breaks through, light but real. “You’re such a dork.”

You flash her a shaky smile, one that barely masks the pounding in your chest. But it’s enough to steady your feet. Enough to take the first step down the hallway.

“Yeahhh,” you breathe, voice low now. “… You're my dork.”

And then you're moving—one slow, inevitable step at a time toward his door.

You take those few agonizing steps toward his door, each one louder in your ears than they should be. The hallway feels longer than it is, stretched by nerves and silence, the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot like a countdown.

You stop in front of the door—his door—and for a second, you just stand there. Your hand lifts before you can talk yourself out of it. A soft knock. Barely audible.

Your voice follows, thinner than you meant. “Joel…?”

Silence.

Then something shifts behind the door. A quiet sound—maybe the creak of floorboards, maybe just your own heartbeat in your ears. The air feels too still, like the house itself is holding its breath.

You swallow. Everything in you feels crooked, like you’ve walked into the middle of something fragile and sacred and utterly unknown. Your knuckles hover near the door again, but you don't knock a second time.

Instead, you speak—awkwardly, gently. “It’s… just me.”

Still nothing. But you know he’s there.

Because that silence? That’s Joel’s kind of silence. The kind packed with meaning. The kind that makes you want to run and stay all at once.

“I guess you could say… Tommy got to me.” You offer it like a half-joke, your voice barely carrying through the door, but it’s all you’ve got. “Wouldn’t shut up, really.”

Nothing yet. Not a sound. But you keep going, because if you stop now, you won’t start again.

“I wanted to talk about… things.” The words stumble out in a rush, awkward and unpolished. You wince the moment they leave your mouth, like you already hate how vague they sound. “About us. About what happened. About what… didn’t happen.”

You let out a shaky breath, one hand ghosting against the doorframe.

“I don’t even know if you want to hear it. Maybe you don’t. I wouldn’t blame you. But I… I’ve been carrying it. All of it. And it’s getting heavy, Joel.”

There’s a quiet inside that doesn’t feel empty—it feels held. Like someone’s standing just beyond the door, rooted in place. Listening.

You lean your forehead against the door, lowering your voice like a secret. “I miss you. Even when you’re right in the same room, I still miss you.”

“I know things have been awkward since we came back… since Salt Lake City.”

The words slip out, slow and uneven, like they’ve been stuck in your throat for months.

“I’ve thought it over a million times in my head,” you admit, your voice softening, fraying at the edges. “What I could’ve done. What I should’ve said. If I made you upset, angry… shit, happy.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter and breathless. “I don’t know. You never told me.”

There’s still nothing from the other side of the door. But you don’t stop. Can’t.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” you whisper. “This thing between us. This silence. I want us to be whatever we were before.”

You pause, your hand resting on the wood like it might anchor you. “Friends?” you offer, the word clumsy on your tongue, too small for what you really mean. “I don’t know.”

And it’s the truth. You don’t. All you know is the ache in your chest and the ghost of what you had—whatever it was—flickering in every quiet second he doesn't speak.

“But I’d rather fumble through it with you… than keep pretending I don’t care.”

You pause, chest rising, falling. Waiting.

The silence is thick—almost suffocating now. Like the walls are leaning in, like the air is pressing too close.

And you know.

You know it deep in your gut, in the stillness that follows your words like a cold wind after a flame.

He won’t talk to you.

He’s not going to.

Maybe he never was.

You pull your hand back from the door like it burned you. Your fingers curl into your palm, like they’re trying to hold something that’s already slipping through.

Your throat tightens, and you bite down on the lump rising there, hard enough to hurt. It’s all unraveling now—the hope, the effort, the trembling truth of how much you wanted this to go differently.

But it didn’t.

And maybe it never would.

You hear it before you see him—a deep, guttural clearing of his throat. The kind of sound that carries years of whiskey and smoke, rough around the edges, just as familiar as the gravel in his voice.

You freeze.

And then you turn—slow, too slow, as if your body can't quite catch up to the pounding in your chest.

Your eyes fall first to a chest too broad, just a little too close. The worn fabric of his shirt stretches tight across his shoulders, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

But it’s when your gaze rises—slowly, reluctantly—that the air hits you like a punch.

It’s him.

Standing there.

You blink, the words coming out softer than you meant, almost lost in the rush of your heartbeat. “Oh.”

The stupid thing is, you thought he’d been in his room, behind that door. You thought he was keeping his distance.

He was never in his room. He was right fucking behind you.

You clear your throat, the sound cutting through the thick air. Your fingers curl into fists, but you don’t look away. Not now. Not when you’ve come this far.

“I had… a lot to say to that door… in case you couldn’t tell,” you say, your voice smooth, confident—maybe even a little too sassy. But it's a mask. And for once, you're not hiding behind it.

Joel's eyes flicker, dark and unreadable, like he's weighing the space between the two of you. His jaw tightens, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of anger, sorrow, and something softer, something dangerous. He steps forward, closing the gap between you, but not too much. Just enough to remind you he’s there, that he's always there. Even when you don’t see him.

“You talk to doors often, now?” His voice is rough, like it’s been sitting under layers of dust and regret.

You shrug, trying to keep the snark, the bravado, up even though it’s crumbling under the weight of his stare. "I thought I’d give it a shot. Guess it didn't work."

Joel exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face like the whole world’s suddenly too damn heavy. Because it is. Your presence alone is heavy. His shoulders are stiff, tense, like he’s holding back an ocean of things he doesn’t want to say—or maybe things he’s too terrified to admit.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he mutters, voice low, gravel rough. "You think you do, but you don’t."

Your heart kicks in your chest, but you don’t flinch. “I think I just want you to talk to me.”

Joel's eyes narrow, his chest rising with a deep breath. You see it—the way his gaze flickers toward the floor, the way his hands twitch like he’s holding himself back from doing something he’ll regret. “You don’t know what it’s like. What I’ve done. Who I am. I—” He pauses, shaking his head like the words won’t leave him, even though they’re clawing at his throat. "I'm not the man you think I am."

You take a step forward, closer, but just enough to show him you’re not afraid. You’re not backing down this time. “I don’t think you're a damn saint, Joel. I know that. I've seen that.” Your voice softens, just a fraction. "But I don’t care about that. I care about you. And I want to fix this. Whatever this is."

Joel’s eyes flick to you—deep, tortured—and for a second, just a second, you see it: the war inside him, the cracks that he’s been trying to keep sealed. His lips press tight, and you can almost feel the weight of his self-loathing hanging between you like a wall too thick to break through.

“You don’t know what I could do to you.” His voice is raw now, quieter. Dangerous. "I ain't good for you."

You shake your head, every bit of your soul pushing back. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

The silence settles between you again, thick and heavy, but you don’t look away. Not this time. Not when you’re finally here, finally saying it. Whatever happens next—whatever he says, whatever he does—you’ll face it. You’ll face him.

“What do you think you’re going to do to me, Joel?” You exhale sharply, feeling the anger bubble in your gut, each word sharp as glass. “Break my heart? Shit! You’re halfway fuckin’ there!”

The words leave you faster than you can control them, a slip of frustration, of everything you've been bottling up for far too long. You hope it doesn’t come off as a confession, but the weight of what you just said lingers in the air between you. The ache you’ve been carrying around—growing like an open wound—is bleeding out. And you hope to God it doesn’t hit him wrong. That whatever oozed from your heart doesn’t make him pull away even more.

You wipe your palms against your jeans, trying to ground yourself before the next words come out, but they do anyway.

“I don’t know what we are, or what I want us to be—but I do know I can’t go without talking to you. Seeing you.”

Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with the same fire. The same desperation.

“Tommy coming to me like you’re already halfway in the ground, begging me to get you to talk to somebody around here. Fuck, Maria thinks you’re a liability.”

You’re pushing, and you know it. But it’s not without reason. The words burn like gasoline on your tongue, and part of you is waiting for him to snap—waiting for that goddamn wall to crack, for any emotion to spill out of him. Anything.

You pause, just long enough for the words to settle between you, before they fall out, heavy and reckless.

“Thinkin’ that if I walked right into that bar and grabbed the first man I’d see… would you do anything about it?”

Joel’s gaze hardens as you speak, each word you throw at him building tension between you like a fuse to a bomb. He’s still standing too close, but this time, it feels like more of a challenge than an invitation.

His jaw tightens, his fists flexing at his sides as if he's trying to hold onto something—control, composure, whatever's left of him.

“You think I’m going to break your heart?” His voice is low, a rough growl that cuts through the air, but there’s something strained in it—something raw, something rabid. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing to you?”

He steps closer, a fraction. “You really think I want to keep you here in this mess?” His eyes burn, a flash of anger now, but something darker, too—fear, regret, maybe guilt. It’s hard to tell with him. But you see it there.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots like he's pulling the anger and pain out of him, trying to keep it from spilling over. His words are like gravel now. Rough, jagged.

“Tommy came to you about me, huh?” His voice drops a little, bitterness creeping in.

“Figures. He’s always had a way of making everyone else carry my weight.” He shakes his head, eyes flicking away momentarily, before settling back on you. “Maria can think whatever the hell she wants. She doesn’t know a damn thing about me. About what I’ve done.”

He doesn’t back away from your challenge. If anything, his presence becomes more imposing, like he’s daring you to push harder.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t care?” he mutters, his voice quiet but thick with something unspoken. His eyes narrow, hard and unyielding. "Do you really think I wouldn’t do anything about it?"

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t touch you—doesn’t move a muscle, as if holding himself back from something he can't control. The silence between you swells. He’s trying to choke back whatever’s clawing at him, and you can feel it in the way he holds himself, rigid and cold.

“I’ve never wanted you to walk away," he says, his tone softer now, "But I’m not the kind of man who deserves you. Not the way you think. I’m trying to keep you safe, and you… you just don’t get it.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Please,” you breathe, the word escaping more like a crack than a whisper, jagged and raw.

Your voice trembles under the weight of it, tears burning behind your eyes—thick and hot, pressing hard against the dam you’re trying so damn hard to keep in place.

“Just let me help.” It slips from you like a split thread, like hope stretched too thin. “Let me do something.”

You blink, once, twice—but the tears don’t fall. Not yet. They just sit there, glassy and defiant, blurring the edges of him as you fight to keep them at bay.

“I don’t want to beg,” you murmur, softer now. Almost ashamed of how close you are to breaking.

But it’s already there—in your voice, your eyes, the way your hands tremble like they’re reaching for something that might never reach back.

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

His face shifts—barely—but you catch it. A flicker of pain that cuts through the stone of him. His mouth opens, then shuts again, like the words hurt too much to form.

“You think I want you to beg?” he growls, but it’s not anger. Not really. It’s fear dressed in anger’s skin. His hands flex, jaw tight, like he wants to grab something—you, maybe—and shake some sense into both of you.

“I hear you talk like that and it makes me feel like I already broke you.”

His voice is low and uneven, the kind of sound that comes from a man who hasn’t cried in years but might start now if he lets go for even a second.

He shifts, takes a step back like he’s trying to create distance between your pain and his guilt, but it doesn’t work. It never works. He may not want it to work.

“You wanna help?” he mutters, not looking at you. “You are the help. Just being here, standing there—looking at me like I’m not… like I’m not some monster—I don’t deserve that.”

He finally meets your eyes again, and this time, there’s no armor left. Just Joel. Just the tired, hollowed-out man beneath all the grit.

“I don’t know how to let you in without ruining you.”

There it is. The truth.

But even then—he hasn’t walked away.

You pause, eyes locked on him, heart pounding so loud it might as well reverberate through the damn room. He looks like something cornered—scarred and tired, a man built of walls too high and wounds too deep.

A feral thing, wounded. Backed into himself. An animal.

“Do…” you falter, swallowing the tightness in your throat. “Do you trust me?”

It's not a weapon. Not a trap. Just a question.

Laid at his feet like an offering. Like maybe, if he says yes—just maybe—something in both of you can finally rest.

His brow furrows slightly, like he doesn’t understand how anyone could still ask him that. How anyone could look him in the eye and mean it.

Then—quietly, a rasp, low and broken like gravel over ash:

“…Yeah. Yes.”

His voice shakes on the word.

“God help me, I do.”

He looks at you like it costs him something to admit it. Like handing you that truth took a piece of him he’ll never get back.

Your breath stumbles out, ragged and quiet, and then—you move.

You reach for him with care, like he’s something fragile under all that roughness. He is. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, steady and deliberate, guiding it upward with a kind of grace that feels almost reverent. Like you’re not just moving his hand—you’re inviting him in.

You press his palm to your skin—just there, along the slope of your collarbone, your jaw. Not forceful. Not demanding.

It’s not control. It’s not surrendereither.

It’s trust. A quiet way of saying: I’m not afraid of you.

Not like you’re afraid of yourself.

And he feels it—how you don't flinch, how you don’t recoil. How you let him in, even here.

Your voice comes low, breath warm, eyes searching his like you’re trying to stitch together something he’s long since torn apart.

“There’s a moment,” you murmur, “before and after someone learns the truth of you… the real you. What you’ve done. What you carry.”

“And in this moment… this world after?”

You tilt your head into his hand, just slightly. Just enough.

“I still choose you.”

Joel doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t blink.

Just stands there, frozen in the raw gravity of your words like they physically hit him—like you knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His hand stays where you placed it, warm and heavy against your skin, but his fingers twitch—once, like he’s unsure if he should pull away or hold tighter.

He should walk away. That’s what the voice in his head screams—the voice that’s always screamed. The one that’s kept him alive through blood, betrayal, and loss. Sarah.

But for the first time in years, he ignores it.

Because the way you're looking at him? Like he's not just a wreckage of a man? It breaks him.

His palm spreads wider, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw like he’s memorizing it, religiously.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he rasps, voice low, nearly pleading, almost broken. “You think you do, but—God, darlin’, you don’t.”

Still, he doesn’t pull away.

He steps closer.

So close the heat from his chest radiates through your skin like fire licking at every nerve. His breath fans against your face, hot, unsteady.

"I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

And then, something shifts—snaps.

His other hand comes up fast, almost desperate, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in. Not rough—not this time. But there’s a bite to it, a hunger barely contained. His forehead leans against yours, the closeness almost unbearable.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he mutters, barely audible. “One day, you’ll see me for what I really am.”

Fuck, you hope so.

His mouth hovers near yours—right there—but he stops. Breath trembling, lips barely apart. Waiting.

For you to move. To choose him again. Even now. Even like this. It's selfish. He doesn't care, he wants to be selfish. Selfish with you.

You lean in, slow and surrendering, your hand resting over his—where it cradles your jaw.

Your body leans into his, like a tide drawn to the gravity of something larger, heavier, older than reason.

It's not an act of bravery.

It's not even hope.

It's desperation—that aching kind. That aching, pathetic kind of deal people make with the devil when they’re too tired to run anymore.

If he wanted you whole, he had you. And if he wanted to ruin you? You’d let him.

Because some part of you knows… he already has. And you're still here, reaching for him like ruin is worth it if you end up with him.

Whatever restraint he was holding cracks apart, splintering into ash. He surges forward—not rough, not angry, but hungry, lips crashing into yours with years of silence and grief behind it. His mouth claims yours like he’s been dying for it, like the taste of you might pull him back from the edge he’s lived on for too damn long.

His hand slips to the back of your neck, the other anchoring at your waist, pulling you tight, flush, his. There’s nothing gentle about it, not after everything. It’s messy. It's flawed.

It's real.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only by a breath, foreheads touching, eyes shut.

“You ruin me,” he whispers, voice frayed. “Every damn day.”

He moves his weight forward, free hand pushing down on the bedroom handle. A quick push and it's open, softly guiding you inside.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, a quiet weight settles between you—backing you into the cool, dim light of the bedroom. His hand still grips your neck, but it’s softer now—more possessive than forceful, as though he’s trying to make sure you’re real, choosing him.

His lips graze your ear, his breath uneven against your skin. The heat from his chest against your back makes it feel like the world outside doesn’t matter—like it’s just the two of you, everything else lost to the storm inside.

His hand slips from your neck, trailing down the curve of your spine, a soft press against the small of your back, urging you closer. And still, he doesn’t speak—only guides you to the bed, each movement slow and deliberate, like the space between you matters.

When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses. He doesn’t push you down. He stands there for a moment, breathing, letting the tension settle like dust between you.

Joel runs a freehand through his hair, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m not the man you think I am,” he says, voice low, broken. "I can’t be."

He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming.

“But if you’re here,” he breathes, “if you’re still here… then I guess we both got somethin’ to prove.”

His lips meet yours again, this time gentler, more desperate. As if he’s trying to hold onto something fleeting—something he’s terrified of losing, even as he’s the one pushing you away.

. . .

The morning light slips through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft slivers of gold across the room. The chirping birds outside are a reminder of the world that continues spinning, oblivious to the quiet, intimate war that’s just been fought between you and him.

The ache in your body? It tells its own story—one of tangled sheets, and a bit more aggression than you thought he'd unleash.

You stretch a little, muscles sore but in the best way, the warmth of his body still lingering like an imprint. A soft, lazy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open, trying to gather the fragments of last night while the day begins to creep in.

The familiar blue comforter. The dark walls. The desk cluttered with wooden shavings, remnants of the life he’s built—a life that always felt like a fortress to keep people out, but last night? Last night, you breached it. You might have even been the main character of it.

You glance over your shoulder and, sure enough, his weight is there beside you. The soft, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the faded sheets. You must have rolled over at some point in the night, tangled yourself up in him without even realizing it. His arm is draped lazily over your hip, like it belongs there—like you belong there.

The faint marks on his collarbones—darker now in the pale morning light—are yours. A trace of the night’s heated exchanges.

That was you.

It feels almost surreal, the contrast between the man he’s always been—gruff, distant—and the one you just saw, the one you touched, held. The one who let his guard down and let you in.

You can still feel him on you, in you. His weight, his warmth, the echoes of his lips against your skin.

The stillness of this moment is almost too much, too peaceful for the chaos you both carry inside. But for now, you don’t think about it. You don’t think about what happens after—about where this goes, what he really means when he says he doesn’t deserve you, or what the hell happens when everything falls apart again.

Instead, you focus on the weight of his hand against your skin, the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips, the soft rasp of his breath so close it makes your pulse quicken. You close your eyes again, breathing him in, and for once, the world outside feels just far enough away.

You lift your hand slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile quiet around you. One fingertip escapes the safety of the blanket and drifts toward him—toward that single curl that’s fallen stubborn across his brows. You brush it back, gentle, and it coils around your finger like it knows you. Like it wants to stay there.

He doesn’t stir.

You stare at him—really stare—and something settles in your chest. Heavy. Bitter. Tender.

It's cruel, you think. Unforgivably cruel, that the world has been so merciless to a man like this. A man who carries so much weight in his shoulders, in the lines carved deep around his mouth and eyes. A man who’s learned to bury softness just to survive.

Because the man before you now? Lying there half-wrapped in sheets and sleep, his hand resting against your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he's nothing like the monster he thinks he is. He feels sweet.

Sweet in the way his fingers twitch in his sleep, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. Sweet in the quiet tension of his jaw, even now—like he’s still fighting demons. Sweet in the memory of his mouth on yours, rough, desperate, demanding.

It’s almost unbearable. It feels like something holy.

Your fingers drift lower, slow and reverent, tracing the hardened edge of his jaw—rough with stubble, sharp from years of clenched teeth. It’s not a perfect jawline, not clean or pretty, but it’s his.

Your thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, then down, brushing gently over his bottom lip. He stirs just slightly, not fully waking, but reacting. His breath hitches faintly, and you pause, holding your touch steady.

You wonder if he’s dreaming. If, in that dark, quiet place behind his eyes, he still sees fire. Blood. Regret. So, you touch him like you can rewrite it.

"Handsome," you murmur, more to the moment than to him.

Because he is. Handsome in a way the world would never see. In the way he loves, fiercely and silently. In the way he breaks apart at night and still holds people together by day. Always a protector. Never protected.

You lean forward just enough to press a barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth—soft, chaste, real.

And when you pull back, his eyes are open. Heavy-lidded. Watching you. He heard you.

His eyes don’t move at first—just stay fixed on you, heavy and unreadable, like he’s still trying to wake up from something deeper than sleep. You feel the weight of that stare settle into your ribs, slow and silent.

Then, finally, he blinks. A breath. A shift in the sheets.

"Good morning," you whisper, a little softer this time—as if saying it too loud might break the spell of him staying.

You try to lighten it, teasing to fill the silence. "I can’t promise I wasn’t doing anything weird while you were sleeping,” you murmur, your voice playful, lips curling as you roll onto your stomach. Elbows press into the plush give of the mattress, propping yourself up just enough to face him.

Only then does the flick of your gaze drop—chest bare, collarbone exposed. The comforter barely modest where it rests along the dip of your spine. He’s just as bare. Both naked. Still.

Joel exhales through his nose—soft. His hand flexes slightly where it’s still tangled in the sheet between you, then reaches, slow and unsure, to tuck the corner of the comforter back across your back. His knuckles drag against your skin. Not by accident.

“You always talk this much in the mornin’?” he rasps, voice thick with sleep and gravel.

You watch the way his eyes settle on you again, less guarded now, like whatever armor he wears hasn’t quite returned to him yet. He sees you—not just in his bed, but here. Still here.

“Only when I wake up next to someone handsome,” you murmur, "…which doesn't happen often."

Joel huffs a breath—something between a scoff and a laugh—and drags a hand down his face. He doesn't say anything right away. But then his fingers drift toward you again, rough palm finding your hip under the covers.

You move closer—slowly, deliberately—testing the weight of the morning, the strength of what last night left behind. The sheet shifts with you, sliding down your back just enough to expose more skin to the chill of the room, but you don’t care. He’s warm.

Your hand drifts upward, fingers threading into his curls—messy from sleep, soft in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him. You let your nails scrape gently against his scalp. Soothing and affectionate.

He leans into it. Barely. But he does.

"Regret your decision yet?" you whisper, voice teasing at the edge, daring him to pull back. To throw up walls. But there’s tenderness laced in the words, too—a crack in your own armor.

Joel’s eyes flicker open wider, finding yours in that hazy glow of morning. His jaw works for a second, like he’s chewing over every version of no that he doesn’t know how to say right. Then, his hand slips from your hip to your waist, palm warm and grounding.

“No,” he says, low and solid.

Then quieter—more broken: “Just scared you’re gonna wake up and regret yours.”

And there it is—laid bare between you. Not lust, not anger, not even love.

Fear.

He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to. The silence after his words says everything: he’s afraid he’ll ruin this. Ruin you. That whatever passed between you last night was a kindness he’s not meant to keep.

But his hand stays. And his eyes stay. And so do you.

You study him in silence, eyes drifting across the lines etched into his face—Every scar, every shadow, you take in as if remembering them.

Then, softer, a little teasing: "What's your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?" Your smile curves as you lean deeper into the sheets, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.

He grunts—barely more than a sound, but it’s a start.

“You ask a lotta damn questions,” he mutters.

The bed shifts as he moves, sitting halfway up with the sheet tangled around his waist. His back’s to you now—broad, scarred, tense. Like he’s already regretting last night, or maybe just the part where it meant something.

He runs a hand through his hair, rough. “Don’t got a favorite,” he says, after a beat. “Food’s food.”

But it’s a lie, and you both know it.

Another beat.

“… Pancakes,” he adds gruffly. “With butter. None o’ that syrup crap.”

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t let you see the look on his face. Keeps his voice flat like it doesn’t matter. Like you didn’t just break something open in him he’s been holding shut for years.

"So, I'll make pancakes." You stir, sitting up against the sheets. Softly—you lean over and embrace him in warmth. Hugging him from behind. Bare chest pressed against scarred and ripped skin, hands softly tracing against his hips.

Joel stiffens under your touch like he's not used to it—like the idea of someone holding him just to hold him sets off alarms he can’t quite silence. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades, skin against scar, breath against memory.

He doesn't move at first.

Then his hand lifts—hesitates—and finally lands on yours, resting where it’s wrapped around his hips Not gripping, not pulling you closer. Just there.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he says. Gruff.

You can feel his heartbeat—strong, steady. Alive.

“Pancakes,” he repeats, quieter this time. And you catch the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close enough.

“Don’t burn ‘em.”

His voice is softer now. Still rough, still Joel.

You slide from the bed in a hush, the sheets whispering behind you. Before distance can settle in, you lean in close and press a kiss to his temple—fleeting. Like it might ward off the ghosts for just a moment.

Your bare feet tap gently across the worn hardwood, and the air bites a little colder when you aren't caged against the warmth of him. The room is dim and quiet, dust caught in slivers of early morning light. It smells like old wood, whiskey, faint cedar. Him.

You scan everything—the way he lives, the wooden spooled mess he doesn’t clean up. Everything here is stitched with the weight of a life survived, not lived.

Your hand finds his flannel slung over the back of a chair, worn soft from time and habit. You slip it on — oversized and heavy with warmth—and spin once as you finish buttoning it up, grinning through a small exhale.

“Feelin’ like Joel Miller already,” you say, half to yourself, half to him.

From the bed, he lets out a small scoff. Doesn’t sound amused. Doesn’t sound angry either.

“Careful,” he mutters, voice raspy with the morning. “That ain’t somethin’ you wanna catch.”

You glance back at him — the way he’s still sitting there, one arm draped over his knee, body cut from shadow and silence. He watches you like you're some dream that he doesn't know how to comprehend.

“I dunno,” you say, quieter now. “Might be worth it.”

He looks away, jaw tight. Like he wants to believe you but doesn’t trust belief.

You round the corner, still in his flannel, steps light, almost playful—until the smell of coffee hits first. Familiar, grounding. But something else follows, quick on its heels. A shift. Presence.

“Joel? Did you make coff—” You stop.

She’s already there. Leaning against the counter, mug in hand, eyes too sharp for someone her age.

Ellie.

Your breath hitches half a beat, and you straighten instinctively. She somehow still manages to fill the room like she owns it — like she’s been here longer than time itself.

She nods toward the two mugs on the counter, smug as anything. “Made you coffee,” she says. Then, with a shit-eating grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows: “I guess the talk went well… last night.”

It’s not even a question. You blink, caught between embarrassment and a laugh. “Jesus… Ellie.”

“Not quite,” she shrugs, sipping from her mug. “But thanks.”

You lean against the frame of the doorway, tugging the flannel a little tighter around you. She catches the motion—notices it’s Joel’s—and her eyes glint with mischief.

“What time did you… get back last night?” you ask, trying to recover.

She shrugs again. “Early enough to hear him snore like a dying bear. Which, by the way, you might wanna get checked out. I thought something was in the walls.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head.

There’s a pause — just enough time for the teasing to fade. She looks at you for real now. Not cruel. Not guarded. Just watching.

Ellie nods, satisfied enough for now. Then she pushes the second mug toward you.

“Drink up, Flannel Thief,” she says. “You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Your eyes practically roll in your head. "Listen… I can't be teased about this forever… Can't you just say… ew gross old people, and get on with it?" You lean against the countertop, fingers reaching for pancake things. Measuring cup… bowl… something to mix with…

Ellie snorts, clearly delighted, and sips her orange juice with exaggerated smugness.

“Oh no, no no. See, you wish that’s how this worked,” she grins, watching you pull out a mixing bowl like it’s part of a comedy routine. “But unfortunately for you, I’m a mature and emotionally evolved young woman who believes in holding adults accountable… for being disgustingly affectionate in my presence.”

You groan, grabbing the nearly empty pancake mix box and shaking it, “You're 15.”

“Old people sex,” Ellie says flatly, grinning into her mug. “Right in the next room over. You should be ashamed. Honestly.”

You shoot her a look, but there’s no heat in it. “Alright, alright, Jesus. I’m already dying inside.”

She shrugs. “Then my work here is done.”

You start pouring contents into the bowl. She watches, but it’s not really about the pancakes. There’s a lull. Not awkward, just quiet—and when she speaks again, her tone’s softer. But still unmistakably Ellie.

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs, “I’ve never seen him sleep past dawn unless he was half-dead or actually happy.”

You stop whisking for a second, glance over. Her eyes are downcast, but not sad. More cautious and hope. Like she’s letting herself believe in something for once.

You offer a small smile. “Well… he’s still in bed, so either he’s dead, and I murdered him… or you’re stuck with me a little while longer.”

She doesn’t smile back right away, but her voice comes light:

“I guess I’ll deal.”

Behind you, you hear the floor creak — heavy, slow steps — and you know it’s Joel before you even turn. You don't look right away. You just pour the batter onto the skillet and ask over your shoulder:

“You want one pancake or two, old man?”

Joel stands in the doorway like he’s been there a minute, just listening. His hair’s a mess — that soft, grizzled kind of disheveled that only makes him look more like himself. The blue robe hangs open over a threadbare white T-shirt and those familiar flannel pants, one tie dragging against the floor. He scratches the back of his head like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

You turn to face him fully, spatula in one hand, the smell of browning batter filling the quiet between you.

“Or none at all,” you add, eyebrow raised, “since you think my cooking is sooo bad.”

His eyes flick between you and Ellie — who’s already pretending not to watch while sipping from her mug like it’s the most dramatic scene in a movie.

Joel exhales through his nose, like it’s taking every ounce of restraint not to be dragged into the teasing.

“You burn toast,” he says simply.

You gasp. “It was one time.”

Ellie raises a hand. “It was two. That I know of.”

Joel just walks to the table and sits down with a grunt, clearly satisfied with himself. “I’ll take two. Since you’re wearin’ my damn shirt, might as well feed me too.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Cute."

Joel grumbles something under his breath, but there’s a warmth in his eyes when he looks at you. Tired, guarded, but not closed off like before. Not entirely.

Ellie leans back in her chair, hands behind her head, eyes gleaming.

“This is so weird,” she mutters. “But also… kinda nice.”

Joel gives her a side-eye. “You don’t like it, you can go live with Tommy.”

She snorts. “Please. Free food and emotional bonding? I’m thriving.”

You plate up the pancakes and slide a stack in front of each of them, sitting across from Joel, your knee brushing his under the table. For the first time, the room feels full. Not just lived in—but alive.

You sit quietly, trying to act like it’s nothing—just breakfast, just fuckin' pancakes—but your fingers twist together in your lap beneath the table. It’s stupid. How nervous you are. Not just for him to like it, but for her to like it. Like somehow their approval means this whole fragile, reckless thing has weight.

Joel eats like a man who doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying it. No theatrics, no compliments—just steady bites and the occasional small nod, like his silence is the only permission he knows how to give.

Ellie? She’s less subtle. She drowns hers in syrup and makes dramatic noises of satisfaction with every bite, clearly enjoying the chance to be chaotic.

“Not bad, Flannel Thief,” she says through a mouthful. “A solid seven-point-five. Could be higher with chocolate chips.”

You chuckle lightly, the knot in your chest loosening by a thread. “Next time, then.”

Joel’s fork slows, just for a second.

You catch it. You always do.

Next time.

You glance up at him again, eyes following the shape of his arms, those worn-in muscles that always carry more than just weight. They carry history. Guilt. Survival. Safety. Everything you never thought you'd find again.

Then your gaze reaches his face, and he’s already watching you.

Those brown eyes—soft in the morning light, a little wary, a little tired—but still warm. Still him.

You try to hide how much you’re looking. How much you want this to be something real.

“Y’know,” you murmur, voice just for him, “you don’t have to eat it out of guilt. I can handle the truth.”

Joel snorts softly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ain’t guilt. Just quiet. You oughta try it sometime… maybe next time.”

But there’s the smallest twitch at the edge of his mouth. The ghost of a smile, buried under years of practiced gruffness.

And for a moment, it feels like maybe. Just maybe. You're not the only one hoping this sticks.

masterlist

a/n2: this has been in my notes app ... ignore mistakes pls

[exhaustedpirate]

bucktommy kiss meme #29 💚

#29 - as a promise (includes 8x16 spoilers)

The plane is high in the clear sky now, sun shining over the white metal. Bobby's casket is safely in the hold while the Grants sit in their comfortable seats. Everyone leaves one by one. Buck receives a kiss on the cheek from his sister, insistent and full of a meaning he doesn't want to think too hard on. A pat on the shoulder from Eddie as he tells him he'll catch a ride with Ravi back to his place. Nods, soft touches, maybe some worry, mostly exhaustion, as everyone leaves.

His body deflates when they are all gone, the wall behind him supporting all his weight.

Minnesota.

Bobby is going to be buried in Minnesota with his family.

It was really happening.

There was a heaviness in his chest, in his feet, his knees felt fragile.

"Evan?"

He's been doing so well.

He's been keeping it in. He's been helping Chimney, Maddie, Eddie. He's been trying to be okay. He's been managing it. He couldn't break apart, not now, not when they needed him. He said so.

But it's that soft voice, always soft when he said his name. It's a comforting, not intrusive touch on his elbow. It's concern, care.

He's been doing so well.

A sob rattles his chest and he finds himself in the arms of his ex-boyfriend, face hiding in his neck. His hands surely wrinkling the back of Tommy's coat with the way he's clutching it. One of Tommy's hands settles at the back of Buck's head, his fingers tangling in his hair and the other at his back, a warm, steady touch that makes him feel safe, held.

Tommy doesn't tell him that it'll be okay, doesn't try to shush his cries, he just holds him. Holds him in his comforting arms and lets him cry, lets him feel.

Buck doesn't know how long it's passed until he takes a deep shuddering breath, tears drying in his cheeks, against Tommy's coat. All he knows is the way Tommy's hand moves up and down his back, the way his fingers scratch his scalp.

He feels a soft, barely there kiss placed at his temple, right at the edge of his birthmark and he tightens his arms around Tommy.

"Thank you."

His voice comes out as a whisper almost.

Tommy's thumb caresses his ear, his hand moving to the side of his face in a soft touch. It makes Buck lean his head away, further enough along Tommy's shoulder to look up at him. To see his wet eyes, the redness of them, the grief in his face.

Buck's hands travel farther up on Tommy's back, hoping to be just as comforting as the other man can be.

"You lost him too, I'm sorry."

Tommy's lips tick up in a soft smile, disbelieving but so soft, and he nods. "You're going to be okay, Evan."

He can't help the tension in his muscles at that. Tommy notices, of course he does.

"That's, uh, that's what he told me before-" Buck clears his throat. "That I was gonna be okay and that the others are gonna need me." He sighs, looking down at the fabric of Tommy's coat. "I tried, I-I failed."

"Evan," His thumb catches on his chin, tilting his head back up, making eye contact. "I don't think he meant that you had to close yourself off to everyone," Buck frowns and Tommy runs his fingers along the wrinkles in his forehead, almost succeeding in smoothing them all. "You are going to be okay. Bobby knew how much you grew, how strong you are. But you have to take your time and grieve him," Tommy smiles, that small but so full smile of his. "You are not alone. You have people to lean on. That's how he knew you're going to be okay."

Buck feels fresh tears forming in his eyes, running down his cheek. Tommy lets his words linger in the silence between them, his thumb occasionally catching the tears halfway down.

"I'm gonna be okay."

Tommy nods, he smiles, that proud smile of his and Buck feels his chest fill with how much he missed Tommy's smiles, how much he missed him. Buck brings a hand up to the other man's face, his thumb catching the corner of Tommy's lips, feeling his smile.

"You are."

"And you're going to be one of the people I can lean on?"

He sees the flicker of fear in Tommy's eyes, the hope. Watches as Tommy takes a deep breath, steadies himself.

"For as long as you need me."

It's not the time. Not yet. But it's as close to something as they've been. Buck's heart pounds against his chest, feels Tommy's beat fast from where his hand settles on his chest.

"And if that's for a long time?"

"For as long as you need me." Tommy repeats.

"Promise?"

Tommy's eyes glance between his lips, his eyes, trying to decypher everything that goes on in Buck's brain. He always believed he could, always believed that Tommy had this special power to see into what Buck needed, wanted.

His lips touch Buck's, soft, chaste, but so much more than that.

Buck still believes.

"Promise."

[jaeminvore]

I’ve checked telegram and babes, would you believe me if I say we've first talked about u working on this fic in 2023? (to be fair, it was around november so we'll round that off to very early 2024) CRAZY I KNOW which is why I'm extra extra excited about this:

First of all, I already expected Jeno to be sad but goddamn i was not expecting him to be that sad and jesus do i feel for the guy omfg 😭 i couldn't even imagine being constantly compared to my brother who I should have been looking up to thanks a lot Jeno's mom! Mother of the year everyone 😒😒 way to fuck up your kid so young KDGHFDKJG

"“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jeno rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level."

Girl. If i tell you I screamed? And the back and forth after that. Man. you could really tell he was so over it. I mean I get it though and Jeno hasn't really done anything to make his reputation less notorious so I understand MC's aversion lol because personally, I would like to stay away. Still, I also understand Jeno's frustration whew.

AND JAEHYUN REALLY HAS THE WORST TIMING PLEAKSFGSDFG kick a guy when he's already down and he just really had to see MC practically tripping on her own two feet to make nice with Jaehyun oh my godhghdfkghdfg I'd HATE to be him rn. Like everywhere he goes, he still finds himself in his step-brother's shadow GOD put me in the psych word atp.

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. “Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

Girl, oh my fucking GOD, read the room!! Well, that could have gone worse 😭😭 quite literally bracing myself for the hurt that's about to come in a couple of thousand of words but my goodness do I love the back and forth KFGHKDFG you should give yourself a pat on the back for executing it so well. I could feel the frustration from the screen fr.

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second.

Omg Jaemin, the gremlin, mention HIHIHI 🩷 okay but Jeno was a little funny for that JHSGJFDFGH lowkey a little shit too eye see it's giving friends who would tease you about your crush except this is MC dealing with a crazy ex that does not know when to give up LMAO getting back on track, THE TENSION HELLO smashing MC and Jeno's faces together like barbies rn they should kiss I think maybe that'll solve everything right now.

But them sharing a laugh after literally running away from eldritch horror Jaemin is so cute it's moments like this that has me giddy fr (I'm a hopeless romantic wbk) yeah they need to bone man. But hello?? WDYM Jaemin still has a pic of him and MC together on his insta FAWKKKK that guy's obsessed and not like in a hot way either. Jeno do something I'll give you ten bucks rn if you do.

Jeno’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. You spoke for him. You defended him. No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation.

GIRL. ARIA. BABE. HESJFGHDKFHG JENOOOOOO GET BEHIND ME RN 😭😭😭😭 Jeno being vulnerable >>>>>>

“Jeno, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally." ... “No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

and MC going out of her way to tell him that whatever his mom says, essentially conditioning at this point cos wtf man, isn’t true. Like it’s so nice omg sometimes we just really need one person on our side to make things better yk?? (add me to your side Jeno, my babygirl my bubblegum princess cutiepie) Just the thought that no matter what happens I know I could depend on that person CRYING RN.

Crashing out right now because Jeno's crashing out is definitely a first holy shit, but it's relieving that he finally let all that built up frustration out oh my you really can't help but feel for him poor guy :(

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jeno, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

Like, I don't even need to say anything man. MC my GOAT!!!!

“Say it again,” he whispered.  “Say what?” You breathed.  “That you’re glad I’m not him.”

He could quite literally tell me to jump and I'd say, "how high?"

AND OF COURSE THEY GET INTERRUPTED JUST AS THEY WERE ABOUT TO KISS. Jaehyun meet me in the nearest 7/11 parking lot so I can kick your non-existent ass! AND THE AUDACITY OF JAEMIN TO COME SWINGING WITH WORDS TALKING SHIT ABOUT JENO now there's two people i have to fucking fight damn 😒😒 like this pmo bro:

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?” Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Jaemin as he grabbed your arm.  “What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

Jaemin going on and on and on gave me a visceral feeling of anger like shut up dude looool "I was angry" like that was a good thing to begin with KJGHDFJKG I gotta say though, he makes a great antagonist like im hating him so much rn LOL. On another note, Jeno asking MC to ask Jaemin to leave is lowkey hot LMAOOOOO.

e%$^%$$##$%#$^ nOOOOOOO JUST WHEN I THOUGHT EVERYHTING WAS GONNA GO SMOOTHLY (I say as if I haven't witnessed your progress in telegram) Two steps forward, one step back... man, I'm just gonna stick to the "it gets worse before it gets better" saying 🙂‍↕️ BUT I GET YOU JENO with the shit that he's been through, I can't blame him for thinking of the worst like his self-esteem got the brunt of his Mom's words over the years </3 I wanna give him a hug... aaaand the tension is back let's all live!! I'm ngl I love how MC doesn't take shit from anyone like look at her keeping Jeno on his toes YUM!

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jeno. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

Damn. This shit is fire girl. My jaw-dropped like literally JSDRGFJDG CLOCK IT MC!!!! Everything is crashing and burning because of Jeno YES I SAID IT (i'm in tears).

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.” Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?” “No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

Absolute cinema. Jesus, maybe love is about being uncomfortable enough to let people see how rotten we can be from the inside, and yet be loved all the same. Something something about loving someone isn't always going to be easy, it takes one person to power through the hardships with you and stay anyways GODDDDDDDD 💔💔💔

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

oh my god?????????? you're gonna have to pay for my therapy sessions girl. THIS SHIT IS FIRE!!! (part 2)

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting.  “I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

SCREAMINGGGG OH MY FUGHK DSFG I could just imagine Jeno pleading with a broken voice I'm already burning hot from my country's fucked up climate and he just had to say all that FAWKKK and the sex... oh my god.. the emotion behind it, the absolute desperation these two have for each other is so visceral it feels like I shouldn't be here to witness such intimacy holy shit. Not to mention the possessive streak.. the teasing... the dirty talk... if this fic was a full course meal best believe I'd devour this entire thing and leave the damn plates clean omfg.

THE GAGGING MC WITH HER PANTIES BIT WAAAAHSFJKAHSDK UR CRAZY 😭😭😭 Jeno u control freak u r so sexy to me..

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.” “Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could.  “Again.” “I’m yours, Jeno.” “Fuck—again.” “So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jeno.” “Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

Oh I'm his already might as well write "Jeno" on my forehead in Sharpie KJSDFGHKDFG the aftercare dfjghdfg he's such a sweetheart bye he is really trying for both his and MC's sake that is also very lovely to me... my babies..

(this was me reading:)

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal. And for the first time in his life, Jeno finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring. It meant chosen. It meant enough. It meant being yours.

Wow. What a wild ride honestly and I'm floored at the fact that you've managed to outdo yourself yet again 👏🏼👏🏼 The writing was amazing as always oh my fucking god you really had me eating from the palm of your hand with how much I enjoyed every second reading this while I sweat my ass off because it's still hot as fuck here LMFAOOO and I am very proud of how far you've come with your writing!

It gets better and better with time I swear and that's putting it lightly like I could go on and on, but I feel like this is already too long KSDHGDKFHG JUST KNOW THAT i'M YOUR NO.1 FAN AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DEVOUR THE NEXT FIC YOU HAVE IN STORE FOR US WEEEEEEE ily and ily for sharing this fic with us hehe it's a privilege I would never take for granted fr 💖💖

CALL ME WHEN YOU HATE ME LESS

PAIRING: lee jeno x fem!reader (ft. jaehyun and jaemin)

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, eventual fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, using panties as a gag, spitting, edging, squirting, mentions of fighting, blood, usage of nicknames, slowburn if you squint, emotional trauma, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 18,321 words. (18.3k)

PLAYLIST: here.

SYNOPSIS: Jeno Lee was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect jawline. But between late-night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout—and honestly, it could go either way.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! i'm finally back with a jeno fic aaa thank you my girls @jaeminvore @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo for giving me ideas and listening to me losing my shit over this fic <333 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: Raised in Shadows, Told to Shine. 

Comparison. 

The core of all insecurities. The onset of overthinking. The path to self loathing. 

That’s what comparison does to a person—drive them to the edge of insanity in hopes of turning into something; into someone the others will look up to, compare themselves to. 

It was a bad thing per se, but it was motivation enough for Jeno to work harder in order to leave the country, to get away from his family. 

The reason? His mother ever so conveniently happened to have fallen in love with a rich guy, someone who never knew what struggle meant, and Jeno was just four back then. It didn’t take much time for him to settle into the lifestyle, however, no matter how much he could have prepared to face his step-brother, he simply couldn’t bother looking him in the eye. 

Why? Because he was known to be the epitome of perfection. Jung Jaehyun was the son every parent wanted, the student every teacher was fond of, the doctor every nurse wanted to work with. 

The sweet dimple on his cheek was a great asset in melting the hearts of everyone in his proximity or afar. 

Jeno on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t considered to be enough, especially when he got decent grades throughout his school life, he wasn’t a bother, kind to those who were around them, but it changed. 

It changed when he got daily reminders of how he wasn’t even close to how amazing and successful his step brother was. 

That’s when things started looking down for Jeno. He stopped caring about the grades, he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to put up a I’m so good, so smart act in front of others when there was no reason for him to do that. 

Others didn’t bother doing the same for him. 

Rather, he tried to work upon the only thing he was passionate about, the only thing that mattered to him—football. 

Despite winning several trophies for playing the sport, his parents labelled it to be useless, which broke the last fragment of his heart, shattering it to the point of no return. 

Which would explain his current demeanor—moody, permanent scowl on his perfectly sculpted face and no care for the others around him. His sole focus being football, which is also the reason behind his current dilemma. 

“Being an excellent player in the sports team does not guarantee you your scholarship, Mr. Lee,” Jeno’s teacher incharge spoke up, taking off her specs right after reviewing his annual grade report, “you’re failing three out of five modules, and if you don’t start getting back on track soon, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to play in the team anymore.” 

Fuck. 

Jeno had been neglecting his studies, he admits, yet he never thought that he’d reach this point. It’s not that he wasn’t smart, he simply had no motivation to go on with his studies. His parents could easily pay the university to keep him around, however, he wanted nothing from them, which also explains why he got himself a scholarship in the first place. 

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Jeno’s eyes snapped wide open, turning back to see his step brother entering the teacher’s cabin. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching but Jaehyun only smiled. 

Jeno’s professor was equally stunned, probably even more with her jaw wide open at the appearance of such a handsome young man. 

“I called him in since your parents were busy,” his professor said, handling Jeno a letter, “go and find your tutor in the council room, she’ll be helping you with the upliftment of your grades, Mr. Lee, and now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to fill in your brother with your current situation,” she said the last part awfully sweetly as Jaehyun sat down in one of the vacant chairs, smiling at her kind tone. 

Jeno scoffed, the demeanor change around Jaehyun went crazy and he wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he was called in to complain about his mistakes. 

He simply wanted to leave the university and never come back. 

He waited, taking deep breaths before punching the wall, not being able to contain his anger. The impact did hurt, yet he paid no heed to it, the blood dripping as he walked towards the council room to get over with the day. 

The name written on the sheet wasn’t unfamiliar to him, rather it only wearied the already infuriated boy as he knocked on the door of the student council room, which was empty except for you sitting there, working on a few papers which appeared to be the newsletter for the month. 

“Come in,” you allowed, not looking up as Jeno made his way inside the room, observing the surroundings where he’s never been before. 

Then he looked your way, taking in your appearance. You looked cozy in your university varsity jacket, your specs sitting on your nose as you buried yourself in reading whatever it was that you were reading. He couldn’t deny you looked pretty in a way that’s comforting to eyes. 

With no words exchanged, he pushed the letter towards you, which finally made you look up at the source of disturbance, your eyebrows raising slightly as you most certainly did not expect the star football player to visit you in the council room, which he’s never been to before. 

He simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets while still looking around, and you took a second to grab the letter, skimming over to read and understand that the letter was given by Mrs. Kim, the teacher in charge of your department, requesting you to take up the few teaching sessions you had applied for, Jeno being the student you’ll have to teach for the same. 

You clicked your tongue, folding the letter exactly as it was before pushing it his way, your arms folding across your chest as you finally spoke up, “I reject. I don’t wish to teach you.”

His eyes were quick to snap towards you, finally staring right into your own eyes, irritation clear as he pushed his tongue on his inner cheek, eyebrow raised. 

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jeno rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level. 

You chuckled, expecting the exact response from him, “this is exactly why I don’t want to waste my time on you—you athletes don’t wish to study, you just require a passing grade, for which I don’t have time to spare.” 

“What the fuck do you mean waste your time?” 

“Lee Jeno, you’ve got more money with you than your bank account can handle, so I’m sure losing your scholarship won’t do you much harm,” you said with a sickening smile, “you’ve got no interest in studying, your attendance record states that oh so proudly.” 

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jeno seethed out, messy hair strands falling over his eyes. 

“I know everything I need to know about you. Now excuse me, unlike you, I actually have work to do,” you said, passing him a tight lipped smile, not letting the proximity faze you. 

“You—” 

Jeno’s sentence was cut short with two sharp knocks on the slightly ajar door, a head peeking in, successfully garnering your attention. You could feel your mood doing one eighty with the sudden intrusion of this stranger—whom you didn’t wish to be a stranger around anymore, your eyes softening, lips parting as you stared at him in awe. 

Meanwhile, if Jeno thought that the day was done being a bitch to him, then he was wrong because the level of irritation that bubbled up in him the moment he saw the change in your expressions. 

“Sorry to interrupt, may I get in?” Jaehyun asked, smiling his usual dimpled smile, which had you swooning in record time. 

You could practically see veins of frustration popping out on Jeno’s neck, “no. Your work is done, you should head back home,” he groaned, but Jaehyun only looked you way, continuing to get in, looking your way. 

“I’m Jaehyun, Jeno’s elder brother. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing on giving him tutoring lessons, especially with how busy you must be with council duties,” he spoke up, shaking your hand, which was smaller in his warm, big hands. 

Jeno scoffed, “she’s not—”

“Of course, Jaehyun! It’s my pleasure to help him out, and it’ll only help me better with my extracurricular credits! It’s no problem,” you nodded, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes practically twinkled with excitement, taking in the beauty that Jaehyun beheld. 

It was ridiculous. 

It was absurd how just two sentences; paired with a sweet smile from his brother, were enough for you to change your decision, in the span of two seconds at that. 

He tightened the hold he had on the strap of his black bag, “no fucking need. I’ll find another tutor,” Jeno deadpanned, walking out of the room, not paying attention to Jaehyun who called out his name in the background. 

He wouldn’t let you use him to get to his brother. 

With that thought, he decided to detour and make his way to the gym, trying to blow off steam by practicing punching, each one getting progressively stronger as his mind replayed the difference in your behaviour when it came to him and his brother. 

It didn’t bother him that his knuckles were bruising, he knew he needed this extrinsic pain to get rid of the obvious hurt he felt each day. 

And he couldn’t understand why he felt so affected by your actions, especially when it was the first time you had met. 

Jealousy was indeed a bitch. 

Chapter 2: Surrendered to the skirt. 

Two days passed by and Jeno’s mood showed no progress in terms of improving, rather, he felt worse each time the memory invaded his brain. He tried his best to sit down and open the first module of the unit he had to study. 

It’s not like he was bad at studying, he was just a bit out of practice, and well, his mental health wasn’t doing much to help him get any better. 

Just when he was about to actually get a hang of getting into the topic, the doorbell rang. His parents were out for business, as usual, and his step brother was busy doing morning shifts, which meant that he was alone at the mansion, minus the myriad of worker staff they had to take care of the place. 

Essentially, he had to get down to see who it was at the door, only to spot you leaning against the doorframe as one of the attendants had asked you to wait. He stopped, observing you from the staircase as you typed something on your phone. 

Why were you here after clearly rejecting him? Why were you here when he’s clearly told you he doesn’t want you to be his tutor?

Scoffing, he walked down the stairs and towards you, standing right in front of you, clearly invading your personal space as he decided to lean against the same side of the thick door frame with his brows raised.

You took a second to take in his appearance as he was clad in casual gray sweatpants with a black tank, which honestly did nothing to hide his muscles. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked with a bored tone. 

“I’m here to teach you, remember?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“And I clearly told you I don’t wish to study from you, it’s better if you leave now. I’ll just tell Mrs. Kim that you taught me,” he said, almost turning back to go inside. 

“And have them wondering how you failed even after getting tutored by me? Yeah, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, inviting yourself in without second thoughts. 

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. 

That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. 

“Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

You chuckled, “you really don’t want the previous year questions I have? The council students get them each year you see, they’re bound to guarantee you good marks,” you explained with a smirk. 

Jeno groaned, his lip bitten as he tried to think if tolerating you would be worth the questions, but his football career was at stake and there was no better option but to accept it. 

“What’s the catch?” Jeno asked after a few seconds, sighing with defeat. 

“Nothing at all. We both know that you need these papers to get the grade that you wanna achieve and I’ll get my extra credits,” you reason. 

“You just wanna meet my brother,” he said dryly, “either way, you won’t get to see a lot of him, he’s always at the hospital, working and being the perfect son he is. Plus, he’s definitely not into uni students,” he looked you up and down, soon gulping and looking elsewhere. 

You were clad in a pretty skirt which showed off your legs—which you did wear in hopes of crossing paths with Jaehyun, but you completely missed how Jeno was staring at your body. 

He wasn’t sure if it was out of hatred that he stared at you, or it was admiration because you were one of those people he despised—overachievers.  

You were in the student council, got good grades and professors favoured you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your parents loved you for being the ideal daughter. It most certainly didn’t help that your appearance seemed as if you were the sweetest, kindest angel on earth, which wasn’t the case when you were around Jeno though. 

“I’ll manage,” you shrugged, “so, I need your final word, Mr. Lee.”

“I am sure I can find better tutors than you,” he raised his brows, challenging you and you didn’t look fazed at all. 

“I am quite literally the best, professor Kim asked me to tutor you for a reason, besides, no one’s gonna agree to help you out with exams being only one month away,” you made your point, extending your hand for him to finalize his decision. 

Overconfidence. He sighed. 

Jeno stared at your extended hand, thinking of the bigger picture here. He’d get tutoring and would be able to score decent grades if he gets back to his usual routine of studying. 

Downside? He’d have to face you each day. 

Sighing and keeping his feelings in check, he simply nodded, taking your smaller hand into his as he accepted the offer, suddenly aware of the warmth of your palm and how it leaves a tingling feeling behind as you shake his hand firmly with a smirk. 

“So, where are we gonna study?” 

Chapter 3: Silent room, a loud mind. 

Turns out, it’s not that easy to sit down and just teach Jeno. 

Given the amount of classes he had missed, or rather, the amount of classes he had managed to attend, it was clear that he didn’t even have the basic idea of the syllabus for the semester modules. 

Moreover, you had already pissed him off by mentioning how you didn’t expect him to have such a clean and organized room, as if you had already decided that he was going to be a messy human. 

Moving forward, you both sat down next to each other with your laptop open in front of you as you made him write down all the topics he needed to cover for the next month, forming a sort of timetable of a kind. 

It was surprisingly peaceful between you two, as if you both wished to get over with it as soon as possible, behaving as civilly as you could but there was this one thing that Jeno couldn’t stop doing. 

Overthinking. 

It’s the way you looked his way with disappointed and concerned filled eyes whenever he messed up, the way his jaw clenched when you told him to do better, the way he couldn’t help but stare at your glossed up lips as you looked around his room, eyes settling on his childhood pictures which were framed. 

It was also new to him to actually interact with people outside of his football team, especially girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to one. He wondered what was going on in your mind, he wondered if you were silently judging him through it all.

That’s all what people in his life did anyway. 

“You were cute as a kid, what happened to you now?” You joked, chuckling as you looked his way, only to find his mouth slightly agape.

He hadn’t expected you to say that, and he certainly didn’t want to retort back with something that would ruin his mood, “I grew up to be hot is what happened to me,” he replied smoothly. 

“Oh, so you do know how to joke around,” you raised your brows in surprise. It was indeed the image he had formed over the years. The image of him being nothing more than a rude jock who wouldn’t even reply to someone nicely. 

Now that you were actually interacting with him, you were going to find out how many of the rumors were true about him. 

He only leaned closer at your statement, you could see his muscles flexing as he rested one arm on the table in front of you both, “it’s not a joke, love. I am hot.”

You scoffed at the term of endearment, suddenly aware of his scent now that he was so close to you, “and egoistic too,” you helpfully added. 

“Rightfully so.”

Your childish argument was interrupted that very second as the door to Jeno’s room swung open, revealing the exact man you came to see. 

Jaehyun was smiling, dressed in black slacks and a button up shirt as he welcomed you here, and you were quick to notice Jeno’s mood turning fowl that very second. 

“Thank you so much for coming here, Y/n. Let me send a few snacks and drinks for you both while you study,” he smiled, and you rushed up to stand, not even bothering about the pen that fell down as you did so. 

“Jaehyun,” you walked up to him, much to Jeno’s dismay, “oh, you don’t have to do anything,” you smiled sweetly, and he only shook his head softly, grabbing your arm. 

“Don’t worry about it, just sit and relax, okay?” He squeezed your arm, going downstairs and you sighed with a smile. Even his scent was perfect to you. 

“You done daydreaming?” Jeno asked, deadpanning once his brother had left. 

“You done solving the question?” You retorted. 

He sighed, as if his energy was drained already, “yeah, just check and get this over with,” he said, handing you the binder and looking elsewhere. 

It was probably the first time you actually paid attention to his dejected tone, as if he didn’t have the energy to fight back, and you obviously didn’t wish to irk him more, especially when he looked so frustrated right now. Thankfully, a lot of his answers were indeed correct, which was another surprise to you. 

He was smart, he just simply didn’t wish to study. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, cocking his brow and you blinked, “you’re actually not as dumb as you portray yourself to be,” you mumbled, checking everything thoroughly. 

It should’ve been insulting to Jeno per se, but even the slightest amount of approval was a big thing for him, causing the corner of his lips to curl up. He felt insane, the amount of emotions he felt in a single day was perhaps the reason for the same, courtesy of you. 

He was glad Jaehyun didn’t enter the room again, sending in a servant staff to give you the snacks instead, which maintained the peace throughout the session. 

You couldn’t help but notice how well he concentrated once there was silence in the room, your eyes focused on his hand gripping the pen, making it seem more veiny than it already was. 

Also, you didn’t miss the hint of a smile ghosting his face when you told him he did a good job right before leaving, which made you think of a few things, one being— 

He looked beautiful with a smile. 

Chapter 4: You can’t read my mind, so read my lips. 

As much as Jeno loved the comfort of his room, he really wanted to avoid you bumping into Jaehyun again.

Even the thought of your interactions, your fake sweet smiles, made him wanna punch the wall. Jaehyun really had it easy and Jeno never understood why, it was no joke that Jeno was decent looking as well, talented in his own way, and a kind hearted person who just happened to have a protective wall around him so as to not get hurt any further. 

Which is why you had been tutoring him in the library from the past ten sessions, his own personal request to avoid having privacy with you. 

Heck, even Jeno didn’t know it was his own mind trying to protect him, which is why he couldn’t let anyone in, anyone.  

Which made this situation far from ideal as he had you pressed against the library wall, no distance between you both as you closed your eyes in pure distress. 

“What the actual fuck is he doing here?” Your question was directed more to yourself, which confused Jeno further.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, annoyance creeping through, “what the fuck is going on?” He asked. 

“Shhh, not so loud,” you pressed your palm against his mouth, “just hide me.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist effortlessly, pinning it above your head, “you don’t tell me what to do, yeah?” He mumbled, flustering you under his gaze before your eyes travelled back to where you were looking initially. 

He sighed in annoyance, looking back at the direction of your supposed fear. 

Na Jaemin. Another of Jeno’s football teammates. 

“Why are you hiding from Jaemin,” he asked, brow raised as he leaned into you. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, “he’s my ex, he shouldn’t even be in the library, he’s never here!” You were stressed and Jeno smirked devilishly. 

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second. 

You used your free hand to grab his nape, “don’t fucking move,” you mumbled. 

Perhaps you were too harsh with the grabbing, also not calculating the proximity enough, because Jeno’s nose was brushing against yours, lips close to the point of touching, and a low groan escaping his lips as your name rolls out his tongue in the most angry grunt ever, “what the actual fuck are you doing?” 

“J—just let him leave,” you mumbled, gulping and closing your eyes, his mint breath fanning your face as heat crept up your neck, up till your ears. 

“What will I get out of it,” he asked, his free hand resting on your waist now, “why should I help you?”

“I’m literally helping you study, Jeno,” you seethed out.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he groaned, making you open your eyes, staring into his deep ones now, suddenly feeling small under his gaze, and well, his body. 

“What?” you asked, looking away to check if Jaemin had left, pushing Jeno away the second you confirmed it. 

Jeno, however, wasn’t having any of it. 

With a scoff and the shake of his head, he grabbed your wrist again, twisting it behind your back, not putting too much pressure so it just hurt but still made it clear how he would not let you go so easily, “you can’t run from me.”

“Let go, I fucking swear—” you let out, squirming around and pushing him, he didn’t budge at all sadly. 

“You do realize I’m a lot stronger than you, right?” He chuckled. 

“Fuck—what do you want me to do?” You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you looked at him. 

Before he could answer, your eyes widened in fear yet again as you yanked his arm so forcefully, he had no chance to balance himself, a yelp leaving his mouth as you ran and he was following right after you. 

Jaemin was back and you could just not deal with his ass anymore, hence the overwhelming response. Fight or flight? Flight for sure. Dragging Jeno into it might be a stretch but hey, whatever helped you run away from the gremlin, right? 

“Y/N,” Jeno hissed yet again, once you stopped by your seat, gathering both yours and his belongings scattered across the table from when you were studying a few minutes back, before getting up to find a book, before seeing Jaemin roaming around the halls of the library. 

It was quite amusing to Jeno if he was being honest, a mix of feelings as you grabbed his wrist effortlessly yet again, your eyes set on the exit door leading to the parking lot where Jeno’s Ferrari Purosangue stood proudly. 

“Get in!” You screamed even though you were far from the threat (read: Jaemin) now. 

“That’s my car in case you forgot—”

“Now.” 

“So fucking annoying—” He grumbled, with a small smile playing on his lips. 

You looked so bothered as if you were chased by Ghostface and not Jaemin, even though you probably wouldn’t run away from the prior. It was comical regardless, the long breath you exhaled once you were comfortable on his premium quality car seat, head leaned back fully. 

You opened your eyes after a few seconds only to find Jeno’s eyes on you, face curved into an amused look. You stared at one another for a second, two seconds, three seconds—and he burst out laughing. 

It was probably the first time you saw him laugh like that—so freely, without any care in this world. It was loud but breathless, making his eyes crinkle with small crescents forming, his perfectly aligned pearly teeth showing as he went on, laughing at your disheveled state and crazy response to everything that happened the past twenty minutes. 

You were calm and composed for the most part, it was rare for you to look this frustrated over anything, which came as a surprise to Jeno, the whole situation seemingly pure comedy to him. 

You observed him so carefully, your own lips twitching into a smile and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him so normally as if two friends were laughing over a joke. 

A weird sort of warmth spread over your body, it made no sense honestly, you were pinned to the wall just a few minutes back and Jeno looked as if he’d burst into flames with his anger, and now he’s laughing at your disheveled, non-composed state. 

Once Jeno caught you staring back at him with glittering eyes, and a little smile, he froze. It was easy for him to come back to his senses (read: put his walls back up) which only made your smile drop too. It was awkward, both of you looking elsewhere while clearing your throats, definitely not something you expected. 

“Uh—sorry about that, yeah,” you mumbled, playing with the loose threat of your sweater sleeve. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he retorted, turning the car engine on to start driving. 

Why was it awkward? Because you laughed together like two absolutely normal individuals? Because you had Jeno pinning you to the wall to avoid your ex? 

Or because you almost kissed. Almost. 

 The ride back to your apartment was silent, no songs playing in the car, just the small buzz of engine, and the nail tapping on the screen of your phone—to avoid any kind of conversation happening, also clearly missing out on how Jeno glanced at you every few seconds, the speed of his thoughts running faster than his own car. 

“I’ll—see you tomorrow then?” Your voice cracked as you said so, wincing slightly at your own tone. 

Jeno was about to chuckle again, yet he covered it with a low cough as he mumbled a yes, as you opened the door once he stopped in front of your apartment. 

That’s it, you were leaving, and his eyes didn’t leave you till you disappeared into the apartment. 

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, groaning as he banged his head into it, a low horn sound only frustrating him further. It was hard for him to drive after, the scene of you being so vulnerable yet glaring at him like a scared little vixen trying to look brave, replayed in his mind. 

No, he couldn’t drive, couldn’t focus on the road anymore, stopping the car at a random parking lot of a fast food chain, grabbing his phone to pull up Instagram, specifically Jaemin’s account. 

He didn’t have to scroll much to find the picture he was looking for—his teammate, Jaemin, standing right next to you with his arm resting on your waist. Jeno didn’t know why that picture left a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden, knowing well how badly Jaemin fucked up when he cheated on you. 

And now the asshole is running after you again. 

You didn’t deserve that, you deserve someone better—someone perfect like you. 

He went back, not having it in him to look at the picture again, instead, going to your account now. It looked professional, all your posts being highly calculative to make your feed look pleasing. Your highlights, however, had this one particular picture—a picture of you smiling without a care in the world, so raw, so genuine, so beautiful. 

Beautiful. 

Jeno thought you looked beautiful, and it made him angry. 

He was angry—because deep down, he desired to be the reason for your smile. 

Chapter 5: Pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark. 

Jeno made you smile. 

You did know that laugh was contagious, however, you didn’t think you’d actually give in to Jeno’s sweet chuckles. 

Sleep didn’t come to you easy when the constant reminder of the study session poked the back of your mind, not to mention what happened in the library earlier, where you and Jeno almost kissed—

No. 

You shook your head. Such niche experiences never falter you, so why was this such a big deal? 

Another groan left your mouth, but alas, your body was relaxed enough to sleep so you woke up energetic the next day. It felt oddly friendly when you saw Jeno at the University, and he threw a two finger salute your way, you waved back before going your way. 

“You’re zoned out, again.” Karina, one of your classmates, pointed out and you sighed as she rambled about how you needed to let some guy in, quite literally, to blow off some steam, which you clearly weren’t doing, hence the stuck up energy. 

Being descriptive about it didn’t help either—yet another reminder of how Jeno’s body was pressed against yours this hour, yesterday. 

Heat crept up your neck, urging you to pack up and leave the room. It was hot, stuffy almost for you to do anything, which is why you found yourself studying at the empty seat of the University park. 

You had to face him again, of course, there was no escape to that, and as if the universe was testing you, the time passed by way too quickly for your liking and soon, you found yourself standing in front of the main door of Jeno’s place. 

Before you could even ring the bell, the door opened to a huffing Jeno, almost as if he ran downstairs, but how did he know—

“Hey,” he whispered, looking around. 

He didn’t wait for your reply, simply grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside, your skin burning at the unexpected touch, but you didn’t shake him off of you, only asking in a low tone, “what are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Jeno mumbled, as though he was trying to avoid someone, or rather, trying to hide you from someone. His efforts were futile, however, once he heard that stern voice of his mother booming through the walls of his mansion. 

Now you get why Jeno was in a hurry, the look on her face had a chill going down your spine. 

You felt Jeno stiffen alongside you, his hold on your wrist now tighter, uncontrollably so. 

“You must be the new tutor for Jeno,” she said, scrutinizing every bit of your existence, Jeno’s jaw clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“Yes ma’am, It’s a pleasure meeting you,” you tried to say, only for her to cut you off. 

“Trust me, darling. There must be no pleasure in helping Jeno, but I do hope he learns a thing or two from you—you look like a smart young lady, hopefully, a positive influence on him.” 

You looked at her with your mouth open slightly, not believing the sight in front of you. No mother should look down on their children like that, ever. 

“Mrs. Jung, I hope we’re talking about the same Jeno because he is amazing at studies, he grasps concepts faster than I do, and then I believe I’m the one who’s learning from him right now!” You smiled, full of enthusiasm, feeling Jeno’s hand dropping down from your wrist. 

“In fact, I’ve never seen anyone play football so perfectly while also being so brilliantly academically smart, I firmly believe his grades will shock you this time. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our tutoring session.”

You passed her a small smile, the shock clear on her face, before grabbing Jeno’s hand and taking him along with you—to his room. You didn’t look back, simply closing the door as you breathed out with a pissed expression. 

Jeno’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. 

You spoke for him. 

You defended him. 

No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation. 

“W—Why?” Jeno couldn’t keep his voice in check, “you didn’t have to—say all that.”

That’s when you turned around, facing him. All your anger disappeared once you focused on his face, so vulnerable, so confused, so desperate to know your answer. 

“Jeno,” the gentleness in your voice only made him gulp and look down at the floor, “I hope you don’t believe a word she says, because that’s not true,” you spoke, inching closer. 

You were not one who was good at making people feel better, Jeno of all people at that, however, this gave you an insight of why Jeno is the way he is—closed off, hence the lack of words from your side, but you knew you had to say it. 

That’s the thing, we judge people too quickly, you always had snarky remarks for him, not knowing how deep they cut him. He looked shaken right now, traumatized, especially because you experienced a part of his life which he never wanted to share with anybody. 

“Jeno, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally. 

He was shaken, not from his mother’s words—he was used to them—but from yours. 

“No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

Jeno didn’t realize his eyes were glistening. 

“What?” You breathed out. 

He gulped yet again, jaw clenched now as he struggled to get his words out, the floor being the most interesting thing to him, “defended me. No one’s done that.”

“I—is that why you hate Jaehyun? Because people only see him?” You asked, wincing at the question when you saw him stiffen again, a sharp pang in your chest once he brushed your hand off of his. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

“I didn’t mean—” 

“Oh I fucking know what you mean. Everyone sees him fuck—you see him, because he’s perfect, right? That’s what he is, perfect,” he seethed out, “you don’t know what it’s like—to live in someone’s shadow,” there was a flash of pain in his eyes. 

You stayed mum, letting him speak. 

“Every place, every room, every fucking person just sees him,” he muttered, “I need to better, but it’s never enough, because he already did it—Jaehyun did it better. You look at him the same way as others do, and me? The afterthought—the failure.”

Your heart broke a little, guilt settling in because unknowingly, you fueled the same anger and trauma for him. 

“Jeno,” you mumbled, “you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to,” you spoke, and he looked up, “and thank god you’re not Jaehyun,” you chuckled, fingers ghosting near his jaw, your touch featherlight, making him suck in a deep breath. 

“Why?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes hopeful, which scared him. 

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jeno, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

He blinked. 

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, simply leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. 

“You’re you, the stupid jock who’s not scared of anything, yeah?” You tried to make him smile, which helped as you saw his lips curving up. 

Midway through your sentences, you genuinely questioned yourself about why you even like Jaehyun, it was honestly just your mind playing games with you. 

“You scare me,” he muttered. 

“Why?”

“Because you say things so convincingly, it makes me wanna believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Just—don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” you said in a breath, his eyes on yours now, more intense than ever, “I mean every word.”

He stared a little longer, staring at you unamused as if you’d laugh in his face right this second. You didn’t. 

“You’re serious,” he said, voice hoarse. 

You nodded softly. 

Jeno took a single step forward, the air around you so tight, it felt like a rubber band stretched to its max, on the verge of snapping back. 

You inhaled sharply once Jeno’s cold hand brushed the hair on your shoulder, grazing against your bare skin, moving up your nape. 

“Do you have any idea what you just said to me?” He murmured, eyes locked on yours, turning you around easily to pin you against the wall—something he liked to do, apparently. 

“Tell me,” you mumbled. 

If someone told you two days back that you’d be in Jeno’s room, calming him down before getting into a compromising position with him, you would have laughed in their faces. It was reality for you now, something that made you feel so unconventionally flustered. 

The way he brushed his thumb along your jaw, slow and deliberate, made you shiver, “you’re making me forget that i’m supposed to hate this—feeling anything.” 

You were hanging on the last bit of your sanity, drowning in Jeno’s scent, his nose brushing against your cheek, hand gripping your waist, heat radiating off of your body. 

“Jeno—”

“Say it again,” he whispered. 

“Say what?” You breathed. 

“That you’re glad I’m not him.”

You chuckled under his hold, your voice still shaking, “I’m so glad—so fucking glad you’re not him.” 

His breath sounded like a curse, lips hovering a breath above yours, you could feel his hesitation against your skin. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch someone as perfect as you, yet you didn’t stop him, the space in between you was so tight, it might as well elicit electricity. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, only leaning into his touch, resting your hand over the top of his on your jaw. The touch was faint, yet you could feel it everywhere. 

You held your breath as he leaned in—

Knock. 

Jeno swore under his breath as you flinched, it physically hurt him to step back. 

“Jeno?” Of course, it was Jaehyun who had to interrupt you two. 

Your hands trembled as Jeno moved to the door, and you quickly turned towards the desk, rushing to sit down, pretending that nothing had happened—that you didn’t almost kiss Jeno a few seconds back. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes furious with a hint of daze in them. “Yeah?” His voice came out strained as he asked Jaehyun through the door. 

“Mom wants to talk to you,” He said.

“Be right down,” he answered, shaking his head, staring at your way one last time, holding eye contact for a second, letting you see just how much he hated this situation, veins popping in his neck.

Then he opened the door, closing it behind him and disappearing from your eyesight. 

You stayed there, overwhelmed, lips tingling, pulse racing. 

A truth burned your skin in an excruciating pain. 

If he had kissed you, you wouldn’t have stopped him. 

Chapter 6: I can go from A to Z, but U is what I want. 

Jeno hadn’t texted you all night. 

Not that you waited, except, you did. 

He never came back to the room after Jaehyun called him out, you waited, till you couldn’t anymore and had to rush out before your mind drove you to the edge of insanity. 

So you grabbed your bag, rushing to the first place you thought of—the courtyard behind the Science block. It was calm, no student in sight, thankfully. 

Your five minutes of calm ended a second too quickly, a voice calling out your name in its full glory. You cursed the universe for treating you like this and you didn’t have to turn around to figure out who it was.

Jaemin. 

“I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you to fall for the broken type.” He stepped out smiling as insane as a villain who hasn’t moved on does. 

“Still stalking me?” You rolled your eyes, “get a fucking job.”

“I call it being invested,” he smirked, shoving hands in his pockets, “it’s honestly a downgrade, going from me to Jeno.”

“Not again,” you muttered, grabbing your book which you had just taken out. 

“I mean, trading me for Jeno?” Voice full of pity. 

“As if you were an option, Jaemin,” you turned sharply. 

That shut him up for half a second.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?”

Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Jaemin as he grabbed your arm. 

“What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

“I’m into honesty,” you snapped, “something you don’t offer.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Self awareness maybe,” a voice came from behind you, low, cold, almost lethal. 

Jeno was here. 

“Let go of her,” he said, dead-eyed, he was ready to snap. 

And Jaemin did, a scoff leaving his mouth before he smirked, “great, speak of the devil.”

Jeno raised his brow, “you done?”

Jaemin chuckled, “not even close.”

You sighed, “of course not,” this day couldn’t get worse. 

“You really think this is love or whatever?” He said, looking at Jeno but his words were directed to you instead, “he’s gonna burn you someday, and you’re gonna let him.” 

Oh god, you were not having any of this, why was this conversation even happening? It made absolutely no sense. 

Jeno moved faster this time, but you blocked his chest with your arms, “enough,” you said sharply. 

“Ask him to leave.” Jeno said, voice low. 

“Jaemin, just leave,” you said, turning to him. 

But he didn’t, and so Jeno did, shoving past you as you rolled your eyes, Jaemin’s sinister smile only widening, getting so close to him, he had to lean back slightly. 

“Don’t test me, and don’t come near her again, or else I won’t be this patient.” Jeno spoke. 

“Aw? You’re gonna hit me in front of her, Jeno?”

“I don’t need to, she already cut you deeper than I ever could.” 

Jaemin blinked, clenching his jaw, before turning to you, maintaining eye contact, “she’s not your girl, Jeno.”

“You don’t know that,” he gritted his teeth. 

“You’ll come back,” Jaemin’s jaw ticked as he said so. 

“Hold your breath until I do,” you replied.

That was it, he left. It wasn’t silent, nor dramatic, but with enough tension to let you know that he will be coming back. 

Once he was gone, you shoved Jeno, hard. 

“The fuck was that?”

“What? I came here trying to find you, only to witness you talking to him.”

“I didn’t want it to happen either, but the world hates me,” you mumbled, grabbing your bag and walking away with Jeno following you behind. 

“I fucking hate that he still gets to talk to you, why does he have access to you?” His voice rose and you prayed no one would hear him, thankfully this area was empty. 

“He doesn’t, and why do you even care?” You asked, with distress clear on your face, “pretending like I mean something to you in front of Jaemin is just as worse, Jeno.” 

“I—”

“No, you won’t even talk about last night, as if it didn’t happen,” you snapped and he froze, “you didn’t even come back to your room.”

His silence was your answer, and you knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go any further, Jeno couldn’t do that—he was scared of opening up, and he was scared of answering those questions, so even though you were hurting on the inside, you let him be. 

“Tomorrow, library, at five. Be on time.” You mumbled, leaving him behind you. 

“Fuck—fuck!” Jeno punched the wall next to him. He didn’t want you to go—the first person who ever tried to understand him, took his side, defended him. He was beyond scared of letting his guard down, so he groaned, sliding down the wall. 

“How do I even tell you I want you?”

Chapter 7: I stayed, even when it was easier to run.

The library was too quiet for how loud your mind was. The sound of your pen dragging across the paper felt almost intrusive as you tried to finish your assignment. 

It had been three nights since the library fiasco. 

Two nights since the almost kiss. 

One night since the blow up with Jaemin.

You almost didn’t wish to come here, yet here you were, with the sample test papers ready, clad in your little black skirt, a cardigan too loose for you, waiting for Jeno to show up—hoping he would. 

The clock ticked. He was a solid nineteen minutes late now, another minute and you’ll get up to leave. That’s when you heard the lazy footsteps approaching your side, the farthest corner of the library. You expected him to sit in front of you, yet he opted to sit right next to you, so close you could feel the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thigh. He took a seat without permission, like he had the right to be, like nothing had happened. 

He came in like guilt personified, shoulders hunched, hoodie loose, hair an unbrushed mess of indecision. And when he saw you?

He hesitated.

You didn’t look up, simply sliding him the sheet of questions to solve, the air around you turned weighted. His pen scratched, your leg bounced, you sipped water and he watched the corner of your mouth, practically burning holes into you. 

It was unbearable. 

This tension—it’s not a war but there’s rarely ever any peace. Catherine and Heathcliff reincarnated, except you weren’t on a moor, you were in a library, trying not to fall apart across the wooden study table. 

Just yesterday, he burned through Jaemin like jealousy was oxygen. 

He couldn’t stop staring, yet he solved the questions for forty minutes, sliding the sheet back to you for checking, expecting some sort of conversation now, anything, even a little hum of acknowledgement from your side, but none of it happened. 

He watched you scribble your pen over the margin, circling a few things, ticking the others, lip bitten in concentration. He observed you so intensely, how your eyes flicked across his answer sheet, but you didn’t look his way, not even once. 

“You won’t even talk to me now?” He asked, keeping his voice in check. 

“Four answers wrong, you did pretty well, can do better still,” you mumbled, passing him the paper. 

“Y/N,” he sighed, tired, he was afraid of this happening—letting you down, and that’s exactly what he did. Running away from his problems was what Jeno always did, he wasn’t perfect, he knows it, but he wants to try and be better, better for you. 

“You came late,” you said, still not looking up. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he exhaled, jaw clenched. 

“Not my problem,” you retorted. 

“I was thinking.”

“You should study instead.”

“You hate me now, huh?” Jeno leaned forward, voice flat. 

You blinked. The question hit out of nowhere.

“I don’t hate you,” you replied carefully. “But I don’t know how to deal with you either.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, Jeno. It’s the truth. And that’s more than you’ve been giving me.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like he was keeping a war behind his teeth. His eyes were empty, yet so full of you. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know how to be—good at this, with you.”

“And yet you’re good at disappearing. You’re good at leaving me hanging like none of it mattered.”

You weren’t yelling. You didn’t need to. Your disappointment was louder than any raised voice.

Jeno sat back in his chair, breathing shallow. “You kissed me back.”

Your throat tightened, “you didn’t kiss me at all.”

“Exactly,” he muttered. “Because I would’ve ruined it. Ruined you.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Jeno. You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared of how much you want to.”

His hands balled into fists. “And you’re not?”

“We’re not talking about me.” You looked away. 

He scoffed, turning to look at you fully, leaning in with his hand now resting on your thigh, burning the skin with his touch. 

“You want honesty, huh? So here it is—I’ve been thinking about you, about everything that’s happened in the past few days, no one’s ever messed with my mind so much and it fucking scares me. You’re messing me up—”

You couldn’t hear more, not when he was so close, not when he poured his heart out to you. Nothing about you two was normal, even your heartbeat was synced with how abnormally high they were. 

“Shh,” you mumbled, covering his mouth with your palm, and even the rude gesture calmed him down—your touch calmed him down. 

“You have an exam tomorrow.” You said and he stared, “study, pass the exam, and we’ll talk, yeah?”

He blinked, almost as if you showed him mercy, and gave him a chance to do something, to prove that he’s worthy of being near you. His scholarship, football, future—everything was at stake, but did he care? No. He cared about not letting you down. He wanted to prove himself to you. 

“You—you promise?” He asked, gripping the extra sheets and notes you passed his way.

You nodded, eyes softer now. You didn’t wanna hurt Jeno, you could see just how hard he tried to fight with his demons, but this time, you wanted him to win.

“I’ll be waiting.” 

You turned to leave then, leaving Jeno with his thoughts as he watched you leave, eyes on your legs. He gulped, looking back to the paper to find a line scribbled in your handwriting. 

You already know the answer, you’re just afraid of getting it wrong. 

It wasn’t about the question, it was about him. 

He just wanted to be worthy enough to stand in front of you and say I didn’t fuck this up this time. So he started, he worked all night, solved as many sample problems as he could, everything felt like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t give up, not this time. 

Jeno couldn’t sleep at night, 

I’ll be waiting. 

That’s what you told him, and he was looking forward to it, because for the very first time in his life, someone wasn’t waiting for him to fail. 

He woke up before his alarm had the chance to ring, didn’t care about his mother’s remark on how he woke up on time for once, or how Jaehyun gave him a long, unreadable look. Jeno didn’t react, he had bigger problems to tackle today. 

You were just as restless as him if not more, checking your phone every few minutes as if you’d get any text from Jeno. He must be busy studying, you hope that was the case. 

He walked into the exam hall calm, focused, terrified. He didn’t skip questions. He didn’t zone out.

He solved the final problem two minutes before time and rechecked every line like his life was hidden in the margins.

When he walked out of that room, his shirt clinging to the back of his neck from sweat, his palms aching from gripping the pen too hard—he knew. He’d done it. Or at least, he hoped he did. 

Yet, he didn’t text you, he wouldn’t until he got the results. 

Chapter 8: Jealousy is but a red thread around my throat. 

You waited, not loud, but silently. 

Two whole days, you held your breath, even planned on visiting the football practice to just get a glimpse of Jeno, yet you couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. God, you were so affected by everything he did, and this felt so very suffocating, waiting on someone. You knew what you felt, there was no point in denying it, however, you couldn’t figure out how it happened, so quickly at that. 

Heck, even Jaemin was more present in your chat inbox, even though you never replied to him, it just made you wonder if your time with Jeno was just a hoax. 

Did you imagine it all? 

On the other hand, on the other side of the city, sitting in a dim room with sunlight pouring in, Jeno was drowning in darkness. 

The exam portal was open in front of him, he refreshed the page every two seconds, not being able to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from want.  From the feeling of your voice telling him that you’ll talk to him once he proves himself. 

He gave up the wait, the result wasn’t out the whole day. It was three in the morning when the notification woke him up like a jolt. 

Results were out. 

He rushed to check it, the numbers stunning him as his jaw hung open. 

83%

Not perfect. But more than enough.

Enough to pass. Enough to stay on the team.

Enough to say, Look. I did it. I’m not a fuck-up. The first thing he thought of was you. So he typed—just two words.

Jeno: I passed.

Because he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to—I passed, and all I could think about was your voice. I passed, and I still don’t feel whole unless you tell me you’re proud. I passed, and it’s not enough if I can’t show you.

Your reply came back six minutes later.

You: I knew you would. 

It was soft, gentle. But was it enough for Jeno? No. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. 

He didn’t reply, he didn’t text you again. He opted to skip the lectures for the day and stay in his room, blinds closed, only darkness consuming him. 

You knew it was hard for Jeno, you knew you shouldn’t wait for his reply or him approaching you—he was too scared to do that, which is exactly why you grabbed your bag and went to his place the first thing in the morning. Maybe Jeno needed time, but you had to check. 

You rang the bell, your heart pounding as you did so, expecting Jeno to open up and see you. Once the door opened, your pulse stuttered. 

Jaehyun. 

Of course, it had to be him. 

“Y/N,” he said your name smoothly, “didn’t know you were coming by.”

You hesitated with a small chuckle, exhaling the breath you were holding, “is Jeno home?” 

He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, “yeah, he’s in his room, didn’t come out this morning at all.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering if he was alright. 

There was a pause, an awkward silence after that, you felt heavy, wanting to go upstairs but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to. 

Jaehyun closed the door behind you. “He’s been off since the results,” he said, voice low. “I thought passing would help, but I don’t know. He kind of shut down again after telling us he passed.”

You gulped, chest tightened at the revelation. 

“I came to check up on him, I’m not sure if he wants to meet though.”

“He’d want to see you.” Jaehyun said, smiling sincerely, “you’re good for him.”

Your eyes widened at that, “I’m not sure he thinks that.” You tried to smile, “can I go to his room?”

“He locked the door, I think he’s sleeping,” Jaehyun said apologetically. 

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You smiled sadly, “those are good pictures,” you mumbled, looking at the wall full of frames, particularly the ones with Jeno in them.

“Yeah, I took most of those,” Jaehyun replied with another smile, he knew you wanted to talk to Jeno so he suggested something, “Maybe if you take him something to eat? I can give the breakfast he skipped—”

“Oh no, I can run to the bakery and get something—”

Then you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision, you turned around to find Jeno. He was standing down the hall, his fluffy hair a mess, eyes wide as if he didn’t expect you to be here—especially with Jaehyun. 

“Hey,” you breathed out. 

No reply. 

“Y—you didn’t reply, I came to see you,” you tried speaking again. 

However, his expression didn’t change and suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t have come here at all. He was frozen even when you said you wanted to make sure he was okay. Then he came back to his senses, clearing his throat. 

Jaehyun left the room, letting you two be alone. 

“Why didn’t you ask for me?” He whispered, just sadness in his voice. 

“I did, that’s what I came for,” you tried to explain.

Jeno stared at you, he was so broken inside he couldn’t let himself believe it. You dressed up, all pretty, your eyes so soft, your lips turning into a pout of disappointment. You looked perfect, and you came here for Jeno? He just could not believe it. 

“You were talking to him,” Jeno said, referring to Jaehyun, his voice broken. 

“He opened the door, what can I do?” You shook your head, trying to explain, “you didn’t even text back, Jeno.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had someone wait for me and mean it.”

Your lips parted to reply but he wasn’t done. 

“You said you’d talk to me after the exam,” he went on, voice sharper now, “but when you showed up, you let him open the door. You let him tell you how I was.”

“I didn’t—” your voice faltered, “I didn’t come for him.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

That hurt. You flinched. “Jeno, why are you doing this?” 

“Because I waited for you,” he snapped. “I sat in that room like a fucking idiot thinking you’d come to see me. Not make small talk with my brother or compliment his photography.”

“You heard that?” You froze, it wasn’t your intention to do any of that. 

“I heard everything, every second you spent without taking my name,” he said. 

Just like that—he hurt you. Every conversation was about Jeno, every single one. He just couldn’t see it. 

“I thought I was getting better,” he admitted, quieter now. “I thought passing the exam would mean something. That it would be enough.”

“It was,” you whispered. “Jeno, it is. I am proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t it feel like it?” His voice broke on that line. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back, like his own body was a prison.

You stood frozen. Every word hit somewhere different.

“I wanted you to come,” he said, softer now. “Not to check in. Not to ask if I’d eaten. I wanted you to come for me. Just for me. You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jeno. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

He turned away. “Then go.”

“I came for you.” You said one last time, your eyes watering, not being able to contain the hurt you held in them. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

That one landed like a punch.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. Just once.

“Fine.”

You turned.

And you left.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

Chapter 9: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay 

You spent most of your morning crying alone in your student council room, but it just wasn’t enough, not when you were being wronged every second of the day, not when the person you wanted kept running away from you no matter how hard you tried. At least you did. 

You couldn’t run away though, you had an important meeting with your council at six in the evening, by that time, you had done everything to make yourself look normal again, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, in another realm, a realm where things were different. 

Jeno, on the other hand, left his room as soon as he realized how wrong everything had gone. All afternoon his own words replayed in his mind, how he asked you to leave and how you left a single tear drop on the floor before you turned around and left. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It felt like biting into something rotten, saying that out loud to you. Like watching the one and the only thing he wanted turn and walk away. You didn’t yell back, you didn’t beg, you went still, and left. He saw you leave—he made you leave. 

And he let you go anyway. Because that’s what he did. Because pushing people away was easier than asking them to stay.

Until now.

Now he was pacing in his room like a caged animal, hoodie still damp, heart in his throat. He kept hearing your voice in the hallway. Kept seeing your face. Kept remembering the way you reached for him and he didn’t reach back.

His chest felt tight, his limbs tense. He couldn’t stay here, not in this house, not knowing you might never come back.

He had to find you.

So he ran. He ran to the courtyard, not caring about the rain pour, soaking him up from head to toe. You weren’t in the library, not in the council room, the classrooms were empty. He was panicking. 

That’s when he heard a voice, turning around the corner of the athletic department, he walked straight into one of his football teammates he couldn’t stand at all—Minjae, a loud-mouthed asshole, smiling like a madman. 

“Fucking hell, Lee Jeno, you look like shit.” He grinned. 

Jeno didn’t answer, he was in a hurry, he had to find you, to make things right with you, he was about to push past Minjae when—

“Oh, by the way,” he smirked, “Jaemin told us a lot about how you finally landed his ex, the pretty goody two shoes, Y/N.”

Jeno froze, jaw clenched at the mention of you and Jaemin in the same sentence, coming from an asshole at that. 

“Didn’t think you’d have a go at someone like her. She seems to like guys who have more brains than biceps.” He laughed at his own joke. 

“The fuck did you just say?” 

Minjae laughed. “Chill, man. I’m just saying—props to you, seriously. Girl like that? All polished and pretty and loyal? I mean, not that it’ll last. Girls like that don’t stay with guys like us. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jeno’s vision turned black.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like static.

Minjae raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to get all—”

The punch landed before he could finish.

Minjae hit the ground hard, water splashing up from the impact, the rain pouring down heavier now. He tried to shove Jeno back, but to no avail as he bent down, his fist colliding with Minjae’s jaw again.  

Jeno wasn’t fighting Minjae per se, he was fighting every single voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he could never live up to his brother, that he could never be with someone as perfect as you. That’s what he believed too, till you actually became real for him. 

His mind was elsewhere when he took a blow to his jaw, lip bleeding now, Jeno stumbled but scoffed before punching him again, and again, till his knuckles were shredded, a throbbing in his jaw which almost felt like fire. 

It was only when someone pulled him off of Minjae, Jeno stopped, spitting out blood in the rain slick grass. Everything hurt, but not as much as his burning chest. 

“Are you insane?” Someone yelled his way, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jeno didn’t bother answering, pulling out his phone and rushing away, typing out texts to you. 

Jeno: where are you? please say something i’m so fucking sorry Y/N i didn’t mean it  i didn’t mean any of it i swear Y/N please 

No response. His messages were just there, unread, and unanswered. He simply didn’t know why. 

He didn’t know how you had been in the private meeting room for the past hour, student council prep being a whole scheduling disaster, handling arguments about clubs and their out-of-the-worldly budget demands. 

You were half awake at best, distracted by the storm that brewed outside. Your phone vibrates once, then again, and when you finally pull it out to check the numerous missed calls—your screen goes dark. Perfect, just on the day you didn’t bring your charger or powerbank. 

The feeling in your gut—it wasn’t good, which is why you excused yourself mid meeting, something you never do, to rush back home. You were soaked as you ran to your apartment, close to the University, thankfully. You plugged your phone in to charge as you rushed to take a shower, hoping the hot water would soothe your nerves. It didn’t. 

You kept thinking about Jeno, about the fight at his place earlier, how he asked you to leave with the saddest look in his eyes, and how badly it hurt you. You were out of the shower in fifteen minutes, toweling your hair with one hand and rushing to check your phone with the other, not expecting a myriad of notifications. 

17 Missed calls. 

6 Voicemails. 

26 Unread texts. 

The last of which made your blood run cold. 

Jeno: Y/N please  i’m outside 

You rushed to the front door, and he was there—leaning against the wall beside your entrance, hoodie clinging to him, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, eyes closed and him wincing like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Like it hurts too much to exist. Hands bruised, lip split, and he opened his eyes—bloodshot, glassy. 

“Jeno,” you gasped out loud, “w—what happened?” You said, going close to him. 

“I tried to find you,” he said, voice wrecked, “I tried but I couldn’t, I thought that maybe you blocked me.”

“No—I was in a meeting and my phone died, god I’m so sorry—fuck, come inside.” You shook your head in distress.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you gently helped him when he didn’t move, like he wasn’t allowed to, “I fucked up.”

“Shh, come inside, it’s cold,” you whispered and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You tried to be calm, you tried to take control of the situation for once and he listened, this time he did when you took him to your room. 

You didn’t ask how this happened to him, only guiding him to the bathroom, “you’re soaked and bleeding, take a shower, i’ll put your clothes in the wash and dryer.”

He opened his mouth to say otherwise, but you didn’t let him, grabbing a fresh towel and handing it to him. 

“Are you sure you want me here?” He asked, vulnerable. 

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise, Jeno, I do.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he disappeared into the bathroom without another word and you worked your washing machine and dryer, sitting down right after, exhaling and letting your guard down, hands shaking with worry. 

You were glad Jeno was taking his sweet time inside, because you had no clue how to go on with this situation. Jeno stalling coming out simply because he was ashamed, also consumed in how good your shampoo smells. He was at your place, in your bathroom, all bloodied up, why? Because he couldn’t be normal for once and let you in. 

His walls came crashing down each time you came closer to him, but this time, he didn’t want them to go back up the second he touched you, this time, he wanted you inside with him. 

His clothes were dry very soon and you kept them in your room, waiting outside by the sofa, letting him come out all dressed up. The water stopped soon, the door creaking as he came out, and you were sitting on the sofa, hair still wet. 

Then Jeno opened the door, you stood up at the noise, and he looked your way in a silent plea to ask you if he could sit next to you, and you nodded. He held up the bloodied towel, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you smiled softly, taking it away from him. 

The silence was too loud after as you both sat next to each other, you waited for him to say something, waited for the reality of tonight to settle in—to make sense, to stop trembling beneath your skin. And then he spoke as you took out your medicine kit, gently grabbing his hand to take a look at his bruised knuckles. 

“Y/N,” he took your name as if it was the only thing he knew. 

He watched you kneel in front of him, your eyes not angry, just steady, quiet, and unbearably kind. His fingers trembled in yours, you gently pulled the sleeve back, pressing a warm damp cloth to the wounds, making him wince slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you breathed out. 

“I deserve worse,” he breathed back. 

“No, you don’t,” you said, looking up at him. 

He laughed under his breath, “why are you so kind to me? I don’t deserve it, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide what I give you, Jeno,” you replied, “you’re bleeding, again.”

“Not my first time.”

You gripped him tighter, “and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said, voice low, “just means I’m good at it by now.”

You didn’t answer. Just ripped the antiseptic packet open a little more forcefully than necessary and pressed it to the bruised line of his knuckles. He flinched.

“Good,” you muttered. “Means you still feel something.”

“God, Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped, trying your best to act normal but you both were far from that, “not yet.”

You cleaned the split in his skin with the kind of precision that only comes from anger—controlled, careful, but deeply furious.

“You don’t get to act like none of this mattered,” you said, eyes locked on his wounds. “You don’t get to disappear into your guilt and then show up bleeding and say I didn’t know where else to go. That’s not enough.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come for a reward.”

“Good,” you said coldly. “Because you’re not getting one.” You wrapped gauze around his hand slowly, tight enough that it would sting.

He didn’t pull away.

“I came because I thought I’d lose you,” he said through his teeth, “I came because I’m fucking terrified that I already did.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You said, standing up, “you keep doing this thing, you pull me in, let me see you and then the very second it gets real, you shut the door in my face.”

“I know,” he said. Loud. Frustrated. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when I say the wrong thing? Like you’re trying so fucking hard not to walk away?”

“You told me to go!”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then don’t say it!” You shouted, “don’t look at me like I’m everything one second and then act like I mean nothing the next!”

“I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I stayed!”

You were both breathing hard now. Staring at each other like you didn’t know whether to cry or kiss or throw something, You still stood in between Jeno’s legs, him looking up at you.  Jeno ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few feet before turning back to you, eyes wide and glassy.

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.”

Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

You stared at him.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Someone who’d gone through hell and walked straight into another fire because you were at the center of it.

Your voice cracked, “you don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

You looked down at your hands—his blood still faintly on your fingertips. He reached out slowly. You didn’t move. Not when his fingers curled around your wrist. Not when he pulled you in his lap, not when his forehead leaned into yours like he was holding on for dear life.

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, Jeno.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m sick,” he said suddenly. “Sick of being the one who’s always too much. Too angry. Too wrong. I get one thing right—one fucking exam—and even then I screw it up by throwing a punch at someone who talks shit about you and then picking a fight with the only person who’s ever actually looked at me like I could be more.”

Your breath hitched. You grabbed the gauze, wrapped it around his hand. Tighter than needed.

“Then be more, Jeno.”

He stared at you.

“Be more,” you repeated, “because I’m tired of being in love with someone who’s so determined to hate himself.”

That silenced him. Fully. Until he spoke again.

“You’re in love with me?”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

You froze. Swallowed. Refused to take it back, chuckling to yourself at how easily you let go and told him that, “yeah—god help me, I am.”

Then you tried to move back, only his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, holding you in place, “you don’t get to say that and walk away.” He growled. 

“Who said I’m walking away?” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support. 

It was unreal, how close you guys were but still not close enough, it was never enough. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jeno stated. 

“I should be mad.” 

“I’m mad too,” he added. 

“Good,” you rolled your eyes, trying to move again.

But he didn’t let you, not this time, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

That was it. That was when Jeno finally let go. He couldn’t delay this anymore, not again, not when you were right in front of him, not when your soft lips brushed so tenderly against his bruised ones, not when you told him you were in love with him—not when he knew he had to have you. 

He surged up and into you—hands gripping your face, mouth pressing against yours like it was the only way to breathe. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t neat, it was everything you’d been holding back.

Lips slotted together, you could taste blood on your tongue from where he was hurt before, which only made you groan into the kiss, he was frustrated, so frustrated, not having it in him to let go for even a second. 

You gasped, arms flying up to clutch at his shoulders, pressed chest-to-chest, his body was warm—too warm—and you could feel his tension in every line.

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting. 

“I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

You didn’t stop him, grabbing his nape and pulling him into you once again, because when Jeno kissed you again, it felt like pain, penance, and pleasure all in one. It was as if he was trying to earn your forgiveness with his mouth, trying to pour out everything he couldn’t say to you, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted over his lap. 

“I fucking—” He said midway the kiss, “god I—”

You shushed him gently, “you don’t have to say it.”

“I love you,” he breathed out, forehead pressed against yours, eyes earnest and full of life for the first time since you saw him, “I don’t care if it’s too early, I can’t fucking not say it, I love you, I—”

Before he could ruin the moment with the spiral in his throat, before he could pull back in fear, you pressed your lips against his like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He responded like he’d been starving. Mouth hot, desperate, hands gripping your waist like the world was falling apart and he only had seconds left to memorize you. The kiss was brutal in the way it made you feel, there was no choreography to it, no elegance—just lips, teeth, breath, and aching hunger.

His mouth was swollen. Your lips, bruised from how much he kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

Then you grabbed his jaw once you heard him wince, “does it hurt?” You asked, pecking his jaw, trailing kisses all over. 

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, letting your lips take over, tracing every bit of his face and neck, his eyes closing with the fire that you ignited within him. 

“This feels like a dream,” he whispered.

“It’s not.”

“But it could be,” he added, almost to himself. “You—like this, in my lap, in your apartment, touching me like I’m not a monster.”

You cupped his face again, guiding his eyes to yours, “you’re not a monster, Jeno.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve thought.”

“Then tell me.”

His voice cracked, “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you again. I thought that maybe I’m already ruined and maybe I don’t deserve you but I can’t stop loving you anyway. I thought—”

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep and aching, “then stop thinking,” you whispered, “just be here—with me.”

His fingers trembled as they curled into the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the fabric up carefully, reverently, and you helped him, raising your arms until it was off. His breath hitched. Not because of how you looked—but because he was looking at you like that.

Like something sacred.

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, tugging. He hesitated for a split second before pulling it over his head. The sight made your breath catch.

His torso was littered with bruises, some dark purple, some fading yellow. His ribcage dipped where the muscle was taut with tension. You reached out, fingertips grazing over a particularly harsh mark near his side.

He flinched. “That one’s from earlier.”

Your jaw clenched, “you shouldn’t fight because of me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “I was fighting every voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth your love.”

You kissed the bruise.

He gasped.

“I hate that they ever made you feel like that.”

His hands slid back up to your sides, lips brushing your jaw. “You make it go quiet.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Your kisses grew slow again, heavier with emotion than desire. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest pressed into his, your hands in his hair, his head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss. You rolled your hips slightly in his lap, and he groaned again, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“Jeno,” you murmured, your nails dragging softly along his back, “look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes—wild, glassy, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I love you,” you said again. “I’m not afraid of it. So don’t be either.”

He leaned forward, pressing your foreheads together. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty, did I ever tell you that?” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, brushing his lips all over before placing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your clavicle, “so fucking pretty.”

Jeno wasn’t gentle anymore, not when he’d been craving your presence, craving you. He couldn’t help but treat you like a reward, like he finally had won the only thing in life that actually mattered to him. 

He was quick to grab your waist and flip you over, getting on top of you on the couch that was too small for things he had planned in his mind. It was almost like a dam breaking the way his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming you. 

“Jeno—” you mumbled, your back arching as you felt his body pressing into you, fingers wrapped around his wet locks as he marked your skin with every ounce of desperation he had, his fingers mapping out every inch of your body as if he’s afraid he’d forget it—as if he could ever forget anything about you. 

The warmth of his hands brushed over your bra clad nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. Jeno wasn’t undressed yet you could feel him getting hard, and god you wondered just how big he was, grinding into you as if he was already inside your cunt. 

“I hurt you so fucking much,” Jeno mumbled, lips ghosting over your tit, “now I’ll hurt you in the way you want me to,” he said with dark eyes, yanking your bra down enough for your nipples to show, latching his mouth to you all in light speed. 

All his life Jeno couldn’t take control of anything, but seeing you shiver under him just made sense to Jeno, he had to take control—he had to make you feel so good, you wouldn’t ever look at anyone else. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered, already disheveled with how needy you were, wetness pooling in your panties, soiling the new pair you had put on not too long ago. 

“Yeah? You drive me crazy, baby,” he chuckled, and that sound went straight to your pussy. Jeno was hot, so fucking hot, but him using nicknames on you with his deep tone—only god knows how you would survive this. 

You bit your lip to conceal your moans, which only infuriated Jeno, biting your nipple harshly to make sure you scream, “don’t fucking hide your pretty voice,” he said. 

His hands went to your other breast and he gave it a tight squeeze, your eyes were on him as you watched his lips parting, letting his tongue make contact with the tip of your very hardened nub. He bites down on your nipple, making you cry out, but quickly soothes it with his tongue before switching to the other side, he wants to drive you wild with pleasure, to possess every inch of your body.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, you surrender yourself completely to Jeno’s possessive touches, letting him have his way with you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his desperate sucking, a symphony of carnal desire. In this moment, there is nothing but you and Jeno, and the burning hunger that consumes you both. 

Jeno’s hands roam across your body, his touch electric against your skin. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him as he claims your lips in yet another searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth, hot and hungry, making you more hungry for his touch—for him. 

“I—can’t,” you whimpered, wanting more of him. 

Jeno chuckled, “can’t even speak now, hm? What happened to the feisty lil’ girl who couldn’t shut up?” 

“Fuck, shut up,” you mumbled, tugging on his hair harder, which only made him groan and squeeze your tits harder, coming up to brush his lips against yours, hot breaths intertwining as he smirks, hand travelling down your body, very close to the hem of your shorts. 

“Want me to shut up?” He asked, squeezing your neck with slight pressure, your mouth opening in a gasp—he took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, watching your eyes widen as watches you gulp it down, “good fucking girl,” he mumbles. 

You were too gone to function anymore and you had just started, but you knew one thing—whatever Jeno wanted, you’d let him do it to you. 

That man was no less than a Greek god with how sharp his features looked, especially in the dim light of the room, muscles flexing, abs on full display as he held himself up on top of you to press kisses all over. 

In a swift second, he pulled you up to unclasp your bra, throwing it away somewhere to continue pressing hot mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, and down your tummy, caressing it with the pad of his thumb, spending a good few seconds covering the expanse of your skin. 

You breathed harder once he reached the waistband of your shorts, his hooded eyes, almost drunk, looking up at you before he swiftly pulled them down, throwing them on the floor somewhere.

He couldn’t be gentle even if he tried, not when he was this thirsty, holding your legs open as he settled in the limited space that the couch held for him. Madman—that’s what he was and you couldn’t help but moan when he got closer to your panty clad cunt, burying his nose in the wet fabric, sniffing the scent of your arousal, groaning as he locked your thighs under his arms, which flexed harder now. 

You moaned his name as if a broken record repeating the same thing over and over again and he only mumbled things you couldn’t hear in your cunt, licking the already wet cloth, biting his lip at the first taste of you, “fuck—you’re so fucking perfect,” he says licking you harder, kissing your inner thighs alongside, leaving bites all over—he was feral. 

He slid your panties to the side, and the sight he had in front of him drove him to the edge. Jeno was an impatient man, yes, he was messy, he was not the softest, but seeing you like this just made him realize how much crazier he could be. 

That first taste emboldens him and he dives in like a man starved, lapping at your folds like he’s trying to consume you entirely. 

His desperate tongue delves deep inside, fucking you with rapid strokes and curling to hit your sweet spot. You cry out sharply at the intense sensation, fingers tangling in his tousled raven hair to hold him in place. He grips your thighs tightly, holding you down and open for his onslaught as he devours you. 

Jeno zeroes in on your clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly. Your back arches off the couch as he suckles hard on the throbbing bud, two fingers pumping inside your clenching hole.

“Fuck—Jeno, I’m gonna cum!” You wail, thighs trembling violently around his head as your climax approaches rapidly. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers and lashing your clit mercilessly with his tongue.

He curls his fingers to stroke your G-spot with every thrust, drawing out more of your copious arousal to lap up greedily. Your walls start to flutter and clench around him as the pressure builds unbearably.

 Jeno chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “You like that, baby?” He practically purred, before sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, your head falling back against the couch. Jeno was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your thighs trembling as you stared at the ceiling with your mouth open, desperate for air. 

Jeno pulled back for a moment, looking up at you with a wicked grin, “you want more, kitten?” He teased, running a finger along your slit, “go on then, beg for it.”

You groaned in frustration, but you were too far gone to care, “please, Jeno,” you begged, fueling his ego. 

“Shhh, be a good lil’ kitten for me, yeah?” He mumbled into your core mindlessly, sending shivers up your spine as your thighs shake. He didn’t stop, but just when your ecstasy was about to crash—

He stopped. 

You let out a frustrated groan and Jeno only got up with the essence of you sprawled over his chin, his hard on begging to be freed. 

“Fuck?” You asked, trying to get up on your elbows, looking at him incredulously. 

He only gave you a once over, tongue poking his cheek from inside before he came closer, swooping you up in his arms easily as you yelped, eyes wide as he carried you to the bedroom, “no patience, huh?” He asked. 

He was proud of himself for making you this weak, for cracking your high wall down so he could see you, so he could ruin you. Jeno was possessive, especially after knowing what you and Jaemin went through, he wanted you to have the best, and he was willing to be the best for you. 

“I—I was gonna cum!” You said, holding on to him for support.

“Did I say you could?” He replied smoothly. 

“What—Jeno what the fuck?” You whined and he only chuckled.

“Be patient, love, or else you won’t be coming all fucking night, yeah?” He said as he let you get down on the bed. 

You looked so innocent, eyes watery, hair messy, looking up at him like an angry little kitten trying to look tough. He climbed the bed and you moved back, till your back hit the headboard and he hovered above you, caressing your cheek as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to look him in his eye. Your heartbeat speeding up yet again, and good lord you loved being manhandled by Jeno. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, thumb pushing on your lower lip. 

“Nothing.” You mumbled. 

He leaned in closer, “not thinking of my cock inside your pretty little cunt, hm?” He asks, watching you shiver at the thought, “by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you cum.”

Your jaw clenched as you slide your hand up Jeno’s torso, tracing all the way from his abs to his neck, his own body reacting to your touch, cock twitching inside his pants by the time your hand rested on his nape, pulling him even closer so your noses were touching. 

“You know, Jeno, you talk big game. Don’t make promises you can’t back up,” you mumbled to rile him up. 

Jeno’s eyes flashed with a mixture of lust and irritation at your challenge, “oh, you’re going to regret those words,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips possessively. “I’m going to make you beg for my cock, baby.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust of his fingers, two of them plunging deep into your sopping wet pussy. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he worked them in and out, stroking along your sensitive walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. “I can’t wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned, your hips rolling to meet his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you shot back, your voice breathy with desire.

Jeno chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to bring them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your taste. “Mmh—delicious,” he purred, “but I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart and settling between them. His tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your arousal like a man starved. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured your pussy with single-minded intensity.

He worked you over mercilessly, his tongue and lips and teeth finding all the right spots to drive you wild. You bucked against his face, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built inside you. Just when you thought you might burst, Jeno would back off, leaving you desperate and aching for release.

“Jeno, please,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to guide him back to where you needed him most, “I need to cum. Please let me cum.”

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Not yet,” he shook his head, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles on your clit, “I want to hear you scream first.”

“I fucking can’t!” You breathed out, trying to control your moans again, “someone’s gonna hear and—ah—complain about it,” you said, which only made him scoff. 

“Is that it, hm? Have it your way then, princess,” he mumbled, yanking your soiled panties down all the way, balling it up in his first to make a gag out of it and shoving it down your mouth, “now you can scream all your want, Y/N.” He said, taking your name in his deep voice. 

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Jeno was for being the one in control. 

You squirmed beneath Jeno, feeling utterly at his mercy as he continued his torturous teasing. The gag in your mouth muffled your moans but couldn’t silence them completely, much to Jeno’s enjoyment. Your body arched, yearning for more, desperate for release.

“Such a needy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Jeno growled, his fingers still circling your sensitive bud, “I can feel how wet you are, taste how wet you are, dripping for me, hm?”

His words made you clench, fresh arousal coating his fingers. He gathered some of your slickness and slowly dragged it up to your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your hips bucked up in hopes of seeking more contact.

“Hm—so responsive,” Jeno purred, looking pleased with himself, “I could do this all night—keep you on the edge, begging so desperately for me.”

“Please—” you tried to say around the gag, your eyes pleading, you were so close, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax. Just a little more.

But Jeno seemed determined to deny you that satisfaction, easing off right as you were about to fall over into your state of euphoria, frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the overwhelming lust coursing through your veins.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, baby,” Jeno taunted, nipping at your inner thigh, “I want to hear you scream my name—let everyone know who you belong to.”

His fingers circled, feather-light touches that drove you wild with need. You thrashed beneath him, incoherent noises of desperation spilling from your lips. Jeno just chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your plight, removing your gag to hear you gasp loudly, his name on the tip of your tongue. 

Jeno was cruel, so cruel the way he denied your orgasm yet again with a smirk playing on his face, a whole one eighty from how he was an hour back and you were crying by now, something he seemed to enjoy too as he licked your face, tasting the salty teardrop you let out, “this makes me wanna ruin you more, y’know?” 

“Fuck—Jeno, let me cum please,” you sobbed as he took you in his arms. 

“You wanna cum, hm?” He asked as you settled on his lap, his hard on pressing against your thigh as you nodded, “fuck, you look so pretty crying like that for me, like a doll, a doll for me to use, hm?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, getting off and undoing his pant buttons as he watched you with amusement how you struggled to take off his pants and boxers, only to find his cock waiting for you, hard and proud. 

Jeno’s cock was throbbing, hard and ready to burst, as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip in a teasing manner. You could taste the salty beads of precum leaking from his slit, the flavor sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck—baby,” Jeno groaned, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your throat. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going just like that, good girl.”

You moaned around his length, the vibrations making him shudder. Your own arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating them with your slick essence. The wet sounds of your slurping filled the room, mingling with Jeno’s heavy breaths and grunts of pleasure.

“Shit—fuck, take it easy, I won’t be able to hold back," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna fucking come down your throat if you keep sucking me like that.”

You redoubled your efforts, eager to taste his release. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you sucked harder, determined to milk him of every last drop. Just as you felt him start to swell, signaling his impending orgasm, you pulled away with a pop.

Jeno’s eyes jolted open, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. “What the fuck, baby? Why the fuck did you stop?”

You just smiled coyly up at him, licking your lips. “Because I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up with your hot cum, or are you too much of a coward to fuck me?” You teased, your grin making him scoff. 

God he loved you. 

Jeno growled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a flash, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your side, your back pressed firmly against his torso. 

Before you could even process the sudden change in position, he was lined up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Teasing me will only get you punished,” he warned, his voice low and husky with desire. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

With that promise, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching as he filled you completely. Jeno set a brutal pace, pounding into you with wild abandon.

You let out a sharp cry as Jeno’s thick cock stretched you open, filling you so deeply that you could feel him bulging through your lower abdomen. The feeling of his hard length pulsing inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press your ass against him.

“Lord—ah yes,” you gasped, grinding against him, “you’re—so fucking big.”

Jeno grunted in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to pound into you at a furious pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your needy moans filled the room, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame beneath you.

“Shit, your cunt is so tight,” Jeno mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. “Squeezing my cock like a desperate doll—you were made for me, baby. Made to take my dick and milk me dry.”

His filthy words only heightened your arousal, making you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your core as he hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust.

“Please don’t stop, not this time,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his thighs. “Fuck me harder, Jeno. I’m so fucking close.”

He was quick to flip you over again so you were resting on your back, his hips settling in between you as he held your thighs up, your legs resting on both his shoulders with ease as he snapped into you harder, plunging his cock with more need, as if he was a monster hungry for lust and only lust.

Jeno snarled, his hips snapping forward with a newfound vigor. One hand moved around to rub firm circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to tremble, your breath coming out in short gasps as you found yourself on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Jeno demanded, pinching your clit hard, “I want to feel you cum all over my dick, baby.”

With a scream of his name, you practically exploded, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body convulsed, your back bowing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through you, which shocked Jeno because you weren’t just having an orgasm. 

You were squirting all over his cock. 

Jeno followed shortly after, his cock pulsing as he spilled his release deep inside you, as he breathed hard, watching you with surprised eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding against you to prolong your shared climax, “you’re so fucking hot, so fucking mine.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls, the sensation making your pussy flutter around his shaft. Jeno held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks, his softening cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could. 

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jeno.”

“Fuck—again.”

“So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jeno.”

“Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

After a few moments, Jeno carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back. He pressed gentle kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his touch soothing and tender in contrast to the rough passion from moments before.

“That was intense,” he murmured, nuzzling against your collarbone, “I don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you, baby. You’re fucking addictive.”

You smiled up at him, reaching up to cup his face. "I could say the same about you. The way you fuck me, it’s like you’re a fucking beast.”

“Was I too harsh?” He asked, placing soft kisses all over, “I’m sorry I just lost control—you have no idea how badly I need you, I don’t think I can stop,” he confessed. 

You kissed him again, “then don’t stop, just don’t.”

That’s all he needed to hear for the night, that you were finally his, and he was yours. He smirked, the night was just getting started. 

Chapter 10: Hate me less? You love me more. 

You don’t remember how the night ended, not when Jeno kept his promise of how you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore once he was done with you, and he was precise about it. He was far from done when he made you fall apart on his cock so many times, you lost count. 

It was a crazy switch up once you both were done, he took care of you, almost like he was made for it, helping you clean up in little bathtub which was definitely too small to fit the both of you, yet he helped you bath, a faint blush on his face as you laughed once he tried to act sly, touching you again when you were so sensitive and overstimulated. 

Turns out, Jeno can be super clingy when he has to be, also not letting you go once you get out of the tub, helping you dry your hair, helping you moisturize your body, helping you smile by kissing you every few seconds. 

He held you to sleep, not before hearing you say you actually want him and it’s not a dream. Jeno doesn’t remember if he ever felt this way before, this warmth called happiness that you provided him so easily. 

“I love you,” he mumbled to your sleeping figure, he was whipped, already thinking of your future together. Yeah, maybe it all happened too quickly, he still wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t mind getting through all the hurt again if it meant that he’d wake up to you sleeping next to him—to you loving him. 

It was perhaps the best day of Jeno’s life. 

The air felt different today.

Not because of the weather, which was finally warm and breezy after days of storm and stress, but because Jeno was walking beside you—not behind, not ahead—beside you. His fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin every few steps like he was still checking if this was real, he still couldn’t believe it. 

It was.

You passed the main quad slowly, in no rush. The two of you didn’t need to say much. Conversations dimmed as you walked through. You could feel the glances, the whispers.

Someone definitely said your name. Then his.

And then, clear as day, they whispered. 

“Wait—are they actually holding hands?”

Jeno didn’t flinch.

Not like he would’ve, weeks ago. Not like the boy who couldn’t stand being seen, being known. Instead, he just grabbed your hand a little tighter—casual, sure, and completely unbothered. His expression said it all—Yeah, and?

You chuckled. “Think they’re combusting?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, tugging you closer with a smugness he barely bothered to hide anymore. “Especially that one girl who’s walking with me, who swore she’d never even look at me.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” you teased. “You were kind of a menace.”

He groaned, tossing his head back, “were?”

You laughed, and it made him smile, soft and full, the kind of smile he used to hide and now gave you freely.

“You’re doing that look again,” he said, side-eyeing you. “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. Can’t help it. You’re a walking dissertation, y’know?”

“Yeah? What’s the title?”

You looked up at him with a shrug. “How to fall for someone you’re supposed to hate.”

That made him stop walking.

You blinked, startled, but he was already turning to face you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the fading bruises on his knuckles—old reminders of the version of him you never gave up on.

“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Fall for me. Even when I made it so damn hard.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made his breath catch. “You still do.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed your hand, “at least I’m hot.”

You were too busy rolling your eyes to realize you’d just walked past Jaemin and his friends until the entire bench went awkwardly quiet. Jaemin looked up, eyes flicking from your joined hands to your face, and then to Jeno—who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He was too focused on you. Too content stealing a bite of your ice cream like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, trying not to laugh as you nudged him forward.

Jeno followed. No hesitation.

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal.

And for the first time in his life, Jeno finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring.

It meant chosen. It meant enough.

It meant being yours.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[jambalaya-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒/𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 ;

warnings: woooooh long time no see huh? I was just craving some jimmy fluff but then i was like, eh might as well make these for all the characters. very self indulgent, maybe a little suggestive? some toxic behaviour from jimmy ofc.

sidenote: divider by @saradika-graphics

JIMMY

while people might think this guy is an unhygienic fuck, he's actually far from it. a complete and utter neat freak. he's obsessively cleaning the kitchen at every opportunity that he gets, washes his hands rhe millisecond he touches anything wet.

he wears your hoodie allll the time, but for some reason, doesn't let you wear his. his excuse? "they won't fit you". he doesn't ever disclose why he doesn't want you wearing his clothes, but his justification of wearing your hoodies is always "it just feels right".

he leaves the bathroom light on in his room before he sleeps at night, his reasoning is that he might wake up groggy and hit something, but you already know that he is in fact, very much afraid of the dark.

flinches every time you raise your voice, even when you're laughing. doesn't ever say why.

cooks for you every change he gets, he never boasts his cooking skills, but he's always making sure you smile right while eating it.

sleeps with the TV on static whenever you aren't at home, he reasons by saying the white noise helps him sleep, but it's really to block out the thoughts in his mind.

hums old radio songs while cooking. doesn't like anyone to be in the kitchen when he's cooking.

talks in his sleep a lot, your name more often than not, apologies, and other people's names sometimes.

CURLY

Has a subconscious habit of mirroring your movements, if you're stressed out he's pacing, if you're quiet, he's quiet, if you're sitting with your arms crossed, best believe he's doing it as well.

whenever he is at work and you're at home, he texts you random pictures throughout the day like, "look i saw a bird". "having a sandwich rn". "I'm heading home" with an image of the road.

does not like opening up about his emotions, there is a very big distance between you and his internal turmoil. you can be begging, wailing, and screaming for him to be honest and he'll just be like "don't worry about me".

apologises a lot, even mid sentences, "sorry- do you wanna go to this restaurant? they have sorry- seafood I think?".

from before the two of you started dating to even your 10 year anniversary, he has never ever thrown out/lost a single thing which you've gifted him.

has a bad habit of tapping his feet at a rhythmic motion, sitting, standing, sleeping.

similar to jimmy, has a habit of humming songs.

when he's overwhelmed, he just goes out for a walk, doesn't matter if it's below freezing temperatures, "it just takes his mind off of things".

whenever you guys are walking outside, he gently pushes you away from railings, stairs, lamp-posts. as if you're a glass doll, who can break at any little pressure.

ANYA

sometimes you hear her cry in the bathroom due to work related stress, but absolutely doesn't want you to know, she doesn't want you to think she's 'weak'.

whenever she has nightmares, she doesn't wake up gasping, or yell, or cry, just wraps herself around you as if it's the last day on earth.

leaves sticky notes on the fridge with reminders like, "take ur meds". "the milk is spoiled". "Love you so much".

strictly makes you go to routine doctor appointments, be it the dentist, ophthalmologist, the freaking bone doctors. ( el oh el )

keeps every single prescription bottle as if they're her personal trophies.

she chews the end of pens and pencils, you've tried to knock her out of it, but she tends to resume the habit rather fast.

she takes unusually long, and extremely hot showers whenever she's overwhelmed.

tunes her voice to match your comfort level, if you're stressed, she'll talk very softly, if you're excited, her voice tone will rise.

despite knowing about the human psyche, she gets extremely scared whenever she feels there's something off about the way you looked at her, or said 'I love you'.

SWANSEA

extremely afraid of being vulnerable with you, fixes your electrical appliances without you ever asking, but doesn't ever say 'i love you' first.

kisses you as if it's the first and last time ever, as if he won't get another chance.

builds you stuff, shelves for your books, maybe counter tops, bookshelves, a whole ass wooden closet.

when you're putting on makeup or getting ready, he likes staring at you. there's this deep sense of love and adoration in his eyes that he will never ever admit.

always forgets one of his mechanical tools in the kitchen, you'll always find a screwdriver or hammer laying around while trying to make breakfast.

sleeps on the couch during arguments, but checks up on you in the middle of the night to make sure you're sleeping alright.

sometimes, he lets out a grunt instead of answering, you've learned to translate it over time.

he always, ALWAYS. let's you have the last serving of food, doesn't matter if he's still hungry, he says that he's full. this is due to his years of unemployment due to alcoholism, he's seen the lack of food on his plate, doesn't EVER want to let you feel that way even when you guys are financially stable.

opens tight jars and cans and closes them a bit loosened, you think you've gotten stronger, you haven't.

he cuts conversations short if he notices that you're overstimulated, takes the hint and leaves the room.

will never EVER let you see him break.

DAISUKE

He's the kind of partner that gives you all of him, yet thinks he's not doing a good enough job, says 'I love you' like it's his full time job, because he's afraid the silence might steal you.

unknowingly bottles up his resentment because he doesn't know how to confront you about something, this usually results in outbursts with him yelling "am I not doing enough for you?!'.

texts you every time he finds something cute and says, "this reminded me of you :)".

had picked up a nasty smoking habit, he swears to you that he has quit, but chews bubblegum to mask the smell, you find out every time tho.

leaves cabinets and drawers open, you scold him every time but he somehow always forgets.

picks at his lips whenever he's nervous.

he checks the room for your reaction first before he speaks, you approval matters the most to him.

starts wearing the colours of clothes you compliment him in. oh you think pink looks good on him? guess who has a closet full of pink hoodies and t-shirts now.

[readychilledwine]

Howl at the Moon

Summary - Your daughter's way of exploring the world and expressing herself is a bit unorthodox

Warning - Motherhood and children

A/N - I wanted to give you all a glimpse into where I've been with life using our favorite girl dad. I really should take the time to make a GirlDad!Cassian Masterlist

✨️Master Masterlist ✨️Cassian Masterlist ✨️

“Sorcha! No,” Rhysand's voice was distressed, even if he was laughing. “Baby, Uncle Rhys said- Ow!” Your eyes shut, knowing what probably had happened. Your 16-month-old was a lot the past month. Her world was currently being explored with her mouth, and unfortunately, that meant her people, too. 

Her cry started a few moments later. Cassian seemed to sense the stress your daughter was going through and ran into the house, ready to be daddy. You followed him into the living room where Rhysand was trying to comfort your daughter. Her little wings were slumped, his hand in her curly dark hair. She was yelling more than sobbing. 

“I'm sorry. She bit my knee,” Rhys started. “I yelled-”

“Yelped,” you corrected. 

Rhysand shot you a dirty look, one that had you not been his sister would have scared you. “I gave a manly yelp,” he looked down at Sorcha. “I think it scared her.”

"No. She is upset because she was told no," Cassian got down to her level, taking her into his arms, “Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Being told no is normal, baby. It's okay."

You only stared at Rhysand as her howling began, your brother caught very off guard by the sad little “ah-woos” now coming from your daughter. “She does this lately,” Cassian explained to Rhys. “My little wolf.” 

Rhys was looking between you and Cassian, slightly confused. Nyx, your lovely nephew, had never gone through this feral phase. He had always been refined whereas Sorcha in all her spoiling was, well, sometimes just wild.

The problem was Cassian encouraging her. 

She howled, he howled with her. She bit, he gently nibbled her back. She yelled or screeched, well, he did the same. He matched her energy like it had become his own purpose in life. As if she was his very soul turned into this beautiful creature of playfulness and joy. 

He gave her a soft ah-woo back, making her begin to giggle and howl even more. “That's my happy happy girl,” Cassian picked her up, hugging her as he walked her outside. “Let's go run off some energy, baby.”

You moved to your brother, checking his knee for injury. “Last week, she bit my cheek when we were cuddling and made an almost growling noise,” you stated. Your eyes met his, your brother's dark brow was cocked. “I know. I know it's inappropriate. I am battling Cassian's enabling and he doesn't tell her no like I do. It's why he's the favorite."

"I don't think he's her favorite. She still watches for you like a hawk and screams in excitement anytime you walk into a room," Rhysand chuckled as he made you stand with him and then walked with you toward the patio door.

“You know what I see,” his eyes were now where Cassian was slightly chasing Sorcha, her loud belly laughter so innocent and unapologetically loud. “I see a father who loves his daughter and is playing with her. I see my niece, getting to explore the world most naturally to her. I see parents working to ensure their only child is raised with confidence. Even if she is a bit spoiled. She's frankly too damn cute not to spoil with those dark eyes and hair and that little food belly.”

Cassian had playfully caught Sorcha, tossing her in the air just high enough to make your stomach twist with worry. Your voice held a vulnerability that Rhysand had grown used to you using lately, “Do you think we're failing her?”

“Because she likes to chew? Cauldron, no. It's her instinct, sister,” Rhysand laughed. “She can't help it. It's soothing for her, it's how she's learning. Has the biting others slowed down?”

You nodded, “Its mainly Cass and I now. And evidently you.”

Rhysand hummed, “So the fae she feels safest with. I should be honored then, being loved so much by her she wants to be herself with me.” Soft blue eyes looked at you, the coloring almost violet. “You're doing great.”

Cassian was lying in the grass with Sorcha now, her little body on top of his. He had a wing up enough to block the sun from her eyes, his shut as his baby girl got comfy and let out a content and dramatic sigh. Her energy seemed to be burned out for now. She bit into Cassian's shirt, almost using it as a pacifier. Cassian gave her another soft howl, and Sophia dropped his shirt to echo him.

“You're doing great,” Rhysand repeated, his voice tight and eyes watering.

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[namelessgakusei]

EP 3.1 This is how you shoot

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent. (Y/N) Lore. Posted out of spite?

Note: This was on my drafts but like lmao it got accidentally posted.

EP 2.3 Amen. (prev.)

EP 3.2 TBA

Synopsis: Your capture made you dream about a past long gone.

The front sight of a Glock aligns perfectly with the target, a few feet away from a child no less than five as they barely wrap their hands around the gun's grip. "That's right, baby. Keep that little tip of the triangle aligned to the mark. If you do, you'll land the shot." An older man gently says as he supports your form, correcting your stance and giving tips on how to have a better grip.

"Bang." You muttered when you pulled the trigger, the gun clicking into place as it releases no bullets, but it didn't deter you from "shooting". Your determination for a five year old pleases your father, with your face scrunched up in an exaggerated frown, he smiled as he ruffled your hair and brought you up in his arms. "That's right. That's right. You would make a fine soldier, yeah?"

"Are you teaching them how to handle a gun, again?" Your mother sighs by the doorway, arms crossed as she raises a brow at the sight. "They won't learn anything if they can't experience the real thing. They should know about the drawback when it comes to shooting a gun."

"They're only five." Your father protests as you keep your attention on your mom, who had gone over to pick up the empty gun you used for practice. "This is too heavy for them, I bet they can't even lift this properly on one hand." She frowns as she examines the weapon, weighing it on her hand, cocking it before aiming at the target in a swift motion. Like what happened to you, the gun clicks itself due to the lack of ammo.

"I'm going to build their strength, of course!" Your father laughed heartily and grabbed your mother's waist in one hand while he carried you on the other. "Then they'll join the army, get promoted, and soon join my squad!"

"You mean DARKCOM?" You asked, tilting your head to the side, lacking excitement that your father wanted to see in his children whenever he gives them the push to join the army.

"Of course, baby." He grins and leaned his head over yours. "We'll eradicate this world of demons, you and I."

"They can't even finish their food." Your brother snickers from the inside of the house, face smug as he teases you. "How can you expect them to survive in the army, Dad?"

Your family laughed as you struggled against your father's grip, knowing that you'll chase your brother in retaliation once you break free.

"Listen 'kay? Mum doesn't have to know about this, okay?"

"Okay."

"You won't tell? Promise?"

"Promise." You nodded with excitement, barely six years old as you trail behind your older brother and his friends. You noticed him sneaking out at night in the past few weeks and insisted on coming with you when you finally caught up. He seems to think that you'll tattle to your parents but you're not a snitch! Besides, you've never snuck out like this! So you agreed, nonetheless.

You don't know where they're going, but you have a rough idea of what they're doing, having seen "clues" inside your brother's drawers. Bullets. But not the usual calibers, no, there's a vial of something green inside.

You tugged at your brother's hand as he held yours to keep you two from being separated. "Where are we going?" But he only grinned, telling you that this is just like the training your father gives the both of you. "Shooting?"

"But better, we'll be shooting real targets." His friends all donned a kind of smile that looked a bit too smug. You can't quite pinpoint why this feels wrong all of the sudden, maybe you should've told your parents about this before. But looking back, you can't exactly go back on your own, as you've been going through dark alleys and corners. Just where are you headed that permits going to an abandoned warehouse?

"There's our guy!" A man laughs upon seeing your group, greeting them with a handshake and a hug. There are a few older men around the area, each in possession of rifles or guns, before landing their eyes on you. "Is this the young master?" One of them crouched down to your eye level and grinned, trying to coax you out from hiding behind your brother.

"They insisted on coming." Your sibling laughs and pats your head, telling you that it's alright to meet the others. At his words, the men around nodded and smiled at each other, noting that it's better for them to start early so they get used to it soon. At that time, you had no idea what they were about to let you join in, but with how you are right now. You deeply regret asking to come.

Inside the warehouse are cages that contain a few green humanoid creatures, with tiny horns that protrude on their heads. The older, bigger ones, grimaced at your appearance, speaking in something you fail to understand, but they look more concerned than afraid. Their fear returned moments later when one of the men kicked their cage, rattling the demons inside. Your brother hands you a strange looking gun, a bit blocky compared to the usual firearms that your father makes you practice with, before helping you aim at a demon that they let out.

That demon was about your size, they looked at you with wide eyes, arms raised in surrender while pleading to you in a foreign language. It looks weak, hunger-stricken based on the dip on their body and the obvious marks that littered around their skin. One of the men with you kicked them down when they reached out to you, sensing your reluctance to hurt them, but they weren't the only ones who noticed. The people around you kept talking about how demons are the pests of the world, of how they are nothing more than insects meant to be crushed down, and that you shouldn't hesitate in killing them.

"Kill it!"

"Shoot it. (Y/N)!"

"Shoot!"

You woke up with a jolt, before immediately squinting your eyes due to the sudden brightness above, although something seemed to have blocked it the moment you closed your eyes. Your neck aches a bit due to how stiff your "pillow" is, making you groan and turn your head, but something keeps bugging you.

Why the hell do you smell Dante?

It's not even a whiff, you genuinely smell the guy like he's smushing you close to his chest whenever he needs to protect you. While it's comforting at times, it starts to reek. Not only that, you can't move your legs nor your arms, are you bound? With an exhale, you open your eyes.

And there he is, looking down at you with an uncharacteristic serious face, and speaking with a gruff tone. "Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?"

"You walked right into that imperial ambus-"

"Are you seriously quoting Skyrim right now?" You squinted with a frown, making him shrug. Groaning, you squirmed as you recalled the events of last night. Right, you got caught. Damn it, this wasn't how you planned this out! ...It's alright, you can flip this out to your favor later. You tried sitting up but failed after a few attempts, the sleeping gas might still be in your system, and Dante's thighs weren't much of a cushion for your fall.

"No wonder the pillow was hard." You sighed with a deadpan tone, missing the glint on Dante's eyes upon your words.

"You know what else is hard?"

You never sat up so fast in your life, accidentally giving Dante a headbutt, granted, that wasn't your intention, but hey, at least you got to sit up!

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye

[chrisbesitos]

"i don't think you're being far, matt." you say, sounding like a whisper. you're sitting on the corner of the bed, hugging your own body. you avoid stare at his eyes, he's mad at you and for a ridiculous reason. you hate when matt's mad at you, even more when he acts like you don't know what you're doing with your life.

"y/n, i told you to stay away from chris! he's not the type of guy that you should hang out with."

"i wasn't hanging out with him! i told you, but you don't listen to me." you huff, crossing your arms. you're starting to feel angry, feeling your eyes getting glassy. "i was with mia, she left and a guy tried to kiss me. chris helped me, just this."

"just this?" matt asks, clearly insinuating something more. you're done with him. he knows he's mad, because he knows his brother is a 'menace', but so tired of him accusing you of doing things you clearly didn't. matt's your best friend, he knows you really well, but he has no right to do what he's doing right now.

"this is what you thought about me?" you ask, clearly offended. matt expression softed, noticing he took too far. you shake your head, lifting from the bed and walking towards the door. "i thought you trusted me more, matt." you say, disappointed.

you walk out of the room, practically running towards the stairs to get out of the house. you open the front door and bump into someone, you didn't notice, because your eyes are so full of tears, that you can't see clearly. chris was getting into the house, he arrived after work, when you bump into him. he steps back, blinking his eyes, you're crying?

"are you blind, kid?" chris asks, tilting his head to see you better. you sniff deep and clean the tears in your cheeks, you shake your head and clear your eyes, seeing chris in front of you.

"i'm sorry, i didn't see you." you whisper. "hm, bye." you try to pass through chris, but he holds your arm and stops you.

"what happened, hm?" chris asks, raising his eyebrows. you shake your head, trying to go away, but chris insists. you sit on the stairs, resting your elbows on your knees, chris sits besides you, leaning his head to look at you better. "you're crying, why?"

"it's stupid."

"then, tell me."

why does he care?, you sigh.

"me and matt, we argued. he accused me of things." you say, playing with your fingers. you feel your eyes tearing again. chris sighs, he shakes his head. "things that i would never do."

"he's an asshole." chris groans. "why does he accuse you?"

"because of you." you murmur. "he doesn't want me to be around you." and you look at chris.

chris looks at you, staring at your teary eyes. he doesn't know what to say, he kinda knows why matt told you this, but he didn't have to be rude with you. because if you are crying, he clearly was mean with you. a tear roll down, you look down, chris doesn't hesite and cleans the tear, you lift your head and stare at chris. you both doesn't say anything, because you both don't know what to say. you try to open a smile, but ended looking like a grimace, your lips trembled and you lean down, resting your head on chris' lap.

chris widens his eyes, lifting his arms, trying to not touch you. he doesn't know how to act, you're crying on his lap and he's not used to dealing with this. chris, hesitantly, relaxes his arms and gently rests them around you. he brushes his fingers on you hair, still too much shocked. eventually, you stop crying and lift your head, cleaning your face with your hands. chris doesn't say anything, neither you.

you open your mouth to say something, but you give up. you lift from the stairs and start to walk, making your way to your house. chris stays on the stairs, feeling a weird sensation inside his chest, at some point he opens a small smile.

© chrisbesitos.

[tryagainstarlight]

Isabeau's friend quest!

(You follow Isabeau around for a while... Going through Dormont, then the forest, until...)

(A field...?)

(There's nothing around...)

(What could he possibly need?)

💫: "So, what do you need me to do?"

🪨: Huh? Oh, um...

🪨: ...Lay down with me?

(...?)

(You lay down.)

💫: "And then?"

🪨: And then...

🪨: Look up!

(You look up.)

(Stars, stars, stars, all around you.)

(You inhale sharply.)

🪨: Y'know, when you asked me if I needed help earlier, I wasn't sure what to say!

🪨: I don't really need help with anything... And I did all I needed to prepare for tomorrow and stuff.

🪨: But I saw you run around and help everyone today, and that seemed kinda fun! And so, I thought...

🪨: "[Loop] making sure to help everyone today, but I just want to hang out with him!!!¨

(Oh.)

(. . .)

(Oh.)

(On what he thinks is his last day on Earth, he just wanted to spend some time with you.)

(...)

💫: "Why stars?"

🪨: Oh!

🪨: Um.

🪨: So, you know how you say this word, when you're annoyed or something bad happens?

🪨: I don't know what language it is, but I always thought it was like a swear word? Like "crab"?

🪨: And I looked in a few books, but I couldn't find the word anywhere, and I got really curious...

🪨: And one day, I heard someone else say it! So I asked them, and they said it means "stars"!

🪨: And I noticed you know stuff about the sky! You talked about planets once, and the sun, like you really knew what you were talking about.

🪨: And sometimes, when we slept outside, you'd spend most of the night looking at the night sky.

🪨: And I thought that was interesting, because I never thought about what's up there before! But, um...

🪨: So I thought maybe, um, like, you'd like, to see the stars? Together? O-or just in general!

(How perceptive, Isabeau!)

(You want to cry for the second time today.)

💫: "..."

🪨: Oh no, was I wrong??? Was it really more of an actual swear word like "crab", where you don't actually like stars and stars are bad and gross??? Did I step in it??? Did I mess up???

💫: "..."

💫: "...No, you didn't step in it."

🪨: Oh, phew! I got scared, heheh.

🪨: Anyway, I've heard some people can see stuff in the stars, sometimes! Like, pictures!

🪨: They're called... Conste-something?

💫: "Constellations."

🪨: Constellations!!!

🪨: Yes, that! Do you know some?

(You look up at the stars.)

(You don't recognise any of them. They all look like dots.)

💫: "No, I don't know any."

🪨: Huh.

🪨: ...You're saying I didn't step in it, but...

🪨: [Loop]...

(Change the subject.)

💫: "No, no, you're fine, hahaha!"

💫: "Tell me something?"

🪨: Something?

💫: "Something about you."

🪨: Oh, okay! Um…

(He explains his time when he was younger, when he was a little kid. A smart nerdy kid with glasses, braids, shy and couldn’t make friends. He didn’t like who he was, so he Changed. Changed into the person he wanted to be.)

(You can’t see him any other way than the boisterous man he is.)

(He is able to craft himself into a new person. To Change and bury the old him behind. Oh, how you wish you could do that. To leave this old corpse behind. To be Crafted by the very stars themselves and be something new, than a role that long outstayed its welcome.)

(His wish came true. He is lucky.)

(You're not the only one acting in this play, are you.)

🪨: Heh... I might change to be a mix between a jock and a nerd.

🪨: Balancing it all, you know?

(Heh.)

💫: "So, you'll change into a nock?"

🪨: More like a jerd! Sounds better, doesn't it? Better mouth feel.

💫: "They both sound bad, Isa."

🪨: Nooooo, don't say that! Hahaha!!!

💫: "You can be a buff nerd."

🪨: Oh.

🪨: . . .

🪨: ...You think I'm buff?

(You quickly look away from him. Was your face always this warm?)

🪨: A-Anyway, after we beat the King tomorrow, and go our separate ways, I'll just change into someone else!

🪨: Someone who can be both strong AND smart!

🪨: Both at once!!! What a concept!!! Doesn't that sound like someone cool?

🪨: Doesn't that feel like someone you wouldn't feel ashamed of knowing?

(Isabeau.)

(You want to tell him so badly.)

(You want to tell him that he brought laughter into your life, before this hell.)

(That you learned puns and jokes to make him laugh.)

(That you didn't know how to describe yourself, you didn't know who you even were, until you said a bad pun once, and he laughed so hard you thought he was going to pass out.)

(That even now, you wouldn't trade this half-life for anything else… For these moments…)

(You want to hold his hand.)

(You grip the grass under your palm.)

💫: "Isa..."

🪨: ...Yeah, [Loop]?

💫: "I have never felt ashamed of knowing you."

💫: "Not even a little bit."

🪨: Heh, you're gonna make me blush, [Loop]...!

🪨: And, well... You know I feel the same, right? You're like, maybe the coolest person I know... You know that, right?

🪨: And I really like spending time with you! When we hang out, I always discover new things, like cool theatre stuff, or even just something new about you.

🪨: And I like how you always have a pun ready for any situation

🪨: How you breathe in this specific way sometimes, and I wish I could breathe with you to make you feel better.

🪨: And I like the way your face looks when you eat your favourite foods,

🪨: And I want to know more about you,

🪨: Talk with you more,

🪨: Laugh with you more,

🪨: And... And I...

(You hold your breath.)

(You can't look away from him.)

🪨: I...

🪨: W-Woah, is that a shooting star?! Hey, look up! I-Isn't it cool?

(You look away from him, and look up at the starry sky.)

(There's no shooting star.)

(But you don't mind.)

(...You do mind. Don’t you.)

🍳: AhHAH!!! See, I told you they'd be here!!!

💎: You heard Isa mumble to himself about it earlier, more like.

🎀: Hi [Loop], hi Isabeau! We figured you'd be here!

🎀: Can we join you?

🪨: EVERYONE IS HERE!!!

🪨: Good to see you, everyone!!!

🎀: Such a beautiful night... Was it your idea to come here, Isabeau?

🪨: It was!!!

💎: Under the stars, huh...

💎: How romantic. Very well done, Isabeau.

🪨: Wh-What? No, it wasn't romantic at all.

🪨: Just a pals outing. A buddies hangout. I, of course, would bring anyone of you here.

(You feel hurt…)

💎: Uh huh.

🍳: I brought our food!!! So we can eat here!!!

🎀: A nightly picnic!

🪨: Oh, I can smell samosas... Yummy...

🍳: Yeah, I made a lot! [Loop], take one!

🍳: Take two, even. You deserve it.

🎀: [Loop] sure worked hard today, didn't they? Thank you for your help earlier!

(You jump.)

💎: Yes, thank you, [Loop]. You've been a great help today.

🍳: Frin taught me how to fight!!! I'll be able to help you tomorrow!!!

🎀: Oooh! I'm looking forward to it, Bonnie!

🍳: Za, did [Loop] help you today too?

(You freeze.)

(Did you???)

🪨: Of course [Loop] helped me today!!!

(Isabeau is looking at you, smiling brightly.)

🪨: Thank you for spending time with me, Sif!!!

(Oh. You.. Your heart feels to. Skip a beat.)

(AAAAUUUGH FIGHTER. WHY. AAA)

(You hide your face beneath the rim of your hat. Your face feels like to be on blinding fire.)

🎀: How wonderful!

💎: Thank you, oh great helper.

💎: Here, have another samosa.

🪨: And have some pâté and bread!

🎀: I'm sure you want some tea, too!!!

🍳: And here's some of my curry–

(Your plate is overflowing-)

(You see everything on your plate sway back and forth...)

(You eat as much as possible before everything falls down.)

🎀: Oh...!!!

(...)

(You burp. Bleh.)

🍳: EW!!!

🎀: Hehe!!!

🪨: HAHAHA!!!

💎: Ha! Nice reflexes, [Loop]!

(Everyone starts laughing happily.)

(You laugh, too.)

(You're surrounded by your allies...)

(Your heart lifts.)

(You love them.)

(You're glad you got to spend time with them.)

(You're glad you know them better.)

(You're glad--)

🍳: [Loop], you okay? Want more snacks?

(You smile.)

💫: "Yes, please!"

🍳: Then eat! Eat as much as you want!!!

(You all ate and laughed under the stars...)

(Tomorrow, once again, you'll go into the House, and fight the King.)

(But today... )

(Today, you're happy.)

(You had a nice time yesterday, hanging out with Isabeau under the stars.)

(You got a MEMORY OF STARGAZING!)

(You'll always remember this.)

ﾟ.+:｡You got a new memory.

ﾟ.+:｡When equipped, Memory of Stargazing boosts all of your Fighter's stats by 30.Your Fighter also learned the skill "WE WILL WIN!!!".

ﾟ.+:｡ "WE WILL WIN!!!" is amazingly strong. When used, it boosts everyone's ATTACK, DEFENSE and ATTACK SPEED for a few turns.

ﾟ.+:｡ It's so strong, you'll only be able to use it when you and your Fighter have had this exact conversation.

ﾟ.+:｡ So if you loop back to Dormont, you'll have to talk to him all over again. Remember that.

ﾟ.+:｡ Starlight. Wasn’t that fun? Nice? Hanging out with all of them? They love you. Even stronger than before.

ﾟ.+:｡ Isnt that neat.

(It is neat.)

(You don't want to have to loop back to before you spent that time with them.)

(What would happen if... If you stayed with this version of them... Until the end?)

If you went through the entire House, without looping ahead, beat the King, and saw the Head Housemaiden, with them?)

(Would anything happen?)

(Would anything change?)

(From what the voices in your head have been telling you....)

(. . .)

(Time to walk all the way up, and beat the King. Don't keep your hopes up too high.)

[yunazxxx]

only know you love her when you let her go — megan skiendiel

she tried to convince herself it wasn’t that bad, i mean, all good things must come to an end right? so why did she still miss you so much.

(📓) angst , breakups , misunderstanding / miscommunication , megan thinks you’re happier without her , cursing , etc maybe?

(🧦) i’ve been in such an angsty mood when it comes to megan i really cannot do this anymore. smth with comfort, or fluffy angst w her is js in my mind.

(wc) 0.7k — prev katz works

—

"i think you'll be happier this way" — those words rung through your head like an annoying tune, those were the last words you heard from megan when she broke up with you. it's been two months by now, and you still haven't let her go.

megan hasn't let you go either, she loved you so much but after a while she began to feel like you wanted something better than her so she let you go. — which wasn’t the best idea.

ever since she last spoke to you, she couldn’t operate the same. every second of the day she was thinking of you, thinking if you missed her, if you loved her, if anything that happened between you two was real.

it began affecting her personal life not even a week later, you weren’t blocked from her socials so she’d see your friends posting you out with them and it made her heart ache.

she was happy you were fine, you had been stressed for months now, but she couldn’t let go of that fact that she couldn’t help you. — that she wasn’t the one to make you happy. it made her feel even worse now seeing you post breakup, happy and smiling.

but she saw your note, the one on instagram, the weird new “status feature” and it said — i miss you so much meimei — honestly, you had a nickname for one of your pets, you called her meimei, it was the cat you and megan adopted. but megan just assumed that’s who it was for.

she tried staying off of her phone, knowing that would kinda be the only time she’d ever see you, but then while walking the streets of los angeles, she bumped into a familiar person.

“god, i’m so sorry” megan said, not even looking up, but reaching her hands out to help the person up. she picked up whatever was on the floor, an awkward smile plastered on her face when she looked up to hand the papers over — “megan?”

she just looked into the eyes of the person, those eyes were way too familiar. “hey!” she said, trying to play this off but it was so awkward..

somehow she ended up in a cafe with you, and you guys had the long awaited talk, what happened. — “you know, that day” you started, “it was hard for me, imagine getting that text from the one person who you loved” you said, a dry chuckle coming out of your throat but you just sighed, looking at megan.

she was nervous — if that wasn’t already obvious, her fingers were fidgeting, biting the insides of her cheeks, legs bouncing, her eyes darted across the room. “mei..” you softly said, pulling her attention to you.

your hand rested on hers, “you know, i still love you right?” and she nodded, “tell me that you know that, please” you begged, honestly you swore to yourself you’d never beg anyone to love you back or believe you loved them after your previous relationship played you but there was something with megan you couldn’t just let go.

"i love you too y/n, i just felt like you didn't want m-" you shushed her, "megan, what are you talking about? i love you, so much. you're my entire world, god, i was fucking living for you, and only you" you said, a tear sliding down your cheek.

megan began to frown, she still hated seeing you cry, it was one of the worst experinces she's ever had, "(y/n), i'm sorry i was overthinking i just thought you didn't like me anymore. i love you so much too" she said, bringing her hand to your cheek before using her thumb to wipe your tears.

"you're so precious to me, you know?" she softly said, she held your hand tighter, "please, can we just restart? try again and make things right this time?" megan asked, you could hear in her voice she was on the verge of crying, forcing herself to speak clearly to you.

"yes, of course. i love you, i can't say no. i can't do this anymore, not without you." you softly whispered, bringing her hand to your lips, planting a small kiss.

[n0rmal-cat]

Okay, this time for farmer yan, it's a pretty NSFW ask, so feel free to skip

You said he's open to accepting the idea of not having smexy and having all year around funking time, but what if yn has, like, super low lust

Like me personally, I'm a hypersexual person, constantly got my mind in the gutter, but other than my imagination, my urges are of that of a fossil,,

How would farmer react to that? Is he understanding and just happy with anything he can get or is he pouty and sulky?

You guessed it, it's me, ✨

Farmer x reader- love or lust?

Farmer is a very respectable guy if reader doesn’t want to have sex with him, they’re not having sex.

He wouldn’t be angry or sad with reader at all. You two are just different and he accepts that, if anything he’s asking reader if he can deal with his urges alone.

He loves reader and love is different from lust. He's going to do everything in his power to make sure reader loves him back, because reader is his whole world. He'd rather change himself then make them change.

“So you like to think about and engage online with lust, but don’t have the drive for it in the real world?” He asks, looking at reader up and down.

“Well that’s kinda the bare bones of it yeah”

“Would ya like it if I…wrote smut for you about us?…”

Reader bursts out laughing, he blushes and tilts his sun hat down to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Hold on hold on I’m crying, give me a sec” they pat farmers forearm.

“That’s a very nice thought, thank you”

He rolls his eyes “yer stupid…”

“I love you~” they hug his arm

“Oh get off me you little pest, wait till you read what I’m gonna write see how you act then” he doesn’t push them away but reader can feel his form become more loose, he was struggling to keep it stable.

“Alright alright whatever you say big guy” reader just smiles and leans in to him

[camerahaterlittle]

Jealousy Jealousy | Lucy Bronze

Summary: Lucy feels something she shouldn't after she first held you and had to give you back to Millie

Warnings: Bad writing grammer and honestly I think that's it if not do tell me so I can adjust this a bit oh this is pretty short since this was supposed to be a small headcanon but I turned it into a mini fic

Notes: if you've requested something i promise I'm gonna get to it but I'm being destroyed by uni work so I have to post finished drafts also apart of the Squish universe but can be read alone

When Lucy got the call from Millie that she was going to the hospital because her water broke, she never left the training grounds so quickly in her entire time of playing professionally she was in her car faster than anyone could possibly blink.

She broke a few traffic laws just to get to the hospital, ignoring the honks from other people on the streets as she sped down there all the way to the hospital.

Lucy ran inside, walking up to the counter and looking at the worker in front of her she took a few deep breaths before speaking her arms, resting on the counter. "Millie Bright, I'm here to see Millie." Her words came out at a rapid pace. The worker only stared at her sighing. "Only family of the patient can be let into the labor room." The worker stated as she looked back at her computer screen starting to type up a storm once again.

The English woman sighed, sitting down in the waiting room, not wanting to argue or lie about who she was to her friend, so she waited and waited up until it was well into the night the workers at the hospital now overly tired Lucy waited for her chance to bolt down the hallway looking around for a moment before she ran hoping to find Millie's room without a problem.

"Ma'am! Stop you can't-." Lucy ignored the calls from one of the doctors not stopping for a moment until she reached the labor part of the hospital at least that's what the sign she passed said.

She finally stopped running, her breathing ragged as she looked around, trying to find some inductor on where her teammate was she pulled out her phone, texting Millie, hoping she wasn't asleep just yet asking her what her room number was.

It didn't take long for the fellow defender to respond texting her back with a simple "my room number is 125" not really questioning why Lucy was asking her this question at all.

Lucy rubbed her forehead as she looked at all the numbers on the doors, finally finding the one Millie was in entering the room immediately shutting the door behind her as she made her way to sit next to Millie groaning as she sat down in the uncomfortable hospital chair her and the fellow English woman falling into an eqsy conversation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't make your appearance until the early hours of the morning, Lucy being 95% sure that Millie messed up something in her hand when she was in the process of pushing you out of her body.

The cries subsided as you were cleaned off and handed to Millie being placed on her chest immediately calming down when you made contact with your mother's skin the new found mother smiling as she let out a sigh of relief much like Lucy did as Millie finally released her hand.

Lucy didn't get to hold you until it was well into the night, and you started crying for an unknown reason at the time (she soon realized it was because you were rudely awoken by the people outside of the room) your aunt immediately walking over to your little crib next to your mom's hospital bed picking you up shushing you as she lightly bounced holding you close to her.

She walked over to the bed/couch she was lying on, sitting down singing a random lullaby that she remembered off the top of her head almost immediately. You stopped crying, sniffling as you settled down in her arms, liking the slightly rumble in her chest from the singing.

"I've got you bubs, your aunt Luce is here." She whispered in your ear, looking down at you as she pressed the most gentle kiss to the top of your head seeing that you were almost out like a light.

Lucy smiled softly when she looked down at you after singing another random lullaby. Seeing that you were back asleep, she glanced over at Millie to make sure she was still asleep, thankful to see that she was still, in fact, knocked out she most definitely needed all the rest she could get after having you.

She ended up staying up for the rest of the night watching over you as you slept peacefully on her without stirring once Millie eventually woke up immediately looking over at your crib when she didn't see you there she started to panic as she looked over at Lucy ready to wake her up but she was silenced when she saw you and Lucy together just laying there.

"Luce, you could've woke me up. i would've stayed with her." Millie spoke suddenly, feeling guilty that her teammate had to say up half the night with you just so you could sleep peacefully.

"No, you needed sleep, and I just wanted to hold her for a bit." She said her words were coming out as a soft whisper, so she didn't wake you up.

Millie was somewhat shocked by her words and the care by which she was holding you in her arms. The sight to her was the best she knew right then, and there that she wouldn't ever have to be alone when it came to you, not when Lucy was there willing to lose sleep for you like this.

You finally stirred, starting to cry once more. Your mother opened her arms, Lucy slowly getting up and walking over towards the bed, handing you to Millie, then sitting back down watching as you latched onto her immediately, getting what you wanted.

Lucy felt an odd feeling as she watched this happen in front of her one that she wasn't used to feeling at all she knew exactly what this feeling was, but she didn't know why exactly she felt this way as she watched you with Millie.

She tried thinking of every possibility of why she was feeling jealous over the scene, but she was still clueless on why she felt like this it was unknown to her in the moment all she knew was she was jealous and that was a fact.

[lunarriviera]

HI HI HEY HELLO yes it is time once again for me to screech like a deranged banshee about the preview stills for episodes 16 and 17 of justice in the dark, are you ready are you ready LET'S FUCKING GO

p sure at this point guangyuan official is out to get me, personally, and see to it that i do not survive to see this drama end, it being increasingly likely that i will simply perish. because DOES THIS or DOES THIS NOT look suspiciously like luo wenzhou is holding fei du's left hand? but that's ridiculous of course he isn't, we can't have things like that, i will therefore choose to ignore this. i'm sure he's just gazing at him soulfully while thinking how best to solve All The Crimes™. in no way whatsoever does he look like he's been doing this for days.

(while i do love the hilarity of lwz in fei du's hospital room in the novel, in which he's just being annoying, watching basketball games and cooking shows and eating everyone's fruit baskets while chastizing fei du for stepping in front of a bomb—as fei du is trapped there, immobilized and speechless and really starting to wonder what lwz's skin feels like but unable to do a goddamn thing about it—as much as i love those chapters, this looks horribly romantic and i like it too)

ahahahahahah [maniacal laughter] IT'S GETTING WORSE, so here's fei du feeding luo yiguo (or frying pan as his close friends call him) and TOUCHING HIM, for the first time in YEARS, bc he had to surrender him to tao ran, bc of [redacted] and [redacted] and now here he is finally, he's, he's trying to, he's—[breaks down completely]

BUT WAIT THAT'S NOT ALL THERE'S MORE

oh look, it's fei du fresh out of the shower. that would be luo wenzhou's shower. that he's just been in. showering. without clothes. possibly using luo wenzhou's 19-in-1 shampoo conditioner aftershave or whatever. obviously i'm completely fine about this of course, no thoughts in head whatsoever about how now they're just standing here. in the bedroom. looking at each other. maybe they're talking, presumably there must be dialogue of some kind, about crimes or post-operative care or what would fei du like for dinner or how do you feel about slow tender blowjobs i honestly have no idea anymore.

because look i'm just a stupid lesbian, i see zhang xincheng with wet hair in a bathrobe looking fragile and undefended, and fu xinbo looking back at him with the most vulnerable expression he's had in sixteen fucking episodes and i chew drywall, okay. i chew glass. i run out of things to chew and go outside to find some fucking ROCKS.

there's also a trailer but i'ma level with y'all: i could not watch it. i just could not. i saw 1.5 seconds of the door to luo wenzhou's apartment opening, and fei du walking inside—he thinks he'll be staying with a friend for a couple of days, having no idea he's just moved into the home where he'll live for the rest of his life. so i, being very mature and rational about this development, threw my hands up in front of my face and whimpered aloud, and managed to hit pause before i projectile-bled onto my laptop screen. you can go watch it alone, i am not god's strongest soldier and these stills already took me out.

but finally! GUESS WHAT! STARTING WITH EP 16, FU XINBO WILL BE SINGING THE CLOSING OST. i love the way the producers have divided this drama into BC (before cp) and AD (after dicking). how fei du's/zhang xincheng's song was all about thinking he's evil and desperately needing someone to pull him out of the darkness, whereas fu xinbo's/lwz's is called 「微光」 and i fully intend to cry.

thank you for your time i will see you on the other side of Macbeth—