8 letters.... - Lee Jeno
Pairing: Jeno x reader
Synopsis: Why do all good stories come to an end? Why don't we try to make it work? It just takes 8 letters to fix it all, or does it...? Well in this case.......read more
Genre: Fluff
Word count: 1.3k
Why do I pull you close and then ask you for space.....!?
3 years ago Jeno met this one girl, Y/n, the kindest soul he has ever met. They started as colleagues but soon it escalated to an ever so beautiful relationship. She knows him the best, she's seen him in his worst times, seen him hurt but never judged him for anything. It was the scariest feeling for Jeno. His past never bothered her. It was scary, scary to the point that he'd distance himself from her. But it wasn't a problem for Y/n. She knows him better than anyone, even better than Jeno himself does.
Jeno's been trying to meet up with you to talk about how he feels about you and your relationship for quite some time now. But every time he thinks of talking to you, it scares him, maybe you'll leave him like the last one did. Finally, he mustered up enough courage to ask you to meet.
Jeno: Hey
Y/n: Hello!! what's up
Jeno: Can we meet?
Y/n: Suree :) lmk where
Jeno: dw about that I'll pick you up at around 7
Y/n: okie I'll be ready :D
Jeno's nervousness increased as the time approached 7. He left his apartment and drove up to Y/n's place to pick her up. She was already waiting at her door for Jeno to arrive. Jeno was mesmerized when he saw her. She looks pretty, she always does, he thought. Upon seeing Jeno, Y/n walked down the pavement and got into the car, greeted him, "Heyy"
''Hi", Jeno responded with a faint smile. "You look pretty'', he said.
The small comment made your heart flutter. You muttered a small thank you. He started the engine of the car and drove it to your destination. The ride was silent, which in a way was comforting to you and probably to Jeno too.
'La Mercerie', the sign read. After about 15 minutes you reached the restaurant, the restaurant where you had your first date with him. Jeno had booked a table for yourselves. From your seat, you had a great view of the city, the city that never sleeps.
You placed your order and were waiting for it to arrive. In the meantime, both Jeno and you caught up on each other's days, about how your boss was giving both of you a hard time. While you were chatting, the food arrived.
You had noticed how Jeno was being awkward and avoiding eye contact with you. He seemed nervous, nervous as if he had something on his mind that was bothering him. It concerned you because you've never seen him like this. It was the complete opposite of his usual self.
"Jeno?", "Hmm?", "Are you okay?" It took a few seconds for him to reply, "Yes, why'd you ask?" You decided not to press on it. "Oh no, it's nothing," you replied. But what you didn't know was that he was indeed not okay.
After your meal, Jeno paid for it and you left the restaurant. On your way out Jeno asked, ''Hey, do you want to go to the park near the lake? There's a fireworks display by the lake". Jeno knew you loved watching fireworks, "Sure", you answered.
It was a 5-minute walk to the park. The lake was clearly visible from there. There were a few food stalls by the lake. Jeno ran up to one of those to get you an ice cream; cookies & cream, your favourite flavour. Both of you sat on a bench to enjoy the ice cream and the beautiful, calm night.
"The show is about to start, let's go," he said, taking your hand in his and walking towards the lake. The air was cold by the lake. The lake felt serene, adorned with the reflection of the beautiful skyline. It was very peaceful.
The fireworks display started soon after. The fireworks rocketed up into the sky, the burning light turning the dark night bright, or maybe even turning some clouded hearts clear.
"Isn't it pretty!", you whisper, "Very", Jeno answers while looking at you. He was mesmerized by how the sparkling fireworks shone in your already shiny eyes. It made you look even prettier, prettier than you already were.
"Y/n, I need to get something off my chest". The soft, cold breeze made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turned your attention to him. Those pretty eyes, staring into yours, it seemed like they had a lot to say.
"You know how we've been together for almost 3 years now. I want to thank you for sticking by my side in all my good and bad days. Thank you for not judging me for my past. Thank you for always helping me overcome my fears."
For some reason, his words made you feel jittery inside.
"My past relationship ended on a bad note, which made me unable to trust and depend on someone easily."
He was slightly shaking, maybe it was the wind or maybe the nervousness. You took his large hands in your petite ones and squeezed them in an attempt to calm him.
"Y/n, I'm really sorry for always pulling you close when I'm in need and then pushing you away. I'm sorry for not treating you well like you should be. I don't feel like I deserve you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"
You pulled Jeno into a hug. You reassured him, saying, "You treat me so we'll Jeno, you too were there for me when I needed comfort, when I needed someone to hold on to, when I needed you. I understand that you need space sometimes, everyone does. You shouldn't think of yourself that way. It's normal for you to require time to trust someone after how your last relationship ended. I'm fine to be by your side when you need me and I'm fine with giving you space that you need.'' Jeno felt tears wet his flushed cheeks.
The fireworks show ended a long time ago, you didn't even notice, nor did Jeno. He wiped his tears off and took your hands in his. He pulled you closer, looked into your now moist eyes and said, " You know, when your hands are in mine, it's like I'm whole again. Maybe it's a sign for me to speak what's on my mind."
You looked into his eyes which seemed to have calmed down a little. "I've said those words before, but it always felt like a lie. It felt like I was lying to myself and also to you. You deserve to hear those words a thousand times. I don't know why but it was always so hard for me to say those words. It's just 8 letters but why is it so hard to say. I ask that to myself every night and fall asleep without finding an answer. But maybe today I found the answer.''
He stared into your curious eyes. "Y/n, maybe through this journey of me pulling and pushing you away, I might have found the answer to my question." You felt tears threatening to spill.
"I love you", he said, "And this time for real. I've realised how important you are to me. Thank you for always being with me, by my side." You pulled him into a hug, nuzzling into his neck and mumbling an I love you back.
Suddenly it started raining. Like always, it didn't bother you, and this time it didn't bother Jeno too. Both lost in your own world, in the warmth of each other's arms.
Maybe speaking your heart out, maybe saying those 8 letters sincerely does fix things, maybe it does make people stronger, maybe it does make the bonds last longer. Maybe the 8 letters do pull people close.
-The end
note: thank you for reading. Idk how this turned out. I tried to write a fic for the first time. Lmk if there's a typo or such ;) and thank you @winwintea for helping me through \^o^/
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of grocery lists and spilled (oat) milk
PAIRING: mark lee x afab reader
WORD COUNT: 3.2K
SUMMARY: sure, keeping your grocery list in Mark Lee's dms may seem like next level delusional but it can't do any harm, right?
AUTHOR’S NOTE: for my lovely @strwbrysunday who inspired this and for being there always for every step of my delusional writing process <3 In case I don’t pull something together in time, we can count this as a VERY early bday tribute to Markly
WARNINGS: fluff, romantic meet cute, light swearing, rekindling romance, childhood friends to lovers
PLAYLIST: Broken Melodies and Like We Just Met by NCT Dream
Life is but a dream, we got history
--
Your alarm is blaring in your ear as your cat licks the tip of your nose, jolting you awake to see hot sun streaming in your bedroom window. How bright the room is has you scrambling for your phone, desperately hoping you hadn’t overslept (again).
Your phone screen confirms the worst as you whip back the covers and slide into fluffy slippers next to your bed, knocking a cup over as you reach for your cat’s food in the kitchen and spilling some of it in the process. She happily purrs against your bare legs before starting to eat slowly out of the small tray and you realize you’re going to have to drink the shitty office coffee since you’re both out of espresso pods and oat milk.
You quickly shower and are out the door in record time, thanking yourself that you hadn’t unpacked your work bag when you had gotten home late the night before. Work has been brutal lately, giving you barely any time in the evenings to yourself and you’ve never been one to wake up early in the morning. You know you have to go to the store today so you plan to try to sneak out a bit early to get your essentials.
Once you’re settled in the train car for your twenty seven minute ride, you work through a couple emails to get a head start on work before turning to your grocery list.
You glance to your side to see if anyone is looking over your shoulder at your phone, knowing the unconventional location of said list would seem questionable to a passerby.
Even you can admit that your delusional habit you had started ages ago was a little strange, but it felt comforting at this point and wasn’t hurting anyone. You opened up your Instagram DMs and tapped into the extremely one sided conversation with a charming, smiley rapper with 11.5M followers who did not know you existed.
Yes, you kept your grocery lists (and other important info you needed to find quickly) in Mark Lee’s DMs.
It had started as a joke a few years ago when you had finally admitted to your closest friend in the city that you and Mark had gone to summer camp together when you were kids. It had only been for a couple years but you remembered it like it was yesterday. The early morning kayak trips, knocking bare knees around a late night campfire, and how he used to sing you to sleep accompanied by the soft strumming of his guitar from the steps of your cabin.
You had followed his career ever since, listening to new songs as they were released, watching him on variety shows, and flipping through magazines whenever you saw his stunning face and bold style gracing the covers. You enjoyed seeing the short poems he would post on his stories or read out loud on the rare live he would do after shows.
Your friend had encouraged you to slide into his DMs at the time, purely motivated by her desire to meet his dancer best friend that he was sometimes spotted with at the most exclusive clubs. You had tapped open the message conversation with him and in typing quickly, accidentally pasted your short grocery list into the chat. She had laughed at you and you sent the message anyways, knowing that there was no way he would reply or ever even see it in his message requests.
You had a solid amount of followers for someone who didn’t work in the entertainment industry due to the app you had helped develop rising in popularity in the past few months. You sometimes helped out with filming vlog content for the website or TikToks but mostly kept to yourself and didn’t really have any interest in being internet famous.
Since you had first put your grocery list in Mark’s DMs, you had used the space to put little notes to yourself, including a drunken ramble one night about how 16 Personalities has royally fucked up everyone’s perception of MBTI.
Today, you opened up the message to add in your latest essentials, putting oat milk in all caps since the last few times you went you somehow managed to forget it. You needed food for the week, chicken and veggies, some other basics like mascara and tampons and remembered running low on cat treats.
Sliding your phone back into the front pocket of your bag, you let your eyes flutter shut for the rest of the ride to work, finally feeling the adrenaline of waking up late wear off.
Many hours later you are angrily typing on your computer, finishing up some code review for the development team, eyes flicking repeatedly to the clock in the bottom of your screen.
“I’m sorry you had to stay late, you should head out soon before it starts raining harder,” your coworker messages you, leaning from behind their monitor across the open office space, offering you a small smile.
You send off a couple frustrated emojis before typing up your feedback for the team in an email, feet already sliding into your rain boots you kept under your desk for gloomy days like today.
Checking your watch, you realize you are barely going to make it to the grocery store if you don’t leave now. The only benefit will be that it should be pretty empty this late at night. After a short train ride, you’re pushing a cart through the empty aisles, grabbing what you need and humming lightly to yourself. There are a few fellow late night shoppers milling about alongside the workers stocking the shelves for the next morning.
You grab the last item on your list just as a series of yawns hit you, making your way to the self-checkout area. You are about to scan your first item when you glance down at your cart, noticing you’ve managed to forget the oat milk again.
“Fucking…” you murmur under your breath, dropping your pack of tampons back into the cart and spinning on your heel, heading towards the back of the store to quickly grab the milk.
You’re almost back to your cart when you hit a wet spot on the floor, slipping in a dramatic, banana peel comedy sketch moment, falling hard on your back, managing to catch the back of your head with your hand before it collides with the linoleum floor.
The oat milk cartons in your hands crash to the floor, one of them starting to leak out in a milky puddle next to you.
Suddenly a masked face appears over you, white cloth covering most of his features, dark eyes holding a confused look. You are breathing heavily and blink a couple times to clear your vision.
“Yo…are you okay?” comes a loud and worried voice, holding a hand out in an offer of help.
You feel a little light headed but accept the hand anyways, allowing yourself to sit up and meet the eyes of the young man now crouching next to you on the wet floor.
“Uh yeah…yeah…the floor was we-” your speech is cut off suddenly as he pulls down his mask, shaking dark hair from his eyes and making eye contact with you again.
Kneeling in a puddle of rainwater and oat milk was none other than the man whose DMs you had monopolized for the past few years and the name you had moaned late at night with your hand shoved under your covers. It was the face you had studied countless times in high resolution photos from the airport posted on Twitter, a face that you had memorized down to the prominent mole on his cheek and the curves of his shining white teeth. Mark Lee had just watched you bite it on the floor of the grocery store right before closing.
You can barely keep eye contact with Mark as you stand up, looking down to see damp pants and your shirt rumpled. Embarrassed, you thank him under your breath, reaching down to pick up the milk cartons and tossing them in a nearby trash can. You quickly begin scanning the items from your cart with shaky hands, placing them in your tote bag, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible.
“Did you remember the cat treats?” he asks quietly, pushing the black hood off his head and stepping closer to you, handing you a carton of strawberries from your basket.
You lift up your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open at his question. His eyes are big and kind and he has a shy but warm expression on his face, plump pink lips settling into a pout as he finishes his question.
“You…read those messages? I’m uh…Mark…Lee…Mark Lee. I’m so sorry…” you ramble, brain scrambled and swimming with all other reasons why he could have asked that, praying that he somehow hadn’t been reading your messages all these years.
“How could I not when the cute girl from summer camp kept me informed on every little detail of her life,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling bashfully as his fingertips made contact with your now flushed cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Mark, I didn’t think there was any way you would remember me and it just kind of became a habit,” you stuttered out, scanning your last item and reaching for your wallet. You were acutely aware of how close he had gotten and silently hoped your makeup still looked good and that your hair had stayed lightly curled from yesterday’s styling. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire and you knew how red your neck had to be getting.
“I got it, but don’t forget the oat milk,” he offers as he scans a carton of the same brand from his own cart before swiping his card on the reader to pay for your groceries. You are once again stunned but tip your head down in a silent thanks.
“But for real, thank you for recommending this brand, it’s the best!” he laughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and grabbing your bags for you.
“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say quietly, a grin settling across your face as the two of you walk out of the store. His hand is brushing up against the back of yours as he keeps close to your side, popping open an umbrella to shield you from the light rain that hasn’t quite cleared yet.
“I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, but also know our lives took us in different directions. But I always hoped you were supporting me from a distance,” he replies candidly, tapping into his phone before handing it to you with an open contact card screen.
“Now, can you please give me your number so I can call you and we can go on a real date that doesn’t involve you laying a puddle of milk?”
“Hey, maybe that’s my idea of a perfect first date!” you laugh out, quickly adding yourself as a contact in his phone before handing it back to him. Your heart is pounding as your fingers brush against his, unable to believe that this is happening. You half expect to sit up in your bed any moment, thinking that all the videos you studied about lucid dreaming must have finally paid off.
He chuckles, closing the umbrella as the rain comes to a stop at the most picture perfect moment. The air smelled fresh in the post storm haze, fog settling lightly around you amongst flickering streetlights and the hum of city sounds. He reaches back to pull his hood up, covering dark and piecey short hair, hanging perfectly at the sides of his forehead. Whenever he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of an intricate pattern buzzed into the shorter sides, exposing flashes of his scalp in contrast to his dark hair.
Your eyes trail down his face and take in his full frame for the first moment since you first encountered him in the store. He’s broader than you had imagined, your height difference the same as when you had known him as a kid, but his arms look strong and tight jeans leaving little to the imagination. His face is bare but immaculate, brows perfectly coiffed and lips plump and moisturized.
He clears his throat lightly at you ogling him and you meet his sparkling eyes again as he sits your bags gently on the ground next to him, placing a tentative hand on your lower back.
“Yes?” you ask teasingly, batting your eyelashes a little for good measure, suddenly feeling confidence bloom within you. He sighs before speaking again and you feel the tension and nervousness between the two of you start to melt away.
“Ever since you sent me those videos on Halloween, I’ve been having to stop myself from sliding into your DMs like some sleazy asshole,” he mutters, voice suddenly lower and strained as his pinky finger brushes up against yours, linking with it and swinging lightly.
You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, trying to think back to what videos he could be talking about. Hazy memories of your drunken night out to multiple bars and house parties start flooding in as you begin to remember what you wore that night.
Golden fabric and black strappy laces from below your navel up to your neck flash in your mind and you suddenly remember your cheetah costume that was less than safe for work. Those heels went straight in the trash when you got home because while they made your legs look amazing, they gave you the worst blisters of your entire life.
“...I did not send you videos that night,” you start cautiously, placing a hand on his chest to ground yourself. You are trying to force the memories forward but all you can think of is the countless shots you took with your friend and some sloppy make out sessions on the dance floor.
He chuckles, nodding silently and letting his forehead fall towards yours, pressing against yours tenderly. It did bring you comfort but also made your heart skip a beat.
“I am…mortified,” you sigh, blinking up at him from the awkward angle.
“Don’t be, you looked fucking hot,” he breathes out, warm breath minty and fanning out across your lips.
His lips are on yours seconds later, hand sliding down towards your ass and pulling you closer into him. He breaks away from you, inches from your lips, checking your face for any sign of discomfort, only to find lust laden, hooded eyes blinking rapidly.
You surge forward to capture his lips again, bringing your hand up to his neck and digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue presses against your lips eagerly and you give him access instantly, a soft whine buzzing against his mouth. You lose all concept of time and space, forgetting you are standing on the empty downtown streets in front of the market, in the arms of one of the most famous musicians in the world.
You break away first, having to calm your breathing pattern and releasing the material you were gripping on his chest.
He chuckles and slides his hand up your back, massaging your shoulder lightly through your raincoat. He’s so much more gentle and tender than you could have ever imagined and you struggle to maintain eye contact with him.
“I can’t believe all I had to do was buy a carton of oat milk to finally kiss my first crush after all these years,” he laughs out, leaning in to gently nuzzle at your hair.
--
“Do you need me to add anything to our grocery list? You know, it’s almost been two years since we started it, I think,” Mark laughed out a little loudly, despite being close to your ear in Taeyong’s crowded apartment.
“Wait, I thought you two just moved in together recently?” Jaemin cackles, taking a long sip of beer. You didn’t realize he was eavesdropping on your conversation, assuming he had been too focused on Jeno’s karaoke performance happening in the center of the room.
You dip your head down, embarrassed by the fact that Mark’s closest friends still didn’t know the full details of your reunion and start of your relationship. You had sworn him to secrecy, telling him he could fill them in on the past camp days and make up some story about how the two of you had met at an art gallery opening.
“Oh Jaem, haven’t you heard of our adorable meet cute?” Mark asks mischievously, nudging your knee with his and dragging his lips over your ear. His eyes tell you everything, just as they always had, just like when you first met.
“Oh do tell,” he gushed, letting his chin drop into his hand with his elbow propped up on his crossed legs. He tapped his cheek with his fingers, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you.
While you refused to let Mark share the story of years of grocery lists and your fall at the market check out, you did let him share how he asked you to move in with him a few months prior.
On a normal Friday morning you had pulled open the fridge, reaching in without looking, and feeling your hand brush against an unfamiliar piece of paper on the oat milk.
A watermelon shaped post-it note (that had seemingly been “borrowed” from your desk) was taped to the front of the carton with hurried handwriting in a statement that made your heart flutter.
I hate this distance and I hate singing broken melodies. Move in with me <3
The carton almost slips from your fingers but you manage to catch it and pour some with a shaky hand into your waiting tumbler.
Pulling your phone from your jeans pocket, you lean your back against the counter, petting your cat’s head as she emerges from her favorite spot behind the toaster oven.
Opening Instagram, you tap into your conversation, adding a to do list in the same format you usually used for your grocery lists.
To Do List:
Help my new roommate pick out more comfortable pillows for the bed -.-
Typing bubbles appear almost immediately, and a string of sappy emojis and voice notes start flooding in from Mark.
It’s still surreal to see replies from the message thread that had been one-sided for so long. You still message in Instagram from time to time, finding comfort in the space, despite spending hours on the phone each day and being in almost constant contact via other messaging apps.
A knock at your door pulls your attention and you have to dab your eyes with the back of your hand where tears have pricked up. A couple large boxes are waiting outside your door and you drag them inside before snapping a picture to send to Mark. You had planned a camping trip for later in the summer, looking forward to reliving those muggy summer nights spent chasing fireflies, spending your days reading in a hammock and falling even deeper in love with the boy who first made you feel special all those years ago.
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signed with love and forever yours, mark
postage.
lee mark & gn! reader, mentions of death in the context of greek mythos
cost to ship. 712 words
growing up, i never understood the tragedy of orpheus and eurydice. how, upon achieving the opportunity to bring back his beloved, orpheus squandered it all with a single look. it frustrated me, that after all that effort--every song he had written and preformed, compositions which moved all, even gods-- he abandoned all success with a single glimpse backwards. a second of a stare that only captured the whisper of eurydice's figure before she was dragged back to the depths of the underworld. i never understood why he looked back, why he had to fail when he was so close to the edge of triumph.
though i suppose that after meeting you, if i took the place of poor orpheus and you, my eurydice, i'm afraid that i would also lose you for a second time. that i would risk everything i had worked towards, everything that i had done just to see your face in that fraction of a second. to look at you, no matter the consequences. no matter what what i had sacrificed to get to you, no matter if i too would be punished for this singular stare. i would do so, even so close to escape, so close to having you in my arms again without a moment of hesitation. i, not only as orpheus but as mark--your mark--would do anything to spare even the slightest of glances in your direction. even if they would only forfeit half of a second of being captured in the reflection of your eyes and nothing more. for that half of a second, that split sliver in time, would be worth more to me than any hours of gazing upon anything else.
i find us to be more likened to paris and helen of troy. a story i've always understood, at any and all basic fundamentals of its core, though doubted. for how could anyone be so beautiful that others would begin wars over them? that their beauty would be more fair, more compelling than that of the gods? that men would be reduced to nothing more than spurned infatuation, fighting battles--killing-- for any brief moment spent within helen's gaze.
i wasn't sure that any such person could exist. but with you, i find myself to be playing the part of poor paris--destined, perhaps, to starting wars over the mere thought of you.
about mark's love letters.
mark's handwriting is rough and scribbled. oftentimes jotted down with whatever pen he has lying around, series of swirls and scratches at the top margins of the page where he attempts to get the ink to flow. his words, in a stark difference to the somewhat chaotic state of his slanted, all-caps writing, are carefully chosen. hand-picked with the utmost care, the upmost emphasis to ensure the quickening of your heartbeat. though short, his letters are poetic and always very true to himself. you can almost picture the look on his face when he writes them, a fantasy that does nothing but conjure heat into the full of your cheeks.
he first writes these down in his notes app of all places. thumbs frantically typing with every out of the blue strike of inspiration (something that happens rather often, both for songs and for you, though mark could argue that these two things are nearly synonymous). and when he does get the time (something he seems to be always running out of) he transfers these pretty proses to the whitened canvas of card stock. a firm choice, made to last. each one of his letters are signed with less-than-perfect stars and a drawing of whichever thing has recently caught of your fancy (usually him).
mark often sends them in the mail to you but prefers to give his letters to you in person. something he often finds himself regretting when you choose to read them outloud, burying his face in his hands as he begs you to stop. you don't and mark often finds himself begrudgingly thinking that you're much too like haechan for your own good (or his). it's not all bad though, not when the reward for withstanding such utter humiliation on his part is all of your affection. and mark would take anything in the world if it met just receiving one shred of your heart.
your mailbox
taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @chriscentric @trourevaille @firstdonutllamafarm @jenaisnte thank you for supporting me! ♡
🧾 © 00127am 2024
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