#i wanted to just respond with “cope lol” but a part of me wanted to handle it in a more mature?? way
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bueris · 6 months ago
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okay maybe I should seriously reconsider my path in life and sell my soul to marketing or journalism instead
#okay venting in the tags you are very welcome to ignore or not respond to it i just need to yell somewhere#i always thought id be an art therapist because well i care about people and want to help them and love art#but everyday i wake up feeling like a fraud and an imposter so like. should i really be doing all that when im not entirely#certain i cpuld handle it??? like i know i haven't gotten the meaty bit of the education towards that yet but like#university costs a disgusting amount of money here and if i pick the wronf thing im likely doomed forever thanks to awful government#i know things could get better like they did after thatcher but honestly im not putting any bets on it considering how the current labour#party is so like if i fuck up here im basically dead#also can i actually do art uni. like could i cope with that. im deeply unethused with art at the moment and honestly will i evwr be#idk#it was jusr a thing i always did but education around it is fucking soul sucking#also the emotional weight of hearing and solving people's problems as a therapist. i would consider myself quite empathetic for the most#part i feel other people's pain quite strongly and obviously as a therapist id be feeling that quite a bit so could i actually cope with it?#ik therapists have therapists but still#i mean im doing work experience at an occupational therapy place so ill just be extra inquisitive about it all to make sure im going#the way i wanna#I'll be fine by the end of a levels ill probably understand what i want in life#if not then gap year to work it out#should probably look at unis for english language too then#sigh#ucas website i may as well marry you#ill be okay im getting in my head about stuff im actually pretty good at art even if there are things i can improve on (like patience lol)#yeah maybe the voice telling me i suck doesnt know shit and should shut up#yeah#shut it nasty voice you're wrong actually!!! im doing just fine and you're being overly critical#they should make a brain that's your friend and not mush that hides the amalgamation of every bad thing ever in its crevices#crevices shoyild be filled with kindness and love.#sex jokes about that#why the fuck is yahoo mail syncing i dont use you you washed up search engine#bue waffling#vent post
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amethiosspouse · 10 months ago
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erm what the flip, one ur bullying a minor and my bio literally says dni if you dont like my content ;-; /hj
seriously though, i've had your ANON request sitting in my inbox for so long i might as well reply to it (the fact that you didnt have the balls to send this ask without turning on anon is just fucking hilarious to me). i've been debating whether or not to reply to this ask for quite some time now and here i am growing a pair and doing so (UNLIKE YOU).
first of all, where do i even start??? how does me making (low quality) content of my self inserts bother you to the point where you send a WHOLE ASS HATE SPEECH abt how much you hate it??? like, this sounds so cliche but the block button exists for a reason. simple as that. theres people out there making literal pokemon nsfw for a living and here you are complaining about the fact that i ship myself with a character???
second of all, a good part of your paragraph is just you saying my character is offensive. AS A PERSON WHO ISNT EVEN NON BINARY??? firstly, who even are you to say that?? non binary people can represent themselves however they want to. same goes to everyone else in the LGBTQ community. and i NEVER once in my life, labelled my selfships as BL ships. most of my yumes are either gnc/nonbinary or straight up cis male and most of their ships are with male characters but i always label them as either MLM or just "the gays" cuz of my limited knowledge on what to call those types of queer relationships.
this is the last part im gonna cover before making more amemari shit to piss ppl off like you ig but gamefreak/nintendo themselves have NEVER once confirmed a characters sexuality (from memory) and judging by the wording of your last statement im assuming youre mad that i label amethio as someone who isnt straight...
amethio is gay and suck my balls bro he kisses me 24/7 get over it
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seriously though, im still in awe someone would send me this and im happy to finally get this off my inbox <3
i could write more paragraphs abt how this persons hate paragraph doesnt make sense to me but im losing braincells as i type this and i honestly do not have the mental capacity to respond to this anymore.
to the anon who sent me this, try and find some real happiness apart from making fun of others and telling people what to do in life <3
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mazojo · 2 years ago
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What's yuri's personality then? Being gay?
About Minho, being mean and making mean two liners towards Kitty every in between?
ma'am this is a McDonalds drive thru
#ASDFGHFD I make like 2 posts about a random show I watched at 2 am and I get haters damn 😎#I normally delete the hate asks but this was too funny not to respond to#The fact they think Yuri's personality equates her sexuality when queen went through a whole arc of facing her parents#while struggling to be happy when she couldn't love and show who she truly was because of all the constructs placed on her#all while finding out she has a brother she didn't even know about while having her first real friends in Dae and Kitty#I think we didn't watch the same show like dont get me wrong its not my favorite show or anything close but if your takeway from Yuri's#personality is that she likes girls and that's it then your honor I have something to tell you#and about Minho his personality wasn't also only one liners lol he was just naturally kinda funny and that's part of his personality but hi#plot line also revolves around learning how to be more authentic and the way he seeks validation from others sometimes#bc of the absence of his parents who he loves regardless and humor is coping anyways Chile I could write an essay but I am too tired for th#stay pressed anon!! Yuri and Minho Stans stay winning xoxo#i dont even want to fight anyone it just irked me the way this person phrased the ask and if you meant no harm then I didn't either but#saying that Yuri's personality is only being gay and Minho being mean is kind of a weird champ take sorry#anyways probably last thing ill say about this show this is why I stay in my anime corner life shows bring these kind of asks#xo kitty#anon#ask
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leejenowrld · 7 months ago
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in your eyes — part 2 
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word count — 43k words
genre — angst, smut, fluff 
part 1 — part 2
synopsis —  campus life was just a series of fleeting connections until he found you. now, it’s you who he can’t forget, it’s you he wants to be known for, it’s you he wants to belong to.
chapter warnings — explicit content, swearing, mature language, sexual jokes, heated smut, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, voyeurism (yn gets off watching a video of jeno’s cock yeehaw), oral sex, intense emotional scenes, ‘daddy’ name calling smut scene, hard dom jeno, choking, jeno fucks reader in headlock, mirror smut, jeno pussy eater, reader sits on jeno’s face, degradation, slapping, spitting, exhibitionism, orgasm control/denial, name-calling, dirty talk, intense and graphic descriptions of sexual activity, emotional vulnerability, hard angst in this one, tear jerker moments, really emotional scenes, heated confrontations, heated fights, a lot of secrets and exposed, heavy reliance on drugs and alcohol to cope, lots of smoking, drinking, getting high, so many college parties, so many band shows, jeno and arin revelations, confused and misleading jeno, jeno and arin moments, reader, jeno and arin moments, girl boss yn, girl moments🫶, possessive sexy jeno, jealous jeno, full penetrative sex, soft soft smut, deep intimacy and emotional connection, size kink, with emphasis on fit and fullness, praising and reassurance during sex, consensual and tender dynamic, heightened emotional depth, including tears and deep affection, slow pace with meaningful, deliberate thrusts, nudity in a semi-public, playful and loving interactions with a focus on mutual satisfaction, declarations of love and monogamy, soft and passionate kissing, emotional climax with affirmations of love and fidelity
author note — it’s here 🥹🥹 thank you for all your love and support, this is the final part and it’s making me so emotional. i hope you all enjoy <3 get your tissues ready lol. please interact with this part and lmk what you thought!! means so much more to me than you’d know mwah enjoy 💋
in your eyes masterlist
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Silence fills the room.
You let out a hollow laugh, your body tensing as you prepare to stand up and walk away. However, Jeno's soft, pleading eyes root you to the spot. “What is this, Jeno?” you ask, your voice unintentionally gentle, betraying the firmness you had intended.
Jeno reaches out, attempting to pull you back onto his lap, but you shake your head firmly, maintaining your distance. He lets out a weary sigh, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. “Y/N, just hear me out, please,” he pleads.
“You have two minutes,” you respond, your tone flat, as you glance at the phone, the silence hanging heavily between you.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours as he grabs the phone from the table, an electric charge of contact that sends a shiver up your spine. He turns off the phone decisively, silencing it before Arin’s call can go to voicemail. You watch, puzzled and slightly overwhelmed, as he places the phone facedown on the table, ensuring that nothing distracts him from this moment with you.
Arin’s relentless calls continue, the phone vibrating insistently on the tabletop, but Jeno doesn’t give it another glance. His eyes, dark and intense, are locked on yours, conveying a seriousness that commands your attention.
“Those photos and videos shouldn’t be there, and I’m sorry I didn’t delete them. Honestly, I had a lot of photos and videos like that, with Arin, on my phone. I thought I had deleted them all, but obviously not. Some might still be there and I know how careless that is, I’m really sorry.” He says with a mix of regret and sincerity, his voice carrying a hint of apology and concern for your feelings. He's straightforward yet gentle, acknowledging the mistake and taking responsibility for it.
You take a deep breath, your gaze fixed on Jeno. His eyes reflect a sincerity that tugs at your heartstrings, warming the cold edges of your doubt. As he waits patiently for your response, the quiet empathy in his expression helps steady the whirl of emotions inside you.
“You really didn’t mean to keep them?” you ask quietly, needing just that bit of reassurance. 
“No, not at all,” he replies quickly, his voice firm. 
Feeling the warmth of his hand encasing yours, the sincerity in his voice helps tilt the balance of your emotions towards trust. You nod slowly, trying to process his words. It's not anger or disappointment that fills you, but a mix of confusion and uncertainty. You're unsure how to react, torn between wanting to believe him and feeling a pang of doubt nagging at the back of your mind.
“Why do you still have her number saved?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s hard when a storm of emotions is raging inside you.
Jeno pauses, looking thoughtful, as if he’s sorting through the right words. “When we—when we split up, a lot of things went wrong. It wasn’t just messy, it was painful, and I blocked her number to help myself move past it. That was over a year ago, and it took a while, but I’ve been trying to get over it,” he explains, his tone reflecting a mix of regret and contemplation.
“And when exactly did this conversation happen?” your voice shakes slightly, the weight of his words settling in.
“It was about six months ago,” he replies, the timeline aligning just before the two of you had started seeing each other more seriously, you sigh in relief. 
“So, you’re okay with her now?” you probe gently, needing to hear him say it.
He shifts slightly, making eye contact with you as he continues. “A few months back, she reached out. She apologized, and it seemed heartfelt. We had a long conversation, and it helped me see things from a different perspective. I’ve always found it hard to maintain bad blood with anyone, even if things ended badly. I’m a people pleaser. So, I forgave her,” he adds, a softness in his voice that tells you this isn’t just about moving on but about healing.
“Oh.” You mumble, a deep frown plastered on your face. "She keeps on calling, Jeno," your voice comes out softer, tinged with a hint of fear as the words hover between you, carrying more weight than intended. Your eyes shift to his phone on the bedside table, its screen lighting up insistently with each ring, the vibrations echoing the tension in the room.
He sighs, a deep sound filled with a mix of frustration and resignation. As he leans forward to grab his phone, which continues its insistent ringing on the bedside table, you move faster. Your hand snatches it up before he can touch it, pressing the answer button with a sharp jab.
“Hi,” you say, your voice flat, giving nothing away.
“Who is this?” the voice on the other end is light, confused, but undeniably sweet.
“Me,” you reply tersely, as if that should explain everything. There’s a pause—a moment of silence where the simplicity of your answer hangs in the air.
“Is Jeno there?” The voice on the other end is light, tinged with a hopeful note that makes it harder to stay indifferent.
You hesitate, the simple inquiry echoing oddly in your chest. “Yeah,” you admit reluctantly.
“Could you tell him Arin wants to speak to him?” Her voice is sweet, almost disarmingly so, and her words are polite, her request reasonable.
You turn to Jeno, relaying the message with a stiffness in your voice, “Arin wants to talk to you.” You watch his expression for any sign of what he’s thinking, but he remains inscrutable.
He doesn’t respond verbally; instead, he simply extends his hand for the phone. The ease of his gesture, the quiet acceptance, it isn’t what you wanted. You had hoped for a denial, a refusal, some affirmation that the past was just that—the past. Yet, here he was, ready to slip back into old conversations as if they were nothing.
Jeno's fingers gently curl around the phone, the action deliberate and calm. The warmth in his gaze as he met yours moments before shifts as he brings the device to his ear. There's a flicker in his eyes, something unreadable before they settle into a determined glint. You watch, almost holding your breath, as the conversation unfolds.
"I'm busy," he states simply, his voice firm, leaving little room for argument.
Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Despite the chaos of emotions swirling inside you, Jeno's blunt dismissal catches you off guard. It's a sharp contrast to the gentle way he usually speaks, and it anchors you back to the moment with a jolt of unexpected approval.
On the other end, there's a pause—a momentary breath of silence that feels charged with tension. "Will you call me later?" Arin's voice filters through, her tone a mix of hope and hesitation.
"Probably not," Jeno replies, his response as clipped as before. The simplicity of his words, the casual dismissal, it adds layers to the scenario unfolding before you.
"But, Jeno, it’s important," Arin insists, her voice pressing for something more, something beyond the brief exchange.
"Ok?" His intonation rises slightly, a question in the guise of a response, signaling he’s not committed to the promise of another conversation. His fingers tighten slightly around the phone, a visible sign of his discomfort or perhaps his resolve.
As you observe him, a mix of feelings courses through you. There’s an unexpected surge of relief that he’s not engaging more than necessary, yet a lingering doubt nibbles at your thoughts, wondering what was so important that Arin still reached out despite his clear resistance.
He ends the call swiftly, the screen going dark as he places the phone back down. His gaze returns to you, searching, perhaps unsure of how much you've interpreted or how deeply the brief exchange might have affected you.
"You handled that... differently than I expected," you venture, your voice a careful blend of curiosity and subtle approval. 
Jeno exhales, a long, deep breath that seems to release some of the tension that had built up. "I didn’t want to drag things out—there’s no point. It's better to keep it short and clear."
His response makes you nod, understanding his approach but still processing the entire interaction. The simplicity of his handling was reassuring, yet the complexity of his past relationship with Arin still hung in the air, an unspoken chapter that was slowly coloring the edges of your own story with him.
"You think she’ll call back?" you ask, a trace of concern threading your words.
He shrugs, his expression a blend of indifference and slight irritation. "Maybe, but it doesn’t change anything. I meant what I said."
His hand finds yours, the warmth familiar and comforting, and in that touch, you find a silent promise—a commitment to face whatever comes, together. "Why don't you want to talk to her anymore?" you ask softly, your curiosity tinged with a need to understand his perspective.
Jeno’s gaze locks with yours, his eyes reflecting a deep seriousness that seems to draw you in. “I’ve gotten closure from what happened with her. I have nothing left to say to her. I'm here with you now, and you deserve my full energy and attention,” he says earnestly, his hand reaching up to gently caress the side of your face, his touch conveying the depth of his commitment. The way he looks at you, so intently, makes it clear that he's fully moved on, though he adds, “I can't speak for her, but I’ve put it all behind me.”
You nod, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, but still a bit puzzled. "I don’t get it though, does she call you a lot?"
"A few times, but I always say I’m busy and end the call. You know, a lot of people reach out to me; I don’t pay special attention to her calls. They just blend in with the rest," he explains, his tone dismissive of the significance of her attempts to contact him, emphasizing his focus is entirely on the present and specifically, on you. His hand remains on your face, maintaining a gentle but affirming touch that reassures you of his priorities.
He releases your face gently and reaches for his phone, which lay forgotten on the table beside you. His movements are deliberate, each action punctuated with a silent promise of transparency.
You watch, your heart in your throat, as Jeno unlocks his phone. The screen lights up, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room. He navigates with familiar ease, a few swipes bringing him back to the gallery. His thumb hovers over the photo of Arin—a brief pause, a final acknowledgment of the past—and then he presses down, selecting the option to delete.
The action is simple yet profound. He doesn’t look away from you as he does it, his eyes holding yours, ensuring you understand the significance of the gesture. “It’s gone,” he says, a finality in his tone. He doesn’t just delete the photo; he also takes a moment to clear it from the recently deleted album, erasing all possible traces of her image.
He lifts your chin gently, guiding your gaze back to his. The warmth of his hands radiates comfort as they cup your face, the rough pads of his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. His eyes search yours, seeking to convey everything his words might have left unsaid.
He pulls you closer, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace that feels like a safe haven from the storm of emotions brewing inside you. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, where you can hear the steady beat of his heart—a reassuring rhythm in the midst of your turmoil.
He wraps a blanket around you as he notices the slight tremble in your shoulders, the soft fabric adding another layer of warmth. His lips find your forehead, planting soft kisses that make their way down to your closed eyelids, each touch light but filled with intent, as if trying to kiss away your worries.
You’re enveloped in his warmth, feeling the security of his hold tighten slightly when he feels you shiver, not from the cold, but from the emotional chill the photo has left in its.
“What’s gotten into you?” He asks you softly, you feel his fingers brushing over your eyelids, his touch gentle and comforting, yet there’s an underlying tension in the air. You hum in confusion, not fully registering his question as your mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Arin.
“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” you finally voice, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, echoing the turmoil inside you.
“Y/N—” he begins, but you cut him off, your curiosity burning within you.
“What’s happened with you and Arin? Why did you break up?” you press, needing answers to quell the unease in your heart.
“Y/N, it really isn’t relevant anymore—”
“You obviously used to love her at one point. It’s relevant. I’ve heard from many people that you and Arin were serious. Is it wrong if I want to know how you got together and why it ended?” you challenge, your voice firm with determination.
He exhales slowly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “What do you wanna know?”
“Everything,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with an intensity that demands truth and clarity.
“We were never officially together. She was never my girlfriend. But I loved her. I cared a lot about her and always wanted her around, but I knew there were a lot of problems with us,” he begins, his honesty setting the tone.
“How did you meet her?” you ask, curiosity weaving through your tone.
Jeno’s gaze softens, a reflective smile briefly passing over his lips. “I first met her when we were 16. We’ve known each other for a long time. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, always in and out of each other’s houses. We always found our way to each other.” 
As you listen to Jeno describe Arin, a tight pang clenches in your chest, but curiosity propels you forward. Questions spill from your mouth before you can stop them. “What was she like? How did you fall for her?”
He looks off into the distance, his expression softening as he reminisces. “She was like summer in a person—bright, warm, impossible to ignore,” he begins, his voice soft and reflective. “She had this laugh that could light up a room, and she was always so… alive, you know? Full of energy and love.”
You notice how his face lights up when he talks about her, the warmth in his voice unmistakable as he drifts back to those days. It’s clear from his tone and his faraway look that those memories hold a special place in his heart, even now.
He sighs, shifting slightly as he continues, Jeno’s smile widens a fraction, tinged with a youthful nostalgia. Pausing, he looks at you, ensuring the story is not overwhelming. “And yeah, we were each other’s firsts,” he admits, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.
"I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said no because she was moving away. That was the first time she ever told me," he sighs. "When she left, it felt like I was losing a part of me I didn’t know could be lost."
Jeno says, his voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "I dealt with it by trying to move on—I had sex with a lot of different girls, kissed others. It was my way of filling the void she left."
“Three years later, by some twist of fate, we ended up at the same college. It was like no time had passed at all, and all those old feelings came rushing back. We reconnected instantly, drawn to each other all over again.”
“But you were never official?” you probe gently, picking up on his earlier thread.
He shakes his head. “When we were 16, we were only together for a summer before she moved away. We were never boyfriend and girlfriend. We were exclusive though, when we were 16 and then in college.” 
“Nayoung mentioned that you guys used to casually fuck, that you were fuck buddies… friends with benefits?” you inquire, needing to understand the dynamics of their past relationship.
"It was more than that," he replies softly, his voice showing a slight frustration with the label. "It wasn't just about casual hookups. When we got back together in college, it was comforting and familiar. We slipped back into each other's lives effortlessly. It was like a habit, almost too easy."
Jeno’s eyes held a vulnerable honesty as he spoke, his fingers absently tracing the back of your hand, seeking a reassuring touch. “You probably think I sound so pathetic, so caught up in someone who I fell in love with when I was 16 and feeling the effects of that even after all this time.”
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his honesty. It’s difficult to acknowledge that he’s not in the wrong for his emotions; they are a part of his history, part of what has shaped him. “I don’t think you’re an idiot at all,” you assure him gently, meeting his gaze with a supportive smile. “It’s a lot of history, a lot of significant moments. It makes sense.”
He exhales, a sound mixed with relief and appreciation. Jeno’s eyes soften, the gratitude evident as he looks at you. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your skin in small, grateful circles. “You’re incredibly understanding, always.”
Silence overtakes the room and the eye contact you hold is intimate, the way he’s looking makes goosebumps run all over your skin and you suddenly feel so shy; his gaze is so heated and intense. You cough, averting your gaze. You feel him smile at your reaction, calling out your name softly as he leans forward to press his lips against your cheeks in a soft kiss.
“You were telling me?” you try to change the subject, wondering how he still manages to make you so shy and flustered.
He chuckles softly, his amusement clear as he appreciates your efforts to steer the conversation away from the deep. “Right, where was I?” Jeno teases gently, his voice low and soothing, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.
“You were saying you were more than ‘friends with benefits’” you remind him, finding your voice again despite the strain you feel inside. 
He nods. “When we reunited in college, at the start, yeah, it was very much friends with benefits. She wasn’t ready to commit. But then, I started catching feelings; I fell for her. God knows what she felt; she was never good at communicating or expressing her true feelings. I think she fell for me too,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. 
“What happened? Why did it all end?” you ask, your voice carrying a note of finality, needing to know the closure.
“I needed more,” he admits, his voice firm but pained. “I wanted something stable, something real. She was still caught up in having no labels, no commitments. And I...” He sighs deeply, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “I loved her. I really did. But loving her and always wanting more than she could give... It was draining. I ended it because I couldn’t continue halfway between what we were and what I needed us to be.”
He looks at you, his eyes clear and earnest. “It hurt, but it was the right thing to do. For both of us.”
“Oh?” you mumble, trying to process his candidness.
He hums, a hint of a smile breaking through the solemnity. “Not what you expected?”
You shake your head slowly. “I thought she did something wrong.”
“She wasn’t perfect, don’t get me wrong. I had a hard time getting used to such a negative side of her, especially because when we were younger she was nothing but kind. But when we started seeing each other in college, I noticed that she grew into something else completely, she had a lot of flaws. She was irrational, immature, and refused to communicate. We’d argue, and her way to fix it would be by trying to fuck me or suck my dick. It just infuriated me how childish she could be. She was also so jealous, to the point it was off-putting. She didn’t want to be my girlfriend, but she also got so annoyed if I ever spoke to another girl or did so much as look their way. She’s made a lot of girls feel uncomfortable because of how possessive she can be,” he explains, a mixture of frustration and resignation evident in his words.
“Nayoung mentioned something like that,” you murmur, memories surfacing from past conversations. “She said that she hated Arin because you stopped fucking her to go back to Arin.”
He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. When I ended things with Arin, I went back to sleeping casually and fucking around, to deal with heartbreak, I guess. She became so jealous; it was ridiculous. At first, I used to fall for it. She’d try to tell me that she wanted me back, tried to convince me that she was serious about her feelings for me, that she wanted us to be together. And I would always go back to her. I was still in love with her at this point, so I’d drop anything and anyone for that chance. But then I realized she was just toying with me. She was never serious about it. She’d only say that because she didn’t want to see me with another girl, even if it was only just for sex. But she’d completely disrespect me,” he admits, his voice carrying a weight of past disappointments.
“She really did break my heart, I feel like a part of me is still broken. It took a long time to get over her.” 
You swallow hard, absorbing the weight of his words. Avoiding his gaze, you gather your courage to ask, “Do you still like her?”
He chuckles softly, surprised by the question. “God no, I’m over it.” You want to sigh in relief, but something in his voice leaves you hesitant. Was he really over it? He answers so quickly you don’t know if you can believe him.
Really?” you probe, needing reassurance.
“I wouldn’t be here, with you, right now if I still liked her. I’m over her, trust me,” he assures you, his tone softening with sincerity.
“Do you still love her?” you blurt out, unable to suppress your curiosity.
He sighs, his tone serious. “Y/N.”
“Jeno,” you press, needing clarity.
“No, I don’t love her anymore. I stopped loving her a long time ago,” he states firmly, his words carrying a sense of finality.
“What if she told you she was ready? That she wanted a relationship?” you inquire, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
He shakes his head firmly. “Nothing she says will ever make me change my mind. I will never feel the way I used to. I don’t trust or love her anymore.”
“Oh, very nice,” you respond bitterly, not quite knowing what to say, you were at a loss for words.
“You sure?” he says, amusement lacing his tone at your understated reaction.
His gaze softens, and he shifts your positions, guiding you until you’re sitting on his lap, your chest pressed against his. His hands settle on the small of your back, pulling you close to his chest, his touch soothing the tension he senses within you. Cupping your face gently in his hands, he brushes his lips against yours, a soft peck that leaves you craving more.
“You don’t need to worry, okay? I would never go back to her,” he assures you, his voice laced with sincerity. “You’re so important to me, you mean so much to me. I cherish you so much. Don’t ever worry about Arin.”
All you can manage is a nod in response, overwhelmed by his words.
“Has she said anything to you? Has she tried to make you feel uncomfortable?” he probes, concern evident in his tone. “I’m only asking because she used to say a lot of rude stuff to girls I used to sleep with and you mean so much more to me than those girls, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Arin knew that and tried to get to you.”
You shake your head, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon you. “She hasn’t said anything to me yet but she always stares at me.” 
He hums softly. “If she ever does say something to you, don’t let her affect you, okay? She likes to do whatever she can to get into someone’s head but you’re stronger than that, right?  Don’t let her make you upset. Just ignore her and tell me if she bothers you, yeah?” he urges, his protective instincts kicking in.
You nod, “What would you do?”
He lets out a dry cough. “Whatever needs to be done. I’d do anything for you without a second thought, and I know you’d do the same for me.” His confidence and self-assurance make you hold back a moan.
You nod. “Of course I would.”
In a heartbeat, he responds, “You’re my priority, you’re my special one. You mean everything to me.”
“You’re so — you’re so cute, but you’re also very corny. Imagine if the guys heard you.” You snort. 
“I have nothing to hide, I’m not —”
But before he can finish, you cut him off with a kiss. The moment your lips meet, the atmosphere shifts, electrifying the air between you. His hands instinctively find their way to your waist, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly nearer.
The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated, as desire courses through your veins. Your bodies pressed together, heat radiating between you, as if you’re trying to merge into one. Every touch, every caress, sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, igniting a fire that burns hotter with each passing moment.
Breaking away from him, you’re both left breathless, panting heavily as you stare into each other’s eyes. The intensity of the moment hangs between you, thick with desire and longing.
“I cherish you more,” you whisper, the weight of your words hanging in the air, stress evident in your heavy breathing. But even as the words leave your lips, you know that they hold a depth of emotion that goes beyond mere words.
“Good girl,” he whispers in response, his voice husky with affection, as he peppers soft kisses all over your face. You lean into his embrace, revelling in the warmth of his affection and the closeness you share. 
“Why are you so hard?” you giggle, running your fingers teasingly along the bulge in his pants. Leaving hot and heated kisses alongside the curve of his neck. 
“Because there’s a hot girl sitting on my lap and grinding against my cock,” he responds with a smirk, his eyes dark with desire. You feel a surge of satisfaction at his words, knowing you have this effect on him.
“Yeah, but I sit on your lap all the time, it doesn’t get you hard like this,” you tease, your voice low and sultry.
“Yeah, it does,” he huffs, his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly.
“Not this hard,” you challenge, biting your lip as you continue to rub against his bulge, feeling the growing hardness beneath you. With a swift motion, you reach for his shirt and pull it off, revealing his toned chest.
“Everything you do gets me hard,” he admits, his voice husky with need, his gaze locked with yours in a primal intensity. “I haven’t had sex in a long time.”
Your heart skips a beat at his confession, a rush of desire coursing through you. “Wait — have you not fucked anyone else in the last few months?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
“But the time between the two times we had sex was around 3 months” you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice.
He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. Just you,” he confirms, his gaze unwavering.”
“Why?” you laugh incredulously, a snort escaping you. “Even I would’ve fucked someone else if I were you. I kept ignoring you and walking the other way after our first time because of how nervous you made me. If I were you, I’d give up and go back to fucking.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” he says simply, his sincerity evident in his eyes.
“Have you fucked anyone else but me since our first time?” he asks you now, curiosity tinged with desire in his voice.
You shake your head, leaning in to leave a soft kiss against his lips. “Just you.”
“You used to have so much sex…” you trail off, feeling a mix of emotions at the thought.
He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “It’s okay though. You know I don’t mind. I’ll wait for years if it means the only one I’ll fuck is you.”
“You should’ve told me that you’ve barely gotten laid in the last few months,” you tease, deftly unbuttoning your shirt and letting the fabric fall to the floor, revealing the curve of your body.
His gaze remains fixed on yours, dark with desire.
“Well, let’s make up for lost time, let’s have sex now.” you purr, your voice dripping with heat as you close the distance between you.
A boyish grin spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, your own excitement matching his.
“I don’t have any condoms, baby,” he murmurs huskily as he shifts his body over yours, his hands tracing the waistband of your skirt, eager to explore further.
“Just fuck me,” you breathe, your voice heavy with need, your hands already reaching for the waistband of his trousers, ready to pull them down and lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.
You swear it was so close to happening—the moment was right, the energy was electric. But then Donghyuck had to come barging into his room, asking for his headphones. Jeno groans in frustration, his irritation palpable. “Donghyuck!” he yells, tossing the headphones in his direction with more force than necessary.
──────────────────────────────
Your preparation for the band show feels more special tonight, infused with an unspoken anticipation. You put meticulous care into every detail of your appearance. You want to make a statement, not just on stage but also afterward, Jeno was going to take you somewhere, it was a ‘surprise.’
Nayoung is by your side, curling your hair into perfect waves that frame your face beautifully. The warmth from the curling iron is a stark contrast to the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You carefully apply your makeup, choosing colors that enhance your features—bold, smoky eyes paired with a soft, glowing complexion and rosy lips that promise subtlety yet allure.
As you blend your eyeshadow, Nayoung watches you through the mirror, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You’re going out with Jeno after the gig?” she probes with a casual tone, but her eyes are too sharp, too curious.
You nod in affirmation, your focus momentarily shifting from your makeup to her reflection in the mirror. “On a date?” she presses further, her tone teasing yet probing.
You pause, brush in hand, and shake your head slightly, “It’s not a date, it’s—”
She interrupts with a playful roll of her eyes. “Yeah yeah, you’re not official yet. You guys should really have the ‘what are we’ talk,” she suggests, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
The suggestion hangs in the air, a subtle push towards a conversation you know is inevitable but aren’t quite ready to initiate. Yet as you turn back to the mirror, applying a final stroke of mascara, you can't help but wonder if tonight is the right time to define what Jeno really means to you.
The outfit for tonight was meticulously picked out and laid neatly on the bed behind you. The choice for tonight is daring, a black off-shoulder top with long sleeves that falls just right, It’s cut low enough to hint at the curves of your breasts, a tease of what lies beneath, paired perfectly with a plaid mini skirt that flares at the hem, playfully showcasing your thighs.
You stand in front of your full-length mirror, nerves racing through you as you slip into the outfit, the fabric clings and contours to your form, complementing your figure in an eye-catching way. The knee high boots you choose add an edge, their chunky heels lending height and attitude, while your chosen jewelry—simple yet elegant—adds a sparkle that catches the light as you move.
Nayoung watches your transformation, her reaction a mix of approval and a hint of pride. “Jeno’s not going to know what hit him,” she says, her voice tinged with excitement. “You look hot—he’ll love it.” Her words are a boost to your confidence as you give yourself one final look in the mirror, feeling ready to take on the night—and maybe, just maybe, ready to take on whatever conversation awaits you with Jeno
As you stand there, ready, you feel a blend of nerves and excitement. “Do you think he’ll find me pretty?” you ask, the innocence in your voice catching you by surprise.
“He always finds you pretty,” Nayoung replies confidently.
You can’t contain the blush that spreads across your cheeks. “I know,” you admit softly, a secret thrill at the acknowledgment.
Nayoung watches you, her expression shifting to one of curiosity. “I’ve never seen you put so much effort into looking this sexy for your shows,” she observes.
You find an excuse, one that doesn’t quite reach your own ears convincingly. “I want to look good for photos, plus a lot of people will be there.”
“But is that all?” Nayoung probes, her voice gentle yet insistent.
“What do you mean?” you deflect, not quite ready to confront the truth.
“It’s nothing bad,” she assures you. “It’s just that you’re very much giving ‘girlfriend who wants to look pretty and dress up for her boyfriend.’ It’s cute seeing you make so much effort because you know he’ll appreciate it and make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world, no matter what you’re wearing. It’s for him, isn’t it? You like dressing up for him.”
The realisation strikes you, and you’re left speechless. You gulp, searching for the right words. “It’s not just that, I—I like dressing up for myself too,” you assert.
She nods, understanding the complexity of your feelings. “Of course, but when you have someone who likes you as much as Jeno likes you, it’s nice to dress up for them, to feel seen and beautiful in their eyes.”
You bite your lip, willing the tears not to fall, the delicate balance of your carefully applied makeup at stake. Your eyes shift downward, catching the glow of your phone as it springs to life with a message from him. Jeno’s face smiles back at you from the lock screen. In the simple act of seeing his name, a realisation crystallises, breaking through the layers of your apprehension.
It’s a truth that has lingered at the edge of your consciousness, a whisper you’ve silenced for fear of the upheaval it might bring. But it’s undeniable now, demanding to be acknowledged with a force that feels as natural as breathing and as terrifying as falling.
With a tremulous voice, barely louder than the brush of butterfly wings, you admit to Nayoung, to yourself, to the universe, “I have feelings for Jeno. I’m falling for him.” The words are a confession, a release, a testament to a heart that refuses to be hushed any longer.
Nayoung’s reaction is a gentle laughter, rich with the warmth of shared secrets and sisterly bonds. “I know you do,” Nayoung kisses your cheek and then groans at herself for doing that as she’s just messed up your makeup. As she’s fixing it, she tells you how proud she is of you for being true to your feelings and understanding who and what you want, for being mature and honest. “You know, I thought you’d be more emotional. I thought you’d cry,” she laughs, expecting you to admit you liked Jeno with tears due to the heavy confession.
“I’m fine. I’m happy. He makes me happy and I trust him,” you speak with so much innocence and trust.
“So you don’t want it to be casual anymore?” she probes.
You shake your head. “I didn’t mind at first but now? Fuck, yeah, he’s mine. I need him to be mine. I really wanna ask him tonight, or hope that he asks me,” you say with a determination in your eye.
“No, Y/N, you should wait until he asks you,” Nayoung gives you friendly advice, her voice sweet.
“Why?” you inquire, curious about her reasoning.
Nayoung pauses, her hands still as she meets your gaze in the mirror. “Because it’s important that he makes that commitment too, without any pushing. It shows that he’s not only ready but eager to take that step. You want it to be his decision, coming from him wanting you just as much as you want him. It’s not about playing games; it’s about ensuring that his feelings match the depth of yours. Plus, it will mean more if it comes from him, don’t you think?” Her words carry the weight of experience, gentle yet firm, aiming to guide you towards a decision that solidifies the sincerity of your relationship.
You nod, a flicker of hopeful naivety shining in your eyes. "I really think it's going to happen soon. We had quite a moment last night," you begin, your voice dropping to a whisper.
"Oh?" Nayoung leans in closer, her interest piqued, sensing the significance in your tone.
Taking a deep breath, you confide, "I stumbled upon a photo of Arin on his phone. It was... intimate, and it made me feel all sorts of ways—jealous, upset, and then to make things worse, Arin happened to call him at that very moment." You pause, collecting your thoughts. "Jeno was open about it. He said he used to have a lot of pictures with her and probably missed some when he was deleting them."
Nayoung's eyes widen as she registers what you just said. "She called him? She what? Why does he still have her number?"
You huff, frustration evident. "God knows why. And I picked up the phone because I got angry, and Arin was kinda sweet?"
Nayoung scoffs, her disbelief clear. "Sweet? Please, she's nothing but a bitch, pretending to be all innocent."
You laugh at her blunt assessment. "She asked to speak to Jeno when I picked up."
"And??" Nayoung presses, leaning forward in anticipation.
"He said he was busy and ended it," you respond, trying to mask the mix of relief and confusion in your voice.
Nayoung is visibly stunned, processing the information. "Well, at least he didn't entertain her," she finally says, a slight nod indicating her approval.
Nayoung’s eyes widened, taken aback by what you’ve just spilled. “So they were serious? Not just fuck buddies?” she asks, her voice tinged with surprise.
You nod, feeling the sting of the admission. “He told me he loved her once.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” she exhales, processing the weight of your words.
“He made it clear they’re over. He ended things because she wouldn’t fully commit, and he’s been over her for a long time now. I want to believe him when he says he’s moved on… Am I naive for that?”
Nayoung considers this, her expression serious. “Do you trust him?”
You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“He told me he wouldn’t ever go back to her, even if she changed her mind. He said I mean too much to him, that he wouldn’t ever do that to me, that he wouldn’t hurt me, that I’m his priority and that he cherishes me,” you confide in Nayoung.
Nayoung’s eyes widened in surprise, a rare moment of speechlessness. “If a guy ever said that to me, the words ‘I love you’ would be slipping from my tongue.” 
“We also nearly had sex but Donghyuck walked in, and I’ve never seen Jeno get so mad. You should’ve seen his face.” you add with a laugh, sharing the absurdity of the situation.
���Yeah, and get this—” you lean in, a playful glint in your eye, “—since meeting me, I’m the only girl he’s fucked.”
Nayoung’s mouth falls open, her surprise genuine. “Seriously? For Jeno, that’s… that’s huge. Normally he’s having sex twice a week, sometimes even more.” 
──────────────────────────────
The bar is a canvas of shadows and dimly lit corners, where a mingling scent of aged wood and spilled liquor permeates the air. It’s an ambiance that speaks of stories untold, a place where many nights have unfolded in the haze of neon lights and reverberating music. Strings of Edison bulbs drape across the ceiling, offering a warm glow that dances off the well-worn surfaces of the bar and tables.
The crowd tonight is unusually thick, a sea of faces swaying to the rhythm of the music. You glance around, perplexed and a little overwhelmed by the number of people gathered. It’s as if the whole town has decided to show up. Despite the usual anonymity afforded by the dim lighting and the casual chaos of the bar, tonight feels different. As you scan the room, your eyes catch glimpses of familiar faces mixed with strangers, but what surprises you is the number of eyes that fleetingly meet yours, quickly looking away as if caught in the act of watching you. The realisation dawns on you slowly—the crowd isn’t just here for the usual Friday night revelry. They’re here for you.
You don’t blame them, you’re on stage and you’re in your element, the throb of the bass vibrating through your fingers as you blend into the fabric of the music. Your band plays with such harmony and rhythm that the crowd can’t help but sway to, captivated by Yeji’s beautiful voice, a melody that tugs at heartstrings.
You're also singing, harmonising with Yeji. While you haven't done a solo in front of anyone before, you love to sing. You enjoy it. Sunwoo has heard you sing and has tried to convince you to lead one of the performances, but you're too shy to take the spotlight.
And there he is—Jeno, your unspoken muse, the silent force behind every note you play. His eyes are locked on you, and even from the distance, you can feel the warmth of his gaze, the silent support in his smile. When he blows you a kiss, a current of exhilaration shoots through you, and for a fleeting moment, it’s just the two of you in the room.
Your eyes are only for him and he means the world to you. Tonight feels like the perfect moment to ask him to be your boyfriend.
Your eyes fix on Jeno once more but you notice a shift. instead of the usual supportive smiles, his gaze is elsewhere—fixed on Arin, who’s laughing, looking effortlessly breathtaking beside someone new. You didn’t even realise she was here, why was she here? 
The knot in your stomach tightens as you watch his expression change. There’s a hardness in his eyes, a tension in his jaw. The way he watches her speaks of unsaid words and unresolved feelings. Jeno’s look is one of jealousy, mixed with a hint of regret, as if he’s reconsidering every decision that led him away from her.
Your fingers falter on the bass strings, the melody souring. The room spins slightly as you try to refocus, to lose yourself in the music and Yeji’s harmonizing voice, but the scene unfolding offstage captures all your attention. Why now? Why here? 
With each jealous glance Jeno throws Arin’s way, a cold fear grips you. The joy of playing, the thrill of the music, fades into the background as a single, painful thought pierces through the confusion: What if he still wants her? What if tonight, the night you planned to ask him to be yours, ends with your heart breaking in front of everyone?
As the last notes of your performance fade into the din of applause and chatter, the glow from the stage lights seems to flicker out with your spirit. You feel drained, your usual post-show buzz overshadowed by a dull ache in your chest. The image of Jeno’s gaze drifting away from you and onto Arin is etched painfully into your mind.
You're barely off the stage when Jeno finds you. He pulls you into a hard kiss, the kind that usually melts away any remnants of stage fright or leftover adrenaline. But tonight, the kiss doesn’t reach the hollow feeling creeping up inside you. As he pulls back, his eyes scan your face, his joy at your performance shadowed by concern at how quiet you are.
“What’s up?” he asks, his voice soft, threaded with worry.
You shake your head, trying to dislodge the tightness in your throat, the words refusing to come. He doesn't push, but his eyes narrow slightly—a silent acknowledgment of the tension he too can sense.
He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you from behind. His lips find your cheek in a gentle kiss, and he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.” The warmth of his breath against your skin sparks a contrast to the cold knot of doubt inside you.
But the images from earlier—the way he looked at Arin—haunt the edges of your happiness. “You were amazing tonight,” he continues, his hands sliding down to compliment your skirt, his fingers tracing the fabric around your hips. “I love this look on you,” he adds, voice rich with admiration.
His praises should have lifted your spirits but tonight they fell flat. Why was he looking at her like that? 
As he guides you through the crowd, his hand firm on your back, his actions are everything tender and protective, yet your mind races, trapped in a spiral of what-ifs and why-nows. His intimacy and affirmations, though genuine, feel overshadowed by the brief flash of something else in his gaze earlier—a complexity you hadn’t anticipated and aren’t sure how to navigate.
Sometime later, you find yourself with the band, leaning your head against Eric’s shoulder as laughter and chatter fill the air. The atmosphere is relaxed, almost festive, but you can’t shake off the weight of the evening’s events. Despite the alcohol flowing freely, you force yourself to stay present, mustering a smile to blend in with the group.
Jeno is engrossed in conversation with some friends, his animated gestures catching your eye from across the room. You take a moment to admire him, the way his eyes light up when he talks, the easy charm that draws people to him.
Needing a moment alone to gather your thoughts, you excuse yourself and slip away to the toilets. Leaning against the sink, you take deep breaths, trying to calm the turmoil swirling inside you. The events of the night replay in your mind, each moment etched vividly in your memory.
Emerging from the bathroom, the lingering energy from the gig vibrates within you, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the sight of Arin waiting by the corridor. Her smile is warm, seemingly genuine, as she clutches her purse. “You were just wonderful tonight,” she starts, her voice sweet, complimenting each of your band members—Yeji’s powerful vocals, Eric’s intense drum solos, Sunwoo’s infectious energy. Yet, when her eyes finally rest on you, the warmth subtly shifts.
She steps closer, her voice still soft but carrying an undertone you can’t quite place. “You know it’s not gonna last, right?” she murmurs, almost kindly, as if she’s sharing friendly advice rather than planting a seed of doubt.
You gulp, feeling stunned as it takes time for her statement to register and digest. You look at her in confusion. "What are you—?"
She laughs, the sound joyful and bright, and the twinkle in her eyes makes her look so beautiful and carefree. You understand why she's so adored by everyone. Yet, you can't tell whether she's laughing with you or mocking you. "I'm talking about you and Jeno," she says, her voice lilting as if discussing something trivial, not the bombshell she just dropped.
Managing only a faint reply, your voice comes out hushed and shaky, betraying your rattled nerves. “Why would you say that?” you ask, your question more of a whisper, as if speaking louder might confirm her 
She gives a gentle, patronising laugh. “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t get your hopes up too high,” she says, her eyes pitying. Her tone is nurturing, but the words sting, undermining the intensity of what you feel for Jeno.
Feeling a tightness in your chest, the words barely escape your lips, “Do you really think it’s not serious?” Your voice quivers, laced with insecurity and a lack of confidence as you seek validation for the intense feelings you harbour for him. 
Arin nods slowly, her expression morphing into one of feigned sympathy. “I can see how much you like him, and that it’s serious for you,” she begins, her tone soft, as if trying to cushion a harsh truth. “I’m really sorry he doesn’t feel the same way” Her words aim to sympathize, yet the empathy doesn’t quite reach her eyes, making her sincerity questionable.
You want to scream at her, to tell her that she shouldn't undermine the feelings you and Jeno very clearly have for each other. It is serious, but all you can do is swallow hard and nod slightly, unable to muster the courage to speak your disagreement. The weight of her words hangs heavy on your chest, suffocating you with their arrogance.
"Has he asked you to be his girlfriend?" Arin presses, her voice dripping with skepticism, her eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign of weakness.
"No," you admit, your voice barely audible, feeling the weight of her scrutiny bearing down on you, making you shrink further into yourself.
Arin's tone shifts, carrying a hint of nostalgia as she leans in slightly, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. 
"He asked me to be his girlfriend only three months after we met. How long have you two been seeing each other now? Six months?" Her words, meant as mere conversation, hang heavily between you, laden with implications she doesn't fully grasp.
You nod, feeling a pang of disappointment as her statement sinks in. The comparison stings, underscoring your own uncertainties about where you stand with Jeno. Arin's smile broadens, her eyes bright, oblivious to the discomfort she's unwittingly evoked.
Arin's expression softens, a wistful sigh escaping her lips as she leans closer, her voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "Honestly? I want him back. I’ve always felt like I’ve been his and he’s been mine. Like he’s my soulmate. Our connection and love is too strong for us to tear apart. Even if we distract ourselves with others, like what he’s doing with you, I know we’ll always find our way back to each other. Jeno is the one for me. He’s kind, caring, funny, smart, always puts me first and—don’t even get me started on how it feels to be kissed by him. And sex with him? God��� I’ve really missed him."
That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, you wanted to mutter out loud. “Did you really just call me a distraction?” you question, your voice soft, not raised or rude at all. You weren’t going to stoop to that level.
She nods, apparently unaware of how harsh her words sound.
“I’m not a distraction, you can’t talk to me like that,” you defend yourself, your tone still even.
She giggles and shakes her head, her demeanour light as if she hadn't just dismissed your feelings. “Don’t be like that, you know what I mean.”
You shake your head, genuinely confused and hurt. “I really don’t.”
Arin’s conviction seems to solidify as she speaks, her tone sharpening, not catching the strain in your eyes. “You don’t get it,” she says, her voice rising slightly with a mix of frustration and certainty. “He’s still in love with me,” she declares, her hands casually smoothing her hair as if to emphasise her nonchalance. “That’s probably why he hasn’t taken it further with you.”
The tears well up in your eyes, but Arin remains utterly unfazed by your distress, her expression as composed as if she were discussing something trivial.
“I’m just waiting for him to come back to me, honestly, because that’s what he always does. But for some reason, he’s been infatuated and hooked on you for so long now. I guess the sex is that good, right?” Her words drip with insinuation, her smile sly and assuming.
Your laughter catches her off guard, and you can see the confusion in her narrowed eyes. Was she serious right now? Did she really think the only reason Jeno could ever be interested in you was for your body? In truth, you and Jeno haven’t had a lot of sex. You haven’t been ready for it, and he’s respected that. If only Arin knew. But you wouldn’t tell her. It’s frankly none of her business, and it’s incredibly intrusive of her to speak about your relationship with Jeno.
"I knew you'd understand," Arin smiles, her tone light but loaded with insinuation. Her words catch you off guard.
"What?" Your confusion is palpable, reflected in the slight furrow of your brow.
"Well, I know how much of a girl's girl you are—how sweet and loving. I have no doubt in my mind that you'd step away from whatever situation you’re having with Jeno," she continues, assuming a camaraderie that isn't there.
You huff, irritation spiking. "It's not a situationship, don't you dare—"
"It doesn't matter what it was," Arin cuts in dismissively. "The point is, I love Jeno and I deserve another chance with him. I know you'd understand. It's not like you feel anything for him, and he doesn’t like you either. It's obvious, why else hasn’t he asked you to be his girlfriend? He’s still in love with me."
Her words sting, a mix of arrogance and misguided assurance in her belief that she could manipulate your feelings. The audacity to suggest that your relationship with Jeno was anything less than genuine makes your heart race with a mix of anger and hurt.
Seconds later, your name floats across the room, spoken with a warmth that tugs at your heart. Jeno's presence cuts through, drawing every ounce of your attention. You force a smile as he approaches, though it feels hollow against the turmoil within you.
Jeno doesn’t hesitate as he reaches you, his gaze locked intensely on yours. There's a fervor in his eyes, a seriousness that chills you even as it pulls you closer. Without a word, he wraps you in his arms and kisses you passionately, his lips firm and insistent. As he pulls away, his lips find your forehead, pressing against your skin in an act so tender it sends shivers down your spine.
"Are you okay, baby?" His voice is a soft rumble, filled with genuine concern. You look up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable.
"Just a bit overwhelmed," you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of emotions. You're acutely aware of Arin's lingering presence nearby, her shadow casting a pall over the moment. Jeno seems oblivious to her, his attention undividedly yours, his hands holding you with a protectiveness that feels both comforting and profound.
You shiver, whether from the cold or the intensity of the situation, you can’t tell. Jeno notices immediately, his brow furrowing with worry. "Are you cold, beautiful?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. Before you can answer, he gently slides his jacket over your shoulders. The fabric is warm from his body and you get lost in the scent of him. 
"Thank you, Jen," you manage, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by his thoughtfulness.
"I’ve been trying to find you, where did you go?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes searching yours for deeper answers.
You take his drink from his hands before you can answer. He rolls his eyes, telling you not to get carried away with drinking tonight, but you wouldn’t listen, especially when he tears the cap off with his teeth and holds it for you, leaving a soft kiss on your lips before you down it.
As you down the drink, the alcohol burns your throat, causing you to choke and cough. "Slow down," he chuckles, his hand rubbing your back gently to soothe you. He wipes away some of the alcohol that had dribbled down your chin, his touch tender and affectionate.
He leans in for another kiss, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, lingering embrace. When he tries to take the drink from you to slow your pace, you pout playfully, earning another affectionate peck on the lips. The two of you are lost in your own little world, you allow
yourself to forget about Arin just for this moment.
“Why are you so stressed out?” Jeno’s voice broke through the air 
“Because Arin here is telling me to back off and stop fucking you,” you replied with a nonchalant tone. Your voice was steady, but your hands betrayed you, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.
That’s when Jeno’s eyes shifted, landing on Arin for the first time since he came over. His look was a mix of disgust and confusion, tinged with an unmistakable uninterest. She had been so silent, her presence had almost slipped your mind. But there she was, just observing, as if waiting for a crack to appear in the facade of your evening.
“Don’t listen to her,” Jeno said firmly, his voice raised just enough for Arin to catch every syllable. It was as if she wasn’t even worthy of his gaze, let alone a direct confrontation.
He then leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, a stark contrast to the chill that Arin’s words had left behind. “We haven’t even been fucking. Half the time she’s living in another universe, so don’t give her any attention, okay? Don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s bothered you,” he whispered, his words a soft but potent shield against the chaos Arin tried to sow.
Jeno's reaction is sudden and sharp as he hears your words, his face contorting into an expression of disbelief. “What else did she say?” he asks, his voice tinged with an edge that makes you hesitate. When you reluctantly admit, “Apparently you still love her,” a laugh bursts from him—one you’ve never heard before. It's not filled with amusement but rather a harshness that makes even you feel a sting of guilt for Arin. The sound hits her visibly, the impact evident in her faltering demeanor. 
Jeno’s grip on your hand tightens, his frustration palpable as he turns towards Arin with a piercing glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands, his voice booming in the small space, drawing the attention of those nearby. 
Arin, trying to defuse his anger, pleads with a shaky voice, “Jen, don’t be angry—”
But he cuts her off sharply, “Don’t call me that.” His response is so cold, so final, it makes you flinch; you've never seen him this furious, this detached from his usual warmth.
Realising the scene might escalate, you turn his face to meet yours, cupping his cheeks gently. His eyes, which had been hard and unforgiving, soften immediately under your touch. His breath evens out as you whisper soothingly, “Jen, don’t make a scene, okay?” 
Jeno hums, his brow furrowed in frustration, his body tensing as he turns back to Arin. There's a cold sharpness in his eyes now, a clear signal that he's far from finished. "What else did you say?" he demands, his voice low and threateningly calm.
Arin swallows hard, visibly shaken by his intensity. "Me and Y/N just had a heart to heart," she stammers, attempting to paint a picture that never existed. "We talked about how she'd take a step back from whatever situation you two have gotten yourselves into. That way, I could tell you the truth, show you how much you mean to me, commit for real. I know you don’t trust me yet, and that it will take a lot of work, but I’m willing to try. Are you? I really do love you, Jeno, and I always have."
The silence that follows is heavy, filled with tension that makes the air thick and difficult to breathe. Jeno's face cycles through emotions rapidly—humour gives way to disbelief, and then a scorching anger that flares intensely in his eyes. The transformation is so sudden, so severe, it sends a chill down your spine. You want nothing more than to reach for his hand and pull him away, but the moment demands your presence, your witness to his raw, unrestrained emotion.
"What is wrong with you?" Jeno's voice cracks like a whip, each word dripping with disdain and incredulity. His stance is imposing, the muscles in his jaw twitching with barely restrained anger.
Arin, teary-eyed, looks up at him. "Jeno, am I so wrong for being true to my feelings?" Her voice breaks, a mixture of desperation and manipulation.
"You're pathetic," Jeno responds, the harshness in his tone slicing through the tense atmosphere. "You’re so pathetic. I can’t believe it." His words are not just a dismissal but a condemnation, delivered with a brutal honesty that even makes you gasp.
Arin's voice is a soft, broken whisper, almost pleading as she clings to a sliver of hope, tears streaking her face. "I know you’re still in love with me."
"I don’t love you, and I never will," he states firmly, his voice void of hesitation or doubt.
Arin’s plea intensifies, her emotions raw. "You used to love me, you used to love me so much—"
"And you're making me regret ever feeling that way," he interrupts sharply, his tone laced with a harshness that draws a startled gasp from you. The situation escalates quickly, his anger palpable.
Through her sobs, Arin struggles to comprehend the finality in his voice. "How can feelings like that just disappear? How can you move on so easily?"
Jeno’s anger simmers into a cold, controlled calm. "Honestly, just stop talking now," he commands, the tension in his voice still evident but more restrained.
"Jeno—" Arin tries to interject, desperation tingeing her voice.
"Arin." He warms, the bitterness in his tone a stark contrast to the sweetness with which he usually says your name. "I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to talk to you ever again. We're going around in circles, and it’s clear I’ve moved on. You should too."
“Look, if you ever upset Y/N again, if you make her feel this way again, I won’t stand for it. I’m not just upset because of what you said about us, but because you hurt someone important to me. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our past. You need to respect that and stay away.”
Jeno's confrontation had echoed loudly through the bar, drawing eyes from every corner. As he turns around and pulls you into a tight hug, you feel the weight of those stares, the lingering tension from the audience that had gathered. His arms wrap around your waist firmly, holding you close. Even as he releases you, you sense his reluctance, his smile barely held back as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing him even closer.
The curiosity and concern of the onlookers press on you, and your only thought is to take him away, to calm him down. You gently lay your hand over his, feeling the stiff muscles beneath his skin. Leaning in, you whisper into his ear—words only for him, soothing and meaningful. You watch his eyes close, a nod acknowledging your comfort, but his face remains tense, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Seeking to lighten the mood, you kiss his eyelids gently and ask with feigned casualness, "How much sleep did you get last night?"
"About two hours," he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion.
"That explains why you're looking like a zombie," you tease gently, hoping to draw out a real smile. He lets out a low chuckle, not quite his usual laughter but appreciated all the same. Normally, your jokes would have him laughing heartily, but tonight it's forced, you were only trying to cheer him up. Yet, you feel his gratitude radiating back to you; he's thankful for your efforts to ease his mind, for trying to make him forget the stressful confrontation.
"Let's go home now, yeah?" you suggest softly, each word laced with concern, eager to leave the charged atmosphere of the bar behind. He nods silently, the agreement solid and sure.
As you both prepare to leave, Jeno drapes his arm protectively around your shoulders, guiding you through the crowd. The physical closeness comforts you both, a silent promise of support as you walk out of the bar together, leaving the whispers and stares behind in the dimmed lights.
The second you’ve guided him away your hands find his cheeks, cradling his face with a tender touch that you hoped would soothe his ruffled emotions. In the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes searched yours for reassurance, finding solace in the calm you offered amidst the storm.
As you led him to the car, your fingertips lightly traced the contours of his face, planting soft, reassuring kisses across his forehead, cheeks, and finally his lips. "I'm so proud of you," you whispered against his lips, the warmth of your breath mingling with his. "You got everything off your chest."
He nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and residual tension as he pulled you closer, sealing your affirmations with a kiss that spoke volumes of gratitude and a lingering trace of sadness. 
As you reached for his car keys, Jeno's hand covered yours, stopping you gently but firmly. He finally spoke up, a hint of laughter in his voice to ease the tension, "No way, I don’t have a death wish," he joked, but his tone quickly turned serious, the humor fading as he looked directly into your eyes. "You mean so much to me," he continued, each word weighted with earnestness. "I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you, but I'm not letting go. You're all mine."
"All yours.”
──────────────────────────────
You catch the hoodie Jeno tosses your way and pull it over your head, replacing your top with the comforting scent and warmth of his clothing. Watching him make his way to the edge of the bed, you notice how the night had etched itself into his form—the tension in his muscles, the fatigue in the set of his jaw, his skin glistening slightly under the dim room light.
Approaching quietly, you sit beside him, close enough to share warmth but giving him the space he seems to need. You reach out tentatively, resting your hand lightly on his back. The skin under your touch is warm, slightly damp with the sheen of stress. You start to move your hand in slow, comforting circles, trying to soothe the tension that has him so tightly wound.
The room is only filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing, each exhale slightly shaky as he tries to regain his composure. "Jeno?" you whisper, breaking the silence gently as you wait for him to meet your eyes. When he finally looks at you, the heartbreak in his gaze is palpable, and it strikes you deeply. The dim light from the bedside lamp catches the tears brimming in his eyes, a rare display of vulnerability.
"Oh, Jeno," you whisper, your voice thick as you fight back your own emotions. Seeing him this vulnerable disorients you—Jeno, always the strong one, now so clearly in need of support. He draws you closer, 
As Jeno gently pulls you onto his lap, the physical closeness brings an immediate sense of comfort and security. Settling into this favored position, you can feel the warmth of his body radiating against yours. The firmness of his thighs provides a grounding stability, while his arms encircle your waist, drawing you even closer. His embrace is protective, his hands resting lightly on your back, a touch that’s both reassuring and tender.
Every breath he takes is a shared experience. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the subtle tension in his body as he tries to relax. His heartbeat, strong and steady under the palm of your hand, beats a comforting rhythm in the quiet of the room.
“I hate seeing you like this,” you whisper, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his. The closeness allows you to see every detail of his face, the vulnerability in his eyes more apparent than ever. Your fingers gently push back a lock of his hair that had fallen across his forehead, and you wipe away a tear with your thumb. Each touch is filled with concern and a deep need to comfort him, to ease the distress that so clearly weighs on him.
"You can always trust me, you know?" you add softly, looking into his eyes for a moment of connection, hoping to reassure him of your support.
Jeno responds with a small, appreciative nod, his eyes briefly closing as if to savour the comfort your words bring. Then, with a gentle nudge, he shifts your positions on the bed, guiding you both to lie down. He settles back against the pillows, and you naturally find your place on top of him, your body aligned with his in a close, comforting embrace.
His arms wrap around you securely, a protective gesture that pulls you closer into his chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, the warmth of his chest enveloping you. Each breath he takes is a subtle rise and fall, a rhythm that you find yourself syncing with as the tension slowly begins to melt away from both of you.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile and nods, a silent acknowledgment of your words but also a sign that he's still guarding his thoughts closely. “I know I can, baby.” 
“I can feel how tense you are, what’s up?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, making you shiver slightly. His arms tighten around you, drawing you even closer, his body language reflecting his concern and deep care.
You gulp, caught off guard by his perceptiveness. You’ve been trying to hide your own unease to put him first, but he always knows when something’s on your mind, just by looking into your eyes.
Taking a deep breath, you weigh your options but decide it’s better to be open with him. "Jen, I have been trying to tell you something and I've been worrying about how to say it," you begin, the weight of your confession making your heart race a bit.
He looks at you, concern flickering in his eyes as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "What’s up?" he asks, his voice rough, filled with both concern for you and the weariness of his own troubles.
“Nothing,” you lie softly, a sad smile touching your lips as you lay your head back down on his chest. “It’s not important.”
“You can always talk to me, you know,” he replies, his tone gentle, using your own words against you in a playful yet sincere way.
You giggle at the role reversal, the light moment bringing a flicker of warmth to the heavy atmosphere. “I know, I know,” you whisper back, allowing yourself a moment to just be held by him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his breathing.
“Do you wanna talk about your thing?” you suggest after a while, hoping he trusted you enough to share his heart with you. You would always listen and respect his feelings, they were so precious to you.
“No.” He says immediately, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he insists in a tone that doesn’t match his heart. “Just feeling tired, it’s nothing more than that.”
And that was his first lie.
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Walking across the university campus feels different today. The echoes of last night's band performance seem to have followed you, with noticeable traction and attention specifically directed at you, almost as if the applause and cheers have spilled over into the daylight. It’s been gradually building up, this increasing visibility, but today the weight of it truly sinks in. Each step feels more observed, each glance carries a hint of recognition, making the campus pathways feel less like passageways and more like stages.
The change isn't loud or sudden, but the weight of it is undeniable. People notice you, recognize you. It's not because of anything you've done, but because of who you're seen with: Jeno. Your relationship with him, not quite defined but visibly close, has unwittingly thrust you into a spotlight.
You're aware of the looks, the whispers as you pass by. Your previous anonymity has been stripped away, leaving you exposed to curious eyes. Your connection with Jeno is evident in your affectionate gestures both on and off campus. Whether it's hugging, kissing, hand-holding, or sharing laughs, people often mistake your closeness for a romantic relationship. Despite this, neither you nor Jeno correct them, leaving the nature of your bond open to interpretation.
This spotlight isn't confined to the walkways of the campus; it extends into your online world too. Your Instagram, which once felt like a personal photo album, now buzzes with activity. Posts featuring Jeno, which you uploaded without a second thought, have attracted more attention than you could have imagined
Messages and interactions flood your inbox, each one just a variation of 'hey' from people who never noticed you before. You see through the thin veil of their sudden interest—it's insincere, a shallow attempt to connect with you, not for who you are, but for the company you keep.
The newfound attention is dizzying, but it's also exhausting. Each interaction, each forced conversation, drains you. What used to be simple walks to class are now peppered with stops and small talk, leaving you feeling more like a public figure than a student.
Some of them were bad interactions and attention—really bad. You’re working on a university project with Jiwon, someone you recently befriended. But she’s cool, and you need a partner for this project. The way you met wasn’t the nicest:
“So, you and Jeno have been getting close, right?”
Your stomach twists at the unexpected question, and you shoot Jiwon a puzzled look, trying to gauge her intentions. She meets your gaze with a knowing smirk, and you can’t help but feel a tinge of unease creeping up your spine.
“Who are you?” you respond cautiously, the edge in your voice betraying your suspicion.
“You know who I am,” she counters, her tone dripping with confidence.
But that’s the past. You always thought she was a bit weird, but she works hard, and you guess that’s just her way of being friendly. Little did you know what her true intentions were. 
As you typed away on your laptop, surrounded by stacks of musical textbooks, you couldn’t help but smile at the messages popping up from Jeno. A thousand thoughts whirled in your head, and none of them were focused on this project; you were utterly unfocused. Jiwon tapped away at her laptop across from you, occasionally glancing over with a too-curious gaze that prickled your comfort. The air between you, once filled with the soft clicking of keys and the rustle of pages turning, now carried a charge of tension.
“That was quite the show last night,” Jiwon started, the curiosity evident in her eyes as she peered at you over her laptop screen. “I saw you leave with Jeno.”
“Yeah, figures, we are seeing each other,” you responded dryly, not lifting your gaze from your screen, hoping your tone conveyed your lack of interest in discussing it further.
Jiwon's eyebrows quirk upwards, a mix of surprise and something else—a calculated interest—flashing across her features. "Really now? That’s... interesting. How long has that been going on?" Her tone is casual, but her eyes are too sharp, too keen, as if dissecting your every reaction.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, not liking the scrutiny or the direction this conversation is taking. "A while," you reply vaguely, keeping your eyes fixed on your laptop screen, hoping to convey your disinterest in continuing this line of discussion.
"But are you guys serious?" Jiwon presses, leaning forward, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "Because, you know, Jeno and Arin were a pretty intense thing. Everyone thought they were endgame."
“But they never were a couple. They were never boyfriend and girlfriend.” you say, keeping your tone deadpan.
“Oh honey, is that what he told you?” Jiwon responds, her voice dripping with sweet, mocking condescension.
“Is it not true?” you say, a hint of irritation seeping through, feeling foolish for even having to defend what Jeno told you.
Jiwon pauses, as if contemplating how much to reveal, her gaze sharp and calculating. "Well, it's complicated," she starts slowly, each word measured. "They weren't officially a couple, no. But they might as well have been. They were everything but in name. And sometimes, that's even stronger, don't you think?"
Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, the doubt she's planting beginning to sprout. Struggling to keep your voice steady, you confirm, "So, they were serious then." No matter what Jeno tells you, this confirms that he still had lingering attachment to her. 
Jiwon nods, a feigned sympathy in her eyes as she leans closer. "They were inseparable, everyone knew it. Just because there wasn't a label on it doesn't mean it wasn't real. Jeno... he's someone who feels deeply, you know? When he's in, he's all in. And he was all in with Arin."
You press your lips together, feeling the sting of her words. "But that's all in the past, right?"
"Sure," Jiwon replies, her tone noncommittal. "But the past has a way of sticking around, especially with feelings that intense. It's hard to just cut that off completely, don't you think?"
Her words echo in your mind, sowing seeds of insecurity. You wrestle internally with the implications of Jeno’s past with Arin, questioning whether the affection he shows you could truly eclipse his history with her. Across from you, Jiwon observes your reaction with a slight, knowing smile, her point landing effectively without the need for further elaboration.
Frustration and a touch of defiance rise within you as you process her insinuations about Arin. Clenching your jaw to quell the irritation, you assert firmly, “It’s different with us.” Your tone is resolute, an attempt to dismiss any comparisons she might be suggesting. “We’re happy. That’s all that matters.”
Jiwon nods, seemingly satisfied with your discomfort. She taps a finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Sure, sure. Just seems sudden, you know? Jeno moving on like that. Makes you wonder if it's really over with Arin, or if you're just a... distraction."
The word stings more than you'd like to admit, and you can't help but frown. "I'm not anyone's distraction," you snap, more sharply than intended, your fingers pausing above the keyboard.
"Hey, no offence," Jiwon raises her hands in mock surrender, her smile a little too wide to be sincere. "Just making conversation. You guys look cute together, really. Just hope it's for the right reasons, you know?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to calm the rising annoyance. "We should focus on the project," you suggest coldly, turning your attention back to your screen, signaling the end of this unwelcome discussion.
Jiwon shrugs, the smile still playing on her lips as she turns back to her laptop, but not before giving you a look that says she's not quite done digging. You exhale quietly, tension settling in your shoulders as you try to refocus on the work in front of you, Jiwon's words echoing uncomfortably in the back of your mind.
“Has he asked you to be his girlfriend?” she prods further, her gaze piercing as she waits for your response.
It’s none of your fucking business. 
“We’re just taking it slow,” you respond, your tone polite but laced with a hint of caution, unwilling to divulge too much.
“And you think he will?” she laughs cynically, the sound grating on your nerves as it echoes in the small room.
You shake your head in frustration. “Stop asking me such personal questions,” you implore, trying to keep your patience intact even as annoyance gnaws at the edges of your composure.
She ignores your discomfort completely. “Do you think he’s over Arin?”
“I—”
“Let me show you something,” she interrupts, a smug grin spreading across her face as she pulls out her phone, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent.
As the video plays, the image of school lockers floods the screen. You instantly recognise a younger Jeno steps into view, clad in his crisp school uniform, his face alight with youthful hope and nervous energy.
He's holding a single rose, his stance awkward yet sincere as he speaks to Arin, the words muted but his intentions clear in his earnest expression. The scene is painfully romantic, set against a backdrop of blooming flowers and classmates passing by with fleeting glances. You can't help but feel a sting as you watch him put himself out there, so vulnerable and open. He was asking her to be his girlfriend. 
But then, Arin's response comes—a shake of her head, her voice lost in the silent video, but her rejection palpable. The rose hangs limply in Jeno's hand as he nods, trying to mask his disappointment. The video ends with him turning away, a figure retreating in the face of unreciprocated feelings, leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth. 
Jiwon grins at your reaction, revelling in your discomfort. It’s what she wanted, and you’re giving in. Doubt creeps in as you wonder why she approached you in the first place. Was this her ulterior motive all along?
“You’re just trying to get into my head, and it’s not going to work,” you retort, your voice stronger now, determined not to let her shake you. “Why would
that video hurt me? Jeno was a fetus in it and he’s moved on, he wouldn’t ever ask Arin to be his girlfriend today.” 
"But if he's moved on, why hasn't he made it official with you?" Jiwon probes further, her tone mockingly sympathetic. "You're just the girl he's with now. Not the one he wants."
"That's your opinion," you respond crisply, closing your laptop with a snap. "It doesn't matter to me. What Jeno and I have is between us."
“Ok but he’s never asked you to be his girlfriend, has me? I mean… that must sting. I know why he’s never asked, it’s because you guys don’t have anything in common—”
“Yeah, we don’t,” you agree, refusing to let her see how much her words are affecting you. She wants you to disagree and reflect so much so you don’t give her the satisfaction.
“Especially sexually. You’re some Christian virgin girl who’s into vanilla sex—”
“How do you know? Have you fucked me?” you snap back, your frustration boiling over.
“—and Jeno is wild and rough in bed,” she continues, her smirk widening at your discomfort. “You know, once me, Arin, and Jeno had a threesome. I bet he’d never be able to experiment like that with you.”
Jiwon's grin widened, a mix of satisfaction and malice in her eyes as she closely observed your reaction. It was exactly what she had hoped for, and you felt like you were inadvertently falling right into her trap. As you grappled with maintaining your composure, you couldn't help but wonder about Jiwon's motives for approaching you initially. Was this all some twisted strategy on her part? The thought made you feel both jealous and underappreciated, particularly stinging given Jeno had never formally committed to being your boyfriend or shown the kind of grand romantic gestures that Jiwon seemed to enjoy bringing up.
"I just wanna look out for you, girl to girl," Jiwon said, her voice dripping with false tenderness. "I have no clue how he’s wound up with you, you’re not what he’s used to, he’s more into girls like Arin so brace for heartbreak. You’re probably just someone to keep his bed warm; he'll go back to Arin, he always does."
Her words were a calculated strike, designed to undermine and provoke. Anger and frustration bubbled inside you, and impulsively, your hand slammed the laptop shut. The sound echoed sharply through the room, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. For a brief moment, Jiwon's satisfied expression flickered with surprise. But her smirk quickly returned, as if your reaction was a minor amusement.
"You're just trying to get into my head, and it's not going to work," you retorted sharply, your voice firm and your gaze steely. "You need to watch it."
The room fell silent, with a few scattered gasps from onlookers. Someone whispered loud enough for others to hear, "That's Jeno's girl," fueling a renewed sense of confidence within you.
Jiwon leaned back, her expression cooling into something more calculating. "Oh, I'm just concerned, that's all," she replied smoothly, feigning innocence. 
Finally, you had enough. When Jiwon casually suggested, "Yeah, we should continue working," you laughed in her face, a mix of disbelief and disdain coloring your response. "Can you leave? I don’t want to work with you anymore. Get out," you said assertively, leaving no room for her to argue.
Jiwon, caught off guard but maintaining her smug composure, quickly gathered her things and left, her departure marked by a silence that filled the room as everyone watched. You breathed a sigh of relief, proud that you stood your ground, yet unsettled by the seeds of doubt that lingered.
──────────────────────────────
The autumn leaves crunched under your feet as you walked through the campus, a crisp reminder that two weeks had already slipped by since your unsettling conversation with Jiwon. The vibrancy of the season felt at odds with the dreariness settling in your heart. You kept walking, your gaze fixed ahead, but your mind was anything but calm, cycling through recent events that had started to feel like weights around your neck.
Choosing to keep Jiwon’s words to yourself seemed like the wise choice initially, avoiding unnecessary drama. But now, that decision gnawed at you, breeding a loneliness that clung stubbornly to your thoughts. The mistrust it fostered wasn’t just about what Jiwon had said; it was the doubt about what else might be unsaid, the secrets that might be whispered behind closed doors or shared in hidden glances.
You sighed, thinking about the conversations that never happened—the ones about Arin, the discussions Jeno had with her, the ones he never brought up with you. They hovered in the air, palpable but unacknowledged, like specters of mistrust between you two. These matters had remained unspoken, transforming gradually into silent witnesses of your growing isolation.
The campus was bustling around you, students moving between classes, lost in conversations or laughter, a stark contrast to the solitude that felt like it was enveloping you more tightly with each passing day. You hadn’t really spoken to Jeno much, not about things that mattered. The once easy conversations, filled with laughter and deep confessions, had dwindled to nothing more substantial than hurried greetings and vague promises of ‘I’ll text you later’ as you passed each other in the hallways. The rarity of his presence, both physical and emotional, was becoming painfully evident.
You missed him. Not just the physical presence but the emotional connection that once seemed unshakeable. It felt as if he had receded into a shell, or worse, into a world where you could no longer reach him. Each brief kiss, each fleeting touch, left you more frustrated and flustered than before. They were mere echoes of what you used to share, reminders of the distance that had grown between you.
Jeno's reasons for being distant were valid, not just convenient excuses. It was evident in every hurried conversation and the rare, weary smiles he offered between his classes and study sessions. You had seen the tangible proof of his commitment—his desk, perpetually buried under books and papers; the late nights you caught him in the lab, soldering and sketching long after everyone else had left and his apron; always stained with oil or littered with bits of metal and wood.
He had made a clear choice to cut out distractions, putitng a hold on drinking, getting high and partying to buckle down on his engineering projects. There was no question about his discipline or his focus on the future. It was admirable, truly, and part of what you adored about him—his ability to commit so completely to his goals.
You always felt a surge of pride watching him, his determination palpable. Supporting him was never a question; you wanted his dreams for him as much as he did. Yet, despite your pride in his achievements and your awe for his aspirations, a small part of you felt sidelined.
As much as you admired his dedication, it pained you to feel like an outsider looking in. His life was filled with calculations and projects, and somewhere along the line, it felt like there was less and less room for you. It wasn’t that you doubted his affection, but his absence left a void that was hard to ignore. You supported him unconditionally, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling of being excluded from the very life you were cheering him on to build.
As you walked, a leaf drifted from a branch, spiraling down to land softly beside your shoe. You stopped, looking down at it, its vibrant reds and oranges stark against the gray pavement. It was beautiful and yet, so transient. A sudden fear gripped you, unbidden and sharp—was this what was happening to your relationship with Jeno? A beautiful thing, fading before it really had the chance to grow?
──────────────────────────────
As you and Sunwoo navigate the bustling pathways of the campus, his arm occasionally drapes around your shoulder, steering you clear of the occasional student and backpack that seem to emerge in your path like sudden obstacles. His touch is grounding, but you’re barely there, your gaze downcast, lost in a swirl of somber thoughts.
Sunwoo has been watching you closely, and his voice breaks the silence, tinged with concern. “Hey, you haven’t said much today. What’s going on?” He looks at you intently, giving you a gentle squeeze to reassure you that he’s there, really there for you.
You glance up, meeting his gaze, the familiarity of his earnest concern makes the words spill out of you, almost against your will. “I miss Jeno,” you confess, the words heavy with unshed emotion. “It just hurts a lot, not talking to him for so long. I’m always here to support him, even help him study… But it feels like he’s just shut me out.”
Sunwoo’s expression softens as he exhales deeply, trying to offer comfort. “I’m sure it’s not like that,” he says, although his voice carries a hint of doubt, sensing the depth of your distress.
Your next words are laced with a raw vulnerability, your heart overriding the logic you strive to hold onto. “It’s like… I can see it in his eyes, Sunwoo. He’s losing interest in me.” You pause, swallowing hard, the fear evident in your voice. 
Before Sunwoo can reply, his eyes shift past your shoulder, focusing on something—or someone—behind you. “He’s right there,” he says, nodding towards a figure in the distance. “Let’s go see if that’s true.”
You catch sight of Jeno through the sea of students, his laughter ringing clear, each chuckle like a melody you've yearned to hear. His back is to you, shoulders relaxed among friends. Heart pounding, you hesitate, then muster the courage to approach, tapping gently on his shoulder.
"Jen," your voice barely a whisper, yet it slices through the laughter, halting conversations. He turns, his friends drifting away, leaving you both in a sudden quiet. His smile is tight-lipped, a strained semblance of normalcy that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which dart briefly as if searching for an escape or an excuse.
"You okay?" His words are automatic, the customary concern laced with an undercurrent of weariness. He seems poised to keep moving, to brush past this moment.
"Yeah, I just—I just miss you, that’s all. I hope you’re taking care of yourself," you say, the words more of a plea than a statement. Each syllable is heavy with unspoken emotion, a blend of longing and subtle accusation.
"I miss you too. I’m sorry for how busy I’ve been—" Jeno starts, his apology cut off by the earnest, almost desperate look in your eyes.
"I know you're busy, but can you please come over later? Or I can come to yours. We don’t even need to do anything, I just wanna be with you," you press on, your voice soft yet insistent, betraying your need for him, for the connection that has been fraying at the edges.
He sighs, his face a canvas of conflict and affection. "I have to study so I won’t be able to give you the attention I want to," he admits, his voice low.
"That’s fine… I just wanna be with you," you persist, a frown knitting your brows. "I’ve really missed you, I fear I’m going crazy. Haven’t I, Sunwoo?"
Turning to Sunwoo, who's been hovering a respectful distance away, he mumbles awkwardly, "Yeah, batshit crazy." 
"Don’t do that face," Jeno says softly, his hands cupping your face gently, steering your gaze back to him. His expression softens into one of deep affection, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He pulls you into a hug, the motion swift yet full of intent. 
You exhale sharply, sinking into his embrace, your body finally relaxing after weeks of tension. His scent envelops you, familiar and comforting, grounding you in the moment. The world narrows down to the feel of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart against yours.
"How about I see you tomorrow night?" he suggests, his voice a soothing balm.
You pout, longing for more immediate comfort, but he chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Just wait an extra day, okay? Can you do that for me?" His lips graze your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.
"Tomorrow is when all my exams will end, so I’ll be all yours from that moment onwards. Yeah, baby? You like the sound of that?" His words are husky, promising not just his time but his undivided attention.
"All. Mine," you affirm, leaning up to capture his lips with yours, initiating a deep, fervent kiss that you both have missed. The kiss is intense, a mingling of relief and longing, drawing out the weeks of separation into a single point of connection.
The sensation that passes through Jeno at your words is ineffable, a surge that sets his very soul quivering like a plucked string. It’s an ancient rhythm, a silent symphony that whispers of something more profound than desire���too deep to name, too sacred to voice. His heart recognizes it, the strange alchemy of fear and longing intermingled, and it terrifies him. Yet, as his gaze locks with yours, there's an unspoken understanding, a yearning to surrender to this unnamed emotion.
He watches the happiness blossom on your face, and it dawns on him—the decision has already been made in the quiet spaces of his heart. “Come over tonight,” he finds himself saying, the words shaped by a newfound resolve.
Your smile, open and luminous, fans the flame within him. “I thought that you were busy tonight.” 
“I will be, but you can just sit on my lap while I work, and then we’ll stay up together when I’m done. I could take you somewhere nice, yeah? Or we can just chill. Just come over. I wanna be with you. I’m sorry I haven’t given you much time in the last two weeks; that’s all gonna change. I’ll never do that again. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not my priority. Let me make it up to you, tonight and tomorrow night.”
The promises tumble from him, each one a pledge to do better, to be better. And in that moment, he means every word with a fervency that startles him. The smile that dances across your lips is a beam of pure joy, igniting a similar glow within him.
The kiss you share is intense, a physical manifestation of all the unspoken words and pent-up emotions between you. His lips press against yours with a fervor that conveys his urgency, his need to make amends. The taste of him is familiar yet charged with the electric current of your shared anticipation. You respond with equal fervor, your own desire an echo of his own.
Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands roam across your back, drawing you in until there's no space left between you. The heat of the moment rises, every movement of your lips and every glide of your tongues stoking the fire. Your breaths mingle, each gasp and sigh amplifying the hunger.
The world narrows down to just the two of you, to the sensation of his body aligned with yours, the soft sounds that spill from your lips into his. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, a testament to his intensity. And even as he whispers apologies against your lips, each kiss he plants is a silent promise of more—more time, more attention, more him.
But time, relentless and unforgiving, intrudes upon the moment. Jeno breaks away with a soft, lingering peck on your cheek, an endearment whispered into the air between you. “I’m already late,” he says, and though the words are an apology, his tone carries the weight of a promise. "I’ll see you tonight. Beautiful." You nod, a smile breaking through your earlier frustrations. As he turns to leave, a sense of anticipation fills you, the promise of tonight and tomorrow holding not just his presence but the revival of the intimacy you've both missed.
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As you sit on his lap, the room hums with the sound of his focused efforts, the occasional rustle of papers and the soft clicks of his laptop keys filling the air. He's immersed in his studies, his brow furrowed in concentration, a look of determination etched across his face. Every so often, he lifts his eyes from the screen to meet yours, offering a soft smile or a quick kiss—a silent acknowledgment of your presence.
The seriousness with which he approaches his work is undeniably attractive, adding an edge of admiration to the warmth blooming in your chest. His dedication reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. It's in these moments, even amidst the silence of concentration, that you feel a deep connection to him.
Suddenly, his voice breaks the quiet, a whisper so soft it pulls you from your reverie. "Turn around," he murmurs, his tone low and inviting. You hum in response, a sound of contentment that fills the small space between you.
"I'm taking a break. Turn around on my lap." His hands guide you gently yet firmly, ensuring your cooperation without needing to push. You can't help but smile as you obey, feeling the shift of his body beneath you as he helps maneuver you to face him. The movement is smooth, almost practiced, showing his familiarity with your body. 
Once positioned, you find yourself straddling him, your gaze locked onto his. His eyes, dark and intense, pull you in, and without another word, his lips find yours. The kiss is deep and consuming, igniting a fire that had simmered quietly while he studied. His lips move with a sureness that speaks of deep familiarity and longing, each press against yours a silent message of desire.
As the kiss deepens, his hands wander up your back, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. His touch is both gentle and demanding, a contradiction that only he could manage so perfectly. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin material of your clothes, the warmth radiating between you creating an envelope of intimacy that shields you from the outside world.
"Good girl," he whispers against the shell of your ear after your lips part for a moment. His breath is warm, tickling the sensitive skin and sending shivers down your spine. He plants a soft kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering slightly as he speaks again. "You've been so patient with me while I work, not disturbing me. I should do this more."
"Do what?" you ask, your voice a whisper that matches his own.
"Have you on my lap," he responds with a hint of mischief in his voice, his hands tightening around you slightly. 
As you lean in, eager for another kiss, he pulls back slightly, a small crease forming between his brows—a silent signal of his concern. "You okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine care. Your eyes narrow playfully, trying to mask the flurry of emotions his simple question stirs within you. 
"I am, yeah." You attempt to bridge the distance for another kiss, but he resists gently, his gaze piercing deeper.
"Is there something on your mind? Talk to me, baby." His words halt your motions, a gentle reminder of how attuned he is to your feelings, sometimes catching nuances you haven't fully acknowledged yourself. As he looks into your eyes, it's as if he's peering into the depths of your soul, seeing beyond the facade to the tangled mess of thoughts and emotions you've pushed aside.
His gentle probing breaks through the facade you've maintained. Suddenly, emotions you've suppressed surge to the forefront, triggered by his keen perception. It’s not merely the closeness of his body that reassures you, but how deeply he sees into you. Beyond the physical intimacy, it's his emotional attunement to you—his ability to sense and respond to your unspoken thoughts and hidden feelings. In his gaze, you find a refuge for all that you've held back, a realization dawning on you of how profoundly connected you both are, far beyond the everyday exchanges of affection.
You sigh, gathering the courage to address the tangled feelings you've harboured over the past few weeks. As someone who values open communication above all in a relationship, you feel it's crucial to not let this pattern of silence persist with Jeno, especially when he matters so much to you.
"It started when you talked to Arin after my performance," you begin, watching his reaction closely. "I appreciated how you handled it—being clear about your feelings and moving on right then and there. It meant a lot to me."
Jeno nods silently, his eyes locked on yours, signaling his attention despite the surprise that flickers briefly across his face.
"But since then, something's changed," you continue, the words flowing more freely now. "You’ve seemed distant, harder to read. I understand the pressure you’re under with exams, and I see how hard you're working. I’m really proud of you for that." You pause, ensuring he's still with you. Jeno's nod encourages you to press on.
"However, I can’t help feeling that part of the distance might be due to what happened with Arin. Has it left you feeling confused or lost? I wouldn’t know as we haven’t really talked about it, and our communication has suffered.” 
"Speaking of which," you add, shifting slightly to gauge his reaction to what you’re about to reveal, "there’s something else you should know. Do you know Jiwon?”
"Arin's best friend?" Jeno asks, a trace of caution in his voice.
You nod and Jeno lets out a huff. “Yeah, she’s a bitch.” 
You hold back your laughter and continue. “She approached me recently, and she wasn’t kind. She implied that what you and I have isn’t serious. She told me I was just keeping your bed warm, that you weren’t over Arin and that you’d always go back to her."
Jeno's expression tightens, his jaw clenching slightly as he processes your words. "Oh, that’s what that was about," he murmurs, referring to something evidently on his mind.
You're puzzled. "What?"
"I heard a rumor around campus that you hit Jiwon. I meant to ask about it but forgot. So, did you hit her?"
You laugh, shaking your head. "No, I'm not violent. I wouldn't do that."
His gaze then sharpens, becoming more serious and focused. “Listen, don’t let her get to you. Jiwon doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s clueless about us, about what we have. It’s so much more than she could understand.” His reassurance is firm, meant to fortify you against the doubts seeded by outside voices.
“Is it?” You couldn’t help but question, the words slipping out softer than intended.
He hummed in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. “Is it so much more? Because there’s been no real progression in our relationship, no steps forward.”
“We’re exclusive,” he replied quickly, as if that settled the matter.
But the conversation was already veering into deeper waters. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you still had some lingering attachments or feelings for Arin. She was a huge part of your history, and it’s tough to just let that go. Is that why we haven’t had the ‘what are we’ talk? Because of Arin, because of what you might still feel for her?”
He didn’t see that coming. The shift in the room was palpable.
Sitting on his lap, you fiddled with the edge of his shirt, the physical closeness contrasting sharply with the emotional distance that seemed to widen with each word. the silence stretching painfully between you. It was unfortunate, really, that despite the serious conversations and the mutual admissions of wanting only each other, Jeno hadn’t moved things forward. He hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet, and that omission hung heavily in the room, a silent wedge driving doubt into your thoughts.
"Are you being serious right now?" Jeno’s voice sliced through the air, his sudden movement slamming his laptop shut so forcefully it made you flinch. His expression morphed into one of disbelief and annoyance. The intensity in his fiery gaze made you wince as he faced you, his voice thick with frustration. "After everything we’ve been through, every time I’ve opened up to you, you’re really gonna accuse me of that?" His laugh was sharp, a sound you'd never heard from him before, void of humour and filled with disbelief.
You swallowed hard, the weight of your accusation—that he was still not over Arin—hanging between you. "I just—I can't think of any other reasons and you’ve been acting differently ever since you confronted Arin," you countered, your voice raised in frustration, desperate for him to understand the insecurities that his hesitations had fostered.
Jeno's stance hardened, the muscles in his jaw working as he processed your words. "This is unbelievable. You know that's so far from the truth. You crossed a line, Y/N," he retorted, his tone a mix of anger and hurt. His eyes, usually so comforting, now mirrored the storm brewing within him.
You were a bit taken aback by his reaction. Sure, you expected him to be shocked, but not angry and offended. You weren’t used to this side of him, especially when directed at you. “It’s not a bad thing, Jeno, we can move past this.” You tried to hold his hand but were met with his clenched fists, so you placed your hand on top of his, soothing out his muscles and feeling relief when you saw him relax slightly beneath your touch.
“I didn’t say that you still loved her, it’s just obvious that you’re not fully over her. But it’s okay, no one is holding you to account for it and I understand, truly. Maybe to fully get over her you have to take the leap and be with me seriously.”
“It’s— it’s more complicated than that,” Jeno murmured, his voice heavy with a mix of emotions.
The question finally slipped out, “Why haven’t you asked me to be your girlfriend?” you pressed, feeling your heart thump painfully against your ribs.
His silence was telling, and when he finally spoke, his voice was weary, “I don’t know. I’m just not ready to be in a relationship, especially after what happened with Arin.“​
The room's stillness was heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city through the open window. As you breathed in deeply, your voice, though shaky, cut sharply into the silence, "Then I’m done with this, with ‘us’." Your hands motioned in the space between you two, the severity of your own words washing over you, sending tears streaming down your face.
Jeno's expression softened, the earlier anger melting into a quiet desperation as he reached for you. "Baby—" he started, voice calm, trying to bridge the gap with a kiss, but you recoiled, stepping back.
"I want something serious. I want to settle down and commit. I want a boyfriend. But I obviously can’t find that in you, so I’m walking away before I’m even more hurt than I am right now." Each word was punctuated by a sob, the tears flowing freely as the realisation of your statement sank in. Could you really walk away from him now, especially when he had become the most important person in your life? His presence had intertwined so deeply with your own happiness that the thought of severing it felt like tearing part of yourself away.
Jeno stepped closer, his voice soft and urgent, "Look at me, please." Hesitantly, you lifted your eyes to meet him, and the vulnerability etched across his features stirred a deep, aching empathy within you.
"Don’t walk away from us, not yet," he implored, his voice soft and earnest. "You mean everything to me, more than I've ever let on."
He reached for your hand, his touch gentle, seeking connection. "It’s not about her—it’s about me. I’m scared of being hurt again, of diving in and finding myself lost," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion.
"You think I’d hurt you?" you asked, the hurt in your voice mirrored in your eyes. The idea seemed to widen the chasm of misunderstanding between you.
"No, that’s not what I’m saying," Jeno quickly clarified, his tone desperate to bridge the misunderstanding. "I’m just... I’m trying to protect my heart, but not at the expense of losing you."
"Because hurting you is the last thing I would ever want," he continued, his words sincere. "Please, just give me a little more time. I promise, I’m not letting go without a fight."
He looked earnestly into your eyes. "Just wait until tomorrow night, okay? I need to show you how much you mean to me. I don’t want us to end like this. I'll make everything right."
Your heart thudded painfully at his plea, torn between the fear of future pain and the undeniable bond that still pulsed so powerfully between you. Could you dare to hope that tomorrow might bring a new beginning, or was it just another promise waiting to be broken?
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“What’s up?” you hum to Sunwoo as he looks at you with a concerned expression.
“What’s wrong? I can tell when you’re not yourself,” he responds, his voice laced with worry.
You sigh, knowing there was no hiding your feelings from him. “It’s just—I kinda had an argument with Jeno and I think we left it on good terms but I’m still scared.”
“What was it about?” Sunwoo asks, his brow furrowing slightly.
“A few things, he’s been really distant lately and about the whole ‘Arin’ thing,” you reply, hesitant to delve into the details, and thankfully, Sunwoo nods in understanding, sparing you from having to elaborate.
“Aren’t you supposed to spend some time with him tonight?” he inquires.
You nod. “I am. I’m already feeling awkward about it but I want it to be good. I want to celebrate his end of exams with him. I want him to be able to relax and I want to forget about our argument just for tonight, and then we can have a more serious conversation.”
Feeling a momentary lift in your spirits, you grin mischievously at Sunwoo. “I wanna have a good time with him tonight, and I think you can help,” you suggest, segueing smoothly into your request.
“Sooooo, you know how you’re my best friend and you love me so much that you’d do absolutely anything for me?” you tease, sneaking up behind Sunwoo and draping an arm around his shoulders.
He rolls his eyes, already anticipating the favor about to be requested. “What do you want?”
“You’re throwing a party tomorrow, right? For Yeji?” you ask, your tone playful.
A smile breaks across his features, his fondness for Yeji never a secret. “Of course, I am,” he replies, his tone carrying a mix of pride and affection—it's probably the 10th party he's thrown for her.
“To celebrate her finishing exams?” you continue, nudging him gently to keep the mood light.
He nods in confirmation, his smile still wide.
“Jeno’s finishing his exams too…” you trail off, giving him a meaningful look.
“Throw him your own damn party,” Sunwoo retorts quickly, guessing your next words before they even leave your lips.
“No! That’s not what I want,” you protest, your voice full of earnestness. You pull out a piece of paper from your pocket and hand it to him, your grin mischievous. “I’m just kindly asking if you can do all of these things before tonight.”
Sunwoo’s eyebrow arches as he scans the list, visibly taken aback. “You’re really doing all this for him?” He can't hide his surprise as he reads through the detailed list, which includes all of Jeno’s favorite snacks, drinks, and even specifics on the type of alcohol and drugs. It’s clear you’ve put a lot of thought into personalizing the party for Jeno as well.
“Just go to your usual dealer; I’ll send you the money once you’ve got them,” you plead, your voice a blend of determination and hope.
He pauses, looking at you with a mix of admiration and skepticism. “Are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend yet?” he probes, his tone teasing yet serious beneath the surface.
You beam at him, your face alight with hope and a touch of nervous excitement. “I wanna ask him tonight,” you confess, your expression one of innocent trust, eyes sparkling with adoration for Jeno. Your enthusiasm is infectious, and even Sunwoo can’t help but feel a bit moved by your dedication.
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The evening had started with a flutter in your heart, excitement flowed through every motion as you prepared for what was supposed to be a memorable night. Each stroke of the makeup brush on your cheeks, each swipe of mascara was laden with anticipation. The mirror reflected back a hopeful version of yourself. Tonight isn’t just any night; it’s the night you’ve been counting down to, the night when all the pieces are supposed to fall into place with Jeno.
In your bedroom, the air was perfumed with your favourite scent, a subtle floral that Jeno had always loved. The dress you slipped into was a soft, figure-hugging mini that he had picked out on one of your dates, remembering how his eyes lit up when he saw it on you. It was more than just fabric; it was a reminder of his taste, his touch, his presence. As you adjusted the straps, the silky material felt like a whisper against your skin, each movement a call to the night’s potential.
Descending the stairs to the living area, every detail you had arranged caught your eye and tugged at your heartstrings. Jeno’s favourite snacks were arrayed meticulously on the counter, his preferred drinks chilled to perfection, the soft glow of the ambient lighting setting a cozy, inviting scene. 
As the doorbell rings and guests start to fill the space, the atmosphere shifts from quiet anticipation to vibrant festivity. Laughter rings out, glasses clink, and music swells—a perfect backdrop for what was meant to be a perfect evening. But as hours slip by, your smiles begin to stretch too thin, your laughs sound too forced. With each passing moment, the weight of Jeno's absence grows heavier.
Leaning against the wall, your phone felt like a leaden weight in your clutch. The screen lit up with each anxious glance—no new messages. Your heart sank a little more with each passing minute. Mingling through the crowd, you tried to engage, to be present, but the buzz of conversation around you felt distant, muffled by the growing dread that he might not show up.
"Hey, enjoying yourself?" Sunwoo nudges you with a smile as you both lean against the wall, watching the crowd.
"Yeah, so much," you reply, your voice hollow. You want to tell him, spill everything about how you're waiting for Jeno, how he promised he'd be here, but the words cling to the back of your throat, unspoken.
As the party hits its fifth hour, reality settles like a cold shadow across your spirit. He's not coming. He forgot. The realisation severs the last thread of hope you were clinging to, and quietly, you retreat to your room, away from the noise, away from the reminders of what tonight was supposed to be.
The transition was brutal. The hallway to your room seemed longer than ever, each step heavier than the last. Inside, the dimly lit space greeted you with its meticulously planned romantic ambiance now feeling like a stage set for a play where the lead actor would never show. The candles flickered, casting shadows that danced mockingly on the walls. The playlist you had carefully curated played low in the background, each song a reminder of what the night could have been.
Your gaze inevitably drifts to the corner where you had arranged everything just for him. Among the glowing candles and cozy ambiance lay several small baggies, each containing Jeno's favorite drugs and pills—a special treat you had secured to celebrate the end of his exams and enjoy together. The sight of them, still untouched, hurts, you had carefully chosen each one, you paid attention to his likes yet he didn’t show up. 
You hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all night, resisting the temptation of the freely flowing drinks at the party. You wanted to be fully present, fully aware, to take care of him, to celebrate with him, to be there for him in every way you could..
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you dialed his number again, the ringing tone echoing in the hollow room. No answer. The phone fell from your hand, landing softly beside you. Around you, the soft fabric of the pillows, the dim glow of the candles, spoke of a solitude that was both physical and emotional. The tears come then, unchecked, the sobs shaking your shoulders as you curl up amidst the pillows. You try his number again, the sound of the ring hollow in the quiet room.
He promised. 
Outside, the party raged on, oblivious to the quiet devastation unfolding just floors above. The contrast between the external joy and your internal desolation painted a vivid picture of your current reality. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration of beginnings, yet it felt like an acknowledgment of an ending.
As you lay there, curled in the darkness of your room, the decorations you'd so carefully arranged transformed into stark reminders of your solitude. In the silent echoes of the night, you were left to confront the painful realization that perhaps you were never as significant in Jeno's life as he was in yours.
The door creaks open, and Eunji’s concerned face appears in the doorway. She doesn’t say a word at first; she simply walks over and envelops you in a warm embrace. As you lay your head on her lap, the floodgates open, and you let the tears flow freely.
“What happened? Is it Jeno?” Eunji’s voice is soft, filled with worry.
Between broken sobs, you manage to speak. “He was—he was supposed to meet me but he never showed up.” You tell her everything that’s been on your mind, things you’ve kept caged inside: how you planned this to celebrate the end of his exams, how excited you were for tonight, and how you’ve felt his growing distance these past weeks.
Eunji strokes your hair gently, her touch soothing. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, handing you tissues and letting you cry it out without judgement.
Nayoung bursts into the room just then, her expression turning from concern to outrage as she pieces together the situation from the remnants of your tear-streaked explanation. “I’m gonna kill him,” she declares, kneeling in front of you with fierce protectiveness.
You can’t help but let out a weak giggle, despite the tears, as Eunji and Nayoung begin to playfully argue about how to handle the situation.
“If you give me the word, I swear I’ll march right over there and knock some sense into him. Heck, I’ll threaten to cut off his hands and his cock with his own engineering tools if that’s what it takes to show him he can’t treat you like this!” she exclaims, her voice a mix of frustration and protectiveness.
Eunji immediately interjects, her tone soothing yet decisive. “Let’s take a breath here, Nayoung. Threatening violence isn’t going to help anything. We need to think clearly and not let anger cloud our judgment.”
“But he’s making her miserable!” Nayoung argues, waving her hands emphatically towards you. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson, and it needs to be loud and clear.”
Eunji sighs, her expression softening as she looks between you and Nayoung. “I know he does, I really do. But let’s focus on being here for Y/N. Adding more chaos to the storm won’t help her heal.”
Nayoung grumbles but sits down next to you, her energy simmering down slightly. “Fine, but I’m serious. If you just nod once, I’m out that door to give him a piece of my mind. Who forgets a night like this after everything she’s done for him?”
Eunji gently squeezes your hand, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’re right here with you, for whatever you need. It’s perfectly okay to let it all out. Cry, get angry, express how you feel. We won’t leave your side.”
Nayoung’s earlier fire turns to a gentle firmness. “And hey, if yelling at him ever seems like the right move, just give me a nod. I’ve got plenty of volume for the both of us.”
Nayoung’s expression turns serious as she holds your hand tightly, her usual bravado giving way to a look of concern. “I need to show you something,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant.
She pulls out her phone and opens Instagram, scrolling through a series of stories posted by Jeno's friends. Handing you the phone, her touch lingers, as if unsure whether to let go. As you watch, a timeline unfolds, capturing a night that diverges sharply from the one you had planned together.
The photos and videos start innocently enough, with Jeno and his friends toasting to the end of exams. He had told you about this part—just a few drinks to celebrate their freedom before he was supposed to come over. But as you swipe through the stories, the images reveal a night that quickly spiralled beyond a simple celebration.
Each update shows Jeno progressively more engulfed in the festivities. He’s laughing loudly, surrounded by a crowd of equally drunk friends. The videos show them clinking glasses repeatedly, the table cluttered with empty bottles—a clear sign of the night’s excesses. Jeno appears increasingly carefree, his eyes bright with the uninhibited joy of the moment, so drunk and visibly high, completely absorbed in the revelry around him.
The pain of seeing him this way—so lost in a moment that doesn't include you—cuts deeply. Tears cloud your vision as the realization sinks in: he was too caught up in his own fun to remember his promises to you.
You cover your face with your hands, unable to watch anymore, as sobs shake your body. “I hate him,” you manage to whisper, each word choked out between cries of heartbreak.
Nayoung wrapped an arm around you, her presence a comforting counter to the sharp sting of the images, trying to lighten your heart with a gentle joke. But you couldn’t muster a laugh, not with your heart in such turmoil. “We had an argument last night… it got quite tense, but I thought we aired it out; he even promised to make things right the next night,” you explained through tears, your voice trembling. “What if he’s angry at me because of what happened and what I said to him?” The worry in your voice was palpable, the fear of his anger making you second-guess the harsh words that had passed between you.
Nayoung holds up her phone hesitantly, knowing there’s more you need to see. “Y/N, I’m not done…” she murmurs, her voice thick with sympathy. She swipes to a new set of photos, and there’s Arin, looking effortlessly stunning among a couple of her friends. They’re laughing, sipping drinks, the glow of the party lights casting a radiant sheen on her face. Your heart sinks further, the pain twisting like a knife as involuntary sobs wrack your body once again.
But Nayoung quickly interjects, her tone turning analytical, a sharp contrast to the emotionality of the moment. “They aren’t together in any of these pictures,” she points out firmly. “And I can text some people who can tell me if they were close tonight. They’ll tell the truth.” She types rapidly on her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration.
The longest few minutes of your life crawl by until Nayoung’s phone buzzes. “Okay, so Winter messaged me back. You know Winter, right? The really sweet and shy girl who’s always with Karina? She doesn’t drink much, so we can trust her word.” You nod, urging her to continue with a desperate glance.
“Okay,” Nayoung exhales with a measure of relief. “She told me that Arin and Jiwon just kind of turned up unannounced. Nobody really wanted them there. Everyone was pretty hostile and cold to them, especially Jeno and his friends. Apparently, they kept a good distance the whole night, and Jeno acted like she wasn’t even there.”
Your breath hitches at the news, a mix of relief and residual pain swirling within. Nayoung quickly adds, “Ooohh, okay, Karina also messaged me back.” She sighs, reading the new message. “Karina said that Arin kept trying to get close to him, to push into his space, but Jeno was having none of it. Even though he was high, he kept telling her to back off, literally saying, ‘Get the fuck away from me’ and ‘Don’t fucking touch me.’”
Your eyes widen slightly, processing this new information. Yet, despite the assurances, a hollow feeling lingers. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Nayoung nodded, her expression softening in understanding. “I honestly just think he made a stupid mistake,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s not a bad guy, and we all know that. Obviously, he needs to be more mindful, and he deserves the cold shoulder from you for a while to realise the impact of his actions.” Her words, meant to be comforting, still left room for your conflicted emotions to simmer.
Nayoung’s words hung in the air, giving you a bit to ponder, but it was Eunji who broke the silence, her voice as soothing as ever. She squeezed your hand gently, offering a calm anchor in the storm of your emotions. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you,” she assured you with a warm smile. “We can eat all his favorite snacks, drink his drinks, and talk all night. Or we can just sit here quietly. You tell us what you need.”
Nayoung nods, her earlier anger now replaced with a somber, supportive silence, and Eunji pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you. The three of you sit in a quiet huddle, the noises of the party fading into the background as you lean on each other for support in the dim light of your room, finding solace in the presence of friends in a moment fraught with heartbreak.
“I wanna get high,” you whisper suddenly, a stark contrast to the comforting scene. You rise from the huddle, your hands shaking slightly as you reach for the baggies you had set aside for Jeno. Each packet crinkles under your fingers, the sound unusually loud in the tense silence.
Nayoung and Eunji exchange a glance, concern etched deeply on their faces. “Y/N, maybe that’s not the best idea right now,” Nayoung says, her voice soft but firm.
Ignoring their caution, you briskly fix your makeup, trying to wipe away the trails of tears, preparing to face the remainder of the party with a different kind of numbness. “I need to forget tonight, just for a little while,” you mutter as you pocket the pills.
Descending back to the party, the lights and music assault your senses, a vivid contrast to the dark stillness of your room. You start downing shots, the alcohol sharp on your tongue, each swallow a burn that you hope will erase the sharp edges of your hurt. The pills in your pocket feel like a promise of further escape, a temporary relief from the pain that now consumes you.
After what feels like hours, your senses dulled by the mix of pills and alcohol, a sudden stir pulls you from the haze. There he is—Jeno. His arrival slices through the crowd, an unwelcome shock to your numbed heart. He’s not alone; a swarm of his friends buzz around him, their laughter and cheers a stark contrast to the heavy silence you've wrapped around yourself. They are celebrating, oblivious to the wreckage of your evening, to the fact that he's already too late.
You turn away sharply, a reflex to shield your heart from further damage. The sight of him brings a rush of anger and hurt, emotions you're not ready to face. You don't care why he's here now; his presence feels like an intrusion, a painful reminder of what you'd hoped this night would be.
Moving to a quieter corner of the party, away from the boisterous group, you try to disappear into the shadows, to find solace in solitude. But the fragments of overheard conversations tug at your attention.
"Jeno! Man, chill!" It's Jaemin's voice, laced with stress and concern. You glance back, catching a glimpse of him running a hand through his hair, his expression one of someone who didn’t plan to spend his night this way. He’s dressed casually, as if he’d been dragged here against his will, but he came for a reason—Jeno.
From the snippets you catch, it's clear Jeno is far from alright. He’s staggeringly high, more lost to the world than you've ever seen him before. Jaemin tries to manage him, to somehow bring him back from the edge where he teeters. The scene paints a picture of chaos, of a night gone terribly wrong. Jeno had lost control, spiraling in a way that none of his friends had anticipated.
The party's clamor surrounds you, a din of laughter and music that feels alien to your current mood. "Y/N," a voice calls out, tugging you back to the present. It's Jaemin, his expression marked with concern.
You manage a weak smile, your gaze darting anywhere but into his eyes. A surge of anger bubbles within you, though you remind yourself that Jaemin isn't the one to blame.
"Have you seen Jeno?" he asks. 
You shake your head, your response terse. The less you say, the better you can manage the simmering frustration.
"Did you throw this party for him?" Jaemin probes, his eyebrow arched in suspicion.
"No. It’s Sunwoo’s party," you reply, sharper than intended. The last thing you want is for anyone to know this was all for Jeno—a party he never even planned to attend.
"You don’t need to lie to me, you know. You did all of this stuff for him," Jaemin continues, his voice softening as he glances at the table laden with Jeno’s favorite drinks and the pills protruding from your pocket. "I bet you’re even wearing some pretty lingerie under—"
"I’m not," you interject, cutting him off before he can finish. The humiliation of it all is too much to bear.
"And he only showed up now?" Jaemin's voice is tinged with disbelief.
You nod, unable to muster the energy for more words.
Jaemin sighs, his eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and apology. "I know it won’t mean much coming from me but I’m really fucking sorry. That’s not fair, and you don’t deserve that from him. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him, I’ll make sure he makes things right—"
"Please don’t," you interject, your voice small yet pleading. "It’s embarrassing. Seeing how much effort I put in all to be stood up... I just want to forget about it all. I don’t want him to know. Please promise me you won’t say a word."
Reluctantly, Jaemin extends his pinky. You know you can trust him, and he solemnly agrees with a pinky promise.
"I’m not trying to justify what he did, because it’s unacceptable and he needs to make things right. He needs to realize that on his own," Jaemin continues, his tone serious. "But he’s been really focusing on his exams these last few weeks, shutting out everyone, even me. He’s been an academic weapon. He hasn’t smoked, gotten drunk, or done drugs since exams started, so I guess tonight was his blowout. He always goes overboard when exams finish. When he’s that high, not a single thought goes through his mind."
"That doesn’t make anything better," you reply coldly.
"I’m sure he was supposed to meet you and go but forgot, like genuinely. It doesn’t make anything better, but I’m sure it was an actual mistake from him. It wasn’t intentional. I know Jeno; he’s not a bad guy. He wouldn’t do that for no reason," Jaemin insists, trying to offer some solace, however small.
"Tell him not to call or talk to me from now on," you say, the finality in your voice echoing your resolve.
"Come on, he really likes you," Jaemin tries again, but you're already walking away, distancing yourself from the conversation and the painful realities it confirms. As you merge back into the shadows of the party, Jaemin's words linger, but they do little to mend the ache that has firmly settled in your heart.
The music thrums through the room, each beat a relentless echo of the night’s unraveling. You’re still reeling from the conversation with Jaemin, your mind a tangled mess of anger and sorrow. In your haste to escape the intensity of the moment, you turn sharply, your movement quick and unthinking. The sudden motion sends you crashing into someone. Stabilizing yourself, you look up, ready to apologize, but the words die on your lips as your eyes lock with Jeno’s.
It’s him. The very person who’s at the center of your turmoil, standing right in front of you, almost as if fate had cruelly steered you into his path. His presence strikes you with the force of an unexpected wave, overwhelming and disorienting. For a second, the world seems to slow down, the noise of the party fading into a dull roar in the background. 
He looks so good it hurts. There’s an effortless charm to him even now, disheveled as he might be, with his t-shirt slightly askew revealing a hint of his collarbone, and those jeans that always seem perfectly fitted, suggesting the contours of his toned legs. His hair, usually neatly styled, hangs loosely around his face, strands falling over his forehead in a way that somehow highlights the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline.
He’s a vision, undeniably handsome—every inch the kind of distraction that has always drawn you in, despite tonight’s circumstances. His eyes, though dilated and clouded slightly by his indulgences, still hold that familiar warm glint when they meet yours, making it hard for a moment to remember the disappointment simmering inside you.
"Hi baby," he says, his voice smooth despite the noticeable slur, his words tumbling into one another yet filled with a warmth that pulls at you. He reaches out, attempting to pull you into his embrace, his movements confident yet slightly uncoordinated.
You instinctively start to lean into the comfort he offers before the reality of the evening snaps you back. "Go and fucking touch Arin," you retort sharply, pushing against his chest, forcing some physical distance between you as a barrier to the emotional torrent threatening to spill over.
Jeno pauses, his arms still outstretched, his expression morphing from affectionate to puzzled. "What? No, it’s you I—"
"Don't," you cut him off, the firmness in your voice belying the ache in your chest. The sight of him so carefree, so unaffected, stirs a tumult of emotions within you. His shirt, slightly lifted from the motion, reveals just a hint of the abs you've traced so many times, a reminder of the many moments of intimacy now overshadowed by the night’s revelations.
"I'm here for you," he continues, his voice earnest, a stark contrast to the blithe disregard his actions have demonstrated. His eyes try to meet yours, searching for an in, but you divert your gaze, unwilling to get lost in the depths of blue that have always seemed to see right through you.
He’s beautiful, infuriatingly so, and even now, clouded by substances, there’s a sincerity in his effort to connect that makes your resolve waver. But the hurt of being forgotten, of being secondary to his celebrations, hardens your heart once more.
Your heart throbs painfully against your ribcage, a silent echo of the night’s crushing disappointment. You stare at him, the dim party lights casting shadows across his handsome features, deepening the hollows of his face, and for a fleeting moment, you see the boy you fell for, not the aloof figure before you.
With a sharp intake of breath, you turn away, leaving him in the swirl of the party, his image etched into your mind like a bittersweet photograph. The conflict between the pull of your heart and the weight of your disappointment leaves you reeling as you step back into the crowd, away from the warmth of his confused gaze.
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The house had emptied out, the noise and chaos of the party finally fading into a strained silence, only punctuated by Sunwoo’s concerned gaze fixed on you. “What the fuck happened?” he asks, his voice laced with worry as he hands you a glass of water, his gestures pointedly trying to ground you back to sobriety.
“Go to my room,” He mutters, the words slipping out before you fully register them.
Sunwoo follows, once in the comfort of his room, you spill everything and he listens, his expression a mask of patience and anger as you unravel every thread of the evening—the plans you had made for Jeno, the crushing disappointment, the despair. You tell him everything, each confession punctuated by a shared understanding of past comforts and missed connections.
He wraps an arm around you, a familiar gesture that feels like a lifeline. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs.
“Can you stay here?” you whisper, your voice small in the vast quiet of the room.
“Yeah, I can, it is my room.” Sunwoo replies, already tossing a pillow onto the floor to make himself a makeshift bed.
“I meant next to me.” The words are out before you can stop them, a raw, needy whisper in the dark.
He laughs, a disbelieving sound that fills the space between you. “Y/N—”
But you’re already moving, driven by a surge of loneliness and a desperate craving for something to fill the void Jeno left. Your lips crash against Sunwoo’s, a fierce, messy kiss that cuts him off mid-sentence. You pull him down, and he lands heavily on top of you, his body instinctively responding to yours. It’s not the first time; there’s a rhythm to your desperation, a remembered path of least resistance.
You’re moving together now, a dance of old habits as you straddle his lap, grinding against him in a rhythm that’s as familiar as it is forbidden. You start to peel his top off, caught up in the momentum, but he catches your hands, his grip firm.
He pulls back sharply, the motion almost violent in its intensity. “Y/N, we can’t—” His voice is ragged, breath hot against your face.
“I’m really hard, so please get off my lap,” he adds, a strained chuckle belying the tension in his voice. You can feel his arousal, a hard line against your inner thigh, a testament to the physical response he can’t control.
Reluctantly, you slide off him and curl up beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself against the chill that seems to seep into your bones. He notices, draping a blanket over your shivering form.
“Why?” The word is more of a sob than a question, hurt coloring your tone. “Nothing has ever stopped us before.” 
“Because you’re upset at him, and this isn’t the way to deal with it,” Sunwoo says gently, the earnestness in his voice making you look at him. “You need to talk to him instead of trying to fuck me.”
You frown, frustration and confusion mingling with the remnants of desire. “I’ve come to you crying a hundred times in the past, before Jeno, and you always used to fuck me to make me feel better, so why won’t you do it now?” Your voice is raw, each word a slice of vulnerability.
“This was our thing,” you continue, the history between you spilling out in a rush. “We used to come to each other whenever we were stressed or upset and used to fuck each other for release. Remember the amount of times I’ve sucked your cock because something pissed you off so you’d always show up at mine or call me over?”
He laughs, a sound that’s half nostalgia, half resignation. “Yeah, and why do you think we’re both shitty at dealing with emotions?”
“I’m not shitty at dealing with emotions—” you start to argue, but he cuts you off.
“Y/N, all of the fucking is left in the past. You should know that. I’m trying to be with Yeji, and this won’t help anything. I know how hurt you are, just, let’s watch your favorite show, okay? I promise I won’t leave you alone, but I can’t fuck you, not now.”
Resignation washed over you as you nodded slowly, the fight draining out of you as the reality of his words settled in. Together, you settled under the blanket, the TV flickering on as you leaned against him, his presence a steady comfort in the swirl of your chaotic emotions.
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Sunwoo flings the door open, his face a mask of barely contained fury. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, his whole body rigid with the effort to keep his anger in check. The air is thick with tension, every muscle in his frame poised for a confrontation.
Jeno’s eyes are pleading, and he starts to speak, his voice thick with urgency, “Please let me see her—”
That’s all it takes for Sunwoo’s restraint to snap. His hands shoot out, fingers tangling in the fabric of Jeno’s shirt, pulling him close with a jolt. He pins Jeno against the door with a force that echoes through the silent hallway. Jeno, for all his faults in this moment, offers no resistance. There’s a glimmer of acknowledgment in his eyes—he knows he’s earned this.
Sunwoo’s voice is a low growl, his words like bullets. “You fucked up. I’ve never seen her this upset.” Each word is punctuated by a shake, Jeno’s head knocking softly against the door.
Sunwoo’s voice drops to a hiss, venomous and revealing. “She was serious about you. She even stopped fucking and sucking my cock when she started seeing you and trust me, she’s never done that for any guy before. But she did it for you, we both agreed to stop our meaningless fucks whenever we were horny and needed a release… and this is how you treat her? After all the patience and kindness she’s shown you? After she opened up her heart to you? You’re fucking pathetic. A fucking idiot.”
Jeno’s voice breaks through the tension, rough with emotion, “You’re the one who’s fucked her?”
Jeno had always suspected, in the back of his mind, that there was history between you and Sunwoo. He’d noticed the way you both interacted, a familiarity that went beyond mere friendship. Your closeness with Sunwoo was obvious — the personal jokes, the way you’d lean on him, the comfort in each other’s space. He’d never brought it up; after all, it was your past, and he had no place digging into it.
Yet, now, faced with the stark reality, it hit him harder than he anticipated. Sunwoo’s words, dripping with contempt and protectiveness over you, ignited a blend of anger and guilt in Jeno. He knew — he’d always known, really — that whatever you and Sunwoo had shared was purely physical, a no-strings-attached arrangement. But the raw jealousy that clawed at him now was unexpected, unwelcome.
He grappled with the images his mind conjured, unwanted scenarios of you seeking comfort in Sunwoo’s arms, just as you had in the past. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that his actions, his neglect, may have driven you back into a familiar orbit, one that he could not stake any claim over, not anymore. The mere possibility that Sunwoo might touch you again, that you might seek solace in the intimacy you once shared, stung him with a sharp sense of loss.
In a desperate plea, his words tumbled out, a mix of demand and weakness, “Please don’t touch her. Don’t fuck her.” His voice broke, betraying the turmoil beneath his usually composed exterior. He was in no position to make requests, to set boundaries, and he knew that. But the heart doesn’t heed such logic.
Sunwoo’s response was curt, a reflection of his disdain. “She’s sleeping. She’s not okay, and it’s all because of you.” The gravity in his voice was a sobering slap to Jeno’s conscience. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Sunwoo was right. It was his fault, and the road to redemption seemed like a steep climb from the abyss he’d stumbled into.
Sunwoo steps back, releasing Jeno completely, leaving him to grapple with the gravity of his missteps. In the quiet aftermath of their confrontation, Jeno stands alone, the corridor stretching out endlessly before him, a physical representation of the distance he’s put between himself and you.
There’s a pounding in his head, a relentless drumbeat of guilt, and the sobering knowledge that he’s just stumbled upon a crossroads. One wrong move has the potential to unravel everything he holds dear. And as he stands there, he knows the path to redemption is steep and uncertain, but it’s one he must walk if he hopes to make things right.
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Jeno has been different since you. 
Donghyuck watched Jeno from across the kitchen table, stirring his noodles absentmindedly. The transformation in Jeno was stark and troubling. Gone was the uplifting spirit that Donghyuck was used to; in its place sat a withdrawn figure, his eyes often glazed over with a distant, pained look.
Jeno still hung out with them, but there was a palpable distance, a barrier he had put up. He would listen, occasionally engage, but his laughter was rare and his departures early. Even now, sitting across from him, Donghyuck felt the gap, as if Jeno was miles away instead of just across the table.
Jeno sat hunched over his food, his usually sharp eyes dulled, mindlessly swirling noodles around his fork. His usual vibrant demeanor had dimmed noticeably since your departure. Donghyuck eyed him with a mix of concern and mischief, catching the drift of his friend’s mood.
“So, I heard your girl is available now, you guys broke up?” Donghyuck teased, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes twinkling maliciously.
Jeno’s reaction was instant; his expression turned icy, a chill settling over his features as he shot Donghyuck a look that could freeze boiling water. “No? You just said she’s my girl, didn’t you?” His voice was low, carrying a warning that was impossible to miss.
Undeterred by the serious tone, Donghyuck leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I have a master plan, do you wanna hear it?” Silence hung in the air, Jeno’s disinterest palpable, but Donghyuck plowed ahead regardless. “I’ll fuck her for you—”
“What the fuck? No. How the fuck is that for me? You’re talking about putting your disgusting dick in my girl and you’re saying it’s for me?” Jeno’s anger flared, his words sharp as knives.
Donghyuck chuckled, unfazed by the hostility. “Nah, man, I’ll be so shit in bed and I’ll purposefully not make her cum, so she’ll want to go back to you because I know you’ve made her squirt, filthy boy!!” He slapped Jeno on the back, trying to coax a smile with his twisted logic.
For a fleeting second, a smirk twitched at the corner of Jeno’s mouth, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a scowl. With a swift motion, Jeno smacked Donghyuck across the back of his head. “Your fucking plan to bring my girl back to me is by having sex with her? Fucking dumbass. Don’t fucking touch her. If you do as much as look her way, it won’t be good.”
Donghyuck’s demeanor shifted slightly, his voice lowering to a more earnest tone. “It’s not me you have to worry about.” He leaned back, eyeing Jeno seriously. “Apparently, Y/N is trying to move on from you.”
Jeno’s eyes narrowed, his jaw setting tight. “Apparently she’s texting guys all over campus,” Donghyuck continued, the smirk returning as he watched Jeno absorb the information.
“Your girl is hot. She’s getting attention from a lot of guys on campus, everyone wants to fuck her, and apparently she’s actively looking for that, to move on.” Donghyuck’s words were calculated, designed to provoke, and Jeno could feel the sting of each syllable, a mix of pain and rage building within him.
“What kind of guys are chasing after her?” 
“Hyunjin, Felix, Yangyang, Yeonjun to name a few,” Donghyuck rattles off casually, observing Jeno's reaction closely.
Jeno's expression hardens at each name—each one synonymous with casual flings and fleeting interests. These weren't the type of guys he wanted around you, especially not now.
“If they touch her, I swear to God...” Jeno's voice trails off into a growl, his hands clenching instinctively.
Donghyuck smirks, sensing the protective surge in his friend. “You’d make them regret it?” he probes, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of seriousness.
Jeno only nods, his jaw set firm, the muscles in his neck tensed with the restraint of his anger.
“Want me to warn them off?” Donghyuck offers, his smirk widening slightly.
“Don’t make it a big deal, just subtly let them know that Y/N is off limits,” Jeno instructs, his tone serious. He pauses, a conflicted look crossing his features. “But I want her to be happy, you know? Maybe... maybe get someone decent, like Soobin, to take an interest. Someone who'll treat her well,” he adds, almost reluctantly, but with a clear desire for your happiness shining through his troubled expression.
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Donghyuck had definitely made it a big deal. 
Another dry response, another guy who wasn’t interested. Frustration simmered beneath your skin as you threw your phone aside in anger. This pattern was becoming all too familiar. You’d messaged guys across campus, your intentions blatantly clear: you were looking for a quick, no-strings-attached release. Yet, each time, your openness was met with disinterest. No one seemed to want you; no one seemed eager to take you up on your offer.
“Another guy turned you down?” Nayoung asked, her voice laced with concern as she popped a pill and casually tossed it back. You both sighed heavily, the disappointment hanging heavy in the air.
Tonight, you’d both dressed in your most enticing outfits—short, curve-hugging skirts that ended just at mid-thigh, paired with matching crop tops that left little to the imagination. Your hair was done up in loose, carefree waves that framed your faces beautifully, enhancing the sultry makeup that accentuated your features. Every detail was meticulously planned to enhance your appeal, from the glossy finish on your lips to the smoky shadow around your eyes.
Despite the rejections, you couldn’t deny the power of your own reflection. Standing there, you both looked irresistible, the embodiment of desire and confidence. Yet, the night’s efforts seemed in vain, the cool rejection from your phone screen clashing sharply with the hot allure of your appearance.
Now, more than anything, you just needed someone to rip this outfit off your body. Since Jeno left, you’d been craving something—anything—to fill the void, and you hadn’t been touched in so long. You just wanted cock.
As you and Nayoung readied for the party, taking your fill of the pills she’d brought, the two of you posed for some seriously sexy photos. You were in the midst of adjusting your top when Nayoung suddenly made a noise as if she’d just remembered something important.
“I forgot to tell you!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she turned to you. “I did some asking around campus, and I think I know why guys haven’t been reciprocating your want to fuck them.”
You turned to her, curiosity piqued. “Why?”
“Okay, hear this,” she began, leaning in closer as if sharing the juiciest secret. “Apparently, Donghyuck made a joke to Jeno about wanting to fuck you, and Jeno got all protective, warned Donghyuck not to ‘touch his fucking girl.’ Then Donghyuck mentioned that other guys had their eye on you since you and Jeno broke it off—like the notorious fuckboys, Hyunjin and Yeonjun, not the sweet ones like Jeno. You know, the ones that only want your pussy and once they have that, they’ll throw you to the side and disregard you. I fucked Yeonjun once, and he didn’t even make me cum; he just fucked me to make him cum.”
“What’s your point?” you ask, shaking your head as Nayoung’s gossip draws a smirk from you despite the irritation brewing inside.
“Yeah, so basically,” Nayoung continued, “Jeno told Donghyuck that if those guys ever lay a fucking hand on you, they’d regret it. And Donghyuck, being the shit-stirrer he is, spread that around campus. Jeno is scary when he’s mad—he can really make you regret doing something when he warns you not to. So, I guess they listened to him and stayed away from you.”
You hissed with anger, fists clenching as you paced slightly. You should’ve known. It had been him all along. “He’s the one behind this? I’m seriously gonna strangle him.”
Nayoung burst out laughing at your reaction. “I’m so fucking hot and sexy, and all the guys on campus know that, yet they’re not going for me because of Jeno. Fucking hell, Jeno, when I get you…” You mimed a strangling motion with your hands, your frustration palpable.
“You’re the new buzz on campus, a lot of guys want you, especially after seeing how sexy you and Jeno looked together. But Jeno scared them all away, even if he didn’t do it intentionally. That’s how much power he has,” Nayoung mused.
“He’s so fucking annoying,” you muttered, shaking your head.
“He’s quite possessive, isn’t he?” Nayoung added with a smirk, popping another pill and watching you with a mix of amusement and sympathy.
“I know he’s trying to look out for me, and part of me can’t help but find that kind of possessiveness kind of hot… It's like he still cares, a lot. But it’s also frustrating that it’s scaring everyone else off.”
Nayoung's eyes flicker with curiosity as she watches you pause, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Do you think Jihoon would be scared of Jeno? I mean, he dated Winter, right? I'm sure he knows how to make a girl feel good—" you muse out loud, seeking her opinion before committing to send the message.
“Aren’t you seeing Soobin?” Nayoung interjects, her eyebrows arching in surprise at your continued exploration of options. Her voice is tinged with a mix of amusement and concern.
“Yeah,” you mumble, the word barely more than a whisper, your enthusiasm waning at the mention of Soobin.
“So, you’re messaging other guys because Soobin’s bad in bed?” Nayoung's tone is playful yet probing, as she connects the dots.
You burst out laughing, nodding in agreement, the humor momentarily easing the tension. “Exactly.”
Nayoung hums thoughtfully, tapping her lip. "It’s weird to me that Soobin wasn’t scared off by Jeno. He’s actively trying to pursue you. Does that mean he’s the only guy who isn’t intimidated by Jeno?”
Shaking your head, you reply, "I don't think so." The situation puzzles you as much as it intrigues Nayoung.
“Maybe Jeno didn’t warn him because he thinks Soobin’s too cute to be a threat,” Nayoung suggests, a smirk playing on her lips. “He probably doesn’t expect Soobin to hurt you.”
You scoff, the frustration bubbling up again. "He may be cute but he can’t do shit in bed. We've had sex but it's barely sex. He has no technique, just sticks it in and expects magic to happen. He doesn’t know how to use it. Sure, he’s got a big cock, not as big as Jeno’s, but impressive. Yet he doesn’t know how to make a girl come, and he can't even kiss properly. I’ve tried dropping hints, even suggested he watch porn, tried to get Eric to give him some tips, but nothing changes. He’s just so bad, Nayoung."
Nayoung laughs, a low chuckle. “Yeah, you don’t even make a noise when he’s over.”
“Exactly, I don’t even try to fake it. He should get the hint, but he doesn’t. And he’s too sweet for me to just outright tell him, learn how to use your cock.’ It’s frustrating.”
Nayoung leans in closer, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “You were so loud whenever Jeno was over.”
You nod, the memories vivid and insistent. “Jeno knows how to make me feel good,” you admit, a pang of longing colouring your voice. It’s a reluctant admission, laced with the ache of missing him—the way his touch electrified your skin, the assuredness of his hands roaming over you, knowing just how to drive you wild.
“The way he used his fingers,” you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper, “and his lips… God, I miss how he made me feel.” Your body reacts just at the thought, a warm flush spreading across your skin. “He had this way of pulling me close, his grip strong yet so careful, as if I was something precious.”
Nayoung watches you, her expression a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “And his cock,” you add, your voice thick with desire and frustration. “He knew exactly how to use it, every thrust just right. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like that… touched the way Jeno used to touch me.” The words spill out, unfiltered and raw.
You lean back, your eyes closing as you allow yourself a moment to dwell on the vivid images of past encounters. “I just need that again, Nayoung. I’m so fucking horny and frustrated. I need to feel wanted, to be devoured, not just… touched absentmindedly.” Your hands clench in your lap, the physical manifestation of your inner turmoil.
“I need a release, a real one,” you say, your eyes opening, meeting Nayoung’s with a fierce, almost defiant look. “I need someone who can make me forget, even if just for a night.” Your voice is firm, the edge to it cutting through the playful atmosphere that had lightened the earlier part of your conversation.
Nayoung nods, understanding your needs without judgment. “Let’s find you that someone then,” she says, her tone supportive, ready to dive back into the night with a renewed mission, to help you find the release you so desperately crave.
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Walking into the bar, the familiar clamor of laughter and music greets you, but it’s Donghyuck’s voice that cuts through the din. “Girl, I’ve missed you!” His arms wrap around you in a tight embrace that lifts the lingering shadows of the past weeks.
“So have I!!!” Your words come out slurred, the warmth of the reunion melting the coldness of recent days. You’d been avoiding him, unfairly linking him to Jeno’s actions, but realising your anger was misplaced had brought you back to him, someone who had unexpectedly become one of your closest friends.
Soobin is there too, awkwardly waiting his turn. His greeting stumbles out, “You—woah—you—so pretty.” You muster a polite smile and murmur thanks, his gaze flickering over you with polite admiration but lacking the intensity you crave.
If this was Jeno, his reaction would be unmistakable. He’d probably gasp, taken aback by how stunning you looked, his eyes greedily taking you in. He wouldn’t be shy about it; his hands would find their way to your ass and your thighs almost instinctively, his touch bold and admiring. Whispering a stream of compliments, he’d make you feel irresistibly sexy, especially when you dressed provocatively, his appreciation both vocal and palpable.
Nayoung leans closer, her voice low. “Jeno’s here.” Her eyes flicker with concern. “He’s staring at you. Do you wanna stay or go?”
A sigh escapes you; of course, Jeno would be here. Donghyuck had mentioned it might turn into a larger gathering before moving on to Sunwoo’s party. You allow your gaze to meet Jeno’s for a brief moment, taking in his undeniable allure. He looks irresistible, the dim bar lights casting shadows that accentuate the contours of his face, making him appear both mysterious and impossibly handsome. His reaction to seeing you is palpable; you catch the sharp intake of his breath, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in your appearance.
“No, it’s okay, I can deal with him,” you assert, settling into the role of the provocateur. Perching yourself on Soobin’s lap, you make a show of laughing a little too loudly, your hand casually brushing against the exposed skin of your thigh. It’s a performance, each movement calculated to draw a reaction from Jeno.
Leaning back into Soobin, you shift subtly, feeling the fabric of your top stretch tight across your chest, accentuating your curves. Every adjustment seems accidental but is steeped in intent. Casually, you gather your hair, twisting it into a high ponytail as you catch Jeno’s gaze. You know he loves it when your hair is up, exposing the slender curve of your neck and the delicate line of your shoulders. As you secure your hair, you tilt your head slightly, a silent invitation for his eyes to wander over the places he used to kiss. Your movements on Soobin’s lap are deliberate, a slow grind that suggests more, ensuring Jeno is acutely aware of every provocative shift of your body.
Was it petty? Perhaps. Did you care? Not in the slightest.
As the night progresses, you catch Jeno’s gaze locked on you multiple times, his expression a mixture of nostalgia and something darker, perhaps jealousy. He converses with others, his laughter ringing out, yet his eyes betray a distance, a detachment from the mirth around him.
You revel in the attention, the power of making him watch, unable to touch, to engage. It’s a cruel game, but after everything, it feels like a justified rebuke for the pain he’s caused.
Soobin was incredibly timid; even with you sitting on his lap, his hands hadn’t dared to explore. They remained awkwardly at his sides, as if he was unsure of what to do next. In sharp contrast, if this had been Jeno, his approach would have been entirely different. His hands would have confidently roamed over your thighs and ass, his touch assured and provocative. Jeno would have already whispered sultry promises into your ear, his fingers skillfully bringing you to climax, each move calculated to draw out the deepest moans of satisfaction from you.
Frustrated by Soobin’s passivity, you slipped off his lap with a swift, fluid motion and sauntered over to the bar to drown your dissatisfaction in alcohol. As you waited for your drink, a searing gaze burned into your back. Turning around, you caught Jeno’s eyes fixed on you with an intensity that scorched. His stare was predatory, unlike Soobin’s uncertain glances, igniting a thrill of excitement through you. His gaze traced the contours of your body so fervently that you could almost feel his touch.
You followed his stare down to your ass and realized he wasn’t even attempting to be subtle; his eyes were glued to you, unashamed and raw. You gasped, taken aback by his audacity, yet a part of you reveled in the attention.
With a few heated steps, you closed the distance between you, standing defiantly in front of him, arms crossed. Jeno met your gaze with a playful grin, as if he wasn’t just caught staring at you.
“Were you just checking out my ass?” you challenged, your tone a mix of amusement and accusation, your eyes narrowing slightly to match the teasing yet confrontational energy of your stance.
He responded with disarming honesty, his eyes locking onto yours, not even flinching as he admitted, “Not the first time and won’t be the last.”
Your frustration bubbled into a huff, and you shook your head, at a loss for words for a moment, before you pointed an accusatory finger at him and sharply said, “No!” as if scolding a misbehaving dog, the irritation mingled with an unspoken delight at his undivided attention.
You turned on your heel to walk away, but not without adding a final flair to your exit. Casually, you tugged your skirt up slightly, just enough to give Jeno a fleeting but tantalizing glimpse of more. Over your shoulder, you shot him a mischievous smirk, ensuring he caught every bit of the provocative gesture.
His response was immediate—a sharp intake of breath as he bit his lip, a classic sign of restrained desire. His eyes, dark and intent, tracked every movement you made, clearly affected by the provocatively playful challenge you'd thrown at him. The smirk that played on your lips grew wider as you savored the visible effect you had on him. Feeling bold and empowered by his reaction, you turned on your heel, giving your hips an extra sway just for him, pulling up the hem of your skirt ever so slightly as you glanced back with a teasing smirk. Leaving a visibly flustered Jeno to stew in the heat of the moment you had just ignited, you walked away, the thrill of the encounter sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.
As you mingled effortlessly with his friends, Jeno's gaze held a mix of frustration and admiration from across the room. Every laugh and gesture you shared with the group only highlighted your comfort and charisma, adding to the allure that seemed to captivate everyone, including him. Despite the noise and energy around him, his attention was firmly on you, his thoughts a blend of appreciation and yearning.
Throughout the night, your vibrant energy seemed to draw more people into your orbit, leaving Jeno somewhat isolated, his eyes following your every move. The way you interacted with his friends, the ease with which you laughed and danced, struck a chord within him, a reminder of the connection you once shared. Occasionally, your eyes would meet, and you’d offer him a playful yet distant smile, a nod to your shared past and the complex feelings that lingered.
With one final glance that night, you caught Jeno looking your way. Instead of another teasing gesture, you gave him a soft smile, acknowledging the undeniable tension. Returning to the laughter and conversations around you, you left Jeno with his mixed emotions, the distance between you both more poignant than ever.
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The party was alive with energy, vibrating with the pulse of loud music that filled the crowded room. Flashing lights painted the dancing crowd in waves of color, each flash cutting through the dark like a strobe. The atmosphere was electric, everyone letting loose, their semester’s stress dissolving into a night of wild fun.
Bodies pressed close in the dim light, moving with a rhythmic intensity that pulsed through the crowded room. Flashes of skin glinted under the strobe lights as revelers danced provocatively, their movements suggestive and unabashed. Couples lingered in the darker corners, their embraces deep and lingering, lips locked in fervent kisses. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, a tangible reminder of the night’s indulgence and the uninhibited release of pent-up desires.
As you entered, Sunwoo was the first to greet you, planting warm kisses on your and Nayoung’s cheeks—a customary greeting that felt comforting amid the chaos. Yeji was next, her arms wrapping around you in a tight hug, and the two of you exchanged rapid-fire compliments, each one amplifying the night’s festive mood.
While mingling, Sunwoo leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper over the music. “Jeno’s here,” he murmured with a concerned glance, “do you want me to get him out?” 
You shook your head, offering him a thankful smile. “It’s okay, I can handle him tonight,” you assured him, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination.
The dance floor was a whirl of bodies, and you and Nayoung were right in the thick of it, high both on the atmosphere and the subtle assistance of the night’s earlier indulgences. The two of you danced provocatively, uninhibited and playful, your hands occasionally grazing each other’s bodies—over hips, across backs, and playfully squeezing at asses and boobs. 
Soobin, on the other hand, seemed lost on the edge of the action. His awkwardness was almost palpable, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out where he fit into this display of carefree debauchery. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to watch him just stand there, not knowing how to engage with the wild energy you and Nayoung thrived in.
As the beat of the music dipped into a sultry rhythm, Nayoung’s touches turned more daring, mimicking the kind of attention you had been craving. Her fingers danced along your curves, a teasing precursor to the more intimate contact to come. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from yours. The tension between you built with the thumping bass, both playful and charged with an unspoken dare.
You could feel the heat of her breath, mixed with the laughter and shouts of the party-goers around you, creating a bubble that seemed to encompass just the two of you. With a smirk, Nayoung closed the gap, her lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss that was more than just a peck but less than a promise. It was flirtatious, a hint of sensuality wrapped in the guise of jest, drawing a few cheers from those nearby. You both break away at the last second with giggles, unable to take the gesture seriously.
Soobin, all flushed and visibly aroused from watching you and Nayoung playfully dancing, tapped your shoulder, a hesitant offer in his voice. “Hey, can we go to the bathroom?” His attempt at sounding seductive fell flat, failing to stir the excitement within you that he was probably hoping for. Nevertheless, you agreed, hoping against hope that perhaps this time would be different, that somehow he’d find a spark of passion that matched your own urgent desires.
As you entered the bathroom with him, the reality of the situation set in quickly. There was no need to even lock the door; there was little risk of your moans being overheard because, simply put, there wouldn’t be any. Soobin’s attempts at pleasing you were lackluster and uncoordinated. As he tried to navigate what he thought was pleasurable, his movements were uncertain and ineffective, lacking the assured touch that could drive you wild. His technique was so basic and mechanical, merely going through the motions without any real understanding of how to build intensity or respond to your body’s cues.
The disappointment was crushing. Not a single man since Jeno had managed to truly satisfy you, to make you come alive with desire. Self-pleasure had been a poor substitute for the intoxicating physical connection you had experienced with Jeno, whose every touch, every kiss, was perfectly attuned to your needs.
“Please go,” you found yourself whispering to Soobin when it became too much to bear, your tone firming up when he didn’t react immediately, “Please get out!” The words were harsher than you intended, driven by a cocktail of frustration and desperation.
Soobin looked up, his expression one of wounded confusion. “What’s wrong? Was it not good?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
You shook your head, softening slightly at his genuine naiveté. “I just need to be by myself for a while,” you explained, forcing a smile to lessen the blow of your rejection. He nodded, hurt but understanding, and exited quietly, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and unmet needs.
In the solitude of the bathroom, the stark reality hit you once again. No touch, no encounter had come close to what you had with Jeno. The absence of that deep, fulfilling connection left you longing, your body crying out for a touch that seemed now more distant than ever.
The reality of your unfulfilled desire weighed heavily on you. You wanted to cum, needed to feel that overwhelming rush, the kind that leaves you breathless and satiated. More than that, you longed to feel loved, to be touched in a way that made every nerve in your body come alive, igniting your senses like a firestorm.
You miss Jeno. 
Driven by a mix of frustration and raw need, you reached a decision. It might have seemed foolish or impulsive, but in that moment, it felt like the only option left. You were high, your body was tingling with a sexual frustration that couldn't be ignored, and every fiber of your being ached for Jeno. 
Your hands trembled as you pulled out your phone. With each shaky breath, you navigated through your contacts until his name appeared. It was crazy, perhaps, but desperation had a funny way of pushing you to the edge. You missed him terribly—not just his touch, but his presence, his intensity, the way he made you feel utterly alive.
Taking a deep breath, you opened the message screen, your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart pounding with a cocktail of dread and anticipation. You typed out his name, a simple but loaded gesture that felt like a crossroads:
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He didn’t respond right away, and you were left staring at the screen, wondering if he’d seen your message or simply chosen to ignore it. Your heart raced with a mix of anticipation and disappointment, the tension building with each passing minute. In an attempt to distract yourself, you began scrolling through old messages—a habit you had found yourself indulging in more often than you cared to admit.
Your thumb paused over a particularly enticing thumbnail, a video he had sent weeks ago during a particularly steamy exchange. The memory of it alone was enough to make your pulse quicken, but you needed more than just memories tonight. You tapped the play button, and the screen filled with the explicit image of Jeno pleasuring himself, his hard cock prominent and demanding attention.
As the video played, your eyes were glued to the rhythmic movements of his hand along his length. His cock was impressive—thick and veined, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum. It was a sight that had always driven you wild, and tonight was no exception. His moans filled the room, low and husky, each breathy sound a direct line to your core.
You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan at the sight, the sound of your own voice mingling with his from the speakers. Watching him like this, so vulnerable and unabashedly turned on, sent a wave of heat through your body. You imagined what it felt like to have him inside you, the stretch and fill of him, the way he moved with such a perfect mix of urgency and precision.
As you watched him bring himself closer to the edge, his hand moving faster, his moans growing louder, you felt a deep, aching need uncoil within you. You reached down, your fingers tracing the lines of your own arousal as you mimicked the actions on the screen. The thought of being the cause of his pleasure, the focal point of his desire, was intoxicating.
You were so lost in the moment, so caught up in the raw, palpable sexuality of it all, that the rest of the world seemed to fade away. It was just you, the flickering light of your phone screen, and the undeniable evidence of his desire for you. It was overwhelming, it was carnal, and it was exactly what you needed to feel connected to him once more, even if just through a screen.
Before conscious thought could catch up, your hands were already making their way beneath the delicate lace of your underwear. With a swift motion, you hitched up your skirt, giving yourself easier access. Your fingers slid effortlessly along your slick folds, exploring the wetness that had gathered in eager anticipation.
You dipped a finger inside yourself, relishing the warm, tight sensation that enveloped it. The feeling was electric, a direct line of arousal shooting through your body as you added another finger, stretching yourself deliciously. You mimicked the rhythm you saw on the screen, your movements becoming more deliberate and urgent.
As you pumped your fingers in and out, the slick sounds of your own wetness mixed with the visceral audio from the video, creating a symphony of arousal that echoed around the room. Each thrust of your fingers hit just the right spot, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your core. You angled your fingers, seeking that sweet spot that always made your breath hitch. When you found it, you massaged it fervently, spiraling towards an overwhelming crescendo.
Your breathing became labored, matching the heavy, lust-filled breaths that filled the room from the video. The tension in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter until you were teetering on the edge of release. With a few more expert flicks of your wrist, you tumbled into a powerful orgasm, your body convulsing with wave after wave of intense pleasure. As you rode out the sensations, your mind was filled with vivid flashes of being beneath him, of Jeno’s own heated expressions as he moved within you, his cock driving you towards ecstasy just as your fingers were now.
In the aftermath, you lay breathless, a sheen of sweat coating your skin, the lingering buzz of your climax slowly ebbing away. You were left flushed and satisfied, yet the ache for his actual touch—his body against yours—remained poignant, a stark reminder of the physical connection you both shared and deeply missed.
Jeno’s entrance into the bathroom is marked by a dark, mocking glint in his eyes, his gaze instantly locking onto your exposed, quivering form. The air thickens with tension and raw desire as he takes in the sight of you—fingers paused, breaths shallow, your arousal evident and inviting.
“Oh? What do we have here?” His voice is laced with a blend of mockery and unmistakable hunger, the words rolling off his tongue slow and deliberate. He steps closer, the deliberate echo of his footsteps mingling with the rapid beat of your heart, his piercing eyes devouring the sight of your exposed, slick arousal.
You try to find your voice, but all that escapes is a breathy, involuntary moan. Your eyes, heavy and lust-drunk, meet him with a plea silent yet screaming.
“Why did you stop? Keep going, show me.” he commands, his voice low and merciless, dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “Touch yourself, show me how desperate you really are,” he commands, his tone dripping with sadistic pleasure. 
Compelled by his words, your hand drifts back between your thighs, resuming the slow, deliberate circles around your clit. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure radiating through you, and you moan louder, more unabashedly. Jeno watches intently, his lips curling into a smug, satisfied smile.
As you continue to touch yourself under his demanding gaze, Jeno watches intently, his breathing growing heavier. The room fills with the sound of your moans, each one echoing off the walls, driving him wild. He bites his lip hard, a low grunt escaping him as he watches you writhe in pleasure.
“Fuck, look at you… so needy, so desperate,” he growls, the raw desire in his voice palpable. He can’t help but adjust himself, his hand moving to the growing bulge in his pants, squeezing it through the fabric. His eyes never leave your trembling form as he begins to massage himself, his movements becoming more pronounced as his excitement builds in response to your unabashed display.
Your fingers quicken, driven by his gaze and the filthy encouragement falling from his lips. “Please, Jeno, please touch me,” you whimper, the frustration and need tangling into a sharp, sweet ache.
Jeno’s smirk widens, his gaze sharpening with a sadistic pleasure. “No,” he drawls, his voice low and commanding. “Beg for it properly. Show me how much you want it, how desperate you are. What’s the magic word, princess?” His tone teases, challenging you to humble yourself further in your plea for relief.
 “I need you, Jeno, please…” you gasp, your voice breaking with desperation.
With each stroke, each swirl of your fingers, you feel yourself spiraling closer to the edge. His words, degrading yet oddly affectionate in their own twisted way, push you further, heightening every sensation until you’re teetering on the brink of release.
Overwhelmed by the building crescendo of your arousal, you finally shatter under his watchful eyes, a loud moan escaping as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you shuddering and spent, yet craving more. Jeno’s expression, a mix of satisfaction and insatiable hunger, tells you this night has only just begun.
As your breaths begin to even out and you attempt to gather some semblance of composure, Jeno’s gaze shifts towards the bathroom door, which remains slightly ajar—an oversight you hadn’t noticed in your frenzied state. His eyes narrow slightly, the earlier amusement mingling now with a sharper, more commanding tone.
“You left the door open? Really?” His voice is both teasing and scolding, rich with disapproval. “Look at you, so desperate and whiny that you couldn’t even remember to close it. You really weren’t thinking at all, were you? Just a desperate cum slut needing attention so badly you forgot the world outside.”
You feel a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks, mixed with the residual warmth of your climax. The open door, a detail so minor yet so risky, underscores just how reckless your need had made you.
Jeno steps closer, his body nearly touching yours, his breath hot against your ear. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Too desperate for my cock, for my touch, to even care who might see? You’re lucky it was me who walked in and not someone else.” His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path down your arm, sending shivers across your skin.
“Would you have stopped if it were someone else, or would you have let them watch you fall apart?” he murmurs, his words a taunt that digs deeper into your psyche, making you squirm under his intense gaze.
The implication of his words, the idea of being so exposed, so out of control, only adds another layer to the complex tapestry of humiliation and arousal that Jeno weaves around you. You find your voice, small and breathy, “I… I didn’t mean to—”
"Quiet," he commands sharply, his hand swiftly connecting with your cheek in a firm spank. The sudden sting sends a shiver through you, causing you to gasp as a wave of blissful shock rolls through your body.
“You’re only mine to watch, remember that,” he adds firmly, the possessive edge in his voice leaving no room for argument. The door remains open, a silent testament to your oversight and his control, adding yet another thrilling element to the night’s already charged atmosphere.
"We're going to play a game," he announced, his tone commanding as he laid out the rules with a wicked grin. "We watch each other. No touching." His strokes matched the rhythm of your own hand as you both fell into a silent contest of wills, each movement more desperate than the last.
"If you lose first," he murmured, voice strained as he held back his own climax, "you’re going to suck my cock. And if I lose," he paused, a deep growl punctuating his words, "I'll eat you out right here on this countertop."
The challenge was intoxicating. You felt every stroke echo through your body, each moan slipping from your lips pushing him closer to the edge. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching every flicker of pleasure that passed over your features.
The game had been a torturous delight, and losing felt almost as exhilarating as the anticipation of winning.
As you moaned Jeno’s name, your hands couldn’t resist the magnetic pull toward him. Your fingers wrapped around his firm, eager cock, your touch bold and hungry, driven by an intense need.
"Baby,” he breathed out, his voice husky with arousal as he watched the slick evidence of your pleasure glisten. The sight was too much for him to simply observe passively. He unbuckled his belt, his actions deliberate, pulling out his cock swollen with need. With slow, tantalizing movements, he began to stroke himself, his gaze fixed intently on your quivering form.
Your breath caught in your throat as you lowered yourself, eyes fixed on him, drawn irresistibly to his arousal. You brushed your lips against the tip of his cock, savouring the hint of his arousal, your moans soft against his skin. Your movements were deliberate, filled with the desire to take him into your mouth, to feel him deep and completely.
But Jeno’s firm grip on your chin halted you, his dark eyes piercing yours with a commanding intensity. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and firm. “You seem eager… But remember, you only do what I say, when I say.”​
"Open your legs," he murmured, his voice low and seductive as he guided you back up to stand before him. He kissed your inner thighs softly, each kiss closer to your heat, building anticipation. His breath was hot against your skin, each exhale sending shivers down your spine as he teased you mercilessly. 
“Climb up here,” Jeno commands, his hands gripping your hips firmly to help hoist you onto the cold marble countertop. The sharp contrast between the cool surface and the warmth of your flushed skin sends another shiver through you, heightening your anticipation. His fingers linger on your thighs, squeezing gently as he adjusts your position, ensuring you’re perfectly displayed before him.
"Tell me, who’s been lucky enough to have you since I've been gone?" he asked, his voice a deep whisper against the sensitive folds of your arousal. His words were a deliberate provocation, designed to unravel you completely. 
You shook your head, breath hitching, "No one but you,” the lie slipping out amidst your shaky breaths as you struggled to maintain composure under his intense gaze.
Jeno paused, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer than necessary, the corners of his mouth twitching as if deciding how to interpret your words. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone soft yet edged with a faint trace of skepticism, almost teasing yet earnest enough to deepen the fluttering in your chest.
You nodded, the words slipping out in a quiet whisper, shy to say it, acting extra shy and timid. “Yes, daddy,” your voice barely rose above a whisper, each word trembling slightly as if afraid of being fully heard.y” 
Jeno’s smirk deepens as his hand moves with intense purpose, each motion reflecting his hungry desire. His fingers tighten around himself, every touch deliberate and charged with raw passion. Biting his lip, his eyes never leave you, burning with a lust that’s both fierce and unabashed. “Say that again. Louder,” he commands, his voice a deep growl, thick with need and the urge to hear you once more.
Driven by the intense atmosphere, you scream out, “Daddy!!!” Your voice is louder, laden with your own undeniable longing and the palpable sexual tension that crackles fiercely in the air between you. Your call is passionate, filled with a raw, aching need that resonates powerfully in the charged silence that follows.
Jeno smiled, a knowing, wicked curve of his lips before he dipped his head. His tongue traced the delicate lines of your folds with expert precision, his movements deliberate and focused. He savoured the taste of you, his moans vibrating against your skin as he expressed his approval of your flavour. The room filled with the sounds of your wetness and his persistent licks.
Every flick of his tongue sent electric shocks that radiated from your core to every part of your body. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you open, utterly exposed to his hungry gaze and eager mouth. Your hands found his hair, pushing him closer, guiding him to the spots that made your body arch and your breath catch.
"Daddy," you gasped, the edge approaching rapidly as his tongue swirled around your clit, then pressed flat against it, the change in pressure dragging a loud moan from your lips. He intensified his efforts, encouraged by your responses, his own arousal palpable in the urgency of his actions.
As you neared your climax, your voice broke, "Please, Daddy, please," your plea barely a whisper, yet it echoed in the small space, filled with the steam of your desire.
In the heat of the moment, your actions became wild and uncontrolled. Each thrust of your hips against Jeno’s face was driven by raw desperation, your body chasing the climax that tantalized you just at the brink. His expert tongue worked relentlessly, drawing moan after moan from your lips as he explored every fold with precision. The room spun around you, filled with the sounds of your labored breathing and the wet, slick noises of his devotion.
As your pleasure mounted, your movements grew more frantic. You ground yourself against him harder, each movement more urgent than the last, effectively face-fucking him in your need to reach that peak. Jeno, undeterred, met each of your thrusts with a surge of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge.
But the wildness of your actions came with consequences. In your fervor, you lost track of your balance. Suddenly, the world tipped sideways. Jeno’s grip on your hips faltered, and the two of you were sent crashing backward in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. The abrupt fall didn’t dampen the fire between you; if anything, it stoked it further.
Lying on the floor now, Jeno’s expression mixed frustration with raw desire. His voice was rough, tinged with both admonishment and lust as he spoke. “Only good girls deserve to cum,” he chided, his hands steadying your shaking form. “You’re being too needy.”
Yet, the smirk that danced across your lips betrayed your enjoyment of this chaotic intimacy. His next command was a growl, thick with promise, “Sit on my face.”
Scrambling to comply, you positioned yourself above him once again, your heart pounding with anticipation. As you lowered yourself onto his eager mouth, his hands firmly guided your hips, setting a punishing rhythm that you eagerly followed.
His tongue resumed its fervent dance, exploring you deeply, each stroke a deliberate provocation. You rode his face with abandon, each movement more deliberate, grinding down to meet his upward strokes. The sensation of his lips and tongue, combined with the urgent grip of his hands, drove you towards delirium. The room echoed with the sounds of your mutual desperation, a symphony of slick, muffled noises and your increasingly sharp moans.
His tongue and lips worked in unison to bring you to the brink. And when he added a finger, curling it inside you, hitting that sweet spot, you shattered, your body convulsed in an intense orgasm, and you felt yourself squirting forcefully. A burst of warmth splashed across Jeno’s face, streaking down his cheeks and chin in rivulets. He maintained his position, his mouth and tongue still at work as the surge drenched him, his face slick and shining with you. 
His initial shock morphed into a broad, triumphant grin as he reveled in the wet, messy evidence of your pleasure. His eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and arousal, fully immersed in the raw, erotic display of your climax.
Jeno’s strong hands guided you down gently, ensuring your shaky legs found stability before pulling you onto his lap. Your hands, still trembling from the aftermath of your release, found his hair, gripping it tightly as you leaned in close. Your lips met the slick, wet trails that your climax had left on his skin, tasting yourself on him—a mingling of sweet and heady that made your head spin.
His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer as your hands roamed, dragging nails along his scalp, eliciting a rough groan that vibrated against your lips. The kiss wasn’t just a clash—it was a claim, each of you hungry for dominance, for the reassurance that this connection was as unbreakable as ever.
From the intense tangle on the bathroom floor, Jeno’s eyes locked with yours, filled with a fiery determination that signaled a shift. He stood abruptly, his strong hands gripping your arms, pulling you up with him. Without breaking eye contact. Jeno’s hands gripped your hips, he forcefully spun you around to face the wall, your hands pressing flat against the cool, reflective surface of the mirror.
He hoisted you slightly, just enough so your feet barely touched the ground, your body bent at a perfect angle for him to enter. As he positioned himself behind you, his presence loomed large, and his cock teased at your entrance before he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you with a primal urgency.
The cold glass of the mirror kissed your skin, contrasting with the heat emanating from every pore as Jeno began to move. His thrusts were deliberate and rough, designed to remind you of his control and your surrender. With each deep penetration, he grunted, a low sound filled with both satisfaction and dominance. His hands moved from your hips to your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat, which he leaned in to bite gently, marking you as his.
“Look at us,” Jeno commanded, his voice thick with arousal. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze in the mirror. The sight was raw—your body bent, his hands claiming you, your expressions twisted with pleasure. “No one fucks you like I do, isn’t that right?” he taunted, punctuating his words with a sharp slap on your ass, the sound echoing in the small room.
You moaned, the sting from the slap tingling pleasantly as he continued to drive into you. “Yes, Daddy, that’s right,” you gasped, the mirror fogging slightly with the heat of your breaths.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. Without warning, he spat directly onto your back, the sudden wetness stark against your heated skin. His hand followed, spreading the saliva smoothly across your skin, a cold contrast to the warm press of his body. This deliberate act heightened the raw intensity of the moment, each movement slick and unrelenting.
Jeno’s gaze captured yours in the mirror, his eyes glinting with fire as he turned your face to meet his. He studied your flushed, overwhelmed expression with a satisfied smirk. His hand then cupped your chin, tilting your head back as he forcefully opened your mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he spat directly into your mouth, the act bold and commanding. Quickly, he sealed his lips over yours, his kiss swallowing your gasps, merging the sharp tang of his dominance with the heat of your shared arousal.
The mirror captured every raw emotion, every hungry gaze, magnifying the intensity of the moment. As Jeno’s hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, you watched, captivated by the sight of his muscles flexing with each movement. His grip tightened, and suddenly he was moving you, one hand splayed across your chest, the other gripping your hip, controlling the rhythm.
Then his hand clutched at your hair, yanking it back to arch your neck sharply, exposing your throat to the cool air of the room. The sudden, assertive pull sent a rush of adrenaline through you, heightening every sensation. His other hand encircled your throat, his hold firm and unyielding, squeezing just enough to send a thrilling rush of danger through your veins. This mix of pain and pleasure, the sharp tugs and the constricting grasp on your neck, amplified every sensation, making each thrust feel deeper, more desperate.
Jeno tightens his grip around you. His forearm presses firmly against your throat, locking you securely under his control. You feel the strength of his arm, each muscle taut and alive, as he manoeuvres you, anchoring you in place with a confident hold. His body is flush against yours, his chest heaving against your back with each breath, his movements precise and intent on keeping you precisely where he wants you.
As the intensity grew, he reached around to press a firm hand against your throat, squeezing gently, heightening every sensation. “I want to hear you say it,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”
Shuddering under the dual assault of his cock and his hand, you managed to reply through ragged breaths, “I’m yours, only yours.”
Satisfied, Jeno released your throat and focused on driving you toward climax. His thrusts became erratic, more desperate. He pulled you up against him, your back flush with his chest, and his fingers found your clit. As he rubbed in tight circles, his other hand wandered over your body, exploring every curve with a possessive touch.
Just as you felt your orgasm looming, he bit down on your shoulder, a sharp, sweet pain that sent you over the edge. Your legs trembled, and your body clenched around him as you came hard, your cries loud enough to draw curious looks from outside the bathroom. But the sound of your pleasure was drowned out by Jeno’s own climax, his hot release filling you as he groaned your name.
The bathroom door remained ajar, forgotten in the heat of the moment. A curious crowd began to gather outside, drawn by the unmistakable sounds of ecstasy echoing from within. Nayoung and Eric, vigilant and protective, stood guard. Nayoung’s eyes flashed dangerously at anyone who dared get too close, her stance aggressive and ready.
As murmurs and whispers filled the hallway, Nayoung turned her gaze towards Arin, who stood a few feet away, her face a mix of shock and curiosity. With a wicked grin, Nayoung leaned closer to her, her voice loud enough for only Arin to hear but with a sharpness that cut through the buzz. “You hear your boyfriend who loves you so much screaming out that he loves Y/N’s pussy?” Her tone was taunting, the words a deliberate jab meant to twist the knife of jealousy and claim.
You and Jeno have parted ways, but not before he takes you against the kitchen countertop and the walls of one of the spare bedrooms. Now, you find yourself unable to walk around properly, each step a reminder of the fervent and fleeting moments shared in the throes of passion.
As you navigate the crowded party, the weight of your recent actions with Jeno hangs heavily on your mind, but the high from the encounter keeps the reality at bay. Every step reminds you of how good he fucked you, leaving you with a mixture of satisfaction and discomfort that makes it hard to walk properly.
You overhear whispers and can feel glances thrown your way—Nayoung wasn’t exaggerating when she said that the entire party heard you two. There’s a flush of embarrassment that should be creeping in, but it’s overshadowed by the buzz of the high and how vividly good Jeno made you feel.
As you try to steady yourself, your eyes catch Sunwoo and Yeji in a tender, ‘wrapped-up-in-each-other' moment. That spark of jealousy flares again. They seem to have what you long for but can’t quite grasp—genuine connection and unwavering affection. Observing them together stirs a mix of longing and regret inside you.
Your mind flashes back to the night you tried fuck Sunwoo, an impulsive act driven by loneliness and perhaps too much to drink. The guilt starts to seep in as you consider the potential fallout of your actions—how close you came to complicating their relationship. You’re relieved now, thankful that Sunwoo didn’t reciprocate your advances. They deserve happiness, the kind that’s free from the turbulence of your current state.
──────────────────────────────
Nayoung's compliments fill the room as she applies the final touches to your makeup, her skilled hands enhancing your natural beauty. She opts for a sultry look: a subtle smokey eye that makes your gaze captivating, paired with a nude lip gloss that adds just the right amount of shine, complementing your soft curls. 
As you giggle and blush at her flattery, the nervous excitement for the upcoming performance bubbles within you. The show tonight is to the biggest audience you’ve played to yet, it’s monumental,—not only for the band but for you personally as it’s the first time you’re performing a solo. 
You’re wearing a black sheer top with a plunging neckline and flowing sleeves that billow with each movement, you slip on a black mini skirt that’s both short and incredibly tight, clinging to your curves in a way that makes you sigh in pride. It's a look designed to captivate, to announce your presence unapologetically as you take the lead mic for the first time.
As Nayoung skillfully applies the last of your makeup, her hands move with a familiar ease that only a best friend's touch could provide. "You're so pretty," she declares, each word a testament to the care she's put into helping you look your best.
Her continuous compliments send a warm flush across your cheeks, the kind of bashful response that has always come so naturally to you in moments like these. "Nayoung!" you giggle.
With a grateful smile, you meet her gaze in the mirror and say sincerely, "Thank you."
Eunji strides in, a grave look etched across her face, slicing through the casual atmosphere of the room. “Hey, have you seen this?” Her voice is heavy with concern as she places a comforting hand on your back, the other holding her phone out. “I normally ignore this group chat, but Yeji insisted I check it out.”
A message flashes across the screen, a taunt from Arin: "Me and Jeno are nearly back together ;)"
A laugh, bitter and hollow, bubbles up from your throat. "She’s so delusional. She’s completely out of touch with reality, it's almost amusing," you snort, though the humour doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Look, that’s an old photo, from two years ago. Jeno would never go back to her."
"Are you sure you’re okay with this?" Eunji's voice pierces through the quiet, her eyes probing, concerned.
"With what?" Your response is automatic, faint, the words barely a whisper as you mask the turmoil beneath.
"With you and Jeno being fully done." Her tone is gentle, coaxing out your true feelings.
"Yes," you reply, a little too quickly, a little too sharply. It's a lie you tell yourself as much as you tell them, a facade to protect your crumbling resolve.
After the party, where lines blurred under the influence of alcohol and a high that made the world seem less daunting, you and Jeno crossed paths in a way that was meant to be fleeting—just sex, a declaration of it being a one-night mistake, despite the undeniable connection. You’d insisted it was nothing more, even if every touch argued otherwise. It was supposed to be just a slip, a lapse in judgment not meant to mean anything, yet the memory of how right it felt lingers, challenging your assertions with silent, persistent whispers.
Tears well up, blurring your vision, threatening to break the dam of your composure. You blink them back furiously, determined not to let them see how deeply you're cut, how raw you still feel. The façade cracks just a bit, but you shore it up swiftly, desperate to appear unshaken.
"Apparently Arin is coming to the show tonight," Nayoung mentions, tactfully shifting the topic to distract you from the lingering sadness. Both of you roll your eyes in unison, sharing a brief, knowing laugh. "I think she’s more obsessed with you than Jeno at this point," she adds, her tone light, trying to inject some humor into the situation.
"And Jeno is coming," Eunji chimes in, her smile cryptic, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that you can't quite interpret. You shake your head, dismissing the notion with a wave of your hand.
"He won’t be there," you say flatly, the idea seeming almost absurd now.
"Didn’t he promise he would?" Eunji presses, her voice gentle yet probing, reminding you of commitments made under different circumstances.
"Yeah… when we were together. We’re not anymore," you mumble. 
──────────────────────────────
You should’ve known. 
Jeno isn’t one to break promises, especially not to you. His commitments are etched in stone—unyielding, devoted. Every action he's taken, every word he's spoken to you has been filled with an honesty and depth that few can muster. And tonight, he's here, just as he said he would be, a steady figure in the flux of faces, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on you from the audience.
As you take the stage, the weight of his gaze is like a warm blanket over your shoulders. It's here, in this bustling venue filled with the echoes of chords and melodies, that you feel his support envelop you. The lights cast shimmering halos around you, but none shine as bright as the look in his eyes—a blend of admiration and quiet sorrow for the distance that has grown between you, yet filled with hope.
He agreed that the two of you probably needed time away. He needed time to think, to realise what he truly wanted, and to fully understand and appreciate his feelings towards you and how real and serious they were.
Jeno stands beside Jaemin, lost in the sight of you commanding the stage, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that even Jaemin notices, chuckling softly at his friend's undisguised adoration. There's a softness in Jeno's eyes, a warmth that spreads through his chest as he watches you. He hadn't realised just how deeply he missed you until this moment, seeing you shine so brightly in your element, your confidence cascading over the crowd like a wave. 
Every note you sing, every move you make, seems to draw him in further, and he can't help but smile, a genuine, heartfelt expression that speaks volumes of the pride swelling within him. You've grown, blossomed into this magnetic presence on stage, and it fills him with an overwhelming sense of pride and joy. Jeno feels a warmth spreading through him, so profound and stirring that his heart aches pleasantly with every beat. Watching you now, radiant and captivating, he realises the depth of his feelings, each one laid bare in the soft glow of the spotlight that envelopes you. 
For Jeno, this moment crystallizes everything he feels for you—admiration, pride, and an affection so deep it transcends the music and the noise. It's as if the world falls away, leaving only the echo of his heart affirming what he knows deep down: that you mean everything to him. 
You are everything to him—breathtaking, irreplaceable, deeply cherished. The curve of your smile, the intensity in your eyes, and the passion in your voice all remind him of what he's been missing. He was only here for
you, he'd do anything for you. He misses your body, the close warmth of your body against his. Your laugh, your touch, the way you move—memories flood him, vivid and stirring. Seeing you now, so confident and radiant, intensifies his desire. Only you can make him feel this way. 
As you take the stage for your solo, the spotlight casts a gentle glow around you. Jeno, watching from the audience, feels a surge of affection and pride swell within him. He sees Yeji give your hand a reassuring squeeze, and his heart echoes that support from afar.
The moment you begin to describe the song, your voice trembles slightly with vulnerability. "It means a lot to me," you say, "it’s about someone that means a lot to me. This song is what falling in love feels like." Those words, so simple yet profoundly sincere, resonate through Jeno's very soul. He can feel the emotion pouring from you as you start to sing, each note laced with the raw, untamed feelings of love you hold.
As the melody fills the air, Jeno's eyes remain fixed on you, taking in every movement, every expression that flits across your face. To him, you embody everything breathtaking about being in love. The love he feels for you is a transformative force, a tidal wave of emotion that has reshaped his world. It's a feeling that lifts him higher than he’s ever been, yet grounds him more profoundly than he ever imagined possible.
He loves you not just for who you are to the world, but for who you are to him: a source of light, joy, and endless wonder. This love makes him feel alive, every beat of his heart synchronized with the rhythm of your song, every breath a shared moment between past and promise. Watching you there, the embodiment of passion and grace, Jeno's appreciation deepens. 
As you finish your song, the applause still ringing in your ears, you turn around to find Jeno already on stage, his presence both unexpected and unmistakable. "You did so well, I’m always so proud of you," he says, his voice brimming with pride. The closeness is overwhelming, and you avert your gaze, not ready to dive into the flood of emotions his presence brings. 
Your response is muted. “Thank you," barely audible, not quite reaching him. The anger that has been simmering inside you bubbles up. "Why are you here?" you ask sharply, the words slicing through the tension between you. 
"Just hear me out," Jeno whispers, his voice soft, trying to bridge the distance your words have created. You groan, frustration evident. "I promised you that I’d come, didn’t I?" he continues, his gaze intense, causing your head to spin with a mix of irritation and unresolved feelings.
"Jeno, you’re messing with our set, you need to go—" you start, trying to maintain your composure, but he cuts you off.
"Was that song about me?" he asks directly, looking for truth in your eyes.
"No," you reply through gritted teeth, anger flaring. "Why would it be about you?" your voice rises involuntarily.
"I love you too," he says, the softness in his voice attempting to bridge the gap your arguments had built. His words are a direct answer to the emotions you poured into your song, but they hover in the air, momentarily lost to you.
"You can’t just come on stage and do this, come up to me and act as if everything is okay," you retort, your focus more on the disruption than the message he's trying to convey.
"I love you too," he repeats firmly, his declaration halting your defences.
"What?" you whisper, the fight draining out of you as the realisation of his words slowly sinks in. He grins, his confidence reaching out to you across the void of your doubts.
"I love you—" 
His words dissolve into a heated clash of your lips, an urgent collision that ignites a primal hunger between you. Your mouths meld together in a frenzy, each kiss deeper and more desperate than the last. There’s a raw intensity to your connection, a magnetic pull drawing you closer with every touch. You can feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the taste of desire lingering on his tongue.
His kisses are fierce, a symphony of passion and longing as your lips move in sync. There’s an urgency in his touch, a hunger that matches your own as you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. His hands roam over your body, igniting sparks of pleasure with every caress.
You gasp against his lips, the sensation overwhelming as he pulls you closer, his touch setting your skin ablaze with desire. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, each kiss leaving you breathless and wanting more.
With a low groan that vibrated against your skin, Jeno lifted you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His strong arms anchored you to him as he navigated off the stage, the world narrowing to just the space between you two. The pulse of the music and the heat of the spotlights faded into a distant hum, replaced by the racing of your hearts and the shallow breaths.
The audience’s laughter echoed faintly behind you, spurred by Sunwoo’s announcement through the mic, “I guess we’re doing the rest of the show without Y/N!” 
Navigating the cluttered backstage was a challenge, with Jeno’s arms securing you and your fingers tangled in his hair. The dimly lit corridors were a labyrinth of shadows and echoes, crew members dodging out of your way with rolled eyes and knowing smirks. But you and Jeno don’t care; you haven’t been together like this in so long. It couldn’t wait; you had to have each other here and now.
“Baby, tell me where the spare rooms are,” Jeno murmured against your stomach, each word a brush of hot breath that sent shivers down your spine.
“That room on the left, I think,” you whispered back, your voice a mixture of laughter and breathless anticipation.
He wasted no time, steering you toward the indicated door. His hand found the knob without breaking the kiss. “Really?” His voice echoed slightly in the cramped room, filled with musical and stage equipment. It was less a room and more a small storage space, instruments and cables haphazardly stacked around you.
Jeno navigated the clutter with ease, his lips finding your cheek in soft kisses as he surveyed the surroundings, an amused sparkle in his eyes. Your legs, still securely wrapped around his waist, tightened as you pulled him closer, craving the warmth of his mouth against yours. Your lips met in a desperate kiss, reaffirming the connection that buzzed electrically between you.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Jeno held you against it, your back pressed against it, pinning you between the solid wood and his solid chest. His hands roamed with purpose, tracing the curves of your body as if recommitting every detail to memory. 
“Please, Jeno,” you whispered into the kiss, your fingers fumbling at the hem of his shirt. The tight space made it awkward, and you laughed softly in frustration, your breath hitching as you tugged the fabric upwards. He hummed, a low, vibrating sound that seemed to stir the air itself.
“I need you,” you moaned, the words vibrating through you as you ground against him, feeling his arousal firm against your core. He caught the hint of urgency in your voice, his movements becoming more deliberate. With a fluid motion that spoke of his eagerness, Jeno stripped off his shirt, then helped you shed your top, the garments discarded carelessly among the instruments.
After a playful struggle with Jeno’s trousers and your tight skirt, you both finally shed the last barriers of clothing, now standing fully exposed. The room is filled with your shared laughter and affectionate eye smiles, echoing the deep connection you both feel in this cramped, instrument-cluttered space.
You don’t waste any time, When he looks into your eyes, he sees the same desire mirrored back at him, confirming that you want nothing more than to feel him inside you. “Fuck, baby,” he moans softly as he gently enters you, the initial connection drawing a deep, shared breath.
He’s tender with you, cooing praises and whispering words of adoration into your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. Sensing your discomfort as you adjust to him, he remains still for a moment, allowing you time to acclimate to his size. It’s been a while since you’ve had anything of his size in you, and Jeno is more than understanding. “Good girl,” he praises with each careful, slow thrust, his hands gripping you securely, reassuring you of his presence and support.
Now, unlike the distant haze of the party where you were too drunk and high to truly feel anything, you are completely sober. The only intoxication now comes from the drug of love itself. You feel all of him—his love, his heart, his touch, and the profound intensity of his cock that fills you completely. This is a stark, beautiful contrast to the numbness of before, making every moment, every movement, deeply significant.
“You’re so big,” you manage to say, your voice a mix of awe and overwhelmed pleasure, your eyes slightly unfocused from the intensity of the moment.
Looking down together at the place where your bodies meet, you both take in the sight—the profound intimacy of the connection. It’s almost overwhelming, the feeling of being so closely joined, and it brings tears to your eyes, not just from the physical sensation but also from the emotional depth of the moment.
“You’re barely in me,” you whisper, the slow stretch a sharp contrast to the deep need you both feel.
“It’s okay, my love. We’ll go slow. I just wanna take my time with you,” Jeno responds, his voice full of love and patience. His every move is calculated and tender, designed to reassure and pleasure you, making every second a slow, beautiful dance of intimacy.
He sighs in bliss, his eyes rolling back as the pace intensifies. His hips rock into yours with a steady, building rhythm. Each powerful thrust pushes deeper, aligning perfectly as your bodies move in perfect sync, rising and falling in unison.
The room fills with the sound of your ragged breaths, intermingling with the unmistakable slap of skin on skin, a primal melody of desire. With each thrust, he delves deeper, his movements precise and skillful, hitting all the right spots. Waves of pleasure radiate from where you’re joined, cascading through your body in a relentless tide.
“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight. I don’t ever wanna leave again,” he groans, the raw need in his voice vibrating against your skin.
You reach up, pulling him down for a soft, deep kiss. “You never left me,” you whisper against his lips, breathless and smiling. 
He chuckles softly, kissing your nose. “I meant my cock in your pussy, beautiful.”
“Oh,” you reply with a light laugh, your cheeks flushing with a mix of arousal and affection.
His hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you as he thrusts deeper, each movement deliberate and profound. “You take me so well, don’t you, baby? Like you were made just for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
You nod, breathless. “Made just for you,” you echo, pulling him down for a passionate kiss. This pace, slow and patient, carries a warmth that fills you completely. It’s different for you and Jeno, it’s slower, allowing you to savor each moment, to actually talk and maintain eye contact with the man you love as you make love to him.
Your nails dig into his shoulders as he drives into you relentlessly, each thrust deep and meaningful. “I’ve missed this so much,” you whisper, and the two of you can’t hold back your grins, your chests and mouths aching from smiling so much.
He nods, his eyes alight with affection. “I haven’t had sex since you,” he admits, and you gasp, thinking he’s joking at first but soon realizing he’s earnest.
“You — you — really? You haven’t slept with anyone but me?” you question, your surprise evident.
“I haven’t even wanted to. You’re the only girl I’ve had sex with ever since meeting you. Why would I have sex with anyone else when I’m in love with you?” he responds, his voice soft yet resonant, clear and full of truth. His straightforward honesty leaves you speechless, overwhelmed by the simplicity and depth of his feelings. “It’s always been you, it’s you,” he clarifies, each word punctuating the space between you with its significance.
“I love you so much.” His declaration comes easily, filled with an earnestness that wraps around you like a warm blanket. He continues, his words a caress to your soul, telling you how much he cares, how beautiful you are to him, and how deeply he desires to make you feel cherished and adored. The intimacy of the moment, enriched by his heartfelt confessions, deepens the connection, transforming a physical act into an expression of love and commitment.
As you murmur your reciprocation, “Mmm, and I love you,” his movements grow even more focused. His cock slides deeper into you with every thrust, stretching you deliciously, making you feel every inch of him. 
“You feel so perfect,” he groans, his voice low and husky. The warmth of his breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine as he continues to move within you, slow but intense.
Each thrust pushes him deeper, your body eagerly welcoming him, adjusting to his size and the depth of his penetrations. Your intertwined legs enable him to reach angles that send waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body, each push a testament to his words of devotion.
Your response to his movements is instinctive and unrestrained, you smile back, meeting his thrusts with your own. The room is filled with the sound of your connected bodies, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin punctuating the air with the reality of your physical and emotional union.
Your laughter and whispers mingle with the warmth of your breaths. “We’re going to have so much sex now,” you laugh against his lips, feeling his smile in the kiss as you add, “we have a lot of making up for lost time.”
He pulls back slightly, locking eyes with you, a gleam of excitement and affection in his gaze. “I’m sorry you’ve gone so long without having sex. I’m gonna make it up to you though, don’t worry,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.
He shakes his head, his smile deepening, filled with a sincerity that tugs at your heart. “It’s all worth it. You’re worth the wait, and you don’t need to make anything up to me, you’ve never done anything wrong,” he assures you, his hand gently caressing your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin.
“I love you so much,” you whisper, your voice laced with the desperation of nearing climax. The vulnerability in your tone makes his heart swell.
“Say it again,” Jeno breathes out, his voice rough with his own need. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you to meet each of his thrusts. The sound of your bodies moving together in desperate rhythm fills the room, a testament to the depth of your connection.
“I love you, Jeno,” you repeat, louder this time, each word punctuated by his thrusts. “I love you so much.”
He moans in response, his forehead resting against yours as he looks into your eyes, seeing nothing but the raw emotion reflected back at him. “And I love you, more than anything,” he says, his voice breaking with emotion. “You’re everything to me.”
The pace quickens as you both near the brink, the pressure building to an almost unbearable intensity. You feel him swell inside you, and you know he’s close. His eyes never leave yours, holding your gaze as if to memorize every detail in this perfect, fragile moment.
Your back arches against the wall, pushing you even closer to him. “Jeno, I’m—”
“I know, baby, me too,” he whispers, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that steals your breath away. His movements become erratic, a sign he’s lost in the sensation, driven by the overwhelming love and desire he feels for you.
With a final, deep thrust, you feel him tremble, his grip on you tightening as he reaches his climax. The warmth of him spills inside you just as your own climax washes over you, a wave of intense pleasure that leaves you clinging to him, moaning into his mouth.
As you both ride out the waves of your climaxes, soft whimpers and sighs fill the air, each breath a whisper of the love you share. Gradually, your breathing slows, and Jeno’s embrace softens around you, holding you as if he could shield you from the world forever
The room is filled with a charged silence, broken only by his earnest words. "I'm sorry about everything," he says, his voice thick with emotion. 
You shake your head gently, your hands finding comfort as they run through his hair. "You don’t need to be," you reply softly, feeling the weight of his apologies and the sincerity in his eyes.
He meets your eyes, his own filled with a raw sincerity. “But I do need to be. I’m so incredibly sorry for standing you up. I should have been there, and I wasn’t—no excuses,” he confesses, the honesty in his tone underscoring the gravity of his apology.
He holds your gaze, his eyes earnest and filled with a quiet intensity. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about how to make this right," he begins, his voice steady and sincere. "I'm not going to make excuses or try to justify my actions—there’s no point in that. Instead, what I can do is promise you that I'll be better from now on. I won’t hurt you like this again." His commitment rings clear in his tone, showing his determination to mend things and move forward.
You nod, a smile breaking across your face as you lean in, eager to seal your understanding with a kiss. But he just chuckles softly, evading your lips with a playful ease that only heightens your affection for him.
His hands cup your face, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks as he continues, "I just wanna explain myself to you, baby, so you know where I’m at, so you know how serious I am. I’m over Arin—completely. There’s no part of me that still wants her; every beat of my heart is for you now. You don’t need to worry about me feeling attached to her anymore."
Your heart swells with his words, and you lean in to press your lips against his in a reassuring kiss. "I believe you," you whisper against his lips, sealing your trust in him with the warmth of your embrace.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, vulnerable yet hopeful. "I was hurt after what happened with Arin, I had never experienced heartbreak like that. I just pushed down the pain and I didn’t deal with it. But then I met you... you changed everything. You were so magnetic, so perfect in my eyes. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way you do, not even Arin. I knew that you were someone important and that I had to keep you close."
Listening, you nod, understanding more of his past and feeling the depth of his revelation. His voice grows softer, "But the entire thing with Arin still made me doubtful, not of you or our love but a part of me wasn’t over what she did, a part of me hadn’t healed. But every second I spend with you, being loved by you, I feel that part of me healing. I don’t know why I was so scared to become official with you but all I know is that I’m ready to be yours, I want to belong to you. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I’m here now, yours for a lifetime. I want to love you forever, in this universe and every other one we might find ourselves in."
Tears stream down your face as you grin, touched by his declaration. "You’re so romantic," you giggle, your voice shaky with emotion. His presence, the gravity of his words, and the love in his eyes—it all makes you feel a rush of shyness and excitement.
Despite the deep connection you share, he still has this incredible ability to make you feel giddy, as if every encounter with him is like the first. His gentle touch, his soft laughter in response to yours, it reassures you and intensifies the butterflies in your stomach. And you don’t see that ever going away; it’s a part of the magic that makes your relationship feel perpetually new and thrilling.
He smiles, his own eyes glistening, and then he begins to kiss every inch of your face. Each kiss is soft, affectionate, a silent promise, and a whisper of his love. He kisses your eyelids, each one a gentle blessing, then down to your nose, making you laugh with a light peck that tickles. His lips travel over your cheeks, leaving a trail of warmth, before brushing a kiss on your chin. Finally, he returns to your lips, this kiss deeper, more punctuating. 
“So, what now?” you ask, your hands moving to cup his face, drawing him close enough that you can feel his breath mingle with yours.
“I wanna take you everywhere,” he responds with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes.
You hum, a sound filled with contentment and anticipation.
His eyes light up with excitement as he continues, “I want you to meet my parents, my family. I wanna take you on so many dates, getaways, holidays. Every experience I can think of, I want to share it with you.”
"That sounds like a good idea," you start, a glint of excitement and curiosity lighting up your eyes as you lean in a little closer. "And anything else?" you ask, your voice a playful whisper, inviting him to reveal more of his dreams for the two of you.
He shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eye, as he pretends to think hard while scratching his neck. “I don’t think so,” he whispers playfully, drawing out the moment just to tease you a little more.
You tut, rolling your eyes at his antics. “Ask me to be your girlfriend,” you whine, your voice carrying a mix of playful sternness and impatience.
He softens, his eyes locking with yours as he replies earnestly, “I want it to be romantic. I wanna make you feel like the most special girl in the world; I want it to be memorable. It’s what you deserve.” His words flow warmly, filling you with an indescribable feeling of love and anticipation.
Looking into his eyes, you find all the romance and significance the moment needs. “Looking into your eyes is all I need, that’s romantic enough for me,” you admit, your voice soft and sincere.
He chuckles, his hold on you firm and reassuring. “Are you sure? Right now, I’m holding you against the wall, my cock is still in you, and we’re surrounded by drums and guitars.”
You smile up at him. “And I can’t think of anything more romantic,” you wink, affirming that every aspect of this moment—unconventional as it may be—is perfect in its own right.
He gives in, his voice soft yet filled with conviction. “I want to be yours, I want to be your boyfriend,” he declares, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Are you ready for that?” you ask, the seriousness of your question tempered by the excitement in your tone.
“I’m more than ready,” he responds in a heartbeat, his assurance unwavering.
The sound you make is girlish, bright, and brimming with hope—a sweet giggle that speaks volumes of your love and excitement. You nod giddily, your hands reaching out to pull him closer, longing to seal his words with a kiss. But as you lean in, he gently pulls back, a teasing sparkle in his eyes. 
"I need you to ask me. I wanna hear it coming from your lips. You're going to be my first girlfriend, after all," he says, his voice a tender mix of nervousness and anticipation
“You’re so annoying.” You huff.
He ignores you. "And am I going to be your first boyfriend?" he teases further.
You nod, your eyes locked on his, filled with affection and a deep, unspoken promise. "My first and last," you whisper softly, finally closing the small distance between you to press a gentle, loving kiss on his lips. The kiss is a mingling of smiles and slight laughter, light but filled with the depth of your feelings.
"Will you be my boyfriend?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes searching for his answer.
"I’d want nothing more," he smiles, his voice warm and resolute. Finally, he leans in to give you the kiss you've been waiting for, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, firm embrace that feels like a sealing of everything you've promised each other. His hands gently caress your back, pulling you closer as if trying to merge your heartbeats. The kiss deepens, fueled by the joy of his acceptance and the shared eagerness for what lies ahead.
His touch is gentle yet eager, exploring the curve of your back, tracing the lines of your shoulders as you deepen the kiss, reveling in the closeness. It’s a kiss filled with the promise of new beginnings, of adventures to come, and the silent vow of being each other’s first, last, and everything in between. As you pull away slightly to catch your breath, you rest your forehead against his, both of you smiling, breathless and exhilarated by the shared affection and the thrilling prospect of your future together.
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The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the campus as you finally step out, the last of your exams behind you. Your mind is still buzzing with residual stress, but as you spot Jeno waiting nearby, a smile breaks across your face. He hasn't seen you approach yet, his attention momentarily caught by his phone.
"Hi," you whisper as you close the distance, slipping your arms around him from behind and pressing a gentle kiss against his cheeks. He's momentarily surprised but recovers quickly, his arms encircling you in a warm, welcoming embrace. You giggle softly against his mouth, breathing out, "Happy birthday, baby."
"Thank you," he replies, his voice soft, a wide smile spreading across his face as he turns to pull you closer. You pull back just enough to look him over, biting your lip as you take in his carefully chosen outfit, perfect for the celebration you've planned. "You look so good," you say, letting your eyes roam appreciatively.
He chuckles, a sound that fills you with warmth. "Let’s celebrate your special day," you suggest seductively, your voice low enough only for his ears. Hand in hand, you start walking, his arm finding its way around your waist, drawing you into his side. You feel as though you're in your own little world, the campus around you blurring into the background.
As you pass by Arin and Jiwon, you notice their sharp glances. They seem unable to hide their disdain, but today, their reactions don't touch you. They're nothing more than background noise. Today is about Jeno, about celebrating all that he is, and nothing, especially not petty jealousy, can detract from that.
As you and Jeno walk towards the car, the quiet of the sun wraps around you, enhancing the intimacy of your connection. His arm is draped securely around your waist, pulling you close as your bodies move in sync. Each step seems to draw you even closer, his warmth radiating against you, his fingers occasionally tracing small, comforting circles on your hip. When you reach the car, he maintains that tender contact, his other hand reaching to open the door for you, his eyes locking with yours in a look that makes your heart skip a beat. You slide into the seat, the soft leather cool against your skin, and he closes the door with a soft, deliberate thud that seems to echo the quickening of your pulse.
No sooner does he slide into the driver’s seat than the atmosphere shifts palpably. With a fluid motion, he pulls you across to straddle his lap, his movements confident and filled with intent. His hands settle back on your hips, his grip firmer now, decisively possessive as he draws you flush against him. The soft leather of the seat embraces your sides, and you can feel the strength of his body beneath you, solid and reassuring. You look down at him, a smile spreading across your face, and he mirrors it, his eyes alight with desire. The space between you crackles with electric tension, your proximity eliminating any barriers as you lean in. The kiss you share is deep and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His hands roam your back, pressing you closer, deepening the kiss to a fervour that speaks volumes of the night ahead.
As you break the kiss to catch your breath, your eyes remain locked on his, shining with a mix of affection and residual excitement. “The exam was intense,” you confess, your voice a breathy whisper that only he can hear, “like, really draining. But right now, it feels like a distant memory.” Your hand gently caresses his cheek, the touch light but loaded with meaning.
Jeno listens intently, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands steady on your hips. He smiles reassuringly, squeezing you a little closer. “I’m just glad you’re here now,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. His concern is palpable, making you feel cherished and safe. As you settle deeper into the moment, Jeno leans over slightly, reaching into the backseat. He pulls forward a bouquet, his movements smooth and practiced. Your curiosity peaks as he hands them to you with a proud grin.
"What's this for?" you ask, your smile broadening as you take in the surprise. Gently pulling the bouquet closer, you breathe in the scent. The roses are lush, each petal velvety and richly colored in a deep, vibrant red that speaks of passion and careful selection. Their fresh, sweet aroma fills the car, enveloping you in the essence of nature and romance. "My favorite," you giggle, still grinning as you admire the thoughtful gift. Jeno has a habit of surprising you with such gestures, each one unexpected and delightful.
"I know," he replies, his smile wide and genuine, pleased with your reaction. “It's your birthday, why are you giving me gifts?" you question playfully, pressing your lips against his in a tender, loving kiss, savoring the moment before pulling back just enough to speak.
"Just happy and grateful that I’m spending it with you," he admits, his voice sincere and filled with warmth. The intimacy of his confession adds a special depth to the atmosphere in the car. "So am I," you respond, nudging your nose affectionately against his. "Don’t worry, I got so many gifts for you waiting back at home."
He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him. "You didn’t need to, you don’t think the expensive New York trip is enough?" he teases, his tone light yet touched with appreciation. Smiling, you look into his eyes, filled with affection. "You're my boyfriend. You deserve all the gifts and love in the world." The statement hangs in the air, a testament to your deep feelings for him, sealing the exchange with a promise of continued devotion and celebration.
The drive home was urgent, the need between you palpable; you both were desperate to fuck. But, constrained by time, you had to improvise once you arrived home. As you rushed inside, you made a beeline for the bedroom, where Jeno took a seat, ready and waiting. You didn’t waste a moment—immediately, you slipped out of your clothes and gently eased back onto Jeno, taking him inside you. This wasn’t the wild ride you both craved, but the intimacy of cockwarming, sitting down slowly, feeling every inch as you adjusted to his size, created a different kind of intensity.
As you gently settle back onto Jeno, easing down onto his cock, the connection deepens with the controlled intimacy of the act. The heat between you amplifies as you adjust, sinking slowly until you’re fully seated, enveloped by the warmth of his body. His breath hitches, a soft, involuntary sound that mirrors the slow-building tension. His hands, warm and reassuring, glide over your hips, securing you against him. This isn’t just a momentary touch; it’s an extended embrace, maintaining this intensely personal connection as you start your routine at the vanity. Jeno’s gaze through the mirror is intense yet tender, a silent dialogue of looks and subtle smiles that says everything words cannot.
As you started applying your makeup at the vanity, Jeno's presence was a constant source of warmth behind you. Perched comfortably with him inside you, you could feel his gaze on you, filled with admiration and affection. His compliments flowed freely, making the corners of your mouth turn up in a constant smile. While brushing on a bit of blush, you caught his eye in the mirror and flashed him a meaningful look.
“I promise we will go on a proper date sometime soon,” you said, extending your pinky towards him in the reflection. “I’ll take you out someplace really nice, and we can celebrate your day just the way it deserves.” He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating warmly against your back, and he leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on your cheek, his stubble brushing lightly against your skin.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hands on your hips squeezing gently, reinforcing his words with tender touches. Each compliment he uttered only deepened the flush on your cheeks, not just from the makeup, but from the glow of being so cherished and adored. This intimate setting, underscored by his loving words, made the moment feel like a delicate pause in time, filled with the promise of all the evenings to come. Reluctantly, you slide off Jeno’s lap to finish preparing for the night’s plans. The room is set perfectly: the bed is decorated with rose petals and flowers, creating a romantic ambiance, and his gifts are all carefully arranged, each one chosen with care to celebrate the occasion. As you stand to lay out your lingerie—a final touch for the evening—he watches you intently. His gaze is full of desire as he follows every movement, his appreciation evident in the way his eyes widen.
The lingerie, delicate and inviting, is spread across the bed. You pick up a piece, running your fingers over the silky fabric, then glance back at Jeno with a playful challenge in your eyes. Returning to his lap, you settle back down onto him, feeling his arousal distinctly as you resume the intimate contact. Your hands roam over your curves, accentuating each line as you lean closer to him and whisper suggestively,
“Want me to wear it now?” Your voice is low and teasing, your lip caught between your teeth as you tilt your head towards the lingerie. Jeno’s response is immediate and filled with raw desire. “Mmm, I’d rather take it off from your body,” he growls softly, his hands gripping your hips more firmly. The promise in his words sends a shiver of anticipation through you, setting the tone for a night that promises to be as intense as it is intimate.
As the evening approaches, the anticipation is tangible. Jeno's presence is magnetic, the way his shirt hangs open just enough to reveal the contours of his muscled chest, each line accentuated by the dim lighting. Notably, a tattoo graces his chest—one of his new ones, it’s a design that echoes the one inked on your own body, a silent testament to your love and commitment. The sight of him, so effortlessly handsome, stirs a deep desire within you. You're drawn to the strength evident in his biceps, traced under your fingers, feeling the solidity of his presence. Overwhelmed by his allure, and unable to resist the pull of your attraction, you press him against the wall in a quiet corner before you leave. There, in that secluded space, you sink to your knees, driven by an intense desire to be even closer.
The moment is electric, his hands finding their way to your hair, guiding you gently yet fervently. As you take him into your mouth, the heat between you deepens. His response is immediate, his breath catching in sharp intakes as he encourages your movements with a subtle, appreciative pressure that intensifies the intimacy of the act.
The drive to the venue is charged with an electric tension, the confined space of the car making every touch feel more intense. Once again, you lean towards him, your actions marked by an intimate familiarity that only deepens the connection. As you dedicate this moment to him, his sharp intakes of breath and the low, appreciative sounds he makes are muffled only by the soft hum of the engine. Each motion is a celebration of his birthday, a personal tribute that makes the night unforgettable, your dedication clear in every deliberate touch and whispered vow of affection.
As you step out of the car, Jeno's lips find the back of your head, planting a soft kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. He murmurs a compliment on how beautiful you look tonight, his voice a warm whisper that wraps comfortingly around you. But before you can respond, he produces a blindfold—the very one you both use during sex. Surprise flits across your face as he gently places it over your eyes. The world goes dark, and a thrilling shiver of anticipation runs through you. Guiding you silently by the hand, Jeno leads you forward. Your heart beats a tad faster, fueled by a mix of excitement and curiosity. "Jeno, what are you doing?" you ask, your voice tinged with both amusement and slight apprehension. He only smirks in response, his silence intriguing and mysterious.
"Just trust me, baby," he breathes softly into your ear, his words tingling down your spine as he reassures you once more. A few moments later, he carefully removes the blindfold, and you're greeted with a sight that takes your breath away. Your eyes widen, and a gasp escapes your lips as you take in the scene before you. He's rented out your favourite bar and transformed it into a personal celebration space. The room bursts with your favorite colours and decorations; soft music that you love fills the air, creating a perfect backdrop. The bar is stocked with your favourite drinks, and tables are laden with dishes you adore.
The warmth of the surprise envelops you, and as you cover your mouth with your hands, a wide grin spreads across your face. Turning to Jeno, your eyes sparkle with unshed tears of joy. He stands watching your reaction, his own smile mirroring your happiness. "Jeno!!! What is this for?" you exclaim as you throw your arms around him, holding him close. You look up into his eyes, seeking an explanation for this unexpected celebration.
"Celebrating your end of exams. I’m so proud of how hard you’ve worked," he says simply, his thumb caressing your cheek tenderly. You lean into his touch, feeling utterly cherished.
"But it’s your birthday," you giggle, a playful note in your voice.
He shakes his head, his eyes soft with affection. "I don’t mind. We’re going to celebrate that eventually. I just wanted to make this day special for you. I’d rather show love for my girl on my birthday anyways," he confesses, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. First, Nayoung and Eunji greet you with open arms and bright smiles, their laughter mingling with the soft music in the background. The hug you share is tight and warm, a testament to the countless days you’ve spent together, supporting and enjoying each other’s company.
Nearby, Sunwoo and Yeji stand together, hands intertwined, sharing a look of contentment. You join them with a gentle tease about their new official status, and their happiness adds a joyful note to the atmosphere. Eric waits with a knowing grin, ready with a supportive embrace. His steady friendship has been a cornerstone of your college life, always there through thick and thin.
Everywhere you look, it’s a manifestation of Jeno’s love and thoughtfulness—a night dedicated not just to your achievements but to the joy of being together. The entire evening is a celebration of your hard work and his unwavering support, a beautiful testament to the depth of his feelings for you. As you take in the surroundings, filled with everything and everyone you love, you realize just how deeply Jeno understands and cherishes you, making the end of your exams an unforgettable milestone.
As you rest your head against Jeno's shoulder, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, a soothing pulse that syncs perfectly with the hum of voices and laughter around you. His arms wrap around you, a secure and comforting embrace that makes the rest of the world fade away. Jeno leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "You make everything complete," he whispers, each word a soft melody that dances along your nerves, sending shivers of delight through you. His lips brush lightly against your earlobe, a tender gesture that makes you melt further into his embrace.
You tilt your head to look up at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are deep pools of affection, reflecting a love so profound it seems to envelop you entirely. The way he looks at you, with such admiration and care, fills you with a warmth that radiates from the inside out. Jeno's hand gently cradles your face, his thumb caressing your cheek softly. He leans down, closing the small distance between you, and his lips meet yours in a slow, purposeful kiss. It's a kiss that speaks of years of love and promises yet to be kept, soft and sweet yet filled with an intensity that makes your heart swell. As you kiss, the noise of the bar fades into a distant murmur, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.
As he pulls back slightly, he smiles, that heart-stopping smile that always seems to say so much more than words could. "I love you," he murmurs, so softly it's almost lost beneath the swell of music and laughter, but you hear it clear as day—a vow, a declaration, a truth shared between soulmates. You nestle closer, the simple joy of this moment encapsulating everything wonderful about your life together.
As the moment lingers, you nestle closer into Jeno's embrace, feeling the contentment and love that fills the air. "I'm so happy," you whisper, the words a soft exhalation against his skin. The simple admission feels like the most profound declaration, carrying with it all the weight and wonder of your shared journey.
Jeno's response is immediate and tender, a reflection of the feelings that shimmer palpably between you. He nudges his nose gently against yours, a playful yet intimate gesture that draws a light laugh from you both. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy," he says, his voice low and resonant with emotion. His words echo the depth of his commitment, each syllable reinforcing the bond you share.
He gazes into your eyes, his look intense and full of promise. "You make me happy.” he continues, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw softly. The warmth in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice envelop you like a soft blanket, comforting and secure. The connection you share deepens with these small exchanges, each touch and word weaving a stronger fabric of intimacy. The world around you—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the laughter—blurs into a background soundtrack to the profound scene unfolding between you and Jeno. Here, in his arms, surrounded by friends and the echoes of shared laughter, you find a profound sense of belonging and happiness. His presence is a steady pulse in your life, the heartbeat that syncs perfectly with your own.
You watch everyone, all your friends who you love and cherish so much—some slightly swaying, others boldly singing along to the music, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic beats pulsating through the space. They're all here, each person delightfully lost in the celebration, some drunk, some high, all radiating sheer joy.
You turn back to Jeno, drawing closer to him, feeling the secure embrace of your loving boyfriend. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into a world that feels separate from the chaos around. In his eyes, you find a home, a safe haven where you can let go of everything else. The noise, the music, the jubilant shouts of your friends fade into a soft backdrop to the silent conversation held in his gaze. "I love you," slips easily from your lips, a simple truth that resonates deeply between the two of you.
"I love you more," Jeno replies, his voice steady and sure, echoing the commitment in his eyes. He leans in, his nose gently nudging yours in an affectionate gesture, his breath mingling with yours, drawing a gentle laugh from your lips. "Thank you for this," you add, gesturing subtly at the joyous chaos he orchestrated just for you, making the night unforgettable.
The night deepens, and the atmosphere thickens with more than just smoke and laughter; it’s heavy with the intangible, yet palpable, love that you share with Jeno. He holds you closer, each beat of the music enhancing this intimate connection. As you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the rhythm of his heart, you think about how profoundly he has shaped your world. In the midst of friends who are celebrating with abandon, your focus remains tethered to him, the architect of your happiness.
Lee Jeno, the maker of your universe, stands with you in the center of a whirling storm of joy, his presence a constant force, grounding and uplifting. And as you lose yourself in his embrace, you realize that this is exactly where you belong, in the arms of the love of your life, surrounded by friends who share your joy. This realization isn't just comforting—it's a declaration of your shared future, bright and promising, under the watchful eyes of the stars.
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it’s over :((( i feel emotional. this was my baby fr and i loved writing every single second of it. i feel so heavy with love, thank you so much for all of your support with this part <3 i cannot tell you how much it means to me. the love i’ve gotten for this in such a short amount of time will never fail to blow my mind. i love you and thank you. 🫶🫶 hopefully you stick with me in the future and i can impress you with my other work <3 
please interact with this part and lmk what you thought!! means so much more to me than you’d know mwah. also had to format the epilogue in big para’s or else it wouldn’t have posted
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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago
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for the fear of falling apart | part three
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when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue
series masterlist
who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.
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“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.
Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.
The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.
You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.
She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”
Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.
Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”
You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.
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One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.
As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.
“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.
You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.
“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.
Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”
He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”
“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.
Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”
You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”
“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.
Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.
The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”
You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Being so unamenable,” he accused.
Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.
You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”
Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”
“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.
Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.
You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.
Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.
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Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.
I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.
It’s okay. I’ve got you.
“Honey, wake up.”
You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.
Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.
Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.
You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.
He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”
“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.
As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.
Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.
It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.
Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.
You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.
Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.
“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.
He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”
You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”
“Don’t start,” he said immediately.
You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”
Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”
“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”
As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”
“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.
You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.
Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m not,” you answered.
“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.
Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”
“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.
You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”
He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.
Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.
Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”
You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.
“Oh, come on,” he protested.
“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”
To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.
Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”
“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.
You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”
His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.
“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.
Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”
You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.
Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”
Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.
“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”
You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.
“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.
Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.
“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.
You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”
Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.
You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.
Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.
“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.
Fuck.
You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.
“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.
He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”
The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.
“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.
You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”
The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”
The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”
He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.
Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.
“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.
You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.
“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.
Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.
He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.
“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.
“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”
Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.
He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”
Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.
“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.
You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.
Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”
If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.
He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”
You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”
“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.
Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.
Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”
“I’m going,” you said simply.
He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”
You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.
As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”
Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”
He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.
“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.
Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”
You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.
Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.
Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.
He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.
“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.
You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.
Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”
“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.
He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”
“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.
Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”
You hummed, “You’re sweet.”
 “For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.
Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.
“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.
He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”
“Okay,” you answered.
“What?”
You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”
He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.
Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”
He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.
You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.
Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”
Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”
He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”
“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.
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emotionalsupport-ljh · 5 months ago
Text
Breaking and Entering
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You don't want Jihoon to worry.
Fluff (a miniscule amount of angst) - woozi x fem!reader
A hell of a lot of words for a sick fic :D Described as "princess treatment" by my friends 😌
AO3 link
Word Count: 3.1k
////////////////////////////////////
Before you even open your eyes, you feel a scratch in your throat that burns like hell. You reach for the water on your nightstand and take large gulps trying to soothe the pain. As your eyes open, they droop heavily and take a moment to adjust to the early morning sunlight that makes its way past your curtains. A chill suddenly attacks the uncovered parts of your body. You duck back under your comforter only to have an oppressive heat come in waves that cause sweat to cling to your forehead. On top of all that, you can’t breathe out of your left nostril. You’re terribly sick.
As you lament in your miserable state, a notification brightens your phone and you have to shut your eyes. You blink them trying to get used to the light, but all it does is give you a headache. You brave through the pain to turn your brightness down and check the notification. It’s a text from your boyfriend, Jihoon.
Jiji: good morning babe~ 😘
You: Good morning!
Jiji: what are ur plans for today? work?
You: No
You pause for a moment before continuing your response. You wonder if it’s a good idea to tell him that you aren’t feeling well today. On one hand, he might want to know that kind of stuff so that he can take care of you. On the other hand, it could cause some unnecessary stress in his already stressful life. Also, with his busy schedule, he probably wouldn’t be able to do much. You decide ultimately that this illness would probably be over quickly, and you don’t want to make Jihoon worry about nothing a little cough medicine and tea would fix.
You: I'm going to take the day off to relax and be lazy lol 😏
Jiji: that sounds nice
i wish i could do the same 😮‍💨
You: Busy schedule today?
Jiji: yup 🙃 but im excited for our date later this week
You: Me too!
Jiji: i have to go to work
text me later
You: Will do! I love you 🩷
Jiji: love u too~🖤
Putting your phone down and taking the chance to move from your bed to at least retrieve some relief in the form of medicine or warm tea, you feel your muscles ache in a way that makes you never want to move again. For now, you stare at the ceiling with the resolve to get over this silly little cold. You fall asleep soon after and stay asleep for many, many hours.
When you finally awaken again, the chill in your bones still hasn't subsided, no matter how many layers of sheet and blanket cover you. You have to force your eyes to open against the deeper sunlight now pouring through the cracks in your curtains. You power through the discomfort to get them to adjust to the brightness. Again, you reach a hand out for your phone and see that it is afternoon and that you have some missed texts from your boyfriend.
Jiji: hey~
wuts up
Jiji: taking an afternoon nap huh
text me when u see this
The messages were all sent about 45 minutes ago. You feel a little bad about lying, but it only strengthens your resolve to get better and put the whole lie behind you. You text back like normal, hoping that he has the time to read and respond even for just a few minutes.
You: Sorry! I fell asleep watching anime
It doesn’t take too long for a reply to pop-up. You had been dating Jihoon for months now, but you still got butterflies every time he texted you. Even now, aching all over and dripping from your face, he makes you feel a warmth you swore would make you even healthier than you were before.
Jiji: oh rub it in my face 🙄 lol
dont get too far without me
You: I would never!! 😫
How’s it been today? You're not too stressed, right?
Jiji: eh
im coping lol
nothing im not used to
You: Don’t push yourself too hard ok? 🥺
You're doing such a great job!!!!!!
Jiji: thx lol
i gotta go. love u~ 🖤
You: I love you too 🩷
You decide to try to come up with the ultimate healing game plan for the rest of the day. You plot out your meals and activities to maximize the time you can spend getting better. Or at least you try to as you come to realize that sleeping an extra 4 and a half hours without getting out of bed means that you’ve yet to relieve yourself. This kickstarts your game plan as you rush to the bathroom.
You power through the aches in your body to finally brush your teeth and put your hair in a manageable bun for the day. You put on your sweats and some socks to keep warm and make your way to the kitchen where you heat up some soup and make a mug of herbal tea. You take medicine and take it easy all day. The change in scenery from your bedroom to the living room not only motivates your mind to change, but also it motivates your body to move. You swear you already feel better.
Unfortunately, the next two days look the same, and you do not, in fact, feel any better. Even with minimal movement throughout the days, you still manage to leave a mess of dirty dishes, clothes, and tissues strewn about the apartment. You are miserable and finally starting to come to terms with it. The delusion of your ability to heal quickly and on your own was finally starting to dissipate. You thought seeing a doctor was a waste of time, but you start to see the necessity of an appointment the more time you spend with a scratch in your throat and a headache hammering your skull.
The worst part, however, is not the pain, nor is it the constant sweating or the need to breathe through your mouth. No, the worst part is that today is Jihoon’s one day off; you are supposed to be ready to go on a date.
It's a little late in the morning when you wake up. You thrash in your bed frustrated that you are still sick and very tired. When you check your phone, there are no new messages. It isn't unusual for Jihoon to sleep in on his days off. You dread having to tell him the truth that you had been sick all week and couldn’t go out tonight. You could anticipate his response: a string of crying emojis and then a laugh where he says he’s just kidding and he’s fine as long as you get better. He wouldn’t really be okay with it, but he would say he is. He would be really disappointed; he isn’t very good at showing his true emotions, but you know he feels them so deeply. You don’t want to cause him any undue stress or heartbreak. At this point, it unfortunately is inevitable.
You grab your phone and hover over Jihoon’s contact, trying to muster the courage to send your good-morning-text and your confession followed by a long apology and promises to make it all up to him one day. You don’t expect your phone to ring, brandishing a very familiar sweet smiling selfie with the name “Jiji” underneath. You are startled then you take a deep breath, clear your throat, and answer.
“Good morning, my baby,” a sleep-rasped voice calls out from the other side.
“Good morning,” you try to answer in a normal voice, doing your best to hide your congestion.
“You sound different. What’s up?” Jihoon caught on immediately.
You whine a little over the phone, only prolonging the inevitable. There’s only silence from the other side. “I’m sick,” you say, then blurt out, “I’ve been sick for the past three days. I really, really tried to get better, honestly. I’m so sorry, Jiji. I can’t go out tonight.”
Your heart beats quickly in your chest, maybe from the nerves of finally coming clean, maybe from the extra exertion on your sick body. The five seconds it takes for Jihoon to respond feel like five hours. All he says is, “Oh. Okay.” After that, he hangs up the phone, leaving you stunned and with a horrible pit in your stomach.
You’re in shock. The kind of shock people feel after breaking a limb or recovering from a disaster. It pushes every other feeling out of your body. You do your morning routine in a fugue state. When you sit back in your bed, it all hits you at once. Tears stream down your face almost unconsciously, and you lay down with your face in your pillow. Eventually, you fall asleep again, too tired from the illness to continue to cry or feel anything.
Jihoon makes up his mind quickly. After abruptly hanging up the phone, he immediately gets up and goes through his own routine faster than ever, even taking 30 minutes off of his normal workout just to have more time for his own plan. After coming home, he does something a little out of character. He goes to the kitchen to cook something that isn’t chicken breast and white rice.
This surprises his roommates. Soonyoung tries to help him with the big pot of what was so far just stock and vegetables. He gets distracted easily, and it takes him a long time to cut up an onion. Jeonghan takes a picture of Jihoon and sends it in the group chat asking if this is normal behavior for Woozis. Seungkwan tries to taste it before the dish is ready and whines when his hand is met with a smack from a wooden spoon.
“This isn’t for any of you. Leave it alone,” Jihoon says in a stern voice.
“Wait, what? Then who is it for?” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow at him.
“Y/N, my girlfriend. She’s sick.”
The mood in the apartment changes. Now, Jeonghan is texting more furiously in the group chat about how Jihoon cares so much about his poor, sick girlfriend. Seungkwan now insists on tasting the dish the whole way through the cooking process to make sure it’s suitable for such refined tastes as his and yours. Soonyoung calls his mom and asks what the best thing is to cure illnesses. It becomes a whole big thing that has Jihoon a little bit annoyed but also grateful his friends care about you almost as much as he cares about you.
Jihoon’s morning and the better part of his afternoon off of work are then filled with surprise visits from Mingyu, Jun, and Seokmin who bring an array of dishes that could feed you for a month and Minghao who brings a special tea blend that he uses when he's feeling sick. Vernon sends a playlist of chill music for you to listen to while you recover, and Wonwoo writes a list of movies he recommends you watch to rest. Chan makes a special delivery of his grandma's famous kimchi, which has the rest of the boys groaning that they don't get any this time. Joshua sends the best essential oil wax melts so you can indulge in some aromatherapy. Finally, Seungcheol makes sure that Jihoon tells you that he can send anything in the world to your house using his card whether it be medicine or a treat from your favorite bakery or even a new designer pajama set to make sure you are at maximum comfort levels.
As he makes his way over to your apartment, Jihoon feels silly carrying a bunch of bags filled with various gifts from everyone on top of the soup he made that seems to pale in comparison. He curses Jeonghan under his breath for telling everyone his plan to bring you supplies, effectively making him the delivery boy because he is the only person who has the passcode to your apartment. He tries to call you on his way over, now adding his phone to the pile he was juggling. It rings a few times and then goes to voicemail. He tries again and meets the same outcome. He assumes that you’re resting; being sick for multiple days sounds exhausting which is why he is so willing to bring over everything he (and the others) could possibly think of to make you feel better.
Jihoon reaches your front door and knocks loud enough that you would be able to hear it from your room, but soft enough that you wouldn’t wake up if you were resting. He waits a beat before just typing the code and letting himself inside. He makes his way to the kitchen and sets down the various bags on the countertops. Only once his arms are empty does he realize the state of the apartment. He slowly takes in the dirty dishes and various random stuff left on the floor. The trashcan is full, and tea bags litter the countertops. There are tissue boxes everywhere, each one full of used tissues.
He walks slowly to your room and, opening the door, he almost couldn’t make out your sleeping shape on the bed. You’re curled up into a ball under many layers of blankets on one side, and on the other was a pile of clothing. There’s more clothing on the floor. Jihoon goes back to the kitchen and takes a deep breath. He meticulously puts all the food everyone prepared into the fridge, rolls up his sleeves, and decides to start there. He makes a list in his head of all the things he could realistically do in the few hours you would be asleep.
The next moment, Jihoon is elbow deep in soapy water scrubbing dishes and wiping countertops. He finds all the cleaning instruments and proceeds to sweep and vacuum. He fills a trash bag with tissues, tissue boxes, and food containers. He gently tiptoes around your room, gathering up the clothes from the floor, which he assumes are dirty, and putting them in the wash. The clothes on the bed, which he checks are clean, are now folded and put in a hamper for later sorting. He even has time to reheat his soup and make a pretty plating of it paired with some rice and a cup of some of Minghao’s herbal tea.
You awaken when you hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. Someone is in your home. You freeze until the noise stops and begin to get up from your bed. With your legs swung over the side of the bed, ready to stand and possibly defend yourself, the door opens slowly and in walks Jihoon with a tray of dishes.
He looks surprised, then flashes a big smile, then says, “Good, you’re awake. It’s time to eat.”
All you can do is stare at him in disbelief as he sets a tray of soup and rice and tea on your lap. He sits cross-legged in the empty space beside you and scrolls through his phone as if it's the most normal thing in the world.
“W…what’s all this?” you stutter out, utterly confused.
“Lunch,” Jihoon answers nonchalantly.
Looking at him beside you, you realize that there is indeed empty space on your bed for him to sit where there was once a pile of clothes. Tears appear behind your eyes when you look around at the spotless floor of your bedroom. You look at your boyfriend as one tear falls.
“Did you…”
“Yeah, it was a real mess in here.” He turns to look at you and uses his thumb to wipe the one tear from your cheek. “Start eating. I bet you haven’t eaten all day. How are you supposed to get better if you don’t eat?”
He was right. You take a spoonful of broth and bring it to your lips. It tastes wonderful. Alternating between tea and soup and rice, you feel fuller, and the heat from the meal eases your throat just a little more. Jihoon looks at you and sees how happy you look to be having a meal that wasn’t microwaved from a package. You are already almost done with the meal after only a few minutes.
“See, you were hungry, huh?” He teasingly shakes his head.
You lightly push your boyfriend's arm. You make a face, suddenly feeling awkward to be around him. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“What? Why? Because you lied to me for days and didn’t let me take care of you? Or because you canceled our date on the day of because you assumed I cared that we went out somewhere?” he starts sarcastically, “I actually hadn’t thought about it all day.”
“I’m serious, Jiji!” you try to whine but end in a cough. He’s laughing at you as you get a little frustrated.
“I’m seriously not mad. I wish you would’ve told me, but being mad won’t fix anything.” His smile is soft, and he’s looking at you with love in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t know it would last this long. Honestly, I don’t know what I have, and you probably shouldn't be sitting so close to me right now.” You weakly try to push Jihoon away, but he sits like a rock, not budging at all.
“I’m fine,” he chuckles, “The plague couldn’t even keep me away from you.” He leans to kiss your forehead.
All your muscles relax as the last few bites on your plate disappear. Jihoon takes the empty tray in one hand and uses the other to guide you to your feet with him. He wordlessly walks you both out of the room. You see that not only is the entire apartment clean, but there are small gifts left out on the coffee table.
“What is all this?” you ask your boyfriend as take a seat on the couch, waiting for him to put the empty plates and bowls from the tray in the sink.
He takes a seat next to you and rubs the back of his neck with one hand and avoids eye contact when he answers, “The guys heard you weren’t feeling great, so, of course, they had to help out, too.” He goes through and shows you the wax melts, medicine, and self-care products. He also tells you about your new stock of homemade meals from the best cooks in the group. You get really excited about the kimchi from Chan’s grandma. He sends you Vernon’s playlist and Wonwoo’s recommendations. He even shows you the text Seungcheol sent him about using his card for whatever you might need.
Everything is perfect for the rest of the evening that was supposed to be a fancy, romantic date night. It turns out that watching movies and listening to music while snuggling and talking is the best medicine for illness and the most romantic date you have ever been on.
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adorethedistance · 8 months ago
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I Don’t Just Like You - Trevor Zegras x Hughes!Reader
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Hockey Masterlist
Warnings: swearing, tension/fighting, jealousy, Dixie lmao
Words: 2161
Summary: Tension builds with Trevor over his new partnership until the two of you confess your feelings.
A/n: Y'all I am so not doing well rn. I am processing a break up and questioning my social circle and im so lonely that I needed to write some angst to cope with it all. Hope yall like this one and maybe it'll get a smut part two depending on whether or not I can handle writing that rn lol. Enjoy!
Moose: call me ASAP
Me: sorry Luke. can’t rn
Moose: Awesome 😎
My hands quake with anxiety as I fiddle with the tarnished silver ring adorning my pointer finger. The moisture of my skin eases the movement of turning the ring around my finger. I hiss when the gemstone catches on the skin of my middle finger and immediately drop my hands. 
Currently, I’m staring down at the risky text I just sent Trevor. About an hour ago he had messaged me:
Trev: hey sorry can’t swing tn after all 
Trev: rain check?
My jaw tightens with contempt and I huff out a sigh as my bottom lip trembles. I feel pathetic for just how impacted I am by his every word. I angrily hit the digital keys of my phone’s keyboard as I type my reply.
Me: really? 
Me: again??
Trev: don’t be like that
I’m not the most confrontational person. On any given day some might say I’m the furthest thing from confrontational. To put it rather plainly, I just don’t like it. I hate the way I get anxiety butterflies in my stomach. I hate absorbing the emotions of the other person, especially when rejection is involved. I hate what projections I’m opening myself up to receiving from the other person. There are too many pitfalls and not enough landing pads. Which is why it’s so out of character for me to press him on this.
Me: like what Trev?
This is the third time in a row Trevor has cancelled plans on me. I don’t know if he’s aware of that. I don’t even know what he’s been up to lately. He’s refused to tell me what he’s been doing instead, which didn’t raise my suspicions by any means until mom sent me an article. She knows about how my crush on Trevor has had roots in our childhoods. 
Trev: you know what I’m talking about
After I stopped playing hockey with my brothers, I was still always around to notice Trevor’s presence in our home. When I moved to California for college, I wanted to chase my music dreams but I didn’t realize it would come at the expense of my support system. Being long distance with my family put me in a hard spot, but having a familiar face to rely on made the adjustment easier. As we spent more time together independent of my brothers, Trevor and I became close friends. The problem was my crush has been growing ever since we became friends, hence why mom sent me an article called, “Did Dixie D’Amelio admit to dating Trevor Zegras?”.
Me: at least say it with your chest
Sent. Delivered. I wait. Trevor’s response bubble appears for a second. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. I’m about ready to toss my phone across the room when his message delivers.
Trev: call me
I groan out in frustration and this time actually end up chucking my phone onto my bed. I run my hands through my hair, along the warm expanse of my scalp. A self-soothing gesture by all means. I pace to one side of my room before using the momentum of my steps to start back towards my phone. Just as I have it in my hand, Trevor’s contact picture covers the screen and illuminates in my grasp. I scoff out a sort of half groan and then answer.
“What, Trevor?”
“Hey, Y/n I’m great. Thanks for asking! How are you?” He responds sardonically to my cold greeting. I bite my tongue, torn between tearing into him and the stronger desire to laugh through my rage. He takes my exhale as a cue to continue. “What’s going on, Hughesy?”
In a single moment, my anger dissolves. The tenderness of that nickname, which was once reserved solely for my brothers, now belongs to me. In this moment, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Trevor was there for me as I transitioned into college. But the looming threat of a smile quickly vanishes as I remember how that care is nullified by Trevor’s abundantly active dating life.
“Y/nnnn?” Trevor hums into the phone.
“What?” I respond dryly.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is you cancelling on me for the third time in a row.”
“Is it really the third time in a row?” He asks under his breath, indicating he may not have intended to say it out loud at all. I roll my eyes, still actively fighting the urge to just lay into him.
“Yes, Trevor, it is!” I can practically hear him wince through the phone at the fact that I’m calling him Trevor instead of the default nickname permanently programmed into my phone. 
“Who’s that?” I hear softly over the phone. My heart flutters like a coal mine parakeet in a cage and I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry if it turns out Dixie is on the other side. Trevor whispers back,
“It’s Y/n.”
“Hey, Y/n!” Mason’s on the other end. 
“Not a good time,” Trevor tells him. Mason curses and then apologizes before retreating from Trevor’s general area. “Sorry, you were saying?” Trevor tells me at regular volume.
“You were cancelling on me again.”
“Oh. Right. I…” he switches the phone to the other ear, “I…don’t know what you want me to say.” Hello?! Could he be any more oblivious?!
“I want you to tell me what is going on!” I whine into the phone, “What is it you’re so busy with doing that you can’t see me for a week, huh? I get that you’re a professional athlete and you have a busy schedule. But I know your schedule and I know you still have a decent amount of free time. So what have you been doing?” Trevor breathes, in, then out and says,
“I’ve been seeing someone lately…” I feel my heart shatter into the tiniest fractals of what it once was and I cover my mouth to choke back the growing lump in my throat.
“I can’t do this right now,” I say with the utmost hurt lacing my voice, pulling the phone away from my ear to abruptly hang up on Trevor. I toss my phone on my bed once more, ignoring how the screen lights up with Trevor’s contact picture. It’s a new breed of psychological torture to sit here and ignore the calls, so I leave my phone in my bedroom as I go to splash cold water on my face. 
When I reenter my bedroom, I ignore the buzzing device to put on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He’s called once, twice, a fourth, and a fifth before finally giving up. Despite my phone being silent, I don’t trust it enough to take it with me and leave it to charge on my bed. I settle on the couch to open my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s, putting on my favorite show in the hopes of laughing through the pain. 
Somewhere between first and second episode, I had dozed off after returning the ice cream to the freezer. I’m not sure what it is about crying that knocks me on my ass like that, all I know is that it works. 
I’m abruptly pulled from my sleep when I hear the harsh banging on my front door. I jump up from the couch, the spike in adrenaline carrying me out of my sleepy haze. When I get to the front door, some of the tiredness catches up with me again and I groggily open the front door. Behind it stands Trevor, with sad puppy eyes and a sheepish expression. I can’t help the scowl that comes to rest on my face when I see him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pushes past me to come into the apartment and sits on the couch expectantly. Since there’s no way to physically remove him from my space, I bargain, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Trevor as I can manage. He doesn’t let the cold gesture phase him, and scooches obliviously into the center of the couch.
“What’s going on Hughsey?” I scoff at the nickname and Trevor cringes in frustration. “What is this?”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Why are you icing me out all of a sudden?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, spiteful, with malice. 
“Clearly not since I’m here spending time with you.”
“Was that so hard for you to do? I mean, with your busy schedule and all?”
“What are you-” Trevor pauses for a split second. “Wait, are you… jealous? Y/n?”
I want to protest. I want to scream and rant and bite back, how he could be so conceited to think I’d be jealous of a relationship that I previously thought was rumored? But I can’t. 
Because he’s right.
I bite my tongue. There’s nothing else I can do. Not unless I want to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.
“Oh my god, that’s totally it. You’re jealous.” Trevor says, complete with a laugh and a sigh. The shame of actually being jealous of a girl I’ve never met, the disappointment of finding out Trevor is dating someone, and the exhaustion from already having cried earlier comes collapsing down on me at once. Hot tears well on the lining of my lashes and I stare at the ground, afraid to draw attention to myself. Upon seeing me cry, Trevor’s smile immediately vanishes and he scoots closer once more.
“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He envelops me in a hug that I’m too overwhelmed to reciprocate. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” 
I merely shake my head, unaware of what I could even say in this moment.
“I was… I was just laughing ‘cause I should’ve known.”
“Should’ve known what?”
“That you’d be jealous.” I wriggle out of the hug and look at Trevor sincerely.
“How would you have known?”
“You know, for as long as I can remember, your brothers have talked about you having a crush on me.” I cower in humiliation, my face glowing hotter than the surface of the sun.
“I wish they wouldn’t have.”
“No?” Trevor asks, genuinely.
“It’s embarrassing,” I confess, fully recoiling from the physical contact he had initiated before. 
“It’s cute.” Trevor earnestly admits as he takes my hand in his. I scoff instinctively but don’t pull my hand away again.
“I don’t need your pity, Trev.” I say so softly he nearly misses the sentiment. Once he processes my worlds, I feel him physically relax next to me at the sound of his familiar nickname.
“Well, what do you need? I’m here now.”
“I honestly don’t know.” I finally dare to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me so sweetly, earnestly. As if I hadn’t just chewed him out two minutes earlier. Then, I look away before I can say what I’m about to say next. “I don’t just like you.” Trevor’s face lifts ever so slightly. The extent of which, one might miss had they not known him a lifetime the way I have.
 “You know… the only reason I started seeing her was to get over you.”
“What?” I ask, sharply whipping my head to stare at Trevor, as if awaiting the reveal that this was just some elaborate prank from the start.
“Yeah. I started dating Dixie because I thought dating someone different would distract me. You know, it’s not a good look to have a crush on your best friend’s little sister.”
My heartrate picks up with his confession. This feels too good to be true. As if real life is waiting for us right outside the front door. The real life that doesn’t see me and Trevor together ever in our lifetimes. Terrified of the change that would occur from letting him walk away, I reach up and hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. Trevor wraps his hand around my wrist and kisses me back with twice as much fervor. 
We break apart, out of breath and full of smiles. Trevor looks at me for guidance and we fizzle into a nervous laughter. I reach up and brush my thumb tenderly across his cheekbone. He grabs my hand and turns his head, placing a sweet kiss on my palm. I then reach up and break the moment by ruffling my hand through his hair to mess it up.
“Hey!” He yells, grabbing waist to dig his hands into my sides. I screech with laughter as I try to escape. Trevor eventually yields and slips his hands from my sides to interlace with one another and pull me closer. I scoot in to sit against him, sitting half on top of him as our breathing falls in sync.
“I don’t just like you, too, Hughesy.” I smile.
“...You should probably call Dixie.”
“Oh shit.”
***
A/N: not my best work but not my worst either!
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yan-lorkai · 9 months ago
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Hello! I really loved the Idia fic you wrote for the yandere alphabet letter. If it’s alright, could I ask for something related to one of the other letters? The part about how Idia would hate to break his darling because part of his darling would no longer exist.
I’ll admit, I kind of want to know how he’d react to a darling that became of shell of their former self after the kidnapping. If there was any genuine love there at all, I imagine it would break his heart. Thank you!
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.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Angst, I like it. I did some hcs this time, otherwise I would hog this ask for me and answer it much later, like I did with that other fic lol. Only thing I had to say is: poor darling. They deserved better.
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He has gone too far. He has broken you beyond repair. He knows it, he can feel in his bones that something is not right when you look at him with those dead eyes. But he ignores the signals and cope by working as usual. He can pretend everything's fine and that you still love him or else he'll break down crying.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ Idia wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions when he kidnapped you. He was angry, he was terrified to lose you. You were flirting with someone else (you were not, he is just insecure and an overthinker). He can see your injuries half healed, he can hear your shallow breath and barely audible whispers of fear everytime he is near. You used to be so happy to spend time with him, braiding his hair, cuddling into his side while binge watching animes with him. He didn't know he would lose this.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ You break very fast, almost like glass. And he can hears shards of glass exploding every time he looks at you. There's no blood on his hands but he feels like there is, he feels like he killed you and the person in front of him is different from the one he used to love, that one was full of life, happy and had a warm smile on their face. This you, unkept, emotionless, isn't the one who he fell in love.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ This you don't get the motivation to shower, don't have the motivation to eat or to talk, even if only to swear at him. This you is like a doll. A doll he washes and dress on your favorite comfy clothes, a doll he spoon feed you your favorite foods.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ He feels so guilty about what he did that when you're sleeping, when your face finally relax from your usual tense and tired expression, that's when he cries a river. Tears streaming down his face as he silently begs you to come back, to fight him again, to swear at him and hit him. He just want you to come back. The you he used to know and love... The you forever lost.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ Now Idia didn't like you talking with other people but he'll try to get you into therapy. He wants to try anything that possible could bring you back. He throws himself at your feets and beg you if you wanted, just so you can call him pathetic and useless and a bad lover. You could spit on him and he would thank you for it.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ Thing is you are too tired to respond to therapy, too tired for anything. You can only wish for things to end, to be a bad dream. But of course, Idia won't let you remain motionless on your room, crying as you listens to the silence and feels phantom pain all over your body. From your perspective, he may like this. He always liked the control he had over you, always reading your texts, always arguing with you about your friends.
.⁠。⁠*⁠♡ But you were broken and nothing he could do, nothing he can plan could fix his mess.
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weirdsht · 4 months ago
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Disillusioned 7 . Truth (2)
a/n: double update this week (I'll upload another chapter tom) to lament over my fever getting higher lol (I'm actually procrastinating my school works)
tags: frustrated rosalyn, again abuse as the norm, cursing, detrimental thoughts and ways of living, unhealthy coping mechanisms and trauma responses
English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors
Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission
Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome
Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)
Buy Me Dessert
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Rosalyn is someone who threw away her royal position to pursue her dreams of being a mage.
A decision that removed her from her family.
The mage thinks that she would be sad by this if it wasn’t for the fact that she immediately found a new family to be with.
It's amazing if you ask her. It was as if the gods saw that she needed someone to trust after almost being killed and gave it to her in the form of a socially awkward swordsman.
And then almost right after she put her trust in Choi Han, she gained a little brother named Lock.
From there it spiralled. She met Cale and all the other people under him. She got the support she needed to make her dreams come true. On top of that, her relationship with her blood relatives is still good.
Overall it was nice. Especially when Cale seems to keep making friends everywhere and expanding this family-esc circle they have.
That was why when Cale brought another person home Rosalyn thought it would be the same thing. Thought that in a few days' time, that person would be part of their group, their family.
Well in a way they were.
Rosalyn has come to see _____ as her younger sibling, the same way she views Lock. She has taken it upon herself to help the healer acclimatize to their new group and environment in general.
However, every time Rosalyn thinks she’s making progress, _____ seems to go back into their shell.
At first, the woman thought they were just socially awkward. Perhaps shaken because their family literally just threw them to their death.
Her first mistake was assuming it was as trivial as that.
Her second mistake was not getting the full story.
If she had done that then maybe she wouldn’t be this shocked so early in the morning.
Well in her defence she was expecting Cale to talk about some sort of plan for when they meet the dragon. Why else would he gather the group this early right before they are set to travel to the dragon’s lair?
Apparently not.
As soon as everyone has settled Cale brought to everyone’s attention that they didn’t know how _____’s powers work.
This made Rosalyn confused. Because quite frankly what does this have to do with… well anything?
But oh god, the more _____ explains their abilities the more she understood why this has to be said now.
This should have been explained way earlier. Because what do they mean that _____ essentially absorbs their patients' wounds?
It made the mage look back at all the people the Medicus had healed. All the sickness and wounds they had to absorb.
And shit.
She remembered that _____ has been doing this since they were 9 years old. Maybe even earlier as she discovered that the famous story of their adoption is fabricated.
Rosalyn may have only known _____ for a short while, but that’s her little sibling goddammit.
A sibling she admires because of how helpful and selfless they are. Traits they possess that Rosalyn is now starting to resent.
The redhead shot a pointed look at the other redhead in the room. A look that says Rosalyn wants her questions answered. Cale responded with another eye contact that seemed to say “Later”.
“Just what-”
Cale put his hand up to stop Rosalyn from speaking. Everyone was still in the room minus _____. The redhead had sent them out as they hadn’t finished packing their things yet.
“To put it shortly, I need you all to keep an eye on _____.”
The man goes on to explain how the healer kind of lacks… common sense, for lack of a better term. It has something to do with how they were brought up. 
“We don’t need to look after them like a child. Just make sure they won’t go overboard using their abilities. No guarding them like a hound either.”
It's a no-brainer that the last part was for the visibly enraged Choi Han. He was still visibly enraged but nodded as he understood why Cale didn't want the healer to have guards as of now.
Rosalyn is sure that Choi Han is going to be overprotective of _____ in some way. Not that she blames him.
Cale went to stand up, signifying that the meeting was over. The rest followed and started filing out of the room. 
Everyone except Rosalyn.
She has questions and she’s going to get answers.
“Young master, how long have you known?”
“Since last night.”
“Were they deliberately hiding it?”
“No, they just didn’t think they could bring it up when no one was asking.”
“How are we supposed to- haaa”
“Blame their shitty family.”
On their way to the dragon’s lair, Rosalyn had a lot on her mind. Lots of puzzle pieces to put together.
Now that Rosalyn knows the full story everything started to make sense.
Made her realize just how hurt her sibling had been.
Just how much they suffered before Cale met them.
It made Rosalyn look back to some of the habits she noticed _____ has. Like how they almost seem apprehensive to talk to people in authority. How their hands and voice tremble when they thought they made a mistake. How they are so intent on healing everyone and low-key seem scared if a person’s condition is out of their jurisdiction.
How they take everything with apprehension. Like they can’t believe that they are being given things. Even when those things are basic necessities like a good plate of food. How they teared up when Raon gave them that red teddy bear from the night market. How apparently that was the first toy– no, the first thing, that they have ever received in their entire life for free. The first gift they get to indulge in.
How they are too independent for Rosalyn’s liking. How they always insist that the servants have better things to do than assist them. How they refuse to get treated when sick or injured despite them treating everyone else.
How they never speak unless spoken to first. How they will literally just stand there, bleeding and not saying a word unless they are given some sort of permission. This one frustrates Rosalyn so much. Not only does she want to hear more from the healer, but she also thinks they have so many good ideas. Before she let it go she thought they were shy, but that’s slowly going to change from now on.
How even when they were suffering from nightmares they were silent. How on one of those nights they looked more scared that Rosalyn saw them being vulnerable, as if it's a sin to have nightmares. To be vulnerable and lean on others. How on that night Rosalyn had to explain that there’s nothing wrong with asking for help after such things. How _____ nodded but seemed apprehensive. How Rosalyn knew that after that night they still suffered silently. Merely holding the mage’s hand as solace and comfort on the rare nights the healer allows themself to embrace the help presented to them.
How Rosalyn found out now that it was because _____ have been taught that since they don’t scar then they must not have pain. Since they only get a percentage of their patient’s pain then it would be arrogant and privileged of them to complain.
How they–
How–
Fuck.
Rosalyn is going to get revenge for _____. 
She’s going to make sure she gets it done one way or another.
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a/n at the end: i wasn't quite sure how to get the point across that rosalyn was angry and frustrated beyond belief so I made her curse as she isn't really someone who's portrayed to curse a lot
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gravehags · 4 months ago
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enter lydia
Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)
Rating: Teen
Tags: meet the best friend, reader being goofy as fuck, copia being incredibly anxious, real friendship talk, dinner parties, terzo being clueless
Words: 4,829
Summary: Your oldest, dearest friend and the love of your life. What could possibly go wrong?
a/n: reader backstory tiiiiime, copia's really in for it lol
~~~
“Hey hon?” you ask, poking at your boxed salad with your fork.
“Mmhmm?” Copia responds, currently distracted by trying to recover his pen which has fallen and rolled under the desk. You hear a telltale thump and him cursing softly, and when he emerges, his biretta sits charmingly crooked on his mussed hair. Briefly you forget what you were even going to ask him as he looks at you with a soft smile before getting off his knees and plopping back down in his seat.
“Oh!” you say, it coming back to you, “I wanted to ask you…can I have like…a guest here? Like a visitor?”
Copia blinks at you.
“Visitor?” he asks, baffled, “Amore, you are not a prisoner! Of course you can have someone come see you? Eh, who did you have in mind?”
Part of you wants to casually say “my parents” just to watch the color drain from his face as he stammers but you spare your love the agony.
“My best friend,” you say, halfway through a bite of lettuce, “Lydia? I’m sure I’ve mentioned her before. She’s um, going to be in the area for a work conference and wanted to spend a few days with me. I just didn’t know what the protocol was for that. I mean, Sister Imperator isn’t going to shit her pants is she?”
“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, “siblings’ families visit them all the time, why should you be any different? And we have nothing to hide. We would welcome her with open arms.”
Your shoulders sag in relief.
“Okay good, because she’s coming next week and I’m going to be honest with you, asking for permission was kind of a formality. I was going to do it either way.”
Copia laughs.
“Taking the ‘better to ask for forgiveness’ route, huh? I admire that. I suppose we won’t sacrifice her in some arcane ritual now.”
It’s your turn to laugh.
“Uh, I don’t know that you could handle that. She’s a fighter, through and through. She’d definitely kick your ass.”
He frowns and presses a gloved hand to his chest.
“Cara, you wound me. Are you implying that I could not defend your honor?”
“Cope, I saw Secondo grab your hands and slap you while saying ‘stop hitting yourself’ for ten minutes after you pissed him off at the last Uno night. Respectfully, you are a lover, not a fighter.”
“Oh, but what a lover I am, eh? Everyone else on your floor probably heard what I did to you last night hehe–”
“Copia,” you say, blushing as you stab a garbanzo bean, “you’re starting to sound like Terzo.”
He actually gasps at that.
“Fuck the thing about fighting, now you’ve really offended me, dolcezza,” he says gruffly, returning to his own lunch, “but please tell your friend she is welcome here. Any friend of my amore’s is a friend of mine.”
You smile tightly.
“I sure hope so,” you say under your breath.
___
Copia’s nervous.
He hasn’t been this nervous in a long time - probably since before the two of you started dating - and he can feel the sweat accumulate on his palms underneath the leather of his gloves. He looks over to you, excitedly bouncing on the balls of your feet. When you look at him, you give him a wide smile.
“Are you nervous?” you ask, reaching a hand out to cup his elbow. A rivulet of sweat rolls down his back under his cassock. He smiles. Nervously.
“No, no, of course not. You don’t look excited at all, though.”
You giggle.
“I haven’t seen her since I went back home for Christmas! And so much has changed since then. That was right before we got together. I’ve told her all about you, by the way.”
He chuckles weakly but in your giddiness you don’t notice his discomfort. A car pulls into the long driveway and his heart plunges into his stomach. You’re practically vibrating at this point watching the car come closer and closer until it’s pulling in front of the steps the two of you are standing on. You don’t wait for her to get out of the car, instead flying down the stairs to meet her at the door. When she opens it you let out a high-pitched shriek.
“Hold on, let me get out of the damn car,” he hears a deep, amused, female voice speak. The woman that emerges is…not what he pictured. She’s tall - taller than him (though Secondo would say that’s no feat), broad shouldered, and muscular. Her dark curly hair streaked with bright red is piled on top of her head in a bun and before he can make any other observations, you throw yourself into her arms.
“Hey, babygirl,” she laughs, pulling you in for a tight hug and kissing you on top of your head, “I missed you.”
“Missed you more!” he hears you wail as the two of you rock back and forth in your embrace. He fiddles with his cuffs, unsure of whether he should introduce himself now or–
“You must be him,” she says, her tone shifting entirely. Copia blanches.
“Yes! This is–c’mere,” you say, gesturing to him to come down to where the two of you stand, “this is Cardinal Copia. Copia, this is Lydia Morales, my angel and dearest friend.”
He bows slightly.
“It’s eh, a pleasure to meet you, signorina,” he says, reaching out his hand. Lydia looks down at it and takes it in her own. Giving him a tight smirk, she squeezes in a hard enough handshake that he lets out an undignified squeak similar to one of his rats.
“Pleasure’s all mine…Cardinal.” The slight sneer in her voice when she addresses him immediately lets him know that this is going to be a long three days. When she mercifully releases his hand he flexes his fingers in an attempt to get feeling back in them. Lydia’s shrewd, dark eyes stare him down, sweeping over his appearance.
“Um,” you say, clearly thrown by the tension between your lover and your friend, “L-let me help you with your bag, Lyd. There’s a guest room for you all ready.”
“No need,” Lydia says, walking over to the trunk and smacking it firmly. The ghoul, still in the driver seat, pops it and she hauls an overstuffed carry-on out as if it’s made of air. 
“Oh, making me swoon,” you say with a smile, nudging her arm.
“I live to please, doll,” Lydia smirks as the three of you head up the steps, “this is quite a place.”
“Isn’t it?” you open the heavy front door and usher everyone inside, “Lydia you will not believe the architecture and the art here, it’s Heaven!”
“Wouldn’t ‘Hell’ be more appropriate,” she says dryly, her eyes briefly flicking over to him. She brings her hand to her neck and fishes out a small, gold cross on a delicate chain from under her t-shirt. For the second time that day, Copia’s heart plummets.
“Haha, very amusing,” you turn to him, “My love, you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. You’re more than welcome to of course but I’m just going to get her settled.”
You must have finally picked up on his discomfort and he would kiss you right now if he didn’t think that Lydia would clock him in the face.
“Eh, I do have some things to attend to,” he stops, bowing slightly again to Lydia, “Forgive me, signorina. You will join us tonight for dinner, I hope?”
“Oh fuck,” you murmur, “I completely forgot - Copia’s brothers are hosting a little al fresco get together. You interested?”
Lydia nods slowly, smiling.
“‘Course I’m interested. I’d like to meet this chef you told me about - is he one of your, uh, brothers, Cardinal?”
“Sì, that is my brother Secondo. Are there any restrictions to your diet I should tell him about?”
“Not at all, I’ll eat anything that moves unlike this one over here,” she gestures with her thumb in your direction and you roll your eyes.
“I’m sure Secondo will be pleased to have a less picky eater join his gathering,” you comment then turn to him, “Alright then see you later?”
He nods, and when you approach to kiss to his cheek he does not miss the way Lydia’s eyes narrow.
“Eh, see you later. Ciao.”
He doesn’t breathe again until the two of you are down the hallway and round the corner out of sight.
___
“What do you think of your digs? Pretty nice, right?”
You plop down on the gilded loveseat in the little living room adjacent to the small bedroom where Lydia is currently unpacking.
“Real nice. This whole place is nice. Makes you wonder where they got the money.”
Your lips twitch downwards.
“It’s an old institution - as old as the Catholic church. You don’t ask them where they got their money.”
“Fair enough,” Lydia concedes, standing in the doorway folding a shirt. Her lips are held in a tight line and you know she’s holding back from saying what she really thinks.
“Tell me,” you say, leaning forward to rest your forearms on your thighs, “and don’t think I didn’t notice how fucking weird you were with Copia earlier, either.”
Lydia sighs and looks at you.
“Can I be honest?”
“Why are you even asking when you know you’re going to be anyway? Like I said, tell me.”
“He’s too old,” she says bluntly, and you recoil, “and he’s your coworker which is a whole other rat’s nest. This place is way freaky - I mean, a Satanic church? Girlie, I know you’re not picky about religions but–”
“And neither are you, so why is it a problem all of a sudden now that I’m involved with a member of one in opposition from your religion?”
Lydia sighs and rubs her eye.
“Because you’re my best friend? My best friend who calls me up one day and says ‘I’m in love with a Satanic cardinal who is old enough to be my father’ while being sequestered away from her family and friends for almost a year? Babe, tell me you wouldn’t be concerned if I had done the same. I love you and I love that you’re happy but I’m worried. Your parents are too, honestly.”
“You…you’ve spoken to my parents about this?”
“Of course I have. We didn’t see you for months before last Christmas and yeah, we’ve talked but I don’t know. Please tell me you understand why we’re concerned.”
“I’m in my fucking thirties, I’m not a child, Lydia–”
“Look me in the eyes and say you wouldn’t be worried if it was me.”
A beat passes. You chew on your bottom lip.
“Exactly,” Lydia says, sighing and walking over to sit down next to you, “Listen, I didn’t come here to be a buzzkill for three days, I came here to spend time with you. And you know I gotta scope this Cardinal Copia guy out for myself, huh? Make sure he’s worthy of an angel like you. Typical best friend shit, you know?” she nudges you with her body before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You want to be mad but all in all…she’s right and you know it. Exhaling through your nose you lean into her while she toys with your hair.
“Please keep an open mind?” you ask quietly, “I know they’re spooky, scary Satanists and everything but…they’ve taken care of me all this time. Without Copia, I’m…” you sniffle, tears welling in your eyes, “I’m not even sure I’d be alive right now. You two are everything to me. Both of you.”
“Alright,” Lydia says softly, kissing you on top of your head, “whatever my girl wants. I promise I won’t grill him too hard.”
“Thank you,” you say, “you’re more than welcome to…I don’t know, suss out his intentions or whatever but remember that I love him. So don’t do that weird thing where you offer to crack people’s backs by picking them up around him or anything, okay? He’s already petrified of you.”
Lydia laughs and shoves you away.
“Hey fuck you, that’s my go-to party trick. Ladies love it.”
You roll your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you done unpacking? I want to show this place off to you before we head to this dinner thing.”
“Let me freshen up and change clothes and I’m all yours.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear.”
___
“So, Terzo is the oldest one.”
“No, Primo is the oldest one. Secondo is uh…second, then Terzo, then Copia.”
“Shit, sorry. And they’re all Satanic popes?”
“Terzo is the current one, Primo and Secondo are…retired. And Copia’s a cardinal, you know that.”
“Right, right. Sounds like a lot of fucking dudes, just like the Catholic side. Where are the women at?”
“They’re around, trust me. Not sure if Sister Imperator is going to be in attendance tonight but she’s pretty high up there, I think. There’s a few female cardinals too but I haven’t really gotten the chance to know them outside of passing them in the hall. And then there’s the sisters too, I– Lydia, don’t.”
“What?” Lydia asks with a sly grin, waggling her eyebrows, “Sisters huh? You know I always had a thing for–”
“And you talk about me having a weird priest fetish?” you whisper, holding back a laugh, “Down, girl.”
As if on cue, two sisters - one wearing a tight miniskirt as a habit and the other in a long dress with a very high slit up the side - come out of one of the seminar classrooms. They smile politely at you but when they catch sight of Lydia, their jaws drop.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Lydia purrs with a smile. You make a gagging motion behind the sisters’ backs as they giggle and walk away, occasionally glancing over their shoulders. Lydia licks her lips.
“Not you going full ‘hey mamas’ lesbian,” you wheeze, “I’m having war flashbacks from college.”
“What? We had fun!"
“No,” you laugh, “you had fun. You got laid. I sat at the bar and got mistaken for someone’s mom. More than once.”
“Didn’t help that you used to dress like a senator when we went to the club,” Lydia says with a smile, causing you to whip around and point at her accusingly.
“First of all, business casual was the club look back then and you know that, and second of all, fuck you very much.”
Grinning, Lydia wraps an arm around your shoulders and deposits a wet kiss at your temple.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says as you march down the hall side by side, “Should I tell Copia about that time we made out senior year or…”
Your face goes ghostly white.
“Lydia Rosa Morales that was one time and I had a lot of vodka and-and you said—“
“Oh I know what I said,” Lydia agrees, “but what if I changed my mind, hmm? What if I want you all to myself?”
“Lydia do not even go there I—“
“Christ, please unclench I’m just fucking with you. Been a while since you got a taste of your own medicine, huh?”
“God, now I’m really gonna let them sacrifice you tonight. See you in hell, you stupid fruit or whatever that meme was.”
“Wow, lesbophobia from my own best friend…”
“You remember I’m gay too, right?”
“Yeah but–oh. Hello.”
You’re jarred by how polite Lydia sounds all of a sudden until you turn around and are met with Sister Imperator standing there smiling and looking deeply unsettling.
“Sister!” you say, trying to recover yourself, “This is my dearest and oldest friend, Lydia. Lydia, this is Sister Imperator my uh…boss. Lydia is visiting with us–with me– for the next few days.”
“How lovely,” she says as she reaches out to take Lydia’s hand, her gaze directed towards the cross Lydia always wears, “Catholic?” 
“Uh, yeah. I mean, I went through the whole thing y’know - baptism, confirmation - I just don’t really attend now unless my parents drag me. Mostly just like the art and the vibes.”
A silence falls between the three of you and you can tell by the way Lydia fidgets with her watch she is extremely uncomfortable. As are you. Where you’re slightly more accustomed to Imperator’s off-putting presence, Lydia is left uncharacteristically meek and quiet. It’s not a look you enjoy seeing on her.
“Well, just giving Lydia a tour so I guess we’ll be on our way,” you say with a nervous smile, taking your friend’s hand and gently tugging her away.
“Give my regards to the Cardinal, dear,” Imperator says, folding her hands in front of her and giving you a pointed look. The two of you haven’t had any real conversations beyond terse staff meeting discussions since the incident in her office and you swallow thickly before nodding. You don’t breathe again until she turns and clacks away on her stilettos.
“Bro, what the fuck,” Lydia breathes, squeezing your hand, “that’s your boss?”
“Uh-huh,” you say as the two of you slowly begin to walk down the hall again, “she’s…a lot. Listen, you can’t let anyone know that you know this or that I told you but…that’s Copia’s mom.”
“What?”
“Yeah it’s…a whole situation. I’ll explain it someday when you and Copia actually like each other.”
“You’ve officially given me a reason to get along with him tonight. I want the tea.”
You withdraw your hand and smack her arm with it.
“Because being the person I love wasn’t enough of a reason? Dickhead.”
___
Copia’s nervous. Again.
He had to slip up to his rooms to change cassocks after he left the office from how disgustingly damp it was and now he stands in the gardens watching ghouls set up a dining table.
“Are you going to help, or just stand there fretting?”
Terzo, doling out plates onto the rustic table, is looking over at him with an uncharacteristically furrowed brow.
“Ah, yes, mi dispiace. I was preoccupied.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, watching Copia reach the table and begin folding napkins while dodging eye contact. “You’re worried her friend doesn’t like you.”
Copia scoffs.
“Oh, I know her friend doesn’t like me. That’s not the issue. The issue is how do I change that.”
Terzo pulls back and thoughtfully rests his weight on his hip.
“I could charm her for you - you know how irresistible the ladies find me.”
Copia coughs, loud and sharp.
“Eh, I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Terzo looks offended and crosses his arms.
“And whyever not? You doubt my ability to sweep people off their feet?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, what I’m saying is–”
“You two!” The two younger siblings jolt to attention as Primo approaches bearing a vase filled with a variety of flowers, “Go help Secondo in the kitchen, he glamored the ghouls but now they can’t remember how to serve hors d'oeuvres and keep gobbling down all the prosciutto.”
Copia heaves a sigh.
“If Secondo can’t fix the problem, I don’t know how much help we’ll be but if you insist. Come on, fratello.”
___
“Hey, you look great!”
You gesture to Lydia in her linen pantsuit and she grins charmingly, pointing at you in return.
“Not looking so bad yourself, babygirl.” She reaches down to graze the fabric of your yellow floral sundress before taking a finger and tapping the delicate gold grucifix that rests on your neck.
“Huh. He give this to you?”
“Yeah. The night we first kissed. He wanted to welcome me into the family.”
Lydia says nothing, but the face she makes shows her equal parts impressed and wary. You loop your arm through hers.
“C’mon, gardens are this way. They’re beautiful, I think Copia said they were setting the table up near the orchards.”
The walk through the abbey and past the greenhouses is quiet, both of you more than happy to enjoy the comfortable silence afforded to you by years of friendship. When you approach the grassy area next to a row of citrus trees, you gasp. 
“This is gorgeous!” you gush, and the tall, lanky figure of Primo turns to face you with a smile.
“Buonasera, fiore mio. And you must be Signorina Morales?”
“I am yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you uh…Papa.”
“Primo,” he insists, “there will be many papas here tonight and we will all begin to seem like the same person after a while. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch my brothers. Please, please enjoy.”
He gestures to what you assume are ghouls - though they do not wear their standard silver masks - standing silently and bearing large silver platters of–
“Oh fuck, cheese,” Lydia groans, snagging a small plate off the table and loading it up. “You just gonna stand there, or…?”
“Yeah, I’m just looking for–” you turn around and nearly jump out of your skin at the ghoul who appears behind you, bearing two glasses of prosecco. You thank him profusely and hand one to your friend, who makes an impressed face.
“Salute, you little Satan fucker,” she grins.
“I’m not–ugh. Salute, dumbass,” you say, clinking your glass together. 
“Bella mia!”
The all too familiar cry of Terzo rings out as he and his brothers head over to your nook. You exhale heavy through your nose and shake your head as he runs up to plant a kiss on both cheeks.
“Hello, Terzo,” you say, “This–”
You turn to introduce Lydia but Terzo has already swooped in and captured her hand in both of his gloved ones. He looks up at her with wide eyes, a grin playing on his lips.
“Oh, here we go,” you mutter under your breath.
“This Amazonian beauty must be your darling amica, Lydia. Signorina it is my honor and pleasure to make your acquaintance. I…am Terzo Emeritus.”
When he bends to place a kiss to the back of her hand you force yourself to take a sip of prosecco to keep from laughing at her expression. She looks over at you and smiles wide with a wink.
“Signore Terzo, the pleasure is all mine,” she murmurs, fluttering her eyelashes. Oh Lord. You walk away and spot Copia speaking quietly with Secondo.
“Hello, fratello,” you say, standing on tippy toes to press a kiss to Secondo’s cheek, “Hello, my love. Everything uh…everything alright?”
“So far, so good,” Secondo says, eyeing one of the ghouls, “they haven’t done anything weird, have they?”
“Weird? Like ‘developing a twitch’, weird or ‘sacrificing a goat in front of us’, weird?”
“Either, but the latter would be most alarming considering that’s not something we actually do, piccolina,” Secondo scolds, and you smile.
“Oh, you know, sacrificing goats, sacrificing virgins, same thing right?”
“We don’t do that either, and you would know better than most wouldn’t you?” Secondo’s smirks at your gobsmacked expression as he walks away to see Primo and Copia sighs.
“Tell me when it’s over, amore,” he says quietly and you take his hand to press a kiss to the back of it.
“Hey, remember this is just as stressful for me too, right? Sure she’s meeting them but really…they’re meeting her. I would genuinely not be surprised if she’s got Secondo in a headlock by the end of the night and Terzo professing his undying adoration for her.”
Copia cocks his head, frowning.
“Does he know that she’s—”
“Nah. He can find out the hard way. It’ll be good for him.”
For the first time all day, a genuine smile spreads across his face. 
“I adore you,” he says, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek and then dutifully wipe his lipstick off.
“Really? Hmm, had no idea. Come on my love, we have to be social at some point.”
“As you wish.”
—-
“You’ve been dodging me all night, huh?”
Copia’s eyes go wide as he finishes pouring his glass of wine and turns around. Lydia is standing behind him, half smile on her face and a hand in her pocket.
“Eh…no. No, I have simply been–”
“Dipping and dodging like you’re being paid to do it,” she smiles, “Listen, I get it. I’m intimidating, I know. But we all want the same thing here, right?”
“We…we do?”
“Sure - we want her–” Lydia says, gesturing over to you smiling and laughing at something Terzo said, “--happiness. You know we met in middle school?”
“Sì, sì, she said something to that effect.”
There’s a pause, and Lydia takes a sip of wine.
“She ever tell you how we met?”
Copia pauses, thoughtfully.
“I…don’t believe so, no.”
Lydia moves to stand by his side so they both have a clear view of you.
“She switched schools when she was twelve - I’m sure she’s told you about that bullshit she went through.”
Copia nods solemnly.
“Indeed.”
“Well she came to my school. Mid-school year…brutal time. Everyone’s already made their friendships - everyone except me. No one wanted to hang out with the beefy girl who towered a head over everyone else. I had kinda resigned myself to my social outcast fate when one day - there was a new face in class, sitting next to me. I was too shy to say hello but she wasn’t - immediately she smiled big at me and introduced herself. She didn’t fit in either, just a little too awkward and excitable about certain things, and we got along like a house on fire. She was the first real friend I ever had. We’ve been through everything together - made a point of going to the same college so we wouldn’t be separated. It’s been tough, not having her around you know?”
Copia nods slowly. He knew the two of you were close but his heart aches at the way her voice catches on the last word.
“I…am sorry.”
Lydia turns to him.
“What for?”
“All of it. For absconding with her attention and physical presence, for the shit you both went through. I…I love her desperately. I know I’m…I’m old and strange but I would do anything for her. Anything, Lydia. And I suspect you would do the same.”
She clears her throat and takes a sip of her wine.
“The way she talks about you…even over text it’s clear you have her heart. Like, you should see some of the shit she sends me. Real ooey, gooey, cringe shit. Up until you came into her life she always told me she had accepted the fact that she was just not meant to be loved. Which you and I both know is fucking bullshit but she really believed that. She really believed someone as kind and smart and pretty as her deserved to be alone. When she first started here she had such a hard time, you know? The depression and the anxiety and I felt helpless because I was so far away. But then she started talking about The Cardinal and how the two of you were spending time together and how giddy you made her feel. How you made this a home for her. And for that I’m grateful, so thank you Copia. And I apologize for my uh…gruff treatment earlier.”
Copia has the inside of his cheek wedged between his teeth in an attempt to keep from tearing up but when he looks over at Lydia and sees her doing the same, he lets out a little sob. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“Oh my fucking God, Lydia you did not make my boyfriend cry. What did you say to him?”
You’re by his side in a flash, thumbs dutifully wiping the smudged black paint from his cheeks.
“Relax, babygirl. We’re cool, right Copia?”
He nods and smiles.
“Yeah. Cool. She didn’t even threaten me once.”
You sigh and give both of them a look. Primo calls out your name and waves you over to the dining table and when you turn to leave Copia makes to leave too but before he can, a hand is wrapped tightly around his wrist.
“All that being said,” Lydia murmurs, very casual, “if you ever do anything - and I mean anything - to hurt her I’ll fucking snap your neck and make it look like an accident. I don’t care how powerful your Ministry is. I will make you bleed. Know that.”
Lydia’s gaze is intense and Copia nods solemnly.
“Anyway,” she says, suddenly boisterous, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a crushing hug, “let’s go see the others. I’m not done tormenting your brother, yet. He’s something else.”
“Eh, sì he sure is something. And he hasn’t figured it out yet?”
Lydia grins as they march over to the others.
“I don’t think that man could recognize a woman who is only attracted to other women if I wore nothing but my strap and a lesbian flag.”
Copia groans.
“Please don’t let him hear you say that, he’s probably into that.”
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grievedeeply · 8 months ago
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the less time the better. pt 9.
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pairing: heimdall x gn!reader
summary: you make a trip to midgard and try to cope with brok's death.
notes: again not a lot of heimdall this chapter but...... y/n needs a moment (or multiple) LOL enjoy everyone and thanks for all of the support! probably 2-3 more chapters depending on how long i make them. decided to add more recent people to the taglists, but if you want to be removed let me know at any time! tws: a VERY dead brok. a lot of angst, probably an ooc sindri but i just wanted a nice scene where reader gets to open up to someone about faye and how hard it was for them to deal with her death. this felt like a good time to do it with a comforting moment between them and sindri.
the silence was deafening.
usually the branches of the yggdrasil felt like nothing. they weren't affected by the weather of the 9 realms, as they were the things literally holding them up. but now, you felt strangely cold as you stood on sindri's doorstep.
10 minutes ago, brok was alive. he was making jokes as he always did, but now... he was gone. he was gone forever, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do to bring him back.
"father," your brother's voice cut you out of your thoughts, "where are we going?" he asked, taking his place by your side. you subconsciously wrapped your arm around his shoulder. you knew atreus far too well and you knew that he would blame himself for brok's death. he was the one who wanted to find tyr, but he wasn't the only one who was fooled by odin's ruse, either.
how didn't you notice it? you had never met the real týr before, but you could only assume that he was a god who put the needs of others before himself. could he still be alive? if he was, could you ever think of him as týr, and not the man odin portrayed him as? he was a god with an incredible reputation and an even better legacy— a god of war who advocated for peace. you could only imagine how he would feel, knowing his image was used for something as cruel as deception.
"home." your father responded. he lifted the key to the mystic gateway, and the door opened. you followed after him wordlessly, and atreus matched your step. he still hadn't moved out of your grip yet and a part of you didn't want him to at all.
your feet touched the branches once again, and your thumb pressed into atreus's shoulder, running circles against his armor. he had gotten so big. where had the time gone?
"father, can we.. i.. i wanna go hunting," he said.
"i will follow."
"we're with you, atreus."
the door to midgard opened, and you stepped through silently. you were met by the cool breeze and light snow hitting you face. the last time you were here was because you were going back to asgard. heimdall wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't went back. you wondered how he was doing back at the house. it was probably just as quiet there. brok was usually the one keeping the place lively.
"which way we headed, lad?" mimir asked.
"in.. the direction of deer." he responded simply. you let go of him, but didn't move to follow him. your father turned to look at you. his eyes were filled with a sadness that you had only seen a few times in your life. when your mother died.. when atreus was ill.. and now, at the death of a friend. "go on," you said. "i'll catch up. there's just.. something i want to do here first." you told him.
"i understand." he murmured in response. you put on a smile, the smallest on you could muster, as a way to reassure him. atreus needed this alone time with him. you would have your moment some other day. he needed this.
"be careful," he said to you. you nodded. he turned, following after atreus. he was probably already visiting with speki and svanna by now. those wolves of his were far too intelligent for their own good. you were sure they knew something was wrong. you doubted he would even notice you were gone right away, and you couldn't blame him for it either.
you looked away from your father's back as he walked away from you and instead turned to look at your house. it was a tiny thing, practically built with sticks and prayers, but it held strong and always did what it was supposed to do. it kept you safe. it kept you safe from baldur all of those years ago, and again with thor and odin. you remembered thor breaking the ceiling as he threw your father and his hammer through it, but even then you knew he would be alright. he always was.
you pushed open the door, and it creaked on it's hinges as it always did. you kicked the snow off of your boots before you stepped inside. it was something your mother did every winter before she died, and you picked up on it at a young age. you closed it behind you and took in a deep breath. in a way, it still smelt like her. your mother's presence was all over the home. no matter how long she was gone, you would always feel her here in midgard.
you ran your fingers across the wood of the walls, and closed your eyes. what would you say to her now, if she were here? what would she say to you?
you thought of the dream you had with her in it, where she told you about the importance of making your own decisions. you could only hope she would be proud. you did exactly what you thought was best, without anyone else's input. if you hadn't gone back to asgard, heimdall wouldn't be on your side. he fought beside your father. he fought for you.
you breathed deep, letting the smell of the wet wood fill your nose. heimdall had changed so much since the first time you met. he was arrogant back then, selfish and cruel. now.. he felt like someone else entirely. was that because of you? if you hadn't shown up— dodged his attacks like they were nothing— would he still be loyal to odin? yes, you supposed. he would be. the thought of changing him made you feel good, like you had finally done something right. going back to asgard was worth it because you helped him see the truth. he hadn't spoken about it, really.. but you hadn't asked about it, either. you figured that he needed the time alone to think, but you would be sure to talk to him whenever you got back to sindri's house.
sindri.. the thought of him filled your heart with sadness. before, he never slipped into the realm between realms in plain sight like that. he always went behind something. you always guessed it was the polite thing to do.. but he had done it directly in front of everyone that time. you had to see him, soon. let him know that you were there for him. you'd been through loss too. losing anyone was hard, but family even harder. you couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. you didn't want to think about it.
you sat down on your old bed— a bed that you haven't slept in in weeks— and sighed. things had changed so much since the day you departed to spread your mother's ashes. you never would've met brok and sindri if it wasn't for that journey. or mimir.. or freya. you met almost everyone you cared about because of her. even heimdall, now. it was weird, saying you cared about him. but you did. you couldn't change that now.
you lied down. your head touched the pillows, and you took in another breath. you had spent so much time here with your mother. this was the place she died, too. at home and warm. at least you could give that to her.
it felt like hours before you got up again, but in reality, it was just a few minutes. everything here reminded of her, and you were glad for it. just thinking of her kept her with you. you never wanted that to change.
you thought back to your dream once again, and pushed yourself to your feet. the river you fished in so many times with her wasn't too far from the house. before she got sick, the two of you would venture out further downstream. in one of those places on the river.. that was where your dream took place. it was the peak of her life with you. but as her illness progressed, she became too tired to fish. she would go out less and less, staying closer to home. you would fish for her, but you were never as good as she was. still, you would come home with a pail full, and she would praise you for it.
you would do anything to hear her voice again.
you opened the door once more and stepped back out into the cold. you had spent so much time in midgard during fimbulwinter, but you swore you would never get used to the weather. you made your way into the woods, and you were met with the river once again. it hadn't changed much over the years, even though it had been some time since you had visited. after her death, you came less and less. the memory of her was too painful, and all fishing did was remind her of her and how she was gone.
you took in a quick breath through your nose and stepped into the water. she had told you once that you would get used to the cool temperatures of the water, and she was right. you didn't shiver or flinch at the cold. instead, you welcomed it like a warm blanket that washed over you.
"i miss you." you whispered. somehow, you knew she was listening. the world was unfair for taking her away so soon. "i love you." you told her. you swallowed the lump in your throat. would she be able to meet brok again? you could only hope so. the thought of it put a smile on your face. at least he wouldn't be alone in the afterlife. he would be with a friend.
you closed your eyes and took in the scenery. the sound of the breeze rushing through the trees, the chirping of birds and cracking of twigs under the weight of an animal somewhere.
it would be okay, you told yourself.
just one more minute.
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you hadn't been to týr's temple in a long time.
you hadn't needed to, after all. with all of the towers closed in every realm and no way for travel, you never needed to go back. and now, it was still unable for use. no matter how many times you passed by it while hunting, you never stopped inside until now.
you knew this is where sindri would be though. this is the place where he made up with brok. this is where he would be, and you were sure atreus knew that too. you were sure that he and your father had already paid him a visit themselves, but you wanted to on your own. you needed to let him know you were there for him, even if he pretended he didn't need it.
it was a long walk from home, which meant you had plenty of time to think. plenty of time to blame yourself for brok's death in the first place. how could no one have noticed? you tried not to think about it too much. he wouldn't want blame being passed around. you knew that.
you sighed as you pulled yourself up the stairs. now covered in ice, you remembered when the lake was water. atreus was much younger then— much smaller. once again, you thought of the good young man he was becoming. it hadn't truly been that long since that journey and yet.. it felt like lifetimes ago.
you stared up at the doorway and pushed it open with little struggle, only a grunt escaping your lips as you did so. the inside was much warmer, and you welcomed the feeling. the familiar sound of hammering filled your ears, and as you looked, you were greeted by sindri's back. brok's body lay on the table to his side, and you blinked away your emotions. this wasn't about you.
"go away," he said without even turning to look at you.
you cleared your throat, taking an awkward step closer to him. sindri was different. his clothing was covered in blood and dirt, and so were his arms. he hadn't cleaned since brok died. how much of that was his blood? you bit at the inside of your cheek, trying your best to shove the thought out of your head.
"sindri.." you started. what was there to even say? you didn't know. instead, you stood there. after a few moments of agonizingly long silence, he turned to face you. he sat the hammer down with a thud on the table, and you felt small under his gaze.
"what?" he snapped. now that his face was in the light, you could see how red his eyes were. he had been crying. you wished there was something more you could do, but.. there was nothing you could do to bring brok back, and that was what sindri wanted.
"i just.. wanted to let you know that i'm here." you told him.
you swore you saw his gaze soften.
"i know you probably don't want company right now or.. or anything like that," you swallowed, "but i just.. had to tell you that." you murmured.
sindri remained silent. he looked away from you and towards the ceiling. you only wished you could read his thoughts. he had become someone completely different. yesterday he was happy. despite the fact of ragnarok looming over him, he was happy because he had his brother there.
"i can't imagine.." you whispered out to him, lips pursed together. "i couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. i'm.. so sorry." you told him. by now, you were standing on opposite sides of the table he had spent so much time working at.
"that's what he said." he said. "atreus." he can barely force himself to say his name.
"i figured he would come."
silence fell over the room again and suddenly, sindri shook his head.
"you don't.. you don't get to be sorry." he said. "you still have your brother. because of him and because of you— i will never have mine back." sindri laid his hand on brok's chest. you felt a pang shoot through your chest at his words, but you didn't argue. you couldn't do that to him. you looked down at brok's body. you had to look at him. that was the least you could do.
"i know." you muttered.
"he brought him into my home." he whispered. "and he.."
"i know."
he looked back up at you, gaze narrowed. you could practically see the whirlwind of emotions going through his mind just by looking at is eyes.
"what do you know?" sindri asked quietly.
"i know what loss feels like." you said simply. "when my mother died, i was.. i was inconsolable. i needed her with me to.. to function, to live." you took in a breath, heavy through your lungs.
"my father.. none of us ever told you what happened to her, did we?"
at his silence, you took it as your que to continue.
"she got sick."
his brow furrowed.
"sick? faye?" he asked quietly. you nodded.
"i thought.. how could a woman as strong as her get sick like this? how could she be healthy one day and then in her deathbed a few weeks later? i didn't understand it. i still don't. but i.. i know what it's like to grieve, sindri. i understand."
he only looked at you.
"i know my apologies won't bring brok back." you murmured. "but i.. just need you to know that i'm here for you."
he swallowed. his took a deep, shaky breath. you knew your words meant very little, but if they provided any sort of comfort to him, your trip out here would be worth it. sindri squeezed brok's hand.
"it's all my fault." you heard sindri murmur under his breath. "what?" you asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. "brok.. he died. before." he told you.
"when he.. when he died, i couldn't handle it. i went to the lake of souls and i jumped in. i.. found pieces of his soul. all of them except for one." he whispered, unable to tear his eyes off of his brother. "and now he.. doesn't have them all. he can't go anywhere. he's ceased to exist."
"that's not your fault." you told him without missing a beat. "brok.. what he said before.." you cleared your throat as sindri's gaze finally shifted up to you. "he said he forgave you. this.. that's not on you. he understood." you muttered softly. he blinked a few times, running his thumb across the back of brok's hand. tears filled his eyes, and you forced yourself to give him a comforting smile.
he said nothing in response.
"can i.. say a prayer?" you asked, your gaze shifting from brok's body to sindri's eyes. he could only nod as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
you breathed deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth. while you didn't have the items you had when you were mourning your mother.. you didn't mind. you doubted brok would've wanted something fancy like that anyway.
"lo, there do i see my mother," you whispered.
"lo, there do i see my father.." you continued, falling onto one knee next to the table. "and my sisters and my brothers. lo, there do i see the line of my people. back to the beginning. lo, there do they call to me. they bid me take my place among them in the halls of valhalla."
"where the brave may live forever."
you finished, pressing your forehead against brok's arm. he was cold. stiff. the last time you did this, it was for your mother. it was the exact prayer you and atreus had said before her funeral. you swallowed, feeling pressure build up in your throat. you stayed there for a moment, and sindri watched you wordlessly.
you knew there was no valhalla for brok. but he was brave. and he would live forever within you, within everyone who loved him.
you pushed yourself to your feet, turning your attention back to sindri. "thank you." you said to him, and he nodded once again. "i'll.. be at the house." you muttered, turning on your heel to leave him to his thoughts. you swore you could feel him watching as you left.
you pushed the heavy doors open and stepped back into the cold of midgard.
lo, there do they call to me. you repeated to yourself.
lo, there do they call to me.
tags: @ic-yourface @alisblackgf @engardeitsme @venfia @dijanur @s1mpss @gorepitt @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @beaniebear152 @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @a-bunny13 @lei-leigha @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @unodostrescuatrolove @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @chibi668 @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @white-lyra @lmorg149 @iamverydreamy @giornos-curls @reinabxitch @ourchampionofthesun @paintmekala @the-eternal-sunflower @alextric-overload @lynn-haitani @prettysurethatsakidney @justsomereaderwholikesanime @emmbny @kukungi @sweetdayme4427 @mimiissia
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electricea · 7 days ago
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on being 30.
my birthday is this weekend and i don't really know how much free time i'll have to spend on here, so i did want to poke on here and at least say something - thank you for another year together, whether we've just met or have known each other for ages, i genuinely appreciate being able to spend another year on this website with so many great folks, sincerely - i appreciate every dm, every image, it doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.
i've sort of touched on before on how 2024 has been a sort of a slump for a year for me - i've always sort of battled with self doubt and self loathing and just for some reason this year, it seems to just keep coming back and i hate that i actually doubt and question myself - if there's still a place for me here and when i get in my own head like this i really isolate myself and try to just deal with it in private because i don't like being a downer so if you have noticed me not exactly being the most responsive or talkative lately, that’s why - i’m not angry with anyone, i’m not trying to be cold with anyone - going back into my shell is just what I do and how I cope, it always has been, i don't even like writing this. and to make this clear, this is a me problem - not an anyone else problem, period - this isn't a vague or to point fingers, the issue is with me.
i think what sort of prompted this was seeing a lot of people open up about their own feelings and insecurities and I get the sense that 2024 hasn’t exactly been a great year for a lot of people either and my mindset has always been so long as it's not being passive aggressive or directing the blame at others, i honestly think it's good to have an outlet to just say how you're feeling once in a while - how else will people know what you're struggling with? of course what they choose to divulge is up to them and no one has to divulge if they don't want to, we're all just here for rp and for fun but i think sort of seeing others also struggling with having a crappy year and seeming to be in similar slumps was what really prompted me to write this. i hope it's just down to 2024 being a cursed year or something, lol.
like i said, i do genuinely appreciate all of you - i think more than anything else, more than rp or writing, the people are what keeps me coming back to tumblr - getting to write with and meet so many different writers from across the world (and possibly even talk with some of them and hang out with them??) is honestly a privilege and honour and even if i may not respond right away, please just know i appreciate every interaction, every message, every person. thank you all for being a part of my tumblr experience for another year and for already getting this birthday off to a lovely start. take care of yourselves.
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fandom-chameleon23 · 16 days ago
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i got a comment recently stating that Elrond cannot be a “silly boy” because he just lost his daughter and i just wanted to respond to that quickly.
everyone experiences grief differently. I think that losing a child has to be one of the hardest things a person can go through and my heart is with anyone who has experienced that pain. part of my thought behind the original post was that i don’t think Elrond has ever given himself time and space to feel and process his losses, but likely is fantastic at suppressing (like me lol). once he sails, and is reunited with his wife and other family, I think he can start to heal. also-
sometimes people use humor to cope with grief. sometimes people need the distraction. sometimes a joke or a prank can bring up a happy memory to honor those we have lost. grieving people don’t have to be lost in a dark depression and they shouldn’t feel guilty for experiencing a bit of light hearted happiness if and when it comes to them.
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danielfuckingricciardo · 1 year ago
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for ur spotify wrapped game: 27 + lance stroll !!🫶🏻
Hi!!! Tysm for the request!
Song 27 - Can’t Help Falling In Love // Elvis Presley
My music taste really is all over the place lol sorry! But I am having thoughts abt this one cos this song is so damn sweet 😭😭😭 Enter wholesome Lance and his anxious gf!
Trigger warning for anxiety and mild panic attack
Vegas. The city of bright lights, parties, gambling and chaos. Even the thought of it gave you hives. No part of it appealed to you, and you were only there because your boyfriend Lance would be racing there in exactly three days time.
So, you sucked it up. You decided you’d try your best to look like you were enjoying yourself, even if the bright lights gave you a headache and the crowds of loud and drunken revellers made you anxious.
You grip Lance’s hand a little tighter as you walk through the lobby of the Bellagio, attempting to smile as what feels like a million cameras flash in your direction.
You knew that it shouldn’t bother you, that it’s just a consequence of dating a celebrity, but it did. You weren’t famous - you were no one. You just happened to meet Lance by chance and, as people do, you fell in love. For some reason that you could not quite understand, that made you worthy of being plastered all over gossip pages, your name smeared all over social media with equal amounts of praise and hate.
The bright flashes and shouts made your body tense up, and, as Lance sensed your stress, he gave your hand a small reassuring squeeze.
“We can go back to the room, if you want?” He asks quietly, and you shake your head.
“No, it’s okay, let’s go,” you respond, putting on a brave face and a smile as the two of you head into the casino together.
Once inside, you breathe a sigh of relief as you realise the casino’s patrons are more interested in gambling away their life’s savings than you. It was comforting, in a strange way, but the bright lights and loud sounds of the machines and roulette wheels didn’t help to calm your already anxious state.
You take a shaky breath in and out and grip Lance’s hand harder as you try and stop the room from spinning. It was all too much, you couldn’t bare it any longer.
“Hey, uh, I changed my mind, can we go?” You whisper, and Lance nods as he guides you back out of the casino and towards the elevators.
Lucky for the two of you, the fans and paparazzi had dissipated, and you no longer had to put on a brave face for the cameras. Instead, you could focus on calming yourself down, with Lance’s hand in yours providing a comfortable grounding to keep you there in the moment and out of your own anxious head.
Once back in your room, you take a seat on the edge of the bed and throw off your heels.
“I’m sorry,” You say, your voice barely above a whisper as Lance looks at you with a soft smile.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” He responds.
Lance kneels down before you and takes your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“It’s all just a little… overwhelming,” You say, and Lance chuckles lightly.
“I know. I’m not a fan of it either. It does get easier, you find ways of coping with it all,” he says, and you smile at him.
“Yeah, I suppose I will. It’s all just so new to me, I guess. You’d be better off dating someone else famous.”
“I don’t want some random celebrity, I want you. You being the way that you are, that’s what made me fall in love with you,” he says, and you gaze into those beautiful dark brown eyes of his, which were full of sincerity and love.
“Damn, you’re good at rizzing up anxious chicks,” you chuckle, and Lance laughs too.
He reaches out to wrap his arms around you in a tight and comforting hug.
“You’re the only ‘anxious chick’ I want to ‘rizz up’ (Y/N)” he chuckles, before pressing a soft kiss to each of your cheeks, and planting a final sweet kiss to your lips.
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skyj80 · 2 months ago
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what happened to Carmen? Why did she die? What was her illness? How did Dahlia react? Did their parents know about them dating?? Is there a song that reminds you of them?
Sorrryyy i just love sapphics lol
DONT BE SORRY THIS MAKES ME REALLY HAPPY TO ANSWER HFJDKSJFYR
So carmen has been sick since she was young. Not the type of sickness that she needs to spend her life in the hospital, but does need extra care. Over the course of the story she coughs a bit and trips to show her body starting to weaken. She passed because it just kinda caught up to her. She spent a week in the hospital before dying.
Dahlia was heartbroken. She knew Carmen was sick since they started dating. She was also the only one carmen was honest about her fears with at first. Carmen never cried with Ángel or her parents for a while cause she wanted to be brave for them. She only ever cried with Dahlia. When she died Dahlia was inconsolable. She did, however, try to stay strong for Ángel. They hugged and cried together a lot. Carmen told Dahlia she wanted her to move on after her passing and be happy with a different person, but Dahlia only smiled and responded "as long as my heart is beating it's yours." This is in reference to a song (it's a musical) that carmen sang to Dahlia where that line is part of the chorus
The parents did know. To preface: Ángel sr. is catholic and Alma was catholic at one point but now is not. Carmen came out to her mother first. Alma is a pretty old fashioned woman. She wished Carmen would date a man and said so point blank. She said some pretty hurtful things (she didn't mean to hurt carmen but still she thinks younger generations are just sensitive.) It wasn't until Alma had a heart to heart with Dahlia, that she started to grow on her (I just finished writing the heart to heart in case anyone wants more details on that) Carmen was kinda scared to tell her dad after what happened with her mom (especially since Ángel sr is religious) she tearfully went to her father and her dad was like ???? cause he has no idea how to connect with his kids. She said "I like girls." and her dad just smiled and said "I know, baby." She started like fully crying and after that they had an introspective deep conversation about religion. Carmen is also religious, but never felt guilt in the gay regard. "How could something so natural be wrong?" Her dad is pretty much on the same page. (if y'all want the details on that convo lmk hehehe)
Dahlia and Ángel jr are not religious. There was a stick cross near the outside their home and they when she passed both coped differently. Dahlia, for the first time since she was young, said a prayer by the cross. Ángel spits on it and said "Fuck you, man." I like this scene cause at the end of the day, they both think they're talking to nothing, but the symbol of the cross changes to them after Carmen's death
As for songs that remind me of them...here are two playlists :D (still updating as I find more songs)
Happy one
Sad one
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qoldenskies · 2 months ago
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Omg I just read the entirety of the canary continuity and I love it so much! I was crying so hard by the time I was done with it!
Also, I feel so bad for all the brothers, especially Leo, Raph and Mikey. Not only is their brother hurt, physically and mentally, but they can't even do anything cause it was (unintentionally) their fault. Their relationship has broken, and they can't even fix it, because not only would Donnie think that they are lying about being nice again when they try to help, he can't even see them before having a panic attack, thinking that they are going to hurt him (or worse, kill him).
I can't wait to see what would happen in the future chapters!
hi!!! im so glad you enjoyed!! >:D
honestly ive been rolling around the particular angst with the other three in my head, and i've been excited to dive deeper into them and how they're handling it but i need to get through a particular part of the story before i can properly switch to their povs, but you better bet it'll be happening!!!
its the pain of not being able to show him the kindness and gentleness he deserves after everything that happens to him. despite his fear and initial trepidation, he practically folds into april and splinter when they reach for him, and he panics when he sees them leave, and he uses them as a lifeline when he's scared. already twice now they've talked him down from a spiral of panic and comforted him (although theyve been unable to do it when the others are around, so they always have to make them leave. even when they dont want to!) and it's somewhat established that it's not even normally how donnie responds to trauma. he usually needs a while to sit and process before he can come for comfort, and trying to push him does not work at All, but now more than anything all that he wants and needs is the affection they CANT GIVE HIM because he's utterly terrified of them, even though its ultimately the most important thing for him right now. more than anything donnie wants his brothers to keep him safe, but he thinks they're gone, and he doesn't know when the curse started, or what part of it was how they truly feel and what part of it was the curse speaking; and even if he did, they are a trigger to him and there's nothing he can do about it.
and for raph and mikey in particular, who are so tactile and affectionate (and are just as comforted by affection as the person theyre trying to comfort in most cases) its fucking devastating. with leo with his hidden low self esteem its still awful for him, but he knows what this feels like, he's only acting so different because he can't fall back on his old coping mechanisms; because they're the thing that HURT donnie, because the curse weaponized them, so he's turning to anger (in ME he is intentionally trying to start fights because he wants to be yelled at LOL) and trying to stay productive instead. but raph and mikey generally have always had the impression of themselves that they're Good People (mikey is very confident and he hasn't really been disillusioned at all yet, and raph is someone i see to be very secure in the idea that he's a good person, which can sometimes make taking responsibility/handling guilt difficult for him. although he matures substantially around the time of the movie) so its just. shattering.
mikey never saw himself CAPABLE of doing something this horrible (he's just a kid! sometimes he struggles to see past himself!) and with raph it was a confirmation of his worst insecurity; to some extent he has always seen donnie and mikey as so much more fragile than him (he does canonically understand that donnie is very sensitive/takes rejection super seriously, and he worries about hurting his feelings. ty donnie's gifts for the brains and brawn fuel i use you so liberally), and especially when he was younger he grappled with this fear of hurting them badly on accident (and he probably had in play before), and even with the self-restraint he displayed under the curse, he still caused all this CARNAGE... and there's nothing he can do about it. donnie can't even hear his voice right now without screaming. they both need to comfort in order to feel comforted and that's been ripped away from them, and they're doing so fucking awful. cannot wait to write their povs honestly i have a lot of ideas >:)
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