#everything is a weed somewhere

[yellowmelle]

Saw some yellow weeds growing in a ditch, and they were like little bits of sunlight on a dreary, grey day.

[satuurnos]

literally a while ago I was like hmm maybe i won't leave Texas but after this weekend yeah actually I can't stand it here bye

[lagunaseca2013]

.

[kissforyouu]

i love you — a compilation !

warnings : suggestive content + explicit language + mention of substances

authors note : i had so much fun writing the Roblox part lmfao (from personal experience unfortunately😅😅) I hope y’all enjoy the rest of the fic :)) HAPPY V DAY MY LOVES!!!! ❤️❤️

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ giving him a note saying “don’t smile if you want toe curling sucky sucky tonight”

You excitedly giggle over the folded piece of paper held in between your fingers, thinking to yourself of what your boyfriends reaction would be.

You saw people on TikTok do this trend, and here you thought, yeah why not try this on Jungkook. You were gonna give him sucky sucky anyways^^

“Get back in bed…”, Jungkook groans from his room, patting your side of his bed. Your back is turned to him and bent over as you write the little text on the paper. “Nevermind, stay there bent over and you’re getting instant backshots, okay?” He laughs.

You snort, turning around now. You don’t say anything, stay fully silent, but walk towards him.

“Mmf, finally.” Your boyfriend sighs in pleasure from just having you close to him. He blinks rapidly, breathing heavily. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t geeking a little right now, having already smoked some weed earlier. So he was a little a high, perfect setting for the little bomb you’re gonna drop on him.

You don’t speak, but hand over the neatly folded piece of paper to him. Jungkook looks at you confused, eyebrow raising a little. He adjusts himself on the bed, sitting up to read it. You try holding in your laugh.

Jungkook, high, tries to read the text on the paper. He giggles, reading out loud, “If…you want…toe curling?” He looks at you with a smirk “—sucky sucky? …tonight, don’t…smile…”

He smiles, what I had written not registering in his head yet. He takes a few seconds to process it, and suddenly, his big giddy smile drops. Jungkook’s entire body turns stiff and he straightens himself. He clearly his throat, eyes landing somewhere else in the room.

He sucks in his cheeks, attempting to make a serious face.

“My love, you look like handsome squidward when you do that”, you giggle, holding his face by both of your hands.

Jungkook cracks out a laugh, immediately breaking his composure. It wasn’t even that funny, but he’d always find everything funny when he’s high. He giggles his way through, crumbling the piece of paper in his hand.

“Be for real, that was not funny”, you laugh at the geeked out man in front of you. “You lost the game though. You’re laughing.”

Suddenly, Jungkook stiffens his posture and clears his voice. He’s back to acting serious again, which made you slap his face jokingly.

“You’ve lost already!” But he shakes his head in deny. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh U”— you shut him up with a kiss.

“I’ll still give you sucky sucky because you’re my good boy, okay?” You palm his hard on through his boxers.

“Hey, I’m the dominant here!”

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ JK getting mad at his girlfriend whenever she buys things with her own money.

“I missed your cute ass room.” He said with a beaming smile on his face.

“You were here last week, idiot.” You slap the back of his head.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“I miss you even when you’re with me, I miss you always, you know that.”

“Corny.” You laugh at him.

“I know you like that shit.” Jungkook pokes your waist, then a small kiss on your shoulder.

He examines your room as if he’s never been there. But then, pauses.

“Where’d you get this from?,” he walks over to your newly bought expensive white fur caught hanging in your closet.

Jungkook had almost each and every single clothing piece of yours memorised. Mainly because he’s bought almost all of them for you. But this one, certainly, he did not buy.

“Uhh, the store…” you bite your lip.

“What store?”

“Heh.” You knew where he was as going with this.

“Heh? Yeah? What store?” He questions again.

“‘Kay, I’m sorry.” You frown.

“I hate when you don’t use my card. I’ve given you my BLACK card, Y/n. You really can buy anything, big or small. Don’t piss me off.” His eyebrows are furrowed as he leans against your wall, staring at you with a big mean glare. You felt like a child being scolded for taking candy.

“I’ve told you about this already—“

“And I’ve told you about this already too.” He cuts you off. “My card is yours, your card is yours, okay?” He examines my face for expressions of defeat, acceptance. But finds none.

“I don’t want to spend your family’s hard earned money. And yours. It just doesn’t feel right. Plus, what am I going to spend my own money on?” Jungkook rolls his eyes at your question, probably finding it utterly stupid and insane. Who wouldn’t accept free money? You, you wouldn’t.

“Don’t give a fuck. Use my card from now on or I’ll get your card disabled.” He shrugs it off and walks out of your room.

What! WHAT!

“What do you mean you’ll disable my card?!”, you shout, “Jungkook!! Stop!! What the fuck!!” You scream.

꩜ .ᐟ ⋆˚࿔ Secretly recording Jungkook who loves to get baby talked

You scroll on your phone absentmindly (lies), while secretly keeping an eye on your boyfriend. His head rests between your thighs, laying there comfortably as he enjoyed whatever anime on the tv.

You think of how you’re going to secretly set up your phone and record him. Hm. Biting your lip, concentrated, you hide the phone behind your pillow and made sure that the camera would be peaking out.

Okay, perfect.

You start by slowly caressing his hair, running your fingers down his locks and massaging his scalp. You made sure to scratch his scalp with your new set of nails, which he paid for. You know he likes that. Like, a lot.

Jungkook moans, his head’s weight fully dropped down to your thigh. You hum back, hands now moving from his scalp to his face. You trace his cheekbones, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips—you even teasingly put a finger in.

Sometimes, you remember he’s your boyfriend and that you could touch him however you wanted and that makes you the happiest girl in the world.

You go on to trace his eyes, his eyelashes then ears. Jungkook hums in relaxation, giving his full body control to you. He looooves when you did this. You go on to pull on his cheeks a couple times, and then ;

“Come up.” You tap his head with the tip of your nail.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything back, but raises himself up from the position below and turns around to lay in between your arms.

Let the fun begin, heh.

“I love you.” You tell him, with a wet kiss on his cheek.

He flashes his boyish smile at you, eyes fully locked on yours as he traced your lips, “I love you more, baby.”

“But you’re my baby.” You soften your voice a little bit, squeezing his nose teasingly. “No, you are.” He argues back. “No, wrong, you’re my baby.” Jungkook cracks a smile again, a small giggle escaping his lips, “Fine. I am.” He finally surrenders.

You squeal, beginning to place kisses all over his sweet face. Lips, nose, cheeks—everywhere. You shut his eyes, just so you could kiss his eyelids.

“I love you so much, my little baby.”

Jungkook groans into your neck, overwhelmed with all the affection as his cheeks took a sudden colour to red.

“Awh, you’re blushing! Who’s making you blush, hm?” You squeeze his cheeks really hard. I know that hurts.

“Ywu.” He manages to say one word.

“What’s my name?”

“Y/n—mmph”

“No. That’s not my name.”

“Mwomwy.”

Wait, LMAO— you weren’t expecting him to call you that right away. You thought it would have to take a lot of convincing, I guess not.

You kiss his glossy lips as a reward, finally letting go of his cheeks. You suffocate the man from hugging him really really tight, chest pressed right to his face. I don’t think he’s having a bad time though. His face was right on your boobs, fully dived in.

“Baby, you’re making me feel less of a man”, he says on a serious note, hands travelling down to rest on top of your booty shorts.

“It’s okay, nobody’s gonna know anyway. They don’t have to know that you’re my babyboy.”

“Stop.” He groans, arms how fully around your waist as he avoids eye contact. He’s shy.

“My baby star candy.” You kiss his hair again. “Look up to me, baby.” You tap his face, raising his chin up. Jungkook hums, making eye contact with you now.

“Who’s mommy’s good boy?”

You are trying so hard not to laugh. It’s so hard. Fuck. You stiffen your face, take in a big gulp and stay still. Jungkook looks at you weird, almost like he’s going to call you weird, but then, he just lets out a big massive gigantic groan and says—

“Uugghhh, me.”

You could see the visible disgust in his face, but also you could tell that he kind of liked it. LMAO. You can’t hold it in anymore, so you burst out laughing. You laugh so much you have to hold your stomach in.

“Yeah, you like that?��

“Maybe—HEY WHAT THE FUCK!”

The idiot finally spots the camera hiding behind the pillow, screaming as he jumps off your body. You can’t stop laughing. You’re still laughing. Holy shit. You hold your stomach tighter, trying to breath.

“Haa—haaa, fuck, I can’t breath, AHAHAHAHA”

Jungkook screams too, grabbing the phone. He clears his voice before speaking.

“What the actual fuck, Y/n? What the fuck?” He stops the recording and throws the phone away. “Not funny.”

You’re still laughing, eyes closed tight with a big smile on your face. Jungkook thinks you look the prettiest like this.

“Never do that ever again. You are also not posting that anywhere.” He says with a stern voice.

“Okay, but you were into it, right?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“…maybe.”

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 “you’re spinning me around, my feet are off the ground!^^”

You shiver because of the extreme weather (it’s just snowing), hands tightly wrapped around yourself as you squeeze yourself into your boyfriend’s body.

“It’s cold.” You’re shivering.

You tug onto your skirt—yes, skirt in the damn cold—and pull it down to cover your thighs as if it’s going to do anything.

“No shit”, your boyfriend laughs, warm hands rubbing your waist under your shirt. But his hands leave you for a brief moment and sneaks under your skirt and hooks his fingers onto your underwear right on your asscheeks and pulls the stretchy material down. You shriek, hitting his stomach as a reaction.

“This barely covers your ass. Why are you wearing a shortass-barely-a-skirt-skirt in winter? You dumbfuck.” He flicks your forehead.

“It’s for the fashion, Jungkook. At least I look good.” You huff.

“Yeah, sure, you look good but you’re freezing your ass off in this snow. I even feel bad to throw snowballs at you because you’re shivering already.” He squeezes the back of your thighs that were cold as fuck, like meat put in the freezer.

“Let’s do the thing now! The video!” You remind Jungkook, hitting on his chest as a signal.

He nods his head with a groan, placing your phone on the car so that it stands up right.

“What do I do again?” He looks at you with a slightly nervous lip bite.

“Follow the lyrics and then pick me up when it says my feet are off the ground, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You giggle and press the little red button—record—so that the video would start playing.

“ you’re spinning me around ”

Jungkook giggles, pulling you to him by your waist so that your body would smash against his. He grabs your other hand, intertwining it with his and his other hand on your hip, yours on his shoulder, he dances with you, spinning you around along with him.

“ my feet are off the ground ”

With a laugh, his face fully scrunched up, the beautiful man whom you’re in love with hooks his strong arms under your thighs and lifts you up, completely effortlessly. You squeak, feet wiggling and hanging while your upper body clinged to his. You smile at the camera, face heating up fully.

“ I don’t know where I stand

do you have to hold my hand ? ”

He puts you down quickly, hand patting the top of your ass as a way of saying “good job”. You stand next to him with a big smile as the lyric plays. Then he holds your hand really tightly, swinging it back and forth to great lengths.

“ you mystify me

you mystify me

you mystify me ”

As the lyric switches, he pulls you in again and kisses you, hard. Lips smacking against eachother, he pulls you into a deep kiss full of love and passion. At the second mystify me, Jungkook bends you back by your back, deepening the kiss. He put his hand on his cheek, thumb on your jaw as he lifts his face up to kiss you even deeper. By the last mystify me, Jungkook pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips together still.

Your cheeks were flushed red, quite literally, and so were his. His lips were glossy and his eyes twinkled like stars. There was a big cheesy smile on your face, you felt like a child who’s just had her first kiss ever. You love him so much.

You shyly take steps forward to stop recording the video on his phone. Jungkook looks at you, proud, because he’s just made his girl shy again.

“Shy? What? Like you weren’t sucking my balls off last night?”

Why does he have to ruin everything.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ calling him “daddy” as a prank (right in front of your dad)

It took a while for Jungkook to earn your father’s trust. He had to work for it. Bring you home on time, show up and talk to him, engage with the rest of your family—he had to learn to express his love for you really loud in front of your family. Once he fully gained your father’s trust, he was automatically invited to every event your family hosted.

And, that’s no different from right now. Your family was hosting a barbecue. A lot of your family was there, your cousins, uncles and aunts, almost everyone. It was always fun to spend moments together as family. Jungkook was practically family at this point :).

; Which was perfect! For your prank! Of course!

As of now, you were waiting for your boyfriend and dad to end up in the same place.

You were in your kitchen, snacking on some strawberries while being a little bent over on the kitchen isle. Without getting noticed, your boyfriend slithers behind you and creeps his dirty hands up your dress to squeeze your ass cheeks hard. What the fuck! You scream!

“Ack! Jungkook, you scared me!” You whine.

He snickers, places kissing on your shoulder blade while his hands made their way around your waist. “Mmhhhm,” he inhales in the scent of your perfume, letting his full body weight fall onto yours. You ruffle his hair and feed him a strawberry. Jungkook watches the way the juice of the fruit falls onto your neck, so he just lols his tongue out to lick it off, with a smirk of course.

“No, they’ll see.” You warn him.

“Mhm, no.” He murmurs into your neck. His voice was almost inaudible, just audible enough for you to hear it. It was so small and breathy, so needy.

Jungkook breaths into your neck, still kissing you there, leaving light wet pecks on your flesh. “You’re going to get us caught, mh, Jungkook.”

He shakes away your thoughts, fingertips moving lower and lifting up your dress. He taps your clothed clit with the back of his fingers, sending a shiver down your spine.

“No, not in public,” you place your hand on top of his, but don’t move it, and let him do whatever. Jungkook chuckles at your submission, which he expected, of course. But just as he was about to put his hand inside, your little sister screams as she runs into the kitchen.

You both flinch, terrified, screaming! Jungkook withdraws his hand back, covering his actions by just coughing really loud as if he was trying to scratch his throat.

“I want strawberries!” She shouts.

“Yeah, baby? Okay, wait.” You begin cutting up some strawberries for her. In the meantime, your father enters the room, suspiciously eyeing you and Jungkook.

“Daddy, sissy is cutting me strawberries.”

Your dad nods in approval, lifting up your sister and placing her on the kitchen isle.

Now, you never used the nickname “daddy” as much in the bedroom. But whenever you did, Jungkook would be obsessed. He’d beg you to call him that again frequently, but you never did, often finding it ‘cringe’ and ‘weird’. Therefore, you weren’t quite sure whether he would follow the command or not. But heh, worth the try.

“Daddy, can you grab me a bowl?”

In instinct, your father turns around to grab a bowl from the cupboards. But another thing catches his attention, it’s how Jungkook’s reaching for the exact same bowl he was reaching for. They both pause in the moment, looking at eachother’s faces with absolute horror plastered across theirs.

“What the fuck—” your dad exclaims before your sister cuts him off, “—daddy, bad word!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises to your sister, swatting Jungkook’s hand away as he grabs the bowl and places it in front of you.

He’s glaring at the two of you as of now. Jungkook is left flustered, and startled, and sort of angry in a way because he knew you planned this. He darts his eyes at you very sharply.

You give him a small smile. Jungkook tries to escape the situation by walking away, but—

“Jungkook, stay.”

Oh fuck.

Your dad was always a strict man. He wasn’t a crazy type strict, but still very much protective over his daughters.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you just knew you were going to receive a good scolding from Jungkook later.

Your sister finally walks away, munching on her sweet strawberries. Your father, however, taps his fingers on the table, looking between both of you. You’re both silent, like 2 children having caught doing something really sneaky.

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear and witness that.” He darts his eyes at Jungkook.

“Secondly, I hope you are using protection.”

Then he just leaves.

Fuck, you are so embarrassed. You look at Jungkook with a small smile, while he gives you a death glare.

The thing is, dad, we are not using protection either. #rawnextquestion.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 ༘⋆ ִ ₊⊹ dream blunt rotation

You sigh, watching your boyfriend roll another blunt. You observe each and every one of his moments carefully. The way he rolls his filter paper, the way he licks the end of the paper to seal it all together. He did it so precisely. He always did. Your boyfriend was, like, the master blunt roller. You in the other hand could never master it. He always rolled your blunts for you.

Jungkook taps the almost completely rolled blunt on the table about 10 times so that all the weed would be inside the rolled paper, then fills it to the top with a bit more weed.

“Hm.” He hands the blunt over to you, “you want me to roll more, baby?”

You shake your head, “this is enough.”

You light up the blunt with—heh, your super cute hello kitty lighter which, by the way, Jungkook decorated for you. Yeah, he bought all the little charms and decorated the lighter for you. You’re in love with this man.

You light the end of the blunt, and put the other side in your mouth to take a small inhale. You exhale the air out, snuggling into your boyfriend’s couch. You were staying over at his place, no way in hell would you smoke at yours. Only in your room, that too if your parents weren’t home. Jungkook’s parents didn’t care. They knew he did all sorts of things. They didn’t really care as long as he did his academics well, which he did.

Jungkook takes an inhale out of his joint, head thrown back as he sighs, eyes closed. Suddenly, he starts giggling.

“What?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“I love you so much. I get emotional when I’m smoking, I don’t fucking know why, but I love you, you know that.” His cheeks take a shade of light pink.

You’re cheeeeeeezzzziiinnnnggggg. There’s a small giggle out of you, and you scoot closer to kiss his cheek and drag a smoke out of your joint as well.

“I love you more, you know that too. And you’re forever going to be my blunt roller slash plug.” You laugh.

“Jesus, I should start making you pay.”

“That’s so odd for you to say.”

Jungkook laughs, agreeing.

“Jungkook?”

He hums, taking an inhale.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” You ask, taking another hint.

“Dream what?” Jungkook laughs, finding the question absolutely ridiculous.

“Like, if you could share your shit with anyone, who? Like, a group of people, mhm?”

He laughs again and grabs your hand that was placed on your thigh and kisses the back of it, “you. Why would I wanna be smoking with anyone else besides you?”

“You smoke with your friends.”

“Well, yeah”—he groans, “but like, you’re my dream, you know? You’re my…dream blunt rotation? Whatever you call it.” He declares his love for you again in rather a more romantic way.

“I’m your dream?,” you giggle, lashes batting. Now it’s your turn to kiss the back of his hand. You stare at your boyfriends big doe eyes as he hummed in response. You take another hit of the joint, keeping the smoke still in your mouth, and pull him into your body. You kiss Jungkook with passion, your saliva mingling together as the smoke transfers down to his mouth. Your boyfriend groans and breaks the kiss to inhale and exhale the smoke.

Both of you were starting to sweat despite the A/C, and the weed was starting to take a toll on you as well. You take another inhale, eyes batting to shut down. “Oh my god,” you moan, head falling against Jungkook’s shoulder.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” He asks back.

“Well,” you begin, “Robert Pattinson, Lee Jong-suk, Woo Do-Hwah—”

“Actually shut the fuck up.” Jungkook shuts you up with a harsh slap to your thigh, making you wince, followed by a giggle.

“‘Kay, sorry. They’re hot though.”

“What about me?” There’s a big fat pout on his face.

“You’re hotter, you’re my husband.” You give him a big fat smile, and a big fat wet kiss on his forehead.

“I think I’m hard.”

And you look down and see a big fat monster tent staring right back at you.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Roblox with your boyfriend / headcannons

Jungkook never played Roblox until you forced him to do so. He first laughed at you and called you childish for still playing Roblox, fast forward sometimes he begs you to play it with him.

You got into Roblox through your little sister Evie of course. She’d always ask you to play dress to impress with her, and who are you to say no? That’s when you felt like dragging Jungkook into this.

He would always supply you an endless amount of robux. You and Evie, of course. His account however would only have like 5 robux left, whilst yours was like 10k all the time. You had access to his Roblox account, so you’d randomly log into his account and change his avatar a bit here and there.

He also only had two friends on Roblox, that would be you and Evie. For some reason, he had a bunch of followers on Roblox. He always wondered why, since he never even played like that. You had about 200 friends on roblox though. And like a bunch of followers. LOL.

Moving onto the games you play, it ranges from cute girly games to horror games. Most of the time, it’s always dress to impress. Jungkook would always call it boring but also yell whenever he doesn’t place.

You’d play arsenal, mm2, doors, mocker, dead silence, hello kitty café, royale high—likewise.

Also, don’t tell anyone, but sometimes whenever you guys are hanging out, you’d ask him “hey, wanna have e sex?” and go on LifeTogether on Roblox and do it there for shits and giggles. You always found it funny, and he just did whatever would make his girlfriend happy. happy wife = happy life. Oh, and of course you have real sex after^^.

Everytime another headless gets deleted, Jungkook would just spend like 800 robux to buy you another. He’s so cute, you love him so much.

You and Jungkook would have cute matching Roblox fits. His would be all pink and cute, he didn’t care since it was Roblox. You guys would deffo get labelled as a “corny Roblox couple” LOL.

Jungkook’s favourite game though, as corny as it sounds, unfortunately, is dahood💔. You hate that game passionately from the bottom of your soul but he loves it. He logs in and starts fights with randos. Sometimes he would kill you and carry you around the place. He’s done some cute things though. Like once, he planted dahood flowers all over the place and wrote ‘I love you’ on the wall using dahood graffiti.

outfit inspo 4 u guys + dti sneak peak :

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ^ྀི the topic of kids !

“Jungkook?” You ask your boyfriend, who just hums at you. He’s sleepy.

“You ever think of kids?” Your voice is sleepy as you sleep.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “with you? Yeah, all the time. Why do you ask?”

It feels nice. It feels really nice to know that he feels the same way about you. He also wants to have children with you. Not now, for sure, but one day.

“I fantasise about our future a lot. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I’ll make chop suey out of your dick and feed it to the sharks if you do.” You threaten him, followed by a yawn. Jungkook just laughs, the sound of his soft laugh echoing from one year to another. You love the sound of it. So, so, so incredibly much.

“You’d have to kill me to make me leave you, my beautiful baby Y/n. Even so, I’d come haunt you as a ghost. ‘M never leaving you alone.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You say as your fingers fondle with the gold chain around his neck. “How many kids do you want?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment, “how many does mommy want? I’d like to have as many as you’d want to pop out” ; he ends his sentence with a laugh.

“Mommy wants at least 3.”

He nods, hand patting the crown of your head. “‘Kay, daddy agrees too.”

“You think…I’ll be a good mom?” Your words are a tad bit slurred as the drowsiness is getting to you really bad, but you still ask your question.

“Is that a question? You’re the most patient person I know. You’re the most genuine and kindest person I’ve ever met. Sometimes I don’t understand why you’re still with me because I can be such an asshole sometimes. You’re like, the angel that I was blessed with. You’re the light to my life, the sun to my moon, I don’t know brah”—he pauses and holds you tighter and murmurs, “you know how I feel about you,” into your neck.

You giggle, your grip tightening around your plushy as you blushed. “What are you? A poet?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re making me horny. Let’s make a football team.”

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐣 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— kook or pogue; doesn’t matter, simply your sweet boyfriend, jj

rating: sfw — cw: slightly suggestive

— boyfriend jj who… insists on physically lifting you into and out of the boat every time, or at the very least holding your hands. the one time you leapt out when his back was turned, you lost your footing and almost tumbled into the water, to which jj was very displeased: “alright, nope, see, that’s why we don’t do that.”

— boyfriend jj who… thinks you’re the funniest person on the planet — the way he cackles at every joke you tell makes you question if it’s forced, or exaggerated at the least, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. your humor matches his so perfectly that everything you say or do he only wishes he would have thought of first. the two of you are constantly a nonstop giggling mess full of silly inside jokes and plain stupidity.

— boyfriend jj who… thrives off of long hugs with you; specifically when it feels more like you’re just holding him. hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in calms his nerves in a way that smoking weed never could.

— boyfriend jj who… is absolutely mesmerized by everything you do; whether that be your makeup (he thinks you’re the artist and the art), or simply steering the boat (the way the wind blows in your hair and the sun highlights each and every shade is unreal). he often finds himself completely zoned out of reality with soft blue eyes as he marvels in awe at everything that is you. he's often chewing the inside of his lip as he stares, quickly averting his gaze to his hands when you look his way, though it’s always so obvious.

— boyfriend jj who… loves when you come to watch him surf, though it’s stressful watching him disappear under the waves for what feels like minutes at a time. but, without fail, he always ends up running to you with a big, toothy smile as he wraps a cold, muscular arm around your waist, pressing wet, salty lips to yours as he beams with excitement: “babe, did you fuckin’ see that?!”

— boyfriend jj who… isn’t too good at saying ‘i love you’ but shows it in everything he does: plucking you random flowers (and weeds, though he doesn’t know that), fixing your top as you chat amongst friends, keeping a hair tie on his wrist because he just knows you’re going to need one, always keeping physical touch with you in some way (absentmindedly twirling your hair, resting your legs on his lap, holding your hand, leaning on your shoulder).

— boyfriend jj who… tries to contain his himself but is more than willing to get in a fight when it comes to you; whether it be one too many comments made about you in order to taunt him or another man’s hand lingering on yours for way too long, jj is quick to set things straight no matter who it puts him up against.

— boyfriend jj who… gets jealous very easily but tries his hardest to control it. before you started dating, he would simply avert his attention or walk away from any situation involving you and a guy, knowing he shouldn’t be jealous but he couldn’t help it. now that you’re officially his, his emotion is worn clearly on his face.

— boyfriend jj who… falls asleep virtually anywhere, as long as you were around. he hates it, obviously wanting to be awake when he’s with you, but the feeling of genuine comfort and safety you give him is nothing like he’d ever felt at home, or anywhere, so he often finds his head on your lap or shoulder, fighting a slumber.

— boyfriend jj who… likes to take off his cap and place it backwards on your head whenever you’re making out, always laughing into the kiss whenever it inevitably falls over your eyes.

— boyfriend jj who… noticed your awestruck reaction to once finding the ‘perfect’ seashell in the sand and now brings you the prettiest, shiniest, most perfect seashells he can find — no matter who it inconveniences: “dude, it’s been, like, twenty minutes! can’t we just buy one somewhere?” pope groaned. “yeah, let me get a fake i.d. and forge a check, too, since we’re frauds now,” jj scoffed.

— boyfriend jj who… has absolutely no filter so he often just says things that you then have to somehow answer for: “is your hair supposed to look like that?” he’d wonder aloud innocently. “jj!” you’d whisper before clearing your throat, “he just means did you have to use any product or-or anything or is it naturally so pretty?”

— boyfriend jj who… remembers all the little things about you, despite his forgetful and oblivious nature, often taking you by surprise when he mentions them: “nah, you won’t like that, s’got peanut butter in it.” or "wait, the same girl who kicked down your sandcastle in third grade? i hate that bitch. sorry, sorry, continue.”

— boyfriend jj who… let’s you fiddle with the numerous rings and bracelets adorning his hands whenever you want, knowing it’s a calming distraction whenever you’re anxious. often times, you’ll be sitting with his large hand on your lap, twisting and pulling at the metal around his fingers as he chatted amongst his friends, completely unfazed by your fidgeting — he’s used to (and loves) it.

— boyfriend jj who… carves the both of your initials into the trunks of numerous tree’s across the island, whether it’s one on the side of a busy street or in the depths of a secluded wood — he likes knowing that you’re etched permanently everywhere.

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[milo-is-rambling]

Realizing the high mental breakdown I had the other day about what I see being the same as the face I see when I look in the mirror like my life is just the view I see from my eyes and not my face/body and I’m realizing that that’s why I can hold the thoughts in my head that I both love and hate my body bc I’m mirrors and photos I’m like okay yeah!!! That’s me slay!!! But then in person I’m like :/ this is my body :/ and like I think part of it is both I’m bad at thinking any of this life is real but also I think it’s partially adhd spatial awareness if that’s the right phrase or like out of sight out of mind like I forget I have shit in my closet or if the pantry doors are closed I will literally just forget there’s shit in there like it’s bad and I’m realizing I’m just like that with my own body like i see from my eyes and see just my hands and my phone and whatever and that’s how I picture the world vs like me actually existing and being seen by other people (wow breaking news local stoner discovers they exist)

[leejenowrld]

‘love me back?’ — one

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 22.2k words

genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love

synopsis — mark lee goes from being the quiet kid at the river court to the star basketball player on campus, reigniting old tensions with his brother, jeno. as jeno’s girlfriend, you’re pulled into the rivalry, but it’s mark who captivates you. his touch, his presence—he stirs something deep inside you that you can’t shake. as the tension between the brothers grows, so does your forbidden connection with mark, forcing you to confront where your heart—and body—truly belong.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree hill, reader is in a relationship with jeno but it’s far from healthy or loving, depictions of lust and physical connection rather than emotional intimacy, slow burn with emotional (and sexual) tension between reader and mark, basketball is a heavy theme, mark being a key player, reader uses drugs and drinks to avoid facing her emotions, struggles with communication and vulnerability, messy dynamics with themes of abandonment and insecurity, escapism, toxic sibling rivalry between jeno and mark, oooh guys jeno is a jerk! bad boyfriend jeno, explicit sexual content involving rough and emotionally detached interactions with jeno, reader makes out with mark, soft mark, emo boy mark, confident mark, understated and hot mark, references to drug and alcohol use as coping mechanisms, swearing, explicit language and competitive sports tension.

[fic ml]

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

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The air in the room is thick and hazy, the low-hanging smoke curling in lazy spirals above your heads, seeping into the fabric of your clothes and the sheets. The bedside table is cluttered with half-empty bottles—beers, vodka mixers—and a vape pen with a fading light. The faint scent of weed lingers, clinging to the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. It should feel comforting, familiar, but it doesn’t. Everything feels muted, dulled, like you’re watching your life from a distance, the numbness settling deeper with each passing second.

Jeno lies beside you, shirtless, his body warm against yours. Your head rests on his chest, where his heartbeat thuds unevenly, just as it always has—never steady enough to soothe you, never grounding like you wanted it to be. Tonight, it feels even more erratic, like something inside him is pulling further away. Your fingers trace lazy circles over his skin, the motion slow, almost mechanical. It’s a routine now—this closeness that never truly feels close.

He’s quiet, too quiet, and it irritates you more than it should. You inhale sharply, the vape pen slipping between your lips before you exhale through your nose. Shifting closer, you press a kiss against his neck, letting your lips linger longer than usual, hoping he’ll respond. But there’s nothing—not a sigh, not a flicker of acknowledgment. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, his mind somewhere far beyond the room. You pull away, frustrated, the weight of the past hour pressing down on you.

“Jeno,” you murmur, your voice catching slightly, as if the words are stuck in your throat. Your lips linger near his jaw, hoping for a reaction, for something to pull him back to you. But all you feel is the faint twitch of his hand on your waist, a gesture that once held desire but now feels empty, mechanical. It’s not what you’re looking for, not tonight.

You move again, this time more insistent, straddling his waist, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to ground yourself—or maybe trying to ground him. You tilt his chin toward you, forcing his eyes to meet yours, but they’re glassy, distant, reflecting the dull light of the lamp more than any real emotion. “Are you even here?” you ask, half-joking, but the frustration behind your words cuts through the haze in the air.

“Yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction in his voice. His eyes flicker to the ceiling again, avoiding yours, like he’s searching for an answer there that he can’t find in you.

You let out a sharp breath, your fingers tightening on his chest as you lean down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s supposed to feel familiar, intimate. But even then, his response is slow, almost hesitant, like he’s going through the motions, doing what’s expected but feeling none of it.

Your heart sinks a little, and you pull back just enough to study his face, the way his jaw tenses and his gaze remains distant. The dim light casts long shadows across his features, making him look older, more worn down than he should. Something is eating at him, gnawing at the edges of whatever you have left between you.

“What’s wrong with you?” The words come out more accusatory than you intend, but the irritation bubbling inside you won’t let it rest. You both know what this is—it’s been like this for months now. Physical, surface-level. No connection. No real emotion. But tonight, it feels worse. Heavier.

He finally shifts beneath you, his fingers brushing against your hip, but there’s no spark in the touch, no warmth. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice thin, barely more than a whisper.

“You always say that,” you mutter, the words bitter as they leave your mouth. You push yourself off of him, sitting at the edge of the bed, your hands in your lap as you glance over at the cluttered mess around you. Bottles, smoke, scattered clothes. It’s all a blur. “Is this really what we are now? Me trying, and you always somewhere else?”

You run a hand through your hair, glancing over your shoulder at him. Jeno doesn’t answer right away. He just rubs his face with his hand, his other arm falling limp beside him, like even the effort of responding is too much. “It’s just the game tomorrow,” he mumbles, but his words lack conviction.

“The game?” You repeat, incredulous. You turn to face him fully now, your frustration spilling over. “You’re thinking about basketball right now? We’re here, and all you care about is some stupid game?”

Jeno sits up, finally breaking the contact between you. His hands are tight, clenched in the sheets as he avoids your gaze. “It’s not just the game,” he snaps, his voice sharper now, the edge of something deeper cutting through. “It’s Mark.”

The name lands heavier than you expect. Mark Lee. Jeno’s half-brother. The one he rarely mentions, the one who has always been at the edges of your awareness but you’ve never had a reason to think about him. You’ve seen him around but only from a distance. He was never at the parties, never a part of the crowd Jeno ran with, always separate. always… distant. Mark’s never really mattered to you. Until now.

“What about him?” You ask, your voice slower, more careful.

Jeno lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He’s back,” he says, the frustration creeping into his voice.

“Back how?” You mumble, feeling the tension building. Mark had been around since you and Jeno were children but he had always been a part of the background, you never expected that to change. 

Jeno shifts beside you, you watch his jaw clench, his fists tightening on the sheets. “Back into my life. Out of nowhere. He’s on the team now—just showed up like he had something to prove, and Coach didn’t waste a second. Benched me, gave him my spot.” The words are clipped, tight with barely concealed anger.

You sit there, trying to process it. You’ve seen him before, alone at the river court after hours, earbuds in, completely disconnected from the world you and Jeno are a part of. Calm, composed, like nothing touches him. It strikes you how different he is — how he’s always stood apart from Jeno’s chaos. 

He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can feel the anger bubbling underneath, the years of resentment suddenly in the open. “My dad’s losing it. He never wanted Mark around. Hated him from the beginning—he’s always seen him as the mistake, the one thing he can’t stand to face. But now Mark’s back, and it’s like this unspoken challenge. Like Mark’s here to prove he’s better, or he can take everything that’s mine.”

You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to the intensity of his words. “Jeno… I’m sure it’s not that deep. It’s literally just basketball.”

His gaze snaps to you, deadpan. Anger flickers in his expression, a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there moments before. You’ve said the wrong thing. You can feel it. He looks at you like you don’t get it—like you don’t understand him at all.

There’s something wild in his eyes now, something untamed. “It’s never just been basketball,” he says, voice sharp, frustration lacing every word. “He’s always wanted everything I have. He’s always been there, lurking. And now he’s coming for everything—my spot, my life.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower, quieter, almost as if he’s afraid to say it out loud. “And you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sinking into the silence that stretches between you. You stare at him, stunned, trying to process what he’s just said. And you. A chill runs through you. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond, how to make sense of what he’s implying.

───────────────────────────────

Jeno pulls up to the river court erratically, tires skidding on the gravel as he parks. The way he moves—quick, aggressive—mirrors the tension that’s been building between him and Mark for days. You’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by the weight of this impending showdown, but for Jeno, this is his element. He thrives in moments like these, where all eyes are on him, where the crowd fuels his need for attention and validation. Every glance, every whispered conversation from the sidelines—Jeno drinks it all in, the girls batting their eyes at him only adding to his confidence.

You feel the stares too. You and Jeno aren’t just well-known—you’re desired. The kind of couple everyone talks about, whispers about behind your backs. People want to be you or be with you. You’ve seen the way their eyes follow you both, lingering a little too long, filled with envy and something darker. It’s intoxicating, usually. But tonight, the attention feels heavier, more suffocating, like it’s pressing down on you, trapping you in this moment where everything feels like it’s about to break.

The river court itself is buzzing, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The sky is a muted purple as dusk settles in, casting a hazy glow over the court. The river runs just beyond, the sound of water rushing in the background, a soft but constant reminder of the tension flowing through this moment. The court is cracked, worn from years of use, but it has a certain rawness to it—gritty, real. The streetlights flicker to life as people gather along the edges, their shadows long and looming over the pavement. There’s a strange energy in the air, a mix of excitement and unease, as more people file in. Jeno’s supporters are far bigger, louder, their voices filling the space. They want a show, and Jeno is ready to give it to them.

“Welcome to the river court showdown!” Lee Donghyuck’s voice cuts through the murmurs, playful and dramatic as he addresses the growing crowd. You don’t know him well—he’s Mark’s best friend, always lingering in the background. His narration carries a light-hearted tone, but the way his eyes flick between Mark and Jeno makes it clear: this is personal. “Ladies and gentlemen, the stakes are high, and you can feel the intensity in the air. We’ve got a battle of the brothers tonight. Mark Lee, our underdog, taking on the one and only Jeno Lee.”

Your gaze shifts to Jeno as he steps onto the court, confidence radiating from him as he bounces the basketball in his hands, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator surveying his territory. Across from him, Mark stands still, calm. He doesn’t thrive on the attention like Jeno does—he doesn’t even seem to notice the crowd. His focus is entirely on the game, his eyes sharp, determined.

Donghyuck’s voice carries on, “In one corner, we have Jeno—star player, campus legend. And in the other, Mark—cool, calm, and collected, with everything to lose.” There’s a hint of admiration in his tone when he talks about Mark, and you catch yourself paying closer attention to him too. You’ve never really noticed Mark before, but now, as he steps forward, there’s something about the way he carries himself that draws you in. The quiet confidence, the determination in his eyes… it’s hard not to watch him.

The game starts fast. Jeno wastes no time, dribbling aggressively, his body coiled with energy, every movement sharp, intentional. Mark, on the other hand, is methodical, almost serene in the way he moves, his eyes never leaving the ball. Jeno talks trash as they play, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t your world.”

Mark doesn’t respond, his focus unwavering. You can see it—the way his eyes track the ball, his calm under pressure. He’s not here to prove anything to Jeno; he’s here for himself. Every shot Mark takes is calculated, precise. He moves with a fluidity that surprises you, and you catch yourself watching more intently than you expected, noticing the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes sharpen when he finds an opening. There’s something intimate in the way he plays, an art to his determination that makes it impossible not to be drawn in.

“And Mark with the shot—boom! Nothing but net!” Donghyuck’s voice is filled with excitement, and the crowd reacts with gasps. You can hear the surprise rippling through them. Jeno wasn’t expecting this, and neither were they. “He’s got game, ladies and gentlemen. Jeno might have his work cut out for him.”

Jeno’s frustration grows with each point Mark scores. You can see it in the way his movements become more frantic, more desperate to overpower Mark. But Mark doesn’t falter. He doesn’t need to respond to Jeno’s taunts, and doesn't need to engage in the mind games. His eyes are always on the prize, his determination unshakable.

As the game continues, it’s clear that Jeno underestimated his brother. Mark isn’t just holding his own—he’s thriving. Each basket he makes feels like a step out of the shadow Jeno has cast over him for so long. For Jeno, this is about dominance, about keeping Mark out of his world. But for Mark, it’s about more than that. It’s about carving out his own place, about proving he can hold his own.

Jeno dribbles back, eyes narrowing as he pulls up from way beyond the three-point line, his body coiling with the kind of confidence that comes from years of dominance on the court. His movements are fluid, almost graceful as he rises to take the shot, the ball leaving his fingertips in a perfect arc. For a second, it looks like it’s going in—like he’s about to remind everyone why he’s the best. But just as the ball reaches its peak, Mark appears out of nowhere, launching himself into the air, his arm extending at just the right angle to block it. 

Donghyuck's voice bursts out in excitement, “Jeno shoots… and misses!” he pauses, eyes wide with amazement, “holy crap, did you see that? Someday men will write stories about that block, children will be named after that block and Argentinian women will weep for it!”

The sound of the ball slapping against his hand echoes through the court, followed by the stunned gasps from the crowd. Jeno stumbles back, shock and disbelief flickering across his face as the ball ricochets away, the confidence he’d had only moments ago shattered.

“Mark with the rebound. He’s fast. He’s focused.” Donghyuck’s playful tone turns serious as the game nears its end. The tension in the crowd is palpable, and you can’t help but feel it too. But more than that, you’re watching Mark now—really watching him. The way he doesn’t let anything distract him, the quiet intensity in his eyes as he takes his final shot. There’s something about him in this moment that feels… different. It’s not an attraction, not yet, but a subtle curiosity. The way he moves, the determination etched into every step—it draws you in, and you can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath that calm exterior.

“And that’s it! Mark Lee wins!” Donghyuck shouts as the crowd erupts, the shock clear on everyone’s faces. Mark’s friends swarm the court, cheering loudly, their celebration unrestrained. You watch them from the sidelines, a small, subtle smile pulling at your lips. You don’t know why, but seeing Mark win… it makes you happy. There’s something about it that feels right, like you’ve been waiting for this moment without even realising it. You haven’t smiled like this in so long.

Jeno walks toward you, his face twisted in frustration and defeat. “It’s not a big deal,” you say quietly, trying to diffuse the tension. 

Jeno laughs, though it’s not a sound filled with humour. “He’s not gonna quit the team now. I lost the bet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You bet on it?”

Jeno’s face hardens, and the way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, but not in a good way. His silence is unsettling, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. “What did he bet if he won?” you ask, your voice quieter now, a sinking feeling creeping into your chest.

Jeno looks at you, his jaw tight. “You. He bet that he gets you.”

The words hit you like a slap, the weight of them sinking in slowly. You’re stunned, unsure how to feel. Part of you is angry at Jeno, furious that he would treat you like an object in some stupid rivalry. But another part of you—the part that watched Mark play tonight, the part that saw something different in him—can’t shake the way you felt watching him on that court.

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The drive back to Jeno’s house is suffocating, the silence hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. You’ve tried speaking, tried breaking through the wall he’s built around himself, but he just stares straight out of the window, his jaw clenched tight as if he’s grinding through every word he doesn’t want to say. His silence grates on you, each passing second tightening the coil of frustration in your chest.

Finally, you snap, your voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why the fuck would you agree to let me get involved in any type of bet? Aren’t you my boyfriend? Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

Jeno doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to look at you. His expression remains stony, detached, like you’re not even there. It’s as if every emotion between you is locked behind that clenched jaw. The frustration inside you bubbles over, boiling under your skin as he pulls up to his apartment, the car jerking to a stop. Before you can say anything more, he throws the door open, slams it shut, and storms toward the house, leaving you sitting there, stunned.

You follow him, heart pounding, already knowing what you’re about to walk into. But it still hits harder than you expect when you push through the front door: another one of his fucking parties.

The bass from the music vibrates through the floor, the walls practically shaking from the force of it. The air inside is thick—sweat, alcohol, smoke—all mingling into a nauseating fog that clings to everything. Half the campus seems to be packed into the house, bodies pressed together, laughing, shouting, grinding. It’s chaos. It’s chaotic, a celebration party that was meant to mark Jeno’s victory but he lost. He didn’t expect to lose so now he’s throwing himself into this mess, trying to forget how Mark beat him.

Jeno doesn’t even glance your way as he strides straight into the centre of the party. The second he steps inside, the energy shifts. All eyes are on him. Girls bat their eyelashes, offering coy smiles and glances, waiting for him to notice. The guys are quick to slap him on the back, giving him their usual praise, eager to bask in the glow of his attention. He soaks it up, drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

Without a second thought, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd. You stand there, invisible, feeling like an afterthought. You watch as Jeno gravitates toward a group of girls, the kind you’ve seen around before—the ones who always seem to be in his orbit, looking for a chance to get close. They laugh at something he says, their hands grazing his arm, their gazes hungry. And Jeno, your supposed boyfriend, leans into it.

You watch as one of the girls, dressed in a tight, glittering dress, dances close to him, her body pressed against his as they move to the beat. Jeno’s hands rest on her waist for just a second—nothing more than a passing touch, but it’s enough to sting. Enough to make your stomach twist. She leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he smirks. It’s a look you’ve seen before—not necessarily malicious, just confident, like he’s always known how to handle this kind of attention. His eyes are a bit hazy, a mix of alcohol and the mood of the night, and he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

The other girls join in, dancing around him, their bodies brushing against his as the music pulses through the room. Jeno doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop them, but he’s not exactly encouraging it either. He lets it happen, lets them touch him, lets the night sweep him up. You know it’s not about forgetting you, not about pushing boundaries—Jeno’s always had this natural pull, the kind that draws people in without him even trying. But tonight, it feels different, harder to shake off, like he’s just letting the moment take him, unaware of how much it’s affecting you.

Your chest tightens, and you stand there, rooted in place. It’s not like this is the first time—Jeno’s always been the guy who draws attention effortlessly, always the one people gravitate toward. But tonight, there’s something sharper about it, something that feels a little too close. You know he loves you, but watching him in the middle of it all, surrounded by all these girls, it feels like you’re invisible for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s forgotten how much he means to you. But deep down, you know it’s just him getting caught up in the night, not in them.

You make your way upstairs, needing space, needing to breathe. The noise below feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you. Jeno’s room is as much of a mess as the party downstairs, but it’s quieter at least. You go straight to his drawers, pulling out bottles of whatever alcohol you can find, downing shots without caring about the burn in your throat. Then it’s the drugs—whatever pills and powders he’s stashed away. You don’t think, you just take them. Anything to numb the anger, the frustration, the feeling of being trapped and ignored.

You grab your laptop from the desk and plug your phone into the speaker, blasting your own music. The party music below is lame, anyway. With the alcohol and drugs starting to take effect, you focus on your screen, your fingers flying across the keys as you work on your art assignment. You pull up the digital image you’ve been editing for days, your eyes scanning the lines and colours as you tweak the lighting, adjust the shadows—anything to keep your mind off Jeno, off the party, off everything.

An hour passes before Jeno stumbles into the room, high out of his mind. He’s still reeking of sweat and alcohol, his shirt half-untucked, his eyes bloodshot. He glances at your screen, scoffing.

“What are you wasting your time on now?”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to start another fight, but the irritation flares up anyway. You keep your eyes on the screen, editing a tiny detail on the photo, hoping he’ll leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over and turns off the speaker, his smirk testing you.

“You know nobody listens to this crap,” he says, challenging you with his gaze.

“Why the fuck did you allow me to be bet on?” you snap, unable to hold back any longer. The question is sharp, bitter.

Jeno rolls his eyes and shrugs, as if it’s not worth discussing, as if it doesn’t matter. His casual dismissal makes your blood boil.

“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me,” you seethe, standing up from the bed. “Don’t give me attitude. You’re the one throwing your lame parties and celebrating what? That your brother beat your lame ass today?”

Jeno shakes his head, irritated. “That’s why I came here now,” he mutters, his words slurring slightly. “To ask you if you wanna come party with us.”

“‘Us’?” you ask, folding your arms. “So that means the guys and the girls you’re fucking around with? The ones you let grind all over you like you don’t have a girlfriend standing right there?”

Jeno’s expression tightens, his jaw clenching as the accusation hits him. His eyes flash with frustration, but for a moment, you catch a flicker of guilt before he quickly masks it. His lips press into a thin line, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he’s holding back from snapping. He sighs, exasperated. “And me.”

“And the guys,” you repeat, rolling your eyes.

“You know what, Y/N,” he says, his tone shifting to frustration. “I’m getting really tired of this. I came here to spend time with you.” He points at you accusingly, his words biting.

“Yeah, me and half the campus,” you shoot back, referring to the party downstairs.

He throws his hands up in defeat. “Whatever. You wanna be a bitch, that’s cool. Just sit here and listen to your loser rock and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you glare at him, your voice sharp as a knife. “How about you don’t see me tomorrow?”

Jeno’s face falters for a moment, and he looks at you, something softer trying to break through the haze of alcohol and frustration. “Look… I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low. It’s an apology, but it feels half-hearted, like he’s saying it because he knows he should, not because he means it.

You shake your head, ignoring him as you push past. The anger burns too hot, and his apology barely registers. You brush yourself past him, the touch brief but cold, leaving him standing there in the doorway, stunned and alone.

You breathe heavily, trying to calm the anger still simmering in your chest. Each inhale feels shaky, your body betraying just how rattled you are. Jeno’s words, his actions downstairs, the careless way he allowed those girls to hang on to him like you didn’t matter—it all echoes in your mind. You need to escape, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all. With nothing else to do, you make your way downstairs, the pounding bass and shrill laughter filling the space like a cloud of smoke you can’t shake.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when a few of your friends spot you. Their faces light up, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. They pull you into a conversation, their voices high-pitched and bubbly as they compliment your dress, touching your arm and admiring the way the tight black fabric clings to your curves.

“Oh my god, that dress is insane on you!” one of them gushes, her eyes wide with admiration. “Jeno is so lucky…” 

You smile, the kind of smile you’ve perfected—wide and warm, just enough to convince them you’re engaged. “Thanks,” you reply, your voice light, pretending to match their energy. It’s easy to slip into this act, to fake the excitement, the warmth. You’ve done it before. But inside, everything feels hollow, like there’s a wall between you and the rest of the world.

As they chatter on about the party, about boys, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress is tight, black, hugging every inch of your body. The neckline plunges just enough to catch attention, the fabric pulling at all the right places. Your makeup is flawless—lips painted a deep, sultry red, eyeshadow smoked out in a way that makes your eyes pop. To everyone else, you look like the life of the party, someone who belongs here. But looking at your own reflection, you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself from outside your body.

You’re about to respond to one of your friends when something catches your eye—someone. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice Mark Lee standing across the room. You freeze. Your friends’ voices fade into the background, the party around you slipping away as your focus zeroes in on him. What the hell is he doing here?

Mark doesn’t belong at parties like this. It’s obvious in the way he stands, surrounded by people yet somehow separate, distant. He’s smiling, his lips curved upward, but there’s a casual awkwardness in the way he holds himself. His shoulders are tense, and he fidgets with his hands as if he’s not entirely comfortable with the attention.

You watch as a few girls, practically draped over him, giggle and bat their eyelashes, clearly trying to catch his eye. Mark’s friends are laughing, slapping him on the back like they’re celebrating something. You can tell his status is rising after his win today, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly people are flocking to him. It’s almost comical. Yet, unlike Jeno, Mark doesn’t seem to bask in it. He’s not soaking up the attention or feeding off it. Instead, he shifts awkwardly under their gazes, like the weight of it all makes him uneasy.

There’s something… different about him.

You find yourself studying the way his body language contrasts with the energy around him. Where Jeno would be centre stage, loving every second of the spotlight, Mark seems almost out of place, as if he’s trying to navigate a world that doesn’t quite fit him. It’s… endearing. His discomfort, the way he’s clearly not used to being the centre of attention—it draws you in, makes you curious in a way you hadn’t expected.

A small, quiet laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help but find it amusing, how different he is from everyone else in the room. And just as quickly as you let yourself slip into that moment, his eyes meet yours.

For a split second, your heart stutters, and your breath catches. His gaze holds yours, steady and intense. You can’t look away, even though every part of you wants to. It’s as if the rest of the room melts away, the noise, the people, the party—it all blurs into the background. There’s only him.

Mark’s eyes are dark, deeper than you’d expect, and the tension between you feels thick, almost suffocating. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something behind his stare—something that sends a jolt through you. It’s unsettling how deep it cuts, like he’s seeing straight through you, into a place you didn’t want anyone to go.

Your stomach twists, the feeling both terrifying and magnetic. You should look away, but you don’t. You hold his gaze for longer than you should, and the tension between you builds with every second that passes. His stare is steady, unblinking, as if he’s waiting for something, as if he’s testing you. And the longer it goes on, the more you feel like something has shifted—something subtle, something dangerous.

Finally, you tear your eyes away, your heart racing in your chest. You turn, your movements quick and sharp, almost desperate to break the connection. But the weight of his gaze lingers on you, even after you walk away, the tension hanging in the air long after the moment has passed. Something has shifted, and you can feel it deep in your bones.

You don’t know what it is, but you’re certain of one thing: you’re not ready to face it yet.

You storm off, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and betrayal, the thoughts of Jeno’s reckless behaviour and the bet swirling in your mind. Every step feels heavier, like the weight of everything that’s happened is pressing down on your chest. The muffled noise of the party below fades into the background as you climb the stairs, heading straight for Jeno’s room. The air feels thick, the kind of tension that wraps around you and makes it hard to breathe.

He bet on you.

The thought keeps ringing in your mind, making your stomach churn. It’s a hollow realisation, but one you can’t shake—like every guy in your life somehow views you as a prize, something to win or lose. Your chest tightens with anger, but it’s not just aimed at Jeno. It’s aimed at Mark too. He was part of it. Part of the game, the manipulation. 

You reach Jeno’s room and shove the door open, needing the space, needing to breathe. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with weed hits you. The room is a mess, clothes and empty bottles scattered everywhere, a chaotic reflection of everything wrong between you and him. You step inside, your hands trembling slightly as you try to make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

But before you can take a breath, you hear footsteps behind you.

Your heart skips, the sudden sound catching you off guard. You whip around, expecting Jeno, but instead, it’s Mark standing in the doorway. His expression unreadable, his hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Hey,” Mark says, his voice soft but carrying through the tension in the room.

You stand in shock, your eyes narrowing in on him. The last person you want to see right now is Mark Lee, of all people. “What do you want? Why are you following me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend, but you don’t care. The anger flares up, twisting in your chest. “Why are you even in Jeno’s room? Do you want me to call him?”

Mark’s expression shifts, his lips curling into a half-smirk that makes your blood boil. “Yeah, you won’t do that.” he says, voice calm but biting. “Bit of a weird relationship you guys have, huh? You’re his girlfriend, but he spends the night flirting and touching other girls?”

His words hit harder than you expect, cutting deep. You swallow, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside you, but it spills over anyway. “You’re not allowed to talk about my relationship,” you snap, stepping closer, the distance between you narrowing. “How dare you… how dare you tell Jeno that you wanted me if you won the game earlier?”

Mark chuckles, the sound low and dry. “Just when I think Jeno couldn’t be more of a jerk,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I changed my mind, alright? I agreed that if I won, I’d quit the team. Did he bother telling you that, or did he just let you believe the worst?” 

You freeze, stunned. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you. “Why would you… why would you want to quit the team?”

Mark’s expression softens for a moment, the tension easing slightly from his posture. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I’m tired of this,” he says, his voice quieter now, more genuine. “I don’t want to be in Jeno’s world anymore, competing with him over every little thing. Basketball used to be fun for me, but not when it’s all about one-upping him. It’s exhausting.”

You stare at him, processing the weight of what he’s just said. He’s not just tired of the rivalry—he’s tired of everything that comes with it, the constant competition, the games, the need to prove something. It’s so different from the way Jeno sees things.

You truthfully had no idea how intertwined Mark and Jeno’s lives had become recently. It feels strange, realising you’ve been standing on the outside of something so tangled. You’re meant to be Jeno’s girlfriend, yet you’ve never seen this side of his life—not until today when he mentioned Mark while getting ready for their showdown at the river court. That was the first time he had ever really talked about his half-brother with you, and even then, it was brief, distant, like he was giving you only the surface.

And now here you are, standing with Mark, getting a glimpse into the mess that you’ve somehow been pulled into without fully understanding it. It’s like you’ve been involved in their rivalry without even realising it, and yet you can see the toll it’s taken on Mark. The weariness in his voice, the way he talks about Jeno—it’s clear he’s already fed up. He’s exhausted, but from your perspective, you’ve only been witnessing it from the outside, catching pieces of a story you were never let into.

You’re confused, not truly understanding the dynamics between Mark and Jeno or the tension in their family. You’ve met Jeno’s dad before, and it didn’t take long to realise he’s an asshole. Controlling, dismissive, and always pushing Jeno toward something—whether it’s basketball or his own toxic expectations. Now, hearing Mark’s side of things, it makes sense why he wouldn’t want to be associated with their dad or get sucked into Jeno’s world. You’re not surprised Mark is tired of it all.

You notice the sadness lingering in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features, and it makes something twist in your chest. It’s clear he’s been carrying the weight of this rivalry far longer than you realised. You don’t fully understand the complexities between them, and a part of you wonders if you ever will.

You change the subject, not wanting to push him further into a conversation that clearly brings up so much for him.

“So… you did bet on me at first,” you murmur, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Why?”

Mark steps closer, and suddenly the air in the room feels different, heavier with a tension that has nothing to do with anger. His eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “Because I’ve always noticed you,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “The way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re lost in your own thoughts. The way you don’t let anyone in, but you have so much more to give than what people see.”

The words send a jolt through you, leaving you speechless, flushed. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The room feels smaller, the tension between you thick and suffocating.

Just as quickly as he’s drawn you in, Mark shifts the conversation, breaking the intensity of the moment. His gaze drifts to the bedside table, where a stack of vinyl records sits. He curled an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “No way Jeno listens to music this good,” he comments, his fingers brushing over the edge of a record. “Oasis?”

You blink, the sudden change in tone catching you off guard. “He doesn’t,” you mumble, glancing at the records. “They’re mine.”

Mark’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Didn’t think Jeno had that kind of taste. But you… this makes sense. You’ve got good taste.”

You shake your head slightly, still processing the shift in the conversation. Jeno always made fun of your music, always complained about how outdated and boring it was. But Mark… Mark seems to appreciate it.

He looks around the room again and spots your laptop, the digital art project you’ve been working on still open on the screen. He steps closer, leaning over to get a better look. “This… this is good,” he says, sounding almost impressed. “Really good.”

You brush off the compliment, shrugging. “It’s nothing, just something I mess around with.”

“No,” Mark says firmly, turning to face you, his eyes serious. “You’re talented. You need to take this seriously. Be proud of yourself for once.”

You blink, the unexpected praise catching you off guard. Jeno never really cared about your art. Whenever you’d show him a new project, he’d glance at it, offer a half-hearted “cool,” and move on to whatever was on his mind. But hearing it from Mark—someone who’s not even in your life—feels different. It feels real.

You turn away slightly, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, trying to dismiss it, but Mark doesn’t let it go.

“It is a big deal,” he insists, his voice soft but firm. “Look, I know I’m a complete nobody to you, and I don’t know everything about you, but I can tell that this… this is something you care about. You’re good, really good, and you shouldn’t brush that off.”

You swallow hard, his words sinking deeper than you expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he sees more than what you’re used to showing people. Like he’s seeing the side of you that even Jeno never bothered to notice.

The tension between you shifts again, but this time it’s softer, quieter. You feel yourself calming down, the anger that had burned so hot before now fading into something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels like Mark is seeing you, really seeing you, and that makes your chest tighten in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The question slips out before you can stop it, and you feel vulnerable, like you’re revealing more than you want to.

Mark’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe because someone should be,” he says quietly. “Someone should tell you how good you are. How much you matter. How much you deserve more than what you’re settling for.”

The words hit you hard, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Mark’s standing so close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and for a moment, you forget everything else. You forget about the party downstairs, the chaos with Jeno, the bet. All you can focus on is the way Mark is looking at you, the sincerity in his eyes.

You want to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in your throat. There’s a strange electricity in the air between you, like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous and exciting all at once. Your mind is telling you to stop, to pull back, but your body doesn’t move.

And then, before you can fully process what’s happening, Mark reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. The touch is soft, tentative, but it sends a jolt through you.

“Mark…” you murmur, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he’s already pulling his hand back, stepping away just enough to give you space, the intensity of the moment easing. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small laugh, but it’s not out of amusement—it’s out of the tension that’s still lingering between you both.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I don’t know, I felt like you needed to hear that.”

You stand there, your heart racing, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. Everything feels charged, like you’re balancing on a knife’s edge. You know you shouldn’t feel anything like this. He’s Jeno’s brother, after all, and this is already messy enough. But the way Mark looks at you, the way he speaks to you—it feels different. Different from Jeno. Different from anyone.

“I should go,” you finally say, the words shaky and unconvincing.

But before you can make a move, Mark stops you again, his voice soft but commanding. “Wait.”

You turn back, meeting his eyes again, and the tension that had briefly eased floods back, stronger than ever. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are full of something you can’t quite place.

“Why are you with him?” Mark asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because deep down, you’re not sure you know the answer anymore. The connection you once had with Jeno feels distant, hollow, like it’s slipping through your fingers the more you try to hold on.

Mark takes a step closer, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. His presence is overwhelming, and for the first time tonight, you feel truly seen. Not as Jeno’s girlfriend, not as someone who’s part of the chaos—but as yourself.

“Because,” you start, your voice shaky. “It’s easier than admitting that maybe we’re not right for each other. It’s easier than dealing with everything that’s falling apart.”

Mark’s eyes soften, and for a moment, he looks like he understands you in a way no one else has. He doesn’t push you for more, doesn’t make you feel guilty for your honesty. He just listens, and that feels like something you’ve been missing for a long time.

There’s a long silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy, charged with all the things you’re both not saying, but also filled with a strange sense of calm.

And then, Mark’s voice breaks through the quiet.

“You deserve better than ‘easy,’” he says softly, and his words sink deep into your chest, stirring something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

The room feels smaller, the air between you buzzing with something electric. For the first time, you wonder if maybe Mark’s right. Maybe you do deserve better. Maybe ‘easy’ isn’t enough anymore.

And just like that, everything between you shifts again.

───────────────────────────────

The next morning is a blur of regret and a pounding headache, the hangover hitting you harder than usual. You drag yourself out of bed, thoughts of last night swirling in your mind. Mark. You can’t stop thinking about him, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It’s unsettling how much it affected you, how easily he got under your skin. You’d never noticed him before, never cared to, but now… now it’s different.

He looked right into you, saw things no one else had ever bothered to. That scared you. How could he do that in just one conversation? It’s unsettling how easily he got under your skin. You’d always been in control of how people saw you—polished, popular, the girl everyone wanted to be. But Mark… he saw past all of that. And you hated that. You couldn’t allow it.

As you walk through campus, your usual routine kicks in. The stares, the whispers—they follow you like they always do. You’re well-known, well-liked, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. You slip back into that role easily, the confident girl everyone looks up to, the one they envy or want to be. But today, it feels different, like something’s off. Like you are off. The mask you wear is starting to slip. 

You push open the heavy doors to the stadium, the noise of squeaking sneakers and the thud of basketballs filling the air. The gym is mostly empty except for the cheer squad and the basketball team, both deep into practice for the big away game this weekend. The space is vast, the polished wood floor stretching out in front of you, the high ceilings making the place feel both overwhelming and hollow.

Karina, your best friend, is standing in the middle of the court, already in full drill-sergeant mode. She’s wearing the same cheer outfit as you—tiny, sultry, and sexy. The short skirt clings to her hips, barely covering her thighs, and the tight top shows off just enough skin to turn heads. Her long black hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her dark eyes flash with intensity as she barks orders at the other girls. Karina’s passionate, sometimes too much so, running practices like boot camp. You’ve known her forever, and while she thrives on drama, partying, and popularity, she’s a good person underneath all that chaos. She’s just someone who loves living on the edge and always ends up in trouble.

“You’re late,” Karina snaps when she sees you, her voice sharp. She rolls her eyes dramatically and gestures for you to start warming up. “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, don’t even bother showing up.”

You give her a half-hearted shrug, too hungover and distracted to care. “I overslept,” you mutter, pulling your hair into a ponytail and adjusting the skirt of your cheer uniform. The fabric clings to your skin, the skirt short enough to leave little to the imagination. You stretch, trying to ignore the lingering headache and the thoughts of Mark that refuse to leave your mind.

Karina goes back to yelling at the other girls, demanding perfection in the routine, and you start practising alongside them. The others around you are gossiping, their voices filled with excitement as they gush over the basketball players—how hot they look in their uniforms, who hooked up with who, and which guy is the best in bed. You block them out, going through the motions of the routine as if on autopilot.

But then, you feel it again. That familiar, heavy gaze. You lift your head, and your heart skips when you see him.

Mark.

He’s across the court, dribbling a basketball with effortless ease, but his eyes are on you. He’s wearing the team’s uniform tank top, his last name, ‘Lee,’ boldly printed on the back. The sleeveless jersey hugs his broad shoulders, showing off his muscular arms, the definition of his biceps catching your eye. It fits him well—too well. The fabric clings to his torso, outlining the muscles beneath, and you curse yourself for noticing.

What a fucking liar. Didn’t he say he was quitting the team? So why was he here now, practising like nothing had changed?

Mark dribbles closer, and as he moves past you, you can’t stop yourself from striking up the question that’s been bugging you. “I thought you quit,” you say, your voice sharp with accusation.

He pauses, turning to you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I did,” he replies smoothly. “But I realised something this morning—this court is where I belong. No one’s gonna stop me from being here. Not Jeno. Not anyone.”

His words are like a challenge, and it makes something in your chest tighten. He stands there, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something more. You narrow your gaze, trying to keep the frustration from bubbling over. His presence was throwing you off balance, making you question things you didn’t want to face.

Mark doesn’t seem fazed by your silence. In fact, he starts talking again, asking about cheer practice, making small talk like nothing’s wrong. But you can’t let yourself engage. You give him blunt, clipped responses, barely meeting his gaze. You can’t afford to let him break through your walls again. Not in front of Karina and the other girls.

He huffs, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why the hell are you a cheerleader anyway? You’re the least cheery person I know.”

Before you can answer, you notice the other cheerleaders staring, their eyes flicking between you and Mark. Some of them—the same girls who were flirting with him at the party—are watching closely, whispering to each other, their expressions curious. You feel exposed under their gaze, like they can see right through you, like they know something’s happened between you and Mark even though that was far from the reality. 

You force yourself to act indifferent, cold. You put up the walls you’re so good at building, the ones that keep people from seeing the real you. But Mark’s not fooled. He sees through it, and it only makes him more determined. His gaze lingers, and you can feel the weight of it even as you turn away, trying to focus on the routine.

The tension between you is subtle, a quiet current that hums beneath the surface. You don’t know him well enough for it to be anything more, but there’s something about the way Mark watches you—calm, measured, like he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unsettling how easily he manages to chip away at the front you’ve put up, the one you use to keep everyone at a distance. He doesn’t push, doesn’t challenge you outright, but his presence is enough to make you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to.

What bothers you the most is how Mark seems to notice things others don’t, like he’s already picking up on pieces of you that you barely acknowledge yourself. He doesn’t say much, but the way he looks at you—steady, unflinching—feels like he’s seeing past the version of you that everyone else accepts without question. It’s not that he’s right, exactly, but the fact that he might be makes you uneasy.

Mark catches you stealing small glances at him as the practice goes on. You falter in your movements just enough for him to notice, and each time you feel his eyes on you, your skin prickles with awareness. It’s infuriating, really—the way he’s always watching, like he’s waiting for you to crack. And what’s worse, you can’t stop yourself from glancing back.

You refocus, forcing your attention on Karina, who’s still barking orders at the squad, her long black hair swaying with every step. She’s relentless, her intensity dialled up to eleven. “Come on, Y/N,” she snaps, clapping her hands. “You’re half-assing it today. Get your head in the game!”

Karina’s passion for cheer is unmatched. She runs these practices like military drills, pushing everyone to their limits. It’s part of why she’s cheer captain, part of why the girls respect her, but it’s also why they gossip about how extra she is behind her back. But you know that her heart is in the right place. She loves this life. The drama, the popularity, the excitement of being at the centre of it all.

The cheer team lines up for the final drill, a complicated pyramid. As you climb into position, you catch Mark watching again, this time closer than before. He’s dribbling lazily nearby, as if he’s waiting for an excuse to talk to you. Your stomach twists, frustration and something else swirling in your gut. You turn away, focusing on the balance, ignoring him.

But as practice winds down, and you’re stretching by the edge of the court, you feel his shadow fall over you. He’s closer now, leaning against the wall, the basketball spinning lazily in his hand. You can’t ignore him any longer.

“I thought you were serious about quitting,” you mutter, not looking at him, your fingers digging into your muscles as you stretch.

Mark doesn’t answer right away, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally does, his voice is low, laced with that teasing tone he always seems to have around you. “I was. But sometimes plans change.” His eyes are locked on yours, and you hate how steady his gaze is, how it makes you feel like he’s peeling away your defences one layer at a time.

You scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you stand. “You and Jeno are going to kill each other. What’s the point?”

Mark’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening for a brief second before his usual calm mask returns. “Maybe. Or maybe this is the only way to settle things between us.”

You’re taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but you don’t show it. Instead, you shrug, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long drink. “Whatever. Just don’t drag me into it.”

Mark steps closer, and you freeze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “You’re already in it,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Whether you want to be or not.”

You blink, trying to process what Mark means. Of course, you’re involved—you’re Jeno’s girlfriend, after all. But there’s something in the way Mark says it, something that feels deeper than just the rivalry between him and his brother. He’s looking at you like he knows something you don’t, like he sees the storm brewing before you even realise it’s there.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the doors to the court open with a loud bang, the sound echoing across the gym.

All eyes instinctively glance toward the entrance as Jeno strides in, exuding the kind of confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place. There’s an effortless swagger in his step, the kind that turns heads, drawing attention without even trying.

He’s late, but he doesn’t look like someone who’s been through a rough night. His hair, though slightly tousled, is styled in that perfect, careless way that still manages to look deliberate. His basketball jersey clings to his broad shoulders, the material showcasing the lean muscles of his arms as it moves with every step he takes. His name ‘Lee,’ is plastered boldly across his back. His skin glows with a faint sheen, his body radiating a kind of heat that makes you—despite everything—take notice.

Coach Suh’s voice booms across the court, cutting through the tension. “Lee Jeno! You’re late! Get your ass over here—this isn’t a damn joke.”

Jeno just shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The sound of his laugh echoes through the gym, but it’s empty, lacking its usual charm. Instead of walking toward the rest of the team, he strides toward you and Mark, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

His expression is tight, frustration radiating off him, but it’s not just about being late. The way his eyes fix on Mark makes your stomach clench—this wouldn’t end well.

“So,” Jeno drawls, his voice low and laced with bitterness, “not only do you want my life, my spot on the team, but you also want my girl?”

The words hang heavy in the air, his accusation sharp. Mark doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he watches Jeno, his calm exterior refusing to crack.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you feel the tension between them ramping up like a ticking time bomb about to explode. You can see it in Jeno’s posture—the way his fists clench, the way he’s getting ready to square up and the way his jaw tightens—he’s not going to let this go easily.

You step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. “Jeno, let’s just go, yeah?” you say softly, stepping closer to him. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, hoping your touch will calm him down. “We’ll skip practice and hang out like we used to before. Please, let’s just leave.”

For a moment, Jeno doesn’t move, his gaze still locked on Mark, but then he turns to you, his features softening just slightly. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Baby, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You swallow, the tension in the air heavy, but you nod, wanting to end this. “It’s okay,” you whisper back. “Let’s just move on, okay?”

Jeno pulls back, his smirk returning as he glances at Mark one last time before turning fully to you. He speaks loud enough for Mark to hear, completely ignoring his brother’s presence. “I’ll pick you up later, yeah? We haven’t fucked in so long. I’ll make sure you have a better time than last night.”

You freeze, his words making your skin prickle. It’s meant to sound playful, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something bitter and insecure. You can sense it in the way he’s trying too hard, covering his unease with cocky charm.

But you’re horny, above everything else, you really want cock. His cock.

“Okay,” you smile, leaning up to kiss Jeno softly, the warmth of his lips against yours a temporary distraction. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of Mark’s eyes burning into you from across the court, watching the whole interaction unfold.

───────────────────────────────

The gym was alive with the roaring of the crowd, the heavy pounding of feet against the polished hardwood echoing through the space. It was the big away game, the one everyone had been talking about for weeks. You stood with the rest of the cheer team, pom-poms in hand, cheering and supporting the boys. The energy was electric, the entire stadium buzzing with anticipation. You could feel the excitement coursing through the air, a mix of tension and adrenaline that had everyone on edge.

The crowd was packed, faces blurred together, and their cheers were deafening. The thud of basketballs against the court, the squeak of sneakers, You glanced around, spotting Karina, who was already screaming her head off, hyping up the team and the crowd, her long black hair bouncing with every movement. She was intense, as always. The bright cheer uniforms only added to the energy, and despite the tension in the air, you couldn’t deny how it all came together. You loved being part of the noise, even if you felt disconnected at times.

Your eyes were naturally drawn to the court, where the basketball players were in full motion. Mark was everywhere—sprinting down the court, dribbling the ball, his focus intense. He was confident, fully immersed in the game, his movements fluid and controlled. It was hard not to notice how good he was, how easily he fit into the rhythm of the team despite everything that had happened. He belonged there, and it was becoming more obvious with every passing second. The crowd roared when he made another shot, and you could see the respect from his teammates growing, even from the coach, who’d been unsure about Mark’s return at first.

You’ve crossed paths with Mark more than ever lately. Now that he’s back on the team, it’s like you can’t escape him. Every practice, every game, he’s there. At first, you tried not to think much of it. You were with Jeno, after all. But there’s something about Mark that draws your attention, whether you want to admit it or not. Something in the way he moves on the court, the quiet confidence he carries with him, a calmness that contrasts with Jeno’s intensity.

The tension between them is palpable. Jeno had always been the star of the team, the one everyone looked to. But ever since Mark returned, that’s been changing. Mark was gaining attention—not just from the coach but from the teammates too. He was good. Really good. And every time Mark made a clean shot, a perfect pass, it only seemed to stoke the frustration in Jeno’s eyes.

Jeno was playing tonight, just not in his usual position. And it was clear that something was off. Every time he had the ball, he hesitated, glancing toward Mark before passing to someone else. He was purposefully ignoring his brother, and you could see the frustration building. Mark was calling for the ball, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Come on, man! Pass the ball!” Mark shouted, motioning for the pass.

Jeno ignores him, pushing forward and taking the shot himself. It’s a miss, and the other team grabs the rebound. Mark’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes locked on Jeno, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The tension keeps building, and you feel it, feel it in the way Jeno glares at Mark during the timeout, feel it in the way Mark brushes past him, his shoulders stiff with barely contained anger. It’s only a matter of time before something snaps.

And then it does.

In the final quarter, with the clock winding down, Jeno gets the ball again. He dribbles down the court, and Mark is wide open, calling for it. The crowd yells for Jeno to pass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes for a three-pointer, and the ball bounces off the rim. Mark’s face tightens in frustration, and as soon as the play stops, he storms over to Jeno.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark demands, shoving Jeno’s shoulder. “You had to prove something by missing a shot you knew you couldn’t make?”

Jeno’s eyes flash with anger as he pushes Mark back, his jaw clenched tight. “You think I’m gonna let you take my place? You don’t get it, Mark. This was my team before you showed up, and it’ll be my team long after you leave.”

Mark doesn’t back down. He steps closer, his voice calm but cold. “You don’t own this team, Jeno. Stop acting like I’m here to take everything from you.”

Jeno scoffs, his voice rising, the frustration boiling over. “That’s exactly what you’re doing! You want everything I have—my spot on the court, my life, my girl—” He stops short, his eyes darting to you for a split second before he looks back at Mark. “You want what’s mine, and you’re not getting it.”

Mark’s jaw clenches, and before anyone can react, Jeno takes a swing. The punch catches Mark in the chest, but Mark doesn’t fall back. Instead, he lunges forward, shoving Jeno hard enough to send him stumbling back. The crowd gasps as the tension explodes, and the game halts as the two brothers start throwing punches.

It’s chaos. They’re grappling, shoving each other, fists flying as they tumble to the ground. Teammates rush in to pull them apart, but the damage is done. The anger, the resentment—it’s all out in the open now.

“Is that what this is about?” Mark growls, his voice low as he’s dragged back by a teammate. “You’re scared I’ll take everything you think is yours?”

Jeno spits, his eyes burning with rage as he shrugs off the hands holding him back. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Just because you walked back into my life and everyone suddenly loves you. But you’re nothing, Mark. You’ve always been nothing.”

The words sting, and you can see it in Mark’s eyes. There’s hurt beneath the anger, hurt that Jeno’s words have dug up, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he straightens, his chest heaving with effort as he holds Jeno’s gaze. “I never wanted to take anything from you, Jeno,” Mark says quietly, but the weight behind his words hits hard. “I just wanted a chance to be something without having to live in your shadow.”

Jeno doesn’t respond. He just glares, his fists still clenched, and it’s clear that, despite everything, he’s not ready to let go of his anger.

You watch from the sidelines, your heart racing. The fight, the words they’re throwing at each other—it’s like you’re watching years of tension unfold right in front of you. And though you know you should be on Jeno’s side, your heart twists when you see the way Mark looks, the way he’s trying to hold himself together while everything falls apart around him.

Jeno looks at you, expecting you to come to his side, to back him up like you always have. But you can’t. Not this time. Not when you can see the pain in Mark’s eyes, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide. You hesitate, your mind racing with everything that’s happened, torn between the loyalty you owe to Jeno and the empathy you feel for Mark.

Before you can think too much, you find yourself stepping forward, your voice soft but clear. “Jeno… maybe it’s time to let this go.”

Jeno’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. “What? You’re taking his side now?”

“I’m not taking sides,” you say quietly, but the look in Jeno’s eyes tells you he doesn’t believe that. “I just think this has gone too far. Both of you need to stop before it gets worse.”

Mark stands there, silent but watching you, his gaze steady, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. And for a moment, you catch the flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or understanding. It’s brief, but it’s there.

Jeno lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course, you’d side with him.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of Jeno’s words, but before you can respond, the coach steps in, finally ending the fight and calling off the game.

As the crowd disperses and the players start to leave the court, you find yourself standing in the middle of it all, your heart heavy with everything that’s happened. Jeno storms off without another word, and Mark lingers for a moment, his eyes meeting yours once more before he turns and walks away. Jeno’s jaw was clenched, fists still balled as he stormed off the court. He didn’t look at you, not even once. Not after the fight started and not when he walked away, the tension radiating off him in waves.

You waited outside the locker room, hoping things would cool off, but Jeno was waiting for you. The moment your eyes met his, you knew this wasn’t going to be just another argument. There was something different in his gaze—something deeper, angrier.

“You let him get to you,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you stood before him, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You think this is just about him getting on my nerves?” His voice was sharp, filled with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “It’s never been that simple. He keeps trying to edge me out. First, he steps onto the court, taking my place there, and now…”

He paused, the weight of his words heavy in the air. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something raw in his gaze, something that made your chest tighten.

“And now it feels like he’s trying to take you too,” Jeno muttered, the accusation hanging between you like a loaded gun.

The shock hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless for a moment. “What? What are you even saying?” you stammered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the strength you were trying to summon. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Jeno’s frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see it. The way things have changed between us… The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. You’ve been different, distant. You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was laced with something that felt like betrayal, something that cut deep even before you could fully process what he was accusing you of.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, they felt hollow.

“Am I?” He scoffed, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. 

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, the tears already threatening to spill over. “I’ve been trying, Jeno. I—”

“Trying?” he cut you off, his voice harsh and biting. “This is you trying? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, Y/N, and it’s because of him. Admit it.”

The tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them. It was too much—the accusations, the anger, the way he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. “I can’t do this,” you murmured, shaking your head, your voice barely holding together. “I’m trying, but you—”

Without waiting for his response, you turned and bolted, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. The sounds of the gym—shouts, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the dull thud of the basketball—faded behind you as you disappeared into the dimly lit hallways. The air was colder here, the emptiness wrapping around you like a shroud. But it couldn’t stop the sobs from rising in your throat, harsh and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried. Not like this. Not the kind of tears that felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out, like they’d been building for years, waiting for this very moment to break free.

Your chest heaved, your breaths ragged and uneven as you stumbled into a dark corner, sliding down against the cool wall. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of your sobs echoing back at you. You felt so raw, so exposed, like every layer of protection you’d built over the years had been stripped away in an instant. Vulnerability wasn’t something you allowed yourself to feel often—maybe ever—but here you were, unable to stop it.

Tears blurred your vision, and you pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. But it was no use. The emotions had taken hold, refusing to let go. The anger, the hurt, the fear of everything unraveling—it was too much.

For so long, you had kept it all together, every crack patched up with a smile or a dismissive shrug. But this time… this time you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the flood. And it terrified you because you didn’t know what came next. What was left when all the masks came off, when the facade you’d worked so hard to maintain finally crumbled?

You don’t know how long you’d been sitting there, curled up on the cold bench in one of the quieter hallways, your face buried in your hands as sobs wracked your body. Time felt like it had lost meaning, and you were too exhausted to care.

But when you heard soft footsteps approaching, you didn’t move. You didn’t have the energy. A familiar presence settled next to you. You felt it before you saw him, the warmth of his body close to yours, the quiet concern that radiated from him.

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice was soft, almost tentative. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The question felt absurd, considering the mess you were in, but something about the way he asked it—so gently, so genuinely—caught you off guard. He wasn’t demanding answers, wasn’t prying. He just wanted to be there.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, trying to brush him off, but your voice cracked, betraying you. Your hands trembled as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but it was no use. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Mark didn’t push. Instead, he quietly sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its simplicity. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just stayed there, his quiet strength offering more support than you’d realized you needed.

And then, before you knew it, you were crying again. Harder this time. The tears came in waves, overwhelming and unstoppable, and you felt yourself crumbling under the weight of everything you’d been holding in.

Without a word, Mark wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in a gesture so simple, yet so needed. He held you close, one hand gently rubbing your back as the other rested on your shoulder. It wasn’t forceful or overwhelming—it was soft, steady, like he was offering you a safe space to break down.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing, steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

His words were like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop pretending, stop fighting. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his chest as the tears flowed freely.

Mark held you through it all, his presence grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this. He didn’t say much—just whispered reassurances when the sobs became too much, his hand continuing its slow, comforting motion on your back.

When your sobs finally began to subside, you pulled back slightly, your eyes puffy and red, your breath still shaky. You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

He wasn’t judging you. He wasn’t expecting you to be strong or put together. He just… saw you. The real you. The vulnerable, broken, messy you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion.

Mark’s gaze softened, his hand still resting gently on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to go through anything alone. You deserve better”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. There was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that made you believe him. Made you feel like, for the first time in a long time, someone saw you for who you really were—and didn’t turn away.

You nodded, your throat tight, and Mark gave you a small, understanding smile, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he pulled back, giving you space to breathe.

───────────────────────────────

The next few weeks passed in a blur of practices, games, and strained silence. You and Jeno had settled into a routine of avoidance—every fight left more scars, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the growing gap. Every interaction felt heavy, filled with unspoken words and bubbling frustration that neither of you could release. Even the once-effortless sexual connection between you had started to lose its spark, leaving behind a dull ache in its place.

But the only constant, ironically, was Mark.

But you tried to hide it because Jeno was beginning to suspect something. You denied all accusations. Maybe you were just acting petty, trying to make a point and prove Jeno that he was wrong even though you knew he was right. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were scared—scared to open up to Mark, scared to admit that the feelings stirring inside you weren’t as simple as you wanted them to be.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that your stolen glances, the way you lingered a bit longer than you should during practices, was just harmless. But deep down, you knew better. Something was growing between you two, an unspoken pull that had you circling each other in quiet tension.

Today, it all came to a head during practice.

You moved through the stretches with fluid precision, your body bending and arching with every calculated motion. The gym lights flickered overhead, casting a golden hue on your skin as you twisted and turned, giving the cheerleaders around you a preview of the sultry moves you had perfected. Each stretch felt like a deliberate invitation, especially when you bent low, ass pushing out, skirt rising just high enough to leave little to the imagination. The hem of your cheerleading skirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs, teasing the smooth expanse of your skin as you moved.

Your body felt alive, the beat of the music in the background fueling the slow, rhythmic sway of your hips. You could feel the stretch in your thighs, the way the muscles tensed and released as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, the fabric of your skirt rising dangerously high with each movement. Your arms lifted above your head, drawing attention to the curve of your waist, the way the tight cheer top clung to your chest, accentuating every dip and curve.

You knew eyes were on you. You felt it.

But one set of eyes burned hotter than the rest.

Mark’s gaze was a constant, heavy presence, dragging over every inch of your body as you moved. He wasn’t trying to hide it. No, he wasn’t even subtle. Every time you bent low or did a quick flip of your hair, his eyes were right there, drinking in the sight of your ass, the bare stretch of your thighs. His gaze was intense, following the rise and fall of your body as though he was committing every detail to memory.

Your skirt rose a little higher as you shifted into a new move, a slut drop, your thighs tightening as you lowered your body, giving him an even better view. You felt the air against your skin, the way the heat of the gym mingled with the cool brush of fabric as it rode up higher with each deliberate movement. It made you feel powerful. Sexy. You were showing off, and you knew it.

Mark’s reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened as he watched, his fingers gripping the basketball tighter than necessary, veins bulging along his forearm. The way his eyes roamed over you, dark with want, made a shiver run down your spine. He didn’t blink, didn’t even bother pretending to focus on the practice drills.

Instead, he was laser-focused on you.

You caught his gaze as you straightened up, standing tall with a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. His eyes stayed glued to you, a hungry look darkening his features. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing you had his full attention, knowing he was checking you out in front of everyone. Your body burned under the weight of his stare, heat pooling low in your belly. It was addictive, the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you right there in the middle of the gym.

You could feel Jeno’s eyes on you too, burning with barely concealed jealousy as he watched the unspoken tension pass between you and Mark. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t care. The power you felt from knowing Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off you only fueled you more. The harder Jeno stared, the deeper you sank into your movements, stretching further, leaning into the seductive rhythm of the routine.

And then it happened—Mark, distracted, let the basketball slip from his grip. The sound of it bouncing toward you pulled you from your trance just in time to see it come flying in your direction. You barely had time to react, the ball missing you by mere inches, the whoosh of air sending your hair flying.

The entire gym fell silent.

All eyes were on you now, the attention turning from curious whispers to outright gawking. The cheerleaders stopped mid-practice, their gazes shifting from you to Mark, wondering what the hell was going on. The basketball team paused, a few muttered chuckles floating through the air as the ball rolled to a stop at your feet.

Mark was still staring, his eyes now filled with something darker, more heated than before. The moment felt charged, the tension between you two palpable, hanging thick in the air. You could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, their confusion, their curiosity. But none of that mattered. All you could think about was the way Mark was looking at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, like he couldn’t get enough.

You huffed, breaking the silence with a sarcastic snort. “Nice arms,” you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to shake off the tension.

Mark didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear it, his gaze burning into yours with a quiet intensity. “Nice ass,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous, something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the air between you two thickening with a different kind of tension. You could feel the flush rising in your cheeks, the way your body responded to the boldness of his statement, to the low rasp of his voice. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you forgot where you were, forgot that the entire gym was watching, that Jeno’s eyes were on you, burning with fury.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you stood there, locked in Mark’s gaze, the heat between you almost suffocating. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else in the gym could pick up on the charged moment passing between you two. But you felt it. You knew it. And from the way Mark’s eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, you knew he felt it too.

The whispers around you grew louder, and you could feel the cheerleaders and basketball players glancing at each other, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it. But the look on Jeno’s face said it all. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and suspicion as he watched the two of you, his body tense with barely concealed rage.

You could feel the weight of Jeno’s stare as he marched toward you, his presence heavy and commanding. “Let’s go,” he snapped, grabbing your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you toward him, his frustration barely hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t even glance at Mark, but you could feel the seething anger radiating off him in waves.

Mark’s eyes didn’t waver. He watched as Jeno led you away, his gaze steady, like he was daring you to say something, to do something. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The air between you and Mark was thick with tension, the kind that lingered even as you walked away, Jeno’s grip tightening on your arm as if to remind you of where you were supposed to be.

──────────────────────────────

It’s late, and your apartment smells faintly of the popcorn Karina had insisted on making. Your legs are lazily draped across her lap as she scrolls through her phone. A few of the other girls are scattered around the room—Winter, Ryujin, and Ningning—chatting animatedly, their voices buzzing like static. You’re not particularly invested in the conversation, but you’re here anyway. You couldn’t avoid it. It’s part of the routine.

The girls gossip about the usual—boys, parties, and who’s been hooking up with whom. But tonight, there’s a different energy in the room. They all have questions about what had happened earlier, and you can feel their curious stares burning into you.

“What was that about?” Winter is the first to ask, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You know exactly what she’s referring to, but you don’t really know how to answer. To you, it was nothing. Of course, Mark would make a comment like that. You looked hot today, and he’d noticed. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Winter presses on, unwilling to let it go. “You can’t tell me it was nothing, especially after seeing how Jeno dragged you out? I wonder what happened after that.”

You glance at her and sigh, deciding to give her the raw, unfiltered truth. “Nothing,” you start, watching their eyes light up in anticipation. “At first, Jeno was mad, pissed even. But then I sucked his cock, and he fucked me against one of the lockers in the guys’ changing rooms.” You pause for effect, wiggling your eyebrows as you finish, “He’s definitely forgiven me.”

The girls burst into giggles, some of them clapping like you’ve just given them a piece of juicy gossip they’d been dying to hear. They choose to ignore the toxicity of it all, the fact that you and Jeno had been using sex as a band-aid for your issues for weeks now. You and Jeno barely talked anymore. Every argument, every moment of tension, was resolved with a quick fuck rather than any real conversation. But you don’t say that part. You leave that truth buried beneath the surface.

“So… Y/N, would it annoy you if I made a move on Mark?” Karina’s voice cuts through the laughter, sharp and filled with a hint of vindication as she looks at you from the corner of her eye.

You can’t help the way your face tightens, annoyance flashing across your expression before you can force it back down. You plaster on a smile, lying through gritted teeth. “No, why would it?”

Karina leans back, raising a perfectly arched brow as if she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Just seems like there’s something going on between you and Mark. He’s been staring at you non-stop lately.”

“Just seems like you and Mark have nothing in common,” you bite back, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested in him now. Is it because he’s gotten more popular?”

Karina doesn’t flinch at your retort. Instead, she gives you a slow, deliberate smile. “Maybe,” she says, her voice cool, like she’s playing a game she knows she’ll win. “Or maybe it’s because I think he’s cute. And honestly? I’d love to take his virginity.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of something uncomfortable rippling through you. You weren’t expecting that. “Take his virginity?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can’t hide the slight edge in your tone.

Karina doesn’t miss it. She leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You know, how fun it’d be to corrupt him. Break him in a little. He’s so… quiet. I bet he’s just waiting for someone to show him how it’s done.” Her voice dips lower, more seductive. “Imagine his hands on you, not knowing what to do at first, but learning… fast.”

The other girls are eating it up, hanging onto every word Karina says. They laugh and nod along, and Winter even adds a low whistle.

“Girls…” Winter chimes in, her tone playful. “I don’t think he’s a virgin. It’s always the quiet ones with the big cocks who know exactly what they’re doing.” She sighs dramatically, leaning back into the couch, adding a moan for effect. “I bet he knows how to use it too.”

You roll your eyes. “No, he’s definitely a virgin. I can tell.”

The room fills with chatter as the girls go back and forth, arguing over whether Mark is as inexperienced as you claim or secretly a sex god in disguise. The conversation takes on a life of its own, filled with explicit fantasies and wild speculation.

“Honestly, there’s a rumor going around that he’s fucking Giselle,” Ryujin adds, her tone more serious, like she’s spilling some kind of secret.

“Giselle?” Ningning scoffs. “Please. She’ll fuck anyone with a cock.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s been so chill lately,” Winter says, laughing. “He’s getting laid!”

The conversation feels like it’s spiraling, the air heavy with innuendo and teasing, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of irritation beneath the surface. You’re trying to laugh along with them, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of Mark with someone else.

But the truth is, you don’t really know what to feel. You’ve been keeping your distance from Mark, trying to navigate your mess of a relationship with Jeno, but there’s something undeniable growing between you and Mark. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Karina leans in closer, her voice low. “Come on, Y/N,” she says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About what it’d be like with him.”

You glance around the room, the girls all watching you expectantly, and for a moment, you feel cornered. The weight of their expectations pressing down on you.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Like I said, he’s probably a virgin. Nothing to think about.”

“Virgin or not,” she says, her lips curling into a smirk, “he’s still hot. And honestly, I think the quiet ones are always the best in bed. All that pent-up energy…” She trails off, her voice laced with suggestion as she winks at Winter, who giggles.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in your chest. The last thing you want is to picture Mark like that—especially not with Karina talking about him like he’s some kind of conquest. But the image creeps in, unbidden, and you quickly push it away.

“Anyways, I heard Jeno’s gonna invite him to his party this weekend,” Karina continues, her voice light and casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I think I’ll make my move then.”

You groan, slapping your hand against your forehead. “Why is he inviting him?” you mutter under your breath. This wouldn’t end well—you could already see it.

Karina shrugs, her smirk widening as she leans back against the couch. “Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you his girlfriend?” There’s a teasing edge to her voice, and it grates on your nerves, making your blood simmer just beneath the surface.

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you try to ignore her, but the annoyance is creeping in, settling deep in your bones. You don’t want to think about Jeno, about Mark, about whatever mess you were tangled up in between them. And you definitely don’t want to think about Karina making a move on Mark at Jeno’s party.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, standing up from the couch, “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little plan.” You cross the room and grab your phone from the coffee table, feeling the girls’ eyes on you the entire time.

Winter giggles softly behind you, her voice sing-song as she chimes in, “Come on, Y/N. We’re just messing with you. No need to get all worked up.”

You turn, giving them a forced smile, but the tension in your body refuses to dissipate. “I’m not worked up. Just… tired.”

Karina’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, her smirk still in place. “Sure,” she says slowly, like she knows more than she’s letting on. “Tired. Right.”

You let out a small sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing with her. She thrives on this—the drama, the teasing, the tension. She always has. But right now, all you want is some space to clear your head.

You head toward the door, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. “I’ll catch you guys later,” you call over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

──────────────────────────────

The music thumped through the walls of the house as you stood at the front door, adjusting your mini black skirt that barely covered anything. It was tight, short, and see-through, leaving little to the imagination. The lace thong you wore underneath was clearly visible if someone looked hard enough, and you had no doubt that people would be looking tonight. Paired with heels, your favorite jewelry, and a form-fitting top that highlighted every curve, you were dressed to kill.

Jeno opened the door, his expression softening into a smile as he took you in. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the skirt, and you felt the heat already building between you two. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips warm against yours as his hand slid down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin. The promise of what would happen later was clear in his touch.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away to greet Karina and Winter behind you with a hug and a quick nod.

His eyes were back on you immediately, dark and filled with lust as they traced the lines of your daring outfit. You smiled giddily at him, excited for the night ahead. You already knew how the night would end—tangled in sheets with his body on top of yours, all heat and passion. It was the one thing you both were still good at, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The party was already in full swing, the bass vibrating through the floors as the scent of alcohol and smoke filled the air. The lights were low, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, with people sprawled across the couches and dancing in the center of the living room. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic but comfortable atmosphere. You could feel the buzz of energy around you as you stepped further into the house, bodies pressed together as the night unfolded. You were already excited for the night, already anticipating the way things would go later with Jeno. The fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know—tonight would be intense.

But then you noticed Mark.

He was across the room, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but somehow he stood out more than anyone else. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, and your eyes found his before you even realized it. He wasn’t hiding the way he was looking at you either. His gaze trailed over your body, lingering on your legs, your hips, the tight skirt that hugged your every curve. There was something deliberate in the way he looked at you, and it made your heart skip a beat.

You huffed, quickly looking away, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. What were you doing? You were here with Jeno, after all. But when you turned back, you saw Jeno walking toward Mark, and your heart sank. You were ready for things to blow up, expecting another confrontation, but to your surprise, Jeno greeted him with a nod and an indifferent expression. At least they weren’t killing each other.

Just as you were about to relax, you saw that Mark wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him—someone you didn’t recognize. She was quiet, her eyes wide as she glanced nervously around the room, like she wasn’t used to this kind of environment. There was something shy about her, something that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t explain.

Jeno greeted her too, his smile a bit too bright as he introduced himself. “I’m Jeno, nice to meet you.”

The girl smiled shyly and introduced herself, but there was something else—a quick, knowing look exchanged between her and Jeno. It was subtle, but you caught it, and it sent a strange jolt of unease through you. What was that about?

Shaking your head, you turned toward the kitchen, needing a drink to calm your nerves. You grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring yourself a shot and knocking it back quickly. Then another. You didn’t stop until the burn settled into your veins, dulling the edge of whatever was eating away at you.

Just as you set the bottle down, you felt the air shift—the unmistakable presence of Mark sliding in beside you, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed against yours. His voice cut through the noise, low and teasing, carrying that familiar edge that always seemed to pull your attention. 

“Taking it a bit far tonight, aren’t we?” You turned your head slightly, catching the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes, dark and sharp, flickered between the empty shot glasses and then back to your face.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a familiar mix of irritation and something else—something that made your heart beat a little faster. “What do you care?” you shot back, but there was no bite in your voice. The warmth from the alcohol was already settling into your veins, and maybe that was why you felt more relaxed around him. Or maybe it was just him.

Mark leaned in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he rested his hand on the counter beside you. His scent—clean, warm, with a hint of something that made you want to lean in—filled the small space between you. “Just looking out for you,” he said, his voice casual, but the glint in his eyes told you there was more to it, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before returning to your eyes. It was subtle, but enough to send a small shiver down your spine. You swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as you glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Looking out for me?” you echoed, your voice carrying a hint of sarcasm, masking the way his presence was making you feel things you weren’t ready to admit. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Why don’t you look out for your date?” you shot back, your voice betraying more jealousy than you intended.

Mark chuckled, the sound low and smooth, his attention fully on you. “She’s not my date,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by how disarming he could be. “Who is she, anyway?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though the question lodged itself in your throat.

Mark glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the girl he’d walked in with. “My best friend.”

You blinked, surprised by how easily he said it. You had assumed… well, something else entirely. “Oh,” you murmured, unsure how to respond.

Mark grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? Did you think I’d bring a date to a party knowing you’d be here?”

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, but you quickly masked it with a small smile. “I didn’t think about it that much.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Mark said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, sending a shiver through you.

The air between you felt charged, every unspoken word and lingering glance thick with an intensity neither of you was willing to name. The tension simmered quietly beneath the surface, weaving itself into the playful banter, the stolen glances. You both danced around it, staying in this delicate balance, where each smile, each teasing remark was a way to keep things light—yet everything about the moment felt intimate, personal. Neither of you dared to break the fragile line between what was said and what was truly felt.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your waist—Jeno.

You gasped softly, your mouth widening in surprise as you realized he had been watching you and Mark the whole time. His eyes were calm, surprisingly calm, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You smiled brightly at Jeno, hoping to diffuse whatever tension was building. “Hey, baby. Do you want to dance?” you asked, your voice laced with forced cheer.

He shook his head, his expression soft yet serious. “Y/N, can we talk?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how gentle he was being. Jeno wasn’t usually like this—calm, collected. This was new. Maybe this was it, the turning point you’d been waiting for. 

“Yeah, sure,” you said, following him as he led you upstairs to his room. Your heart pounded in your chest as Mark watched you go, his gaze heavy, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Once inside Jeno’s room, you wasted no time, slipping your top over your head, your mind already racing toward what usually came next. You turned to him, expecting to see him ready to go, but instead, he sat at the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers gripping his knees. His expression wasn’t what you were used to—stormy, tense. He wasn’t undressing. He wasn’t even looking at you.

Confused, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. Your hands reached for his belt instinctively, trying to pull him out of his mood the way you always did. “Jeno, come on,” you murmured softly. “Let me suck you off. I’ll make you forget whatever’s on your mind.”

But instead of the usual eager response, his hand gently covered yours, stopping you. He shook his head, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Y/N, not tonight.”

You paused, your hands frozen mid-movement. “Jeno?”

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sit down, Y/N.” His voice was soft, but firm as he gently pushed your hands away, motioning for you to sit beside him. “We need to talk.”

Jeno ran his hand through his hair again, the tension in his posture evident. His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words settling between you both. “We need to stop, Y/N. Stop pretending we’re a compatible couple.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, though deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

Jeno sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “You know it’s not working anymore. You feel it just as much as I do.” His eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the depth of his sadness. “We’ve been together for so long, but it’s not enough. It hasn’t been for a while.”

Tears immediately welled in your eyes as you shook your head, refusing to accept it. “But we’ve been together forever. We’re supposed to be together, Jeno. What do you mean it’s not enough?”

Jeno’s expression was full of regret, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know it feels that way, but think about it. How many days have we really been happy lately? It’s just fights, making up through sex, and pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not. We both know that.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want to admit he was right. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t. I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to be without you.”

Jeno leaned forward, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly. “You still have me, okay? I still love you, and I always will. But we both deserve more than this. We deserve to be with someone who makes us happy, not just someone we’ve been with because it’s comfortable.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening. You hated how much his words resonated with you. You hated that he was right. But what scared you more was facing the truth, admitting that your relationship with Jeno was broken, that it had been for a while.

“I can’t do this,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. “I’d rather just… I’d rather keep pretending. I can’t face the truth, Jeno. I don’t know how.”

His eyes softened even more, filled with understanding. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. You don’t have to lie to yourself, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that things are messed up. It’s okay to be scared.”

But that was the problem. You weren’t good at facing the truth, at being vulnerable. Emotional intimacy terrified you, and you’d spent so long hiding behind the idea that everything was fine, that you could just patch things up with sex and avoid the hard conversations. Being honest, being real—that was something you’d never been good at. You’d rather live in the illusion than face the mess underneath.

Jeno seemed to sense your hesitation, your fear. He gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the sobs finally wracked your body. “I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m not leaving you. You’ll always have me, but this… this relationship, it’s not good for either of us. And it hasn’t been for a long time.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat. The thought of not being with him terrified you more than you could admit. “I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered, the words broken between sobs. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You’re not alone,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll always be here for you. But we can’t keep doing this, pretending we’re happy when we’re not. It’s not fair to either of us.”

His words were like a dagger to your heart, twisting painfully because deep down, you knew he was right. But the truth was too heavy, too overwhelming. You’d spent so long avoiding it, pretending that everything was okay, that hearing it now felt like your world was crumbling.

“I still love you,” Jeno said, his voice steady despite the emotion in it. “I love you, but we need to stop hurting each other like this.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. The sincerity in his gaze made it hurt even more. “But what do I do without you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know who I am without you, Jeno.”

He reached up, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You’ll figure it out. And I’ll still be here, even if we’re not together like we used to be. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you leaned back into him, unable to fully let go. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to admit that everything was falling apart. But Jeno was right—you were holding on to something that had died a long time ago, and the thought of letting go felt like losing a part of yourself.

For a long time, he just held you as you cried, his arms the only comfort you had left. But eventually, even that had to end. Jeno stood up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back.

“I’m gonna go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Take some time for yourself. You’ll be okay, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight with the weight of everything. You just nodded, tears still falling as you watched him leave the room, his presence fading with each step. And as the door closed behind him, you felt the crushing weight of reality settle in, the silence echoing in your chest where your heart had been breaking all along.

You were alone. And for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

Later that night, Mark finds you huddled on the ground, your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to hold it all in, but you’re failing. Your body shakes with sobs that you can’t control, and when you hear footsteps approaching, you tense up.

“Mark, now is not the time, please go away.” Your voice cracks as you cry out, lips trembling. You cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable.

But Mark doesn’t leave. He doesn’t even hesitate. He gets closer, kneeling down beside you. The quiet rustle of fabric is the only sound, and you shiver as he drapes his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm, and it smells like him—fresh and clean, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.

“Jeno told me to come,” he explains softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up, confusion flooding your tear-streaked face. “What?” The question falls out, barely coherent, as you swipe at your face, painfully aware of how horrible you must look—mascara smudged, makeup streaked, and eyes puffy.

Mark doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he moves even closer, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into him, gently guiding you onto his lap. You don’t resist. His arms wrap around you, and you straddle him, your body sinking into his warmth as if it’s the only safe place you can find.

The sobs come harder now, uncontrollable, and you bury your face in his shoulder, clutching onto him like a lifeline. He holds you tight, one hand smoothing down your back, the other resting against your hair, cradling you like something fragile. His soft whispers, the way he gently hushes you, the quiet “it’s okay, I’m here,” all create this bubble around the two of you, making the world fade away for a moment.

Mark’s presence doesn’t fix anything, but it makes you feel less alone. There’s no judgment in his touch, no expectation. He lets you cry, lets you fall apart in his arms, and that’s what breaks you even more. You’ve been holding it in for so long, pretending everything was fine, pretending you were fine.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like this, pressed close to him, when he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “What happened?”

You suck in a breath, pulling back just slightly, though your forehead still rests against his. Your voice is small, fragile. “He broke up with me.”

Mark’s expression softens, his lips parting as he lets out a quiet “Oh.” There’s no surprise in his voice, only understanding, only compassion. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words. Instead, his hand finds its way into your hair, gently smoothing it down, his touch so careful, as if he’s afraid to hurt you more than you already are.

He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t push you to talk more. He just holds you, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, offering you a calm in the midst of your storm. His fingers stroke through your hair, and his other arm is firm around your waist, keeping you anchored to him as you cry quietly into his neck.

And somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, with his soft breaths brushing against your skin, the weight of everything doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. The pain is still there, sharp and unrelenting, but Mark’s presence makes it bearable. He makes you feel seen, heard, like it’s okay to not have it all together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself feel. You let yourself break. And Mark is there to catch every piece of you, holding you together when you can’t do it yourself.

The silence between you feels intimate, not awkward. It’s comforting, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. His arms stay wrapped around you, and for now, that’s all you need. You just let him hold you.

“Mark,” you whisper, your voice shaky, barely audible as you shift closer to him. Your thighs press against his, caging him in. You bite your bottom lip, feeling the tension crackle between you, and notice his subtle groan as his hips press up slightly.

“Yeah?” he responds casually, though his voice is rougher, his restraint evident.

“You’re hard,” you mumble, your tone matching his, casual, as though stating a simple fact. The firmness presses against you, unyielding, hot even through the layers of fabric between you. The heat of him radiates into your skin, the outline unmistakable as it pushes against your thigh. Your words hang in the air, blending with the warmth that rises between you, making the closeness more intimate than it should be, despite the simplicity of the moment. The feeling is undeniable, solid and real, as though the space between you is shrinking with every breath.

Mark shifts slightly under you, groaning low in his throat. He doesn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I am,” he says, his voice deeper now, gravelly. He lets out a slow breath before adding, “It’s because you’re—”

But before he can finish, you crash your lips against his, silencing him with a kiss so intense it feels like you’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. Already straddling his lap, you press yourself closer, your thighs locking around him tighter, your body molding against his. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him into you as if you’re afraid to let go.

Mark responds instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a passion that catches you off guard. His hands slide down to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer. The kiss is messy, intense—tongues tangling, soft moans escaping between your lips as the heat between you grows unbearable.

Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down on him, and you feel the hardness pressing against your core, making your breath hitch. His hands roam up your thighs, sliding under your skirt, pushing the flimsy fabric up higher until it’s barely covering you. He grabs your ass, squeezing hard as you rock your hips, the friction between you igniting every nerve in your body.

You moan softly into his mouth, the heat between you both growing unbearable. When Mark’s hand moves down to smack your ass, the sound is sharp and commanding, making your body jolt in response. “Mark,” you gasp, the name slipping out in a breathless moan. His name was a broken plea on your lips as his hands continue to roam, guiding your movements as you grind harder against him, feeling the friction build between your bodies.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, guiding your movements, pressing you harder against him as you grind down. The heat, the friction, the way he kisses you with an intensity and desperation—it all sends your mind spinning. You feel his desire in every touch, every grip on your skin, and you want more.

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, the kiss growing even more desperate, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling as soft moans escape between your lips. His hands pull you closer, as if he can’t get enough of you, the tension building with every second, every movement.

Mark stands, lifting you effortlessly, his strong hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, every hard muscle pressing against you. Before you even register what’s happening, he tosses you onto the bed, Jeno’s bed—and the realization of where you are only adds to the illicit thrill running through you. 

You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. His chest is broad, his arms flexing with every movement, each line of his body carved like stone. Your gaze traces over the defined ridges of his abs, the muscles contracting with every deep breath he takes, and your heart races, pulse pounding in your ears.

Then your eyes drop lower, and you can’t help but stare at the bulge straining against his jeans. The thick, undeniable outline is impossible to ignore, and the sight makes your breath hitch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your anticipation skyrockets. The raw need between your legs intensifies, and you press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you imagine what’s coming next.

Mark moves closer, his hands reaching down to undo his belt, the metal clinking as he loosens it. But just as his fingers graze the zipper, you catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. It’s subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it’s enough to shift the atmosphere. The dangerous, primal intensity in his gaze softens, and for a moment, he looks at you—not with the hunger you’ve seen, but with something deeper, more conflicted.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the weight of the moment hanging between you. His hand pauses at his waistband, and he swallows hard, his jaw clenching. The air thickens with the tension of everything unspoken, and for the first time, you both hesitate, the thrill of the moment colliding with the reality of where you are—of who you are.

Mark leans over you, his hand brushing against your cheek, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the heat that had been building just moments before. His thumb runs over your lower lip, lingering there as if he’s warring with himself, battling between desire and restraint.

“We can’t,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost regretful.

You blink, still lost in the heat of the moment, your body screaming for more even as his words register in your mind. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice breathless. You reach for him again, your fingers already working on the button of his jeans. “Come on, Mark… we don’t need to stop. I’m on the pill so you can cum inside of me, I don’t mind.”

His groan is deep, almost pained, as he steps back. One hand drags down his face, his frustration clear as he shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he mutters, his gaze conflicted. “You just broke up with Jeno—he’s my brother. And we’re in his room. You really want this to happen here? You want me to fuck you on his bed?”

Your response is immediate, unwavering. “Yes.”

He stares at you, huffing out a breath of disbelief. “Y/N…” he starts, voice softer now, laced with something between guilt and restraint. “No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Not like this.”

For a moment, everything pauses. The weight of his words crashes over you, bringing with it a wave of reality you’ve been avoiding. The intensity of what almost happened—the way you nearly crossed a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be undone. Embarrassment starts to creep in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone.

You sit up, hurriedly pulling your clothes back on, avoiding his eyes as the thrill of the moment fades, replaced by a deep ache you didn’t expect. The tension between you feels different now—charged, yes, but laced with something more painful. Something you can’t quite name.

Mark doesn’t say anything as he watches you, his chest still rising and falling heavily, the conflict clear in his eyes. You know he wants you, you felt it, but there’s a line he won’t cross. Not like this. And you hate that it makes sense. You hate that he’s right.

As you stand, buttoning your skirt, you bite your lip, fighting the urge to cry. You weren’t ready for all of this to stop so abruptly. You didn’t want to face the truth of the situation or the complicated mess your feelings had become. And more than anything, you didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Do you want to come to mine?” you ask, the words shaky, but you force them out. There’s a part of you that fears he’ll refuse, that this will be the moment everything falls apart completely. But you can’t help but hope he’ll still want you, even if not here. Not like this.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His expression is unreadable, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give. The silence stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, the fear of rejection threatening to overwhelm you.

Then, finally, he nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand reaches out, offering to help you up, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there’s a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice soft, yet sure. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over you as you take his hand, the touch of his fingers grounding you, soothing the frayed edges of your emotions. As he helps you stand, the tension between you shifts again—not gone, but different. The heat is still there, simmering under the surface, but it’s mixed with something softer now, something that feels more real.

──────────────────────────────

Back at your apartment, the quiet felt almost surreal after the chaos of the night. The familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a stark contrast to the lingering tension still buzzing between you and Mark. You felt the shift in the air the moment you stepped through the door—the atmosphere was softer, quieter, more intimate, and the reality that it was just the two of you sank in.

Mark followed you inside, his eyes taking in your surroundings with quiet interest. The apartment was all yours for the night, a small comfort in itself, and you were already beginning to sober up. Mark, as if reading your mind, immediately took care of you, handing you a bottle of water. “You need this,” he said softly, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of care in his voice that made your chest tighten.

You took small sips, the cool water refreshing as it slid down your throat, grounding you back to the present. Meanwhile, Mark wandered around your room, and you couldn’t help but watch him, feeling something shift between the two of you.

Your space was a reflection of you—a safe haven filled with little pieces of your world. The fairy lights you’d strung up glowed softly, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the scent of your candles lingering in the air. Your walls were lined with your art, pieces of yourself you rarely shared with anyone else. There were posters of abstract designs, dreamy landscapes, and sketches that felt like fragments of your soul on display.

Unique and delicate things decorated your shelves—a crystal lamp you had found at a flea market, a few small plants in pots you had painted yourself, and a collection of books you loved but hadn’t read in ages. The room felt like a mix of creativity and chaos, an organized mess that somehow made sense only to you.

Mark’s eyes moved from one corner to the next, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took everything in. He seemed fascinated by the art on your walls, lingering over certain pieces as if trying to figure out the stories behind them. You could see the admiration in his gaze, the way he appreciated your space without needing to say much.

“You really made this place your own,” he commented softly, running a hand over one of the posters, careful not to disturb it. “It’s beautiful..”

A warm flush crept up your neck at his words. You weren’t used to someone appreciating your space like this, not in such a genuine, heartfelt way. Mark wasn’t just complimenting the decor—he was complimenting you, the person who had created this world.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It’s nothing special.”

Mark shook his head, still gazing around. “It’s special because it’s yours.” His voice was soft, sincere, and it made your heart do a strange, fluttery thing in your chest.

“Can you help me get my necklace off?” You ask, smiling as he’s already making his way over to you. 

Mark’s fingers worked gently at the clasp of your necklace, his touch soft and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as he carefully unhooked the delicate chain from around your neck. The warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold—it was the softness of the moment.

He moved slowly, taking the necklace and walking over to your jewellery stand. You watched as he placed it neatly on one of the hooks, his movements calm and precise, as if he had done this a hundred times before. There was something almost tender in the way he handled your things, treating them with care, as if they were an extension of you.

Mark turned back to you, his eyes soft as he reached for your earrings next. His fingers grazed your earlobe, and you held your breath, feeling the closeness between you both. The quiet of the room wrapped around the two of you, making the moment feel even more intimate. One by one, he removed each earring, placing them in their designated spot, never once rushing or making you feel hurried.

The silence was filled with unspoken words, a shared understanding that neither of you dared to voice. When he was done, he looked back at you with a small, almost shy smile. “There,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You needed to clear your head, to shake off the growing feelings you had for him, so you excused yourself to take a shower. As you stood under the warm spray, washing away the remnants of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mark had looked at you. The way his presence had shifted from something casual and playful to something deeper, more intimate. The thought scared you, but it also made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, you found Mark sitting on your bed, strumming a gentle tune on a guitar. You paused, tilting your head in confusion. Where did he get that from? You didn’t remember him carrying a guitar around at the party or on the way home. Had you really been that out of it?

“Where did you get a guitar from?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you watched him hum and play a melody, his fingers dancing over the strings with ease.

He looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I always carry it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if you brought a guitar with you to the party.”

Mark chuckled, his laughter soft and infectious. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. “So, you play basketball and the guitar?” you teased, feeling more relaxed now, the tension easing into something more playful.

He nodded, plucking a few more notes before setting the guitar down. “My major is music.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

He chuckled along with you, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “It’s way past midnight,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You should get some sleep. Don’t you have lectures tomorrow?”

You shrugged, already feeling the weight of the day catching up to you. “I’m not going.”

Mark gave you a pointed look. “Don’t say that. Yes, you are.”

You sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Instead, you moved to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers and sinking into the soft sheets. The warmth of the bed, combined with the softness of the moment, made your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

As you began to drift off, you noticed Mark standing up, throwing a blanket onto the chair in the corner. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “You don’t need to sleep there,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost shy. “Come here. There’s so much space in my bed.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s literally a single bed.”

You rolled your eyes, patting the space beside you. “I just want someone to hold me so I can sleep.”

For a moment, Mark hesitated, his eyes searching yours. But then he sighed, his expression softening as he crossed the room and slipped under the covers beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a way that made your heart race, but also made you feel safe.

Mark held you tightly, his arms pulling you closer, enveloping you in his warmth. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the soothing rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in so long. His breath was warm against your forehead, gentle, almost protective, as he leaned in and whispered, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice, low and intimate, sent a soft shiver down your spine. His words weren’t just a wish; they felt like a promise, like he was going to hold you through the night and keep you safe. 

His hand, large and warm, rested softly on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin under your shirt with the lightest of touches. It was a subtle, almost unconscious gesture, but the intimacy of it sent your heart fluttering. He didn’t pull away; he stayed close, his body pressed gently against yours, grounding you in the moment. Every small shift of his body, every breath he took, seemed to ease the tension that had been weighing on you for so long.

You let your hand rest on top of his, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His fingers instinctively intertwined with yours, the touch delicate yet reassuring. It was more than just physical contact—it was the silent understanding that you weren’t alone anymore, that he was here, holding you through it all.

His lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a featherlight kiss that made your heart swell. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in his tone wrapped around you like a blanket.

With a soft sigh, you let yourself relax completely, your body melting into his. You could feel the last remnants of stress slipping away, replaced by the steady, calming presence of Mark beside you. His embrace was warm, solid, and it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in what felt like forever.

As your eyes fluttered closed, you let yourself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, your mind finally quiet, the weight of the world finally slipping away, knowing he would be there when you woke.

───────────────────────────────

authors note — surprise!! i’ve been teasing this one for a while and just wanted to drop it without any prior warning :) this is gonna be a long ride and have many more parts so comment if you want to be on the tag list :) send an ask through telling me what you thought or interact !! thank you

[meanbossart]

Based on the latest art/the famous graveyard scene, or at least my version of it. CW: The usual durge-isms. Astarion's sense of humor.

The graveyard is appropriately silent - there isn’t a proverbial soul to be seen as you stroll through the headstones with lazy strides. You’re so often in a rush to get from one place to the next, how novel it is to meander.

You wonder if either of your souls could tick up the counter; Astarion, a corpse-walking, and yourself something else entirely.

His head, battered and bruised as the rest of your bodies scans through the names etched on their respective places of rest, uncharacteristically quiet ever since you left the Inn. You’re worried. It’s been a dreadful day, and now he’s brought you here - you speak. “Are we defacing any graves tonight?”

Astarion humors you with a stiff grin - no, he says, then he changes it to a maybe, and then he asks you to be patient. His eyes land on a simple stone, half-sunken into the dry ground and overtaken by weeds and vines - a small thing forgotten amidst drunkards and urchins in a dark corner of the dead’s park. He sighs, pushes up his sleeves and snaps the foliage away with his own hands, dusts off the shallow writing and rubs the grime off on his knees - standing back a few feet to look over at his handwork. You squint to read his full name off the rock.

“Ancunin?”

 “Astarion Ancunin.” He scoffs. “I haven’t seen this in… Well, in centuries. I was beginning to wonder if I had an em somewhere in there.”

His amusement dies down.

“I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt.

“He must’ve had someone come and smooth out the ground- Cazador, I mean. He was waiting for me here, when I finally surfaced.”

The vampire's eyes have risen from his name. He looks past the rows of gravestones and into the brick walls that surround them, sight glazed over, face drained from feeling. His words, so victorious in choice, just bear a numb uncertainty. He is so tired. “From that day on I was his. Until now.”

You shake your head. “You were never his. Everything he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe. But he did take it. And I can’t get it back.” Astarion shoots you an assertive scowl. “There’s nothing left of the person I was anymore. Just a name on a rock. I need to figure out who I am now - and what I want.”

You struggle to reach out to him. For the thing which he mourns. His words, when they echo within your own, perforated skull, sound to you like a statement of freedom, a relief; you’ve also left behind the person you were, and there is nothing there worth lamenting.

Astarion is different. As vague as his recollection of the past may be, or as favorably as you believe things have turned out for the both of you, eventually - you can’t help but feel like he would still trade it for a do-over. You don’t have it in you to ask if he would be willing to do it even if it meant your absence.

You know the answer.

You try to make your peace with it.

This person that your lover longs for, you didn’t know them, and you didn’t love them. But you do now; and so, you find yourself wanting for nothing.

“What is it that you want right now?”

“You.”

He’s caught in his own lack of hesitation, sullen face brought back to life by a small look of bemusement, of surprise. “I want you. Not just now, I… You were by my side through all of it - the bloodlust as well as the misery. You’ve shown yourself to be patient. And caring.” His words are staggered by chortles. “You are so sweet to me. A shock, frankly, given the most recent discoveries. I often wonder if this was always part of your nature, or just a happy consequence of your… ah”

Astarion’s finger prods uncertain around his own curly head of hair, prompting laughter to rumble up your throat. “Incident.” 

“Perhaps.” You’ve never wondered such things and you never will. “You’re beginning to sound awfully sweet yourself, mister concussion.”

He groans in response, reaching the short distance over to the throbbing bruise on the top of his forehead, next to his temple. It was a close call today, perhaps the closest yet - or you only felt the ever more desperate given what was on the line this time. “Anyway, I should probably fix this.”

You watch as Astarion crouches down in the dirt. With a small dagger he had tucked away in his waistband, he gets to work scratching irregular lines into his neglected headstone.

Astarion Ancunin

His father’s pride, his mother’s starlight, his friend’s joy.

229 NR - 268 NR.

He makes an addition below the numbers.

468 NR.

“Is that the year?”

“Yes.”

He pauses, then proceeds a little less confidently.  “... At least… I think so?”

You both exchange clueless looks before breaking into an ugly cacophony of snorts, Astarion leans with his hand on his memorial and hangs his head down in feigned exasperation, shoulders jerking. You kneel, joining him on top of his undisturbed plot. The vampire shakes his head “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been dead to the world long enough - whatever year it is now, I plan on living it. And I’m not letting anything stand in the way of that.”

He puffs his chest and breathes a lone sight - no subsequent following and no former to speak of. His body sits back onto his shins, hands fall limp on top of his thighs “Not him, not the sun, not some giant brain, and certainly not…

“Come here.”

There was less than a foot between your bodies that the elf now closed. He cups your jaw between his thumb and his pointer-finger, you feel a gentle pressure on your neck as Astarion uses you to leverage himself over - your mouths lock, you feel a scabbed-over cut on his otherwise soft bottom lip, a hard lump that splits and leaks into your gums. You turn,, grab onto him tight - hot palms on the cold nape underneath the collar of his shirt and chest against chest, a sore nose-bridge buried into his gaunt cheek. Your faces break apart and he presses his brow to yours, a passionate kiss turns into a tight embrace. 

You take a long whiff of the crook of his neck “You’ve got me in a kind of way I can’t begin to make sense of.”

Astarion’s hand becomes entangled with the hair at the back of your skull. “I love you too.”

You feel it. The desperation and the future echo of his cracking ribs, the hot, vivid flashes of your digits prying apart bone and reaching into the cavity of his heart - you can’t be close enough to him. You can never step into his skin and he can never leap down your throat. An anxious feeling sinks into your gut as you realise that there is one thing that you still want; even in your waking hours of clarity, even in crystalline sanity, even in moments like these, ones that you hold sacred and wish to shield from depravity.

He murmurs into the side of your face. “Lets have sex. Right here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to beg?”

The playfulness in his tone is brief. He feels it in your tense shoulders and stiff back - you aren’t teasing him.

You only pull away enough so you can look at him, hands remain latched to his waist. “I’m still afraid of what I might do.”

“I understand.” He doesn’t seem disappointed, only sobered. “Well that puts a slight damper on my plans. No matter.”

“You can help yourself once you’ve tied me up for the night.”

“If I wanted to make love to a rabid mastiff I’d go find a new maniac to lord over me.”

“We could still just… Stay here a while. Together.”

You come off a little pleading. Astarion’s eyes squint when he smiles - “Yes, I… I think I’d like that.”

It’s a little clumsy, the way you sway apart and try to find your footing on the gravel, how your hands slide down each other’s elbows and then lock tightly at the fingers, refusing to let go, new amateur joints; as if men like yourselves who’ve more battles than many do in entire lifetimes couldn’t dream of standing up without the leverage - it’s ridiculous. You’re like little children bumbling to your feet, giggling, trying to catch each other staring as you dangle your locked hands over gravestones and step over rogue bouquets blown by wind.

Everything is fine, everything is well. Your future is certain as is your happily ever after - whatever it may imply. You peruse the cemetery, mocking the dead for the names their parents have given them, their uninspired eulogies and whether or not their dirt happened to smell of piss - you make up stories about the lives they lived and both the horrific or the banal circumstances in which they died. Astarion skips up the stairs to the coffin-maker’s abode, overlooking the scenery - he calls for you to come admire your kingdom, death prince. You laugh, and he laughs, and it all seems so awfully benign.

“That will be king for you soon.”

“Oh, gods - get away from me.”

He knows you aren’t serious. This world has brought you too much joy for you to end it. There hasn’t ever been a moment where you were tempted to do your fathers bidding.

But there’s been moments where you questioned what other choices you had.

Not tonight, however.

Astarion rolls his eyes and takes the hand you reach out to him with. You are yanked towards the paved terrace up the stairs, and you pull him into yourself in a lazy sway by the balustrades. “We will figure something out” You say.

“As always,” Astarion confirms with an emphatic nod of the head, but his gaze is low - he stares at your moving feet. Hand-in-hand and hand-on-hip he’s picked up on what you’re doing; “It’s - left forward, right back, close left, close right, right?”

“That is only if you’re leading.”

“Well then, I guess I’m leading.”

“Be my guest.” 

He places a hand on your waist, you put yours on his deltoid, your boots bump into each other on occasion as you both waltz over uneven stone tiles, first with careful attention until you’ve caught yourselves in a sound-less rhythm. When you raise your eyes you find your partner-in-dance staring on with a rivalling smirk.

“So, you remember how to ballroom dance, yet haven’t got a clue about your own name?”

You ask if that disappoints him, Astarion assures you to the contrary. You both rehearse a dance for an event you will never be going to, and you enjoy every second of it.

[urmum-lovesme]

Can you right more of toxic!rafe x toxic!reader please. The first one was so good

more Toxic!Rafe Cameron and Toxic!Reader. . . say less

Rafe's Rover was parked somewhere off the far side of the Cut, deep between the trees far enough from prying eyes but still close enough that the sound of nearby waves carries through the cracked windows. The scent of weed lingers thick in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of the cars air-freshener. Smoke floats around them, illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. Y/N leans her head back against the seat, letting out a slow, drawn-out exhale, a white cloud curling above her. 

“You’re a bad influence.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t ask for this.”

Rafe, reclined in the driver’s seat, lazily flicks ash down into the Diet Coke can she'd brought in with her, now long empty.  Y/N tilts her head toward him, her eyes half-lidded. 

“I didn’t ask to get this high. . . can't feel m'legs”

“That’s the point.”

Rafe chuckles, passing the joint back to her. She takes it between her fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling slowly. The burn is familiar, comforting even, but everything feels heavier, slower. The song playing through the car speakers- some crappy frat boy music Rafe switched on- feels like it’s vibrating in her bones. He watches her, his gaze lingering too long. She exhales the smoke in his direction, eyes meeting his through the haze. 

“What?”

“You look good like that.”

Rafe shrugs, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze. Y/N scoffs, but the lazy grin tugging at her lips betrays her. 

“You’re so fucking predictable.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that mean?”

Rafe shifts in his seat, tilting his head slightly. Y/N hums, tapping her fingers against her bare thigh, her sock-clad feet resting on the dash of the car. He'd always scold her when she did that, calling her spoilt, sometimes his hand coming out to drag her feet to the floor; but she never listened to him because who was he to tell her what to do?

“Means I know exactly how this is gonna go. You’re gonna get cocky, say some stupid shit n' piss me off”

“Nah. You’re wrong.”

Rafe takes the joint from her resting it between his fingers before speaking, his voice lower now. She raises an eyebrow at his disagreement. 

“Oh? Enlighten me then.”

Rafe exhales, smoke trailing between them like a ghost as he places the joint down onto the can in the cup holder and leans over slightly, his forearm resting on the armrest between them. 

“We’re gonna sit here, finish this, and then…” He glances over at her lips briefly before looking back up to her eyes. 

“You’re gonna get all clingy n'whiny and start touching me.”

“Fuck you Cameron.”

Y/N lets out a laugh, shoving his arm and Rafe grins, but he catches her wrist, holding it between his fingers as he turns to face her fully. Y/N doesn’t pull away, just tilts her head, challenging.

“I’m right though.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“I do.”

He responded as his grip tightened just slightly. The air shifts, tension thick between them. The weed only amplifies it- the way time seems to stretch, the way the world outside the car feels insignificant compared to whatever this is between them. His other hand lifts the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag. It’s burning close to the end now, the paper crackling slightly as the embers glow red. Y/N watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parting slightly. 

“You gonna finish that by yourself?”

Rafe exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head to himself with a quiet chuckle. Of course she’d say that. She always does this-pushes just enough to get under his skin.

Spoilt princess

Without a word, he takes another hit, deeper this time, letting the smoke sit in his lungs. Then, before she can say anything else, his free hand finds her jaw, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulls her closer. His lips brush against hers- barely, just enough for her to feel how warm he is, how intoxicatingly close. Y/N doesn’t move away, doesn’t even think to. Instead, she parts her lips just slightly, and that’s all Rafe needs. He exhales slow, deliberate, pushing the smoke into her mouth, their breaths tangling, heavy and heady. Her lashes flutter, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she inhales, taking it in, her body buzzing with the mix of weed and him. Rafe doesn’t pull back right away. His lips hover near hers, close enough that she can feel the smirk tugging at his mouth. 

“Happy now, brat?” 

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with something heavier. Y/N exhales softly, the last remnants of the smoke slipping past her lips. Her head feels light, her body warm, and his words send a shiver down her spine. But she doesn’t let it show. Not yet. Instead, she tilts her head, looking at him

“Almost.”

Rafe raises a brow, his thumb still resting against her jaw, pressing just slightly. His thumb glides across her skin before it tugs against her lower lip, tugging it down teasing her like he always does.

Like he knows he can.

Y/N’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but she covers it well, her gaze flicking up to meet his through her lashes. Slow, deliberate. She leans in, close enough for her lips to ghost over his, for their breaths to mix in the muggy air of the car. But she doesn’t kiss him. She just breathes in like she’s savouring him, stretching the tension between them just enough to make it unbearable.

Her hand drags down his arm slow and lazy, her nails skimming his skin before trailing lower- over his ribs, the plane of his abs, until her fingers graze his belt buckle.

And that’s where they stop.

Resting there.

Waiting.

Rafe watches her, his smirk growing sharper, his grip on her jaw never faltering. He exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back an amused grin.

"Told you I was right."

[simp-for-love]

Yours

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

What starts as another night getting high with your best friend Mattheo takes a turn when his usual teasing reveals something deeper.

Warnings: substance use (weed), brief swearing, friends-to-lovers trope, mutual pining, fluff, the reader has hair (don't know, maybe it'd a trigger for sb)

The moon hung low, casting silver streaks across the castle grounds. Somewhere beyond the Forbidden Forest, a distant howl echoed, but up here, tucked away in the Astronomy Tower, everything felt quiet. Peaceful. Just the two of you.

Mattheo leaned against the stone wall, rolling a joint between his fingers with the kind of ease that suggested he’d done it a thousand times before. You watched him, amused at the concentration furrowing his brows, the corners of his lips twitching in satisfaction when he finished.

"You know," he said with a proud smile, holding it up like a prize, "we’re really too smart to be doing this."

You laughed quietly, drawing your knees to your chest as the cool night air brushed your skin. "Since when are you the voice of reason?" you teased him softly.

Mattheo gave a mock scoff, flicking his lighter open with a click. "I’m just saying we could be doing something productive right now — like studying, or saving the wizarding world, or whatever it is Potter’s lot are up to."

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "I’d rather be here." With you, you didn’t say, but the words hung somewhere on your tongue, warm and unspoken.

You weren't surprised by this thought. Mattheo was your one and only best friend. Despite having other friends and acquaintances, he was the one constant in your life. It didn't matter what happened — whether you had a bad day, got an 'Outstanding' on your essay, lost your quill before the exam, or felt like partying — he was always there. Through every high and low, he never wavered. And you couldn’t even begin to describe how grateful you were for it.

But somewhere along the years of friendship, you realized you weren't only thankful, you were in love.

It was silly, really. You felt attracted to him even before you knew what being attracted to someone meant. You craved his attention, too greedy to share it with anyone else. You needed his cheeky smiles and the teasing remarks that made you chuckle. You wanted to be the one he looked at with that playful yet affectionate gaze, the one that made something warm and fuzzy bloom inside you. But you were too scared to do anything about it. The thought of losing him, of making things awkward — or worse, having him pity you — was unbearable. So, if staying quiet meant keeping him by your side, you were willing to live with it.

He passed the joint your way after his first slow inhale, his face tipping back toward the starry sky as smoke curled from his lips. The first hit burned your lungs the way it always did — sharp and sweet. You let your head fall against the cold stone behind you and sighed. "Better already."

Mattheo laughed quietly, the sound low and rough. "Always does the trick, huh?"

It wasn’t the first time you’d done this together. Far from it. The two of you had a ritual — a quiet rebellion against the chaos around you. Whenever the weight of expectations or the noise of the world became too much, you’d find each other here. Safe. Free. No need to be anyone but yourselves.

"You know," he mused, nudging your knee with his. "We really should talk about how I’m a terrible influence on you."

You snorted. "You’re not that powerful, Mr. Riddle," you said, a smirk tugging at your lips.

His grin curled slow and dangerous as he took another drag. "I’m not?"

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and took the joint back from him, the tips of your fingers brushing his in the exchange. "I do what I want."

"Mmm." His eyes darkened just a little, but you told yourself it was probably the haze creeping in. "And yet, you keep ending up here with me."

"Maybe you’re just lucky," you teased.

"I’m very lucky," he agreed, his voice softer than you expected. It lingered between you, thick like the smoke hanging in the air.

Minutes passed in easy silence. The weight in your chest loosened, and the stars above blurred at their edges. It was always like this — simple and warm, the rest of the world falling away when it was just the two of you.

Mattheo’s voice broke the quiet. "If you could be anywhere else right now," he asked, his tone lazy and curious, "where would you go?" You both liked talking about hypothetical things and random stuff while smoking together. Once, you even debated what you’d do if one of you turned out to be Merlin reincarnated.

You thought for a moment, passing the joint back. Tell him the truth, or tease him? The weed was already kicking in, nudging you toward honesty. "Nowhere else."

He hummed, a satisfied sound that made warmth curl in your stomach. "Good answer."

A breeze swept through the tower, brushing strands of hair against your face. Mattheo reached over without thinking, tucking them behind your ear. The touch was brief, but your skin buzzed in its wake.

"You’re always so soft," he murmured, half to himself. Then, as if realizing what he’d said, a crooked smile stretched across his lips. "Or is that the high talking?"

"Maybe." Your heart stuttered slightly as you met his gaze, your breath catching at how intensely he was looking at you. "Maybe not."

His hand lingered on your cheek a second too long, thumb brushing against your jaw before he pulled back. "Dangerous game you’re playing," he warned, but his voice lacked any real bite.

You laughed softly, tilting your head back against the stone wall. "I thought you liked danger."

"Only when I’m the one causing it," he shot back, but there was something in his expression — something raw, unguarded — that made your stomach flip.

You could feel the high settling deeper into your bones now, softening the edges of everything. Your limbs felt light, but your chest felt heavy, too full of something you didn’t want to admit out loud.

Mattheo stretched his legs out, leaning back on his palms as he tilted his face toward the stars, looking as they shine and sparkle quietly. "Y’know," he started, almost too casually, "I used to think you’d run off with someone else one day."

You blinked, the haze in your mind briefly clearing. "What?" you asked a bit baffled.

He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Someone safer, probably." He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Can’t blame you, really. I’m a lot."

You gaze softened when you realized what he meant. "I like 'a lot'," you said quietly, surprising yourself as much as him.

His smirk faded, replaced by something warmer, something almost hesitant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The word hung in the air between you, and this time, you didn’t try to tease him or dodge the topic.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint crackle of the joint as Mattheo took another slow drag. Then he added in a low voice, "That's why you're mine."

You raised a brow at his words, ignoring the warm flutter in your chest. You weren't ready to say something real in response. "Since when am I yours? The last time I checked, I was my own."

He chuckled, shaking his head, a slight smirk still playing on his lips. "Oh, please. You’ve been mine since the day we met, darlin'. Don’t even try to deny it."

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, brow raised at his words. "Since we met? Like, from the first year when we were eleven years old? A bit much, in my opinion," you murmured with a small chuckle, taking the joint from his fingers and inhaling slowly.

Mattheo laughed softly, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "Hey, a man knows when he finds something precious. And I found you. From day one. Maybe I was a bit younger, but my instincts were sharp even at eleven." He smirked again, watching you take another drag.

You giggled quietly at his cheeky words. "Sharp instincts at eleven? You're an arrogant fucker," you said with a grin, passing the joint back to him.

"Still. You’re mine, even if you don’t know it," he said casually, shrugging his shoulders slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He finished the joint, stubbing out its butt on the stone floor.

The words struck something deep inside you, something you’d been trying to ignore. Your heart pounded, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "So I’m yours, huh?"

"Always have been." He exhaled, not bothering to hide the weight behind his words. "And always will be."

You should’ve laughed. Teased him. But you didn’t. Instead, you let the warmth spread through you and leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his. "Good."

He froze, just for a second, as if he couldn't believe you accepted it so easily, before his hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "Good," he echoed, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Guess you’re stuck with me then."

For a few moments, he just looked at you, something unreadable swirling behind his gaze. He was waiting, giving you time to turn it into a joke, to pull away, to say it was the high talking.

But you didn’t, too entranced by his eyes, his words, and the warmth of his body so close to yours. You parted your lips to say something. "Mattheo—"

He kissed you before the words fully left your mouth — soft at first, like he was savoring the taste of a truth he'd wanted for too long. But when you didn’t pull away, when your fingers tangled in his curls, urging him closer, he deepened it, pulling you against him until there was no space left between you. It tasted like weed and hopes you weren’t quite ready to give up on.

He only pulled back when you were both breathless, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and a little ragged against your skin. "You’re mine, aren’t you?" he murmured. "Tell me I’m not misreading this."

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his cheekbone. "You’re not."

His thumb traced slow circles along your jaw as he whispered, "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to. And maybe even if you do."

And in that quiet, hazy moment, with the world far away, you knew one thing for certain: wherever you were, as long as he was there, you’d never want to be anywhere else.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped your lips before you leaned in, stealing another kiss with a soft smile.

[prosypepper]

(accidental) weed brownies with kento nanami

a/n: your husband accidentally eats one of ur “special” brownies. obvi weed use and whatnot. [i ACTUALLY finished some parts of that thing im doing for 1k…STAY TUNED GUYS!]

“darling.”

kento stands in the doorway to your bedroom, all disheveled-looking after being stuck in his home office for hours. you peer up from your book and over your glasses, seeing your husband who obviously had something wrong with him.

“ken? you okay?” concern lines your voice as you close the pages and set the book on your nightstand.

“what did you do to those brownies?” kento asks, voice slurred yet still remaining monotone all in the same.

brownies?

oh. those brownies.

kento knew about your occasional recreational use of weed, of course, though he vowed to never try it in fear of ‘something’ happening—also known as this exact thing.

you’d taken just a bite earlier, leaving the rest in a ziploc bag which you now assumed was finished off by your husband. you’re riding a comfortable high—the kind that allows you to mellow out and focus—and kento is obviously somewhere that isn’t the same planet as you.

“oh my god—ken!” laughing, you double over in giggles while kento just looks at you, eyes red and burning and heart beating the fastest he thinks it’s ever beat.

after a few minutes of your obnoxious laughter, you crawl out of bed and walk over to your husband, looking deeply into his eyes just to see how genuinely gone he is.

“it is not funny,” kento grumbles, slowly blinking his eyes once, then twice in hopes the high will go away when his eyes open again.

it does not. that same head-spinning, finger-tingling feeling keeps on. he can feel everything happening—his heart pounding, the carpet below his feet, your cold fingertips in his forearm slowly leading him to bed. he now understands what it’s like to “breathe manually” because he has to do it.

he walks—no, stomps, slowly—over to the bed, plopping down on the soft covers without even taking his glasses off.

“do you want to change?” you ask, genuinely worried this time, settling into your side of the bed just to turn and look over at your husband. he’s laid out completely flat on his back, fully dressed in his button up and slacks—his shirt is still tucked in.

“no.” kento simply replies, moving his hand over to find yours in some attempt to ground himself.

it’s going to be a long night for the both of you—and one thing stands for certain:

kento nanami will never eat another brownie in his life.

[spookykoolkat]

summer breeze | eddie munson 18+

wrote a drabble cus im just thinking about drugdealer!eddie at a party (ones that hes tired of going to) to sell and make money, but you take him completely off of his game once he notices you.

drugdealer!eddie x plus sized!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only! minors do not interact or get BLOCKED. pwp (sorta), eddie and reader are both in their early twenties (eddie is a year or two older than reader), flirting, p in v (protected pls wrap it up!), fingering, mentions of oral (fem receiving), descriptions of feminine fat bodies, itsyyy bit of body issues (reader isn't insecure just aware of her body), very light choking if you squint, dirty talk (i think hes filthy here), body worship, use of pretty girl, daddy, baby, sweetheart, etc lmk if i missed something.

please do not forget to read and educate yourself on the genocide in gaza! please do your daily clicks and donate to families in need for sudan, congo and palestine + more. https://arab.org/ scroll down on my page for resources and posts about palestine! it will always be free palestine and boycotting the show stranger things as there are three raging zionists on set! no longer taking requests for stranger things or tlou!

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i definitely see eddie munson being the one that's invited to the party to make money, find customers, manage to provide the entire party with weed and other drugs people wanted. maybe he's not the most fun, given he was burnt out after his teen years from doing crazy shit like trying pills and psychedelics to skipping class to drive two towns over, drinking and partying to make up for a life time.

he's not there to necessarily party. he's there to make money, drink, and observe. he doesn't even really miss the partying, or the people. since he was the plug, it was only ever about business. how much can someone get, what can they get, for what price, thanks, have a good night. he didn't get much socialization done in his life right now, so his best bet was to just watch.

he took his place on the couch, somewhere in the clouded area of the living room of whoever's house he's in right now. it was almost deja vu for him.

eddie would be SUCH an observer. quiet, listening and watching to everyone and everything since he was always in the corner unless he was needed. so when his eyes scanned the room after taking a puff of his blunt, it wasn't odd that his eyes latched onto you first.

you were wearing your usual, tube top, fishnet and jean shorts that rode up your ass and hugged the dips of your hips and waist. i think eddie tried to stop looking at you, especially when you saw him staring from your spot where you poured yourself another drink. but even you catching him didn't make him have any shame.

he was checking you out unabashedly. he was staring at the way your tits squeezed against the fabric of the tube top, how your tummy poked out of your shorts because they squeezed into your curves, how the fishnets had holes in some spots on your legs probably from stretching over the width of your thighs.

i think eddie would definitely try to make a move on you, his confidence wasn't lost on him, but he would wait. and while he would wait, he would think about touching you, talking to you, maybe even talking you through it.

he was a freak.

he waited until you finally decided to dance with a few of your friends, getting up from his spot and mixing in between the bodies to get next to you. eddie wasn't a dancer. not in these settings, even he surprised himself.

the obsession was mutual. your hands couldn't stop touching him as you two danced, whispering little things in each other's ears.

"you're really fucking pretty, you know that? like, insanely pretty. i couldn't stop looking at you from across the room." his voice was all you heard even when the music tried to drown it out, he was the only one you could listen to.

"eddie right?" you asked in his ear and your voice was even sweeter than he thought. he just nodded and let his hands fall onto your hips.

"you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your eyes fluttering up at him and biting your lip.

eddie only put his hands on your waist and squeezed, pulling you into him and smiling as you both danced together. putting your hands on his chest as he moved his hands to the lower part of your back and dipping his finger tips into your shorts, he leaned down and whispered in your ear,

"more than pretty. can't even focus on my job when you're right there in front of me just begging for me to come and take you away."

your eyes flutters again, this time with your lips parted and small hitch in your throat.

it was the same expression you had that night, upstairs in the guest room as everyone partied below you when he pushed his fingers inside of your heat.

"oh, ooh baby," he would say as he watched your cunt suck his fingers in, coating him in your juices and making a mess over his hand.

"i-i'm, eddie, oh my god eddie," you groaned, jean shorts discarded and panties moved to the side as he played with your cunt.

his hands ripped the fishnets between your thighs, letting his fingers spread the thick of your cunt and press his finger pads onto the glistening pearl that made you flutter your eyes shut.

it was the same expression you gave when he pushed his length into your sopping heat, and grabbed onto every inch of skin he could. once he entered you after making you cum on his fingers, he got eager.

eddie pulled your top down and let your tits free, becoming even more obsessed you might end up having to put a restraining order on him. it turned out, eddie was a tit man. he played with your tits as he slid in and out of you, squeezing your pebbled nipples and teasing them. sucking on his fingers just to play with your nipples, grabbing your tits and pushing them together to watch them bounce as he fucked you.

he was in love.

you didn't know eddie much, but he took his time with you. even when the party seemed to get even more rowdy, he only fucked into you harder. his hips snapping against your thighs, now calves on his shoulders as he quickly grabbed a pillow and slid it under the small of your back.

"my fucking god, sweetheart, look at you," he said, slipping back into you and adding a stretch that added to your pleasure, "even fuckin' prettier like this, you know that? goddamn, i'm gonna fucking get addicted to this pussy,"

the wind had been knocked out of you, breathless and scrambling for something to say but without missing a beat eddie ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs wide beside him to see you open for him.

"i, i, daddy please, i can't, too much, can't breathe," you could feel his cock in your throat, punching into you and making your legs twitch at his lace.

"just like that, pretty girl, hold yourself open like that, be good for daddy." he groaned, sitting on his knees to slide back into your gaping hole as you placed your hands on the back of your thighs.

"there we go, so fuckin' good, so pretty," he whispered to himself, watching as tears ruined your perfect makeup and sweat collected on your forehead and chest. you were ruined, aching and throbbing, still begging for him even when he was giving you what you wanted.

"please, please, so fucking good s' so fucking big," you said, out of breath as he moved to your liking.

he couldn't fuck you like that for long, not when he was watching the weight of your tits bounce and move to the rhythm of his thrusts, not when you begged for him, not when he looked at the way your legs pressed against your stomach that was so soft and round for him—now becoming his favorite part to touch as he lifts himself from his knees and putting his weight into your waist.

he got a good grip like this, you thought, feeling how his hands molded into the skin you bashed for so long just to fuck you deeper and more relentlessly.

it was when someone knocked on the door, asking for eddie, (after your second orgasm) when he decided to flip the two of you over so that his back was now against the random headboard of the bed and your thighs sat on top of his.

you were positioned at his tip, most of him sliding out after your orgasm pushed him out. you couldn't help but feel yourself drip onto his length as you looked at the state of him, hearing the man call for his friend outside of the door, and watching as eddie got lost in your curves and softness.

"fucking hell. goddamnit, look at you," he breathed, hands moving all over you, "this will never leave my mind. i'm telling you right now. gonna be thinking about this for fucking ever, thinking about this pretty fucking body on me,"

he was touching everything, all over you, squeezing parts of you you'd never though you'd let anyone see. kissing the stretch marks and moles and the extra flab of your arms and leaning you back to kiss the width of your tummy.

"sit down on me, baby, please, let me have it, let daddy have it, i've been real good for you, baby," he begged, whined, pressing the side of his face into your tits and gently suckling on the skin.

he was growing tiresome, feeling your hole clench around his weeping, red tip that ached for you. eddie didn't even realize he could throb this hard for anyone, or that he even wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you when he saw you. he didn't even know he could last as long as he did, not with you being right in front of him begging for him to fuck you.

you were beautiful, you had something about you that he couldn't take his eyes off of, something he knew he wasn't going to stop thinking about even if he tried.

"but, they're asking for you," you whimpered, fingers dragging through eddie's hair and fingernails scraping his scalp as he groped your tits and sucked on them. "the party, you have customers,"

he leaves kisses when he speaks again.

"the fuck does that matter, hm? as far as i'm concerned," he said and leaned back, watching the way your cunt looked so he could remember every detail. how juicy your cunt was, how he could palm it and rub your clit at the same time, how well your cunt wrapped around his cock when he gave everything for you to take,

"i got the prettiest, juiciest fucking pussy i've ever had in my fuckin' life right here about to sit on my cock, you think i'm gonna stop trying to make you cum so i can get a 20 dollar bill?" he scoffed, "absolutely fuckin' not. fuck that party. now let me fuck that pretty cunt baby, please, let me feel it again,"

he whimpered when he met your eyes, desperation for a nut especially like this, and you melted. you clenched around his tip and he winced as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. you were gasping at this point, trying to fight for air while you let your cunt take all of him until your clit was pressed against his thatch of hair.

"oh fuck, FUCK, fuck baby," he practically yelled, throwing his head back against the headboard and you couldn't help yourself. his hands were gripping your asscheeks so hard they left hand prints, pulling and spreading them apart just to leave slaps to imagine how your ass would jiggle with it.

it left him moaning even more.

your lips attached to his neck and kissed everywhere you could, licking his pale skin and sucking on his neck and chest. you left hickies where you could. the soberness in you wanted him to remember this, to be looked at so people can know someone fucked him this good and it was you.

the drunk in you just wanted to claim him as yours. let everyone know he was fucking you. and only you. or so you convinced yourself to think.

as you buried your face into his neck and suckled and licked, your cunt clenched around him and slowly you lifted your hips up, just to slam them back down and make lewd noises fill the room. his moaning was turning you on even more, knowing his was sounding fucked out like this because of you.

"eddie, yo what the fuck? i'm tryin' to get some weed man! come on!" the obnoxious voice was drowned out by eddie's moans and whimpers as you decided to speed your bouncing up.

you did it for a hot minute, rolling your hips and bouncing your ass on your knees as you took him in with every lift of your hips. he was so much more filling this way, so much more bigger and reaching places it felt like was your stomach.

"eddie, e-eddie, p-p-please, eddie," you were crying into his neck when you whined and it only made him release a guttural groan as he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body down to his.

"eddie, what, wh-" you tried as he fixed positions, planting his feet and raising his hips before continuously slamming up into your cunt.

"oh, oh, oh my, f-fucking, mmphf, my," you really tried, to make sense of what he was doing until your mind went blank, until you felt the head of his pink cock hitting your cervix over and over again until it began to mix pleasure with pain.

it was delicious, it was everything, and yet the man was still at the door. "eddie, eddie," you moaned, sort of forgetting about everything else but the man ramming into your sore hole, you corrected yourself quickly as he fucked you harder, "daddy!"

"woah, hey, are you, are you fucking in there?? eddie!!! my man!!" the man cheered through the door but to you it was muffled.

you couldn't hear anything but the messiness of your cunt, the squelching, the groaning and crying, the moaning and whimpering, his words making you tighten around him.

"take that fucking dick, baby, take what daddy's giving you, yeah?" he growled in your ear as he kept his pace up, your tears hitting his shoulders and your whines being muffled by his chest.

"i know baby, you're taking me so well, being so good, feel so fucking good,"

"cmon baby, let me have another one, cum again for daddy,"

"next time i'm gonna bury my fucking face between those thighs and let your ride my tongue, just wanna taste my pretty girl the right way," he was breathless, and listening to you cry from his words and beg after every sweet nothing he couldn't hold it anymore.

"get it man!" again. eddie was almost getting pissed off. actually. he was pissed off.

this random man was able to hear the way you sounded just for eddie, the way you called for him and said his name, the way you cried when his cock hit your spot over and over again in this angle.

"get the fuck out of here, fuckface!" eddie screamed angrily away from your ear, only making you clench harder as he then flipped you to lay on your side.

his cock was still inside of you, only now he laid behind you in the same position and lifted your leg by the thickness of your thigh and held it there as he lifted his thigh and slipped further inside of you.

"m' the only one that should hear you like this, not him, nobody else. look at that," he says in your ear as he uses his other hand to point your head downwards to see the way his cock slammed into your cunt over and over again, barely being able to see it over your tummy, "see how she's crying for me? god i wish you could fuckin' see yourself, how fuckin' pretty you are,"

"daddy, daddy, fuck, fuck me, fuck my pussy please, make me feel good," you managed to get out as he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, forcing you to throw your head back against his.

eddie puts his chin right at the top of your head, somehow seemingly bigger than you and crowding you as he kept his pace.

"touch yourself, princess, touch that pretty little clit for daddy, daddy's gonna make you cum all over his big fucking cock, how's that sound, pretty girl? you like that?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

it only grows deeper when he sees your weak hand move to your messy cunt, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into her. eddie can feel you clench and drip onto him, covering his cock in your cum and juices as you reach your climax for the third time.

you didn't know eddie. he didn't really know you. but in this moment, holding you to his chest as you leaves kisses in your hair and on your cheek sweetly, fucking you roughly and messily, palm still at your throat.

you were crying by now, tears slipping down just for eddie to dry them back up.

"i know, i can feel you baby, can feel you gettin' close for me," he boasts, his own thrusts getting sloppy and missing the rhythm as he struggles to hold his own release back.

"so good, feels so good daddy," you gasped, voice dry and strained, "gonna make, fuck fuck, baby i can't, too much,"

"uh-uh baby, what were you gonna say? gonna make you what? cum? gonna make this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock again?" eddie's balls pulled taut, fighting back his orgasm until you clenched hard one last time and yelled out.

"yes! yes! yes! make me cum, you're making me cum, i'm cumming, daddy please," you shouted, body shaking in his hold as you move your hands to grab at his wrist and try to wriggle out of his grasp, his thrusts becoming too much too fast.

"oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, fuck," he whimpered, wincing and releasing a string of moans and groans as he cums in the condom; desperately wishing he could've painted your walls. you were still shaking in his grasp, whimpering when eddie pulls out of you and moves his hands to fix your hair.

eddie moves you to lay on your back as he sits up on one arm and admires you, the lipstick smeared and eyeshadow messy, eyeliner running and your face makeup staining whatever pillows were there.

eddie wasn't the type to think he was going to call back. thats for sure. he wasn't a dating man, a 'see you more than once in a year' man. eddie was confused for the most part, not knowing where this was gonna go next depending how he went about this last part of the interaction. he especially wasn't a girl. not that girl who asked what we are on the first hook up. not the girl who day dreamed about someone when they weren't near.

he wasn't a girl. he especially wasn't that girl.

you opened your eyes to him staring with a lopsided smile, scanning over your face and chest.

"what?" you smiled, breathlessly and sleep pulling at your eyes.

he shakes his head with a small smile and drowns out the music playing from downstairs, watching you scan his face.

"so, are you gonna call me after this? when can i see you again?"

[castielthinkr]

LIKE A DOVE

soldier boy x fem!reader cw 99% fluff, implied nsfw (mdni), age gap (reader is implied to be around hughie’s age so significantly younger than ben), not proof read + written on my phone so the formatting may be shit

summary behind closed doors, ben can be gentle

notes i lied in my last post i have a lab report due on monday that i haven’t been to any lectures for 😔 also this might be ooc but i like to believe that the “i didn’t mean to hurt those people” line is the closest we’ve gotten to seeing his actual personality underneath all the gravitas so i took that and ran with it lol

before you met ben, you were warned about him. as one of hughie’s close friends, you’d been dragged into the whole homelander situation when he’d shown up at your apartment covered in blood. after that, he’d been unable to stop you from sticking your nose in where it arguably didn’t belong, and he was so glad you did.

until, for some unknown reason, you fell for soldier boy of all people.

luckily (or unluckily, in hughie’s case. god, he’d never let you hear the end of this), your feelings didn’t go unrequited. somewhere between buying him takeout and weed and teasing him about his awful clothing choices, the two of you had struck up a bond. it was a weird bond, one that comprised primarily of teasing and raunchy flirting on his part, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. somehow he’d become your person.

and yet, that wasn’t the strangest thing. the strangest thing was finding out that beneath the gruff exterior and ego, in the comfort of your apartment with nobody else around, ben was gentle.

when he wasn’t fucking you into next week for the third time in the same hour, he’d hold you close to his chest. his hands would find your waist while you were cooking. he’d tuck your hair behind your ear while you slept on his chest, turning down the tv so that it wouldn’t wake you. he’d tell you stories of his glory days while you did odd bits and bobs around the apartment. he’d hum tunes from the fifties and sixties to calm you after a horrific nightmare.

of course, he wasn’t always gentle. he was relentless in the bedroom, and the second someone else was around his walls were back up again. but those walls were cracked. the longer you were around him, the more the ben that you knew would shine through.

nobody believe you, of course, and hughie called you fucking insane on more than one occasion for even implying that soldier boy could be soft. but you knew. you had the images imprinted in your mind of his chin resting on your shoulder, the deep rumble of his voice as you laid spent on his chest telling you how good you were, the way he looked at you with eyes full of something akin to awe.

somewhere, between eating you out ‘til you were on the verge of fainting and giving himself the job of your protector, he’d grown a soft spot for you. despite his annoyed grumbles, you felt the way his hands rested on your hips lightly, applying just enough pressure to so that you could feel him. everything was measured, calculated, gentle.

you were fragile to him. precious, like a dove. his light in the darkness. his person. you’d wormed your way into his cold heart with kind words and soft kisses that he was adamant he didn’t deserve, and there was no way he was letting you go, no matter how soft he became.

[sturnslutz]

berry goes to matt's house for a little "tutoring session."

warnings: weed smoking, shotgunning, making out, grinding/dry humping, no actual p in v, basically sub matt, use of “mama”

the drive to matt's house didn't take very long. he insisted earlier in class that he could come pick you up in his brand new family van they recently got, but you denied politely as you had to do a couple errands for your aunt before seeing matt.

a couple textbooks and your laptop filled your passenger seat alongside your purse and whatever you needed. you didn't know if matt smoked or not, chris did, but you didn't really expect matt to. you brought a couple blunts just in case.

you sent matt a small message stating you got to his house as you knocked the door three times softly. he hearted it before shortly arriving after to the door. his face flushed a soft red as he smiled at you softly, muttering a small "hi."

"hey, matt. just you home?"

matt opened the door wider for you to come in, which you did. looking around, it looked a lot more normal then your house did which was filled with bright colors and aesthetics that you and your aunt love.

"yeah, my parents are at work and chris and nick are out somewhere, i'on really know." he said softly as he shut the door. he trailed behind you as you started exploring and walking around, which he made no effort to stop you, but was rather intrigued.

"sorry it's not much. our house is kinda boring." he said as he scratched the back of his neck, a bit worried you were going to judge him. did he really think you were like that? he couldn't help himself but inhale the trail of strawberry perfume filling the air around the both of you.

you stopped your movements abruptly, which almost made matt bump into you. "matt, do you think i'm a horrible person or something? i love your house, no matter what. i'm actually quite fascinated with it. i've never been in a house which wasn't maximalist to the max, or filled with a range of every color. i like this simple look."

he searched your face for any hint you were lying, but your big eyes just looked up at him with the most genuine honesty. he smiled softly, looking away and running a hand through his hair. "thank you. i really appreciate it. do you wanna head up to my room now? i think you'll like it a lot."

you face brightened even more at the thought, eliciting a big smile across your face. "yes, of course! lead the way.” he nodded and turned, beginning to walk to the staircase as you followed after him.

his room was the complete opposite of what you thought it was. it was filled to the brim with comic posters, action figures, legos of every universe, so many stuffed animals, and everything matt couldn't express in words, but rather filled his thoughts.

"sorry, it's a lot. it's really nerdy too." he said softly, his voice shaking a bit. you looked around the room in awe, genuinely surprised he's embarrassed by this. you would love to have a room like this.

"it's not, at all. i actually love it so much. its so you. i like being able to see what you're interests are." he smiled again softly, his blue eyes scrunching up in his glasses as he ran a hand through his hair, again.

"thank you, berry. i really appreciate that. so, do you wanna start studying?" he sits down on his bed, sitting in a criss-cross position as he looked up at you through those damn glasses that you adored. he looked so hot like this.

"yep. i brought some papers i need to finish." you sat down, tossing your shoes off and sitting in the same position as him, but across him as you grabbed your bag, dumping it. his eyes skimmed through the papers, but noticed something he didn't expect.

two blunts sitting right next to each other.

you saw him look at them, and you chuckled softly. "didn't know if you smoked or not, but they help me relax and study better. thought i could smoke one here, if you're cool with it."

he looked up at you again, nodding a bit. "y-yeah sure, i don't mind. do you think it'll make my room smell?" he asked a bit nervously. his parents knew that chris smoked to help with his adhd, but he didn't want them to think he did it also.

you nodded, picking them up and looking for the lighter through your papers. "yeah, probably because it's a blunt and not a cart, those don't smell as much. but don't worry i got some perfume that makes the weed smell basically disappear."

his face seemed to understand but also didn't. "a cart- whats that?"

you laughed a bit again, rubbing his knee. "nothing you need to worry about." he nodded again, now directing his attention to a couple of your papers, trying to understand what he actually needed to help you on.

what he didn't notice though, was you holding one of the blunts up to your mouth and lighting it, and when he did, it was when you blew the smoke towards him causing him to cough a bit. "shit- sorry baby. are you okay?" he nodded, his coughing wearing down. what caught him again off guard was the name you called him. baby.

"yeah, i'm okay." you took another hit, now redirecting it to the door area before looking down at the papers. he seemed to notice your calmer demeanor and wondered if the weed actually did make you focus better.

he didn't notice himself staring at the blunt that was fiddling in between your fingers, but you did. "wanna hit?" his attention came back to you as his eyes opened a bit wide. "what? no-no. well maybe? i don't know how to!" he panicked a bit, making you laugh.

"you don't have to hit it. i'll help. you ever heard of shotgunning?" you take another hit, a smaller one now to help preserve it. "like the chugging beer thing?"

"well, yes. that's also shotgunning, but there's another kind. it's where i take a hit, but blow it into your mouth then you inhale and let it out. it'll get you high also."

knowledge of smoking was not something matt ever thought he would be learning, but he wasn't really complaining.

"oh-okay. yeah, we can do it." he said, waiting for the rest of your instruction. you smiled, moving the papers off the bed as you handed him the blunt to hold, so you wouldn't burn yourself. you sat back up right, taking the blunt back into your hand.

"okay, just relax, lemme do what i need to do. also, can i straddle you? it helps me actually do it right." he was taken aback a bit at the thought of you actually getting on top of him, but nodded. "y-yeah. sure. go ahead." he leaned back into the bed more as he stretched out his legs and you climbed on top of him, right above his cock.

he was praying that he wouldn't get a boner as he knew you would feel it, so tried to look elsewhere, now fairly interested in his poster of pokemon he got when he was 11.

you chuckled a bit, grabbing his face in your left hand, redirecting his face towards you. "it's not gonna work if you're not actually looking at me, matt." he muttered a small "sorry" as you lifted the blunt to your lips, taking a big hit before leaning down.

your lips touched his as he let out a soft gasp, allowing you to blow the smoke into his mouth. once you blew most of it in, you leaned back up, watching his face. "inhale, good, now exhale." he did exactly as you said, but letting out harsh coughs in result.

you smiled at him as he finally regained his breath, looking up at you. his face was flushed as a cherry, but he laughed a bit. "that was my first kiss." he softly admitted, but this time not taking his eyes off you.

"really? wanna have another?" you smirked as you leaned back down, putting the blunt back in between your lips as you let out a puff of smoke, filling the air once around you both again. you finally had finished it, burying it's end into the table next to his bed as he nodded.

you leaned back all the way down, reconnecting your lips with his. he was very patient with it and being gentle. he let his hands fall to your hips as the kisses deepened, a very noticeable poke in between your thighs now.

your tongue made it's way into his mouth, matt happily accepting it. for what was his first kiss, he sure was good at it. you couldn't help but notice the ache in between your thighs, right where matt was. you started absentmindedly grinding against him, causing matt to moan into your mouth as you smirked and pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the both of you still. his flushed face and lopsided glasses made you even wetter than before.

"y'ever had a girl do this to you before, baby?" you tease him a bit, obviously knowing his answer. he shakes his head softly, burying his forehead in your neck. "n-no." "feel good, huh?" he whined softly as your hand reached to his head, gently pulling his hair. "mm-mhm."

"need words, matt." you tug a bit harder on his strands, causing a even louder whine to come from his throat. "yes, feels good." you nodded, grabbing his head out of your neck and softly pushing it back down on the pillow as you kiss him again.

this time, he was more hungry. his kisses were intense, like he was trying to kiss you deeper despite the minimal space between the both of you.

grinding against him was easy, his boner was very evident through his sweatpants, and you grinding against him gave him pleasure he never knew could erupt in him.

“fuck- mama, i’m close” he whimpered a bit softly as his hands gripped your ass through your pants, his hands roaming every inch he could. “yeah? cum for me, matt. i’m right here behind you.” you moaned softly as your head fell against his chest.

you pushed your hips closer to his, your movements minimal but rather putting pressure on his covered cock and your covered ache.

“fuck! berry!” he whimpered loudly as a warm spot filled the space between you two. you looked down as the dark grey spot grew larger with every twitch of his cock in his pants.

“i’m almost there, matty. can you cum again?” his fucked-out look without actually being in you, was so hot. you don’t know when, but he took off his glasses and set them aside, now allowing you to see his slightly red, dilated big blue eyes perfectly.

you don’t know if it’s the high, but just looking at him made you cum faster against him than you expected. your orgasm came as a surprise for you, loud moans coming from your mouth as your head falls against his chest.

he came for the 2nd time right after. moans and strangled whimpers fall from his mouth, filling the room with even more pretty sounds. as you both caught your breath, you rested against his chest, as his fingers played with your hair a bit.

your clothes sticking to you because of the sweat made you ick and he could tell you felt like this from your movements, almost trying to take it off.

“do you want me to get you some new clothes? i need to change anyways.” he whispers to you softly. a nod comes from you as you roll off him, flopping to the other side. his pants had a very evident dark grey area from the combination of your liquids flowing through your clothing.

a small chuckle falls from him as he looks down. he stands up, but his legs are wobbly, causing him to fall back on the bed. “what the hell?” he mutters a bit as his legs become a bit tingly.

“just relax a bit more, this was probably the first orgasm you had that actually made your body feel different, right?” you whisper a bit as you rub his arm a bit.

he hums a bit and nods, taking your advice. once he finally felt like he could stand properly, he walked carefully to his dresser. he pulled out 2 of his shirts, and 2 new pairs of sweats, and 2 new pairs of boxers.

“i don’t have any underwear so are boxers okay?” he walks over and hands the clothing to you as you hand him his glasses, immediately bringing back his vision.

“yeah, thank you matt.” he nods a bit as he walks out of his room, changing in the bathroom. you stood up and changed into his slightly oversized clothing, but extremely comfortable.

he knocks a couple times against the door as you allow him to come in. you were already laying back down in his bed, and his heart swoons seeing you in his clothing. he lays down next to you, fiddling with his fingers a bit.

“do you want to study a bit more?” he asks randomly, causing you to laugh loudly.

“didn’t we learn enough? we’ll just do it later.” he nods, understanding. both of your thoughts are interrupted at the sound of the front door opening, and chris and nick’s voices flowing through the house.

matt looks at you with worry in his eyes, but you rub his arm, helping him relax. “don’t worry, just relax. can i stay over? it’ll help me give them a better reasoning as to why im in your clothes.”

he nods immediately. “sure. of course. i’m sure my parents won’t mind. what about yours?”

“nah, my aunt won’t care. i live with her right now. sometimes i go to my parents’ house in upstate.” you explain to him as a knock comes through the door. “hey matt? you home, man?”

chris’s voice is heard as matt stiffens up once again. “just chill.” he lets out a breath as he talks. “yeah, i’m here.” and that lets chris in. his eyes immediately fall to matt, but then look to you as he gasps a bit.

“matt’s here, and berry’s here… in matt’s room? what the hell…?” it was clear chris was a bit high just like you and matt. the scent of weed also hits chris’s nose as he lets out another question. “were you guys smoking?”

“hey, chris. i came because he was tutoring me, and i smoked a bit because you know how it helps me study better. it’s getting late so matt told me i can stay here, and he allowed me to be in his clothes.”

chris nods slowly, but seemingly understands. “ight. mom and dad are staying at aunt cathy’s house tonight, so it’s just the 4 of us tonight, okay?”

his sight goes between you and matt as both you and matt nod. “okay, i got another blunt for later if you and nick wanna smoke it with us.” chris nodded at you, glancing out matt’s window. “hell yeah, but when it gets a bit darker out. so like 10? it’s saturday tomorrow so we’re good.”

you look at matt for a confirmation to which he nods, once again. “yeah, okay.” he says softly. chris walks out, and you plop back down next to matt, rubbing his shoulder. “you okay?” he smiles and hums. “yeah, i’m good. that felt really good.”

“i’m glad. dry humping is good, but actual sex is amazing. we aren’t there yet though.” his eyes widen a bit at the thought of actually having sex, but relaxed a bit at your reassurance.

“mhm- okay.” you smile again, rubbing his cheek a bit. “let’s take a nap before you we have to spend the whole night with energetic nick and chris.”

he laughs, nodding. he dips his head into your neck, wrapping his arm around your waist, holding you tight. he knew you two weren’t official and didn’t know if you’d actually ever be, but he knew he trusted you.

[mimipolo]

If you do nsfw requests, could you do nam-gyu being submissive? If not, how about sharing a bed with him? Thanks and have a great day! ❤️

sub!Nam-gyu x reader (nsfw)

This will be my first time writing smut but for you anon I will. You were definitely cooking with the idea tho, he could be made submissive.

It's another one of those cold nights. You're enjoying the cool weather, leaning against the window sill and gazing out dreamily. Life was tiring, managing check to check was tiring. But somewhere amid the chaos you managed to find solid ground, a stable job that pays enough to pay the bills and have extra left over. Life was good.

Even Nam-gyu was getting better, for you. Yes he's still working towards sobriety but you rather he'd be drunk or high off weed than drugs.

That's when you hear the door unlock from the living room. Knowing it was him from the jangling of his keys. Your mood perks up a bit knowing he's finally home from work, you missed him during the day as you usually worked from home.

You're about to step out the bedroom to welcome him home but he's already there, eyes low and focused as he hovers you. There's a softness to his demeanor you couldn't pin point. You couldn't name what's different yet so instinctively you still move in to embrace him. Linking your fingers behind his back as you kiss his jaw gently.

"Welcome home, how was work?"

"Okay."

At his dry response you're immediately confused, tilting your head slightly at him. Usually he'd be more than happy to talk your ear off about how annoying work was and it's crappy customers that spill liquor everywhere and so on.

But he's quiet, eyes still intently fixed on you as if expectantly. His breath smelling sweeter than usual is the only thing you could note. Your eyebrows screw together tighter as silence continues to dominate the room.

"Something happen?"

What you didn't expect was when you squeezed his waist to urge him to talk was the faint whimper that falls from his lips, his body suddenly hunching over yours. It feels hot to the touch even under his clothes.

"Please..."

Is the only word he mutters, his hands shakily reaching for you, digging themselves under your sweater to roam the warmth hidden under. It finally clicks in your head what's going on and it takes everything not to laugh at how soft he's being as he buries his head into your shoulder. You know he'd get embarassed and back out even in this state.

Glancing down to look into his eyes it didn't look like he was high, he looked transfixed. His face blushed a soft pink and lips slightly parted in a way that makes you want to coo at him.

"Please what Nam?" he groans in frustration at your words, already knowing he won't get anything unless he asks.

"You know what you always do this..." Huffing defeatedly against your neck as you rub his back.

"I want you... please." You roll your eyes softly at his answer, knowing this was the best you'd get from him as you lead him to lie on your bed.

His back is to the headboard and he's immediately grasping for you, grabbing your face firmly to kiss you as you straddle his lap. He's whining in the saddest way inbetween each breath as if he could do without air. When he knows you're not pulling away he lets go of your face and holds your waist in a death grip, still pulling you impossibly closer.

You smile against his sloppy kisses while your hands move to his waist, fingers purposefully grazing his crotch to see how sensitive he was. The violent buck into your palm tells you enough, he sighs shakily at the feeling, stopping mid kiss to collect himself, his gaze shifting away from yours as he mutters something you can't decipher under his breath.

"It's okay hm? You came to me for help right?"

You gently comfort him through it, you knew he couldn't handle the potential ego bruise if you teased him too much. He brushed his hair hurriedly behind his ears as he nods, sitting up right for you as if he was recieving a reward.

Stiffling a whimper behind his hand as he watches you unzip his trousers, his breaths are heavy above you and you're honestly just enjoying doing things slowly. He's so hard it hurts and he genuinely wonders how he managed to stay calm when he first saw you, looking at him so affectionately.

The thought of you just looking at him like that again has him grinding into your hand as you finally peel off his boxers. Seeing you holding up his shirt he takes charge of taking the peice of cloth from your hands and keeping it between his teeth. You look up at him gratefully and his body flushes hotter. He didn't understand why he always felt this way whenever you looked so calm taking him into your care.

He's hot, everywhere you could tell his body was flushed even under the moonlight. He leans towards the thicker side and he's an overall average length. A soft squeeze draws a low moan from him, beads of pre cum dripping thickly from his tip. You both just stare for a moment before he breathlessly speaks up.

"I- Just do it already or I'm gonna lose it here..."

His grip on your hips even tighter as he waits for you, never taking any action himself, a silent agreement of obedience. You peck his lips softly, moving your hand slowly up and down his shaft, whispering sweet words that have him curling into you almost suffocatingly.

Eventually you pick up the pace slightly, his mouth now sucking into the skin of your neck, out of his own desire to have you and to quiet his moans. You could feel the slick from his tip smearing on your clothes, still so persistent to get closer to you as if he isn't already breathing down your neck. A broken "Faster-" catches your attention and you realise you'd been maintaining the same pace for at least twenty minutes.

"'M sorry, gonna get you there okay?" You mutter apologetically, your free hand stroking through his hair. He tries to respond but he's cut off by being jerked off faster, nodding his head as he unlatches his mouth from your neck. He's switching between curses and strained "thank you"'s the faster you go.

You know he's getting close when his hips start flinching and his body's so hunched over yours you could end up on your back, it was like he was engulfing you(it's happened before.) You genuinely wonder what has him so worked up like this all of a sudden but you don't mind, it's one of the only times he likes to listen to whatever you say.

With a gutteral moan he suddenly comes undone, shooting ropes into your fist. Slipping down the smooth surface of his abdomen and unfortunately, on your sweater too. You watch him with wide eyes, he came faster than he usually does. He slowly comes down from his high, you softly jerking him through it.

He seems to come back to reality at the last moment, unconsciously leaning his full body weight against you. You groan externally as you're made to fall onto your back, his hands squeezing at your chest dazily as he moves to rest his head against yours.

You can feel the cum on his stomach smear against yours when he shifted it up to get his hands under your sweater, making you groan in annoyance. But he seems completely unbothered, to you and the mess he's made of your clothes.

"Care to share what happened now?"

"Chocolates at work, dunno they had some crazy shit in them, felt so good." Is what he mutters before dosing off but you're left thinking. Aphrodisiacs? At the bar? He didn't ask before just eating them??You don't get the opportunity tonight to ask him all your questions. They'll have to wait till later.

I hope this is okay, I honestly was sweating writing this.

[porcelainbirdss]

the wrong neighbor

summary: after losing your job, you figured a brief escape to the countryside might offer a semblance of peace — or at least a new outlook. alas fate, with its usual flair for wickedness, had other plans. it handed you a new challenge in the form of a neighbor so annoying, his entire existence felt like a joke at your expense.

cw: fem!reader, modern au, fluff, brief mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, slight enemies to lovers but honestly reader is just stubborn, so it’s kind of one-sided, relationship not established (but lovey-dovey still) || wc: 16k

you scrutinized the keys of your 'new' home, which now dangled on the carabiner — you glared down at them, as if their mere existence somehow managed to personally offend you.

there were three facts you could easily discern: you got fired from your job (and maybe it was for the better, because you hated it). the house on the countryside in which you were supposed to temporarily reside in surely looked like a ruin, and your suitcases were so over-stuffed, you barely managed to close them.

oh, and Bubbles was wailing so loudly in the carrier, you were already starting to feel bad for the cat. well, it’s not like you didn’t share its lament — if you could, you’d cry along with the pet.

unfortunately, your woes would have to be put aside now, because the sight of your new place started to steadily appear on the horizon. thank gods, you somehow managed to reach the countryside without your gas running so low you’d have to call for roadside assistance — or a worse scenario, with you pushing the car away from the uneven road.

as you parked beside the slightly crooked, wired fence, you began to wonder whether this whole charade really was a good idea. your decision to take rather long vacations in the countryside was made on a whim — upon losing your job, you descended on a downward spiral, ultimately thinking you definitely needed to reconnect with nature.

everything was going smoothly — you asked your parents for the keys, informed your friends of the upcoming departure (for how long, you weren’t sure), packed and got into your car as if it was the simplest course of action. only halfway through the rather long distance, as you finally drove into the mountainous area, a realization hit you — your knowledge was basically zero. nonexistent.

how do you even live on a countryside? are there necessities, or will you have to drive out into town for everything? how will you deal with the bugs, and the deep silence of night? is the house of your parents, which they bought so long ago, later on moving to the city, still intact? or maybe vandalized?

you were aware of the fact they kept on checking up on the place from time to time, but hey — that’s a village. what if there’s a big nest of wasps located somewhere by the balcony you briefly remember through the blurry memories of a young girl? or — or what if the water doesn’t run? or, since the village is practically hugged by the mountains, what if you stumble across a bear?!

well, you doubted that, because you had no plans of venturing into the forest — but still.

a huff of exasperation escaped your lips as you turned off the engine, quickly pocketing your carabiner and turning to see if Bubbles was alright — the cat seemed fine, now a little bit calmer, as if it sensed you finally reached the destination. you knew your pet wasn’t especially fond of road trips — same goes for you, so it was a relief to open the door of the vehicle, and step outside.

you stretched your slightly stiff limbs, thinking any longer in that car, and i’d go insane. surprisingly, the house looked fairly well-maintained. the lush grass was covered with weeds, and wildflowers, but nothing else was alarming enough to cause you distress. it was really fortunate, because you already had a plenty on your plate, and dealing with any damage would surely push you to have a breakdown in the middle of that sandy road.

with a new-found resolve, you opened the gate, wincing at the loud creak it made upon being moved for the first time in forever. you skipped over the cobblestone steps, unlocking the door — the space inside was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it matched what little you could recall from your childhood days, when your parents would take you to see the house.

they always said it would belong to you — and as a young girl, you never failed to cheer in response, excited to move in once you get older. well, you were all grown now, and upon retrospection, you don’t know what was so appealing to you about living in the countryside — not many opportunities, limited access to most shops or entertainments, vast fields and forests with nothing to do.

but it’s not like you’ll stay there forever, after all. you just came for a quick visit — two or three months, as long as your savings last you — april will pass, then may, and towards the end of june, when summer starts, you’ll be gone. yes, that’s definitely what you’ll do, so there’s no point in dwelling on how boring it could be. you came here to relax, and gather your disarrayed thoughts, not to seek for a new life-path.

once you were done inspecting the whole building, you stepped outside, mentally preparing yourself for the burden of tugging all of your suitcases inside, and then upstairs — a mere thought of that made your determination falter. as for Bubbles… perhaps it would be better to let the cat snooze in your car for now. you didn’t want the little critter to tangle between your feet as you fought with the baggage — anyway, the temperature outside was still low, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the cat overheating.

as you opened the car trunk, ready to wrestle with the weight of your luggage, a rather loud, but friendly voice snapped you out of your deep reverie.

you barely managed to hold back a frown.

"hey!" the man called, and you glanced up, your eyes meeting with two bright-blue hues, already crinkling in the corners as he beamed at you. "are you the owner of this house?"

what do you think?, you wanted to say, but decided it would be better to not make any enemies from the start. you were never too big on people — always keeping to yourself, secure in the small circle of friends you made while working at your former job. still, you weren’t in the city now, and you were completely on your own — so perhaps snarling at the stranger who greeted you with such a cordial expression would be a bad idea.

no matter that something about his overly-kind demeanor irked you.

you studied his rather tall frame, taking note of the slightly old-fashioned button-down shirt he wore, its sleeves rolled up above his elbows, exposing the muscular arms. seriously, was he crazy? if not for your jacket, you’d be freezing, your teeth chattering from the cold. "yeah, that’s me." you answered briefly, trying to force the corners of your lips upwards.

his smile only widened as he strolled closer to you, and you wondered what got him so excited. "oh, is that true?" he asked eagerly, allowing himself to lean on the side of your car, "i saw some people visiting the house, but it was so rare, i actually thought no one would ever move in."

"i’m not moving in," you corrected, trying not to grimace at how casual he was acting, "i’m on vacation. don’t plan on lingering for too long."

the man’s expression seemed to falter, just slightly. "really? such a pity, then. and here i was, thinking i got myself a neighbor." he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

oh. he is your neighbor, it would seem. well, it is only logical looking at the way he suddenly emerged from gods know where — immediately jumping to your side, washing you over with questions and small-talk. still, the thought of having someone like him, as a person living next doors was… excruciating.

you let out a sigh, attempting to hold up your polite voice. "you live there?" you gestured with your head towards the building, internally hoping you were wrong.

"yes!" the man affirmed, outstretching his palm towards you, "by the way, i completely forgot to introduce myself. ah, where are my manners?" he laughed, a little abashedly now. "i’m Phainon."

great — just great. your place was a semi-detached house, so not only was he your neighbor, but he resided in a home practically glued to yours, a singular wall being the only thing that separated you.

you reached to shake his hand without much finesse, wincing at how strong his grip was. "[name]."

"[name]? a lovely name, then." Phainon chirped, bestowing you with the mercy of letting go. "well, i hope we can get along from now. maybe i’ll even convince you of staying here forever, who knows?" he joked, laughing again.

yeah, right. what else? maybe you’ll marry him, and take down the wall separating your houses? seriously, you tried to convince yourself he wasn’t that bad, but now he was genuinely getting on your already fragile nerves.

you reached towards the suitcase. "doubt that."

the man seemed to ignore your slightly irked tone, leaning forwards to look into your trunk. "do you want me to help you with all that? not to brag, but i’m pretty strong, and your stuff looks… well, heavy."

a shudder ran down your spine as his clear, still so friendly and unrelenting voice rang practically next to your ear. at this point, you could make a list consisting entirely of the things that annoyed you about your new neighbor: for one, he possessed an unbearably happy attitude. he was overly-casual, acting as if he knew you for his entire life. loud. said he doesn’t like to brag, but just did that — so a hypocrite.

"thanks, but i’ll manage just fine." you replied, grabbing the handle and tugging the suitcase out, trying not to show how much of a struggle it was.

Phainon blinked twice at your refusal, as if it was something he completely didn’t expect. his lips parted in confusion before he gathered himself, once again donning that wide smile. "oh, but how could i let my neighbor do that all by herself?" he mused, reaching for your baggage. damn those villagers, and their weird conviction of integrity — maybe you really should have just stayed in the city, bothering yourself with the search for a new job, instead of indulging in 'relaxation' time on the countryside. it was hardly worth it, at least as of now.

a grimace appeared on your face, knitting your eyebrows together. you didn’t care for containing it anymore. "i told you, i can do this myself." you muttered, finding an odd sense of insult in the man helping you out — you were capable enough, weren’t you?

you tugged the handle out of his fingers, and Phainon stepped back, the message finally getting through his seemingly thick skull. he cleared his throat awkwardly, chuckling under his breath as he pretended to look around, his bright irises avoiding yours. "oh, i’m— i’m sorry, [name]. didn’t mean to offend you."

with a roll of your eyes, you closed the trunk shut, starting to walk towards the entrance of your house. "bye." you said, audible enough for the man to hear, and leave you alone.

Phainon didn’t protest any further, scratching his nape with a conflicted expression before shrugging and deciding to go back home. at least now his happy-go-lucky demeanor wouldn’t bother you.

a long day of cleaning, and moving in your stuff was already over — you were elated to find out that you, indeed, still had hot water, and the stove was working, even though you had to use matches to get the gas going. Bubbles was a bit unsure at first, anxiously treading the space, but ultimately deemed the new place as good enough. you definitely had to agree with your cat — it wasn’t perfect, but the lull of a quiet road successfully managed to ease your frayed nerves.

in addition, Phainon didn’t step out once to offer any other unwanted help, so that was a plus too.

you fell onto the bed, stretching out your hurting limbs from working so hard — you were planning on going to sleep, but the balcony door seemed especially enticing, so perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check it out as well. you dragged your feet over to the glass door, pushing it open, taking in the crisp air of night, gasping at how beautiful the sight of the mountains was — and then you saw it.

irritation washed over you the second you spotted a familiar silhouette, leaning on the railing of another balcony — right. you almost forgot the design of your houses was a mirror, the buildings being twins of themselves. you cursed under your breath, tucking your head down in hopes that your annoying neighbor failed to notice you — but before you could even move to walk back inside, he already waved your way, a wide smile stretching his lips.

"[name]! hi!" Phainon called, making your blood pressure skyrocket, "did you also want to get some fresh air before sleep?"

an overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over you, as you itched to reply — what do you think?

you scoffed, your feet glued in place, even though you wanted nothing more than to shut the balcony door, swish the curtains, and lie in your bed. "no, i was actually planning on jumping out." you deadpanned.

the man’s features initially twisted into concern, but then he laughed, finally catching up on your sarcastic remark, which definitely wasn’t aimed to offend him, nor his wits anyhow, "oh, you better not. it’s a long way down from here." he said, moving to step closer to your own balcony.

almost as if that was the whole point. "well, yeah, i came here to take a breath, but now i have someone yapping behind my ear."

Phainon shrugged, appearing as if he didn’t take that as an insult, even if his wide smile was now reduced to a mere, weak smirk. "c’mon, i’m just trying to be nice here." he responded, craning his neck to look into your eyes, seemingly avoiding him as they stared into the black outline of the mountains. "you know, i don’t want to admonish you, because i believe we’re the same age—" he paused, "wait, how old are you again?"

"twenty-four."

that evoked an almost triumphant noise out of him. "see? i’m only two years older than you. so, as i was saying, i really, really, don’t want to admonish you, however…"

you sighed at Phainon’s lag, finally meeting his gaze. "however what?"

"you see," the man began, a bit reluctantly, "maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more friendlier? as far as i am concerned, you’re alone here. and so," he continued, prolonging the syllables of the words, "you have to be nice to people. if you keep glaring at everyone, then just imagine how that could backfire! no one around to help, no one to—"

must he always talk so much? it’s not that you were rude by nature, but his presence simply made you irritated. another thing to add to your list — he liked to force his beliefs on others, insisting he was so righteous. and he was a chatterbox.

"or maybe i just don’t find your company all that endearing, huh?" you interrupted his rant lazily, leaning your cheek over your palm. this conversation was starting to exhaust you much more than cleaning the entirety of your house.

Phainon breathed in, placing his hand over his chest, as if you genuinely managed to insult him. “mean! see? that’s exactly what i’m talking about." he huffed out, his eyebrows narrowing together.

you rolled your eyes, thinking that perhaps you truly were a little bit too unkind — but it’s not like you felt especially guilty about it, so you ignored the weak need of apology. "a grown man getting offended by something like that?" you mocked, shrugging. "i simply expressed my opinion. nothing personal."

his lips pressed into a tight line as he looked away from you, his line of vision locking on the rocky line of horizon. "you know, [name], you kind of remind me of someone." Phainon said, drumming his fingertips against his forearm.

you almost caught yourself asking — who?, but you held back, thinking the man was merely trying to pull at your tongue some more. without glancing back, you turned on your heel, starting to walk towards the door.

your movement seemed to snap Phainon out of his short stupor, "ah, you’re going already? see you then!" he called, though this time his voice wasn’t as upbeat as earlier.

"not if i see you first.” was all you replied with, shutting the balcony door with a loud 'thud!', and slipping off your flip-flops.

if you can’t even relax in your own house, then perhaps there was no rest for you in this place — you should start reconsidering your decision, and go back to the city.

——

go back to the city, you did not — one week passed since the moment you found yourself in this countryside, and even though your neighbor kept getting on your nerves, keeping you company during evenings on the balcony, offering you bottles of milk (which for some reason you didn’t get delivered), or waving friendly at you whenever you tended to your overgrown garden — you still stayed. maybe it was something in the air, or the vision of packing everything so soon and having to tug your suitcases back to your trunk was simply too much.

however, no matter how idyllic the time you had for yourself seemed (by which you meant — no Phainon in sight), some trouble came up. Bubbles was acting slightly off — it’s not like the cat was evidently sick, but its movements were slower than usually, and it made you worry. Bubbles was the ultimate highlight of your days, and you loved that animal terribly — so the second you noticed something was wrong, you called up the closest veterinary clinic.

a deep voice on the other side of the phone told you to come visit now — if you had the time, which you obviously possessed in ample amounts — so without further ado, you packed Bubbles into the carrier, and drove to the clinic. it took you some time to find it, which was surprising since you had the maps opened on your phone, and the village wasn’t overly big — but you miraculously managed to arrive before your cat would start to voice its sorrows from having to be driven around through the bumpy roads.

you gently grabbed the carrier, and entered the space, a characteristic smell attacking your nostrils. "hello." you greeted the lady at the front desk, smiling as politely as you could. "i came to have my cat checked up.”

the woman returned the gesture, her doe eyes flickering up from the computer as she examined your form. "and what does seem to be the problem?" she asked, her tone softer than you imagined it would be. most probably, she wasn’t the one who picked up your call.

"uhh," you began, a little unsure, "i don’t know. it’s just acting… off, so i got a little worried."

she nodded with understanding, asking for personal information and the cat’s name. once you were done with all the registering, she gestured towards the door, telling you the doctor was already waiting inside. in response, you sent her a grateful look, and quickly opened the entrance — only to be met with the sight of a face you prayed you wouldn’t have to see today — or ever again, for the record.

"[name]!" Phainon almost cheered, his eyes widening with recognition, "i didn’t expect to see you there. come, come." he ushered you inside, because as it turns out, you somehow forgot how to walk. you moved your feet reluctantly, your hold on the carrier tightening.

you felt absolutely flabbergasted. that fool — that absolute moron — was working as a veterinarian?!

upon taking in his navy-colored uniform, and the stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck, you had absolutely no doubts now. still, you found yourself asking: "you work here?"

Phainon laughed with obvious amusement, raking his fingers through the fair locks. "what do you think?"

ugh, was that déjà vu you were feeling again?

you tentatively settled the carrier down on the table’s surface, narrowing your eyes at the man. so he was the doctor. and he would be taking care of your cat.

"sorry, could i request someone else to take over?” you asked to no one in particular, looking around in hopes that another vet would pop out from the space, and help you out of the dire situation.

your neighbor scoffed with feigned hurt (at least you think it was feigned, looking at the way his eyes still crinkled in the corners). "why, [name], who do you take me for? i’m more than qualified, so don’t worry." he smiled at you now, taking a quick glance through the carrier’s bars. "oh, what an adorable kitten you have! what’s its name?"

"Bubbles.” you responded, curt and bitter as you continued to frown, anxiously chewing on your lower lip.

Phainon nodded in understanding, slipping on his medical gloves before reconsidering. "and is it friendly?" he mused, his blue eyes briefly flickering over to another pair of gloves of thick material, probably made only with the purpose of protecting the doctor’s hands. "or is it as feisty as its mistress?"

you listened to the man’s chuckle, as if the poor joke he just offered was the funniest thing in the world. "friendly enough." you said, tapping your foot against the tiled floor with impatience.

"glad to hear that." he carefully opened the carrier’s little doors, reaching towards your cat, now huddled into the corner. Phainon gave it a gentle tug, but once it refused to move, he sighed with resignation. "it’s scared of me. could you take off the carrier’s top?"

you cocked one of your eyebrows up at him, doing as he told you. "i’d be scared of you too, to be honest."

Phainon huffed at the comment, sending you a halfhearted glare — then, his focus returned to your pet as he picked it up, placing the animal down on the table. "hi Bubbles." he cooed at the cat, running his palm up and down its fur affectionately. the sight almost made your disdain towards the man soften, as you watched him smile so widely at the utterly anxious Bubbles. "what’s the matter, sweet thing?" he mumbled to the cat, even though it couldn’t answer him.

you took a singular step back, observing the whole charade with a dry smirk. "to be honest, i’m not sure myself. it was acting weird, you know… moving slower, eating less. i decided to bring it to the vet, 'cause i got worried."

Phainon seemed to mull over your words for a short while, and it didn’t surprise you when he came up with nothing. "i’m going to examine it, and then we’ll see what can be done." he decided, leaning down to look at Bubbles from up close.

everything that occurred then happened in a quick fashion — your mouth opened to warn him, next the cat’s whole tail seemed to puff up — before you could even say anything, sharp claws scratched the man’s pale skin, its reflexes too quick for a human to react to. you gasped, conflicted between bursting out into laughter, and expressing your hardly-genuine concern.

seriously, Phainon was either still inexperienced (which he earlier said he wasn’t, but as your list of annoyances told you — he was a hypocrite), or he was straight up stupid. you watched him jolt back, hand immediately flying over to his now wounded nose, feeling at the droplets of blood gathering up.

you winced. "oops."

"hey, you said it was friendly!" Phainon whined, quickly reaching for the napkins, and pressing one to his face. "for real, maybe someone else should take care of that troublemaker." he murmured, glancing towards the other door. "Mydei!"

who now? oh, so there really was an another vet — and it would seem whoever that was, they decided to ignore your earlier call for someone else’s assistance.

the door opened, a blonde man’s head peeking out as he took everything in with a stern expression, his sharp eyes narrowing at Phainon, who happened to be still gripping his bleeding nose. you almost wanted to take another step back, suddenly feeling small under his rather displeased gaze — if not for the polite nod he sent your way, you surely would have done so.

"Mydeimos, oh, my dearest friend, you’re the cat expert here." Phainon pleaded, his eyebrows narrowing, "wouldn’t you be so kind, and help—"

the veterinarian scoffed, immediately shaking his head. "first of all, you’re acting unprofessional." he said, his golden irises falling upon Bubbles, who still seemed terrified. "second of all, stop making a commotion. you’re scaring the cat."

"Mydei—"

"third of all," he interrupted mercilessly, going back to the separated room, "i’m getting prepared to check up on the horses, so i’m busy. take that as a no."

the door shut quietly, and once again you were left on your own with Phainon, whose expression was nothing short of defeat. against everything you felt towards him, you still sent him a sympathetic look — that Mydei guy really possessed quite a character.

"damn. and you’re calling me feisty when he exists." you remarked, careful to keep your voice low enough so the other vet wouldn’t hear you — if he did, then certainly you’d go flying out of the window.

Phainon let a silent snicker slip past his lips, "well, i’m not sure if you remember, but i did say you remind me of someone, didn’t i?"

you paused, unsure whether you should treat that as an insult, but ultimately decided to let it go — it wasn’t worth getting worked up over something like that. "…and you said he’s the cat expert. so what is your expertise, if you can’t even deal with a little feline? lizards?" you mocked, your eyebrows arching in amusement.

he shook his head. "well— i’m pretty sure you don’t share my sentiments, [name], but i’m rather fond of dogs." Phainon explained, "and by the way, lizards can cause damage too!"

your amusement only furthered when your gaze found its way onto the man’s exposed arms — scratches and bites in all variants of severity splattered across his skin, signifying he definitely had his own share of incidents with animals. "okay, whatever you say, doc." you huffed out, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes.

Phainon shrugged, throwing the napkin in the trash can, his focus returning to your pet. "well, alright then. let’s… let’s try again, shall we?"

as it turns out, your cat’s behavior was caused mostly due to stress — the new environment, smells, and everything piled up — but other than that, Bubbles was completely healthy, which caused you to breathe out in relief.

that evening, you didn’t see Phainon on the balcony. good riddance.

——

agony.

it was the only adequate word you could use to describe whatever you were feeling right now.

another seven days passed, and you deemed that as enough time to get acclimatized — the saturday’s morning started out slow, with you deciding to finally get a grip on your life, and perhaps search for jobs you could take up once you return to the city.

you set up your laptop, prepared yourself some tea, sat down as comfortably as you could with your pet making sure to keep your lap warm, and then it started.

that awful, absolutely terrible sound of complete anguish — drilling.

the second Bubbles heard it, the poor critter bolted from your legs, sprinting downstairs to probably hide from the loud noise. you wished you could do the same, except you actually had some work to do, so running away was out of question. technically, you could move your laptop somewhere else, but its battery condition was so bad, you had to keep it charging all the time — and it just so happened that the only accessible electrical contact was by your humble desk.

you knew who was making that noise. who else could be the culprit, but your annoying neighbor? it was only logical, looking at the way your semi-detached houses stood separated by a good few yards away from others.

that damned man, deciding it would be such a brilliant idea to start whatever renovations he had to do simultaneously with your work — not to mention, doing it so early in the morning. what time was it anyway, like seven? you glanced at your laptop’s screen — 7:31 AM.

you gritted your teeth, letting out a low grumble of dismay as you started typing on the keyboard. five minutes passed, then fifteen — all you did was stare blankly at the bright display of information you couldn’t possibly process through the clamor. you were wasting your precious time — no, Phainon was wasting it! if only you had his number, you’d immediately dial it, and start screaming at him to wait for at least the next three hours until he could resume the drilling (you doubted he’d listen).

with a sigh of resignation, you put your forehead in your hands, cradling it once you felt a headache building up behind your eyes, hammering painfully.

some time passed, and the noise was finally gone — which can’t be exactly said about your current migraine. you closed your laptop shut, thinking there was no way you would be able to continue with your lookout during such an insistent ache.

it was long since you felt so utterly livid. perhaps he was one of the few people who were able of evoking such strong emotions in you.

"jerk!" you yelled at the empty space of your bedroom, "stupid bastard! good thing you stopped, else i’d shove that goddamn drill up your arse!"

you huffed, and upon letting your frustrations out, you felt better — only slightly, but that was progress. it wasn’t like you, screaming and cursing like a spoiled brat, but at least you had a way of venting your anger caused by the ruckus. and it’s not as if Phainon could hear you, so you didn’t particularly care.

the rest of the day was monotone at best, and excruciating at worst. you didn’t do anything useful — tried wiping the dust off of some shelves, but they were already clean. then, you played with Bubbles, prepared dinner (which tasted awful, by the way), scrolled through your social medias, watching some mind-numbing videos until darkness came, and it was time for bed. you took a shower, changed, blew your hair dry.

everything you did was already a routine, and while it might have been relaxing, it was also boring — the sense of urgency in your body not letting you enjoy your quiet vacations, instead pushing you to do something more productive. alas, you found yourself lacking in the strength to even move a finger — well, almost, because instead of hitting the hay, you thought to step out on your balcony. again.

you were not surprised to see Phainon standing there, as it was also a part of the routine — you hoping to take a breath, and then being forced to listen to his usually thoughtless rambling. yesterday, he told you a story of how a cow kicked him straight in the gut when he was still a rookie to his profession — then proceeded to act offended when you laughed at it.

well, you found him annoying (especially now), but perhaps he was right about one thing — you were absolutely alone here. maybe the solitude caused you to become insane, pushing you to spend more time with him? yes, that’s definitely what happened. once your countryside excursion is over, you’ll certainly have to get your brain checked by a specialist.

Phainon clicked his tongue when you measured him with your dull gaze, setting your vision on the faraway trees as if he was but a mere speck of dust. "well, good evening to you too, [name]." he said, that ever-present smile already dancing on his lips.

you leaned over the barrier, feeling the gentle breeze rake through your hair, caressing your face. it was getting warmer and warmer by the day, and personally, you thought the change was for the worse. "don’t talk to me, or i’ll sew your mouth shut." you muttered under your nose, trying to ignore his intense eyes.

your neighbor tilted his head to the side, sending you a half-curious, half-teasing glance. "what? i didn’t hear you, [name]."

you knew damn well he heard you the first time, with the way he was standing so close to the barrier of your own balcony, looking like he was ready to take a leap across any moment, as if only to be closer to you. two another things to add to your list: makes too much noise (with the drill, to be precise), and has no concept of personal space.

"i said," you began, agitation arising in your voice as you turned yourself to face him fully, "shut your mouth, or i’ll shut you up myself."

Phainon whistled lowly, his eyebrows arching upwards. oh, if you had a rag, you’d definitely smack that empty head of his, wiping the smirk off his mouth. "[name], i’m already starting to shake in my boots." he hummed, amusement evident in his tone, "don’t look at me this way, or i’ll actually—"

your hand shoot up, stopping him from whatever nonsense he wanted to say next — you didn’t have enough mental strength to bear the things he could possibly throw your way. "no. just no."

"aww, must you always be so mean to me?" he whined, and you supposed you should spend less time with him. at first he was somewhat tolerable, but now all the initial politeness was gone, instead replaced with an unrelenting onslaught of winding you up.

another thing to add to your list: Phainon was a straight-up tease. (and you hated the way it made you smile sometimes)

with a heavy sigh, you looked back towards the rocky mountaintops, wishing you could just teleport there. "i’m not in the mood. i had a migraine from all that noise you made earlier."

the man’s confidence seemed to falter now, and he leaned back from the railing, clearing his throat. "oh, you mean when i started to drill? yeah, sorry 'bout that." he smiled sheepishly at you, scratching his nape. "are you angry at me?"

mere anger would be lenient, in this case. "take a wild guess, Phainon."

he clasped his hands together, his eyebrows knitting as he appeared genuine for the first time this evening. "oh, i must apologize. i should have told you earlier— i mean, about the drilling." the man leaned over, searching out your eyes. "does your head still hurt?"

what do you think? is what practically forced its way onto your tongue, but you held it back. déjà vu, déjà vu.

"no, i’m fine now." you breathed in response, "what did you assemble?"

Phainon seemed to consider your words for a second, before the characteristic smile found its way back onto his lips. "just a shelf. i ran out of space for my books, so i needed to add another one."

you nodded. "i see."

deep silence fell over you both, the only sound being the song of crickets, chirping away to their heart’s contents. Phainon’s mouth opened and closed, as if he was wondering whether he should speak up on whatever was bothering him right now — you, on the other hand, relished in the tranquility, his verbose tongue stopping for a rare moment of peace.

finally, he leaned over the railing so hard, you were sure one gust of wind, and he’d come tumbling down. "[name], honestly i still feel bad about causing you headache. as a compensation, why don’t you— i don’t know, let me treat you to a dinner, or—"

as if there was actually a fancy restaurant in this village. "save your money, i don’t need any compensations from you." you interrupted, pushing yourself away and starting to walk towards the balcony door. the only thing you didn’t need was your neighbor’s pity.

"hey, wait! you didn’t let me finish!"

was the last sentence you heard before shutting the door, and draping long curtains over the glass.

——

may came around, and life seemed easier now. after a month in here, your mind arrived to a rather simple conclusion — being on the countryside could be pleasant, at times. when you had nothing better to do, you’d leisurely lie down on the hammock you somehow managed to secure in your garden, the oak’s wide branches successfully obscuring you from unrelenting sun. Bubbles would accompany you, sprawled out on the grass, dozing off to the pleasant chirping of birds, its attention eventually caught by some grasshoppers.

the taste of lemonade, and the sweet scent of blooming lilac were utterly comforting, and so you found yourself enjoying the little vacations much more than you initially thought you would.

except — there was still one, big problem, and its name was Phainon.

you could recall it as clear as a day — his almost mocking chuckle as he peeked over the wired fence, watching you sweat when you worked on planting the potatoes, your knees digging uncomfortably into the soil. why you decided to plant them in the first place — you didn’t know, but you were bored beyond reason, and so the idea of indulging yourself with some true countryside life appeared somewhat enticing.

"are my eyes deceiving me?" Phainon laughed, spreading the tall stalks of sunflowers, which obscured his sight of you. "[name] actually tries to do something in the garden. who would’ve thought…"

you huffed in irritation, your eyes snapping up from the dirt you desperately attempted to dig out as you deemed fit (because you obviously were too lazy to even check how potatoes should be planted correctly — why not eyeball it?).

once your gaze met with the happy twins of blue, you felt an irresistible need of throwing the dusty soil straight at the man’s face beaming face. "yeah, i do. what’s it to you?" you murmured, starting to feel overly exposed.

Phainon shrugged, attempting to lean on the wired fence, but ultimately discarding the idea when the thing bent dangerously under his heavy weight. "nothing." he responded nonchalantly, but still refused to go away.

you scooped the dirt into your palm, clenching it into a fist before dumping in his direction. he ducked, briefly avoiding having his snow-white hair stained — then, he laughed again. of course. was the sound of joy the only one he could ever make?

you should add it to your list: laughs too much.

"wow, almost hit a bullseye.” he breathed, straightening out, "maybe you could prolong your stay and join us during the summer festival. there’s a plenty of games that consist of throwing." Phainon mused, and you snorted when one of the sunflowers bumped his head.

with a roll of your eyes, your focus returned to the ground, as you tried to resume your digging. "i’d rather not."

he clicked his tongue with dissatisfaction, that you couldn’t tell whether was true, or feigned. "ah, but why not?" he whined, his fingers hooking on the fence’s loops. "[name], if you really feel so unsure in your skills, then maybe i could play for you, and win you some prizes?" upon his coercion, you sighed, looking back into the giddy irises with an unimpressed expression.

"i’m sorry, Phainon, but do i look twelve to you?" a scoff escaped your lips as you took in his smile. "i don’t want teddy bears, especially not from you."

your neighbor seemed to deflate, almost just like balloons do. "especially not from me? and here i was, thinking we were already starting to get along."

you knew the hurt was feigned, because he had to work his lips into a thin, tight line, as if forcing back that insistent giggle threatening to slip past his lips — but he still looked like a kicked puppy, and you hated how it tugged at your heartstrings.

"stop guilt-tripping me." you responded bluntly, digging your small shovel into the dirt with probably much more force than necessary. "i didn’t come here to frolic around with you, and your friends. i actually have to get my shit together soon."

Phainon pushed his body onto the fence, evoking a weak creak from the old wires. "well, perhaps you should start getting it together now," he hummed, his intense gaze set on you, "because i don’t think potatoes should be planted during may.”

you halted your movements, chagrin prickling at your skin — come again? what does he mean by 'not planted during may'? all of your efforts — buying the potatoes, digging the rows during such a heat it made your vision go white — and now it would go to waste? maybe you really should have read something about the topic before taking up your work.

shame of an unknowing city girl washed over you as you let the shovel go from your hands. "why didn’t you tell me from the start?" you asked with pretension painted across your face, "it would’ve saved me some time, instead of wasting it!"

the man shrugged, sending you a smirk that was teasing, and yet so innocent at the same time. “i’m sorry, but you just seemed so engrossed. didn’t want to ruin your fun."

you seethed internally, already grabbing another handful of dirt into your palm. Phainon noticed your action, immediately hiding behind the shield of sunflowers. "seriously, [name], that’s like— common sense!" he continued, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you were absolutely sure he was grinning from ear to ear. "who in their right mind thinks that potatoes can be planted near summer?"

"well, maybe me?" you retaliated, getting up from your aching knees.

Phainon’s head peeked out from behind the flowers. "then you’re definitely in for some tutoring. maybe i should just teach you how to—"

you shoved the dirt into his face. he yelped dramatically, stumbling backwards, and falling on his ass.

for once, you could be the one smiling down at him with an undeniable triumph in your eyes.

…and that’s how it went. truthfully, Phainon’s unrelenting desire of keeping you company whenever you tried doing anything was quite perplexing. more often than not, you were simply mean — perhaps wanting to chase him away with your bitter attitude. he was either extremely oblivious, or didn’t care. but it’s not like he lacked in friends to keep himself practically glued to your hip — an obvious proof of that was now, as he cheerily conversed with familiar faces over the grill.

it was unbearably hot today, however you still failed to occupy yourself with anything useful, so you discarded your disdain for the sun, and decided to lounge in the garden. Bubbles was happily prancing around the grass, chasing after little bugs — and you felt the need of curling up on yourself.

Phainon, who seemed almost hellbent on always spotting your presence, turned away from the grill, and waved your way. you didn’t wave back.

your cat, possessing its ever-traitorous nature, hopped over to the wired fence, rubbing against the rusty wire. the man immediately crossed the distance and crouched, his eyes softening, which was a vivid contrast to the wide smile he still donned. he reached over to the animal, sticking his fingers through the fence, and petting its little head as Bubbles purred upon the newly-received attention.

"Phainon," a deep voice called from over the grill, causing your neighbor to turn his head, "what are you doing over there? the bread is gonna burn."

"then just take it off yourself!" Phainon retaliated, huffing out in frustration before his gaze returned to the pet — then to you. "how’s Bubbles? already feeling better?"

you dragged your feet closer to the pair, crossing your arms over your chest as you studied his hunched form, caressing Bubbles’ fur. the man had to practically force his way through the sunflowers, and other lush bushes obscuring his way — he really must have loved animals… or bothering you.

with a shrug, you leaned down to give the critter a small pet on its back too. "it’s feeling way better." you responded briefly, not wanting to expand upon the well-being of your cat. Phainon already did what he had to, and he wasn’t at work now, so it frankly wasn’t his business.

"is that right, beautiful?" he beamed down at Bubbles, finally retracting his hand. "well, i’m very glad to hear that. oh, by the way," he straightened out, gesturing with his head towards the people sitting by the grill in his garden, "[name], wouldn’t you like to join us? i’m sure everyone would love to get to know you."

you gave a sigh, the trail of your vision landing upon Mydei — who you were already acquainted with, because you took Bubbles for another check-up, and that time he was the one tending to your cat (thank gods), and the familiar lady from the front desk. you didn’t know her name, but she seemed friendly enough — so you waved in their direction, trying not to show how unsure you truly felt. both of them smiled at you.

you genuinely wanted to join them, because in contrast to Phainon, the pair actually seemed somewhat bearable — but it felt like… intruding. a weird sense of not being exactly separated from everything else, but also not belonging. "i’m sorry, but i must decline. i was— i was actually going to do some work now." you spoke to the violet-haired woman more so than to Phainon directly, and she gave an understanding nod.

"that’s alright." she took a sip of her drink, her irises briefly flickering over to Mydei, who was now busying himself with flipping over the meat, "next time, then."

you leaned down to scoop Bubbles into your arms, and your neighbor voiced a sound of disappointment, spreading the stalks of sunflowers further hastily. "oh, but [name], why not? can’t your work wait?" he whined, giving you puppy eyes. could he get any more pathetic than that?

a protest bloomed on your tongue, and you already opened your mouth to speak up on it, but another voice interrupted you. "give that woman a rest, Phainon. didn’t she say she’s busy?" Mydei spoke, and you breathed out in relief. truly a life saver.

"yeah." you affirmed, pressing Bubbles a little closer to your chest. "i’ll go now. bye."

with that, you turned on your heel, and walked back home, still feeling that intense gaze on your shoulders — seriously, would it hurt him to cut you some slack for once? it’s not as if he was lonely, unlike you.

so why did he continue to seek you out so much?

you stared at the chuck steak, now placed on your table — after your neighbor’s little get-together was over, and the slightly irritating smell of grill and burning meat dissipated (exactly — burning. you didn’t know what was going on, but you heard panicked screams of Phainon through your open window, wailing over the food he accidentally ruined), he decided to knock at your door. of course, you opened it, only to be met with a sight of neatly packed steak, practically pushed into your face.

you took the tupperware boxes, sending him a confused look — then, he proceeded to explain he bought too much, and they couldn’t eat everything, and how he didn’t want it to go to waste, and how delicious it was, and so on. this time, you didn’t interrupt his nonsensical rambling for a change, allowing him to stumble over his words awkwardly — for some reason, it was endearing.

after he was done with his hardly-coherent rant, you thanked him for the food, and closed the door in his face. for a second, you even wondered whether this steak was poisoned, or something — but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be completely edible. actually, you were quite surprised with the taste. it was exactly as he said — delicious. through his logorrhea, you managed to catch one information that stuck out to you — Mydei was the one to season, and prepare the portion.

it honestly was kind of bewildering to you, because that stern guy with a no-nonsense attitude didn’t look as if he was especially familiar to the art of cooking. well, as the saying goes — don’t judge a book by its cover.

still, you couldn’t help but feel gratitude, thanking the gods he was the one to take care of the meat, instead of Phainon — who, due to your earlier deduction, successfully managed to burn it.

once you finished your rather late dinner, you put the dishes away in the sink, deciding to let them soak for now. then, you continued on with your usual routine — shower, change, blow your hair dry, bid goodbye to Bubbles who was peacefully snoozing on the couch. drag your feet over to the balcony, open the door, greet your neighbor dryly… wait, where was he?

you almost caught yourself frowning at his absence. almost.

should you add it to your already long list of annoyances? doesn’t keep up with the unspoken routine: check.

usually, you’d be happy to find that the balcony beside yours was empty, except this time it irked you — why, you weren’t sure, but perhaps his company during the evenings, when the sky was already darkened, and splattered with bright stars, was the only consistent thing, keeping you grounded and secure in this still somewhat unfamiliar countryside.

but you’d never admit it. never.

so, with a reluctant sigh, you departed back inside, falling onto your bed, and closing your eyes. the hour was still fairly young, perhaps too early for you to fall asleep, especially since the air seemed oddly still — the chirping of cicadas distant, not quite reaching your ears.

now, you could easily discern all the other noises surrounding you — the creaking of your old house, Bubble’s quiet meows from downstairs, the loud yelp of pain — wait, what?

you jolted upwards on the mattress, listening to the following chain of curses, the sound of a familiar voice resonating muffled just behind the wall where your bed stood. you blinked in surprise, thinking — since when was the wall separating your rooms so thin? yes, you heard some weird noises before, but you chalked it up to nothing in particular, deciding to ignore them. right now, doing so seemed almost impossible.

you pressed your ear to the cold wall, meeting with silence. "hello? Phainon?" you called over, keeping your voice loud enough for the man to hear. another beat of silence passed before you heard a barely audible sound of footsteps. it is truly miraculous you somehow failed to guess where all the foreign noises were coming from (which was, most likely, caused by you living in your lavish family-house for the bigger part of your life).

once you pushed the side of your head closer, you could almost make out the ruffling of sheets coming from the other side. "[name]?" the voice resonated louder than you expected it to, causing you to jump back.

you found yourself almost laughing at the discovery, but at the same time, you felt somewhat disturbed by the lack of privacy you had from the start. "are you okay?" you asked, making sure to keep your tone clear.

a quiet chuckle reached you, and you thought Phainon really must have been acting quiet when he was alone — which was unusual, at least in your opinion, but what else could be the reason? after all, you barely heard him, and you already spent a month here.

"i’m— i’m fine." he stammered out, and you imagined him pressing his ear to the wall too. "just stumbled my toe on the table’s corner. nothing serious."

now it was your turn to giggle. "really? it sounded almost as if you had your leg cut off."

Phainon laughed louder now, and if not for the wall separating you away from him, you would’ve thought he was standing right next to you. "sorry. did i scare you?" he mused, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

"hardly. although," you sighed, now leaning a little bit more comfortably on the hard surface, "i didn’t expect the walls to be so thin. i got surprised, is all."

he hummed in response, seeming to consider your words. "well, i was aware for some time now."

"really?"

another chuckle. "yeah. uhh… do you remember when i was was done drilling, and you started screaming curses at me?" your neighbor recalled lightheartedly, and you felt your heart sink to the floor. oh no.

did he really hear you, back then? well, the possibility was rather obvious, since he now told you about that little outburst of yours. it wasn’t like you — to suddenly start feeling guilty about things that didn’t bother you earlier on. still, you couldn’t help but flinch in shame, thinking you wouldn’t mind if the earth opened, and swallowed you whole.

upon hearing your lack of response, Phainon urged. "[name]? you still with me?" you could hear the smile in his voice.

"yes, i am." you snapped out of your stupor, "sorry 'bout that. i guess i got a little too angry, then." you apologized quickly, feeling your cheeks burn. good thing you weren’t on the balcony now, else that awful man would tease the hell out of you.

listening in — you almost wanted to add to your list, but it wasn’t exactly his fault. plus, if you’d try to enforce that logic, you’d be equally guilty.

"ah, but don’t worry about that." he assured, as if sensing your concern, and you imagined him waving his hand dismissively. "i found it funny, just so you know."

you chewed on your cheek for a second, before finally deciding to let the topic go. "why didn’t you come out on the balcony today?" you asked instead, swiftly changing the course of conversation.

another, very quiet snicker which you barely were able of discerning. "why, is my lovely neighbor suddenly troubled about my well-being?"

if he were standing on that balcony, you’d push him off.

"no." you immediately refused, maybe a bit too quickly, "don’t get your hopes up. honestly, you could be dying right now, and i wouldn’t bat an eye."

Phainon scoffed. "ouch. your words are cruel as ever."

…well, perhaps you didn’t mean it to come out that way. truth be told, if Phainon was as much as sick, you’d be already worried — even though you didn’t want to admit that. still, he was annoying, and so you wouldn’t let down your bitter facade down.

a slightly awkward silence fell over you, and you finally started to feel fed up with all the talking. too much happened today as it is, and now you’d rather face your embarrassments alone. "anyway, i’ve still got some work to do, so…" you trailed off, the lie easily slipping off your tongue.

"you’re still not finished?" the man inquired, and then you realized you offered the same thing as an excuse earlier, because you were probably too shy to join the grill.

was your mind always so slow, and clumsy? "i— i, uh, yeah, still not finished." you forced out, and it would seem it was now your turn to stumble over the words. "you know how it is. work, work…" you let out a dry chuckle, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice.

"but didn’t you say you were on vacations?"

that much was true — still, you felt a little bit too tangled in your own web of lies and excuses. with a heavy sigh, you said: "yeah, 'cause they fired me. now i’m searching for a new job."

you didn’t know what tempted you to admit your woes, and you were already starting to feel regret. it was a surprise when instead of a teasing remark, you got met with consolation. "oh… that’s unfortunate. i’m sorry, [name]." Phainon said, his tone unusually serious.

you nodded to yourself. "nah, it’s nothing. i already sent a plenty of applications, so it’s only a matter of time before i’ll be back on my feet." you huffed out a breathy chuckle. "you won’t be bothering me any longer."

"and so you’ll leave?"

you blinked, sensing the faceless voice become more muffled, and distant now. you almost hoped he would laugh at your sarcastic comment, but nothing of the sort reached you. "i suppose."

why was he asking such obvious questions? the day you met, you clearly stated you wouldn’t linger for too long — and now Phainon had the audacity to act all solemn when you simply repeated the facts. but, perhaps, you were a little sad too, to part with this countryside. if you could, you’d try and prolong your stay — however, the savings in your bank account weren’t looking as promising, and you knew you had to get a grip. long gone were the days of your parents supporting you.

"ah, i know, i just—" he lagged, "never mind. you know what’s best for you, [name]."

hearing the evident defeat in his tone, you banged at the wall, once but hard. you didn’t like when he was acting so odd. upon your action, you received a startled yelp from the other side — and then a laugh. "stop acting as if i’m going to die, Phainon. maybe i’ll come visit in a year, or two."

"yeah! that sounds— that sounds great." he said, and you pretended to ignore how fake his upbeat words sounded.

you glued yourself off from the wall, lying down in your bed. for some reason, your eyelids got heavy, and the tension that built up between you appeared unbearable (at least in your opinion). "i’m going now. goodnight." you called, pulling the sheets over your body.

you frowned when you received no reply, but didn’t push further.

——

you were… stalling.

right now, the calendar clearly indicated twenty-first of june, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the innocent object, as if it was its fault for your reluctance to leave.

you have tried to pack and go — truly. but a week ago, when you opened your suitcases, you heard a characteristic knock on the wall — and then you proceeded to talk with Phainon for one hour, before deciding to go out on the balcony, and converse for another two.

three days ago, you’ve gathered up your resolve, swearing you wouldn’t get distracted this time — except Bubbles was nowhere in sight, and after your restless search for the animal, you spotted it sprawled out in Phainon’s garden, its tail flickering gently as it leisurely rolled over to the side, obviously relishing in the sun. with a heavy sigh, you committed the act of breaking and entering — well, could you even call it that, when the gate of his fence was open? (thank gods he was at work then).

yesterday, you already had enough of your laziness, and even started taking out your clothes from the wardrobe, but then Castorice, who you managed to become friends with, payed you a visit with a big tray of strawberry cake (bless that woman’s soul).

and so, you finally took the fate’s hint, and decided to lay off your departure preparations for now. it was honestly terrifying how easily it came to you — you simply checked your financial situation, esteeming it as poor but manageable, called your parents to let them know you’ll stay for another week or two, and then pushed the suitcases to the corner of your room.

alas, your quiet day of tranquility came to an end rather quickly, and the second you saw who was calling you up, you almost started to curse yourself out for forgetting — astronomical day of summer, and that damned festival…

you swiped over your phone’s screen, picking up with reluctance. "what?" you greeted dryly, not even bothering to contain your disdain.

"[name]!" that usual, awfully cheery voice resonated from the speaker, and you frowned upon hearing it so loudly. "are you free today?"

you wanted to say — what do you think?, but due to tradition, kept your mouth shut.

"yeah." you offered instead, leaning on the soft cushions of your couch, rubbing at your temples. it would be easier to say no, but the longer you spent in this countryside, the further your weird fear of missing out grew — and since you’ll be leaving soon anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to socialize some more… probably.

you heard the weak sound of shuffling. "great! uhh, do you remember about the festival? maybe you’d like to join us?" you opened your mouth to reply, but Phainon didn’t even give you the chance of voicing your opinion. "well, i’ll be at your door at around… 6 PM? oh, and Mydei and Cas are coming too, just so you know.”

an exasperated groan ripped from your throat, and you wanted to berate him for not letting you speak — it would seem he already made the decision for you. "fine, geez, calm down." you muttered, the corners of your lips itching upwards at his hasty rambling. "just don’t be too late, okay?"

"of course, i’d never let my beloved neighbor wait for me!" he laughed, and you looked up at your ceiling, as if calling out for help from the gods. it appeared they preferred to ignore you today.

you didn’t even say goodbye, immediately hanging up with a sigh of relief. the clock hands indicated a late afternoon, so perhaps it would be better to start getting ready now. you pulled yourself upright, already tired by the vision of an indescribably long day ahead of you.

the loud, upbeat music attacked your ears as you stood tucked away in some corner with Phainon, not wanting to obscure the road for other people, as there were rather plenty amounts of them moving around. only after a prolonged minute of suffering, you noticed you were literally standing by the tall, big speakers — no wonder the music was so unbelievably notorious.

your casual outing started rather calmly, even though you could already hear the clamor from the distance — good thing your house was located far away from the vast fields, now pumping with life as everyone either drank, danced, or tried to shoot their shot with the games. only halfway through your walk, Mydei called Phainon to let him know that something came up — your neighbor’s face fell, and as you asked him what’s wrong, he explained about the 'cows' and 'complicated labor', and that Mydei and Castorice won’t come.

you nodded stiffly, hardly making any sense from his words, but that’s the life of a veterinarian, you supposed. still, the dread of being forced to spend time alone with him — not just talking on the balcony, or bickering through your fence (or wall, as of now), but rather really, really spending time. just the two of you, with no one around to help you out of the awkward situation.

and so, right now you were shifting your weight from one leg to another, pondering how long you’ll have to keep loitering before Phainon graciously offers something to do. his blue irises flickered over to your form time to time, and every time your gazes met, all he did was let out a nervous chuckle.

it would appear he didn’t think the situation through, just like you.

you tugged at his t-shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level. damn him, and his stupid genes for making him so tall. "what should we do?" you asked, keeping your voice audible enough to pierce through the commotion.

Phainon’s whole body seemed to react to your words, his tense shoulders slouching with relief. "there’s many things we could try." he offered, still leaning so close to your face, you could almost smell the minty scent of his breath. for some reason, now you were the stiff one, your nape washing over with salves of hotness. "would you like a drink? or try some games?"

you studied his smile, as friendly as ever, and looked around to scan your surroundings. "maybe games?" you decided weakly, recalling how he once complimented your throwing skills — you doubted it was genuine, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

the man nodded in understanding, the corners of his lips curling upwards even further as he started to take wide steps towards one of the stalls. you pushed through the crowd, trying to keep up with him — not only was he tall, but he had long legs too! ugh, you supposed those things go in pair.

after searching for an adequate game to play, you finally stood before a rather simple one — throw the balls into buckets, win a prize. easy, no? except the buckets were small, and the balls absurdly light — for a second, you wanted to tell Phainon it was an absolute scam, but he seemed so hellbent you decided to keep quiet. it’s not like he’d listen to you, anyway.

your neighbor’s turn came first, and you snickered under your breath as he kept missing. at first, he boasted just how great he is at the game — then, as his frustration grew, he proceeded to whine and wail at how rigged it was.

"you absolutely suck." you clicked your tongue, tilting your head to the side as you observed him throw in the last ball — it rolled off the table’s surface, disappearing somewhere your eyes didn’t reach.

Phainon’s face whipped in your direction as he frowned at the comment, his eyebrows knitting together. "i swear i don’t!" he retaliated, a mixture of disappointment and ire painted across his features. "if you’re so smart, then why don’t you try yourself, huh?"

the game organizer laughed at your interaction, his gaze flickering over to you, as if he was beckoning you to test your strength. with a shrug, you paid the fee, and the older man handed you five balls. you tested their weight in your palms — light, just as you thought. you knew you’ll probably fail just as miserably as Phainon, so you threw one of them without much finesse — and you actually succeeded. your eyes widened in surprise as the owner of the stall whistled, a rumbling chuckle escaping his mouth.

"well, would you look at that!" the stranger exclaimed, as if even he was taken aback. "sir, turns out your lady is much better at the game than you!" he laughed once more, and you gaped— what did he just call you?

you looked at Phainon, wholeheartedly expecting him to correct the man, but all he did was give him a tight-lipped smile, scratching his neck abashedly. maybe he didn’t hear the older one clearly? well, never mind, it’s no use dwelling on that — you threw another ball, trying to mimic your movement from earlier — it fell into the bucket. the third one wasn’t so lucky, but the fourth one managed to score as well.

Phainon stood behind your back, his hands flying over to your shoulders and shaking you excitedly, "c’mon, [name], you got this! only one left!" he exclaimed animatedly right beside your ear, making your skin crawl at his overly-enthusiastic demeanor — it would seem his earlier bitterness completely dissipated now.

you huffed, shaking him away. "lie off or i’ll miss!" you said, straining your tone to dominate over the ever-present loud music and noise. he took an obedient step back, and you swear you actually started to feel a little afraid of losing now — it’s not like they’ll have you publicly executed if you mess up, right? right?

with a bated breath, you threw the remaining ball into the bucket — you anxiously observed it swivel around, almost threatening to fall out, itching over the edge — and then, it rolled down, stopping at the bucket’s bottom. you caught yourself wanting to jump up in triumph, but all you did was send a self-satisfied smirk towards Phainon, obviously signifying: see? i’m better.

the man cheered in your stead, reaching over to pat your back, and you couldn’t help but relish in the positive attention directed straight at you.

the stall owner cleared his throat, gesturing towards the row of plush toys located behind him. "for four successful throws, you can choose something from this section." he explained, and you measured the cute muzzles of various animals — you almost pointed towards the cat of an eerie resemblance with Bubbles, but then another one caught your attention. a dog of white fur, it’s dark, beady eyes sticking out, as if the object was mutely begging to be picked.

"i’ll have that one, please." you said, gesticulating towards the toy. it was given to you, and you inspected its goofy face, smiling unconsciously at the slightly crooked nose.

you then turned to Phainon, pushing the thing into his arms. personally, you had no need of stuffed toys, and the space in your suitcases was already very limited, so there was no way you’d drag it all the way home. and… perhaps it was worth it, looking at the way his whole face lit up. "oh, is that for me?" he cooed, lifting the dog to his eye-level.

you shrugged nonchalantly, pretending as if you didn’t notice the way Phainon continued to ogle the toy for the whole time of your game. "yeah. never thought i’d see someone who’s pushing thirty being so excited to have a stuffie." you remarked sarcastically, though your voice lacked in any real bite.

"thank you, [name], i’m going to cherish it forever now!" he ignored your comment, leaning down to embrace your shoulders with his free arm, the white dog resting under another — and for some reason, you didn’t find yourself pulling away. a mere eye-roll would be enough to voice your completely truthful, and totally not feigned disdain for the action.

after you were done hopping around all the other stalls, you decided to sit down for a drink — which in your humble opinion, wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t find the strength to refuse Phainon. you huddled with him on the lengthy benches, one of your sides pressing against him, and the other briefly brushing against some unfamiliar woman, who seemed to be too occupied with her conversation to even pay you any attention. which, of course, you were grateful for.

the same couldn’t be said about Phainon, who casually leaned over the wooden table’s surfaces, happily chattering with acquaintances and strangers alike, occasionally introducing you.

you stopped at one cup of beer, deeming that as enough, but your lovely neighbor continued to drink one after another — after the fourth glass, you stopped counting. he seemed to uphold pretty well, still talking with enough finesse to make out what he wanted to communicate, and even asking you out for a dance multiple times — it’s not hard to guess whether you decided to accept, or decline.

still, nothing lasts forever, and soon it got dark enough, with you becoming quite bored with sitting around and listening to the conversations around you. Phainon’s face was now slightly blushed, and his hair disheveled more than usually, which was an obvious sign you better go before he starts making a fool out of himself.

right now, you were practically dragging his arm forwards, berating yourself for thinking you could ever deal with that man-child. "c’mon, move faster or i’ll leave you here, and you’ll perish in those bushes." you urged, pointing towards the rather dense flora on the side of the road.

he chuckled in response. "nah, you wouldn’t."

"wanna see for yourself?"

that seemed to shut him up. for now.

a beat of silence passed as you tried navigating through the darkness, the only source of light being moon, and the distant leds of the festival. "[name], did you enjoy yourself today?" a slightly unsure, but still obliviously jovial tone came from beside you.

"i guess." you responded dryly, even though a multitude of insults kept forcing themselves onto your tongue. for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to throw any mean comments at the man — which was unusual, so perhaps you were drunk too. no matter if you only had one cup.

"you guess?" Phainon started, the syllables of his words slurring slightly, "that’s not an answer, y'know!"

you huffed, deciding to indulge his drunken mind. "yes, i had fun today, thanks to you, and only you. happy?" you deadpanned, and the man’s eyes seemed to brighten as he reached out to ruffle your hair, still trailing one step behind like a lost puppy.

"very!" he affirmed, nodding excitedly. seriously, if he was pathetic while sober, then what levels did he reach now?

you sighed with resignation, shaking your head as you continued to lead Phainon towards your houses. once you got there, he was almost ready to bid you goodbye, but you opened the gate for him, ushering the man to step forward. looking at the stumble in his step, that moron could accidentally hurt himself — and you didn’t want to explain to the paramedics how your neighbor decided to get wasted, proceeding to slip on the cobblestone stairs of his place, and cracking his skull open.

"ah, [name]," Phainon crooned, batting his thick eyelashes at you, "i didn’t know you actually have a heart!" he joked, wincing when you slapped him across the wrist.

"i just don’t think you’re capable of conquering the stairs by yourself, dumbass." you nagged, though truthfully, your worries stretched much further. a drunk person is extremely vulnerable, and, well, Phainon could be rather… unfortunate at times, so you’d better not risk it.

the man dragged his feet over to the entrance, patting the pockets of his pants before pulling out the keys. after another failed attempt of pushing them inside the lock, you clicked your tongue in irritation, taking them and opening the door yourself. it was your first time visiting the man — such a way to make an impression — so you looked around the space of his home, thinking it was rather cluttered for someone living alone. not to mention, that house was built at least for a family of three — and he never mentioned having any, so why is he…

"do you really live here alone?" you found yourself asking, observing Phainon as he struggled to close the door.

you briefly noticed his shoulders stiffen, but he nodded. "for some time now, yeah." he answered, his voice quieter than usually. he turned to you upon hearing the lock click, his smile a little too tight, and you sensed you were treading into a dangerous territory.

your curiosity almost got the better of you, especially since he was drunk, and would probably spill anything you wanted to know — but you quickly discarded the idea, thinking you could never take advantage of him. "alright, i won’t ask. stay there, i’ll bring you a glass of water."

Phainon nodded obediently, leaning on the wall as you turned on the big light, and tried to find your way to the kitchen — which obviously wasn’t hard, because as it turns out, even the layout of your rooms was the same.

you swiftly took out a singular cup, filling it up with tap-water before your attention got caught by something on the fridge — a few photos stuck to the surface with colorful magnets. it wouldn’t be polite to pry, alas your earlier ignited curiosity demanded for you to take a closer look — and so, you stepped a forwards, quickly scanning the contents.

the first one depicted Phainon and Mydei in their veterinary uniforms — the blonde’s man arm was loosely slung over Phainon’s back as they posed for the casual photo. a small, brown puppy sat in his embrace as your neighbor smiled widely at the camera, exposing a row of pearly whites. for some reason, he looked happier then.

next one was of similar nature, with Castorice and Phainon sat atop some hay, two calves resting on their laps — nothing else caught your attention.

the third picture was much more thought-provoking. Phainon and an unfamiliar girl of fuchsia hair stood in front of a sea — her lips were curled into a smirk, while the man’s mouth was open, brows furrowed, as if the photo was taken during some kind of a lighthearted bicker. you didn’t know who she was.

another one presented you with more context — a family of four, posing in front of a statue you couldn’t exactly discern. the fuchsia-haired girl seemed to be his sister, leaning on Phainon’s side as she licked on some icecream. beside them stood two other people — a woman of the same fair locks Phainon possessed, and a man, grinning from ear to ear with thumbs-up.

your eyes already flew over to the next one, but a distant call rapidly snapped you out of your reveries, almost causing you to drop the glass. "[name]! did you die here, or something?"

you cursed under your breath. "coming!"

you forced your feet to move, but your thoughts still reeled over and over again, and you felt an uncomfortable ache in your chest — just what happened to Phainon? where was his family now? did they decide to move, leaving him alone here? oh, but that didn’t make any sense — the house was obviously full of their stuff, because there was no way he would need so much of everything.

you decided to abandon your pondering for now, thinking you’d find another occasion to ask. "sorry i took so long. let’s go to your bedroom." you breathed, flashing him an apologetic smile.

Phainon didn’t protest, beginning to climb upstairs with you in tow, making sure that if he stumbled, you’d be there to catch him. his bedroom was even more so cluttered than the entirety of the house — books sprawled out on the desk with papers messily thrown around, ceramic figurines sitting atop some shelves, a few plastic bottles of water discarded all about the space — still, you thought it definitely fit him.

"ugh, i’m so exhausted." he groaned, sitting on the mattress as you handed him the glass, turning on a small lamp standing on the bedside table. the man sipped the water hastily, tilting it at such an unfortunate angle it spilled across his torso, soaking his t-shirt. Phainon mouthed something under his nose, placing the plush toy beside his head as he fell heavily onto the bed.

you rolled your eyes, observing his half-asleep form. "seriously?" you asked, searching his wardrobe for a new top — once you succeeded, you turned to face him again. "at least change, for gods’ sake."

Phainon voiced a sound of protest. "don’t wanna. too tired." he mumbled, evidently defeated by the alcohol still running through his bloodstream with fervor.

you sighed, closing the distance between you, and begrudgingly easing his shoes off, placing them neatly in the corner of the room. then, you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards. Phainon laughed weakly at your action, his big palms catching your wrists. "wow, i didn’t take you for someone so bold." he gave you a lopsided grin, and you wished you could smack him across the head.

"shut up." you warned, and the man thought to lie off with the teasing remarks — a wise decision indeed.

you took off the clothing, throwing it on the nearest chair before you started to tug on the new, dry tee on his shoulders. "arms up." you instructed, and you felt as if you were playing dress-up with a very large, uncooperative doll (meanwhile also having to avert your eyes, because staring at the toned chest was definitely improper).

Phainon hummed in satisfaction, stretching out. "thanks, [name]. what would i do without you?" he mused, and you found yourself terrified to hear that his voice was unusually tender. why were you helping him in the first place?

(the answer lied somewhere far away, at the back of your disarrayed mind — but for now you were way too scared of admitting it, even in your thoughts).

you gently grabbed his shoulder, pushing him to lie on his side. "stay like that. preferably don’t move at all." you said, your eyebrows unconsciously narrowing together. "if— if something happens, just call me up, or knock at the wall. understood?"

before you could even take a step back, a hand shoot out to grasp yours — your breath hitched, eyes widening as you felt Phainon’s fingers locking through yours, keeping you in his grip. "are you going already?" he asked, his hazy gaze seeking you out with such insistence, you thought your heart might just crawl out from your throat.

what was he doing to you?

"…probably. you need to sleep it off." you murmured meekly, trying to keep your voice steady. "don’t want to bother you any longer."

Phainon huffed out a dry chuckle at that. "bother me? you could never, [name]." he spoke, and something in your gut told you he must have hit his head earlier, when you weren’t paying attention.

upon receiving no reply from you, his expression shifted into something slightly dejected, and you wanted to burst out from a mixture of ambivalent emotions swirling in your poor brain. "when are you leaving? i mean, the countryside." he inquired quietly, pressing his fingers tighter around yours. you hated how easily you could discern anxiety in his eyes.

you considered his words, leaning down, just a little. "don’t worry about it now."

the man seemed unsatisfied with your dismissive answer, a somber grimace blooming on his face. "tell me."

you let the air out from your lungs; why not add it to your list? stubborn as a donkey. "soon. in a week, or so." you explained, your erratic heartbeat still yet to falter. "maybe longer, maybe not. we’ll see."

Phainon mulled over your words, the cogs in his mind turning slowly as he tried to process whatever information you threw at him. "and will you visit soon?" he questioned finally.

that you weren’t sure of. what’s his definition of 'soon'? a few months? a year? well, if you know Phainon, you’d bet all of your money for an absurdly short amount of time — something like… five days. maybe four. "i don’t know." you answered truthfully, because you didn’t feel like lying him straight in the eyes.

for a brief second, he looked done with the interrogation, but then, his mouth opened again. "and must you… must you really leave? [name], i—" he winced, hissing in pain. you knew drinking would be a bad idea. "i know you have your own life, but it’s not like— it’s not like you’re not enjoying yourself, right? i could help you find a job here, actually, i already have a plenty of ideas what—"

your free hand shoot up, cutting his slurred rambling short — now that was new. you knew Phainon got attached, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get as well, but you never thought it extended to such an intensity. your annoying, irritating, absolutely awful neighbor was thinking of searching for a job, specifically for you — and for what? so you’d stay?

you couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore, and you thought you actually blessed him with a favor by interrupting the vulnerable rant. in the morning, when he sobers up, Phainon would surely regret spilling so much (that is, if he even remembered).

still, his desperation with constantly seeking you out, and making vast effort to please you remained a riddle — and then, as you frowned at his expression bordering on panic, you came to a rather simple, albeit morose conclusion — he was lonely. previously, you were sure things like that stretched only in your direction, but upon looking through the cracks of his mirthful mask, you couldn’t ignore the vivid sorrow seeping out of him.

you recalled how much he enjoyed talking, and occupying himself with anything, at all times, as if only to keep his mind busy. earlier on, you didn’t understand how someone could possibly push through a long day of work, and then demand even more stimulation — now it was almost logical. then, his quiet nature when he was alone, either reading or doing gods know what, treading his bedroom so silently you wouldn’t even know he was there.

and finally, the photos of his family, stuck to the fridge, their smiling faces frozen forever in time. if Phainon had a fallout with them, surely he wouldn’t keep the memories exposed in such an obvious place — the possibilities tugging along with that conclusion almost made your heart stop, your stomach churning uncomfortably.

"Phainon." you spoke, trying not to show how much all of this affected you. "you’re drunk, and you don’t make much sense. we’ll talk about this once you’re sober, alright?"

that stupid glimmer of hope in his eyes seemed to go dim, and he merely nodded in understanding, ultimately deciding to ease his grip from your hand. you slipped it away from his slender fingers, instead reaching to his tousled hair, and brushing the bangs away from his forehead. "i’ll go now. sleep well."

"okay. you too." the man answered, and you waved at him briefly before silently shutting the door, and descending downstairs. if you wanted to, you could go take a peek at the photos again — but for some reason, it felt like a way of betraying trust — even if Phainon didn’t know you were doing it. still, you decided to stick with your moral compass, and left the house altogether, your heart unbelievably heavy.

——

twenty-second of june. the morning started out slow, with you waking up barely after 7 AM, and even though sleepiness continuously pulled you down into the mattress, you decided against lying and lazing around.

your thoughts were still heavy with what occurred yesterday, and the vision of Phainon’s utterly defeated, slightly flushed face haunted your memories, causing you to become restless. perhaps, you felt a little… well, bad, about leaving him alone when he oh-so obviously needed company — and if you’re not mistaken, he’s probably sleeping now, or just awoke with an insistent headache, completely hangover.

upon your guilt, a wonderful idea sparkled within your half-working brain — why not make him a gift, preferably some dry food, as if just to settle his stomach (in case the alcohol wanted to make its last revenge, and cause Phainon nausea as he hopelessly bent over the toilet).

with that, you concluded mere sugar cookies should be fitting — not overly sweet, but dainty enough for an appropriate gift — and most importantly, easy to make. for a second, your aspirations rose higher, and you almost found yourself calling up Mydei to ask him for assistance, but who in their right mind would get up at seven on the sunday morning? you quickly discarded the idea, afraid of meeting with his ire.

you were no cook, and baking was never your strongest forte, however after one hour of wrestling with the batter, and your slightly cranky oven, you were done (the recipe said it would only take thirty minutes, so maybe you were the problem). still, you couldn’t help but gaze at the product of your efforts with pride, now sitting nicely atop the tray. you tasted one — and while it wasn’t perfect, you deemed it as enough.

not so long ago, you let yourself buy a rather beautiful summer dress, with a ribbon tied loosely around its waist — and so you donned the piece, allowing the liberty of appearing somewhat presentable after a long night of tossing and turning. you didn’t bother packing the cookies into a container, instead parading straight into Phainon’s yard with tray in your hands — your thoughts reeled as you wondered what excuse should you offer. you made too many, and wished to share? they tasted shit, but you don’t want to waste? or — or anything, if only you didn’t have to admit that indeed, you were worried, and wanted to make him a pleasant surprise.

after all, it’s unlike you to be so openly kind — and you aren’t kind, no, you were always supposed to be stern and rigid. except now that facade you built up specifically for your difficult neighbor would be hard to uphold — with you dressed in a sweet summer dress, carrying cookies straight to his door.

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, feeling waves of heat crash over you, either due to nerves or the sun, that shone brightly down on you, even though it was still early in the morning. what could you say once you look him in the eye? how will he react?

you took a few steps forwards on the freshly cut grass, which Phainon seemed to enjoy mowing at the crack of dawn (as if only to spite you), and before you could spiral downwards your slide of overthinking, the front door opened, a familiar silhouette emerging — that’s not how it was supposed to go!

you stopped dead in your tracks, feeling the surprisingly feisty wind whip at your cheeks — Phainon didn’t seem to notice you at first, his irises downcast as he intently studied the pattern of his cobblestone stairs with a pensive expression. you coughed, immediately catching his attention — like a medicine, the man’s whole face lit up, and he beamed at you.

"[name], hi!" he greeted, skipping over to your frozen form. your vision briefly scanned his appearance — he obviously showered not so long ago, now changed into a set of new clothes. "how are you? i was afraid you might be mad at me for the stunt i pulled yesterday." he laughed sheepishly, his eyes locked on yours, as if he completely failed to spot the tray of cookies.

it wasn’t easy, but you forced yourself to speak up. "no, i’m not angry at you." you explained in a strained voice. "actually, i was— uh, you know, wondering if you’re okay, and all that."

Phainon blinked at you, still smiling like a moron, the cogs of his brain turning — and then something seemed to click, because his eyebrows narrowed in a heartfelt manner. "ah, don’t say…" he glanced down at the thing in your palms, the corners of his lips itching even wider.

you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "yeah, that’s for you." you affirmed, sensing his uncertainty. then, you took in his pale skin, and the prominent eyebags, hanging lowly under the twins of blue. "are you hangover? you look like shit."

that earned a chuckle, and you almost sighed in relief upon hearing the sound of joy you earlier seemed to despise so much. "a little.” he breathed, "still, i can’t believe my dear [name] was so kind to bake for me—!"

you growled in exasperation, and Phainon stopped his sentence before your grimace could deepen any further. "if you don’t like it, then i’ll just eat the cookies myself." you huffed, flustered by the teasing remark. you wanted nothing more but to let your soul step away from your body, and bolt the opposite way.

"no, no!" the man gesticulated animatedly, shaking his head as his features turned coy again, "i like it. i love it, actually. it’s very sweet of you to think about me— so, uh, thank you." he laughed nervously, his palms reaching towards the tray.

you rolled your eyes fondly at his stammering, opening your mouth to offer a response — but then, a sudden, definitely more stronger gust of wind hit you both, causing the ribbon of your dress to unravel loose, and fly up into the air. you gasped, your eyes widening — Phainon didn’t seem to think much when he practically jolted for the lace, outstretching his arm to catch it.

and, since fate thoroughly enjoyed making a fool out of you both — your neighbor stumbled over your own legs as his chest collided with yours, subjecting you two to the inevitable pull of gravity while the cookies went flying along with the tray, and you finally crashed onto the soft grass with a thud.

you gaped, staring at Phainon’s equally bewildered face, now hovering above yours. you tried to catch a breath the impact successfully knocked out of your chest — or maybe your inability of proper breathing was caused by the rather close proximity between you and the man.

"got it." he announced dryly, gripping the ribbon in his hand — which also happened to block out your shoulders, tightly trapped beneath him.

you don’t know what caused it to be so funny — all the effort you put into making the cookies, now wasted as they lied discarded somewhere, ants probably gathering to collect the sweetness of the dough. or maybe just how utterly terrified Phainon looked — pupils blown wide, eyebrows shoot practically into the hairline — his eyes studying you with panic, as if you’ve broken at least ten bones.

still, you couldn’t help but erupt into salves of laughter, pressing your eyelids shut as you continued to wheeze, so hard and intensely you started to feel tears gathering up, your whole stomach hurting. Phainon at first seemed confused, thinking that perhaps you hit your head too hard — but then joined in on your cackling, the sound ringing clearly by your ears.

you tried to recall when was the last time you laughed so hard — and you honestly couldn’t, because moments like these were unbelievably rare in your life. when you could let your guard down, completely disarmed — it would appear Phainon somehow managed to pry your psyche open, reaching into your brain, and fixing the circuits.

upon finally calming down, you slowly opened your teary eyes, looking up at the man — the sun shone brightly from behind his head, encompassing the while locks with its light, and you almost caught yourself thinking he looked like an angel, donning a halo. from this up close, you could easily discern the slightest scrunch of his nose, and the faint scar running across its bridge — Bubble’s making.

you hated yourself for it, but in a dream you don’t tell anyone, Phainon and you remain together. you don’t leave the countryside, finding a humble job. your neighbor helps you move in for good, tugging the suitcases with your stuff upstairs, and you let him decorate your room while you fold the clothes. you let him into your life, and he allows you into his — it would be a lie if you told you could remember when the line between neighbors, friends, and something more began to fade into one.

and then, when your poor brain began melting into a puddle, his voice snapped you out of the stupor. "[name], are you— are you alright?" he questioned, still smiling, albeit shyly now. oh, right — you almost forgot. he was still pressing you into the ground.

"what do you think?" you found yourself asking, that comically familiar sense of déjà vu washing over you at once.

in response, Phainon let out a timid chuckle, his face blushing a furious red, and you thought — maybe i’ll stay. perhaps that dream of yours, which previously appeared as an unattainable desire could become true. for some reason, you felt older, more tired now, and so you didn’t wish to part.

(you couldn’t. not when he looked at you like that.)

the man cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes. "i’m sorry. ah, the cookies, and—" he stammered, "your dress, i’m—"

that evoked a chuckle out of you, and you reached for the crown of his hair, giving him a consoling caress (which was supposed to help, but only made him shrink even more). "everything’s alright, no need to apologize." you hummed, smiling so widely it felt almost unnatural.

Phainon immediately nodded, making quick work of standing up, and helping you upright, perhaps a bit rapidly. "gosh, i’m so embarrassed now." he muttered, his tone bashful as he studied your form, as if searching for any injuries. "are you sure you’re alright?"

"i should be the one asking you that." you sighed, resting your hands on your hips. "you look as if you’re going to combust any moment."

the man laughed, scratching his nape — which was his nervous habit, you deduced by now. "i mean— yeah, yeah i s'pose so…" he mumbled under his breath, taking a reluctant step towards his house. "come inside, i’ll give you something to drink, or, i don’t know, have you eaten breakfast yet? i could make you some." he rambled, the loquacious tongue working overtime.

you nodded in a grateful manner, falling into step beside Phainon. then, you paused, as if remembering something. "oh, by the way, is that job offer you found for me still available?"

your neighbor stopped in his tracks, his face whipping towards you so quickly you were surprised to find he didn’t accidentally snap his neck — then, his expression morphed between astonishment and joy so vast you thought he might genuinely explode into a puff of confetti and glitter.

"what?" he asked dumbly, jaw slack.

a shrug. "you heard me."

the fuses in his mind seemed to lit up simultaneously, his contagious grin spreading over to your mouth. "so, does that mean you’re going to stay?" Phainon questioned, though it sounded more like a statement.

"yeah, i—"

before you could even think of finishing your sentence, strong arms whipped around your waist, hoisting you up into the air. you yelped, a surprised giggle ripping from your throat when Phainon twirled you around, cheering with joy as big as the life itself. you instinctively grabbed his shoulders to secure yourself, laughing along.

"h-hey, set me down!" you forced out, briefly glancing at the elderly couple strolling by, and watching the whole charade with evident amusement.

he shook his head in protest, pressing the side of his face to your shoulder, and you thought he truly resembled a dog. "oh, you’ve no idea how happy i am!" Phainon exclaimed — all you could do was roll your eyes in response, accepting defeat.

as he held you close — so tightly it felt as if your ribs might crush — all your uncertainties began to dissolve, vanishing like snow beneath the first sun rays of spring. at that moment, you knew with unwavering certainty that deciding to stay in this countryside was the right choice. undoubtedly so.

the truth is, everything was better with Phainon. no — everything has became better. ever since him, your dull days began to harbor more meaning. he didn’t simply enter your life — he seemed to force his way inside, bothering you with a multitude of jokes that hardly landed, and his nature of a chatterbox, and all the annoyances, and you still found yourself yearning for more.

he filled you up with that odd, wild desire to know everything about life. even the simplest words from his mouth, a casual “will you visit me today?”, began to sound with the weight of: "come home, [name]."

and you would. every time.