#hes the 1 yearner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

withlovemark · 2 months ago

Text

“FLYING KISS”

pairing: childhood best friend! lee jeno x nerd! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 23k

synopsis -> you and lee jeno go way back, as in diapers and all that. before he was known as the chill fuckboy, he was an all time nerd! just like you! tired of being a loser who can’t even get the guy you wanted, you badly needed tips and a makeover. who’s better to ask for help than your childhood best friend, who has proven that a nerd can be hot?

warnings -> guaranteed giddiness! pet name unlocked: bunny, two dumb idiots, jeno is a yearner!!!, slow burn? kinda but once it starts, it starts, mentions of: car crash, a deceased parent, too many side characters from other groups, +18, crude language, mentions of fuck-boys, parties, drinking, a fight between the boys, blood, a nasty cut, heavy on the smut! reader is a virgin, lots of fingering, oral (m+f), handjob, blowjob, mention of mutual masturbation, corruption kink, pop the cherry!, soft sex, exhibitionism, jeno is a dirty dirty boy with lots of dirty thoughts and a dirty mouth.

an -> the second installment of the loverboy series is yours! this one literally just flowed through me, i could not stop writing, squealing and giggling at this trope. i’m dreading leaving them behind. you do not need to read stupid cupid to understand this story but here are some important things to take note of: 1) jeno is the chill fuckboy, he does not like the whole hopping to one girl to another thing so he gets into a lot of meaningless situationships with girls he does not care about 2) jaemin is currently the only happily taken member of the dream fraternity, he calls his gf: angel. k, have fun reading, with love, c!

the library buzzed with the soft hum of university life filled with quiet chatter, the occasional laugh and the rustling of pages. there were small groups of friends in heated discussions, catching up on life or laughing over a joke. some were hunched over textbooks, deep in concentration, others were lost in their books, barely blinking, while a few had surrendered to sleep, heads resting on their arms. and, tucked away in the back, were the ones who thought they were subtle – furtive glances, sneaky touches, stolen kisses.

there was a place for everyone in the library and it was your favorite place in the entire world.

but right now, as you watch your long-time crush, third year business major, the soccer team’s mvp, jung sungchan, stick his tongue down a random girl’s throat, you can’t help but feel like your safe haven has been tainted.

the grip you had on your pencil tightens as your eyebrows furrowed at the scene that played out, jealousy taking over your features. out of all the places on campus, he had to choose your spot. you have half the mind to report to the librarian. you were already classified as the school’s nerd, why not add snitch to your dictionary?

“what’s that look on your face?,” your best friend’s voice pulled you back to earth, playful, as he plopped down on the seat next to you.

jeno has been fated to be your best friend way before you were even born. with your dad’s being the best of friends, it was written in the stars, whether you liked it or not.

but you liked it, and so did he.

if it wasn’t for jeno, you might have ended up a complete social outcast. thanks to his status and the fact that you were always seen together, people decided you were tolerably weird. you weren’t nose-picking weird or talking to yourself in the hallways weird, just…a little awkward.

and if it wasn’t for you, jeno probably wouldn't have made it into university to begin with. you tutored him in almost every class, every time he struggled with anything school related, he ran to you, from elementary school to university, you were practically his teacher.

they say university is supposed to be the place where you let go of your childhood self and finally grow up. yet here you are now, a third year student and you still haven't quite grown into the lady you were supposed to be. trends went over your head, fashion didn’t interest you and makeup was harder than your architect class. half your wardrobe was made up of high school leftovers, you were still sporting bangs that you had from middle school and you never really saw the point in “fixing yourself up.”

at least, one of you did — jeno somehow made his way into the dream fraternity and somehow earned the title the chill fuckboy. it was odd, seeing people start treating him differently. even odder when you started to see girl’s eyes follow him like he was some kind of lead in a main k-drama and then land on you with a confused gaze. like they couldn’t understand why he was friends with someone like you.

“nothing,” you say quickly, finally tearing your eyes away from sungchan and forcing your attention on the assignment in front of you.

jeno, not satisfied with your answer, followed your earlier gaze, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, “aww, does my little bunny wunny have a crush?,” he cooed, reaching over to pinch your cheek, his trademark eye smile on display.

bunny was the nickname he had given you when you both were eight years old. in some twisted doom, like you were always going to be life’s punching bag, all your baby teeth fell out at the same time, leaving only the two front teeth behind. these days, he throws in a ridiculous wunny at the end just to piss you off.

“shut up jeno,” you scowl, swatting his hand away and adjusting your glasses back into place.

he chuckles, unfazed, before pulling out his own assignments and settling in beside you. a comfortable silence draping over the two of you, easy and familiar.

but your mind was still reeling. you wanted, so badly, to be the girl who was kissing sungchan instead of the nerd he only acknowledged when he needed answers for a test. you wanted to hold his hand, to walk around campus with him, to be the one sitting in the back of the library.

you wanted to be the girl that people wanted to be.

your gaze drifts to your best friend. jeno hadn’t always been this effortlessly put-together, with his hair perfectly styled, clothes fitting him properly, and those annoying sculpted arms that somehow always had a girl clinging to them.

you’re reminded of a different version of him – the times when you had matching glasses, his head way too big for his body, the endless rotation of naruto and pokemon t-shirts he always had on and the way he would stutter every time a pretty girl would even look at his direction.

if he could grow into the handsome, confident man he is now, why couldn’t you?

and then, just like that, a lightbulb flickers on.

“...neno,” you call out to him, sweetly.

jeno eyes you with immediate suspicion, you only use that nickname when you want something from him, “what?,” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

“we’re best friends, right?,” you ask, innocently blinking up at him.

“is the sky blue???,” he shoots back, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. you ignore it, too caught up in the plan buzzing in your head.

“so, as my best friend, you’d do anything for me, right?,” you press, excitement coursing through.

he narrows his eyes, “that depends on what you’re about to ask from me,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of suspicion and mild horror.

“make me hot,” you say, dead serious.

jeno chokes on absolutely nothing, eyes going wide as the words hit him, “what?!.” he hisses, half-whisper, half-scream, as if you just confessed to a felony. a few heads turned your way and you can’t help but blush under the sudden attention.

“you’re so dramatic!,” you whisper, shrinking behind your books. all your previous confidence, going down the drain as you finally realized what you just asked him to do.

jeno charmingly waves, muttering his apologies until the curious stares faded and the library’s usual hush returned.

“y/n,” he said, suddenly serious, gaze locked on you, “what do you mean by ‘make you hot’?” his entire focus on you.

you sigh, heat crawling up your neck, “nevermind, jeno, it’s nothing,” you say, grabbing the nearest book, hoping to bury this conversation along with your pride.

before you could turn a page, jeno snatches it away from you, “hey, no secrets between us remember,” he said, gently but firmly.

you stared at the table, lips pressed into a thin line, weighing the embarrassment against the aching truth in your chest, “i just meant…help me be desirable, i’m tired of being a nerd, jeno. i just want someone to look at me and think i’m pretty,” you admit, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“i think you’re pretty, bunny,” he says quietly.

you groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. this was too embarrassing. you felt like you were fishing for compliments.

“ugh, you’re only saying that because you’re my best friend and our dads will literally kill you if you don’t,” you say, voice muffled by the table below you.

jeno chuckles lightly beside you, “i’m not just saying that.”

you sit back up slowly, looking him dead in the eye, “jeno, i’ve never been asked out, never held hands with someone, hell, i’ve never even kissed anyone,” you reason, head plopping back into your chair.

“—that’s not true!, you’ve kissed me,” he points out earning an eye roll from you.

“jeno we were 14 and i kissed you like how i would kiss my mom,” you say, “it doesn’t count,” you shut your eyes, silently begging the universe to erase this entire moment from existence.

but your words lingered in jeno’s head – the quiet desperation in your voice, the way your eyes had pleaded without meaning to and before he could even think twice, his mouth moved on its own.

“i’ll see what i can do,” he said. your eyes flew open, locking onto his with a sparkle that transferred over to his own.

“thank you, neno,” you grinned, ruffling his hair with a smirk, excitement bubbling through you.

he groaned in protest, batting your hands away but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

a second later, his phone flashes on his side. one glance at the screen and he was already gathering his things, “gotta go, lia texted,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

you nodded, smiling up at him, “have fun, don’t get pregnant,” you teased.

he chuckled, messing your hair up on his way out, “no promises,” he winked, making your face scrunch up in disgust. the image of your best friend having sex was not appealing at all.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

after spending a couple of hours buried in his current situationship’s legs, jeno finally made his way back to the dream house.

the conversation you had in the library constantly playing in his mind as he quickly barges into jaemin’s room, “dude-i oh…sorry!,” his eyes widen, apologizing as he redirects his stare at the ceiling, but doesn’t make an effort to leave.

jaemin scrambles to wrap the blanket around his girlfriend, who is currently face down, ass up with his dick still inside her, “dude!, get out!?,” he yells furiously, throwing a pillow at him.

“i need to ask you something,” jeno says, making jaemin groan, “can you ask me later?, im busy,” he grunts, his girlfriend still clenching tightly around him.

“oh…yeah, sorry…hi angel,” jeno mutters out, a playful smile on his lips before leaving and locking the door behind him, hearing an embarrassed, muffled, “hi jeno,” from jaemin’s girlfriend, on his way out.

“learn to lock the door!,” he laughed from the other side, the sound of skin slapping resuming as he made his way down the living room.

for the past few hours, your words had been playing on a loop in his head. he wasn’t sure where to start or how to go about helping you. not because he didn’t want to but because he’d never realized you needed that kind of help.

sure, he noticed that there were never any boys around, other than him, but he thought you preferred it that way. always scowling in disgust when a guy tries to get near you or even breathe the same air as you.

and besides the fact that he wanted to repay you for always helping him without asking for anything in return, he’d always thought you were pretty.

when you were six, with a scraped knee, and tear streaked cheeks after falling as you chased after his hamster who escaped - pretty.

when you were eight, missing all your teeth except the two in the front, food always ending up smeared all over your face - pretty.

when you were eleven, threatening all his bullies to stay away from him or you would call your dad - pretty.

when you were fourteen and you kissed him because you were curious why your parents were always kissing - so pretty.

when you were fifteen, drowning in a pink puffy dress that ate you up whole - ridiculous, but pretty.

when you were sixteen, at your mom’s funeral, crying on his shoulder, not allowing anyone else near you but him - hauntingly pretty.

when you were eighteen and you both had gotten your acceptance letters for university, excitedly jumping around together - pretty.

when you were twenty and crashed his car because you thought there was a dog on the road, only for it to be the shadow of the tree you crashed into - annoying, but still so damn pretty.

as your best friend, he wants you to see yourself the way he saw you.

if this was what it took to help you finally claim your confidence, then he’d do whatever it takes to make sure it worked. whether or not this was about impressing that boy you liked, he didn’t care. he just wanted to help you feel more sure of yourself.

an hour passed before jaemin finally joined him in the living room, immediately punching him in the arm, “learn to knock,” he huffs out before sitting next to his friend.

jeno chuckles, rubbing his arm, “i didn’t see anything, promise,” he turns to his friend, “you better not have or i’ll literally scoop your eyes out and feed it to you,” his friend grunts making him scrunch up in disgust.

“that’s disgusting,” jeno comments, the mental image making both of them squirm before bursting out into laughter.

“so what did you need?,” jaemin asks as soon as their laughter dies down.

“i actually need your girlfriend’s help,” he smiles sheepishly, piquing the other boy’s curiosity.

“with what?,” jaemin asks.

“with y/n,” jeno says before jaemin nods, getting up to get his girlfriend out of his room and into the living room. the rest of the boys knew who you were, of course, and as jeno had requested, they all looked out for you.

jaemin’s girlfriend listens intently at the plan jeno had - a makeover. he knew he needed a girl’s touch since he didn’t really know anything about the work that girls put into themselves to make them look ‘hot’.

he could argue he thought they just came that way. just like how you have always been pretty.

“well, im kind of done with all of that makeover and stuff,” she briefly smiles at her boyfriend, “but i do know the perfect girl,” shes says smiling, as jeno notes down the girls’ name, paying her a visit.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

two days later, jeno came prepared. plopping down in his usual seat in the library, right next to you, armed with a notepad that was opened to the page:

operation bunny’s glow-up

step 1: the makeover

step 2: closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade

step 3: posture, confidence and flirting 101

step 4: bunny’s party reveal

you blinked at the notebook in front of you, registering the words written in jeno’s extremely neat handwriting, “what is this?”

“this,” he said, tapping the page, “is how i'm going to help you,” jeno explains.

there were too many steps and you’re suddenly so very aware how ridiculous this actually was, “can we just magically skip to step four where i’m already pretty and perfect and partying?,” you sigh, already feeling exhausted.

jeno almost wants to scold you for thinking you weren’t already pretty and perfect but remembered this is why he was doing this in the first place. to make sure you know you were pretty and perfect.

instead he says, “nope, this is a full process. you asked for my help and that’s what you’re getting, no backing out and definitely no easy way out.”

the sternness in his voice made you realize how serious he was about this. “you’re really gonna do all this for me, neno?,” you ask, a hint of gratitude shining in your eyes.

“of course i am, that’s what best friends are for,” he shrugs, ruffling your hair once again.

which is how you ended up here, seated in a salon chair with the girl you met just a couple minutes ago, your best friend leaving you all by your awkward self with no other than — giselle, third year cosmetology major and one of the school’s hottest girls.

her preppy personality was overwhelming, confidence radiating off her like perfume. you had no idea how to interact with her, no clue how any girl could be so aware of her beauty and completely own it the way she did.

it’s almost unfair how nice she was too. hot, popular girls were supposed to be mean, rude, intolerable. that’s how they’re portrayed in every teen movie you’ve seen. but giselle is kind, easygoing, talked to you like you weren't several social status’ below her in the pyramid you’ve made up.

“alright, so we’re gonna make sure your hair frames for your face perfectly and get rid of all your split ends,” she explains, hands already in motion as she fluffs your hair out, moving it around, parting it here and there to visualize what looks best on you.

once she figured it out, she let out a satisfied hum and got to work. the scissors glide gracefully, almost like they were an extension of her fingers and you can’t help but be mesmerized.

“so, how did you and jeno meet?,” she asks, casually starting the conversation as her hands continue to move through your hair.

“uhm, our parents are best friends,” you mumble, trying not to sound as stiff as you feel.

“ooh, that’s fun!,” she comments and you’re not entirely sure if she means it or if she’s just trying to be polite. either way, you appreciate her effort.

“and you’ve never had a crush on him?,” she adds, eyebrows raised. the shock on your face is evident, the very idea of having a crush on your best friend making your stomach twist.

“uhh no, i’ve never seen him that way,” you reply, a shudder slipping down your spine.

giselle laughs, clearly amused, “i see,” she hums, “your best friend is hot though, you know?,” you smile up at her, nodding, blush creeping up your cheeks.

of course you knew people considered jeno hot but you’re not entirely sure you agree with that statement.

he was the same boy who was crying to you because his hamster escaped, the same boy who got his braces stuck in your sweater, the same boy who ran away when you kissed him, the same boy who almost cried when your acceptance letter came in the mail first, his nowhere to be seen until a week later – your best friend was cute, the same way a puppy was cute.

“soo, who do you think is hot?,” she asks, playful curiosity dancing in her eyes.

is this what girl talk is?

“uhmm,” you shy away under her friendly gaze. you’ve never really had anyone to talk to about boys. with your mom passing away at an early age and all your girlfriends more interested in their anime crushes than real ones, this kind of conversation feels like uncharted territory.

“don’t worry, i'm really good at keeping secrets,” she says, urging you to go on. there’s something about her aura that you trust. and you knew that if jeno didn’t trust her, he wouldn’t have left you alone with her in the first place. so for the first time in your life, you indulge in girl talk.

“i think umm…i think sungchan is hot,” you mutter, shy, eyes immediately darting to the floor.

she gasps, an exaggerated, delighted sound, “i totally agree” she says giggling, “you have great taste,” she giggles. then, leaning in with excitement, she whispers, “i’m gonna make sure sungchan falls in love with you.”

you glance at her reflection in the mirror and despite yourself, a smile appears on your face, giddy and a little disbelieving.

“and…we’re done with your hair!,” she announces, your focus darting at your own reflection. your eyes widen slightly. she made your hair look like what you would see in the magazines – sleek, soft, effortlessly perfect.

the change in your appearance already reflecting back at you.

“this is just the beginning,” she whispers again, a friendly smile displayed on her lips.

she gently reclines the chair you were sitting on then tilts your chin up with practiced fingers, her eyes scanning your face with focused curiosity as she takes your glasses off, “hmm, okay,” she murmurs, turning your face side to side. you can’t help but feel awkward, gaze drifting everywhere else, avoiding eye contact.

“okay…i’m just gonna clean up your brows, and wax a little peach fuzz if that’s okay?,” she asks, voice light and reassuring. you nod, unsure what all that means but trusting her anyway.

giselle gets to work immediately, a new tool in her hand, and wax paper placed on your upper lip and in just twenty minutes, she steps back, satisfied.

your face looks softer…more defined. more you, somehow.

“you’re so pretty, y/n,” she says warmly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “and we barely did anything.”

the compliment hits you harder than you expect. pretty wasn’t a word you would ever describe yourself yet here is one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen calling you that. tears sting the corner of your eyes before you can blink them away.

“c’mon,” she says, voice still gentle but laced with excitement, “we’re not done, grab your stuff, we're going somewhere.”

after spending exactly thirty-two minutes in giselles car, singing along to the radio and laughing at her endless stream of chaotic stories, which you thought was something you’d never ever do, you were now at the mall. more specifically, standing in front of a waxing salon.

you shoot her a nervous glance, eyes wide with suspicion.

“i figured you’d be more comfortable with a stranger you’d never have to see again,” she says with a casual shrug, and suddenly it clicks why you’re here.

you knew what a waxing salon was, you just never thought you’d voluntarily stepped foot into one.

“this is my go-to, they get everything and it doesn’t hurt that bad,” she promises, reassuring, and you swore you look like a tomato with how much you’re blushing.

when giselle said they get everything, she meant they get everything.

even body parts that you didn’t think would have hair on them, body parts that no one else has seen but your own eyes. you almost can’t believe you were in this position right now, but giselle was right – a stranger was better for this. the only thing keeping you from bolting was the comforting knowledge that you’d never have to make eye contact with the person who was currently in between your legs again.

after an hour and several compromising positions later, you were finally done. your skin felt smoother than a baby’s, which was honestly kind of mind-blowing.

giselle was waiting for you at the reception, a bag in her hand, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw you, “okay!, so i got you a little starter kit filled with makeup, skincare and all the other essentials,” she said, practically bouncing, “let’s go back to my place and i’ll teach you how to use it!”

her excitement was infectious and you couldn’t help but smile just as wide – her bubbly energy sinking into your bones in the best way.

making your way to giselle’s bedroom, you notice how different your rooms were. while yours was covered with posters and music records from all your favorite bands, her’s was covered in magazine clippings of what you assumed are the most popular fashion trends.

while your shelves were filled with books of all genres, she had an entire shelf dedicated to makeup and skincare products. another filled with several handbags and shoes. you weren’t even aware that girls had to have that many.

“sit, my canvas,” she says, lightly teasing, pointing to the chair in front of her vanity mirror as she pulls things out of the bag she gave you.

“we’re keeping it simple, just the basics: primer, foundation, brows, blush, and lipstick of course.”

you nod like you understood anything she was saying. she caught the panic in your eyes and smiled softer this time, “don’t worry,” she said, uncapping a small bottle of primer, “i got you.”

she talked you through every step. primer, foundation, blending like your life depended on it. she filled in one of your brows and handed you the pencil, urging you to try it out yourself. you tried to mimic her, hand shaky, tongue slightly poking out in concentration. this was definitely harder than she made it out to be.

“you’re a natural,” she says, satisfied with your work and you can feel your confidence growing with every second you spend with her. it’s as if she was sharing the amount of confidence she had with you.

by the end of it, you stared at yourself in the mirror and barely recognized your own reflection. not because the makeup was dramatic, it wasn’t, but because you looked like someone who belonged.

like someone who chose how she wanted to be seen.

“there…you look beautiful,” giselle murmurs behind you, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, “i have one last thing for you,” she says, reaching for another bag and you’re not sure how you could ever repay her for all of this.

as if she could read your thoughts, she quickly says, “don’t worry about it, jeno paid for it”

“glasses can be hot, but the ones you have now, completely hides your face so…,” she pulls out two things, “first, i got you these silver ones, they’re smaller but they’ll sit on your face better,” she hands it to you.

you take them, fingers brushing over the smooth metal. the glasses were cute, not your usual style, but when you slipped them on and looked in the mirror, you instantly understood what she meant. they frame your features instead of swallowing them whole.

giselle pats herself on the back, clearly happy with her decision, “and if you’re feeling a little braver,” she trails off, pulling out the last item, “-contact lenses, i asked jeno for your prescription so those should be good, they’re pretty easy to put on too but just in case, i’ll message you a youtube video with step by step instructions,” she smiles at you, soft and sincere.

and you can’t hold it in anymore. her kind actions pull at your heartstrings as the dam breaks – tears sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“thank you, giselle,” you say in full gratitude, voice thick with emotion.

“of course,” she whispers, her eyes matching yours as she pulls you into a hug.

“-now stop crying, okay, makeup is expensive,” she says, laughing as she wipes at her own damp lashes. you both burst into giggles, the room light again despite the weight in your heart.

and then a knock makes its way to her bedroom door, echoing throughout her room.

giselle quickly fixes your tear stained cheeks, “alright, if you ever need anything else, just let me know okay?,” she says, and you nod, thankful for her kindness.

“let's see what your best friend has to say,” she squeals as she rushes over to the door, swinging it open and revealing jeno on the other side.

you hadn’t even thought about how jeno would react or how other people would take in your new appearance. you suddenly felt extremely nervous. he was the first person who was going to see you like this — you wanted him to react well.

jeno steps into the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression casual until he sees you and suddenly he feels like every air has been knocked out of his lungs.

you have always been pretty but right now you look absolutely, breathtakingly, beautiful.

he realizes he’s been staring in silence for too long when he notices you shift in your seat, the words, “what?,” slipping from your lips, almost harsh, trying to sound casual.

he blinks a few times, gulping “n-nothing y-you just look–,”

“different?,” you complete his sentence, afraid he will start teasing you. his stare becomes more uncomfortable with every second of silence that passes.

“-r-really p-pretty,” he finally manages to say. a smile takes over your features, his compliment completely blowing away the feelings of doubt that were starting to cloud.

jeno almost wants to beat himself up for stuttering so much.

“ahh, my work here is done,” giselle beams, looking in between you with a knowing look only she knew the meaning of. she clapped like she’s the proud host of a makeover show, as she should. jeno clears his throat, immediately reminded that you both had an audience.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a soft knock echoed at your dorm room’s door, followed by jeno’s familiar voice. when you opened it, you caught the tiny flicker in his eyes. he was still trying to get used to your new appearance. its been two days since giselle’s successful makeover and he still hasn’t fully adjusted to this version of you.

but it was time to start step two of the operation - closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade.

“wait,” you say, squinting at him, “you’re the one that’s gonna look at my clothes?,” you say, bewildered.

what did jeno know about ladies’ fashion?

“yeah, who else would it be?,” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“i don't know, i thought you would’ve brought giselle or another one of your lady friends,” you mumbled as he casually made himself at home on your bed.

he grinned, flopping back against your pillows like he owned the place, “nope, just me, don’t worry…i know what looks good,” he says, a playful smile on his lips as you eyed him suspiciously, “and how exactly are you going to rate my clothes?,” you ask.

he shrugs, “i’ll figure it out as we go, now come on, show me what you got,” he says, making himself comfortable in your sheets.

truthfully, his rating was completely unscientific and wildly biased. he was judging your clothes based on the question: if a girl walked by in this outfit, would i say hi?

and he knows damn well that if you ever found out you were being styled based on his imaginary dream girl, you’d kick him right where the sun won't shine. so he kept that little detail to himself.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, giving in as you started taking your clothes out of your wardrobe and holding them up for him.

jeno leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. he was way too comfortable in your space but then again, he always had been.

one by one you pulled clothes from your closet – the shirts you’ve had since middle school, some with funky patterns, others just straight up horrendous. pants with weird patterns and those that didn’t help accentuate your figure at all.

for once, you were thankful for being one of the lucky ones who didn’t have a roommate. no one else needed to witness this humiliation.

jeno, however, was getting the full show. he has never realized how bad your wardrobe was until now. each new item of clothing you pulled out seemed to be worse than the last. and then came the final blow.

the naruto and pokemon shirts. his oversized naruto and pokemon shirts. jeno’s jaw slacks open, like the very memory of those shirts carried his own personal trauma, “why the hell do you have those?!,” he blurted, sitting up like he’d just seen a ghost.

“your dad gave them to me when you outgrew them, i just kept them,” you shrug.

“burn it.” his voice was flat, non-negotiable.

“what?! no!, these are comfortable and i like wearing them to sleep!,” you defend, clutching the shirts like they were priceless heirlooms. jeno stares at you wide eyed, expression teetering somewhere between disgust and betrayal “you cannot let anyone see you in those,” he says, deadly serious, making you chuckle.

“stop being so dramatic, i bet if you wore these now, people would think it’s cool,” you say and jeno shakes his head furiously, like he can't even fathom the idea of ever wearing it again, “no, absolutely not, i’ve buried that version of myself. deep.”

“well, i’m not burning them!,” you declare, shoving the shirts deep into your drawer, making sure he can’t pull it out behind your back.

by the end of it you had two piles. the “i guess that’s okay” pile and the “don’t ever wear that again, that’s going straight to donation,” pile which was unfortunately about three times bigger.

“jeno, i have like no clothes left!,” you say, plopping down on the bed next to him, limbs heavy with defeat.

your room looked like it was run through by a tornado, clothes scattered in every corner.

without a word, jeno pulls you into his arms, fingers brushing your hair out of your face with an ease that only comes from years of friendship, “we’re gonna go shopping,” he murmurs against your temple, “it’s gonna be fine.”

you let yourself melt into his side with a sigh, “okay, but like…in five minutes, i’m too tired to even attempt being a hot girl right now,” he chuckles softly and you feel the sound more than you hear it, sleep tugging you under.

jeno lets his eyes flutter shut too, a small contented smile on his lips.

five minutes, she said. he’d give her ten.

ten minutes turned into three hours and you woke up with your legs tangled with the boy beside you, “neno,” you groaned, shoving him off of you, “you’re so fucking heavy,” you whine.

jeno slowly wakes up, blinking the sleep away as he sluggishly rubbed at his eyes, “fuck, what time is it?,” he says before reaching out for his phone and answering his own question.

it was only 6PM, still plenty of time to run to the mall and get you your new upgraded outfits.

and exactly thirty minutes later, jeno was dragging you around all the stores with the latest fashion trends. you didn’t even know your best friend knew these stores existed, “how do you know so much about this?” you ask him, eyeing him suspiciously.

he shot you a grin over his shoulder, “well, i do listen to every girl i talk to, you know” he points out and you’re reminded of the fact that your sweet, nerdy best friend was also one of the university’s hot, sexy, fuck-boy.

you rolled your eyes, “gross.” you still can’t believe he even has that reputation. wanting to smack yourself every time you get reminded of it. how could your glasses-wearing, braces-clad, cried-over-a-hamster best friend turn into some kind of lady killer? it didn’t feel real.

“hey, it’s called research,” he teased, “gotta keep them interested somehow.”

he grabs a shopping cart, pulling at everything he thought looked nice on the mannequins, as well as a couple of pieces of clothing that fit his previous criteria.

you follow him around like a lost child. you don’t even remember the last time you had a shopping trip and bought something for yourself. you were usually only here to buy gifts or if you’re forced to buy new underwear.

after a while of aimlessly wandering as jeno does all the work, you find yourself in the dressing room, a shopping bag filled with clothes in your arm.

now here you were, staring at your reflection in pure disbelief. the first matching outfit jeno picked out was a tiny pink skirt and an even tinier pink crop top that left your midriff exposed, “uhhm, jeno i dont know about this one,” you say from the other side of the door, nervous.

“step out, let me see,” he says, patiently sitting outside of your dressing room stall, voice relaxed, clearly unbothered.

slowly, hesitantly, your fingers hover over the lock before unlocking the door, debating on whether or not you should let him see you in this ridiculous outfit that is showing way too much skin than you’re used to. before you could completely psych yourself out, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself before finally swinging the door wide open, revealing the outfit to him.

jeno looked up and almost choked on air.

the outfit definitely hugged your curves in all the right places, made your skin glow and your legs look longer, and god, yes, he would definitely go up to you and say hi if he saw you at a party.

but then he thinks about all the other boy’s who would also go up to you and say hi and do god knows what else and the thought almost knocks him out.

“yeah, that doesn’t look comfortable, i don't like it,” he says a half lie. you quickly agree, relieved, as you go back into the dressing room to try on your next outfit.

jeno feels hot.

the air was too thick and he wanted to dunk his head in cold water to remind himself that this was you.

he shakes the thoughts away. these are thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking about, especially with his best friend. but it was no use. because the next time you stepped out of the dressing room you were wearing a white skirt a little longer than the last one and a light blue top that covered what needed to be covered but was just enough to exude that sexiness he liked in a girl and he swore he needed to get into a bathroom. now.

“this one’s a bit better, i could actually wear this,” you comment, innocently looking at him through those silver glasses that makes your eyes pop out, a small smile on display and all he could do was nod, “yeah…t-that one’s nice,” he says, disguising his stutter under a fake cough.

you smiled, pleased with his answer, and he felt his stomach flip.

he was in so much trouble.

this torture went on for a good fifteen more outfits, tiny side comments coming from him while his sanity continues to slip just a little more. his pants feel more restricted every time you walk out dressed in the cutest outfits that looked like they were made for you.

the worst ones were the ones you liked. the ones that made your eyes twinkle in the mirror and made you smile like you were finally starting to see yourself the way he saw you – absolutely beautiful.

there’s a million f words running through his head.

why the fuck did he think this was a good idea? why the fuckity fuck didn’t he just ask giselle to add this to her makeover process? why the fuckity fuck fuck did he throw all those tiny tops and short skirts into your basket? why the flying fuckity fuck fuck fuck shit fuck are you so fucking pretty? and more importantly – what the actual fuck are you, his best friend, doing to him?

after a long three hours of internal screaming – it was finally over.

you emerged from the mall looking like you’d just won a game show, all smiles and sunshine, bubbling with excitement, happy with the outfits your best friend picked out for you while jeno trudged behind you, hauling ten full shopping bags, half amused, half in pain.

he drove in near silence as you yapped on and on about your makeover with giselle, every detail you hadn’t had the chance to spill yet now tumbling out all at once.

in the middle of your yapping session, you noticed the boy wasn’t as active as he usually was, no silly side comments, no teasing remarks.

“neno..,” you sweetly called out to him and jeno nearly swerved.

god, the things that nickname did to him.

“you okay?,” you asked, eyes flicking over to him.

“yeah bunny, just tired,” he said with a small smile, trying to play it cool.

“that was a lot of shopping for a guy, y’know?” he glanced at you quickly, then back to the road, “keep going, tell me more about your day with giselle,” he says.

you eyed him for a second longer, as if trying to read him, then picked up right where you left off.

he dropped you off and made sure you were safely in your room. before he could leave you surprised him by reaching out and pulling him into a hug. with your arm tight around his waist, face pressed against his chest, you let out a soft sigh, “thank you, neno, sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

jeno chuckles, gently smoothing your hair down with one hand, hoping you don’t realize how fast his heart was beating, “you can never take too much of my time, bunny, you know that” he says, reassuring you.

you look up at him, with that sweet, grateful smile that’s currently driving him crazy, “you’re the best best friend in the entire world,” you say, before leaning up and pressing a sweet, innocent kiss to his cheek.

jeno should’ve been used to it.

you’ve been kissing his cheek ever since you were five years old and playing in the mud together. he argues today just wasn’t his day.

maybe it was the outfit? maybe it was the soft curve of your smile? or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had sex in so long (two days) it was affecting his logic?

whatever it was, that little peck nearly sent him spiraling.

“go and rest,” you said, pushing him towards your door and out of your dorm room, “thanks for shopping with me,” you ended the night with a lopsided grin before shutting your door as he finally made his way out.

he didn’t go home right away. instead he found himself at lia’s place, hands roaming and mind elsewhere, trying to exorcise whatever the hell was clawing at him from the inside out.

he kissed her like he meant it, touched her like he was desperate – because he was. so, so desperate for release. he fucked the shit out of her, releasing all his sexual urges as he guiltily pictured you in those tight, revealing outfits.

pictured you smiling up at him having absolutely no idea the effect you left behind. pictured your sweet voice calling him that nickname you gave him when you were fourteen before you stole his first kiss.

and when he finally finished, breathless and sweaty, staring up at the ceiling of a room that wasn’t his, next to a girl he barely knew, all could think about was: what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the easy part of this transformation was over — the shopping spree, the haircut, the subtle change of your appearance had all been external.

you could already feel the power your new look gave you. for the first time in your life, you realized that pretty privilege wasn’t just some exaggerated social theory. it was real. you felt it in the smallest gestures.

on your way to the library, retracing steps you’ve taken hundreds of times before, everything felt a little different. the way people intently held the door open for you, even if you were still several steps away. the way they’d immediately made space for you in the elevator. and the way someone had already rushed to help you grab a book from the top shelf – you used to have to drag the ladder with you just to get it before.

however, just because life became a tad bit easier, doesn’t mean you felt comfortable.

what had once been comfort in invisibility was now replaced with the pressure of being seen. you weren’t used to the lingering glances or the compliments or the catcalls — it made your skin crawl, making you want to hide under the table until everyone leaves.

when jeno finally walked into the library, his eyes landed on you immediately. you wore a soft white top with jeans that finally hugged your frame and a light blue cardigan around your shoulders, collarbones out for display. it was one of the outfits you bought last night.

the guilt on his shoulders felt heavier as he was reminded of what he did — what he thought of.

forcefully shaking the thoughts away, he quietly sits right next to you. his gaze drifts to your legs anxiously bouncing under the table. a sign that something was clearly bothering you. gently, he placed a hand on your knee. you flinched slightly, then looked up at him, your expression distant – like you just realized he was there.

“bunny, what’s wrong?,” he asks, voice low and tender, threaded with concern.

“they’re all staring, jeno,” you whispered, almost like you didn’t want the words to exist.

he looks around the room, noticing the way everyone was too deep into their own worlds and while he didn’t see anyone obviously gawking, he knew it didn’t matter. it wasn’t about them. it was about what you were feeling inside.

“no one’s staring, bunny,” he murmured, voice delicate, like handling glass.

he knew better than to dismiss it. he recalls what it was like when he stepped out without the comfort of his thick-rimmed glasses and oversized t-shirts for the first time. remembers the way his heart was pounding in his chest, afraid of the judgments he might receive. he didn’t need to guess what you were feeling. he’s sure you were battling the same internal conflict right now. but just like how he got through it, he knows you will too. he’ll make sure of it.

you shut your eyes, taking a deep breath, “sorry,” you whispered, exhaling like the breath had been stuck in your chest all day, “im just- being paranoid, i’m not used to people noticing me,” you say softly.

“that’s okay,” jeno said, a warm smile blooming on his face as his hand moved to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, “that’s our lesson for today.”

jeno gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he set his bag down beside you, “okay bunny, first thing’s first is it’s all about your mindset,” he taps his head, pointing to his brain and you can’t help but giggle at the silly antics.

“im serious,” he insisted, lips twitching into a smirk, “if someone stares, don't spiral and think ‘they’re judging me.’ instead think ‘i look good, that’s why they’re staring,’” he says.

your eyes pop out of your head, he says it like it was so easy, “doesn’t that sound a little too egotistical?,” you said, nose wrinkling.

“not egotistical, just confident,” he counters, “there’s a difference.”

you gave him a skeptical look but he was already sitting up straighter, leaving no room for arguments.

“next is posture, stop hiding behind your books and sit straight, shoulders back, chin up,” he demonstrates.

you copied his posture, finding his seriousness amusing as you rolled your shoulders back, “like this?,”

“yeah,” he nodded, approving, “you already look more confident”

you laughed quietly, already feeling silly, “i feel like i’m pretending to be someone i’m not,” you point out.

“well, confidence is pretending, at first anyway,” he replied, shrugging, “eventually you start owning up to it, it starts becoming comfortable.”

you studied your best friend for a minute or two. there was a time where he would hide behind his books as well, would even hide behind you. you realized now that his change didn’t just come out of nowhere – it wasn’t just a random growth spurt. it was something he’d worked on, something that took time and practice, just like you were doing now. you wondered how he ever managed to do this alone.

“and the most important thing to know, bunny,” he adds, voice gentler now, “you’re allowed to take up space, don’t ever apologize for being seen.”

you carried his words with you, tucking them somewhere deep, somewhere that had always longed to hear them.

you sat there in silence for a beat until jeno shifted beside you, nudging your arm lightly, “okay,” he said, eyes glinting with a mischievous spark, “time for your first assignment.”

you turned to him, instantly suspicious, “assignment?,”

he nodded, already scanning the room, “see that guy by the window,” he points to possibly the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen reading a worn copy of the hunger games: catching fire. you recognize him. you’re pretty sure he was in your elective art class.

“you’re going to flirt with him,” jeno smirks and your eyes almost bulge out of your head.

“you’re joking! that’s hyunjin,” you whisper, head whipping toward jeno.

“so?,”

“so, he’s…he’s too cool and i don't even know how to flirt!,” you whisper-shouted, hands flailing helplessly at your sides.

he chuckles, “you were the same girl who threatened to beat up my bullies when we were 11, you’re telling me you’re afraid of a boy now?,” his smile is playful, lightly provoking you. and when you don’t reply, he knew you knew that he was right, “just compliment him, smile, say he has nice hands or something.”

your mouth fell open, staring at him in horror, “that’s so dumb, jeno. what if he thinks i'm hitting on him?”

“...you are hitting on him,” he said slowly, like it was obvious.

you groaned, dragging your hands over your face, “i’m not comfortable with this.”

“that’s the point. confidence doesn’t grow in comfort zones,” jeno says and you wonder when he’s gotten so wise. usually you were the one who had these motivational words ready for him.

staring down at your lap, nerves buzzing like static in your fingertips, you take a moment to think it through. you glanced back at your best friend, he was already looking at you proudly – like he believed in you more than you believe in yourself.

you let out a breathy laugh, the absurdity the situation weighing on your chest, “if this ends in disaster–,”

“it wont,” he cuts you off and you knew there was no way to back out of this situation. besides you were the one who asked him to help you. slowly, you got up from your chair, taking a deep breath and making your way towards the boy.

“hi, hyunjin,” you start off quiet, timid, slightly afraid.

hyunjin darts his eyes away from his book, looking up at you, “hey” he replies. when you don’t say anything else right away, he shifted in his seat, “did you need anything?,” he says, an awkward smile on his lips.

you swallowed hard, nerves tangling in your throat, “i uhm…just wanted to tell you—you have nice hands!,” you say, a little too cheerful for your liking. you were internally screaming. curse jeno for putting that in your head. you actually can’t believe you used it.

he blinked. then a soft laugh escaped him, not mocking, but surprised, amused. “oh? uhm, thanks?,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “i like what you’ve done with your hair,” he compliments, leaving you shocked.

“what?”

he points vaguely in your direction, “you got a haircut, right? it look’s nice.”

you blinked, stunned into silence for a second too long. “thank you,” you finally breathed, cheeks warming instantly.

you didn’t realize he noticed you before. let alone remember you enough to notice a change.

“you’re welcome,” he smiles and you awkwardly wave goodbye.

you made your back to jeno, so certain that you looked like a tomato. dropping into the seat beside him, burying your face in your hands, “that was so embarrassing,” you mumbled through your fingers.

jeno tried to hide his laughter behind his fingers, afraid to be called out by the librarian for being too loud, “you actually told him he had nice hands,” he wheezed.

“shut up!,” you groaned, “that was your fault!,” you swat at his arm, “my brain just – stopped working.”

jeno calms himself down, sitting up straighter now, the teasing falling away just a little, “yeah, but you did it…and he talked to you, noticed your hair, said he liked it.”

the memory of hyunjin’s compliment flickers in the back of your mind and a small swell of pride flutters in your chest, “he did, didn’t he…,” a shy smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

jeno nods, eyes full of tenderness, “see? you’ve never been invisible,” he points out.

the words settle over you like a warm blanket and for a moment you just sit with them, the weight of the realization sinking in.

“i still felt like i was going to pass out though,” you admitted, a thin, embarrassed smile on display.

“that’s okay, confidence is scary,“ jeno said simply, “but the more you practice, the easier it’ll be,” he sends you a warm smile, never making you feel like these feelings were wrong.

without thinking, you leaned into his shoulder, seeking the steady comfort he always gave you, “thanks, neno,” you breathe out.

he freezes for a second, just for a second, before bumping his head lightly against yours, “anytime.”

then he pulls back just enough to grin mischievously, “now, go back to hyunjin and say something a little less awkward.”

“wait? right now?!,” you whip your head toward him, horrified once again.

“yes, right now…go,” he’s already pushing you up and out of your seat, laughing under his breath as he watches you stumble forward, nerves buzzing anew.

trying to ignore the way your heart pounds against your ribs, you walk back up to hyunjin, this time with a bit more confidence, capturing his attention once more.

“actually i…i wanted to say that’s a really good book,” you nod toward the hunger games book in his hand and hyunjin lights up instantly.

“right?, i’m on my third re-read,” he says excitedly.

with a casual gesture, he pulls out the chair next to him inviting you to sit as you talked about the masterpiece that is suzanne collins and the hunger games trilogy. the conversation went on for a good twenty minutes, it was easy and light and fun, a little playful sometimes. you lose yourself in the exchange, forgetting the nerves that once clawed at your chest.

when hyunjin bid his goodbye, you practically floated back to your seat. your heart was pounding in your ears but in the best way possible. you can’t believe that just happened. you usually only talk to people in class, if you’re required to.

jeno watched you. watched that twinkle in your eye appear, your smile beaming as the conversation continues and it��s the first time throughout this whole process that he sees the change.

you were slowly bringing back the girl he knew. the girl you lost along the way. the girl he always knew was still there, just waiting for a reason to shine.

when you returned to him, he can’t help but tease you just a little bit, “look who’s suddenly ms. social butterfly,” he grins, earning an eye roll from you as you tried to wipe the giddy smile off your face, “shut up”

“no seriously,” he says, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on the table, “twenty full minutes, i was about to send a search party,” he smirks.

“always so dramatic,” you huff but your smile betrays you, “i didn’t think it’d actually go that well,” you admit, cheeks still pink.

“you flirted, you sat down, talked about hunger games lore like it was natural…if i didn't know you, i’d think you do this every day,” he smirks.

you narrow your eyes, “are you mocking me or hyping me up?,” you say playfully.

“why not both?,” he shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. his tone softens just enough to say, “but seriously bunny, im proud of you,” and you smile at him like he just handed you the stars in the sky.

“thanks…i feel kinda…good.”

“confidence will do that to you,” jeno says, nudging your foot under the table.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the next few days turn into a full crash course in flirting 101 with lee jeno.

one afternoon, he dares you to make eye contact with the cute guy handing out flyers in campus, not just a glance, real eye contact. it sounds simple but it makes your palms sweat. you were able to managed a flirty smile too and when the boy stammers mid-sentence, jeno practically fist-pumps the air behind you.

another day, he made you strike up a casual conversation with the barista at the cafe. told you to be a little playful, a little flirty. you passed with flying colors, only stumbling over a few words, the barista writing his number on your cup as well as giving you an extra cookie “on the house.” you nearly skip back to jeno, face lit up like christmas morning.

each small win builds on the last, stacking slowly, steadily until the idea of putting yourself out there and owning up to your confidence doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

through it all, jeno watches with the same steady pride adoring the fact that you were learning how to take up space and shine again.

but then comes the moment that even he isn’t prepared for.

it’s a warm afternoon, golden light slanting through the library windows, when jeno leans over the table, a mischievous glint in his eye, “alright, new assignment.”

you smirk at him, accepting his challenge, “what now?”

he tips his chin toward the entrance where sungchan – tall, charming, the boy you’ve had a quite, hopeless crush on for years – walks in, balancing a coffee and his bag slung casually over one shoulder.

the air is knocked out of your lungs and you suddenly feel dizzy, hoping jeno doesn’t follow through whatever he had in mind.

“sungchan,” jeno says, making your heart skip a bit. he grins, already knowing the effect he has on you, “go invite him to the dream frat party this weekend.”

you stare at him like he’s grown two heads, “are you insane?!, that’s sungchan!”

“which makes this the perfect challenge,” he teases.

you open your mouth to protest but jeno cuts you off with a nudge on your arm, “c’mon show me you’ve learned something,” he mocks playfully.

you groan dramatically but your feet somehow move anyway, heart pounding so loudly you’re sure jeno can hear it from where he’s sitting. you were determined to show jeno (and yourself) that you have completely embraced the confidence.

you gather every shred of courage you have and cross the room toward the boy who inspired this whole glow-up.

sungchan looks up just as you approach, his smile lighting up the whole room. you send him a smile – a little flirty, a little too sweet.

“hey,” sungchan says, voice warm, “you’re in my psych class, right? you always ace every test”

you blink, a little thrown by the fact the he paid attention to you, “oh yeah, that’s me,” you say with a soft, bashful laugh, earning a chuckle from the boy in front of you.

he leans against the shelves a little, eyes raking over you in a way that makes your stomach twist. it’s not the uncomfortable kind of stare you’ve been learning to dodge lately. it’s something softer, curious, warm. like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“you look different today,” he says, tilting his head, studying you, “—in a good way.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks but you force yourself to stay steady, remembering everything jeno has taught you.

“thanks,” you manage, giving him a more playful, more bold smile, “maybe you just weren’t paying enough attention before.”

this surprises him, eyebrows shooting up before a slow, impressed grin stretches across his face.

“maybe i wasn’t,” he admits, the easy charm in his voice sending your heart into a full sprint.

for a second, neither of you moves. the space between you humming with quiet tension – intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

you clear your throat lightly, breaking the spell, “come to the dream frat party this weekend,” you say it like it wasn’t an invitation. wasn’t a question. didn’t give him any room to deny.

sungchan’s grin turns teasing, a spark lighting in his eyes, “am i coming as your date or…?,” he leans toward you, trailing off, leaving the question open, playful.

you bite back a laugh, finding just enough courage to meet his gaze head on, “i guess you’ll have to come to find out.”

he stares at you for a heartbeat longer. you’ve definitely piqued his curiosity. and then he laughs, easy and alluring, “okay beautiful, you’ve convinced me. i’ll be there,” he whispers for only you to hear before sending you a wink and walking away.

back at the table, jeno watches. something inside him shifts. it’s subtle, a small, tight pull low in his chest but it settles in bitterly.

he pushes it away, refusing to acknowledge it because this wasn’t supposed to matter. he wasn’t supposed to care about anything but seeing you happy.

you make your way back to him, beaming, “he said yes!,” you practically squeal, dropping into your chair like your knees might give out at any second.

jeno chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your hair, a familiar, easy gesture that suddenly feels heavier than it should.

“of course he did, you’re impossible to say no to,” he tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you’re too giddy to notice any of it. you bat his hand away, cheeks flushed and full of life.

jeno is forced to swallow past the uncomfortable lump rising in his throat.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

tonight is the dream fraternity’s party.

the night where you finally put everything you’ve learned, everything you’ve worked for, to the test. this was it. the final step in your glow up and you felt that electric sense of anticipation crackling just beneath your skin.

you were done waiting. done watching from the sidelines.

you were ready to let loose, to fully step into this new version of yourself.

you stepped into the house, the air thick with excitement. a tight white dress clings to your body, a bold choice you would have second-guessed before. you ditched your glasses for the night, switching it with the contact lenses giselle gave you — embracing the braveness.

this time, when you notice the stares, the double takes, the whispered comments, you don’t shrink back. you don’t flinch. you let them wash over you, feeding the fire inside you.

all those lessons with jeno clearly worked. that change in mindset was all you needed. the attention makes you glow. makes you feel powerful.

looking around the room, you searched for your best friend before finally spotting him in the corner at the back, near the kitchen.

you send him a tiny wave, he sends one back, excitement bubbling through you but before you could make your way towards him, a hand on your arm stops you.

“y/n! you look so pretty oh my god!,” giselle screeches over the loud music, a smile beaming on her face as she pulls you in for a tight hug. she was clearly already intoxicated, her balance a little wobbly but her energy still infectious.

“c’mon,” she says, already dragging you around the room with her, “you have to meet my friends!”

you happily followed her around, giggles escaping your lips, nervousness falling away with every step.

before you know it you were three shots in, dancing with the girls – giselle, somi, and angel, who you already knew before as jaemin’s girlfriend.

the music was loud, your laughters were louder.

and for the first time, you aren’t overthinking a single thing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

when jeno saw you walk into the front door, it was like time had slowed down, like a thousand cherry blossom petals had burst into the air around you, everyone else blurring into a side character of your story.

you have always been pretty. always been beautiful. but tonight, you were absolutely radiant.

and it wasn’t even the dress, though he can’t deny how much he loved the way white clung to you, soft and luminous.

it was the way you walked around the room with your head held high. the way you glowed with every step, not shying away under anyone’s gaze. the way your smile beamed.

you weren’t hiding anymore.

you have finally stepped into your own skin, finally brought back the girl he knew.

in that moment, it wasn’t just the girl standing in front of him that he saw. it was every version of you that was always beautiful – the girl that was the first one out of the house, chasing after his hamster. the girl that didn’t care if she only had two teeth left, she would still eat what she wanted. the girl who was fighting bullies three times her size just to protect him. the girl who was brave enough to kiss him first. the girl who learned to pick up the pieces.

when you waved at him, he felt like he was on cloud nine. it felt like he had stepped into his shoes all those years ago – a boy hopelessly in awe of the only person he ever wanted to see him.

and when you started walking towards him, it was like his lungs could no longer function. you stole every breath he had.

but before you could give it back to him, giselle pulls you away, spinning you into the chaos of the party, leaving jeno standing there, fighting the urge to follow.

“was that, y/n?,” jaemin says, popping out from nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack as he clutches his chest.

he punches the boy in his arm before confirming that it was in fact, you. jaemin looks at him with a knowing glance. he recognizes the familiar twinkle in jeno’s eye.

“wow,” jisung comments from his other side, making him pause.

when did all his friends show up?

“she looks really hot,” jisung adds, eyes following your figure across the room.

a devilish grin appeared on jeno’s lips and in one quick motion, he had jisung under his arm, ruffling his hair, “no, no, no…not the hair hyunggg!,” he struggled from the older boy’s grip before jeno finally released him.

“point taken, won’t say anything about her ever again,” jisung pouts, fixing his hair back into place.

“i don’t know what you mean,” jeno smiles playfully, “i just wanted to play with you.”

chenle chuckles from nearby, “oh definitely, it’s totally not because you’re possessive and way too protective of y/n,” he points out.

“i am not possessive,” jeno argues, his voice defensive, “protective, sure, but she’s my best friend guys, our parents will kill me if something bad happens to her,” he says.

“she’s also a grown woman,” renjun points out, “you can’t keep pushing away every guy who thinks she’s hot, you know?”

“im not pushing away every guy!…just you guys,” jeno protests. he would never let any of his friends touch you, knowing what he knows.

there’s a pause as the group stares at him, “mhm, cause her really tall, really muscular, really intimidating, doesn’t smile at anyone, guy best friend being by her side almost all the time isn’t pushing away any boys,” haechan adds, teasing.

“it’s not my fault those boys don’t have the balls to ask her out,” jeno mutters, looking at mark for some support, hoping that he’d somehow take his side and tell the others that they were being ridiculous.

mark shrugs in a don’t look at me kind of way and jeno can’t help but groan in defeat.

“well, that boy definitely has the balls,” jaemin nods towards the dance floor as jeno follows his line of vision, his eyes immediately on your figure once again.

you're still with the girls but this time, sungchan and a few other guys from the riize fraternity have surrounded you, laughing and chatting with you.

“shouldn’t you get your girlfriend, jaemin?,” mark asks casually, “i know that wonbin guy has a thing for her,”

jaemin just laughs, completely unbothered, “nah, he doesn't stand a chance,” he says, sipping from his drink as the boy’s laugh.

but jeno knew that sungchan definitely had a chance with you. nothing is funny.

sungchan leans in close, whispers something in your ear and you were laughing. the laugh he thought was only reserved for him. he feels his fists clench up on his sides.

“you gonna push him away, jeno?,” haechan teases by his ear, a smirk playing on his lips, earning him a punch right on the stomach.

“shut up,” he says, haechan clutching over, his laughter mixing with his pain. he totally deserved that.

“c‘mon jisung, let’s find your girl for the night,” haechan manages to say in between choked breaths, before he dragged jisung and mark out of the room, resuming their fuckboy101 classes.

jeno watches as sungchan and you continue to talk, his gaze never wavering from the two of you. every inch of him wants to march over there and pull you away but he doesn’t. instead, he stays rooted in place, his eyes burning holes in the back of your head, feeling his pulse quicken in ways he can’t explain.

lia, his current situationship, walks up to him.

“okayy, that’s our cue,” chenle whispers before all the boys dispersed leaving jeno alone.

he doesn’t even greet her, doesn’t make an effort to say hi, eyes still glued on your figure.

“hi handsome,” lia drags her hands up his shoulders, settling on the back of his neck, her lips finding the side of his jaw.

it all happened so quickly.

one second you were still with the girls, the next sungchan dragged you to the side, his lips on yours. jeno’s jaw clenches. his heart dropping.

he needed to stop looking. he needed a distraction.

he finally acknowledges the girl clung to his neck. she reeks of alcohol and vape smoke. jeno turns to kiss her anyway.

he let’s lia drag him up the stairs, taking one last look at you. he let’s her lead him into his bedroom. let’s her strip off his clothes.

he knew you were going to be okay, knew you could handle your alcohol after many beer nights with him and he definitely knew that you were too smart to get yourself into any real trouble.

he can’t ruin this night for you.

“fuck me like you did last time,” lia whispers in his ear, trailing kisses down his neck, “fuck me like you mean it,” her hand travels down, wrapping around his already hard cock and jeno did.

he fucked her like she was all he needed. abused her hole, used her to release all his sexual tension, trying to push away the image of you from his mind.

but he found that every time you appeared, the better it felt and soon he was clenching, body shaking, his orgasm taking over as he came…with your name spilling from his lips.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

bunny: come over please it’s an emergency.

jeno was banging on your door in under eight minutes of that text. which was absolutely ridiculous considering the fraternity house was a twenty minute walk away from your building. a million thoughts were racing in his head.

what happened after he left you at the party that constitutes this emergency text? were you hurt?

you swung the door open, perfectly intact. no tears, no bruises, just you – in shorts and one of his your oversized naruto t-shirt, blinking at him like he was the one being ridiculous.

side note: it’s insane how you manage to make that shirt look sexy.

he exhaled hard, one hand bracing on the doorframe as he caught his breath.

“did you run here?,” you ask, stunned, noticing the sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“you said it was an emergency,” he shot back, chest still heaving.

you offered a sheepish smile, “sorry, come in,” before walking into your room. jeno followed, shutting the door with a soft click.

“what happened?” he asked, eyes scanning you again, just to be sure, as he sat on the edge of your bed watching you pace back and forth.

“sungchan kissed me,” you tell him.

he blinked, processing, he knew that. he saw you. the reminder leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. he pushes it away, playing the best friend card once more.

“that’s good? right?,” he says cautiously, cursing the fact that he was your best friend right now and had to listen to you talk about another guy, “that’s what you wanted?”

“yeah but,” you swallowed, embarrassment already creeping up your neck, “but i didn’t know what to do!”

“what do you mean?,” he asks dumbfounded, “you just…kiss him back.”

“it’s not that simple, you weren’t there – i panicked! i-i froze! i was too into my head and then i just – i ran,” you ramble, cringing as you relived what happened last night.

a snort escapes jeno before he could stop it.

you narrowed your eyes, “don’t laugh!, it was so humiliating, i can’t believe i ran away like a literal child!,” you groan in your hands.

he tried to control his expression but the corner of his mouths betrayed him, eyes twinkling with amusement, “y/n, it’s not a big deal, you were nervous,” he reassures, “just tell him you were drunk and then try again, it's not the end of the world,” he says it so easily – like you didn’t just go through the worst moment of your life. and that’s saying a lot considering you had a dead mom.

“that’s the problem, i don’t know what i'm doing, i always thought when it happened i’d just know but i didn’t,” you whine in frustration, pulling at your hair.

he must be crazy to think you’d get a different result if you went up to sungchan now and kissed him. you’re almost sure the same thing would happen.

“you’ll be fine next time, you’ll be prepared for it,” he says. the thought of there being a next time makes you panic.

“will i?,” you cut in, “what if i freeze again?,”

“you won’t”

“you don’t know that.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but you beat him to it.

“can you teach me?,” you said, voice quiet.

jeno stills, looking at you with wide eyes like he almost couldn’t believe what you just said – “what?”

“teach me,” you sat next to him, eyes locked on his, “add a step five, teach me how to kiss, teach me how to–” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the other things, the dirtier things you wanted to learn, “–how to do other things,” you mumble.

his jaw tensed. he can’t believe what it is you’re truly asking from him. teaching you how to kiss was already absurd but teaching you how to kiss for another man? it makes him want to throw up.

“bunny –no. i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?,” your head turns like a genuinely curious puppy.

“because best friends don’t–,” he faltered, “we don’t cross that line.”

“but it’s not like that,” you looked up at him, voice softening, “it’s just…practice.”

he didn’t move. didn’t blink. he can’t fathom the fact that he was actually starting to entertain the idea.

“it’s for educational purposes…just another step in the glow up,” you added, looking at him with those innocent eyes that makes him want to give you the moon, if you asked for it.

his throat worked as he swallowed, holding on to the last bit of restraint he had, “we can’t,” but it came out too quiet, too unsure, his resolve breaking with every second.

“neno,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. it’s not fair and you know it but you’ve already convinced yourself that this is necessary. that you needed to be taught.

“please…you’re the only one i feel comfortable with, just so i could learn, so i could know what to do when these things happen and i don’t make a fool of myself again,” you say, your tone low, almost pleading.

jeno’s breath hitches in his throat. he must be crazy or maybe you truly have him wrapped around your finger because now his eyes are flickering down to your lips and he can’t look away.

he realizes just how close you actually were and just like that, everything else blurs.

he leans in slowly, cautiously, searching your eyes for any flicker of hesitation.

you remain still, you don’t move, you don’t pull away. just watching him, a mixture of quiet excitement, nerves and something warmer, something softer, spreading through you like wildfire.

“just for practice,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours.

“just for practice,” you breathe back.

and that was all he needed to finally close the final inch – kissing you slowly, carefully.

it hits him instantly. fireworks. the same ones he felt when he was fourteen. the same one burned at the back of his memory. all this time he thought it was just because it was his first kiss, that feeling never once coming again. but here it is. bright, real and alive in his chest.

and this time he sees it for what it is – it’s you.

he feels you stiffen up and he pulls away softly, “don’t think about it too much, just follow my lead, okay, bunny?,” the once innocent nickname leaves you feeling hot, your heart pounding in your chest as you nod.

his hand makes his way to your cheek, warm and gentle, brushing the soft skin just beneath your ear, the small smile on his lips bringing you a sense of comfort as you as he pulls you back in. lips melting in his. you gave in, shutting the rest of the world out and only focusing on the boy in front of you.

jeno tilts his head, deepening the kiss as you follow his every move. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entrance as yours part on instinct. body reacting before your mind could even process what was happening.

you kiss him back – not perfectly, not practiced but with all the pent-up wonder and want you’ve never let yourself say out loud. it was so natural with jeno. like you were always meant to be kissing him.

you can taste the faint mint of the altoids he always had, feel the heat radiating off his skin.

the makeout session grows heavier and heavier as you continue to keep up with him, learning to breathe through your nose.

you shift slightly and your knees brush, thighs pressing together and suddenly you’re aware of how close you have gotten. the lack of space between your bodies is dizzying. your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, wanting him even closer.

as if he could read your mind, jeno moves his hand from your neck to your waist, fingers splaying wide, grounding you and then in one swift motion, like you had absolutely no weight, he pulls you into his lap.

you gasp softly into the kiss and he swallows the sound, “sorry,” he murmurs against your lips, not pulling back. he was completely lost in you. in this feeling that only you could give him. he swears he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“don’t be,” you shake your head, straddling him now. your hands find his shoulders, wrapping around his frame and threading through his hair. he kisses you harder now, less careful, lips moving in a messy rhythm, teeth clashing.

almost like it had a mind of it’s own, your hips instinctively grind down on his clothed bulge. the action sending jeno into a frenzy, a strangled groan transferring from his mouth to yours, his hold on your waist tightening.

the sound was so addicting, so intoxicating and it wraps around your head like a sweet drug.

you do it again, not entirely sure what you want to achieve but it felt good. it feels like a million butterflies flying in your stomach. there’s a growing tension in your belly that you can’t pinpoint. the feeling is new, exciting, hot.

jeno was right there with you, every boundary, every line he tried to draw was completely vanishing.

his lips trail down to your jaw, then lower, to the edge of your throat and you tilt your head back with a soft breath. your heart’s pounding. his is too. you can feel it, fast and erratic against your chest.

“y/n,” he grunts your name, like a warning – hoping you would stop him because he no longer couldn’t.

“what were the other things?,” he asks you, eyes completely blown out as he looks at you with a kind of hunger. and when all you do is grind against him once more, leaning into his touch, he’s decided he wants to see you on your knees.

“lesson number two, you’re going to suck my cock,” he whispers in your ear. the vulgar words make you feel hot, your body clenching, “do you want to learn that, bunny?,” he says, voice raspier, teasing, waiting for your go signal.

you nervously look up at him, all you could do was nod, an innocent glow in your eyes and jeno swears he could bust right there.

he reaches for one of your pillows, placing it on the floor beside your bed, “get on your knees,” he gently commands. you’re quick to follow, almost like you were in a trance. jeno tugs his sweats down to his ankles, his bulge prominent in his boxers and you can’t help but stare.

“go ahead, bunny, touch it,” he says. you almost can’t believe this is the same boy who was hiding behind your back, crying, every time the older kids would tease him.

this situation was absolutely ridiculous but that doesn’t stop your hand from wandering. following the outline of his cock as you palm him through his boxers. jeno lets out a hiss, the friction already fucking with his head.

“you can take it out,” he says, almost pleading. carefully you push his boxers off, his cock springing free, slapping against his thigh. you can’t help but gulp at his size, “i-its so big,” you say, making him laugh.

“thank you,” he says with a smirk on his lips and you playfully roll your eyes.

“what do i do?,” you look up at him, waiting for the answer. his eyes darken, that simple question snapping something inside of him. you were so innocent. so pure. and he was about to corrupt you.

he gently grabs your hand, redirecting it to your mouth, “spit,” he orders and like an obedient student, you follow, spitting in your hand.

“you can do anything, you can squeeze it,” he says, making you wrap your hand around his cock. your hand looks so tiny around his member and jeno almost just wants to skip this lesson entirely and fuck your hand dumb but he contains himself.

large hands envelop yours as he guides you on what to do, squeezing just the right amount.

“you can pump it up and down,” he says, guiding your hand to slide up and down his throbbing cock. he releases a sigh of pleasure, the warmth of your hand already making him weak.

“you can twist,” he says, twisting your hand around his cock, “you can put your mouth on it…lick it, swallow it, just keep the teeth away,” he smirks and you take a mental note of everything.

jeno releases your hand, giving you the space to experiment on his body. you’re excited, nervous but excited. you wanted to be good at this.

slowly, you continue his previous ministrations, pumping his cock up and down, squeezing and twisting your hand, just like how he showed you. jeno can’t help but let out a shaky breath, and you’re worried “does it hurt?,” you ask.

“no, bunny–feel’s really good, j-just go faster, please,” he begs.

it was sweet torture – how slow you were going, how much you were edging him on and you weren’t even aware of it. you pick up the speed, giving into his request and jeno grunts, his elbows coming in contact with your bed.

his cock looked so pretty, red and swelling, leaking.

your mouth exploringly wraps around his red tip and jeno curses under his breath, “fuuuck, oh my god.”

your confidence grows, feeling your pussy twitch at the sight of him. clenching your thighs, wanting some sort of relief. the sinful sounds he was making goes directly to your senses — the same sound you heard earlier but clearer now, more desperate, more whiny, and it knocks the breath out of you.

your hand continues to pump him, as you start sucking. you wouldn’t describe the taste of his cock to be good or sweet or like candy but it was addicting — it makes you want more. especially when every swipe of your tongue was accompanied by a breathy groan from him. it fuels you.

you take more and more of his length in until you could no longer fit him in your mouth and slowly you start bobbing up and down. his grunts and groans becoming more frequent.

jeno can’t do it anymore. this teasing was killing him. and the worst part is that you don’t even know how much you were affecting him.

his hand finds it’s way to your hair, gripping lightly, controlling the pace, increasing the speed, until you were choking, gagging, tears brimming in your eyes, “s-sorry bunny, it just f-feels so good,” he growls, thrusting his cock down your throat.

it was too much. he was too big. but you don’t care. you shut your eyes tightly, fighting the urge to gag as he continued to hit the deepest part of your throat.

this image of you on your knees, spit drooling all over your chin, tears in the corner of your eyes as you take what he gives you is absolutely heavenly.

jeno feels the coil about to snap, his breaths coming in heavy pants, thrusts getting messier and messier.

“o-open your eyes, bunny,” he orders. he wants you to see it. wants you to see him unravel. wants you to know how good you’ve been for him.

“p-play with my balls,” he instructs. your hands immediately follows through, squeezing him just where he needed it. heat travels all throughout his veins as he pulls you off, not wanting to force you to swallow his cum.

and then he falls apart – hard.

jaw going slack, eyes rolling back as his body fell into your pillows, abs clenching, cock pulsating. his cum shoots out of his tip, messily squirting everywhere, orgasm completely washing over him.

you watch him fall apart and you’re absolutely mesmerized. he looked so beautiful. so fucked out. and there’s that knot building in your stomach that you still can’t quite place.

you lick him clean, swallowing every drop that has landed on his stomach, his thighs, everywhere.

jeno’s eyes shot open as he tried to slow his breathing, slowly sitting back up, watching you clean him up like he was your last meal.

“how does it taste?,” he smirks and you look up at him through your damp lashes, “not very good,” you smile, earning a laugh from both of you. he guides you back up, as you stand in between his legs.

he lifts the naruto shirt off your body, leaving you in your light blue bra, flower patterns detailing it, “cute,” he playfully smirks and you suddenly feel embarrassed, arms protectively going across your chest.

“nu-uh don’t shy on me now, this was your idea, remember,” he says, before pushing your hands away and placing a soft kiss on the flesh on top of your breasts, looking up at you. your breath catches in your throat. that knot in your belly growing and growing making you push your legs together.

jeno notices.

“you did such a good job,” he compliments you, licking and sucking the skin of your breasts as he continues to look at you. your hands find comfort in his shoulders, stabilizing yourself.

“i did?,” you ask, “mhm, you’re such a good girl…made me feel so good,” he groans in between your breasts before traveling lower, placing a soft kiss on your stomach. his dirty talk has your mind reeling, feeling weak in the knees.

“-and good girls, must be rewarded,” he says, his fingers making their way to the hem of your shorts, squeezing the fabric between his fingers.

“how do you like being touched?,” he asks, softly, waiting, looking up at you.

“what?,” you ask, blush creeping up your cheeks.

“when you touch yourself, how do you like it?,” he asks, littering your stomach with soft kisses, his tongue lightly grazing on your skin.

“i-,” you stutter, “i-i dont,” you say, embarrassed of your lack of experience.

“what?” it was his turn to be surprised, gently sitting you on his thigh, like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

sure he knew you were a virgin and had zero experience with men but you had to have touched yourself before? there had to be some part of you that gave in to the desires of the night and experimented?

you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, “i-i’ve tried but nothing ever happens and i just feel silly with my hand down my pants,” you reason out and that very image alone makes his cock twitch again.

you were going to kill him.

“so you’ve never fingered yourself? never had an orgasm?,” he asks, completely shocked.

“i don’t even know how i’m supposed to do that,” you shrug.

“ok,” jeno says, taking it all in.

he thinks for a minute or two before he finally comes to a conclusion.

you stole his first kiss, it was only fair he stole your first orgasm. right?

“lesson number three, i’m teaching you how pleasure is supposed to feel like.”

his strong arms lift you up, making you squeal at the sudden action before he turns around, gently laying you on your bed.

jeno gets rid of his shirt, throwing his remaining piece of clothing over his head and holy fuck…your best friend is hot. his abs are on clear display, his semi-hard cock hung to the side, and you feel very hot as his gaze focuses back on you.

“when did you get those?,” you ask, fingers ghostly dancing over his six pack, trying to push away the nerves you were feeling.

he chuckles before leaning over, body trapping yours, lips finding that spot he left off of, as he continues to trail kisses on your stomach. your body can’t help but react, arching towards him. his fingers tugging on your pajama shorts.

“let’s take this off, bunny,” you comply, hips raising up, shorts sliding down your legs and you almost curse yourself at the underwear you decided to wear – a white one with cute little brown bears all over it.

jeno smirks, “really mature choice of underwear,” he teases and you scowl, “shut up, jeno,” you say, trying to hold onto the little pride you had left. he chuckles until he spots the dripping arousal your underwear has collected and something inside him shifts.

he wants to ruin you…so bad.

“look at you, bunny,” his voice drops an octave deeper, “already so wet and i haven’t even touched you,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and you feel your pussy clench, “you don’t even know what we can do with all this, huh?,” he says, gazing up at you. you watch him, as he got up, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

jeno’s hands wrapped around his cock and you tense up, “neno, are we about to have sex?,” you ask, your voice soft, timid, a hint of fear – it drives him absolutely nuts.

“no bunny, i won’t take that from you,” he says softly, “just want you to feel something, okay? just a little clit stimulation,” he explains and before you could even ask him what that means his cock was inside your underwear — collecting all your juices, tip hitting your clit over and over again as he slides up and down your wet folds.

“ohhh,” you release a sigh of pleasure, eyebrows furrowing as you try to understand this new feeling.

“feel’s good?,” he says, smirking at you.

“y-yeah,” you manage to breathe out and jeno absolutely loves the way your face was contorting.

he was playing a dangerous game with himself and this is supposed to be all about you. all he wants to do is insert his tip. just the tip. before he could lose control he stops, pulling his cock out of your underwear.

“why’d you stop?,” you ask, frustrated, already missing the lack of contact.

he chuckles, “my fingers will feel better,” he says for his own sanity.

he finally tugs off your underwear, the cool air hitting your pussy, before his thumb starts circling around your sensitive bud – rough, slow, precise circles that elicited a loud moan from you.

you slap your fingers across your mouth, surprised at the sound you made.

“don’t do that,” he orders, grabbing your fingers and latching it onto his before bringing it up over your head, a strong hand keeping it there, “want to hear you moan, bunny,” he whispers, sucking that sensitive spot just below your ear, earning another breath of moan from you.

your body arches up towards him, hips raising to his touch and he knew you were ready for more.

“gonna stick a finger in,” he warns, not giving you time to respond as his digit slides inside your hole, making you tense up, “relax,” he places a soft kiss on your lips, distracting you from the stretch, “it’s okay,” even with your dripping arousal, you were so so so fucking tight. he didn’t even know it was possible for someone to be this tight.

with a tiny bit of force, he pushes his finger in through your walls, “gonna make you feel real good, bunny,” he soothes as you slowly relax into his touch.

“gonna add another okay?,” he says and you just nod, trusting him completely. this stretch is definitely larger, and you find yourself biting down your lip. his fingers were so thick.

he slowly, gently thrusts them in and out, giving you time to adjust, “it’ll feel real good soon,” he seals with a kiss to your lips as he continues to stretch you out. fingers scissoring your walls until your pussy finally sucked him in.

the feeling of having something inside you was entirely new, strange, and you’re still trying to figure out if it felt good or not. but then jeno curls his finger and that knot in your stomach is rising faster and faster.

you want to know what happens when it finally breaks.

“ohh…neno,” you breathily moan, the pain completely morphing into pleasure. your walls completely adjusting to him, “please” you plead, not entirely sure what you were begging for.

your sweet, innocent, delicious moans of his name awakens something in him.

“im gonna eat you out now,” he tells you.

before you could protest, the idea of it making you feel embarrassed, he was already in between your legs, sucking on that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

“ohhh fuck, jeno,” you cry out, his tounge lapping up your juices, swirling around your sensitive bud, fingers still curling inside of you.

“neno, s-something’s happening,” you say in heavy pants, your breathing becoming shakier.

“p-please,” you beg, eyes wide, jaw going slack as you start panting, your hands gripping his hair, trying to ground yourself.

that coil in your stomach is hanging on by a single thread.

jeno looks up at you, he can feel you coming to a close. your walls pulsating around his fingers. he decides to finally send you over the edge, fingers rubbing fast, harsh, circles around your clit as the other continues to hit that sweet spot.

“let it happen, bunny,” he whispers, “let go…come all over my hand,” your best friend’s voice was the final push.

the thread snaps. the knot breaks.

you came crashing apart, stomach clenching, toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head. vision slipping into absolute darkness, feeling like you were floating.

jeno coaxes you through your orgasm, letting you ride out every wave. the sight of you unraveling drives him completely insane and it takes every nerve of self control to not ram his cock into you.

“such a good girl, bunny” he praises, littering kisses along your jaw, slow, reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. your breathing is erratic, chest rising in short, shuddery pulls as you come down from everything.

he shuffles around your room quietly, grabbing a clean towel out of your bathroom before making his way back to your bed, gently cleaning you up.

your eyes flutter open at his touch. your best friend’s smile greets you, safe and warm, “you okay?” he asks and his voice is too tender. too full of something you don’t see.

“t-hat,” you clear your throat, a weak laugh slipping out, “that was a really fun lesson,” you smile, still caught in your daze.

jeno smiles back at you but it’s hollow and empty and he hates himself for smiling at all.

reality slaps him in the face, something in him crumples as he’s reminded that all of this – all the care, all the closeness wasn’t for him. it was all just for practice. a rehearsal for someone else. and now he’s drowning in the realization that he’s just the one you trust, not the one you want.

he’s helping you be prepared for another man, still pretending like it doesn’t kill him.

he almost wants to kill every man in the world for you to finally see him.

he stands, needing to put space between you, between what just happened and everything he’s feeling. but you catch him.

“where are you going?,” you ask, when he pulls his clothes off the ground, pulling his sweats up, getting ready to leave.

“back to the frat”

“jeno, it’s late, just stay the night,” you say, casually, easy. like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. like he didn’t just get a taste of something he’ll never recover from.

and it should’ve been easy. it should’ve been nothing. it should’ve been normal. he has stayed countless nights before.

but it’s not easy. it's not nothing. and it’s definitely not normal.

“please,” you say, moving over, making room for him and patting the space he usually took up.

jeno hesitates for a second or two before doing the one thing he never does if you were any other girl — he crawls back into your bed, your sheets and pillows molding to the shape of his body.

you immediately curl into his chest like it’s instinct. filling in that space that’s always been yours. legs tangle. skin touches skin.

it feels normal but it’s not. not with so little between you. not with everything unsaid.

jeno holds you close like he always does but this time he wonders if it’s the last. the sound of his heartbeat lulls you to sleep but he stays awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the cracks in his heart, wondering how much longer he can survive being just your best friend.

his fingers thread gently through your hair, slow and careful, memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. the familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo wraps around him, soft and warm and absolutely cruel. it smells like home, like comfort, like everything he’s always wanted.

and then, in a voice so quiet it barely disturbs the silence, he whispers into the night air, words only for the moon to hear:

“i’m in love you, bunny.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the sun filters in gently, casting golden lines across your bedroom floor. you stir before he does, eyes blinking open to the soft rise and fall of his chest, quiet snores filling the air.

jeno’s arm is still wrapped around you, strong and secure, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. his face is relaxed, lips parted slightly, his usually styled hair falls softly on his features — he looks so vulnerable, peaceful.

he looks like the version of himself you remember all those years ago.

you should pull away but you don’t. instead, you study him — every line of his face, older now, more defined, but still him. you’ve seen him like this before, countless times, but something feels different now. you feel different.

and then it hits you, soft and sudden.

the feelings you had for him after you kissed him. the feelings you had for him when you wore your pink puffy dress, him in a pink matching tie as you danced the night away for prom. the feelings you had for him when he held you that night your world was falling apart.

you’ve always just needed him.

all of it crashes back into you at once — feelings you’d buried under years of pretending. years of silence. feelings you quickly tucked away the first time he talked about another girl.

the way you trained yourself to look away. the way you learned to smile through the ache. the way you accepted your fate of being his best friend.

your eyes drop to where your legs are still tangled with his, you notice the bulge in his sweats and memories of last night play in your mind. you feel his warmth everywhere and you wonder how you ever got used to not feeling this. how you ever convinced yourself that this didn’t mean something.

you knew that once he woke up. this would all be over. you would go back to being his best friend. back to the operation. back to the almosts that were always never enough.

so for a moment you let yourself have this, just for a minute longer. the closeness, the warmth, the boy who’s always been there. you snuggle into his side once more, nestling into the warmth of him, letting your eyes fall shut again.

the next time your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the cold reality you’ve always lived in. the warmth that surrounds you is gone. the space beside you is empty.

jeno is gone.

you sit up slowly, a heavy thud echoing in your chest, not of panic or confusion but just that quiet, hollow ache that settles in when you’re reminded that he will never be yours.

your eyes scans the room, no shoes by the door, his shirt nowhere to be seen. no signs he was ever there at all except for the faint scent of his cologne lingering in your sheets.

swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you wrap the blanket around yourself as if that would fill the space he left behind. you check your phone, hoping for a message but there’s nothing.

something twists in your chest — you were just another name on his list.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

forty-eight hours.

that's how long it has been since you’ve last seen your best friend. forty-eight hours of sitting in the library alone. forty-eight hours of him not showing up to your shared classes. forty-eight hours of absolutely no contact. your messages were left on delivered. no goofy tiktoks. no instagram reels. nothing. and you hated every second of it.

you miss him and you’re not entirely sure why he had suddenly fallen off the face of the earth.

giselle: hey girly! <3 go to the party at the dream frat tonight, the girls and i are all gonna be there! <333

giselle: and sungchan will be there ;)

you stare at the messages.

you had nothing better to do and you’re hoping that maybe you’ll get a glimpse of your best friend while you’re there. just to see if he was doing okay.

you slipped on a light blue mini dress that accentuates your figure, did your makeup, paired it with white heels and you were good to go.

the dream fraternity still had a pretty huge crowd considering it was a wednesday night. bodies pressed together, bass shaking the walls, the usual laughter and shouting blurring into one.

you spot jeno almost immediately, in that same corner he seemed to always be in. there’s a new girl on his arm — pretty, tall, fair-skinned. you don’t recognize her. something in your heart twists.

you knew all the girls he was seeing. every girl he flirted with, hooked up with, even the ones he ghosted. usually you were the first one he would tell it to. the first one to know everything about him.

but now? he’s shut you out. it was loud and clear. he has drawn a line between you. the same line he draws once he’s gotten all that he wanted with whoever was his current conquest.

you felt absolutely sick. the years of friendship going down the drain just like this. your heart splitting into two while he’s just standing there, laughing, flirting, completely unaffected by the wreckage he left behind.

if he doesn’t need you then you don’t need him either. if he can act normal then you can too.

you force yourself to look away, scanning the crowd until you spot giselle and the rest of the girls in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, “y/n! you’re hereee!,” she squeals, giving you a tight, buzzing hug that makes you laugh for the first time in days.

“here! take a shot!,” she hands you a drink and you down it quickly, the alcohol burning your throat in the best way possible.

the dj plays a song that gets everyone hyped up and you feel yourself letting loose, having fun, with the girls beside you, already feeling better than you did when you walked in here.

then a hand taps your shoulder and you turn to see the boy that makes your mind race into a million happy tunes, “sungchan!,” you greet him with a wide smile. he looks down at you, amused.

“hi, pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear, hands settling on your waist. his touch is warm against your skin but it doesn’t burn the way jeno’s did. doesn’t leave you branded.

“you’re not gonna run away this time are you?,” he teases, playfully, earning a giggle from you.

“sorry about that, i was just…too drunk,” you lie. the lie jeno taught you.

“are you too drunk now?,” he asks, leaning in, a twinkle in his eye.

you smirk, biting your lips, “no.”

sungchan kisses you, rough, fast and with no room for gentleness. this time, you don’t freeze. you kiss him just as hard. you let his hands roam around your body from your waist to your hips to your ass.

but kissing sungchan wasn’t like kissing jeno.

it doesn’t feel the same. doesn’t feel as good. there were no butterflies, no fireworks, no dizzy, floating feeling.

you’re still grounded. still painfully aware that you’re in the middle of drunk, sweaty strangers. he didn’t take you to a different dimension. your body was just there – moving your mouth against his like a robot programmed to do so. but your heart? your heart’s somewhere else.

and it was so annoying that at a time like this, your lips on your long-time crush, that you’ve made the realization that your heart was where it always was — in the hands of the boy in the corner.

the same boy whose lips, touch, words imprinted your heart in a way that you could never forget.

the same boy who could never see you the way you see him.

suddenly you pull away, too fast, too sharp – the feelings rushing into you all at once, suffocating, overwhelming.

sungchan stares at you like you were crazy and perhaps you are. “i-i need to use the bathroom,” you murmur, forcing a small, apologetic smile. he nods slowly, “alright, i’ll just be here.”

you quietly slip from his arms, pushing through all the bodies, barely noticing the music or the people pressing in on all sides.

and when you finally push open the bathroom door, it’s like exhaling for the first time in minutes. you grip the edge of the sink, chest heaving, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that scattered the moment you woke up alone.

you wished jeno was here.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

almost like he had a radar that went off, everytime you were near him. the second you walked through the door, jeno felt it. his gaze snapped to you instinctively but he looked away just as fast.

he’s not ready to face you. not ready to continue pretending.

the next time he saw you, you were making out with sungchan. kissing him the way he taught you. and god, he needed a drink. lots of it. the image burns in his mind, cruel and unrelenting.

he wants to chop off the guy’s hands. wants to make sure he doesn’t touch you ever again.

he wants him to know that his hands were on you first. that it was his lips he was tasting. that you were his.

but that’s not the case. so he goes and grabs another drink, another shot, another mix of poison to blur the pain.

the sound of your name snaps him back to reality.

“why do you keep waiting around for y/n anyway, there’s so many hotter girls around,” the voice is lazy, mocking, it was that wonbin guy from the riize fraternity.

jeno leans against the the wall, hidden in the shadows as he listens in on their conversation.

“well, one she’s hot,” sungchan snickers and jeno’s jaw tenses.

“and two, rumor is she’s still a virgin,” there’s a wicked amusement in his tone, “and we all know virgins are the hottest in the room.”

laughter erupts around them, sharp, cruel, echoing off the walls and that was all it took.

jeno doesn’t think. doesn’t hesitate.

in one quick second, he marched over, fist landing right on the sungchan’s jaw, the crack loud and satisfying, sending the soccer player tumbling backwards.

“what the hell?!,” sungchan yells, rubbing at his jaw before his expression twists in rage. in the next breath, he lunges. his fist catching jeno clean across the cheek.

jeno barely flinches. the soccer player was stronger than he thought, he’d give him that. but nothing is getting past his rage, adrenaline coursing through him.

he’s not done. not even close.

he charges forward, ramming sungchan into the wall with a force that rattles the shelves beside them, “don’t ever fucking touch her again,” he growls, voice low and deadly.

sungchan pushes back, shoving him hard, “she’s not yours,” and his words hits deeper than any punch could. because it was true. you weren’t his. and he’s almost sure you would kill him for this but he doesn’t care.

jeno throws another fist, connecting with sungchan’s ribs, making him grunt and double over for a second before retaliating with a wild swing.

more people gather now, phones out, flashes going off, chants of “fight, fight, fight,” increasing all around them.

sungchan, lunges, tackling jeno to the ground as they roll, fists flying, shouts echoing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the loud commotion coming from outside the bathroom door forces you to pick up the pieces.

shouts. thuds. chaos.

you quickly gather yourself, pulling open the door and following the swarm of bodies funneling toward the noise like a moth drawn to a light.

and then you see him — you know that figure immediately, even with his back towards you.

your best friend was on top of someone, fists repetitively slamming down. your heart lurches, legs moving before your mind can catch up.

they roll and you see sungchan’s face bruised and battered.

what the fuck?

around them, the crowd erupts in shouts and arguments, phones raised like this was some kind of show.

the dream boys were trying to get a hold of the situation but they too just ended up shouting and arguing with the riize fraternity, voices overlapping in a haze of testosterone and ego.

“your guy started it first!”

“you’re on our turf!”

the room was absolute chaos and no one’s doing a damn thing. you finally push through the roaring crowd, running over to them, until you’re at the center of the storm.

“stop!,” you shout, but your pleas are swallowed by the noise as they continue to take jabs at each other.

with all your strength, you yank on sungchan’s shirt, sending him stumbling off jeno.

you finally take a good look at your best friend, he had a nasty cut forming on the side of his forehead, face flushed and bruised.

“y/n,” he breathes your name like he’s shocked you’re here.

he stumbles to his feet, eyes darting behind you “get out of here,” he says urgently.

you whirl around only to see that sungchan wasn’t done. he was charging at your best friend again.

without thinking, you step in – fist connecting with his throat – sharp, clean, brutal. completely flying him backwards as he gasped for air.

the crowd cheers.

of course you knew how to punch, you grew up with three men three times your size.

“okay, that's ENOUGH!” mark’s voice rips through the room like a whip – loud and absolutely furious. the crowd freezes, the chaos dies down. he grabs sungchan by the arm and shoves him toward his crew.

“get the fuck out of here,” he commands the room, controlling the crowd. bodies scattering like cockroaches under a light.

you turn to jeno, chest heaving, fury radiating off you, “what the fuck was that?”

jeno flinches at your tone like it was more painful than any of the punches he had just taken. you were never mad at each other. not like this.

when he doesn’t answer, you turn around, jaw tight, ready to leave.

“wait–,” jeno jolts back to reality.

you pause, barely looking over your shoulder, “what?!,” your anger is palpable, brows furrowed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

he softens, “your hand is bleeding,” he says gently. you glance down at your knuckles, raw and stained red, the adrenaline fading just enough for the sting to set in.

“c’mon,” he grabs your uninjured hand carefully and without another word, he leads you through the dispersing crowd, up the stairs and into the safety of his room.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you stand in jeno’s bathroom, the fluorescent light above casting a soft glow on both of you. he dabs the small, barely any, blood that had stained your knuckles, applying ointment on the tiny wounds.

“you’re being dramatic, there’s barely anything there,” you mutter, watching how focused he is.

“just don’t want it to get infected,” he says quietly, his brows still drawn together.

then with a soft chuckle, “i can’t believe you punched him,” he smiles his trademark smile and for a second, you forget you were currently angry at him.

“no one hurts my neno and gets away with it,” you tease, the words light on your tongue, but they steal the air from jeno’s lungs. you were always protecting him.

your eyes meet his and the moment stretches. but then you remember yourself, remember why your chest is tight and your heart is sore. so you press your lips into a thin line, forcing away the smile that appeared.

a quiet silence hangs in the air, heavy, almost awkward, until jeno’s voice breaks it, “done,” he says, turning to leave the bathroom and into his bedroom.

before he could take another step, your hand captures his wrist.

“your face is bleeding,” you point out.

you guide him to sit on the edge of the tub, slotting yourself between his legs. no matter how mad you guys are at each other, this is what you do. you take care of each other. your fingers are careful, precise, as you press a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to the gash on his temple.

a particular swipe on the cut stings him, a hiss slipping past his lips as his hands instinctively finds the back of your thighs, gripping, like he’s grounding himself through you. the small contact is enough to bring back that familiar knot tightening in your stomach.

“stop being a baby,” you say, dabbing again, “this is your fault.”

he smirks faintly, “how are you so sure i started the fight?”

“please,” you scoff, “in what world would sungchan go up to you and punch you? especially since he’s in your territory,” you point out, quite familiar with the whole fraternity rules.

he sighs in defeat.

“what happened anyway?,” you ask cautiously, not sure if you were ready for the answer.

“nothing,” he says, a little too quickly.

you stop, eyes narrowing, “no secrets between us remember?,” you remind him.

right, that silly rule you made when you were eight years old and still held on to to do this day.

jeno sighs, his shoulder falling, “he said something about you. i didn’t like it,” he confesses and you still.

“what did he say about me?,” you ask, curious.

“that he only wanted you because you were a virgin,” he mutters, jaw clenching again like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. the urge to punch sungchan in the face coming back in seconds.

it was supposed to hurt. it was supposed to leave you angry, embarrassed, hollow — to hear those words coming from the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year. but that feeling of heartache never came. instead, confusion clouds your chest.

why did he care? that wasn’t supposed to be his battle.

“hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, tone laced with challenge “and what if i was okay with that?”

his hands on your legs twitch, just slightly

“you shouldn’t be,” he snaps, “you shouldn’t lose it to a guy like him.”

and just like that, the anger ignites. your hands finish cleaning him up in cold, calculated movements. you removed yourself from his space, placing the first aid kit back in the drawer with a little too much force, organizing everything just to keep from exploding because who the hell was he to decide who you should have sex with?

“oh? and who should i lose it to?,” you seethe.

“a guy like you?,” there’s a sort of anger in your voice that jeno can’t quite read.

“aren’t you the same?,” you throw at him, voice trembling with fury.

jeno furrows his brows at your insinuation, like he’s been slapped, “y/n–,”

“you left, jeno,” your voice is quiet, but it slices through the space between you like a blade. you give him one last look before storming out of the bathroom. and jeno finally understands it all.

“wait, bunny–”

you don’t stop. not even as you hear his footsteps close behind you, not even as your chest rises with every breath that feels too heavy to hold.

you make it into his bedroom but before you can reach for the door, his hands close around your wrist, gentle but firm and in the next second he spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours.

the fire in your chest blazes and still, you kiss him back.

the kiss melts into something deeper, hungrier. your hands grip his shirt as his thumb brushes your jaw. he pulls away just enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you breathless, hearts racing.

“that’s why i left,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper between your shared air.

your brows draw together, confusion clouding your gaze, “what does that even mean?”

“can’t you feel it,” he says, guiding your hand to his chest, letting you feel the frantic rhythm beneath your palm, “the way my heart is beating, it only ever races like this because of you,” he confesses.

you swallow hard, barely finding your voice, “but you left,” you remind him, “why did you leave?”

his eyes flicker with something raw, something that’s been buried for too long, “because i couldn’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of it, “i couldn't go another day being your best friend–not when im so fucking in love with you that it hurts.”

his confession leaves you stunned and you can’t believe how blind you’ve both been. all these years of mutual pining, years of missed moments, of stolen glances and silent aching all leading up to this moment.

a tearful laugh escapes you, half breathless, half broken, “you’re a fucking idiot,” you whisper, voice shaking with the force of everything you feel, a mixture of love, frustration and the tenderness of finally hearing the truth.

with urgency, a quiet desperation, you pull him back in, leaning up to kiss him.

the kiss is slow but intense, full of everything you’ve both kept hidden, everything you’ve both wanted for so long.

jeno doesn't need to hear you say it. he feels it in the way your lips meet his, the way you kiss him like your very existence depends on it. he knows now that you’ve been waiting for this – waiting for each other, for the truth that was always there.

you deepen the kiss and jeno meets you with equal fervor, tongues moving with an ease that feels natural, as if it’s a rhythm you’ve both known forever.

you guide him towards you, steps slow but deliberate, until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed, falling into the softness of his sheets, pulling him down with you, lips never once breaking from his.

pushing yourself up until your head hit his pillows. jeno follows your lips like you were magnets drawn together. he couldn’t get enough.

you pull on the hem of his shirt. jeno quickly tugs it off over his head, tossing it to the side, diving right back into you. the kiss is hungry, steamy, full of tongue, leaving you no room to breathe.

your fingers dance through his skin, feeling every muscle. jeno guides you to sit up, quickly finding the zipper in the back of the dress, sliding it off your body, leaving you in a lacy blue underwear that makes his cock twitch.

the dress didn’t warrant a bra, your breasts immediately exposed to the cool air, making jeno groan in satisfaction, his large hand latches on to your tit, loving the way it fits perfectly in his hand.

“you’re so beautiful, bunny,” he praises before his tongue circles against your sensitive nipple. he looks up, not wanting to miss your reaction. light, breathy moans spill from your lips, back arching at his touch, feeling every warmth he left behind.

he moved all throughout your body, taking his time, memorizing every detail, worshipping you with every brush of his lips.

his hand slip under your panties, wet and soaking for him. the familiar circles of his fingers on your clit immediately sends a wave of pleasure through you. you were already shaking, that fire inside you growing.

that delicious stretch of your pussy as he stuck two digits in makes your eyes roll back, overwhelming in the best way possible, a broken moan spilling from your lips. your hips move on their own, grinding on his hand, chasing that friction you can’t get enough of.

jeno has already memorized you. curling his fingers just right, dragging them against that spot that made your thoughts scatter, heat spreading through you so quickly.

“jeno—” his name left you as a gasp, pleasure building deep inside you. this time you knew what it was, “i-m coming,” you moan.

“i got you bunny, let me hear you” he whispered, his pace quickening, matching the frantic way your body moved with his touch, until you were spilling into his hand.

he coaxes you through it, littering soft kisses on your ear, along your jaw, down to your neck — making sure to leave a mark.

making sure everyone knew that you were his.

your eyes flutter open. there was still that growing fire inside you, burning hotter, higher. you needed more.

when you reach down for his belt, fingers clumsily fumbling at the buckle, urgency pushing you faster than your hands could manage, jeno snaps out of the trance he’s in, making his way back to your eyes.

“are you sure?,” he gasped, the words rushed, like he was forcing them out before he lost all sense of reason.

you nodded so fast, so desperate, “jeno, please.”

“we don’t have to do this, bunny, we can take it slow…i don’t want to rush you,” he panted, voice fraying at the edges. the thought of stopping absolutely wrecks him but you are more important than the desire spreading through him.

you refuse to wait any longer, you’ve already waited years. your whole body aches with the need you’d kept buried for so long. the need only he could fulfill.

“neno,” you whispered, voice trembling with need, “i want this…i need you.”

his resolve shattered at the sound of your plea.

“okay,” he breathed, kissing you gently before finally discarding his pants, boxers following suit, leaving him completely bare.

slowly, he removed your panties, the last remaining cloth between you. he reaches over his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom and wrapping it on his hard cock, a grunt spilling from his lips.

“still sure?,” he searches your eyes for any signs of hesitation because if there was, even the tiniest one, he would stop immediately. no questions asked. no regret. no matter how badly he didn’t want to.

“so sure neno, it’s always been you,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, letting him know that every single piece of you wanted him — heart, body and soul.

that was his final confirmation.

he kissed you once, slow and tender, before his hands roamed, leaving goosebumps that made you ache even more, “i’ll go slow,” he promised, voice thick with emotion “tell me if you need to stop, okay? at any point bunny, i’ll stop.”

you nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could hear it. fear and want and overwhelming love swirling in your chest.

finally, he aligned his cock against your hole, hand shaking slightly as he guided himself into you.

the stretch burns — it was nothing like his fingers, his cock was harder, thicker, fuller. and you’re not entirely sure if he could fit.

instinctively you tensed, eyes shutting close at the pain, a whiny hiss slipping from your lips.

jeno immediately froze, his thumb stroking soothing circles against your hip, “you’re doing so good, bunny,” he praises, forehead resting against yours, “breathe for me okay? we can take all the time you need,” he was so soft, so caring, so gentle.

your fingers tighten on his shoulder, just for a second, letting him know that you understood.

jeno fought to stay still, fought to put you first. but god, it hurts. you felt so good around him. so tight. so warm. he needed to move.

you forced yourself to relax, letting out a shaky breath and he pressed forward again, slower this time, giving you time to adjust to another inch of him.

“almost there, bunny, just a couple more,” he says softly, treating you like glass. you were so fragile. so pretty. your eyebrows furrowing in pain, lips parted slightly.

it hurt but it was jeno, and that made it bearable. your tight walls continued to adjust around him, molding to the size of his large cock.

with one final, gentle push, he was fully seated inside you, grunts spilling from his lips onto yours.

he stayed there, not moving, just breathing with you. trying to control his own desires. one hand cradles your cheek, carefully pushing away the hair that has stuck to your skin, “you’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, “taking all of me,” he continues praising, “so perfect, bunny.”

a few tears slid from your eyes. from the sting, from the love, from everything. jeno kissed them away with such tenderness.

“i love you,” you manage to whisper, his lips on yours in an instant, savoring it. the words makes jeno shift inside you.

that small burst of friction is enough to ignite the pleasure. it still hurt but you needed to feel it, to feel more.

and when you finally whispered, “move, please,” jeno felt like the air was rushing back in his lungs.

only then did he start rocking into you — careful, controlled, every movement meant to bring you closer to pleasure.

he angles his cock perfectly, each thrust sending a a wave of butterflies in your stomach. the pain slowly disappeared as your walls sucked him in, until you were only left with pleasure so mind numbing, you can no longer think about anything but the way the tip of his cock kept on kissing that spot that made you see stars. he was perfect.

“fuckkk bunny, you take me so well, pussy was made for me,” jeno grunts hopelessly. he was coming undone embarrassingly fast. for someone who was supposed to be an expert, you had him trembling, shaking.

it was different with you — he loves you.

every emotion hits him to the fullest. he feels you all around him. his rhythm starting to stutter, abs starting to clench as he tried to hold on to the remaining sanity he had left.

“you’re making a mess out of me,” he grunts, “please come on my cock,” he begs, whines, pleading for permission. his fingers finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles.

you’ve never felt fuller. never felt more satisfied. that heat spreading down to your toes, your head rolling back in complete bliss as the high came crashing over you in breathy, broken moans of only his name — pussy immediately tightening around him, sending him to his own release as he spilled into the condom.

through it all, jeno whispered against your skin, grunts of i love you’s and praises hitting your ears in the most melodic way.

when you both calmed down, he pulled you into his arms, head resting on the heart that’s always been yours.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you woke up to jeno’s brown eyes already staring at you, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

“good morning,” he murmured, eye smile on display and in an instant the memories of last night came rushing back, vivid and electric.

“good morning” you whispered back, both of you grinning like lovesick fools.

“how are you feeling?” he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you smile at him, “i feel amazing,” you say, leaning up to kiss him.

his hand on your waist is hard to ignore. as well as the bulge that’s currently hitting your inner thigh.

“and you’re feeling excited, aren’t you?,” you pull back, slightly teasing him.

“shut up,” he smiles, cheeks flushing, “it’s not my fault i woke up next to my very hot girlfriend”

your eyes widen slightly, “girlfriend, huh?”

“mhm, is that okay with you, bunny?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think about it but the smile tugging on your lips betrays you, “sounds perfect.”

jeno pulled you in for another kiss, his smile pressed against yours. before he could deepen it, you pushed him down to his bed sheets, hovering over him with a gleam in your eyes.

“what are you doing?,” he rasped, the bold movement catching him off guard, making his breath shift, excitement coursing through his veins.

“girlfriend duties,” you smirk.

you littered kisses down his body until you were head to head with his cock, already flushed, thick and throbbing for you.

without hesitation, you licked a slow stripe up his length, tasting him, humming in satisfaction before wrapping your lips around his tip and taking in as much of his length as you could.

jeno watched you, his hands behind his head, a proud smirk on his face. and when you look up to make eye contact with him, his smirk fades into a helpless groan.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” his hand instantly threading into your hair, bunching it up and pushing it out of your face. he wanted to see you. wanted to see your mouth around him.

you hollowed your cheeks and started to move, bobbing your head at that speed you knew he liked.

what can you say? you’re a quick learner.

his hips twitched, barely holding back from fucking your mouth.

every wet, obscene sound filled the room, and you loved the way he was falling apart for you, chest heaving, hands gripping you tighter. his grunts make you clench around nothing.

jeno came in minutes, gasping for your name as he struggled to breathe. his hot release shoots down your throat. this time, you swallowed every single drop, milking him dry, only pulling off when he whimpered from overstimulation, pushing your hand away.

“how the hell are you already so good at that?,” he groans, the aftershocks of his orgasm still hitting him.

“i have a really good teacher,” you chuckle, making your way back to him, kissing him, making him taste his own juices as your tongues battled for dominance.

jeno flips you over, roughly, quickly, the sudden shift making you squeal in laughter, as he settles in between your legs.

“your turn,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

his mouth immediately laps around you, licking, sucking, spitting — filthy and hungry. it was so messy, so wet, so crude, and yet it felt so so good. your head is spinning, heart racing, thighs trembling

you’re right there, at the edge, ready to fall — and then the door swings wide open. you shriek, arms crossing, immediately covering your chest just as jeno scrambles to hover over you, covering every inch of you with his large frame.

“jeno what do you want for break—?” jaemin barges in, stepping into the room like he hasn’t just shattered the moment.

“oh,” jaemin smirks, this situation extremely familiar, “i see,” he teases, tone dripping with fake innocence.

jeno’s entire body stiffens, his butt literally clenching as he growls, “jaemin, get the fuck out.”

he doesn't spare the boy a glance, focused only on making sure he doesn’t see any part of your body.

jaemin bursts out laughing, “alright alright, enjoy your breakfast,” he says before locking the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone.

the second he’s gone, jeno exhales a heavy breath of relief. you both lie there, faces burning red.

“i’m gonna kill him,” he mutters before the two of you erupted in giggles, your shared laughter harmonizing in the air.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a week of being jeno’s girlfriend could only be described as pure bliss. the perfect balance of best friends and lovers. you were the power couple, always walking into the room like you owned it.

not much has changed between you two, you still tell him to shut up, he’s still dramatic, still the best of friends, except this time there’s a million shared kisses, lingering touches, whispered confessions and sex (lots of sex).

he’s unlocked something in you. something wild, primal, greedy — desire wrapping it’s hands around you. you can’t get enough of him. you craved him again and again and again.

and jeno was just undone, just as hopelessly in love. he thought his sex drive was bad before, it’s even worse now. every little thing you did triggered him — a smile, a glance, a soft laugh, it all sent him spiraling, desperate to have you. his need for you was overwhelming, a fire he had no intention of putting out.

he taught you how to touch yourself, you watched him masturbate. he kissed you in places you never knew were sensitive, made love to you in so many different positions, locations, each one leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms — making up for all the lost time.

today, when jeno walked into the library, he noticed your figure missing from your usual shared table. you were supposed to be here by now, you were always here at this hour.

his eyes quickly scan the space, feet walking around, searching every corner, every dusty nook, trying to find a glimpse of you. he finally spots you at the corner, tucked away in the back with the old shelves filled with forgotten books.

“what are you doing all the way over here?,” he asks, snapping your attention towards him, as he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“just wanted a quieter place to read,” you feign innocence, picking up your book and pretending to be interested once more. jeno doesn’t question it, just pulls out the chair beside you and sits, his thigh pressed hard against yours. he pulls out his assignments, busying himself.

“neno,” you call out to him, a playful flicker in your eyes as you put your book down, “want to know a fun fact?,” you say.

he smiles at you, still unaware of what you had brewing in your mind, “sure, bunny.”

you lean in close, your chest brushing against his arm, “i’m not wearing any panties,” you whisper, only for his ear to hear.

he gulps, eyes quickly scanning the room, afraid someone was close enough to hear that. when he realizes you two were definitely alone, he finally takes in the fact that you were wearing a cute pink skirt, “fuck, are you serious?,” he whispers.

you shrug, “why don’t you find out?,” picking up your book, a playful grin on your lips, you flipped through the pages pretending to be interested, excitement bubbling inside you.

you didn’t have to tell him twice.

you flinched slightly when his cold fingertips first made contact with your thigh, slowly slipping underneath your skirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps. you barely had time to react before his fingers slipped between your thighs, urging them apart.

and when he finds you bare and soaked for him, jeno can’t help but let out a groan, his cock twitching in his pants.

you just started a dangerous game and he was eager to play. eager to ruin you in this public space. excited to watch you try and hide your moans.

“so fucking warm,” he muttered, fingers collecting your juices as he slowly swiped up and down your folds, making you feel every graze of his finger.

you grabbed the edges of the book, trying to stay calm, trying to act normal even as jeno slowly, deeply slid a finger inside you.

you choke on a silent gasp, disguising it with a fake cough and jeno finds it absolutely amusing. he has no plans of taking it easy on you, especially since this was your brilliant idea.

he moved lazily at first, curling his finger inside you, feeling every clench, every desperate little twitch of your body. watching you bite your lip as you tried to contain the moans that we’re begging to be released.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing you on the temple.

his free hand picks up his pencil, as he continued to work on his assignment, like you weren’t falling apart under the table, “just stay quiet for me, yeah?,” he smirks.

you don’t even manage a response. afraid that once you open your mouth, a loud moan of his name would slip out.

he starts writing in his notebook, fingers still moving inside you, edging you on with every second. you shifted in your seat, hips tilting up without meaning to, chasing the rhythm he set. needing him to go faster — to finally take you there.

jeno knew exactly what you needed, even without voicing it. he adds a second finger, stretching you wider, making your eyes flutter shut, your grip on your book tightening, holding onto it as if it was your lifeline.

your boyfriend grinned cockily as he fucked his fingers into you.

you thought you were safe, hidden enough until you heard distant footsteps of someone wandering nearby.

your eyes immediately snap to jeno, silently begging him to stop as you tried to shut your legs close.

but his hand was too strong, keeping you open for his fingers, “you wanted this, you’re gonna take it,” he mumbles into your hair. he didn’t stop. in fact, his thumb brushed against your clit, harsher, faster.

you buried your head in your book, biting your lip so hard it hurt, but still a tiny strangled whimpered escaped.

the footsteps paused, just for a second.

you held your breath, heat traveling up to your head, jeno still working under your skirt. the danger of being caught made it even hotter. your pulse pounding loud in your ears, body burning under his touch. and then the footsteps continued, fading into silence again.

jeno chuckles under his breath, fingers thrusting deeper, faster, his thumb never leaving your clit.

“almost got caught, bunny,” he teased, voice low and thick with lust, “bet you’d love that, huh?”

the thought made you tighten incredibly around his fingers, orgasm crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t stop, body jerking slightly in the chair as you hunched over the table, hiding your moans in your arms, desperately trying to stay as quiet as possible.

jeno’s fingers continued to work you through it until you were limp against the table, panting softly.

he pulled his fingers out slowly, letting you feel every second of it. you already felt so empty without him. he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean with a soft, sinful groan.

you sit up, watching him, wrecked and cheeks flushed, your heart pounding so hard it was all you could hear, a small satisfied grin on your lips.

jeno leans in, kissing you gently. you taste yourself on his lips, then he smirks, that devilish smirk, whispering against your ear, “next time…you’re sitting in my lap.”

𓏲 the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: this is so lee jeno x bunny coded -> click here

—

an: posted this earlier than i planned because if i even spend one more day with this, i’m never gonna stop writing but ahhh i can’t believe my time with this couple is over, i love them so bad!!! i hope you loved them too!

marks story is up next! since he did technically win the poll — pls give me nickname suggestions for mark’s girl! i’m currently thinking kitty but im not 100% sold >.< — she’s going to be a little more feisty than the others! slide in my ask for suggestions or simply comment here! pls!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

tagging: @bluedbliss [if you would like to be tagged in future stories of this series, please let me know <3]

#lee jeno x reader #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno angst #lee jeno x y/n #lee jeno smut #lee jeno #lee jeno x you #nct x reader #nct smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream x you #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream au #nct dream #withloverboyseries

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millersfinest · 6 months ago

Text

untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!), chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. “I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams series

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myinaru · 1 month ago

Text

Childhood Best Friend Complex

You and Heeseung have been best friends forever. Emphasis on forever. Like, learned-how-to-walk-together type of forever. But college throws a wrench into your usual routine: one night blurs a line that was never supposed to move, and suddenly, everything feels different. Now there’s weird tension, awkward silences, and unspoken things you’re both too stubborn to say out loud. You don’t know what’s worse, pretending nothing’s changed or admitting everything has. Because staying friends? That was always the plan. Wanting more? That was never supposed to happen.

Pairing: Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 39.6k Total (14.4k - Part 1)

Warnings: Dry humping (hell yeah), Corny maybe idc, Lots of misunderstanding, Mentions of multiple kpop idols, Cursing, Cunnilingus, Unprotected sex (pls don't), Praising, Heeseung is a yearner, Lmk if I missed anything lol

Author's Note: First time uploading here lol. This fic was heavily inspired by the manhwa/webtoon Childhood Friend Complex. I'll be splitting it into three parts since Tumblr won't let me post it in one go. Hope y'all enjoy T-T

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You and Heeseung had spent twenty chaotic years crashing into each other. Bickering, teasing, arguing like it was your first language. Now, you were slumped on the floor of his dorm, drunk and quiet, knees touching, the air between you strangely charged.

Heeseung didn’t move much. Just watched you with wide, unreadable eyes. His hand crept toward yours slowly, like even the thought of reaching for you was too loud. His fingers brushed yours. Then stopped.

His breath hit your cheek. It was warm. Uneven. And then, in the softest voice you’d ever heard from him, he said, “Do you... want to kiss?”

No smirk. No teasing. Just fear, and something he couldn’t hide fast enough. He’d never say it unless he thought you might say yes. Because if you didn’t, he wouldn’t know how to come back from it.

You froze, confused. “You’re drunk,” you said with a nervous laugh, nudging his arm.

Heeseung’s expression tightened. A flash of hurt crossed his face before he forced a laugh, too sharp to be real. “Yeah, I’m drunk. Fuck, Y/n. You really think...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Forget it. Stupid idea.”

He started to pull away, but his reflexes were off. His knee bumped into yours, and he hissed. More from the weight of rejection than pain. “Fuck. Stupid,” he muttered, catching himself against the wall. His eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem? Why are you... you never... God, forget it.”

You furrowed your brows, head spinning slightly. You grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

He stiffened at your touch, breathing heavily. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face like he was trying to read every single thought behind your eyes. His hand twitched in yours, like he wanted to pull you close but was holding back.

“Don’t play games with me,” he said softly, dangerously quiet. “Not tonight. Not after...” He swallowed hard. “God, Y/n. If you keep looking at me like that, I don’t know if I can...”

He broke off with a strangled sound, forehead leaning against yours. “Tell me I’m being stupid,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me it’s just the alcohol.”

You swallowed. “It might be the alcohol... but I’m not telling you I don’t want it. I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore... Can’t we just not regret this tomorrow?”

He went still. His heart felt like it stopped before thundering back to life. “That... that’s not—I mean...” he stammered, hands trembling slightly as he brought them to your face. His thumbs gently stroked your cheekbones. “Are you serious right now?”

His voice was rough, thick with emotion he rarely let show. His eyes searched yours intently, looking for any trace of hesitation. “Because if this is real... if you actually want...” He swallowed again. “Shit, Y/n. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him.

The moment your lips met, he let out a shaky gasp. His hands moved to your hair, fingers tangling as he kissed you back with a desperate intensity. It was messy, passionate, tongue and teeth, hunger barely held back.

A small moan escaped him, muffled against your lips. His body pressed flush to yours, fitting like a puzzle piece that had always been missing. One of his hands slid to the small of your back, fingers digging into your shirt as he pulled you closer.

When you broke apart for air, he was panting, eyes dark with desire. He rested his forehead against yours.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that. How many times I’ve imagined it,” he said.

You smirked, resting your finger against his lips. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”

He nipped at your finger lightly, his teeth grazing the skin. His eyes locked with yours, full of heat and promise.

“No regrets,” he murmured. “Not tonight. Not with you.”

Then he kissed you again, hard. His hands slid to your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you onto his lap. The position pressed your bodies together, and he groaned into your mouth.

“I want you,” he breathed, voice ragged. “I want you so fucking much, Y/n. Want to feel you, taste you, make you mine.” His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare back. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin.

You mirrored his touch, sliding your hand down his chest, feeling the toned muscle beneath. As you moved closer, you felt his erection press against you.

Heeseung sucked in a breath. His muscles tensed under your fingers. When you rolled your hips against his, his reaction was immediate, hips bucking, breath catching. “Y/n…” he groaned. “That feels so good. You’re killing me.” His hands held your hips tighter, guiding your movements, slow and deliberate. You could feel every hard inch of him, even through the layers.

“I bet you’d look so pretty riding me,” he panted into your neck, kissing along your throat. “Bet you’d take me so well. I want to feel you squeeze around me. Fall apart on my dick.” One hand came up to cup your breast, fingers kneading the soft flesh through your bra.

You let out a shaky breath, grinding harder.

He let out a low growl of appreciation, helping you move against him. “That’s it. Take what you need. Fuck, the way you move...” His thumb brushed over your nipple through the fabric, sending heat straight to your core. He pinched and rolled it, his other hand still firm on your hip. “I want to watch you fall apart,” he murmured. “Want to hear you moan my name.”

Your head fell onto his shoulder as you whimpered his name, picking up the pace.

Heeseung gasped, thrusting up to meet you. “Yes, just like that. Fuck, you feel so good. So perfect. Such a good girl for me.” His hand slid up your back and into your hair, tugging gently. The other dipped into your pants, under your underwear, gripping your ass firmly. “If you keep doing that,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “I’m gonna come in my pants.”

You smirked. “That’s honestly a turn on.”

He shuddered, overwhelmed. He looked at you, eyes dark and blown wide. “It is? You like knowing how much I want you?” He ground against you harder, letting you feel every inch of him. “Because I’m so fucking close. You’re gonna make me explode in these jeans.” His thumb pressed against your clit, slow circles over your underwear. “Think you can make me come like this? Grinding until I lose it? Bet you’d love feeling me twitch against your pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip, meeting his rhythm. “I know you’ll cum for me. You always do what I tell you, don’t you? Just like the good little boy you are.”

Heeseung let out a strangled moan, body seizing. “Oh fuck...Y/n... I’m cumming!” He buried his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder to muffle the cry. His cock pulsed and twitched, hot release soaking his pants as he clung to you. Your name fell from his lips in broken whimpers.

You came with him, body shuddering, head falling to his shoulder. “Ngh... fuck... so tired...” you mumbled.

Heeseung smiled, exhausted but content. He held you close, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He shifted, laying back on the bed and pulling you with him. After dressing you in spare clothes, he cleaned himself up and returned to curl beside you.

He watched you sleep, your face peaceful, before sleep took him too. Still half-drunk, halfaware.

The screeching of your alarm feels like a knife in your skull. You reach for your phone, slapping it down with a groan, but the damage is done. Your head’s pounding, and it feels like the world’s spinning under you.

Beside you, Heeseung groans, the sound muffled by the pillow he’s half-smothered in. “Ugh. Shut it up,” he mutters, flinging his arm over his face like it’ll save him.

You don’t even have the energy to respond. Your hand moves instinctively to your forehead, trying to ease the ache that feels like it’s about to split your brain in two.

Heeseung shifts, throwing his arm away from his eyes. He squints at you through the haze, his face scrunched up in discomfort. “Oh my god,” he groans dramatically, his voice barely more than a croak. “I think I might actually die today.”

You don’t even respond at first. Your mind is too busy reeling, trying to piece together what the hell happened last night. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion, the details fading in and out.

And then, bam. It all comes rushing back.

You dry-humped your best friend.

You don't even know where to begin. Last night was a blur of alcohol and hormones and bad decisions. Your hands on his chest. His breath hitching. Your bodies moving together in the dim light. His voice in your ear. Your best friend, your dumb, sweet, annoying, beautiful best friend had his hands all over you.

And you… let him.

No.

You wanted him to.

You groan again, burying a pillow over your face.

“What’s wrong with you?” Heeseung mutters, still not fully opening his eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” You yank the pillow away and look at him. “What the hell was last night, Heeseung?”

That gets his attention. He blinks at you like a deer in headlights. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Oh shit.”

He bolts upright, sheets falling away. “Wait- we didn’t, right? We didn’t actually-?” He gestures wildly.

“No!” you say too fast. “God, no. But we… we dry humped each other for, like, an hour, on the floor.”

Heeseung flops back, groaning into the pillow now. “Kill me. Just end it. Right here. I’ll leave you my gaming chair in my will.”

You toss a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

“You started it!” you snap.

“You climbed on top of me!”

“You pulled me down!”

“You were grinding!”

“You moaned!”

Heeseung yelps, shoving the pillow into his face. “Shut up!”

The pillow shifts just enough for him to peek at you. His eyes are wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I didn’t even-” he blurts. A beat. Then quieter: “Well, maybe.”

He lets the pillow fall into his lap, deflating like a kicked balloon. “God. That was so stupid. So, so stupid. What do we even do now?”

You wince at the memory of what you said last night. Every detail’s still painfully vivid. “Well... we said no regrets, right?” Your voice comes out careful, uncertain. “We agreed.”

Heeseung goes quiet for a moment, eyes scanning the floor. Then he gives a small nod, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Right. No regrets.”

He rubs a hand through his hair, only making the mess worse. “So... we’re good? Still friends and everything?”

“Only if you swear, we never mention the phrase ‘dry-humped’ in front of each other again.”

“Deal.” His voice wavers, just enough to give him away. “Because honestly, if we’re not anymore, I might actually combust right here.”

You snort, reaching for the nearest pillow and tossing it at him. “You’re so dramatic. I’m not gonna throw away twenty years of friendship just because we almost-”

Your voice catches. You clear your throat and stand up instead. You only realize then, you’re wearing his hoodie. Not yours. Definitely not yours. It hangs oversized on your frame, soft and warm. You glance at yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushing.

Heeseung catches on too, eyes widening. “Oh, uh- yeah. Sorry about the clothes. You would have been sleeping in your outside clothes and I blurred out and just- gave you that. I didn’t look. I swear.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

He makes a strangled noise and looks away. “Okay, well, want breakfast or something? I heard food helps with hangovers.”

You take one last glance at yourself in the mirror before nodding. “Thanks, by the way. I didn’t bring pajamas, so… appreciate it.” You point toward the bathroom. “Can I shower here?”

Heeseung nods quickly, still red in the face. “Yeah. Of course. Towels are in the cabinet under the sink. Shampoo and stuff’s in there too.”

You start walking past him, and he inhales, just a little too deeply. You catch it. His laundry soap mixed with your perfume lingers between you.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, stopping you just before you disappear into the bathroom. His voice softens. “About last night… I’m glad it didn’t mess anything up. You’re sickeningly important to me or whatever, Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, ignoring how your stomach flips at how disgustingly earnest he says your name.

“Me too,” you reply. “It’d be a waste to throw twenty years down the drain over one really… weird night.”

Heeseung exhales, like he’s been holding that breath all morning. “Exactly. Besides,” he adds, a small smile forming, “who else would put up with me and feed me when I’m too hungover to move?”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth lifts. “You’re such a loser.”

“Yeah, well, you love it,” he retorts with a laugh, clearly relieved. “Now go take your shower before the water goes cold, princess.”

You snicker as you close the door behind you. “Stop calling me that! You’re so fucking weird when you’re nice.”

Heeseung’s laughter rings out from the other side of the door. “I can’t believe you’re still talking back while you’re in the bathroom. What kind of weirdo are you?”

You hear him flop onto the bed again as the shower water turns on, his voice muffled by the bathroom door. “I can’t believe I dry-humped my best friend. Classic Heeseung,” he mutters to himself, clearly still cringing.

After about twenty minutes, you both finished getting ready, falling into silence, moving like you had been doing this forever. You didn’t talk much, just small comments and glances over breakfast before going to the university together.

By the time you reached campus, there was barely any time left before classes started.

Without much choice, the two of you split ways. Different departments, different buildings. Still, that parting tugged at something. Maybe it was how reluctant Heeseung looked, or the way his eyes lingered a second too long.

Heeseung, for his part, couldn’t focus all day.

His professors might as well have been speaking gibberish. He found himself zoning out midlecture, thumb absentmindedly grazing the edge of his notebook as images of last night kept flashing in his mind. The way your voice softened when you were sleepy. The heat of your skin when you leaned too close.

He was still stuck in that daze by lunchtime, hovering near the cafeteria entrance with his tray in hand, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You were seated by the window, halfheartedly poking your food with your expression unreadable. He hesitated.

Should he join you? Would that be weird?

After a moment of internal chaos, he sucked it up and walked over, plopping down across from you like it was no big deal.

"Hey," he said, voice casual but eyes hesitant. "Didn’t know if you wanted company. Didn’t wanna be annoying."

You didn’t even look up right away, just poked at your food with a spoon. Then you smirked. “I was literally looking for you earlier. Then I gave up 'cause I got lazy." He blinked in surprise. That made his shoulders relax just a little.

"You know," you added, finally meeting his eyes, "what’s with you lately? You’re acting weird. You’re never this... nice. It’s freaking me out."

Heeseung sat up straighter, hand pausing mid-bite. "I’m not nice? Wow, okay. Maybe I’m just trying something new. Ever thought of that?"

"There he is," you said with a laugh, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder a little too hard. "There’s the asshole I grew up with. Thought I lost you for a second."

Heeseung winced and rubbed his shoulder. "Ow. You trying to dislocate my arm? Damn. You're lucky I even tolerate you. Especially with that garbage personality of yours."

But you caught it, that flicker in his eyes when you touched him, even briefly. The twitch of his lips he tried to suppress when you teased him back.

Things might’ve continued that way, comfortable, familiar. If only Jay hadn’t suddenly flopped into the seat next to Heeseung.

"Dude. Be real with me. Are you dating her or what?"

Your fork froze mid-air. Heeseung choked on his water.

"What?! No- what are you-" He looked between you and Jay, a bit panicked. "We’re just friends! Why would you even-?"

Jay shrugged. "I mean, the way you two bicker like an old married couple? Come on. And the rumors are already everywhere."

You raised a brow, glancing at Heeseung. "Who in their right mind would think I’d date him?"

"Excuse you," Heeseung shot back, glaring. "I’d rather shove my head in a blender than date some clingy, passive-aggressive- ow, god!" He hissed as you kicked him under the table.

Jay just watched with a grin. "You two are exhausting."

Then his grin widened as he leaned closer to Heeseung. "But since you’re not dating her, does that mean Jung Yeri’s got a shot with you?"

You blinked. That name made your stomach do something unfamiliar and ugly.

Heeseung visibly tensed. "What? Why are you even-?"

"Dude," Jay laughed. "She’s been all over you. Pretty sure half the class already thinks you two are a thing."

Right on cue, a girl that looked suspiciously like Jung Yeri sauntered by. She tossed Heeseung a slow, deliberate wink before settling at a table nearby.

Jay elbowed him again. "Go talk to her! You’re blowing it!"

But Heeseung looked like he’d just been cornered by a wild animal.

You tried not to laugh. Honestly, you really tried. But your hand twitched and your lips curled as you bit down on the inside of your cheek. It was a struggle not to smirk as you watched him flail.

"I- no," Heeseung said abruptly, voice sharper than he meant. "I’m not into her."

Jay blinked. "Seriously? She’s not your type?"

Heeseung let out a strangled sound, running his hand through his hair. "She’s fine, I guess, but I’m not... I do not like. I’m already-"

His eyes flicked toward you, just briefly.

"...interested in someone else."

Your hand paused on your tray. You glanced up at him, lips parting slightly, but you said nothing.

Jay, of course, was relentless. "What? Since when?! Who?"

Heeseung mumbled something, but it was too low for anyone to catch.

Jay leaned closer. "Huh?"

Heeseung snapped, "It’s none of your business!"

You finally cracked. The laugh escaped before you could catch it, loud and unfiltered. You covered your mouth, turning your head, shoulders shaking.

Heeseung glared. "What’s so funny?!"

Jay smirked like the puzzle pieces finally clicked. "Wait a second... it’s her, isn’t it? You’ve got it bad for Y/n."

Heeseung nearly choked on his drink again. "What?! No!" he barked. "I don’t like her like that!" You only laughed harder, tears starting to prick your eyes from holding it in.

Jay turned to you. "Is that true? You two really aren’t into each other?"

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve, calming down enough to deadpan, "The only day I’d be into him is if the world ended and we were the last people alive."

Heeseung’s smirk wobbled for a second. "Right back at you. I’d rather eat glass than date you."

Jay shook his head and stood. "Y’all are full of it. Anyway, I’ve got class. Try not to murder each otherwhile I’m gone."

Once he left, the tension stayed behind. Quieter, but heavier somehow.

You leaned in. “Really? You like someone who’s not Yeri?”

Heeseung stiffened, his eyes darting to yours. He opened his mouth, closed it, then scowled and looked away.

“Why do you care?” he muttered. “It’s not like it matters.”

You grinned. “Are you sure Yeri isn’t this mystery lady you secretly like?”

“Oh God, no way!” he blurted, then winced. “I mean, she’s… not my type. At all.”

He picked at his rice like it offended him. “I don’t even know why you’re asking. It’s not like I’m going to tell you who it is.”

You shrugged, standing to set your tray aside. “Do whatever you want. Although…” you smirked as you leaned your chin on your palm, “I do hope your virgin ass finally gets laid.” Heeseung’s head snapped up. “EXCUSE ME?!” he nearly yelled.

Everyone turned. He ducked down, voice hissing now. “I am not a virgin! And even if I was, that’s none of your business!” He crossed his arms. “Besides, you’re one to talk. When’s the last time you even went on a date?”

Your smile fell. “Hey! For your information, I’m actually set to go on a group date with my friends this Friday.”

His expression darkened instantly. “A group date?” he reiterated. “Since when are you into that kind of thing? I thought you hated crowds.” He leaned closer, tone sharp. “And who exactly are you going with? Do I know them? Are they even decent people?”

You crossed your arms. “Why do you care? And besides, it’s about time my miserable ass gets a boyfriend.”

Heeseung’s hands tightened around the edge of the table. He forced a laugh, bitter, hollow. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Let me know how that works out for you.”

Then, he stood up, abruptly, chair scraping loudly behind him. His tray clattered as he grabbed it. “I have to go. Class starts soon.”

You frowned. “Hey-”

But he was already walking away.

You blinked, confused. “You don’t even have afternoon classes today…” You shook your head, carrying your tray to the bin. You frowned as you watched him storm off, tray in hand and tension radiating from every step.

The doors clattered shut behind him.

You stood there for a few seconds, tray still in your hands, like your brain hadn’t caught up to your body yet. Heeseung never walked away from an argument. He lived for comebacks, lived for that smug look he always wore when he got the last word.

So why now?

You blinked, startled by the tight knot forming in your chest. Was it something you said? You turned slowly toward the trash bins, tossing your leftovers away, but your mind wasn’t really on autopilot like it usually was. You weren’t thinking about your next class. Not even about what Jay said or how half the cafeteria had stared at you when Heeseung yelled about not being a virgin.

No, all your thoughts were stuck back at the table. Replaying the way his eyes darkened when you brought up the group date. The way his jaw tensed. That laugh that wasn’t a real laugh, more like something brittle, something breaking.

And then he’d left. Just… walked out.

You stood by the bins, fingers loosely gripping the edge, your tray empty but your head full of noise. The kind of silence that rings in your ears when everything around you moves on and you’re just… stuck.

You leaned against the counter, letting out a slow breath as your thoughts started spiraling.

Why was he upset?

Sure, you teased him. You always did. That wasn’t new. Neither was him teasing back.

But this time…this time he’d gotten weirdly defensive. About Yeri. About you going on a date. About everything, really.

He always called you annoying, or brat, or headache, but he’d never looked angry. Not like that.

Not like someone who was… hurt.

You stared at the floor.

And then it hit you, an idea awfully insane, and kind of stupid.

He was acting jealous.

The word lodged itself in your brain like a splinter.

No. No way. That didn’t make sense. This was Heeseung. He’d rather die than admit he liked anyone. Heeseung, who called you a cockroach just last week when you stole his fries.

Heeseung, who once said he’d sooner become a monk than date you.

Still, you couldn’t shake it.

That look in his eyes when you joked about finally getting a boyfriend.

That silence.

The way he’d refused to look at you when he said, “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

You slowly made your way out of the cafeteria, feet dragging more than usual. Your fingers were twitchy, like they wanted to text him, but you couldn’t even think of what you’d say.

And still, that question kept circling back in your head.

Annoying. Shitty. Question.

He’s not… jealous… is he?

Heeseung didn’t even remember how he got back to his dorm. One second he was standing in the cafeteria, hearing you joke about getting a boyfriend, and the next he was outside, walking blindly through campus with his fists jammed deep in his pockets.

The cold didn't help. If anything, it made his thoughts sharper, more jagged.

It's about time my miserable ass gets a boyfriend. He could still hear it. Like a punchline he wasn’t in on.

He kicked a stray rock across the sidewalk, watching it bounce into the bushes.

“Stupid,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “So fucking stupid.”

He didn’t know what pissed him off more, the thought of you with some guy from that group date or the fact that he had no right to be this upset in the first place. You weren’t his. You never had been.

But that didn’t stop his chest from tightening every time he imagined you laughing with someone else. Sitting beside him. Holding his hand.

Heeseung cursed under his breath as he shoved his dorm room door open and slammed it shut behind him. He let himself fall face-first onto his bed, eyes burning holes into the ceiling.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Not after everything that happened.

Not after that night.

Your lips. The way you melted into him. The way your hands gripped his hoodie like you didn’t want to let go.

He let out a groan and buried his face into his pillow.

What the hell were you even thinking?

He wanted to text you. Apologize maybe. Pretend it didn’t matter. But every time he picked up his phone, his thumbs froze, and the words disappeared.

So instead, he just laid there. Let the ache sit with him like it had every night since.

You walked into class like you were wearing a mask.

Blouse tucked in. Skirt straightened. Smile tight.

Everything looked fine from the outside. But inside? Your brain had been on a loop for hours, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened with Heeseung.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. Friends fight. You probably just hit a nerve. Maybe he was stressed. Maybe you’d said something wrong.

Maybe-

“Earth to Y/n.”

You blinked, startled, as Vicky waved her hand in front of your face.

“You've been staring at your notebook like it's gonna write itself,” she said with a giggle. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile. “Uhm… yeah. Just thinking about... things.”

Vicky raised an eyebrow. “Things,” she repeated. “Uh-huh. Right. Like how you’ve been zoning out since you sat down. Does this have anything to do with that guy you’re always with?”

Your smile froze. “What- Heeseung? No, why would-”

She gasped softly. “Oh my god, it is about him.”

Before you could argue, she clapped her hands excitedly. “Perfect timing! Don’t forget, our group blind date’s this Friday. You have to invite him. I bet he'd totally get along with my friends. Or maybe you two can date each other and pretend it's a blind date.”

You stiffened. “Woah, slow down. Heeseung and I? That’s… we’re like family. Literally. I’ve known him since I was in diapers.”

Vicky pouted, clearly unimpressed. “That’s a shame. You guys would be stupid cute together.” You rolled your eyes, but the weird twist in your gut didn’t go away.

“And hey,” she added teasingly, voice low, “if you’re really not interested… is he fair game?” You whipped your head toward her so fast your hair slapped your shoulder.

Vicky laughed nervously, holding her hands up. “Kidding! Kidding. I know better than to go after someone you’re protective of.”

You turned back to your notes, pretending to write something. But the words blurred together.

Why did that bother you so much?

Heeseung could date whoever he wanted. You didn’t care. You shouldn’t care. And yet the thought of him sitting next to some girl on Friday made you want to scream.

It didn’t make sense.

Your fingers gripped your pen tighter.

The rest of the class passed in a haze. Vicky tossing in ideas for venues and flirty outfit suggestions while you nodded absently, stuck inside your own head.

By the time you got home, the sun was already setting, casting warm shadows on your walls.

You dropped your bag on the couch and kicked off your shoes, but something soft hit your thigh as you moved.

You reached in and pulled out the fabric.

Heeseung’s hoodie.

Of course.

You exhaled slowly, running your fingers across the soft sleeves. It still smelled like him. Laundry detergent and something warm underneath.

You didn’t want to see him. Not yet. Not when your heart still felt like it was in a blender and you didn’t know why.

But now you had an excuse to. And that irritated you more than it should.

“Whatever,” you muttered, tossing it in the laundry and pretending like that settled something.

It didn’t.

The next few days passed like molasses. Slow. Heavy. Tense.

Neither of you texted.

Neither of you reached out.

You kept telling yourself that was fine. That this wasn’t weird. That everything was totally normal.

But it wasn’t.

Every time your phone buzzed; your heart jumped. Every time it wasn’t him, it sank.

Heeseung was the same. Pretending he was busy. Pretending he wasn’t checking his phone every ten minutes. Pretending he didn’t care that the hoodie you wore while falling asleep in his arms was gone.

Denial was easier.

Until Friday rolled around. The day of the group date.

And neither of you could deny anything anymore.

The day of the group blind date crawled by, but you felt the weight of it like a countdown.

You spent the morning aimlessly cleaning, second-guessing your outfit, and chewing on your lip as you stared at your phone. Still no text. Not that you expected one. Not really.

Meanwhile, somewhere across campus, Heeseung was pretending to be busy. Doing laps around his dorm, rearranging laundry that was already folded, and slamming his fridge shut multiple times for no reason. Every task he did had one purpose: stalling.

Eventually, he couldn’t stop himself.

You heard the doorbell just as you were zipping up your boots. When you opened it, your breath hitched.

There he was, standing stiffly outside your apartment, a black tote bag dangling from one hand. He looked like he didn’t want to be there, and also like he’d explode if he didn’t show up.

“Hey,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “You left your clothes. From that night.”

You blinked, confused for a second, then glanced down at the bag. Your cheeks warmed. “Oh. Right.” You stepped back, your voice smaller than intended. “Thanks... wait here a sec.”

You ducked inside, grabbing his pajamas off your bed and stuffing them into the bag. When you returned, he was still standing there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Thanks for lending me this too,” you mumbled, holding out the bag again.

Heeseung nodded, his jaw tight. He took it wordlessly. His fingers brushed yours. Then, after a beat too long, he said, “You look…”

He didn’t finish right away. His gaze dropped again. To the dress. The earrings. Your exposed collarbone.

“You look nice.” The words left his mouth like he hated them. “For your date, I mean.” He cleared his throat, jaw working. “Have fun or whatever.” You froze.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. Like there was something else he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

“I should go,” he said, turning away. “Don’t want to make you late.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

He nodded and walked off, leaving you staring at the closed door, mentally cursing yourself for not saying more.

You stared at the shut door for a long moment, biting the inside of your cheek. It felt like something important had been said. And also, like nothing had.

By the time your Uber pulled up, your nerves had twisted into a tight coil behind your ribs. You tried to shake it off as you headed to the restaurant. But that all flew out the window the second you walked through the doors.

Because standing near the entrance, tray in hand, was Heeseung.

Your jaw dropped. “You? Wait. You work here?”

His eyes went wide as they landed on you, like you’d just punched him in the gut. “Y/n-? Yeah. Part-time.”

“You never told me-”

“I did,” he muttered, flushing and avoiding your gaze. “Maybe you just didn’t listen.”

You blinked, thrown off. “Since when?”

“Since-… whatever.” His voice was clipped, like he was trying too hard to act unaffected. “Needed the money. Free food. Don’t make it a big deal.”

Before you could respond, someone from the back called out: “Lee! Table 7!”

He exhaled through his nose, already turning away. “Gotta go. Enjoy your date.”

And just like that, he was gone again. Vanishing between tables, his apron swaying as he moved. You barely had time to process it when Vicky waved you over. She was already seated with another girl you knew, makeup perfect, and surrounded by three guys. One of whom slid a drink toward you as you sat down.

The night crawled forward.

Your date was… fine.

Well, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was cute. Tall. Had that clean-cut kind of look, the kind you’re supposed to want. The kind that makes your friends nudge you under the table and whisper “Okay, not bad.” And he was nice, in a way that felt... practiced? Like he knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Smiled on cue. Laughed when he was supposed to. Asked questions, but only the easy ones, your major, your favorite movie, if you liked dogs or cats. Surface-level stuff. Like we were speedrunning a personality quiz.

You nodded. Smiled. Even laughed a few times. But it didn’t feel like anything.

The whole time, your brain kept running in circles. You kept comparing everything he did to Heeseung, without meaning to. Without even realizing I was doing it at first.

Like when he leaned in and grinned that too-perfect smile? All you could think about was how Heeseung’s smile was kind of lopsided and usually only came out when he was genuinely amused. The real kind. The one where his nose scrunches a little and he tries to hide it behind his hand like it’s embarrassing.

Or when your date started talking about his internship and humblebragging like it was his whole personality. Meanwhile, Heeseung would rather choke than talk about himself like that. He’s so annoying about hiding how hard he works, like it’s something to be ashamed of. But at least when he says something, you know it means something.

And then there was this moment. God, it was so dumb, when your date reached across the table and tried to brush something off your sleeve, real casual. Like in the dramas. Except it didn’t feel sweet. It felt…wrong.

Because your first instinct wasn’t butterflies.

It was Heeseung would’ve made fun of me first.

He would’ve been like, “You wore that? You look like you lost a bet.” And then when you’d pout and hit his arm, he’d sneakily fix whatever it was while you were distracted. That was just how we were.

But this guy? He kept making these flirty comments toward Vicky like you weren’t sitting right there. At one point, he asked her what kind of guys she liked, while you were talking midsentence. Like, what are you? A chair?

And you just sat there, drinking your watered-down cocktail, smiling through your teeth while your insides twisted into knots.

Because the real reason you weren’t having fun?

Wasn’t the bad flirting.

Wasn’t the recycled jokes.

Wasn’t the fact that you had more chemistry with the damn napkin holder.

It was because he wasn’t Heeseung.

He didn’t get under your skin the same way. He didn’t make your heartbeat stumble just by looking in your direction. He didn’t have that stupid habit of calling you by a nickname only he could get away with. He didn’t make you want to argue just so you could hear him talk back.

He didn’t make you feel like yourself.

And maybe that was the scariest part. Sitting across from someone perfectly decent, someone that everyone else would probably think is a catch, and realizing that the only person you wanted to talk to about it... was the same person you were trying so hard not to think about.

And it sucked. Because you didn’t know what that meant.

Not really.

You just knew you were halfway through a third drink, laughing at jokes that weren’t funny, smiling at a guy who wasn’t him. And the whole time, your eyes kept drifting to where Heeseung was working across the room.

Not looking at you once.

And that’s when it hit you.

Maybe he was trying not to look too.

By the time dessert came around, you were on your fifth glass of whatever fruity cocktail they'd ordered for you. The alcohol was warm in your stomach, and your thoughts were a slow spin cycle. You laughed at your date’s joke, but it didn’t reach your eyes. It didn’t reach your heart.

Because part of you was still stuck at your front door, with Heeseung not saying what you both knew he wasn’t ready to admit.

When the night finally wound down, the group staggered toward the exit. You tried to play it cool, but your legs were shaky and your head swam.

You didn’t even notice you were stumbling until a hand grabbed your arm.

“Hey, watch it.” Heeseung’s voice, low and sharp with concern, cut through the noise like a tether. “You’re seriously drunk.”

You looked up at him, lips pouting as your balance wobbled again. “The date sucked,” you mumbled. “He was annoying.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “You were laughing. You looked fine.”

“I wasn’t.”

He cursed under his breath and guided you to a bench near the side of the restaurant. You slumped down, grateful for something solid. He knelt in front of you, one hand on your knee to steady himself. “What happened?” he asked, quieter now. “Did he do something?”

You shook your head lazily. “No, just...”

There was a long pause, way too long like your brain and your heart were fighting against each other.

“He wasn’t you.” Ah. Now we know who won.

The words fell out before you could stop them, and the way his expression shifted for just a fraction of a second told you he didn’t expect that. But Heeseung quickly masked it, shrugging nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter.

“Right,” he muttered, almost too quickly. “Well, you’re really drunk. Don’t go saying weird stuff.” He stood up slightly, glancing at the rest of the group in the distance, then back at you.

You didn’t want to let it slide. “You’re acting different,” you mumbled, your eyes narrowing as you stared up at him, trying to focus. “You’re being... too considerate. Like I’m someone special, and I don’t like it.”

Heeseung’s eyes flickered to yours, an unreadable expression crossing his face for a moment. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” he said, voice quieter, a little more strained than usual. “You’re barely keeping yourself upright. What do you want me to do, huh?”

You didn’t back down. “I want you to stop being nice,” you said, your voice slurred but clear enough. “It’s confusing. You’re supposed to be a jerk.”

There was a long, tense pause, and you almost didn’t notice it, but the way his face softened for just a second made your heart skip. He stood there, his posture stiff, but his eyes were searching yours, something vulnerable flickering behind his usual mask.

“Why?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and you could tell it caught him off guard. “Why does it bother you?”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or just the raw honesty of the moment, but you decided to let the words spill before you could stop them.

“Because if you keep being nice to me like this... I might-” you murmured, the weight of the confession crashing over you as the words slipped out. “I might actually start liking you.”

The silence that followed felt almost suffocating. Heeseung froze, his expression unreadable. You felt your body sag with the realization of what you’d just said, and the alcohol finally hit you like a wave. Your vision blurred as your head dropped back against the bench, and before you could even process the weight of your own words, your body gave out.

You didn’t even hear Heeseung call your name. You just felt his hands steadying you, but everything went black.

Everything that followed was a haze.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember being moved. But when your eyes blinked open, the light stung a little, and you were surrounded by something familiar, but not yours.

It took a second to realize you were in Heeseung’s bed.

You were curled up on top of his thin comforter, a lighter blanket tossed over your shoulders like an afterthought. His scent lingered faintly on the pillow beneath you. It smelled like clean laundry, hints of shampoo, and something distinctly him. The room was dim, lit only by the soft morning light peeking through slatted blinds.

Across the room, you spotted him, Heeseung, sitting at his desk, back to you, headphones on as he typed slowly on his laptop. His hair was still a mess, sticking out in places. He was wearing the same hoodie from the night before.

You shifted slightly, and that was all it took.

He immediately swiveled around in his chair. Headphones off, brows pulled together. “Hey,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Hey, easy. Don’t sit up too fast.”

He was already kneeling by the side of the bed, one hand resting gently on your shoulder. His eyes searched your face. “How do you feel? Water and aspirin…” he reached toward his desk, grabbing a bottle and a little foil pack, “…ready to go.”

You took them, muttering a tired thank you as you sat up slowly. Your head was pounding. Everything felt weirdly fragile, like the air was too loud.

“What a mess.. why am I remembering…” you rubbed your temples, “Vicky. Telling me she’d scare off my date.”

Heeseung gave you a tight-lipped smile, carefully neutral. “She did.” You let out a weak laugh. “I didn’t do or say anything... regrettable, right?” His expression flickered. Just for a second. A crack.

“Regrettable?” he repeated quickly. “Nah, nothing like that. You were just… rambling. Typical drunk stuff.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “I brought you back here ‘cause you couldn’t go home like that. And I figured, y’know… better I make sure you’re okay than leave you to die in a bush or something.”

You snorted. “Very noble of you.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out awkward, stiff. “Seriously though, I swear, nothing weird happened. You knocked out like, instantly. I made sure you didn’t choke in your sleep or whatever. That’s it.”

You nodded slowly, watching him as you sipped the water. “Nothing else?”

There was a pause. Barely a beat. He shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.” You said nothing. Just nodded again.

Because you did remember. The moment before it all faded. The way your heart pounded. The words that escaped you.

You remembered what you said to him. Clear as day.

Heeseung looked visibly relieved that you didn’t push it further. He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. “You should probably go home though. Rest somewhere more… homey. Real food, maybe not just painkillers.”

You hesitated. Then quietly, “Can I stay? Just for a little while.” His eyes widened.

“I know I’m probably being annoying, but I just…can’t really go home like this yet.” You picked at the blanket, looking down. “Also, the date was shit...I wanna distract myself from thinking of it.” Heeseung blinked. The expression on his face shifted from surprise to something gentler.

“Yeah,” he said after a second, voice low. “Of course you can stay.”

He sat down next to you slowly, like he wasn’t sure he should. You could feel the warmth of him, even without touching.

“So,” he asked, carefully, “what happened? Was he a jerk or something?”

There was something off in his tone. A casual mask trying to cover the edge of something rawer.

You shrugged. “He was full of himself. Talked about himself the whole time. Kept flirting with Vicky right in front of me.” You glanced at him. “It was pathetic, honestly.”

Heeseung’s entire expression darkened. Jaw clenched. “Are you serious?” he muttered. “He did that in front of you?” You nodded.

“Piece of shit,” he muttered, then immediately seemed to catch himself. He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That’s just-God, what a dumbass.”

You could feel something bubbling beneath his words. He was angry. More than just offended on your behalf. There was something personal in the way he said it.

“I didn’t even like him that much anyway,” you said under your breath.

“Oh?” he said quickly. “Then why go on the date?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “I guess I was trying to prove something to myself. That I could move on. That I didn’t-” You bit your lip. “Never mind.” He watched you closely.

“Didn’t what?”

You shook your head, brushing it off. “Forget it.”

Heeseung opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He leaned back against the wall beside the bed. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “you deserve someone way better than that loser. Someone who… actually listens. Knows you.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds like a fantasy.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You turned to him. “You speak from experience?”

He smiled crookedly. “Something like that.”

There was a quiet stretch. Neither of you spoke.

Then, on impulse, you asked, “Wanna grab something to eat? My treat.”

He looked at you like you just offered to buy him a yacht. “Really?”

“Yeah. You took care of me, so let me return the favor.”

He blinked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Sure. That sounds good.”

“I mean, you’ll probably complain about the food, but-”

“Oh, absolutely. You have terrible taste.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing the blanket off as you stood. “Can I shower?”

Heeseung blinked. “Shower?”

“Yeah. You’ve got clean towels, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Cabinet under the sink.” He was already standing up, rummaging through a drawer.

“Here. Take this.” He held out a folded t-shirt and a pair of his joggers. “These should fit, I think.” You took them, holding back a grin. “Thanks, mom.”

He flushed, then made a face. “Just don’t use all my conditioner. That shit’s expensive.”

You ducked into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly masking the sound of your laugh.

Left alone, Heeseung flopped onto his bed, covering his face with his arm. “What the fuck,” he muttered.

Everything about you lately was driving him insane.

Ten minutes later, you emerged, towel-drying your hair and wearing his clothes. The t-shirt was soft, worn-in, and smelled like him. The joggers sat comfortably low on your hips.

“Feel better?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

You nodded. “Surprisingly, yeah.”

He grabbed his keys. “Let’s go, then.”

You walked side by side. Close. Too close, maybe. His hand brushed against yours a few times, just barely.

“Watch it,” you muttered after the third time.

“Not my fault,” he said, not looking at you. “You keep drifting.”

You narrowed your eyes at the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When you reached the restaurant, he pulled open the door. “Go,” he said, flicking his chin. “Before you embarrass yourself trying to yank this open.”

“Wow,” you scoffed. “Chivalry’s dead.”

Inside the little restaurant, it was quiet. Just the low hum of a fan overhead and the occasional clink of cutlery from the kitchen. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat cool against your skin. Heeseung sat across from you, stretching his legs under the table with a soft groan.

He picked up the laminated menu and scanned it half-heartedly. “This place is always weirdly cold.”

You shrugged, fingers idly tracing the edge of your water glass. “Better than it being stuffy. I can’t think when it’s hot.”

“You can’t think when you’re cold either,” he pointed out, flipping the menu upside down like the food choices might change.

You smirked. “I can’t think around you, period.” He looked up. Blinked.

You hadn’t meant to say that.

“I mean-when you’re being annoying,” you added quickly, eyes dropping to the menu like it had suddenly become the most important thing in the world. “You’re distracting.”

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, voice teasing. “Nice save.”

You made a face at him. He just chuckled and leaned back, watching you with that unreadable expression again. Half amused, half something else.

A waitress came by, took your orders, then disappeared just as quickly.

For a while, neither of you said much. You busied yourself with your straw wrapper, folding it into tight little knots. He watched your hands. Then the window. Then you again.

Finally, he asked, “So. Last night.”

You didn’t look up. “What about it?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just… didn’t expect it to bother me as much as it did.” That made you glance at him.

“I thought you weren’t paying attention?” you said carefully.

He let out a short breath. “Yeah. That was… not my finest moment.”

You leaned forward slightly. “Why though?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, then shut it again. Ran a hand through his hair.

“It was just… weird. Seeing you with someone else. Even if it was just a date.”

You tilted your head. “Weird how?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed softly against the table.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I guess I thought I’d be fine. Like, of course you’re gonna date. That’s normal. But then I saw you standing there with him, and I just-” He exhaled sharply. “It was weird as hell.”

Your throat felt tight. “Heeseung…”

He shook his head, like he regretted saying anything at all. “I’m not trying to make this about me. I just… I care. Okay? Maybe more than I should.” That landed heavier than you expected.

You looked down again. At your straw wrapper. At the water beading on your glass.

“I didn’t like being there,” you admitted, voice low. “The whole thing felt off from the start. Like I was pretending.”

He looked up at that.

“Pretending what?”

“That I wanted to be there. That I didn’t already…” You hesitated. The words felt too big all of a sudden. Too close to something you weren’t sure either of you were ready to say.

“Already what?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a small, careful smile. “Already know what I want.”

He stared at you for a moment. Then nodded slowly, like he understood just enough.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore.

The food arrived, and the moment passed. You both shifted back to easier conversation. Complaining about portion sizes, laughing at how they overcooked his egg, making jabs about your weird sauce preferences.

No one said it, but you both felt it.

It wasn’t a confession. Not exactly.

After the plates were cleared and the bill had been paid, you both just sat there nursing the last of your drinks, your fingers lazily stirring the melting ice around with your straw. Neither of you seemed in a rush to leave.

Heeseung glanced out the window, squinting slightly at the soft morning light filtering in. “It’s still early,” he said, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn that made his voice raspy. “Wanna walk around? There’s that park nearby… you know, the one with the stupidly big ducks.”

You snorted. “The ones that hiss at people?”

“Yeah. You like danger, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already grabbing your bag. “Fine. But if I get chased, I’m sacrificing you.”

“Fair enough,” he said, grinning as he held the door open for you. The morning breeze was crisp, brushing past your cheeks and ruffling his hair a little. He didn’t bother fixing it.

The walk wasn’t far. It was one of those sleepy neighborhood parks. Just a few worn benches, an old slide, some trees that were finally blooming again. You found an empty bench in the shade and plopped down with a sigh; your legs grateful for the break. Heeseung sat beside you, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

For a while, there wasn’t much said. Just the sound of wind rustling through the leaves, the occasional squawk of an aggressive duck, and the distant bark of someone’s dog.

Then, without warning, you glanced sideways and asked, “Anyways, why did you lie when you said you told me about your part-time job?”

Heeseung blinked like you’d thrown cold water on him.

He looked at you, a little startled. “Huh?”

“You told me you already mentioned it,” you said, leaning back against the bench, casual but still watching him. “But I swear you didn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fidgeting with a napkin he'd absently tucked into his pocket.

“It’s just a part-time job, you know? Nothing special.” You didn’t say anything, waiting.

He sighed, letting his hands fall to his lap. “To be honest, I was kinda embarrassed about it. Figured you'd make fun of me for working at some random diner.”

You raised a brow. “Why would I make fun of you for that?”

He chuckled dryly. “I dunno. I guess I thought you’d see it and think I peaked in high school or something.” He finally met your gaze, sheepish. “Guess I should’ve known better. Since when do you judge people based on stuff like that?”

You cracked a grin. “Well, I’d definitely make fun of how you look while working. But not where or why.”

That made him laugh, really laugh, and you caught a glimpse of his canines when he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then, maybe a little too comfortable, you added, “You looked good in that uniform though.” Your mouth shut a second too late.

Heeseung blinked. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and he ducked his head, hiding the blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh yeah?” he said, trying for cool but fumbling it. “You... noticed?”

You cleared your throat, willing your face not to burn. “Just saying. It suited you.”

“I thought I looked stupid in it,” he muttered, scratching at his jaw. “Like... cartoon diner boy vibes.”

“You always look stupid,” you said, trying to mask the compliment. “But, like, stupidly good in that uniform. Somehow.”

He turned to you fully now, a full grin spreading across his face. “Stupidly good, huh?” he echoed, nudging your shoulder with his. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.” “Go with flattered,” you muttered.

He laughed softly. “I will then. Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

Then he tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. “Hey, remember that bet we made in middle school? That if neither of us found anyone by thirty, we’d just marry each other?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus, I didn’t think you still remembered that.”

“Of course I do,” he said through a mouthful of whatever snack he’d bought from the park’s sad vending machine. “How could I forget such a ridiculous deal?”

He leaned in a little, his voice playful but low. “Plus, it gives me ten years to write a killer speech for stealing you away. Gotta make it memorable.”

“Ew.” You groaned, half-laughing, half-wanting to throw him off the bench. “You’re so cheesy. Stop! You of all people actually being okay with that is insane.”

Heeseung held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll tone it down.” But the smile didn’t leave his face.

Then his voice dipped, not teasing now. Softer. “But seriously. You’d rather end up with some stranger over someone who already knows you? Someone who’s been there... through everything?”

You looked at him, quiet.

He didn’t push. Just kept talking, like he was thinking out loud.

“Not saying I’d actually do it. But… it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, right? Settling down with someone who already knows all your weird habits and still wants to sit on a park bench with you after diner shifts and awkward first dates?”

The question lingered between you, neither rhetorical nor rushed. It hung in the silence like a soft, open-ended maybe.

You didn’t answer right away. Because honestly, you didn’t know how to.

Instead, you just reached out and flicked the corner of the vending machine snack in his hand.

“I only agree if I get to write your vows.”

He blinked. Then his grin returned, brighter than the morning sun overhead.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, voice warm.

You leaned back, letting your shoulders relax against the bench, watching a pair of ducks waddle toward a group of toddlers.

Heeseung was still beside you, just close enough that your knees bumped occasionally. Not a big moment. Nothing dramatic.

But it felt like everything wasn’t quite the same anymore.

So why are you letting it?

The next few days passed normally, with a tinge of peculiarity. You and Heeseung still bickered, still teased and jabbed at each other, but the edge was gone. Things had softened. Like the air had changed after a storm but neither of you wanted to talk about the lightning that had struck.

He'd text you late at night, just a meme or a weird video. You'd answer immediately, even if you were halfway through brushing your teeth. Sometimes he'd swing by the dental building just to walk you to the bus stop. You pretended not to notice the way your heart started doing gymnastics in your chest whenever he leaned a little too close or smiled a little too long.

Nothing had really changed. Except that everything had.

You didn’t dare bring up what he’d said at the breakfast place. The whole "settling down with your best friend" thing. You weren’t sure if he was serious. Heeseung had always joked like that. Always known how to toe the line. But lately, it felt like the line was erasing itself. You didn’t want to risk crossing it too soon.

And then suddenly, it was just a month before the university’s Interdisciplinary Festival. You could feel it in the shift of the campus vibe. Flyers everywhere, group chats buzzing, department chairs acting more high-strung than usual. You weren’t directly involved. Dentistry didn't usually have flashy showcases. Your part was more behind the scenes, coordinating with allied health orgs, preparing booths, boring but practical stuff.

But Performance Arts? That department lived for this. And Heeseung, being a third-year in Movement and Expression, had one of the biggest showcases lined up.

You only heard about it by accident.

You were on the library steps with your friend Hyejin, eating ice cream like it wasn’t ten in the morning. She was scrolling through her phone, showing you some video of someone absolutely bombing their tap dance final, when she went, "Oh my god, wait. You know Heeseung’s partnered with Yeri, right?"

You blinked. "Partnered for what?"

Hyejin tilted her head like it was obvious. "The interdisciplinary showcase. Their final’s a partner performance piece. Live. Like, full-blown duet. Probably something emotional and contemporary."

You laughed, even though your fingers tightened slightly around your spoon. "Sounds dramatic."

She shrugged. "Kinda hot, though. I mean, those two together? They’re gonna look insane on stage. Everyone’s already talking about it. People are betting on whether they’re gonna kiss in the final scene."

Your laugh this time came out too sharp. "Betting? Seriously?"

"It’s the Performance Arts kids. They make everything theatrical. But yeah, it’s all over the department forums. Some freshman even made a Yeri x Heeseung hashtag. It’s gross."

You scoffed, trying to play it off. "Heeseung’s probably dying of embarrassment. He hates that kind of attention."

But your stomach was sinking. Not because of Yeri, not exactly. Yeri was nice. Really fucking nice. And she and Heeseung made sense on paper. Both were tall, talented, and conventionally attractive. They moved in the same artistic circles. They shared a language you’d never really spoken. The idea of them being shipped together wasn’t surprising. It was reasonable.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

You didn’t say anything to Heeseung at first. Not when he texted you a blurry selfie of himself trying on a costume for rehearsal. Not when he showed up at your library table the next day with a mango smoothie like he always did.

But you noticed the changes. Subtle things. He was always tired now. Rehearsals were eating up his evenings. He’d started humming unfamiliar melodies under his breath. And once, just once, you caught the faint scent of Yeri’s perfume clinging to his hoodie when he leaned over to help you fix your cracked phone screen.

You didn’t even flinch. You just smiled and handed him the new glass. Like always.

Until the cracks finally showed.

It was Friday evening. You’d both ended up on campus late—him from rehearsal, you from a late lab session. He found you sitting by the vending machines, legs curled up on the bench, eyes glued to your notes.

"You look like you haven’t blinked in an hour," he said, tossing you a small snack pack.

"You look like you got hit by a lighting rig," you shot back, eyeing his sweat-soaked hair.

He grinned. But it was tired. Too tired.

You both sat in silence for a moment, the kind that used to feel comforting. Tonight, it felt like holding your breath.

You nudged his knee. "So. The duet."

He stiffened slightly. Not a flinch, but close.

"Ah. That." He leaned back, resting his head against the wall. "You heard, huh?"

You nodded, keeping your tone light. "Whole school has, apparently. You two trending yet?"

He groaned. "Don’t even. Some sophomore tried to interview us for the school paper. I told them to interview my foot instead."

You snorted. "Nice."

Heeseung scratched at his temple. "It’s not that serious, y’know. Just an assignment. Yeri’s chill. She’s focused. No drama."

You stared at him. "You don’t think it’s a big deal?"

He looked at you then, really looked. And for a moment, the easy smile slipped.

"I didn’t say that," he said quietly. "Just... I didn’t ask for her. We were paired. It’s not like I had a choice."

You tried not to react. "Right. Makes sense."

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed a little, studying your expression. "Why? Does it bother you?"

You shrugged. "Why would it? It’s your class. You’re doing what you have to do."

There was a pause. Something taut stretched between you, neither of you daring to pull too hard.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched you fidget with your notebook. "But it’s bothering you, right?"

You didn’t look up, focusing on the paper in front of you. "I didn’t say that."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, you didn’t. But you’re kind of wearing it on your face."

You huffed, flipping a page in your notebook, trying to avoid the growing tension. "I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it."

Heeseung chuckled softly, but there was a quiet seriousness behind it. "I’m not making a big deal. You are."

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t give in. "I’m not. Just-" You paused, scratching your pen over the paper more harshly than you intended. "It’s just different, okay? I’m used to having you around, not just in passing. And now… it’s like you’re always somewhere else, in some other world. I don’t know, maybe I forgot what that feels like."

There was a long silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just a bit too quiet. Heeseung adjusted in his seat, clearly thinking about what you said. You could feel him looking at you, but you kept your gaze fixed downward, pretending like it didn’t bother you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but with a hint of something almost... understanding. "That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’ve been so used to me being around all the time that now it feels weird."

You stiffened, feeling a flicker of irritation. "I’m not saying it’s a problem."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You’re not the best at explaining things, you know that?"

"Well, maybe if you didn’t make everything feel like a thing, it’d be easier to explain."

There was another wave of silence, but this time, it didn’t feel quite as tense. Heeseung shifted again, this time reaching over to poke your arm lightly. "Alright, alright. I get it. You miss me or whatever."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I don’t miss you, I just-" You stopped yourself before you could say more, mentally cursing your own brain for letting that slip.

"Yeah, sure," Heeseung said, his voice now teasing but still light. "I know you’re just totally fine without me around."

You gave him a look, not bothering to respond. The familiar bickering felt oddly comforting, even if it didn’t solve anything. You could almost pretend like things weren’t shifting, that nothing had changed.

Heeseung leaned a little closer, his voice quieter this time, not quite teasing but not completely serious either. "You know, I’m still here, right? Even if I’m not always right in front of you."

You glanced at him, but your gaze faltered quickly. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of those words, even though they weren’t as heavy as they could have been. "Yeah, I know. You just keep disappearing into your little world for hours."

Heeseung smirked, nudging your arm with his shoulder. "I come back. I always do."

You looked up at him, your expression softening, but you didn’t say anything. For a moment, it felt like there was more between the two of you than you wanted to admit.

Heeseung smiled, the kind of smile that made you want to laugh and roll your eyes at the same time. "Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me."

The university’s interdisciplinary festival was the kind of event that had a little bit of everything: booths on oral health from the Dentistry department, sports exhibitions, and the inevitable Performance Arts showcases that would steal the spotlight, as they always did. Naturally, since the festival spanned multiple departments, each one had its role to play. It was a chaotic, messy combination of everything, but somehow, everything still managed to fall into place. Though not without a bit of stress.

Vicky, your very unfortunately good friend, was the one who dragged you into it.

“You’ve got to come help with the festival, please! I’m begging you!” Vicky had said that day, eyes wide with that slightly manic enthusiasm that usually meant trouble.

You’d wanted to refuse, but you owed her. Big time. You couldn’t exactly back out, not when she’d held a dirty little secret over your head for months. And there was the fact that she’d somehow convinced you to help her out when you’d lost a bet a while ago. This was your punishment, you guessed, helping her run around doing menial tasks for the festival. You sighed dramatically as you agreed, your inner voice grumbling about the mess you were about to step into.

“I’m only doing this because I owe you, Vicky,” you muttered, throwing on your jacket as you followed her to the sign-up table.

“I knew you’d come through,” she grinned widely, practically bouncing on her toes. You shook your head but didn’t argue.

Vicky was good at that, making you feel guilty enough to help her out without ever truly demanding it.

And so, you found yourself getting swept up into the logistics of the festival, running around with other volunteers from different departments. And as fate would have it, you ended up working directly with Yeri.

The thing about Yeri was… she was easy to like. At least, that’s how she came across. She was friendly. Polite. A little too nice at times, in a way that made you feel like she was always trying to read something between the lines. You didn’t know her well. But everyone else seemed to think she was this pure, sweet angel.

It was hard to deny, though, that something about her rubbed you the wrong way now. Maybe it was the way she smiled a little too brightly at you, or the way her eyes lingered on Heeseung just a little too long whenever he was nearby. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. At least, you didn’t want to think it was. But there was something unsettling about the ease with which she seemed to glide through everything, untouched and perfect.

And when you saw her, right there in the middle of it all, managing rehearsal coordination for the Performance Arts group, your stomach twisted in knots.

Her smile was so… practiced as she greeted you. Almost too perfect. She was standing by the entrance of the rehearsal room, clipboard in hand as people filtered in. She waved at you when she saw you approach with Vicky, and then stepped forward, offering a cool bottle of water in a way that felt both casual and deliberate.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to you with a small smile. “It’s gonna be a long day. Stay hydrated.”

You took the bottle from her without a word, fighting the urge to scowl. Vicky, ever the optimist, nudged you with a grin before speaking up.

“I’m gonna grab a coffee. You two go ahead and start getting familiar with the space. You’ll be fine, right?”

You barely had time to answer before Vicky disappeared, leaving you with her.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding Yeri’s gaze. You were about to turn away, but then her voice stopped you, and you froze.

“So,” she said, her voice light but her gaze sharp. “Are you and Heeseung… dating, or...?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to fight not to let it show. Your chest tightened, and you almost laughed to cover it up.

“No,” you said, as casually as possible, trying to shrug it off. “We’ve known each other forever.” You wanted to move past this. But Yeri wasn’t letting you off that easily.

“Oh.” Her eyes were deceptively innocent as she tilted her head, her smile soft but there was something unsettling about it. “So, you’re like… family, then?” And just like that, your stomach dropped.

Family. That word. The word that made it sound like nothing between you and Heeseung would ever be more than just what you already were. Not that you even wanted it to be more, right? At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself as you awkwardly fumbled for a response.

You forced a smile, a tight thing that never quite reached your eyes. “Yeah, I guess. That’s one way to put it.”

Yeri didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just didn’t care. She smiled again, a little too warmly, and nodded as if that answer had satisfied her.

“Family, huh?” She repeated, almost to herself, her eyes narrowing slightly, studying you for a moment longer than necessary.

You didn’t know why, but her words hit you like a punch in the gut. Something about them felt too sharp. Too intentional. It was like she was probing for something, trying to understand exactly how far the relationship between you and Heeseung went. You didn’t want to play her game, but she wasn’t going to let you off easy.

“Right.” You swallowed and finally gave in, looking at her for a second before glancing away.

“Well, we’re not really… family, I guess. Just… friends.”

Her smile flickered, a glint of something unreadable flashing in her eyes. She nodded again, still too perfect, too calm.

“Right. Just friends.”

The tension lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you, following you around like a shadow. You didn’t want to think about what Yeri’s words meant. Didn’t want to think about the fact that, in the back of your mind, they made you feel…small.

Before you could say anything else, someone shouted from across the room, calling for Yeri’s attention. She glanced back at you, giving you one final, soft smile.

“I’ll be around if you need anything,” she said, and with that, she turned away, leaving you standing there, feeling a little more unsettled than you had a moment ago.

You wanted to be mad. You wanted to be angry at the way she’d managed to make you feel like you were something less than you were. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to get upset. Not when you felt…stupid.

And maybe it was because of her. Or maybe it was because of the way your heart had stuttered when she’d asked about you and Heeseung. But either way, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was starting to change… again.

And it wasn’t just with her. It was with Heeseung, too.

For the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way Yeri’s smile had never quite reached her eyes. The way her words seemed so carefully chosen, like she was testing you, seeing how you’d react. You weren’t sure what her angle was, but you knew it was something more than just curiosity.

And Heeseung? He wasn’t making it any easier. You didn’t know if it was the festival getting to you, or the fact that Yeri was always around, her presence like a quiet storm brewing in the background. But you couldn’t escape the feeling that the space between you and Heeseung was widening.

It had always been this easy with him. But now? Now, everything felt...complicated.

It had been a few days since that weird conversation with Yeri. Since that almost-smile you gave her. Since her words, “So you’re like… family?” had been playing on repeat in your head like some cruel inside joke you didn’t know you’d signed up for.

You told yourself you were over it. Told yourself you were being dramatic. But the thing is, once a thought plants itself like that, it doesn’t go away. It twists. It grows teeth. It appears like a teratoma you saw in ‘Grey’s Anatomy.’

The thing about trying to shake something off is that it never really works when you're already spiraling. And after that whole almost-cordial conversation with Yeri a few days ago, the drink offering, the “you’re like family?” line, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, it had been hard not to spiral. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. That it didn’t mean anything. People asked offhand questions all the time. Yeri didn’t know better.

But you weren’t stupid. You knew a loaded question when you heard one.

Still, you’d managed to push it down. Not away, just barely under the surface, like stuffing a drawer that wouldn’t quite close. You buried yourself in classwork, in shift hours, in helping Vicky plan her chaos of a booth for the Interdisciplinary Festival. She’d somehow roped you into printing tarpaulin designs and labeling props for a dental hygiene game that involved questionable puppet mascots and glitter glue.

And maybe it was easier to be annoyed at Vicky than to sit still long enough to think about how things felt different lately.

Heeseung hadn’t been avoiding you, no. If anything, he was still... around. Still showing up outside your building with a coffee when you didn’t ask, still bumping his knee against yours under the table during lunch, still sending reels at 2am with a “this is you when you’re hungry” caption.

But something had shifted.

Maybe it was you.

Or maybe it was that you noticed the shift more now that Yeri had stepped out of the periphery and into your shared spaces.

It was a late Thursday afternoon when it happened. The hallway leading to the studio wing was mostly quiet, the usual buzz of activity softened by the fact that most departments were busy prepping their respective booths or showcases. You were carrying a stack of laminated activity cards, something Vicky insisted were “vital to audience engagement,” and cutting through the Performance Arts floor because it was a faster route back to your booth.

You didn’t mean to look.

Really, you didn’t.

You only turned your head because you heard music playing from the open studio door. It was something soft and rhythmic, a piano loop that sounded vaguely familiar. You would’ve kept walking if not for the glimpse of movement in your peripheral vision. A flash of grey sweatpants.

A foot pivoting. The sound of a quiet laugh.

And there they were.

Heeseung and Yeri.

In the center of the studio, mid-run-through. You could tell from their breathing that they were nearing the end. Their movements were fluid, he reached for her wrist, spun her in close, and her hand landed on his shoulder like muscle memory. The music faded into its final notes. She stumbled slightly, and he caught her by the waist without missing a beat.

And then, still holding her, he laughed.

It wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t intimate in the way people always imagined.

But it was close.

His forehead brushed hers as he chuckled, and she grinned back, flushed from movement, her hand still resting against his chest.

And just like that, the drawer inside you burst open.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the moment. You didn’t give it the grace of an ending. You turned before they could see you, before Heeseung could glance over and realize you’d been standing there like some pathetic cliché in a drama rerun.

The laminated cards dug into your fingers as you walked faster, then faster still, until the hallway blurred and your breath caught unevenly in your throat.

You knew it wasn’t a big deal. Knew that this was rehearsal. Knew that Heeseung didn’t look at Yeri the way he looked at you when you were both cracking jokes in line for ramen, or when you were arguing over toothpaste flavors at the convenience store.

But knowing didn’t mean anything when your brain kept replaying that image. His hands on her waist, their laughter floating in sync, the ease of it all.

And the worst part?

The worst part was how normal it all looked.

How good they looked together.

You don’t remember walking down the stairs.

Your legs must’ve carried you out of the performance wing on autopilot, but your brain was stuck on loop, replaying the scene you weren’t supposed to see. The way he held her. The stupid laugh. That split second of closeness. You kept telling yourself it wasn’t even romantic, and yet here you were, nearly tripping over your own feet on the way back to the volunteer booth because your chest felt tight and hollow at the same time.

By the time you made it to the central quad, the heat in your ears had barely faded. Students were scattered across folding tables, tape guns snapping open, boxes getting unpacked.

Someone was blasting a speaker near the MedTech stall. It was all just noise.

You spotted Vicky instantly, perched like a gremlin on top of a chair, one leg folded under her as she furiously labeled laminated tags. Her drink was half-spilled next to a tangle of string lights. Typical.

You dropped the flyers in front of her with a little too much force.

Vicky flinched. “Damn. You tryna give me a paper cut to the throat or something?” You didn’t answer.

She peered at you, head tilted. “You good?” Still nothing.

Vicky blinked. “Okay, mood.”

You sat down wordlessly across from her, staring blankly at the label sheet.

After a beat, she gave you a look. “...You passed by the rehearsal studio, didn’t you?” That snapped your head up.

Your silence was enough of a confession.

Vicky hissed through her teeth. “I told you not to take the back hallway. Didn’t I literally say not to risk it today?”

“I wasn’t trying to spy,” you said stiffly. “It was just the fastest way. I wasn’t expecting-”

“Well, yeah. No one expects to get punched in the gut by destiny.”

You frowned. “This isn’t some drama.”

“Isn’t it?” she countered, flicking a label onto a folder. “Because I’m pretty sure that looked a hell of a lot like the third-act misunderstanding in Twilight. You’re Bella. Yeri’s the romantic rival. Heeseung’s the-”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Do not call him Edward.”

Vicky shrugged, deadpan. “I was gonna say Jacob, actually. But tomato, tomato.”

You shot her a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. Your stomach was still twisted up, your chest still humming with that awful buzzing feeling. Like jealousy, but meaner. Heavier.

She studied you for a moment before softening, her voice dipping lower. “Look, I get it. I know it sucks. And I know you’re not gonna say it out loud, but you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re jealous, then.”

“I’m not-” You bit off the rest, jaw tight. “I’m not anything.”

Vicky gave you the most annoying knowing smile. “Sure. Which is why you’re out here nearly cracking a hole in my table.”

You folded your arms, but the motion felt defensive even to you.

She pressed. “Be real, though. Are you actually upset about the duet? Or about the fact that it looked... comfortable?” That landed.

You exhaled sharply and looked away. “It wasn’t even romantic.”

“But it could’ve been. If you didn’t know better.” Vicky leaned back in her chair. “That’s what stings the most, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

She watched you for a second, then leaned forward, voice softer now. “Look. I know it’s easier to pretend it’s nothing. But I also know you. And you don’t look at people like that unless it means something.”

You swallowed hard.

“Even if you can’t say it,” she added gently, “you feel it. That’s enough to make this kind of thing hurt.”

You stared down at the table. A breeze lifted one of the corner tags and fluttered it against your arm.

“I told myself I didn’t care,” you murmured. “Everyone knows they’re partnered. I thought I was fine. I was fine.”

“And then you saw it.”

You nodded, slowly. “He laughed.”

Vicky raised a brow. “And that’s the crime?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s just… he laughed like it was easy. Like she belonged there. In his arms. I’ve seen him do duets before, but this...” You trailed off. Your throat felt tight.

“She’s good at what she does,” Vicky said, not unkindly. “And she’s not stupid. She knows exactly how she comes off.”

“I know.”

“She probably knows you’re watching, too.” You blinked at her.

“C’mon,” Vicky said, scoffing. “Yeri’s not dumb. She asked if you and Heeseung were dating in the most suspiciously casual way imaginable. You think she wasn’t testing the waters?”

You clenched your jaw, that old bitterness creeping back in. “She said we were like family.”

“Oh, ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Vicky sighed, sliding her drink over to you. “You want me to ‘accidentally’ trip and spill glitter on her head?”

You cracked a laugh. It was weak. Shaky. But real.

“I’m serious,” she said, straight-faced. “I’ll ruin her whole aesthetic. It’ll be glitterpocalypse.” “I appreciate the offer,” you mumbled.

A long silence stretched between you, filled only by the sounds of other students setting up around you, the distant hum of another speaker kicking on.

And then Vicky said, softer, “You’re allowed to feel things, you know. Even if you’re not dating him. Even if no one said anything out loud yet.”

You blinked fast. The backs of your eyes were starting to sting.

“But what if I’m just... reading too much into it?” you asked, voice quiet. “What if I’m the only one who thinks we’re… whatever we are?”

“You’re not,” Vicky said firmly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just you.”

You stared at the tabletop, her words echoing in your chest like they wanted to stick but didn’t know where to land.

“Just don’t let this one moment undo everything you’ve built with him,” she added, nudging your hand. “You guys have history. Depth. That beats any choreography any day.” You nodded slowly, even though the ache hadn’t left. Not really.

But for now, you stayed.

You let Vicky drag you into more prep work, into stringing lights and faking jokes, into the chaos of your friendship, even while the image of Heeseung and Yeri refused to leave the back of your mind.

Even while the burn lingered.

Even while the question, the one you never said out loud, twisted deeper inside you:

If you were really his person...

Then why did it feel like he was learning to smile in someone else's direction?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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housemdork · 3 months ago

Text

just some hilson thoughts in these trying times

all of these things i think about constantly & fondly and exist in my mind as true canon:

house has been interested/obsessed with wilson since the second he saw him; the divorce papers ordeal combined with wilson looking like he did in 1991 sent the bisexual alarm ablaze.

only someone as repressed and clueless as wilson could take "you were the only person who didn't bore me" as a purely platonic statement.

relatedly, i think he was very convinced throughout their time together at the new orleans medical conference that wilson liked men, and only during some horribly awkward flirting attempts house witnessed from afar did house realize that either A) wilson is unfortunately straight or B) he's repressed beyond belief. being so good at reading people, i bet house accurately picks up on the latter.

house playing instruments for wilson is one of their most significant forms of intimacy.

paradoxically, since wilson is very gentle and hands on with just about everyone else in his life (patients included), he never crosses any physical barriers with house as a sign of respect for his boundaries. this goes pretty unnoticed by house until someone points it out - "aren't you guys really close? he's never even given you a pat on the back?"

they don't smoke together very often but they used to and wilson gets incredibly giggly every time, which house loves to see. wilson gets paranoid about drug testing, which sparks an argument about vicodin and double standards. wilson loses the argument every time.

wilson kissed house when they were high exactly one (1) time several years before canon. wilson was so blasted he's convinced himself it was a dream, and house always kept it in his back pocket as a desperate "gotcha" moment for the future. but the memory is too sacred and tender to ruin it by being petulant, so he never brings it up.

HOUSE IS A YEARNER. AT HIS VERY CORE, HE IS A YEARNER. WHEN ALL OF HIS BULLSHIT IS STRIPPED AWAY, HE YEARNS! wilson is better at shoving everything deeper and deeper than house.

through some grand scheming alongside cuddy, it was actually wilson's idea that they have adjoining offices, but he and cuddy worked together to make house think it was his idea and that, by getting the adjoining office, he'd won over the 2 of them.

cuddy is the only person who ever broaches the topic of house's feelings for wilson while she and house are dating. knowing them both as well as she does, she can see some sincerity there. she asks house about it and eventually gets a clipped but genuine answer: "i mean...yeah. sure. but that minefield is so sensitive that even looking at it too closely will start a chain reaction. so no thanks."

thirteen instantly picks up on house and wilson's "deal." like she can't believe it's not outright and obvious to everyone else.

SEASON 8/POST-CANON SPOILERS

i don't think house and wilson die simultaneously. whether out of reverence, grief, or masochism, i think house would try to live without wilson even for just a few hours. then he would be fully in touch with the human experiences he's always avoided/felt alienated from. it would be the final challenge for his atheism to conquer.

while holding fast to the fact that they've never slept together and never will, they get increasingly intimate with one another in those last 5 months. they share a bed, keeping mostly to their respective sides of the mattress, but really ramp up the whole "no social contract" thing. sometimes hands wander and they wake up with gentle touches on their sides, shoulders, etc. house is preparing to lose the only person who even understands his kind of intimacy, while wilson, being someone who seeks it out, struggles with this new arrangement, and all they have is each other atp!

they change how they describe their relationship to strangers while they're on the road. one day they're business partners, another day they're married, then on a first date, then professorial colleagues, then third cousins (wilson hates that one), etc., etc.

even more so than house, wilson likes that he can finally shed off layers of his old identity and feels more authentic than he ever has while road-tripping with house in the end.

i'll probably come back to this list and keep adding but there ya go, those are some of my thoughts :)

#i swear i don't just watch the show for these 2 #even though i do very little to prove that #hilson #james wilson #greg house #gregory house #malpractice md #house md #also i'm really fascinated by how cuddy interprets their relationship #i would love to hear people's thoughts on that!!

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 4 months ago

Text

fine line ── l. hs (teaser!)

update: this fic's been posted! click here to read <3

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au || crack, fluff, teensy bit of angst because a certain someone doesn't know how to communicate their feelings...

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── haii everyone it's been a long time coming...i've been having a MAJOR writer's block and also just kinda taking a break because work has been more tiring on my body so i've just been exhausted recently so i apologize for the lack of content,,,but WE'RE BACK! if anyone's ever watched backstreet rookie (it's my comfort show i love kim yoo-jung), i'm kinda going for those romcom vibes here hehe. this sneak peek isn't as revealing as my others,,,it's quite short but this one is gonna be a lil more rom-com mixed with eventual angst because what is heeseung if not a yearner?

send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3 (current tag list at end of post :D )

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?”

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night.

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and the same unimpressed, judgemental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spice and sugar.’”

Okay, ouch.

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not.

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off.

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help—” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.”

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know.

Do you recognize him?

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something.

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast.

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him.

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands.

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head.

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues.

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest.

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk.

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious.

And now you’re in his head.

Great.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

this made me crave ramen.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

<3, addie

current tag list: [bolded couldn't be tagged, sorry :( ]

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

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trivia-yandere · 3 months ago

Note

does milf oc ever get jealous at the thought of jungkook possibly having girls after him at college…? 🤭

well let us see

m.i.l.f (4)

you visit the dorm rooms one evening to restock your sons necessities expecting for him and his roommate to be out; yet you aren't so lucky.

word count: 4.178

warning: age difference, milf reader, smut, dirty talk, humping, nipple sucking, jungkook is a yearner, milf reader is also whipped, impregnation/breeding kink, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, possessive sex,

part 1 | two | three

You sigh once you slam your car door shut and proceed to lock it. You’ve managed to hold six bags as you walk up the concrete stairs to the dorm rooms. You weren’t expecting to get a message from Dash stating that he needed more snacks and drinks for his dorm, stating that he and Jungkook had gone through them all.

Truthfully, it was all your sons doing as he was known to snack more than Jungkook, but you were his mother. You had gotten everything he asked for and then some and now here you were.

The dorm room hallways were dimly lit and quiet. During the weekend it was like a ghost town and it allowed you to come in freely just like this without having to sign in. You hoped when you walked in there you wouldn’t come to a complete mess. Jungkook was a naturally organized person and you’re positive being with Dash had to be annoying.

Jungkook.

Your mind travels to the last time you saw him was at dinner and that was nearing a week ago. You had basically kicked him from your home to go to a party and he had not made an attempt to speak with you. You aren’t sure if this was the end for you and him - and if it was, then you should be glad.

Right?

You would be lying if you said Jungkook wasn’t the best fuck you had in years. You had several one night stands, sure, but that wasn’t exciting. You’ve dated men throughout your time, but that also didn’t lead anywhere as Dash always came first and they didn’t like that.

Jungkook was far more attentive than anyone you’ve ever met. Him pleasuring you was something he actually enjoyed doing - as if it brought him his own pleasure. He had more stamina than any man you’ve had before and it didn’t help that he was insanely attractive.

Even Dash’s father didn’t last - obviously. You getting pregnant was an act of two horny teenagers and all the responsibility was left on you. While he went on to go to college, you had to stay behind and work and raise Dash while his parents paid you on his behalf. He visited only when he was on break, and when he graduated college and got into his respected career, being a father was the last thing on his mind.

Maybe you couldn’t blame him much - but then again you could. It was around that time of year for him to visit and pretend he cared about his child.

You reach Dash’s door and sigh. Dash told you that he and Jungkook were at another party and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. But maybe it was childish to feel any type of way - Jungkook wasn’t yours to be territorial of. He was nothing but a good fuck that so happened to be your sons friend. You were growing far too comfortable with having him pleasure you that in the end, he could be doing this to someone else.

You open the door to the dorm room and close it behind you. The lights are off, but the led lights surrounding the walls are on and suspiciously, they’re red. Your eyes squint into the bedroom and you let out another sigh of finding a line of clothes onto the floor that belonged to your son.

You drop the bags onto the ground and you begin to stock them onto the shelves and mini fridge.

You’re far too engrossed in organising that you don’t notice the bathroom door open and close and footsteps come closer.

“Mommy?”

You drop a can of soda and yelp when it cracks open and begins to fuzz. You go to grab it, turning your head to look at the sound of the voice.

This was highly unfortunate.

“Jungkook…” you murmur, lifting to your feet to throw out the soda can. “...why are you here?”

“In my…dorm room?” Jungkook cracks a smile. He’s naked - only sporting a towel; again, how unfortunate. Not because you don’t find the man attractive and would be willing to mound him, but because you thought you were having enough self-control lately.

“Dash said you and him were at a party.” you murmur. You turn your head away with warm cheeks.

“He stayed.” Jungkook licks his lips. “He was occupied.”

“With Hana?” you question, not truly caring if he was or not.

Jungkook snorts. “Sure,” he says with a shrug. He hasn’t seen Hana since dinner and that was the norm with Dash.

“I’m only here to stock up on snacks and drinks.” you nod towards the newly stocked shelves. “I should be going-”

“Why?” Jungkook asks. He takes a seat onto his neatly made bed opposite of the disheveled one of Dash’s.

“What do you mean?” you scoff.

“What’s your issue?”

You knit your brows.

“You’ve been avoiding me, mommy.”

You want to laugh at Jungkook’s words. “I’ve been avoiding you?”

In the red light, Jungkook thinks you look hot. Especially while irritated. He knows that what he’s doing is a form of manipulation by putting the blame on you. He had decided to ignore you - against his best wishes; he missed you so much. You were obviously upset about hearing Yvette’s name that it caused you to push him away.

Witnessing Yvette at her party had irritated him enough to leave said party early against Dash’s wishes. He had driven home wanting to call you, but instead decided against it. He wanted to see how far it would go until he could see you again.

To think Jungkook was going to facetime you tonight, but here you were. It was like the universe was speaking to him now.

“Yes. You haven’t called me.” Jungkook shrugs. He doesn’t care if his towel is slowly unravelling.

“I never call you.” you squint your eyes, pondering what in the world he was going on about.

“Exactly, mommy. It’s like you don’t care about me.” Jungkook pouts a bit. “Or is it because you want me to keep following you like some type of lovesick teenager.”

You tilt your head. What game was Jungkook playing here? If anything, you should be questioning him. Why in the world would he give you the best dick in years and then ghost you for Yvette?

You mentally curse at yourself for sounding like this. You weren’t the age to care what in the world a man did - especially one your son's age.

Jungkook watches you for a moment before snorting.

“You can’t even admit that you were using me.” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re probably off to the next college boy.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “Am I some type of cougar to you?!” you hiss at him. Why you were still here discussing anything with Jungkook was beyond you. Dash could walk through that door any moment now and see you with his nearly naked friend.

“No.” Jungkook answers swiftly. “I just thought you liked me for me.”

“I do like you, Jungkook.” you say between gritted teeth. You cannot believe you were having this conversation. “It’s just not morally correct for us to do this. You know that.”

“Then why haven’t you walked out yet?” Jungkook questions. You were asking yourself the same thing. “Since you want to be so “morally correct”.”

You stand a bit straighter. “I will.”

Jungkook leans forward, watching you. Witnessing him in the red lights in person was far better than over the phone - yet you couldn’t allow yourself to grow weak. Not now while he was obviously testing you.

“Have a good night, Jungkook.”

You turn away from him, deciding that he could organize the rest of the snacks. Whenever Dash returned, you didn’t need to be here. It was risky already sneaking around with his best friend - no matter how much of a rush it was.

Your hand wraps around the door knob and just as you open it, it closes once more. A tattooed arm is right beside your head. Another hand locks the door swiftly, leaving you caged between the door and him.

“Jungkook.”

Your tone is so soft, yet stern like that it causes Jungkook’s cock to harden instantly.

“Yes?”

“I have to go.”

“Why? Dash won’t be back.” Jungkook states - because he texted Dash himself and told him to stay out. It was a code that the both of them came up with when the other had company over. Dash was far too oblivious to realize that recently, his eyes only ever been on you. “I missed you. You pushed me away, mommy.”

You take a deep breath. “You should be with girls your own age-”

“I knew that was why!” Jungkook quips. “Yvette is just a friend.” He wouldn’t call her that, but it was wrong to say that she was nothing to him entirely. It made sense in Jungkook’s mind.

“If I had her do you think I would be craving you every time?”

And there it was, the hand around your waist to bring you closer. The nose against your neck to inhale that sweet scent he enjoyed so much.

Fuck.

“I missed you so much, mommy. Just stay for a while.”

This was wrong.

You couldn’t stay here in the dorms. What the fuck were you going to do if Dash did come? How would you explain that?

What if somehow someone knew you were here and you were charged with something - or Jungkook or Dash?

Why hadn’t you said no to Jungkook and why hadn’t you stopped his wandering hands?

“Please, mommy. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you.”

And of course you folded, allowing Jungkook to pull you to his bed. It’s a dorm and the biggest you could fit in here were full-size beds, but it was big enough for Jungkook and you. Somehow, you were out of your clothes in under 3 minutes and beneath his covers. Your mind screams at you to act like the grown adult you were and get out of whatever spell you were under, but your core was begging for you to stay.

“You didn’t miss me even a little bit?” Jungkook murmurs, hovering above you. His lips are kissing along your neck, leaving behind wet trails.

“I did.” you admit, as stupid as it was to.

“You pushing me away kept me horny all night, mommy. I guess we’ll have to make that up.”

Jungkook never cared about being quiet while he was in the doors - especially during the weekends when it was as quiet and dead as it was. That meant that he could do whatever he wanted and he was fully intending on doing just that. And it always started with your breast - the perfect mounds to sit right in the palms of his hands. His hands roam your body as he finds his mouth wrapping onto your right one. His cock rubs against your naked core, sliding past your clit.

You let out a hushed moan, your body reacting for you. You actually missed having Jungkook on you - suckling onto your breast needily and treating your body with pleasure. It was insane to say aloud; but damn was it the truth.

“We can’t do this forever, Kookie.”

Jungkook’s right hand keeps you in place so he can easily rut his cock against your now wet clit. He groans against your nipples, popping it in and out of his mouth like a lollipop. His eyes glance up at you, appearing entirely too sinful underneath these same red lights.

“Why not, mommy?”

There were a thousand and one reasons why. Jungkook was just horny and so were you. Eventually his life would continue on after college and so would yours - you couldn’t continue this. But for now, it would do. You would allow Jungkook to fuck you so good that you’d lose all of your morals.

“I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I want you.”

Jungkook’s tongue licks up from your breast to your collarbones. He goes towards your neck next and sinks his teeth down onto your skin. He continues to rub against your clit, groaning and grunting against your neck while you let out a hushed gap.

“Your pussy is always so good, mommy. What do you expect me to do?”

Your pussy’s throbbing now. Jungkook’s hand grips your thigh just as you begin to buckle it to meet his thrusts.

“I think about you all the time. I think about you creaming on my cock like you do. About me cumming in you so deep that you’d end up pregnant.”

That was new, causing you to let out a low gasp - one that Jungkook notices immediately when he slides past your clit.

“You’d like that, right, mommy? Me cumming in you so much that I’d get you pregnant? I’d actually be a good father to our child.”

This was sick, you think. There was no way this was exciting you. You were a grown woman, for fucks sakes!

But it’s the way that Jungkook says it - so low and sultry. His voice so husky and full of lust that it’s far too appealing for you not to moan and now your head, your thighs caging him closer to you. “You’d be so pretty pregnant, mommy. Your breast would grow bigger with milk. You’d look so hot.” Jungkook grumbles the last part, this time his hand reaching behind you to grip your ass entirely. His tip is right at your hole now. “I could fuck you right now, mommy. Get you full of my cum…”

Jungkook is speaking, but you notice he isn't talking to you anymore. It’s as if he’s speaking to himself - should he or should he not?

But Jungkook does. He enters you without a second thought - nor do you fight him off. Your pussy wraps around him so heavily like it usually does, and each time he’s as shocked as the last.

Now Jungkook’s mind is fully engrossed with the thought of you being pregnant. He would like to think he would be a good father - better than Dash’s. He knew enough to know that a father that only saw their kid maybe 4 times out the year wasn’t a father. He wouldn’t prioritize himself over you or his child; he wasn’t selfish.

Nor was Jungkook a broke college student like most. He was here because he had to be; it was mandatory if he wanted to remain in his grandfather’s will. It was mandatory if he wanted to leave here and join his family company. He didn’t need a degree that was going to get him nowhere; it was only a hobby for him - for the rest of his cousins attending and scattered in the dorms.

You didn’t need to know that; not yet.

“Fuck, mommy.” Jungkook pounds into you greedily. His hands grip your ass, your squelching pussy music to his ears. Your legs are hiked onto his shoulders. “You’re so wet. You want a baby, don’t you?”

The sane part of you was already ashamed. You had allowed Jungkook far into your life (and body) that he was able to do or say whatever he wanted. He had you naked in under five minutes and fucking in under ten. His cock was so deep in you that you were seeing red covered stars.

“Yes, Kookie!” you squeal. “Your cock is so big!”

“And you love it.” Jungkook chuckles darkly, drilling your pussy with no remorse.

“I do love it!”

You were being too loud, you think, but you cannot find it in you to care right now. Jungkook, in the little time you’ve allowed him to fuck you, has managed to make you cum. Countless times. Within multiple sex acts.

This was a rarity and damn was it hard to find.

Jungkook pulls out suddenly and before you can whine, he replaces his cock with three of his fingers. He begins to pump with the same speed as his cock, connecting his tongue to your clit.

“Kook-kie!” you gasp. The sudden action has your mind swirling.

Jungkook has wanted to taste you since the same night you told him to go. He wanted to have his tongue on you again and again and again - but he didn't. So he had to take what he deserved.

Your legs are shaking, feeling the overstimulating pleasure build through you. You cannot help with how fast you were going to cum - not when you had an overachiever like Jungkook. Your hand grips his hair to keep his tongue in place, your hips grinding against his tongue.

Jungkook’s dark eyes glanced up at you, enjoying the way you were loving every minute of this. An action no one but him can do - only what he should be doing to you. He allows you to take a bit of control and keep him against your greedy cunt, wanting more and more until you physically couldn’t take anymore.

‘“I’m gonna cum, Kookie…!”

Jungkook only suckles hardly, allowing his fingers to pump faster and faster. He wanted you to cum all over his tongue; to use him as if he was your personal fuck toy. If only he could be day in and out; to feel and taste you at any given moment of the day.

Jungkook’s cock throbs to be inside you again.

“You’re always so good for mommy, Kookie.”

Your toes are curling as you’re cumming, your vision blurring a bit. Jungkook’s own eyes close as you begin to cum, arousal pooling out of you and coating his hand entirely, but he doesn’t want your pleasure to end - not even when you’re squealing and shaking.

Jungkook forces you onto your stomach next, hiking your hips up and he enters you. He’s fully in charge again - yet he never never stepped down. One hand is on your back, forcing you down while the other is on your hips. He pounds into you disrespectfully, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each thrust.

You’re continuing to squeal into his cotton sheets, hands gripping them for support. Your ass is amazing - it always is in this position. He’s so deep that he can cum in you right now; bury you with warm seed that there isn’t any way you cannot fall pregnant.

“Such a hungry pussy, mommy. You’re doing so good.”

It was all too much to handle. Your pussy continues to leak with arousal, coating your thighs and his bedsheets entirely. You’ve unable to form words at the moment and only continue to babble or moan, but it was okay with Jungkook. He knew that only he knew how to fuck you this good.

“I know you already have a son, mommy, so I hope we have a daughter. She’ll be so cute just like you.” Jungkook laughs gleefully, his cock springing in and out of your wet core. “And if we have a son, I guess we’ll have to try again.”

Jungkook forces a hand between your legs, teasingly tapping your swollen clit. It was sickening how wet and overstimulated you were.

“Only I can fuck you, mommy. Say it.”

You can’t - not now. Not with how well you were being fucked - completely used like a ragdoll.

“Say. It.” Jungkook hisses, his wet hand grabbing your throat and forcing you up against him. “Say that you belong to me, mommy.” Jungkook pressed, his demeanor changed entirely. His thrusts are punishing.

“Only…to…you…” you force out, clenching pussy milking his cock for everything you wanted from him.

“Only mine to fuck, right? You won’t be a whore and cheat on me, right, mommy?” Jungkook asks, squeezing your throat. “You’re so fucked out and drunk off of cock that you’d say anything.”

Both hands grip your breast, but still Jungkook plunges his cock inside of you. It isn’t as though you’re in his college dorm with how disrespectfully he fucks you. But neither of you care - you’re drowning in overstimulation.

“Look at you, mommy. So fucked out and squirting all over me.” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll ruin your life if you ever think you’re going to leave me and give such a sweet pussy to someone else.”

“It’s too much, Kookie.” you let out another squeal as another high bubbles up.

“I bet it is.” Jungkook spats. You don’t even realize what he’s saying to you - you were so cute. “You aren’t going to leave me. Say it.”

“I-I’m not going to leave you, Kookie.” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut yet again as you cum all over his sloppy cock. He was going to cum right in your pussy like he always does.

“F-Fuck.” Jungkook stutters. His eyes dart to the corner of his room and he smirks, the camera well hidden and only for him to see. The amount of footage he has taken on this exact bed could not compare to the footage of you he has - only for his eyes only, of course. Or, to blackmail you if you ever did decide to leave him.

Warm cum shoots right into you and you sigh, letting out a soft cry.

You want to say you don’t know when the last time you bought yourself a morning after pill.

But you cannot - because you never had. Your son was going to be graduating college soon and here you were purchasing a morning after pill.

You should be ashamed of yourself and the amount of carelessness you’ve managed to put yourself through in the last few weeks.

You managed to not get pregnant after Dash, and now you just couldn’t stop fucking.

Jungkook has fucked you on every inch - of his side - of the dorm room. Against the wall, in the surprisingly clean bathroom while you and he bathed - an act that caught even you off guard. You were so dick drunk that you rode him until he was begging you to let him cum - it was insane.

You managed to sneak out before the sun rose and went to the nearest convenient store to be judged by a middle age woman.

You close your eyes after you swallow the pill. You rest your head against the cool window and let out a soft sigh.

Was this where your life came to? Fucking Jungkook and allowing him to treat you like a cumbucket whore?

Your phone sounds so loud that it startles you. The name on the phone causes your eyebrows to shoot.

“Dash’s Dad” is labeled and instantly you want to scream. It was not the right time.

“What?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

The voice irritates you instantly.

“I’ll be landing soon.”

“And…you’re telling me for what?” you snicker. “Call an uber.”

He sighs. “Are you always this cold, Y/N?”

“Dash is in college.” you sigh. “You don’t need to call me anymore to get in contact with him.”

He does - only because he and you both know Dash won’t answer. Maybe it was the thought that counts.

“I was thinking I can stay at yours.”

“Hell. No.”

Your hand squeezes the phone. To think this man had the audacity-

“Why? Found yourself a man?”

“Why the fuck is that any of your business?!” you snap.

“That means no.” he snickers. "I'll be staying at the house that I've bought. But..." he trails off. “I was thinking we can go to dinner. Talk, you know?” he speaks.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about-”

“While I’m paying his tuition, yes there is.”

That was low. Dash didn’t even know that, nor were you going to tell him. It was a part of the agreement you made with his parents. They assisted with funding Dash while he went to college and in return, he would do the same for the son he barely had any interest in raising.

Until now apparently.

“What do you want?” you snicker with a shake of your head. “You want to come around out of nowhere and pretend to be a family man?”

“I’ve been trying-”

“You tried when he was 15.” you interrupt. “You promised to see him but haven’t done anything but send a check. Do I have to remind you that you missed his high school graduation or…?”

This is why you avoided speaking with him for so long. It ended with you being pissed at the memories of your son being disappointed time and time again.

“I’m trying, Y/N. Can you give me a little grace?”

Inhale.

Exhale.

“I’ll be expecting for us to go to dinner-”

“I’ll cook instead.” you interrupt. You didn’t want to even be seen with that man.

“Fine.” he scoffs. “Then we can discuss some things.”

You don’t even want to know at this point. Was it bad to wish that whatever plane he was on would crash and only he would be the one to not survive it?

“Whatever.”

“Bring your little boyfriend, Y/N. I know someone as graceful as-”

You hang up the phone before he can continue to piss you off.

You’re unsure why your mind drifted to Jungkook at the thought of “boyfriend”.

trivia-yandere: okay so like, not so much yandere yet but as you can see we're planting seeds... :3

part five think this was only supposed to be four parts

@sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @investedreader @marylight098 @youcallmeana @allie-in-the-moon @boonbyu @chimmy-licious @llallaaa @hyeinwluv85s @busanbby-jjk @bts-ruu @marylight098

#m.i.l.f.#explicit-tae #trivia-yandere #bts smut #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective #jungkook x reader #bangtanwriters net #bangtanwritershq #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #best friends mom #bts college au

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icarusignite · 3 months ago

Text

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.1)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: Stabbing, mentions of blood and injuries, Jason is kind of a jerk in the beginning, but forgive him for it, he's got attachment issues lol. Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. YEARNING, lots of yearning, my boy is a yearner

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I am not a medical professional lol so I can't say how accurate this is lol, but just go with it for the angst vibes. This is super self-indulgent lol, I wanted the kind of fic that causes you physical pain so here we are. This was getting a bit too long so I'll post the second part later, lemme know if yall wanna be tagged.

This is my first time writing for DC or the batboys, but the brainrot is real. This is technically a part of a bigger Jason long fic I'm working on but I just really needed to get this scene out lol

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You were friends, weren't you?

You'd like to think so. It made it easier to explain away the ache in your chest every time he left without a word. Or the warmth that bloomed beneath your ribs when he showed up, battered and brooding, yet somehow still seeking you out.

But then again, did vigilantes even have friends?

Arms folded loosely across your chest, you leaned against the doorframe of your cramped kitchen, watching him from across the dimly lit room. Your apartment was small, embarrassingly so, and the light above flickered in that way you kept meaning to fix. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cheap chamomile tea, curling around your ankles like smoke.

He sat at your wobbly kitchen table with his boots carelessly propped on the worn wood, the laces still muddy from whatever hell he'd clawed his way out of tonight. His brow was furrowed, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he wound a fresh bandage around the gash on his arm. A grimace tugged at his mouth as he worked, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

His mask lay discarded beside the pile of bloodied tissues, a splash of crimson on your table that felt far too symbolic. You hated how used to the sight you'd become. It no longer made your stomach turn the way it once did. Now, it just sat there, like a guest you hadn't invited but didn't dare ask to leave.

You wanted to help. You always did, but in the careful months since he'd tumbled, quite literally, into your life, you'd learned not to offer unless he asked. Red Hood—or Red as you had fondly dubbed him because you still didn't know his actual name—was a man built of walls and wreckage, of hairline fractures hidden behind sardonic grins and barbed quips.

He didn't like prying. So neither did you.

You still remembered the first time you'd met him. Your life had been steady, if not dull, up until then. A slow existence filled with microwaved meals, cracked book spines, and long, lingering silences. Then, as if fate had grown bored with your monotony, he had crashed into it. One minute, you were walking home from work. The next, you were the sole witness to something that had no business existing in your version of reality. Guns, masks, blood. Gotham in all its gritty glory.

You were stubborn enough to get involved. He was—well you didn't quite know why he let you get involved.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. Maybe it was. But even now, as he sat there in your kitchen like he belonged, you weren't sure what tethered him to you. The case you'd helped him with had ended days ago. Loose ends tied. Threats neutralized. And yet he hadn't stopped coming.

That first time he'd stumbled through your bedroom window with a bullet wound, all adrenaline and snarled curses, you'd expected him to leave as quickly as he came. But he hadn't. He'd let you stitch him up. Said nothing when you offered him a drink, or when you laid out an old quilt on the couch. You hadn't known his name then, and still didn't. But you knew his face. You knew his eyes. You knew the way his shoulders stiffened before a storm of emotion, and the subtle quirk of his mouth when he found something amusing but didn't want to admit it.

He reminded you of a stray cat, too proud to ask for affection, but too lonely to stay away from the warmth you offered. So you gave it.

Quietly. Patiently. Repeatedly.

You'd begun to anticipate him in all the little ways you shouldn't have. Setting out a second mug when you brewed tea in the middle of the night, because somehow, without fail, he would appear just as the steam began to curl from your chipped porcelain cup. Leaving the bathroom light on, knowing he preferred patching himself up under its dim, humming glow. Folding the throw blanket on the couch just the way he liked—creased at the corners, but not tucked in. He hated feeling confined.

You kept extra ramen in your pantry. Started buying that brand of granola bars he always grumbled about but never left untouched. And now, here he was again in your space, holding his pain in the same way you held your thoughts.

Tight, hidden, private.

You watched him from the doorway and wondered if he saw you the way you saw him. If he noticed the weight of his presence, or how your world tilted subtly every time he stepped into it. If maybe, just maybe, he was coming back not because he had nowhere else to go, but because you were here.

No, that was stupid. You were a lot of things, but you weren't stupid. The city had no room for the foolishly naive.

But were you friends?

You wanted to ask him, but you didn't. You were afraid of what the answer might be. Hope was a delicate thing, and in a city like Gotham, it never lasted long.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. Sometimes, when the silence stretched long and unbothered between you, you found yourself playing a strange little game in your mind. You tried to guess his name.

It had started as a harmless, idle curiosity, but it had grown into something you clung to when his presence lingered long after he'd gone. The guessing had become a comfort of sorts, as though naming him might make him more real. Less myth. Less mystery.

He didn't look like a Robert. You imagined a Robert might wear boat shoes and a pressed polo, maybe even a handlebar mustache if he was particularly insufferable. A Simon would have round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a fondness for spreadsheets. Anthony? No, far too smug. He'd be the kind of man who winked at waitresses and thought himself charming. Luke maybe, if he had more of a boyish softness to his features, but Red? No, he had an edge carved into him, all angles and tribulations.

Occasionally, when he sat slouched like this, the flickering bulb overhead casting harsh shadows over his jawline, you'd swear you had seen him before.

Not like this, with blood seeping slowly through bandages and a half-gloved hand trembling ever so slightly from the adrenaline still wearing off. But somewhere, in the back of your mind, there was an echo. A fading image of a photograph you might've once seen in a crumpled newspaper. Something about a billionaire's dead son. An obituary that featured a smiling young boy with bright eyes and a future that might have been written in gold leaf and marble.

You'd dismissed it as fast as it came. You never paid attention to socialite tragedies. The world of gala dresses and legacies was so far removed from yours that it barely felt real. Besides, that boy was dead, buried in some manicured graveyard you'd never be allowed into. And this boy was sitting in your kitchen bleeding all over your table.

Alive.

Though, perhaps not for long, if he kept living like this. He had the same regard for his own life that you had for the cracked mugs in your sink. Tolerated, but barely.

You watched him fumble again with the blood-slick bandages, the crimson staining through like watercolours blooming on canvas. He was trying to wrap his shoulder one-handed, which clearly wasn't working. The angle was wrong, and the effort was shaky.

You bit your lip and told yourself not to interfere.

He never asked nor expected your help, and that unspoken boundary hovered between you like a landmine, one you dared not disturb. And yet, eventually, you couldn't take it anymore.

You crossed the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps, like approaching a wild thing that might flee at the first sudden movement. He stiffened, the line of his back going rigid as you rounded the table, but he didn't look up. Didn't flinch. Didn't utter something sharp and dismissive, like you half expected him to.

You took it as a good sign.

Without a word, you pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. For a heartbeat, the room felt breathless. He tracked your movement with the wary precision of a soldier, but he didn't stop you. When your fingers reached for his arm, he tensed beneath your touch, muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring, but he didn't pull away.

That was enough.

You worked in silence, your touch careful and clinical. You unwound the soaked bandages and tossed them aside, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and clean gauze. You murmured apologies when he hissed at the sting, but you didn't stop. If he could live through getting stabbed and shot at, you figured he could endure a little antiseptic.

His skin was warm beneath your fingertips—fever-warm, maybe—but sturdy. He was littered with half-healed wounds and fading bruises, scattered across the landscape of him like constellations only he could decipher. There was a story written in each of them, and you hated that you wanted to read them. To know the ugly details. To understand.

You tamped the impulse down. This wasn't about curiosity. It was about care.

Your gaze lingered longer than it should have. At the sharp ridge of his collarbone. The sinew of muscle taut beneath tattered fabric. The way his calloused hands tightened into fists when the pain surged, but never once tried to stop you.

You should probably get him some lotion for Christmas. The thought rose unbidden, absurd, but somehow entirely fitting. "For your dry, murdery hands," the label might read.

If this... whatever this was... even lasted until then.

When you were done, you gave his arm a light pat. It was gentle, like punctuation at the end of a sentence you didn't know how to finish. Then you stood, discarding the bloodied tissues, and scrubbing your hands clean. You moved on autopilot, draining the tea that had long gone cold and replacing it with a fresh cup—extra honey, just the way you'd learned he liked it, even if he never said it aloud.

Then, because you were helpless against the urge to say something, you leaned one hip against the table and smirked faintly.

"Careful, Red," you drawled, "if you keep getting hurt like this, I might start to think you have a thing for my first aid skills."

He didn't answer right away, but his lip twitched. It was a breath of a reaction, but it was there, and for someone like him, that was practically a sonnet.

You sipped your tea, letting the warmth sit on your tongue before you spoke again. He hadn't touched his yet, staring down at the swirling amber surface like it held answers he hadn't figured out how to ask for.

"You're less chatty than usual," you remarked casually. "And I say that knowing full well you're already a man of, like, four words max."

Nothing. Not even a smirk this time.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were brooding. Which, y'know... shocker."

Still nothing. No anger, just quiet. It was oddly unlike him.

"You don't have to tell me, of course," you amended quickly, not wanting to come off as nosy. "Whatever it is. I just—you're carrying it like it's made of concrete."

You pressed your lips together for a moment, then tried to fill the space again, your tone lightening, the way you knew he preferred it when things got too close to raw.

"I mean, if this is about the tea, I can make it again. Stronger. Less... 'grandma's house' and more 'man on the run.' I just figured you liked honey, seeing as you keep finishing the jar and pretending it was like that when you found it."

That earned you a tiny huff, maybe a laugh, maybe a scoff. You were not sure which, but it was something.

Emboldened, you tilted your head and gave him a crooked smile. "Or maybe you're just disappointed I haven't guessed your name yet. I'm running out of options, you know. I've gone through the entire cast of Friends at this point."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"No, really," you continue, warming to your own ramble. "Ross? Too whiny. Chandler? Too annoying. Joey? ...Well, I could see it, but you'd have to say 'how you doin' at least once to convince me."

When he didn't respond, you wondered if you'd made a mistake with the reference. Did vigilantes have time to watch sitcoms? Maybe you could convince him to partake in a marathon with you.

You let the inevitable silence stretch for a beat, then wrinkled your nose and glanced at him over the rim of your mug.

"So, just for my own peace of mind, you are housebroken, right?"

Your guest didn't look up, but his head tilted curiously. One eyebrow quirked the tiniest bit, the closest thing to a response you were likely to get when he was in one of his moods.

You gestured broadly toward the red helmet on the table, the scuff of his boot across the wood grain, and the faint trail of dried blood from the kitchen. "I mean, it's starting to feel like you live here, Red. And if that's the case, I should start charging you rent. Or at the very least, make you take out the trash once in a while."

No response.

"Because I don't just let any emotionally constipated vigilante bleed all over my apartment. I have standards too."

A twist. Barely there, but his mouth moved, almost betraying a smile. You held onto that like it was gold.

"I'm just saying," you went on, folding your arms dramatically, "if you're gonna keep showing up here at three a.m. looking like you got in a fight with a deli slicer, you could at least pretend to be a little more domesticated. I don't know, maybe wipe your feet at the entrance? Use the actual door? Bring flowers?"

His voice, when it finally came, was roughened by fatigue. "You want flowers?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard. "Okay, well now it's weird because you asked. If you actually show up with flowers, I'm going to assume there's a bomb in them."

He let out a quiet huff. Not quite a laugh, but close enough.

"And don't even think about roses," you added, waving a finger. "Too cliché. You're more of a—I don't know—carnivorous plant guy. Like a spooky Venus flytrap. 'Cause nothing says housewarming present like a plant that eats things."

His eyes finally lifted to meet yours. They were unreadable, but the heaviness behind them seemed to ease, just a little.

"You done?" he demanded, gruff but not annoyed. More like he was indulging you.

You were not, and the next words spilled out in an involuntary confession.

"Sometimes I think about how strange this all is. You. Me. This. Whatever this is." You gesture loosely between you. "You're out there dancing with death on a nightly basis, and I'm here pretending tea can fix bullet wounds."

You don't mean for the smile that followed to be so sad, but it was.

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

For a moment, he was utterly still, the kind of stillness that lived in the eye of a storm. His response came frayed like it was coming through a static radio.

"Why?"

It knocked the air from your lungs. It wasn't quite an invitation. Not quite a wall. A wound, maybe.

You wanted to ask what was bothering him. Wanted to reach across the table and touch his hand, just for a second, to tell him without words that he was not alone. That he didn't have to be.

Jason hadn't meant for the question to sound like an accusation.

"Why?"

It slipped out sharper than he intended, but it had tumbled off his tongue before he could stop it. And now he sat there, watching you across the table, your hands wrapped around that chipped mug like it was the most natural thing in the world to sit across from someone like him and say:

"I guess I'm just glad you come back. That's all."

Something in his chest tightened. An ache, deep and reflexive, like a muscle spasming around an old injury. You had said it so simply, like it was obvious, like it wasn't a concept that felt foreign when he tried to believe it.

Glad? To see him?

It couldn't be real. No one was glad to see him. Not really. Not anymore. And the way you'd looked at him when you said it made his defences flare up like an allergic reaction.

He had to ask. Why.

Why would you be glad to see someone like him? Someone who showed up at your window uninvited. Someone who never told you his real name. Someone who brought death on his heels and stayed too long.

Your lack of response only made it worse. You looked at him like he was the one not making sense.

Of course, you were glad he came back.

He hated how fast the words came after that, how he couldn't stop himself from lashing out.

"You shouldn't be."

He said it like a truth he needed you to believe, even if he didn't. Said it hard, like if he drove the words deep enough, they'd take root and push you away before he got used to the idea of you staying. Because he was growing too attached. That much was certain.

It had started creeping in quietly, like a burglar. He hadn't even realized how bad it had gotten until he caught himself during a patrol, slipping off to some rooftop, hand digging into the inner pocket of his jacket for the burner phone you had the number for.

For emergencies. That was all it was meant for. That was the excuse he told himself when he'd scrawled the number down and pressed it into your hand.

You never used it. You never called or even texted. You let him keep his secrets, and that should have made it easier to let go. It didn't. And he'd found himself checking that phone anyway, half in agony, half in hope.

He still had it. Weeks past the point when he should've tossed it and gotten a new number, like he always did. But he kept this one. Maybe one day, you'd need him. Maybe one day, you'd use it. Part of him hated how much he wanted you to.

He stared at your tea across from him now. You never asked if he wanted any. You just knew.

And that wasn't all.

The second mug you always left out on the counter after midnight. The way you started keeping extra bandages under the sink. That one faded hoodie you folded up and left on the back of the couch after he complained—once—about the cold. The cabinet with the snacks you didn't like but kept stocked anyway.

You made space for him without asking anything in return, without ever pushing.

It made his skin itch. It felt like walking into a dream that would crumble the second he touched it. Too temporary. Too good. Too false. Like one of those illusions, fate gave people like him, just long enough to feel warm before it was ripped away again.

Because nothing good stayed. Not for someone like him. Not in Gotham.

But somehow, impossibly, you kept leaving the light on, and he kept coming back.

You tilted your head slightly now, watching him from across the table, your lips pressed into a gentle smile. There was no fear in your eyes. No judgment. Just the quiet patience of someone waiting for a wounded animal to decide whether it wanted to be held or bite.

Jason Todd only knew how to bite, even when he didn't mean it. Especially when he didn't mean it.

Before either of you could speak again, he stood, the legs of his chair scraping sharply against the floor. The untouched tea on the table wobbled in its cup but didn't spill. Not yet. It waited, just like you did.

"Don't," he snapped suddenly, dangerous in the way a wounded beast growled before it struck. "Don't look at me like that."

You blinked, startled, rising instinctively from your chair like you could fix it before the moment broke entirely.

"Like what?"

"Like I matter." The words were bitten off. "Like this means something."

He didn't mean to say it, but it was already happening, and he couldn't stop himself. The vulnerability curled in his gut like something shameful. Something that had to be punished before it grew too loud.

"I'm not some stray you can keep feeding and expect it not to bite your hand." He stepped back from the table like your kindness was something venomous. "You think leaving out tea and wrapping up my arm makes this normal? Makes me safe?"

You flinched imperceptibly, but Jason saw it. You always wore your heart on your sleeve, letting your emotions bloom too brightly across your face. It made you easy to read, and he knew when his words hit home, when the warmth drained from your expression, replaced by sheer hurt. He felt it, sharp and sudden in his chest like a splinter lodging deep into scar tissue.

But he kept going. He had to.

"I don't need your pity. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. This—whatever the hell this is—you don't owe me shit."

"Red—" you started, but he cut you off.

"You think this makes you a good person? Taking in the stray? Letting me bleed on your damn floor so you can feel better about yourself?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I'm not your project. I'm not here so you can collect your brownie points for being the kind one. You're not getting anything out of this, so why the hell do you keep doing it?"

Your breath caught, but you didn't move. You didn't yell back. You didn't tell him he was wrong. You just stood there, with that same stubborn gentleness in your eyes, and it drove him mad.

"Jesus," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing now. "You need to stop. Stop caring. Just stop."

"I never did it for something in return," you whispered.

"Well, maybe you should have."

The silence after that was suffocating, and Jason stilled. His chest heaved. He couldn't look at you. If he did, he might stay. If he did, he might say something tender, something real. And then he'd ruin you.

You inhaled shakily. "You think I'm doing this for points? That I'm keeping score?"

"You should be," he hissed. "Because all I've done is take. All I do is take. You keep giving and I keep showing up like some parasite, and for what?"

"Because I care," you said finally, too tired to hide the yearning in your voice.

"You shouldn't. I'm not one of the good ones. You think you're doing something noble, letting me in, playing Florence Nightingale. But I'm not who you think I am, and the sooner you stop pretending otherwise, the better."

He stared at you, waiting for you to yell. To scream. To say anything that would prove him right, would make walking away easier.

But you didn't.

You just stood there, hands limp at your sides, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. And God, your eyes looked so betrayed, like you were trying to understand where everything had gone wrong. Like you had failed some test you didn't know you were taking.

Jason hated the sight of your heart breaking in real-time and knowing he had done it.

You swallowed thickly. "I didn't ask for any of this. I just... I just wanted you to be okay."

Jason's breath hitched.

You weren't crying, but your voice shook like it might come to that if he pushed one word further.

"I've been careful," you added, quieter now as if the room itself might judge you for the confession. "I never ask you to stay. Never asked for anything at all. You're the one who keeps coming back. How am I to blame for that?"

Jason looked away. The guilt hit like a bullet, right where it could do the most damage.

"You should've," he returned flatly. "You should've asked for more. That way you'd see exactly how little I have to give."

He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to tell you that you were the only good thing in his life that hadn't asked anything of him.

Instead, he said, "You should've slammed the door on me the first time I showed up. That was your mistake."

You didn't have the heart to point out that he hadn't used the door. You didn't follow him either. Didn't plead, didn't reach for his hand or beg him to stay. That hurt worse than anything else.

He was right.

You were too kind. Too kind to call him out on his bullshit. Too kind to tell him to go to hell. Too kind to stop him when he stepped toward the window and opened it, cold air spilling in like water from a broken pipe.

And in your generosity, Jason realized the worst part.

You still would've left the light on for him.

Even now.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as the window slid shut, sealing in silence and sealing out the sound of his retreating steps.

A sinkhole opened in the pit of your stomach, swallowing the remnants of warmth that had once lived in the corners of the space, and it left you hollow, like a house with the doors blown off. His departure felt too much like a goodbye. Too much like a half-finished letter, the ink smudged, the signature missing. The last page of a story ripped clean from the spine.

You stood there for a while as if the air might stitch him back into the room if you stayed motionless enough. As if the chair he’d occupied might creak under phantom weight. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

You doubted he’d ever show himself in front of you again, and even if he did—somewhere, out there beneath Gotham’s godless sky—you wouldn’t know where to look. Not that you would, of course. You weren’t foolish enough to chase after someone who didn’t want to be found. If he didn’t want to see you anymore, you would not burden him with your presence. You would not be a nuisance.

When the tears finally came, they gouged hot trails down your cheeks. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, unwilling to fill the void he’d left behind with your grief. At least you had your answer now. You and him were not friends. Maybe vigilantes didn’t have friends. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be yours.

And oh, how that simple truth ached more than any goodbye ever could.

It had been three weeks since the boy you had grown attached to cleaved himself from your life, not that you were counting, of course. You would never be so pitiful as to tally the days in his absence, to chart the sunrises without him like some widow mourning a love that had never been named.

And yet…

The calendar pages turned with a slow, dragging inevitability. The hollow ache in your chest had become something familiar. Manageable. You were slowly adjusting to the shape your life had taken before he’d ever crashed into your world.

Still, there were nights when the wind howled a little too loud and the tea kettle hissed just before three a.m., and you found yourself setting out an extra mug. You never filled it—not always. But sometimes, on the worst nights, you did. You'd place it gently beside your own, the steam rising between them like the ghost of a conversation.

Come morning, it would sit there untouched. Cold. Filmed over. Forgotten by everyone except you. You couldn’t blame yourself for hoping.

Tonight was another late shift at work. The kind that stretched you thin until your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts blurred into fog. The headache had bloomed sometime after midnight and now throbbed relentlessly behind your temples. You pulled your cardigan around yourself as you stepped out into the Gotham streets, rain slanting in bitter sheets from a sky as grey as mourning.

Of course tonight, of all nights, you’d forgotten your umbrella.

Your shoes squelched with every step, the water soaking through the soles and into your socks. Streetlights flickered overhead, some sputtering, others long since dead. You kept your eyes down, focused on the familiar path home, on putting one foot in front of the other, but even so, you felt that prickle on the back of your neck, the kind you couldn’t shake off, no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself. The streets were too empty.

You tightened your grip on your keys, slotting them between your fingers like jagged little weapons. You were half a block from safety. Just a little farther.

And then hands. Cold, foreign, and wrong. Fingers like iron gripped your arm and yanked you sideways into the yawning dark of a nearby alley.

A gasp tore from your throat, but you didn’t scream. Instinct moved faster than thought. You lashed out with your keys, catching your attacker across the face—or somewhere, you weren’t sure, but the sharp hiss of pain told you it had landed. You tried to twist away, but the alley wall met your back, and your heart hammered like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

It wasn’t a mugging. He didn’t reach for your bag. He didn’t demand anything. He just came at you with precision, with intention.

And then… he was gone, like a shadow pulled back into the deeper dark, vanishing as swiftly as he’d come. You stood there stunned, breath ragged, mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t until the adrenaline began to fade that you felt it.

The pain.

Hot, sharp, deep. A burning throb in your side, just beneath your ribs. You reached down with trembling fingers and they came away slick and red. It was difficult to see the exact shade of carmine that marred your hands in the dark, but the heat of it told you all you needed to know. It clung between your fingers in syrupy ropes, and beneath it all, the pain bloomed sharp and insistent, flaring like a cruel reminder every time you breathed.

You’d been stabbed.

A hollow, almost hysterical laugh escaped your lips, grating the back of your throat. You’d been fucking stabbed. Of course, you had. Tonight was already a monument to misery. Why not crown it with something poetic?

You weren’t sure what the weapon had been—a knife, a shard of metal, something small and quick—but whatever it was, your attacker had taken it with him. You weren't a medic, but even you knew that you weren’t supposed to take the weapon out of the wound. Not if you wanted to avoid bleeding out like a gutted street urchin.

There was nothing left in you now. Only the blood, warm and gushing, and the panic rising in your throat as your body betrayed you with a wave of nausea so fierce it made your vision blur. The heat in your side was unbearable. Blinding until even that faded, replaced by a strange, iciness that spread from the wound outward, curling beneath your skin, settling into your bones.

So very cold.

Your knees buckled beneath you, and you collapsed sideways against the grime-caked alley wall, cheek scraping brick as you slid down into a crumpled heap. Your breath came in shallow gasps, as though your lungs were filling with broken glass. You pressed your hands harder against the wound, but it was futile. The blood seeped past your fingers, indifferent to your desperation.

Time lost meaning. Minutes blurred into hours, or maybe hours into seconds. You couldn’t tell. You sat slumped over yourself, trying to remember how to breathe properly, how to think, how to gather even an ounce of strength to get back up.

Eventually, with twitching fingers, slick with your own blood, you fumbled in your pocket for your phone. The screen flickered to life, glowing too bright against the dark. You’d smeared the glass red, ruined it, probably.

You didn’t care.

Your thumb hovered over your contacts. And then… faltered. Another laugh bubbled out of you, fraying at the edges.

Who were you going to call?

Your coworkers? You only ever spoke to them in clipped pleasantries, trading shift schedules and dead smiles. Your manager? God, she’d be annoyed more than anything. You could already hear her, full of barely-veiled condescension.

How dare you get yourself stabbed when we’re at our busiest? Do you know how difficult it will be to find someone to replace you on such short notice? Honestly, it’s selfish. You clearly don’t care about the team’s success.

Your laughter splintered, turning into a strangled sob, and your shoulders shook violently from the effort of it.

It’s not like you had any friends.

And even if you did, what could they do now? Friends were for sunny mornings and warm café booths, for midday walks and shared sandwiches in the park. What sort of friend could help you now?

No one was coming.

You sank deeper into the concrete, the phone slipping from your fingers, the bloodied screen flickering like a dying star.

The cold crept in intimately, then. Not just the cold of the night, but the one that nestled in your marrow.

This was it. This was how you'd go. Alone, and irrelevant. In that moment, all you wanted—more than comfort or help—was for someone to notice you were gone.

Your fingers quivered as you scrolled through your contacts again, the names blurring before your eyes, all of them meaningless, until one, in particular, made your thumb falter.

His.

You stared at the entry. The number he’d given you with all the solemnity of a last resort. For emergencies only. The implication had been clear. You had never used it.

Yet here you were. Bleeding out alone. Surely this counted. What constituted a greater emergency than your slow descent into death? You should call him. He owed you that much, after the countless nights you’d nursed his wounds, brewed tea for his unravelling nerves, offered wordless comfort when he couldn't meet your eyes.

You hesitated.

He was the one who had left. He’d made it clear that your concern was unwanted, that your presence was a burden, a kindness too foreign for him to accept. Who were you to claw back into his life now, demanding something from a man who had nothing to give?

Besides, he had probably thrown the phone away already. Changed numbers. Burned the whole thing and permanently severed all connection to you.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed down the lump forming there.

You had helped him expecting nothing in return, and if your care had ever truly been selfless, then you couldn’t call him now. You wouldn’t dishonour whatever shred of dignity remained by asking for something he never offered.

He told you not to rely on him, and you were nothing if not obedient. Even in death.

But would he even know that you'd died?

Would he hear about the nameless person found lifeless in some forgotten alleyway? Or would you be just another unclaimed cadaver, swiftly removed with nothing but a toe tag to mark your end?

The thought struck harder than the pain in your ribs.

No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t right.

You were no one—yes. An inconsequential creature tucked into the shadows of a city that never slept, but you were not nothing. You had existed. You had loved. You had helped. And whatever little sliver of self-worth burned in your chest would not let you die like this, like some discarded scrap on the edge of the world. You wanted to at least have the dignity of dying in your own home.

With a choked cry, you forced your blood-slicked palm against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase. Your legs screamed in protest, and your vision went white with pain, but you pushed, staggering to your feet like a marionette with half its strings cut. Your body bent nearly double, every breath a dagger in your ribs, but you moved. You moved because you had to. Because you refused to die here in this piss-stained alley, where the rats would be your only mourners and your story would end in tragic comedy.

Step by agonizing step, you dragged yourself toward your apartment building, each footfall a prayer, each gasp a rebellion.

You were not going to die out here. You refused to.

By the time you reached the entrance to your building, your body was little more than a shuddering husk, hollowed out by blood loss and sheer willpower. The stairs loomed before you like a joke, an unscalable mountain for someone with no air left in their lungs. You cursed the building for not having a damned elevator, cursed yourself for choosing this place, this street, this life. But then you remembered, with no small measure of desperation, that your apartment was on the first floor. Just one flight. Just a few steps.

You could do this.

Each stair was its own Everest. Your hands gripped the banister like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, your knees buckling with every upward shuffle. By the time you reached your door, your vision had gone obsidian around the edges, the hallway swimming before your eyes like you were underwater.

Your fingers fumbled at the keyring, sticky with blood. You dropped it once. Then again. The keys jangled to the floor in a wet scatter, and you nearly screamed in frustration. It took everything in you to bend down and retrieve them, the movement setting off a white-hot flare in your side. When at last you managed to force the key into the lock and shove the door open, it felt like winning some futile, cruel battle.

The moment you crossed the threshold, your legs gave out. You caught yourself clumsily on the edge of the doorway, panting. There was a trail of red already soaking into your welcome mat, smearing across the floor where your shoes dragged in rainwater and the city’s muck.

You thought of what a mess it would be in the morning. Not your pain. Not your fear. The mess.

Of course. Always worried about the inconvenience.

Your bed beckoned, soft and warm in memory, but you knew better. The thought of dying there, of ruining the sheets, staining the mattress, and leaving some poor cleanup crew to find you sprawled like a ghost in a coffin of cotton, made your stomach turn.

No, you couldn't do that to them. You couldn't be a burden, even in death.

So you turned instead toward the bathroom, dragging your feet unsteadily. The mirror reflected something ghastly as you passed, but you didn’t look long enough to register it. The bathtub was where you would go. Easy to clean. Contained. Not that you had plans to die, not really. Just a precaution.

You collapsed inside it, the porcelain biting cold against your rain-soaked clothes. You had meant to only sit on the edge, to open the cabinet, maybe fish out the old first-aid kit, the one you’d used on him more times than you could count. But that thought was as distant now as the stars. You couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t lift your arm, couldn’t reach the faucet, couldn’t even curl properly into yourself.

The chill was everywhere, gnawing its way into your bones. Your side throbbed, your hands were numb, and your clothes clung to you like a second, sopping skin. The bathroom ceiling blurred above you, a dull white light flickering in and out of focus.

Maybe if you could just turn the shower on, and run the hot water, it'd warm you. Even that was beyond you, and your eyes slid shut.

Just five minutes, you told yourself.

You’d rest for five minutes and then you’d wake up. You’d patch yourself up, and you’d clean up the mess.

Jason Todd stood outside your apartment door, a greasy pizza box balanced in one hand, the old burner phone cradled in the other. He hated how long he stood there, staring at your door like some coward at confession, trying to summon the nerve to knock. The light overhead flickered erratically, buzzing like it, too, was mocking him for coming back with his tail between his legs.

He didn’t do apologies. Not well. Not in words. Nonetheless, this was the closest thing he could offer. A peace offering. Your favourite pizza and an irrational hope tucked in his chest that maybe you hadn’t stopped waiting for him.

He told himself it was just a coincidence when his patrols started curving past your building more often than necessary. Gotham was dangerous, after all. Plenty of reasons to keep an eye on your neighbourhood.

That didn’t explain why he always ended up outside your window. Why he paused there, hidden in the shadows with his helmet in hand, unable to resist the pull of light spilling through your curtains. Why he’d squint through the fogged-up glass, watching the shape of you as you went about your night, a ghost in your own home.

Sometimes you’d sit at the little table by the kitchen window, two mugs set down instead of one. One of them always remained untouched, placed directly in front of the empty seat he used to occupy like muscle memory. And god, those were the worst nights, the ones where he caught you staring at that vacant spot, eyes glazed with thought, fingers wrapped around your own mug for warmth that never quite reached your face.

It gutted him in ways he didn’t want to examine. Routine was memory. Memory was grief.

You’d left the light on most nights, like you always did. Once he’d seen you crack open the window just a sliver, as if you were expecting someone to come climbing through. He hadn’t moved from the fire escape that time, just sat there like a coward in the dark, watching you wait.

You hadn’t closed it again until dawn.

Here he was now, standing at your door like a man with something to offer, when all he’d ever done was take.

It had been three weeks, not that he was counting. Three weeks since he’d stormed out, spitting venom at the only person who'd offered him a lifeline. He’d told himself he was doing you a favour by leaving. Sparing you. Protecting you. But all it had done was leave him bitter, clawing at the emptiness where your laughter used to sit.

So he’d come back. He was even doing it your way this time. No rooftop skulking, no slipping through your window like a thief in the night. He’d wiped his boots on the doormat like you always nagged him to, grumbling under his breath about manners even as he indulged your rituals.

It was then that he saw it.

The mat was wet, and not just from rain. It was stained with something thicker than water. His brows furrowed. He crouched down, pressed his fingers against it, and brought them up to the light.

Blood.

A chill knifed down his spine. The pizza box slid forgotten to the floor, and the burner was shoved back into his pocket with numb fingers as he stepped forward. He reached for the door and froze. It was ajar, just enough to be wrong.

Jason’s jaw clenched as he pushed it open, inch by inch, his muscles tense. The air inside was still, but not in the comforting, quiet way. It was stale, coated in something metallic.

The hallway beyond the threshold told him everything he needed to know, and nothing he wanted to. There were smears. Streaks of blood that dragged in uneven trails across the walls and floor like someone had been pulling themselves, struggling to crawl. It didn’t take a detective to know it hadn’t happened more than a few hours ago. It was still wet in places.

“No,” he muttered under his breath.

He followed the trail, dread festering like rot in his gut, stifling in its certainty. The apartment bore the signs of someone trying—and failing—to get to safety. A chair half-toppled in the living room. A phone on the floor with bloodied fingerprints on the cracked screen. The bathroom door half-open, swinging slightly on its hinges.

Inside, Jason’s boots crunched over scattered pill bottles, cotton pads, and disinfectants. The cabinet had been ransacked, the sink stained, and the floor a battlefield of debris. However, it was the bathtub that rooted him in place.

The shower curtain had been torn from its hooks on one side, hanging askew like a shroud, and there at the edge was a hand.

Unmoving, and painted the same devastating hue as his discarded helmet.

“No, no, no—”

Jason surged forward. His fingers trembled as he grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it back. His heart stopped.

There you were, curled up like a broken doll. Blood had seeped through your clothes, and pooled beneath you in a slick that had long gone cold. Your face was too pale. Your lips were tinged with blue. You looked like you'd been dying alone.

And he hadn’t been here. He’d left you.

“Shit—” The curse ripped out of him as he dropped to his knees beside the tub. “Shit. No, no, no. Stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking do this.”

His eyes raked over your body in a frenzied scan, finally landing on the crimson bloom beneath your ribs, still seeping sluggishly into the sodden fabric of your shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, yanking his jacket off and pressing it hard against your side. “Just—fuck—open your damn eyes. Please. I can’t—just stay with me.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry out. You didn’t even stir.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he pleaded again, trying to keep pressure on the wound while reaching up to cradle your face. His fingers brushed over your cold cheek, the dampness of it jarring. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

Your skin had the waxy hue of someone far too close to death.

“Don’t do this.” His voice cracked around your name. “Don’t you fucking do this to me.”

He ran his thumb across your temple, trying to coax warmth back into your skin. “You’re not allowed to go out like this.”

He wanted to rage, to tear apart every alley in Gotham until he'd found the bastard who’d done this to you and buried him in pieces, but he couldn’t leave you. Not again.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “I was trying to keep you safe, you stupid, stupid—all I did was get you hurt.”

The blood kept leaking through the fabric under his hand. He tried not to look at it. Tried to focus on the flutter of your breath instead, shallow and shaky as it was.

“You stayed up for me. Every night,” he continued hoarsely. “Kept the light on like a goddamn lighthouse. You set out mugs for a ghost, and I—I let you.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. Forget me. Be safe.”

He brushed back the damp strands of hair plastered to your forehead and nearly flinched at the chill of your skin. “But you didn’t forget. And now look at you.”

Another shallow breath rattled from you. Not enough. Never enough.

Jason let out a bitter laugh. Half relief, half devastation.

“You always patched me up without question. Let me bleed on your couch like it was normal. Told me to stop tracking blood in like it was mud, like I was just some dumb, messy roommate. You made me think I could be something other than this.”

He gripped your jaw gently, coaxing your face toward his, needing even your closed eyes on him. He had seen worse wounds. He’d inflicted worse wounds. But never before had his hands shaken like this, not even when pulling bullets out of his own flesh. Not even when bleeding in the dark with only adrenaline and resentment keeping him alive.

You weren’t moving, and that terrified him more than anything else.

He hadn’t wanted to look. Had clung to the jacket pressed against your side like it might reverse the damage, like he could will the blood to retreat into your body, but the pressure wasn’t enough. He had to see it, to know what he was dealing with.

"Sorry...I’m gonna lift your shirt now. I need to—I need to fix this.”

As if you could hear him. As if that mattered.

Nevertheless, his entire demeanour softened when speaking to you, even now.

Almost reverently, Jason tugged the fabric of your shirt upward. It clung to your skin, soaked through with blood and rain, and he had to tear it gently around the wound to reveal what lay beneath.

It was sickeningly deep. Ragged. A puncture wound, just below your ribs, the edges dark with drying blood, the center still weeping. It hadn’t clotted. It wasn’t going to.

“Shit,” he grunted, clenching his jaw as a fresh wave of helpless fury surged through him. His hands hovered, uncertain. “You weren’t supposed to…”

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

His gloves were already off, discarded god knew where when he found you. And now, he reached for the cabinet above your sink, flinging it open and pawing through it until supplies tumbled out. A crude first aid kit: gauze, antiseptic wipes, a needle and thread in a plastic pouch. Nothing close to sterile. Nothing close to what you needed, but it would have to do.

Jason fell to his knees beside the tub again. His fingers were too numb, but he forced them to work. He yanked the antiseptic open with his teeth, nearly choked on the smell, and drenched a clean cloth with it.

“This is gonna hurt,” he uttered another apology as he dabbed around the wound. You didn’t flinch. That silence hit harder than a scream.

He took a deep breath and threaded the needle.

“I’m not good at this,” he told you. “You usually do the patching. I just sit there like a jackass and make fun of your tea.”

A breathless huff escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.

“But I’m gonna try, okay? You just—you stay with me. Just for a little while longer.”

The first stitch was agony. Not for you, but for him. The needle pushed through skin with resistance, your blood sticking to his fingers. He cursed under his breath, eyes burning as he worked. He tried to be careful, gentle even, but he didn’t have time for grace. He just needed to stop the bleeding.

One stitch. Two. Three. The jagged edges of the opening puckered beneath his efforts, but slowly the worst of it began to close. He wrapped it after, thick layers of gauze and the remains of your shirt to press against it.

Then his hands fell still.

“Okay,” he consoled, brushing hair away from your brow. “Okay. That’s… that’s the worst of it.”

You didn’t stir.

“You’re not dying,” he repeated as if he could manifest it into truth. “I didn’t just fix you up so you could fucking die on me anyway.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against your forehead, tasting rust.

“I’m not losing you.”

He had come here thinking it would be the beginning of an apology, but now it might as well have been a eulogy.

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