#I’m realizing this is really funny out of context

[angelcake10023]

I couldn’t decide because they all sounded funny so I’ll leave this up for a bit

[nsfwitchy2]

“I’m so fucking wet,” I whisper in your ear. You think I’m flirting and then you look down. My shirt is drenched. I just finished washing a dog.

[casket-of-imps]

guy who blogs on the autism site: guys this is gonna sound crazy but I think I have autism

[jaeminvore]

room(hate) | L.JN (M) — part II

SYNOPSIS: all you wanted was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital. All you needed was sleep after your long shifts at the hospital, but even that was considered a luxury in these trying times. A luxury blatantly stolen by your roommate, Jeno Lee, who seemed to have an endless line of bodies to fuck preventing you from getting at least an hour of shut eye. It was annoying. It was disrupting and you seriously hoped that Jeno's dick falls off one day.

PART II SUMMARY: so, you’ve slept with your roommate in spite of everything. What happens now?

PART I | PART II (you are here)

[AO3 link]

GENRE: roommate au, non-idol au, slice of life-ish, unrequited hate, roommates with benefits, domesticity, porn with plot, fluff, comedy, crack treated seriously.

WORD COUNT: 31.1K out of 50K

NOTE: ever love someone so much that you pumped out a 50K long two-parter fic? yeah me neither LMAO anyways… this has been a loooong long time coming and I’m just really glad I’ve seen through the end of this fic that has been in the works for more than a year now? My sincerest thanks goes to those who have been patiently waiting bc I wasn’t patient and wanted to finish this so bad but life had suddenly gotten in the way that it took so much of my time 😭 anywho, you might want to grab a snack and/or drink bc this one is loooong long! Lemme know what you think <3 likes and reblogs are much appreciated !

If you're tuning in from part I of room(hate), the long awaited continuation is here! And if you're new and seeing this, I highly suggest jumping to part I to have more context! It's a great read, entertaining even, I promise 🤞🏼

CONTENT WARNINGS: egregious use of the em dash and the comma, pregnancy mentioned (but no one is pregnant lol), feelings realization. sooo so much feelings it’s kinda dramatic really. Miscommunication (haha-funny kind). Jeno being the sweetest guy it’ll give you cavities I think. Idiot being idiots but they’re in love, so. [smut warnings underneath the cut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

SMUT WARNINGS: (some of the sex scenes aren't as graphic btw) car sex, mild exhibitionism, Jeno has a thing for glasses, face-fucking, couch sex, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex (PLEASE practice safe-sex unlike these two), MC cries during sex at some point (overwhelmed).

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken." — The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis

"There are times when my longing for you overwhelms me, so often I can think of you only with teeth clenched." — Franz Kafka

"I look out the window longingly. I was never this type. All along, I had it together" ... "It's annoying. Barely had any sleep but. Just pretending to be strong" — Crazy by Jinnie.

IV.

“Call it what you want it, darling.”

You were operating under a time crunch, but God forbid you’d pass this up.

“What happened to sex being a one-time thing?”

“Really? You say this now after the many times we’ve fucked so far?”

Jeno wrinkled his nose. “Could you be less crass?”

You rolled your eyes, held his face and kissed him, barely giving him any time to adjust the driver’s seat.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but when you were cursed with the knowledge of having what was essentially the human form of sexual relief residing just across your room—yeah, one could already tell where this was going.

Likewise, Jeno was just as willing as you were in seeking out for any form of release which really didn’t help your case at all. There were a handful of alternatives out there, let’s say, Pilates, when taking into consideration the numerous benefits your roommate had achieved from the consistent gym visits to dead-lift double (maybe even triple?) his body weight. But was it really worth the couple bucks you’d be spending—much less the extra energy and travel time—if you signed up for classes when you could get the same results from getting railed until you forgot what set you off at work?

Probably not.

Definitely not.

Fool you once, shame on him. Fool you twice, shame on you. Fool you thrice… well, you weren't a stranger to being shamed for the bad decisions you’ve made thus far. Fucking around with the same guy your complaints revolved around was a different ballpark, however, and the thought should have humbled you. Stopped you, even.

Really, it should have.

Though it became crystal clear that your intentions made a gradual shift when ‘this is the last time I’m letting you fuck me’ had gotten demoted to merely a thing you’d say to cancel out your conscious choice of falling into Jeno’s arms again. Defending yourself was as useless as a broken umbrella doing fuck all but shield you from the pelts of rain, and it was especially useless when getting pelted by Jeno’s thick load was just another Tuesday for you.

There was no point in it now when you’re about to ride the guy in his own car parked in the most secluded part of the hospital’s parking lot.

“Fuck,” you hissed, lowering yourself onto his cock. “You’re too fucking big, I swear. Dick so big and for what?” you said like it was the biggest inconvenience you’ve ever encountered in your life.

“You say this every time,” Jeno laughed, breathless, and pleased by the looks of it before his face scrunched up the moment the meat of your ass pressed down onto his thighs, moaning quietly at the tight squeeze of your pussy. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

With his obscenely large size? It’s a miracle you hadn’t split into two through a fucked mitosis process, actually. “Do you really want an anatomy lesson until you go soft?” you ground out. “Or would you rather get fucked before I clock into work?”

“Mm, I think you know what I want.”

He was looking up at you with a deceptively sweet smile. Leering, if anything, with pupils blown out so wide that they were as dark as the cup of coffee that waited for you every morning without fail.

Jeno’s eyes were one thing. Usually soft and contrasting the hard angles that make up the handsome face haunting both your dreams and more so your reality. There were no traces of the gentleness you were acquainted with as his heavy gaze raked over you, trying to peel away the soft cotton covering your skin with it alone. The mean grip he had on your hips was enough to tell you how badly he wanted this.

And you knew it was bad when you were actually looking forward to whatever Jeno’s cooking up in the more depraved parts of his brain.

A creature of habit is what you were. Staying true to a routine you’ve aged with was what you preferred, and sticking close to what you knew had less consequences to deal with in the long run. Change to you had always been a daunting idea right from when you moved to this city for your father’s job at the tender age of six and up until you shared a living space with anyone that wasn’t Mark Lee. So it really came as a shock that adapting to this arrangement with Jeno had been quick and painless.

Then again, you supposed the benefits greatly outweighed the very grievance of it being with Jeno helped. Shutting him up has been the easiest it’s ever been, for example, especially when you took the reins. Sometimes.

“That was our best one yet, don’t you think?” Jeno said once both of you recovered enough brain cells to hold an actual conversation. Unsurprisingly, he fared better than you did, insane stamina and all, though the second you picked up the barest smugness leaking from what Jeno probably thought was an unassuming sentence, you sobered up in record speed and almost smashed your skulls together when sitting up straight to scowl.

“Is it because we’re in your car? ‘That enough to stroke your ego?”

Jeno raised a manicured eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who jumped me?”

Well, yes, but being reminded of your oversight was so unnecessary.

“Get out of me,” you took a deep breath and let it out, “right now.”

Although he pulled out without any follow up witticism, you did clock the satisfied stretch of his lips, Jeno chuckling when you gave his arm a light swat. You tried not to react much towards the emptiness as he carefully removed the filled condom, tied it up and threw it into the small waste bin stuck in the driver’s side’s door pocket. Cleaning the interior of his car sounded like a great bonding activity.

Just like how the joint effort of cleaning each other up in silence was. Wet wipes swiping here and there, you even made Jeno swear up and down that no marks were left on visible places, but it’s whatever. With how things were lined up today, everyone will be too busy with their own agenda instead of debating whether or not one of you got some that morning.

That’s what you hoped for at least. You never knew with your coworkers, honestly. They were like vultures when it came to gossip, so you’ll have to rely on your few lucky stars that they won't smell it on you.

Then again, would it really be that big of a deal? People changed their minds—like, all the time, and it wasn’t like treason was being committed canoodling with the person you had once hailed as the villain of your story. Sex was simply another thing added to normalcy, going at it like horny teenagers on nights where you should have been catching up on sleep. Which was like, most nights—if you had to be truthful—that condoms had to be strictly implemented despite your consistent ingestion of birth control. Anything to prevent unwanted miracles.

(Jeno’s hand that held the whiteboard eraser immediately shot out to shamelessly erase the word ‘condoms’ from the grocery staples list.

“I may be a slut, but I take safety very seriously,” Jeno insisted, pouting when you still wouldn’t budge, hip checking him to re-write ‘condoms’. “I get tested, like, every week. I’m as clean as a celibate!”

“Hearing ‘celibate’ coming out of your mouth just sounds so wrong.” But you’d still give him his flowers for exercising caution for both his and your health. You smacked his hand away. Half for another attempt at erasing the word ‘condoms’ and half for reminding you of his wide pool of sexual partners. “We’re still stocking up on condoms.”

‘Lube’ was also scrawled underneath. Better safe than sorry and you would like to avoid any sexual mishaps if you could).

Jeno never asked questions. Never became a point of conversation when you had unanimously claimed one side of his bed for yourself. When it was where you ended up on a frequent basis, you supposed it was way past being questioned, but accepted, that you were beginning to forget what your own bedroom looked like besides your closet and desk. Like the more you veered away from the comfort of your own room, the more you got to find out just what made Jeno tick and how much of a freak he actually was.

You’ve come to find out that prescription glasses in particular could rile him up. Tried and tested by accident.

When you had taken your attention away from your iPad and honed it towards the direction of Jeno's sharp intake of breath, you found him staring at you from where he stood underneath the awning, pink-cheeked and mouth slightly agape with his windbreaker half-way off. A disheveled version of him; a frequent result of coming back from a two to three-hour long gym session, minus the blatant ogling. Seriously, why was he looking at you like that?

You tilted your head in question, eye-glasses sliding down your nose. Jeno made a wounded noise and stumbled his way closer, almost tripping over his discarded shoes.

You narrowed your eyes at the urgency in his movements. “…what is it?”

“Glasses,” Jeno said in a way like it was punched out of him, “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Oh, these?” Your knuckle pushed them back up into place and for some reason, this caused Jeno to bump into the side table with an aborted curse. “Probably because I don’t wear them often? I wear contacts, but they get uncomfortable for a while. I could get my eyes fixed with LASIK—or something else invasive, but I have this irrational fear of getting it so… I’m stuck with these.” You explained, ending it on a coy note as you fluttered your eyelashes for shits and giggles then followed up with: “I think I look cute. Don’t you think so?”

Oh, Jeno for sure thought so. More than he should, actually, or else he wouldn’t have ended up jerking off right in front of your face. On top of you, rather.

They were the very last thing you’d think would grant you an exclusive straight out of a porno, but this was Jeno. A kink that involved you wearing glasses was probably just the tip of the iceberg concerning Jeno’s lore, and that wasn’t to say that the absolute desperation to make himself cum was any less hot. To add on that sentiment, you have never expected being used—somewhat—would be this enticing either.

Or maybe it was just Jeno and the way he made everything he did ten times more appealing for what it actually was. As one does when you’re that hot, unfortunately.

Either way, Jeno managed to tote around this artful carefulness with him even in this unhingedly horny and desperate state, making sure you were comfortable and that he wasn’t crushing you with his weight. He sat on his haunches, muscular thighs on either side of your torso to keep himself upright while tugging on his cock. And to further solidify the perfect picture of desperation he posed for, he had his dri-fit shirt rucked up high enough to sit under his armpits while biting down onto the bottom hem, tampering down most of the noises he made and exposing the milky, dewy flushed skin.

That quickly became useless the moment you thought to help him out a little; nails lightly scratching down the outrageous rack of abs just to feel him twitch underneath the pads of your fingers. The whine that followed was add bonus. Flicking your tongue against the underside of his cockhead to hear his guttural moan and letting the cloth fall from his wet mouth, his legs squeezing you until the shallow rutting of his cock in and out of the heat past your parted lips made him cum. Some of it pooling onto your tongue and the rest of it lewdly marking your face in white.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “you got cum on my glasses.”

“‘M sorry,” Jeno murmured, hastily reaching for the box of tissues. It was easier to breathe, now that he was off your chest and in between your thighs. Jeno in general made it hard to breathe sometimes, but he also knew how to ease you from it. “Sorry. I’ll clean them for you.”

You hummed your appreciation, one hand running through his hair that’s due for a cut soon and smiling when Jeno pushed himself higher to kiss you. Like he couldn’t help himself with how urgent it felt that you could taste the salty muskiness of his release, your tongue sliding against his.

The thought of getting off yourself was forgotten in the midst of the torrid kissing you were subjected to, completely content with being smothered by Jeno until he offered. Wanting to return the favor, and that’s another thing you’ve come to find out about him. Jeno liked giving more than the average male would. A giver and always eager to please. At least that’s what you thought, or it was simply a Jeno-exclusive thing.

Then again, were you really going to complain when that’s all Jeno wanted to do?

Evident in the way he clambered over you, pushing you into the plush confines of the couch that had seen way too many things to the point you had conned Jeno into getting it steamed cleaned at his expense. Thick fingers worked their magic, sinking deep into your sopping cunt, the squelching sounds becoming nastier than the last as Jeno swallowed every noise you made with each kiss.

“You’re crazy,” you said, breathless and staring in wonder when Jeno seemed just as blissed out as you felt, your thumb gently swiping over his lips. You were so deep in the troughs of post-orgasmic bliss that you didn’t have the heart to push him off of you. “Insane.”

Jeno laughed, soft and sweet, his eyes turning into gentle crescent moons, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb. “Thirty percent crazy to your seventy percent. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kissed you again. “You make me crazy.”

That’s fair. You were aware of your own bouts of insanity when in a rush and you supposed the frantic pitter-pat of your heart was one of the handful of quirks that came with it.

“...right?”

You blinked back into present time, finding yourself still perched on his lap, but a lot more decent compared to when you were getting your morning fill of everything Jeno and completely missing what he just said.

“Say that again?”

Jeno’s pout didn’t last for long—though long enough that you fought the urge to coo—gazing up at you with big, almost wet eyes.

“This,” he stressed, gesturing half-heartedly between you, “It’s good, right?”

The sex? Well, yes, though ‘good’ was severely underselling it. Jeno knew that. You knew that. What you didn’t know was why he was bringing up the unspoken arrangement you decidedly have now and questioning whether it was adequate or not.

“Good as in..?” you trailed off, leaving an open for him to latch on and speak.

Jeno's lips flattened into a thin line with his gaze straying to the side.

You let out a puff of breath. Cute. “C’mon, Jen,” you said almost in a crooning manner, tipping his chin up with a brush of your fingers so he would look at you. “Work with me here.”

“Good as in—I wouldn’t mind if we become exclusive,” Jeno said, shy and making an effort to keep the eye-contact, but as soon as the pink dusted the tips of his ears, the faded graphic on your T-shirt became the most interesting thing to him.

Exclusive fuck buddies? Not a terrible proposition, you might say, and it wasn’t like you had people lined up like he did, so that left you with very limited options. Option being limited to the lone man acting as your seat and currently trying his very best to not look too eager while you internally weighed your options.

One less thing to be dealt with if you’d say ‘yes’ would be the loud noises that had disturbed your night. Instead, the noises would be coming from both you and Jeno which was already the reality anyway as he hadn’t brought anyone home for a while now. Why would he when he had you? So the answer was pretty obvious, you told him, which granted you an oddly ecstatic Jeno; capturing your lips in a quick but searing kiss the moment you made your decision explicit before you rushed out of the car when you caught sight of the time on your smart watch.

The TL;DR version of it was, ever since the coffee table incident, things have been relatively smooth sailing. It’s been an easy ride with Jeno. The roommate thing, sex and even more sex.

It had gotten to the point where your peers could tell that something was up, too.

Nothing too drastic to write home about. At least that was what you thought as the change was evident enough to some, where passing comments—mostly directed towards how you appeared more well-rested than what they were used to seeing—also took a slot in what to expect from days to come post getting dicked down by your roommate. How your mood had drastically improved that smiling had been at its easiest no matter the grueling working conditions, which was completely mutually exclusive to you sleeping like a baby, by the way.

That’s what you liked to tell yourself. You know, like the awful liar you were.

“You’re also glowing,” Yizhuo added more to the pile of observations while flipping through a chart, then froze to stare at you in alarm. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No. I am not with child—don’t you have to play nurse elsewhere?”

She scanned the chart with a hum. “Not until one-thirty.”

“No need to be defensive. We all know having children is the last thing on your mind right now,” Renjun chuckled, slowly spinning on an office chair he had claimed for the day. He stopped, narrowing his eyes towards your direction in appraisal and a smidge teasing. “But for real though, you’re looking good lately. Less tense, Less stressed—no gray hair in sight—and like Yizhuo said, glowing.” He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see our headstrong nurse finally living her life outside of the hospital.”

You winced. “You make it sound like I’m a workaholic.”

“Who says you aren’t?” Renjun smiled sweetly—disarmingly, because he knew the advantage of having a pretty face. You’re less likely to get pissed off with what left his mouth whenever he did that. “What’s changed?”

You lift a shoulder to shrug. “I dunno. I’m getting laid on the regular—yeah, surprising. I know—I’ve been catching up on sleep. Life’s… good right now.”

As good as it could be, and it’s more than you could ask for, really.

“You’re ‘getting laid on the regular’?” A new voice chimed in. “I just saw pigs fly.”

Renjun threw his head back from a belly-deep laugh as a vein pulsed on your temple.

“Can I have one day—one day—without you pissing me off?”

“No can do.” There was a smile on the newcomer's face. A smile equal parts charming and grating as the current bane of your existence sauntered over with the edge of his clipboard resting on one of his broad shoulders. “So who’s the poor piece of meat stuck with you until you spit ‘em out?”

That caught your coworkers’ attention again.

“Is it someone we know?” Yizhuo pushed, with Renjun honing in as both leaned in closer, expectant.

Eh… kind of? Jeno had been an on-and-off issue you had whinged about when someone cared enough to listen. There’s this distant image of him you’ve placed in their heads that would, for the most part, make it easier for them to sympathize why his promiscuous nature was such a problem for you. And they did, considering it wasn’t a difficult choice when they were also your friends outside of work.

Coming clean with the damning fact that you slept with the very same man that had made a portion of your life hell was completely off the table. You’d never hear the end of it and public shaming wasn’t really your thing.

Sungchan, to your dismay, was a little different, delighted that you kept your mouth shut rather than providing anyone the inside scoop of a train wreck you called your life.

If there was one nurse that could take your Nurse of The Month spot, it was fellow nurse Sungchan “Channie” Jung. With impeccable bedside manner and an endearing megawatt smile, he was considered an angel and was notoriously loved by many patients who had had their hand in luck being tended by him. It wouldn’t even be a surprise if there were only good things said about him on RateMyNurses.com.

That’s what public opinion hailed him as, but to you, he was simply Sungchan—a nurse a year your junior who had somehow managed to weld himself to your side back when he was still an intern; your personal annoyance, and a hundred times worse when it came to sticking his nose into someone else’s business for his entertainment.

You rolled your eyes when he closed the distance and slung a toned arm around your shoulders with a smile far too bright for anyone to have at this time of day.

“Mind if I steal her for a bit?"

“You slept with Jeno, didn’t you?”

“What?” You exclaimed, almost breathless as you sputtered a laugh that was neither convincing to you nor to your current interrogator. Still, you might as well try and hope that God was on your side today. “In what world would I fuck the guy I don’t like?”

Sungchan, who had been pacing back-and-forth with a gait that distantly reminded you of a harrowed father coming to terms that his only daughter got knocked up, stopped dead in his tracks right in front of you, staring you down with doe eyes lacking their usual friendly sheen.

You grew more uncomfortable the longer he looked at you. “What.”

His a-hundred-and-eighty-something tall self leaned in to get a good whiff of you, face screwing up in distaste. “You reek of sex,” he supplied before you could even ask what the fuck was that about. “You smell like a man. You smell like Jeno—did you guys fuck before clocking in?”

“Quit it! What the hell.” You pushed his face away. You were sure the scrubs that you washed all to hell would mask the evidence of your morning rendezvous. “How do you even know what Jeno smells like?” You were pretty sure Jeno wasn’t the only man who douses himself in Ferrari Light Essence whenever he leaves for an errand or two.

Sungchan arched an eyebrow. “So you did, then.”

“Answer the question.”

“I’ve been to your apartment,” Sungchan answered with a shrug, which directly translated to ‘I’ve snooped around. You can’t fool me. I know all’. “He’s used up, like, half of his Ferrari Light Essence. The one on his drawers,” he explained with an almost detached cadence, like he was simply talking about today’s weather.

You frowned. “That’s an invasion of privacy,” you hissed, but Sungchan barely looked chastised by that, something your eye twitched at. “And it could be one of the residents too. Not just him.”

“Yeah, no—see, it’s basic deduction,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that even an idiot could get on with the program far above their pay grade. “I ruled out you sleeping with our superiors—or any of the hospital staff involved. You have too much self-respect for that. Not sure where it ends if your roommate’s involved, but he’s your safest bet, and you wouldn’t have to see Jeno at work either. So, less of a distraction. Also, there’s always this weird tension between you and him. Every time Jeno walks into the room, you either look like you want to kill or jump him, and we both know which choice you’ve made.”

You puffed out your cheeks with a forlorn pout. Damn it. He’s good.

“I don’t know, Chenle could be an exception,” you argued anyway, maybe a smidge petulant and just because it was fact a year or two ago when you were taken by his easy-going attitude and his penchant for taking care of anyone around him. Until you realized the trauma surgeon-in-training was better off as a friend when he couldn’t pick up any of your hints. You still thought he had killer cheekbones, though, and there was no shame in ogling every one in a while.

“You forgot to mention her inactive dating-slash-sex life.”

You shout in surprise as you whirled around to face the top bunk closest to you, a hand over your frantically beating heart.

“Oh,” Sungchan looked far too pleased with that addition. “and that too.”

“Were you just there the entire time?” you asked, almost hysterical. “Why are you here?”

“This is the on-call room.” Chenle’s raven head popped up with his cheek lined with sleep marks, appearing disgruntled from being disturbed from his cat-nap. He rested his chin on top of the bunk’s railing, eyeing you both in mild interest despite the sleepy haze. “I’m allowed to be here—and I’m flattered, really.” Chenle shot you a meaningful look. “but hard pass. I’d prefer someone less neurotic.”

Sungchan let out a loud ‘ha!’ and you were far too mortified from admitting to your questionable, yet old attraction to your past subordinate to even rebut that and spark a debate with a guy just as competitive as yourself.

Chenle cracked a lazy smile after a moment of three of you exchanging looks. “So, Jeno, huh?” If one of them says his name one more time, you fear that his namesake would appear in this very room. “Makes sense. You’ve stopped bitching about him.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” Sungchan trailed off. “I was starting to think you killed him, or something. Didn’t think he’d buy your silence with sex. How did that even happen?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

Chenle tipped his head back with loud peels of laughter escaping him just as Sungchan rolled his eyes so hard that you silently hoped they’d get stuck staring into the void of where his brain was supposed to be.

“Be serious—an accident, she says.” Sungchan said in disbelief. “What, like his dick miraculously shoved itself deep into you without either of you knowing? Very funny.”

“What do you want me to say? It just happened—we were arguing,” (“of course you were.”) “We ended up kissing, then he fucked me on the coffee table—“

“Does he know people eat on that?” Chenle whined. “I eat on that.”

Your cheeks were scalding to the touch as you spoke through clenched teeth, “I couldn’t exactly ask since we were busy—”

Whatever else you had to say was cut short, much to the relief of both men when your phone buzzed from the pocket of your scrubs.

Sungchan took one quick peek at the lit up screen of your phone and snickered. “Speak of the devil.”

Chenle scoffed. “Jesus Christ, did I invoke his spirit or something?”

You immediately hushed them, tapping the answer button in haste.

“Hi, Jeno.”

Your voice took on a higher pitch as you greeted said roommate (whether it was from excitement or relief, you weren’t going to think too much about it) and completely glossed over the shared glances between Sungchan and Chenle because of it. There were a couple of things you’ve done in the past that were way worse than changing how you spoke to somebody.

“Hey, honey.” Good God. You were going to kill him.“Did I call you at a bad time? You sound worked up.”

“Peachy,” you ground out. “What do you want?”

“I brought you lunch? Well, no. I brought it, then left it with Jimin.”

“You didn’t poison it, did you?” You asked, dubious and gave Chenle the middle finger when he mimed making out with the air. Unbelievable. To think you’ve fantasized sucking his dick in one of the storage rooms before. “‘Cause why the hell would you be bringing me lunch when I brought lunch myself—”

“Actually, no. You forgot to pack food this morning.”

That gave you a start. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“...really?”

Jeno hummed as an affirmative. Huh. No wonder you felt like you were forgetting something. “I was waiting for you to notice in the car, actually. Or maybe call me about it.”

You scoffed. “Why would I?”

“I’m your roommate,” he said with a sigh. Like that answered everything. “You can call me for shit like this—I mean, you could demand me to make you cum, but—“

“Uh, yeah. I think I got your point—“

“But you can’t ask me to bring you food? And not everything has to turn into an argument, by the way. I come in peace.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Jeno sighed again, followed by a gravely drawl of your name.

Your mouth twitched. “Sorry. Force of habit,” and you supposed it was a hard habit to break when Jeno had been the bane of your existence. He still was, kind of. On a lesser scale. “But seriously, you didn’t have to. Don’t you have work?”

Because it wasn’t the first time where the thought of bringing enough sustenance to last you through your shift flew over your head, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The food served at the hospital’s cafeteria wasn’t too horrible, though it would not be your first choice. Only when you were in the trenches of desperation would you consider eating what was considered a bland diet.

“I took half a day off. It’s no big deal, and I wanted to.”

Having your roommate to simply bring you food had never been an option until now. There was no need to tell him either. Jeno simply chose to make the forty-minute drive to your hospital by his own volition to make sure you’ve eaten and the unprompted courtesy was enough to tamper the possible shift in moods you’d go through for today.

“Thanks… I guess.”

“Of course.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you at home?”

“On the dot.”

“Okay. Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead right after a softer farewell from Jeno, prompting you to tear your gaze from your phone and glower at Sungchan. Only to balk when he stared back as if you were some fucked up specimen he couldn’t for the life for him figure out. Or judging you, probably.

“What the hell was that?” Sungchan blurted out.

“What was what?”

“Girl, you were smiling back there. Like—” and Sungchan made a rather offensive impression of you smiling and fluttering your eyelashes, face falling flat right after, then raising an eyebrow to signal for an explanation.

“What? Am I not allowed to smile when my asshole roommate brings me lunch? Maybe this is his way of saying ‘hey, sorry for being an absolute moron. Would good dick and good food count as groveling?’”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“…Maybe.” You immediately waved that thought away with a grimace before swatting at Sungchan’s arm, earning you a yelp. “Horrible impression, by the way. I do not look like that.”

Sucgchan soundlessly parroted the latter half of what you just said in a mocking manner while soothing the spot where you hit him, then his face slowly flattened to something more thoughtful.

“Ugh. What now?”

He began with a long-suffering sigh, folding his arms, “I really hope you’re being smart about this.”

You did not like how critical he sounded. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The anger didn’t deter him in the slightest as he merely offered a non-committal shrug, gaze steady. “I’m just saying. I’ve been friends with you long enough to figure out you aren’t the type to willingly get yourself into situationships.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a situationship.”

“Sounds like one to me,” Chenle butted in.

You shot him a glare, something he waved off in blithe disregard. You really missed the earlier times where these two were still cautious around you.

“Are you going through a quarter-life crisis or something?” Sungchan asked. “Because looking at Jeno’s track record, he’s definitely the last person you’d go for. I thought you hated the guy?”

“I can still fuck the guy and hate him at the same time. It’s not mutually exclusive,” you joked, then sighed at the matching deadpans you got. “Seriously, you guys, It’s not like I’m expecting anything more.”

It went silent for a while. Neither Chenle had anything to say, and he was a chronic commenter towards conversations like this; though you weren’t sure if staying mum was better than giving his needless two cents. Chenle talked mostly to defuse the growing tension, proven quite useful when the time called for it. Then there was Sungchan again, staring at you as if he knew something you didn’t. It made your skin crawl and you were about to snap again when he beat you to it.

“I know,” he said evenly. “I’m just looking out for you.”

All the simmering animosity was put to a standstill, a small pulse of guilt rattling your heart because of course he would. Sungchan meant well like any other friend who genuinely cared for your well-being, and you reciprocated the sentiment seeing that you wouldn’t think twice elbowing the next asshole who would go against any of your friends as well.

“I get that. I do, but I’m also capable of making my own decisions.”

“Sure—yeah, but there’s still a fifty percent chance of this one coming back to bite you in the ass. Should I remind you of the twenty-twenty-two incident? That one model. Starts with a ‘Y’, ends with an ‘N’—”

“Okay, but we didn’t start as fuck buddies. And I genuinely thought we had something—“ Which was crazy to admit out loud despite it being the truth. “Yeonjun was awfully clingy and sweet.”

Granted, he had been like that with everybody, but even so, you had somehow deluded yourself into believing that Yeonjun reserved a piece of himself that only you had access to. How he spoke in hushed tones with the tenderness of a lover promising you the world. How his eyes matched the words saturated in reverence like what he had sitting in front of him was a multitude of stars banding together to form into a person that would fit the puzzle of me and you. Arguably, a soulmate.

Anyone who had been indefinitely touched-starved would have reveled in the delusion meticulously curated for them, or so you’d like to say as a form of reassurance. It was truly an embarrassing time.

“You really can’t blame me for thinking he was serious about me.”

Six passion-filled months. There wasn’t a day where Yeonjun wasn’t there, and then he fucked off to fuck-knows-where without even so much as a goodbye. Ghosted you, pretty much that you almost went catatonic with the constant overthinking, whether it was a problem on your end, or a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ type of thing.

That low period to you now was a fuzzy whirlwind of your friends lending their hands to help you get back onto your feet. Grieving of what could have been was an inevitable risk you refused to entertain then, and once you had powered your way through its five stages, a sixth stage was factored in: a milder version of arson. An addition Mark took great pleasure in when he insisted on handling the fire on your behalf.

Stolen ‘boyfriend’ clothes, received gifts, tangible memories in the form of paper like movie tickets, polaroids and a receipt from a yogurt shop’s grand-opening; all burnt with the vigor of a prehistoric man discovering fire, except this all happened in the apartment’s parking lot on a muggy spring midnight.

“Which is why I’m praying to every deity out there that you’re actually using your brain for this one,” Sungchan stressed. “and not treating this as an enemies-to-lovers type of situation. This isn’t Wattpad.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Appalled that he would even associate you with that capitalistic nightmare. And calling you stupid, too, you supposed. “I literally just said I wasn’t expecting anything other than sex.”

“We’ll take your word for it, then,” Chenle said, then raised both of his hands in defense when Sungchan fixed him a stern look. “What? You heard her. It doesn’t go any deeper than sex. She’s thought about this. That’s proof enough that she’s using her brain for once.” He turned to look at you, barely apologetic. “No offense.”

Your eye twitched. “Offense taken, asshole.”

Chenle smirked. “Good.”

“I hope your next case dies on the table.”

Sungchan stared at you for a long time. Besides the unwavering gaze, there was nothing you could latch onto that would have hinted to what he could possibly be thinking in the moment as those brown doe eyes of his pierced into the most vulnerable part of your soul. But you were just as stubborn in that regard, staring right back.

Sungchan broke first with a resigned, yet irritated sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. If the sex makes you less of a bitch than usual, then be my guest.”

“Wow,” you huffed. “you both are equally dogshit at this whole talking thing, you know that?”

And it wasn’t like you were clueless, obviously. Naive was one thing you weren’t and you knew exactly what you signed up for when your gaze would unconsciously trail after Jeno’s sinewy figure padding around the apartment after bumping uglies. When you became less irritated with everything he did such as breathing too loudly, and when you slowly, but surely started seeing Jeno as a friend, too.

Labeling yourselves as roommates was one thing as it was expected to have a level of civility there with one another. Settling on friends, on the other hand, made a sizable difference when the steadily growing bond gradually fizzled out the prior awkwardness after being at your most vulnerable. Jeno never made you second guess the unspoken agreement of being at each other’s beck and call, and in fact, he has been rather sweet about it. Dare you say it, doting even.

It was an occasional thought that would pop into your head during your quieter times away from work; if your roommate had the same candied regard for any wayward soul falling into the same bed, while at the same time, all logic told you Jeno was simply like that—kind and considerate to everybody no matter who they were. So the thought was quickly put to a rest.

Your phone lit up with a resounding ping.

Jeno Lee: eat well ‎(੭.◜◡◝)੭ ᯓᡣ𐭩

“Good God,” Sungchan groaned. “We lost another promising young woman to a man.” You shoved at his shoulder.

Though, maybe one small part of you thought being roommates had put you above the rest.

Jimin continued watching you devour your lunch like an overtly curious cat. Big-eyed and non-blinking, fixated on every minute movement you’ve been making that her salad was momentarily abandoned.

“Wow,” she whispered. “You’re fucking that up real good.”

“I’m fuckin’ hungry, damn,” you snapped, bits flying out of your mouth. Jimin barely batted an eyelash at the crumbs hitting her flawless face, smiling fondly. “I’ll ‘fuck up’ anythin’ at this point.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin conceded and took a more delicate approach in eating, giving her iceberg lettuce a dainty nibble; bunny-pink lips clashing nicely against the leafy green.

Painful as it was to admit, the chicken and veggie wrap, previously wrapped in foil labeled with ‘chicken veggie wrap :)’ in Jeno’s audacious scrawl, was delicious. So delicious, in fact, that it took only two large bites to reach half its original length. No wonder Jeno had been incessant with the whole meal prep thing. The guy knew his flavors pretty damn well. You could just picture him in your kitchen; the same pink frilly disaster of an apron cinched around his lithe waist, counting down the hours while making sure not a thing was out of place in a simple wrap until he had to make the lunch-run.

There was also a granola bar thrown in there. Jeno put you up on them after he had caught you snagging a few from his stash during a midnight kitchen run-in. You remember almost pissing yourself laughing when you had walked in on him subscribing for two boxes to arrive at your doorstep with a sweet pout just so he won’t run out as quickly now you’ve taken a liking to them. A bottle of orange juice because nagging how you’re in much need of some Vitamin C wasn't enough for him and lastly—for dessert—a small packet of organic gummy bears you were sure was made for toddlers, judging by its packaging.

Not that you were complaining. They were good; you’ve eaten five packets in one sitting after not finding anything from your stock of sweets and junk food which led to Jeno ordering extra of those, too. He mentioned it was a healthier alternative to the jellies he would be tempted to reach for when he craved some extra sugar.

Goddamn. This is so good. A contented hum and a wiggle of your shoulders expressed the sentiment, much to Jimin’s amusement. Right when you were about to take another gargantuan bite out of Jeno’s then eight-incher wrap, you came to a screeching halt at the sound of Mark calling your name.

Aside from Mark’s teal Fig scrubs, he was easy to spot when his already bright smile became blinding; the sun might as well shine out of his ass when he saw Jimin sitting with you, pleased that you were on talking terms again.

Unlike Jeno, Jimin had it heaps easier when it came to your forgiveness, and like Mark, Jimin had also been with you from stepping foot into your freshmen orientation, to the last walk after securing your degree. The only difference was Jimin had already been living with a mutual friend, and instead of the distance waning your closeness, it did the exact opposite. And if that wasn’t enough, you both got placed in the same hospital as an odd sort of compensation as well. Funny how the universe worked.

Sure, Jimin may have tinged a very small part of your suffering, but that was an easily buried hatchet. Besides, with your long withstanding friendship, you wouldn’t let a man come in between you both. Even if that man was Jeno Lee.

She was also the only other person who knew of your situation with Jeno. You thought it was only right to let her in on the secret, given she also slept with the man.

“Hey girls,” he greeted once reaching your table. “What are we talking about?”

“Jeno.” Jimin gestured towards you mid-bite. “He brought her lunch like a good housewife.”

“Oh dude, really?” Mark looked absolutely thrilled at the thought and completely glazed over Jimin’s joke, grinning so hard that for a second, you considered asking him if his cheeks hurt. “Awesome. It's great to see you two getting along now. Seriously.”

That’s one way to say it, you thought, schooling your expression into something blank as you shared a furtive glance with Jimin.

“Thought I was gonna have to break up another fight soon.”

“They’re getting along just fine, or so I’ve heard. I don’t think you have to worry about her becoming a convicted felon,” Jimin went on to say, confirming your so-called truce with a grin far too giddy when not too long ago, you had resented Jeno’s presence.

Somehow, this was what Mark noticed when you caught his eyebrows slightly knit together with a head tilt, eyes darting back and forth between you girls Though, before he could nose his way into your business as usual, you quickly cut him off.

“Jeno and I are fine, Mark,” you stressed. “Are you sitting with us?”

“Ah, no.” Mark shook his head. “Dejun’s waiting on me. I just wanna confirm if you’re coming to the party next week.”

“Party?” you echoed, a little lost. “What party?”

Mark arched an eyebrow. “Our housewarming party?” You squint, trying to recall if your best friend had mentioned anything about that. Mark blinked. “I called Jeno two days ago about it. I thought he told you?”

“Oh, right! That party. Yeah, totally.”

The call you knew about, yes. You were at least mentally present enough to jerk at the shrill ringtone Jeno had set for incoming calls and ask him who the hell had the worst timing in the world to call either of you post-coital bliss, but not lucid enough to recall the details of their conversation. Not when Jeno had smoothed the wrinkles of your brain—severely compromising any neural functions in charge of forming a thought or kicking you into action—after fucking the living shit out of you, the roughness fueled by a particularly difficult work day.

Something about an entitled asshole of a client demanding more and more of his time and efforts. You weren’t too sure. Jeno hadn’t talked much after that, or at all, really; rather preoccupied with releasing his frustrations by chasing both of your orgasms with each snap of his hips. The most you got was a grunt or two—two from the times you’ve attempted taking control. A third attempt was never made. Jeno made sure of it, pinning both of your wrists above your head, a look of warning etched onto his face.

There was also the distracting sight of him, naked as the day he was born, pacing around his bedroom. He had been speaking low into the phone as he picked up after yourselves; gathering your clothes that were ripped off of each other in haste and then dumping them into his laundry basket, giving you a full view of his pale ass. Huh, there’s a mole on his left ass cheek—yeah, very distracting.

Jeno then turned around to face you, dick and balls swinging at that, still on the phone with Mark yapping about whatever and mimed drinking out of a mug with a quizzical glint in his eyes. Coffee?

You nodded slowly, curling further into the soft nest made up of the duvet, pillows and the sweet and musky scent of Jeno.

The last thing you saw before you dozed off was the gentle stretch of Jeno’s lips as he continued talking (seriously, how much did Mark have to say?) cheek and a broad shoulder holding his phone in place while pulling a clean pair of boxers up his thighs.

“If you can’t find your dog, just look for me.” That pretty much confirmed Jimin’s attendance.

Mark snickered then turned to you, expecting. “Are you and Jeno coming together then?”

“Well,” you trailed off, pretending to think long and hard about it just to mess with your ex-roommate. “Jeno is the one with a car, so…”

When Mark started to look sulky, that’s when you laughed and took a pause from pulling his leg.

“Yes. Jeno and I are coming together.”

“Mark’s housewarming party.”

Jeno, who had been in the middle of stuffing the washer with your clothes combined, looked at you with an eyebrow raised. You stared back at him. “Seriously? You’re not going to follow that up with anything else?”

“I wasn’t aware it was happening so soon.”

Both eyebrows disappeared underneath his hair. “You were literally in my room when Mark called. He was on speaker.”

Was he now? Because all you could remember was a muffled sound of something talking Jeno’s ear off. Nothing was coherent to you during that time. You were fucked too stupid, unfortunately.

“I can’t recall,” you said mostly to yourself, but it was still heard anyway, judging by the tinge of amusement lighting Jeno’s face. “I think I was distracted.”

“Were you?” The overhead light made Jeno’s teeth glint almost dangerously as he grinned. As if one sudden move from you would end up having those sharp pearly whites of his pressed against your throat. “Distracted? You? Care to elaborate?”

The thing about living under the same roof for months and counting was your roommate will inadvertently pick up on things. One of them being the hows of dealing with you and you so called riddle-speak of passive-aggressiveness—patient and kind Jeno. There was none of that now. What stood tall before you was almost like a crude version of yourself molded by long-term exposure alone. Jeno was pushing back, more than usual—posing as a challenge almost; to give you a taste of your own medicine, but you were never one to back down.

With each step you took towards Jeno, an article of clothing came off. And with each of them falling with dull thump, Jeno’s eyes grew wider, jaw dropping further until it hit the ground when you stood so so close—a hair’s breadth away that he could make out the remnants of the cloying notes of your perfume—bare as goosebumps erupted on your skin from the cool blast of the air conditioning and the dark look Jeno fixed onto you when you plop your clothes into the almost empty laundry basket he held.

“Well?” You said, biting back a laugh by chewing on your lower lip as you peered over your shoulder to find your roommate still frozen while you were already halfway across the room. “Aren’t you coming?”

You had no interest in hearing his answer (it was obvious), spinning on your heel to make the sensual trek towards his bedroom. Though, you supposed, hearing Jeno scramble and swear like a damn sailor was worth not feasting your eyes on what it was like watching Jeno Lee lose his goddamn mind.

There was a knock on your en suite and Jeno’s head popped in through the opening of the door.

“Ready when you are,” he said, beaming when he met your gaze through the mirror.

“Almost,” you said, frowning slightly when you couldn’t get your eyeliner just right. “If my eyeliner does its fucking job.”

“Want me to help?” Jeno walked in, gently taking the liquid eyeliner from your shaky fingers and patting your hip so you could turn around and face him. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“Mm, I bet. Is that what you say to the other girls?” you jeered, but let him cradle your cheek nevertheless for him to save your poor attempt at evening out your eyeliner. You tilted your head back to make it easier and Jeno hummed, pleased with your rare compliance.

“They were never really up for talking, if I’m being honest—close your eyes for me—thank you.” His voice was soft. As soft as the felt tip that swiped a clean line above your eyelashes that left a slight cooling sensation from the ink. “Always a one and done thing,” he said this quietly, all too quickly, which gave you quite a start. Jeno didn’t seem to pick up on (thankfully) as he continued to talk, “and I have an older sister who's notorious for sharing her hobbies. I know too much about makeup and true crime. You aren’t going to kill me after this, are you?” That made you laugh.

“She sounds really nice,” you offered instead, thinking it wouldn’t be good to nudge the crack of vulnerability wider when you had to be somewhere else soon.

“She’s the best,” Jeno switched to your other eye, “You’d get along with her, I think.”

Somehow, the notion eased you. “Tell me more about her.”

For someone who labeled himself quiet on most occasions, Jeno was rather loose-lipped when he talked about his sister, and it didn’t stop there. Not that it wasn’t welcomed—his voice was rather pleasant to the ears, you’ve observed, but it was likely due to the fact that getting Jeno to talk usually requires some coaxing, so it was a charming surprise. From what he said so far, there was this muddled, but workable silhouette of his family dancing around your head, an almost trustworthy point of reference if somehow you had to get Mr. and Mrs. Lee plus older sister Lee on your good side.

(“Just think of them as me, but in, like, different fonts,” Jeno said and he seemed quite serious about his claim, too. “You’ll be fine.”

“Ah, so you’d be easy to impress then. Got’cha.”)

Not only that, but the conversation steered towards the family cats he loved dearly, but was painfully allergic too. Either Seol or Nal would have been an exciting addition to your living situation and it took you a full minute to mourn the loss of a furry companion. Although you loved the idea and would do anything to make it a reality, Jeno’s health mattered most here. He might have given you a free trial of what hell could be like all those months ago, but you genuinely cared about his comfort and safety.

In exchange, Jeno got to know more about Mom and Dad. Mom ran a small coffee shop she had built from the ground up; a modestly sized café that sat just across the private hospital where Dad worked as a surgeon and unlike your roommate, Mom and Dad were blessed by only one daughter: you. Though you did joke that the family samoyed, Dozy, could as well be their second child from how he was loved so much as if he were their own, just like how they loved you.

“Y’know, he kind of looks like you,” you said as you handed over your phone to show your lock screen set as one of Dozy’s many pictures you had taken and went back to finish the rest of your face makeup. “Maybe it’s the eyes and how you both are so damn smiley all the time,” you chuckled. “Dozy’s always been a happy pup. I miss him.”

“Believe me, that’s not the first time I’ve been told I look like a samoyed,” Jeno said with a crooked smile as he slid back your phone to rest next to your makeup bag. “I’m pretty sure Hyuck’s convinced I am one.”

“You are quite the horndog. He’s not too far off. I won’t have to worry about you humping my leg, will I?”

“You’re not funny.” Jeno sulked, making you snicker at his pouty self.

“Is your dad why you became a nurse?”

You gave him a smile before facing the mirror to work on your eyelashes. “Kind of, but I think my aunt—Mom’s sister—was the one who influenced me, mostly. She always cared so much about people. Cared so much about me too, and she was like my second mom growing up. Especially when we moved to the city. And as much as I thought being a surgeon like Dad was cool, I wanted to be like Auntie more—more hands on with the patient’s recovery and care.”

You tubed the mascara, satisfied with the added definition to your eye-look. “I could have been like Dad though, but I never had the guts to stick my hands into people like he does.”

“Huh,” was all Jeno had to say and it made you snort.

“Yeah, I get that it’s surprising for you, given I wasn’t exactly nice to you at one point,” you said, sheepish as you stared at the clutter of make-up on the counter sink. “Sorry for being a major bitch, by the way.”

“No—no, it’s not that,” Jeno said, holding up a placating hand. “It makes sense, really—that you really care about your job. If anything, I should be apologizing.”

“Eh, it’s whatever.” You shrugged. “I’m not mad about it anymore. It’s just fun being mean to you for no reason sometimes.”

Jeno sighed in relief, and then grinned so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I can see why Hyuck and Jaemin like you so much.”

“It’s really hard not to,” you joked.

“I can agree with that, yeah.” Your roommate’s smile dimmed into something gentler, gaze slowly taking in your mirrored image, causing you to blink owlishly. Not at the blatant ogling because God knows how much of an ogler you were when Jeno wasn’t paying attention, but somehow the gleam nestled in the darkness of his eyes was starkly different from what you were used to when stripped down to your bare necessities. You supposed you should be used to it. Jeno seemed to have a bit of a staring problem.

You rid any thoughts relating to why that was with an immediate shake of your head. “What about you? What got you into cyber security?”

“Mine’s not really for a noble cause, or anything.” Jeno moved from where he stood behind you to stand to your right, resting his hip against the edge of the counter with his arms folded above his chest. “I was good with Math and computers. That evolved into programming, decided to make a career out of it and went to college while deluding myself that I’d make good money someday. Which kind of came true, I guess.”

“Sounds like you could afford an apartment by yourself then,” you said, recalling the time where Mark had told you about Jeno's exceptional credit score. Anything that fell under your roommate’s state of finances wasn’t ever mentioned and asking him point-blank was considered rude, but that alone was enough to give you an idea of how deep his pockets ran. Though the notion should have come faster to you, with how Jeno carried himself sometimes. Or his preference for the more obscure brands you haven’t heard of until him.

“You’re not trying to kick me out, are you?” He teased just as you were about to correct yourself. “I could have, yeah. I know I’m not the most social, but it can get very lonely at times.”

Now isn’t that the truth? Although the thought hadn’t crossed your mind all too much, you were no stranger to the feeling. You supposed you had to thank Mark for not letting you waste away in isolation when the guy practically viewed you as an extension of himself, always dragging you along for the ride which didn’t leave any time for you to wallow in a closed space with your hurricane of thoughts. He had always made sure you were out in the open and involved with anything under the wide umbrella of socialization. You’d be a hermit if it weren’t for Mark.

Where there was someone else acting on your behalf, there was no such thing when it came to Jeno. It's as if there was this gravitational pull drawing you into each other. You simply just found yourselves within each other’s orbit without any prompting and the silence that would usually follow hadn’t been as oppressive as you thought it would be, acting more of a companion and if anything, it reshaped your perception of it.

Sitting in silence was a form of a bonding activity you enjoyed with Jeno and it was just as gratifying disrupting the peace with breathless calls of his name.

“And now?” you pressed. “Do you still feel the same?”

“I haven’t for a long time, no.” I haven’t because of you, his smile and the tenderness that softened Jeno’s striking features seemed to say, but you didn’t let yourself hang onto the possibility. Prickly as you were, you were no exception to Jeno’s inherent sweetness. “Say, you haven’t put anything on your lips yet, right?”

“You watched me do most of my makeup.”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “Just answer my question.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “No, Jen, this is just lip balm.” Facing him, you peered up at him curiously. “Why? Do you want me to put on a shade that matches your tip?”

The surprised strings of laughter you pulled out of him was the loudest you’ve ever heard him, making you grin. “Jesus, shut up!” He wheezed with a playful swat to your wandering hands that almost closed in on his crotch. “I’m trying to be cute here.”

You huffed, charmed by his efforts. Like he wasn’t cute already to begin with.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. Why?”

When his laughter died down, Jeno’s hands moved before he spoke, warmth cradling your cheek as his other hand pulled you closer by the waist. “I really really want to kiss you right now,” he murmured as his fingers slowly trailed down to your neck, Jeno’s thumb swiping away the sticky remnants of the berry flavored lip balm and then settled into the little notch right underneath the hinge of your jaw. “It’d be a shame if I ruined it.”

Another gentle press of his thumb and fingers splaying down the side of your neck had you tipping back to watch him through half-lidded eyes. He was so close. The sweeter notes of Jeno’s perfume crossed with his minty aftershave brewed a scent so intoxicating, so Jeno. He smelled delectable that the next words he was about to say didn’t make it out when you got on your toes, wound your arms around his neck and kissed him.

It was sweet, though a little needy judging by how tightly Jeno’s hand clamped along the softness of your waist. If it weren’t for Mark and his girlfriend’s invitation hanging around your shoulders serving as a heavy reminder, you would have easily gotten swept up by the tempting idea of being ravished in your own bathroom by your handsy roommate.

“We’ll be late at this rate,” you mumbled against his mouth, dragging your hands down his shoulders then settling them on his chest.

Jeno let himself be pushed away, albeit reluctantly, with a resigned sigh. “Right,” he said with a sweet pout that would have done it for you, but you held strong to your self-control.

There’s a precious pink tinge to his cheeks as he watched you rifle through the spread of makeup on the bathroom counter with a serene smile.

“So, do you really have a lipstick color that matches my dick?”

“Man.”

To Jeno’s absolute delight, Mark’s girlfriend thought your lip shade and combo was perfect.

“It’s like the color was made for you,” she gushed as she led you inside and you looked at your roommate fighting a smug smile (that you had half the mind to swipe off, but you promised to yourself you’d be good tonight) while handing her his housewarming gift—a matching tea-set—along with yours: a pair of high-quality bathroom towels with the couple’s initials stitched onto them.

The space looked a lot more put-together than the last time you’ve visited (which was like a few days ago and now did you see the dynamic palette they were going for) and a lot livelier with everybody else ranging from your closest friends to mutual acquaintances chattering up a storm with one of Mark’s playlists breathing life and color into every nook and cranny of the apartment. It truly felt like a home now and you could never be more proud of your best friend reaching a milestone with the love of his life.

“How long do you think ‘til Mark pops the question?”

“Are we going by feeling, or logic?”

Jeno shook his head and steered you towards the kitchen for drinks, a hand splayed on your lower back. “Privilege,” he suggested. “Or logic too, yeah. Out of all of us, you’re the closest to Mark. I’m sure he’s talked to you about it at some point.”

There was a ring. That was one thing you were sure of, but the details of when Mark was going to get hitched hadn’t really become a topic for discussion. It’ll come in due time. You relayed this tidbit to Jeno which earned you a solemn nod while he poured you a glass of moscato with a thoughtful pursing of his lips.

You squeezed his bicep in silent thanks, taking a healthy gulp of the sweet carmine while Jeno took to nursing a bottle of beer and swiped a slice of pizza sitting idly on the counter among many other finger-foods for you, then served himself. The pizza was still warm and you were rather peckish, and you couldn’t care less if you looked like an animal chomping down on the greasy goodness.

Jeno didn’t look like he minded, simply reaching out to pet your head with a satisfied twitch of his lips before his hand fell back to his side. It filled you with something warm and fuzzy that you promptly drowned whatever the fuck that was with the moscato. Must be the cheese.

“Well, shit,” he said eventually, smacking his lips together after a sip and then took a bite of his slice that muffled his next slew of words, “I have this on-going bet with a few other people who’re wondering the same. Figured I’d win with your help.” Taking a quick glance at your now empty glass, he refilled it without any preamble.

“My condolences.” The idea of a betting pool centered around Mark’s foreseeable engagement was so ridiculous that it made you laugh and almost tipped your drink over. “sorry I couldn’t make you rich,” you offered after getting through the giggling and thanked him for the refill.

“It’s fine. I earn enough for both of us anyway.” Jeno winked, laughing softly when that made you choke on your drink a little and handed you a tissue to clean up the spillage.

The first hour consisted of you making your rounds as a pair, sticking close as you made polite conversation with anyone you knew as a unit until you inevitably branched out to catch up with your own closer set of friends. You were in the middle of bullying Renjun into talking about his own private life outside of work when Mark decided to unearth himself from whatever social pile had consumed him, excusing you from Renjun and Jimin, who in fact, had their dog held hostage like she promised. Yet Ziggy appeared rather content, if anything, dozing away in the cradle of her arms.

“I’m really glad you and Jeno could make it,” Mark said, eyes sparkling. “I was half expecting you to show up without him, or, like, ignore him the entire night.”

“Like I’ve said before, Jeno and I are way past the animosity,” you complained. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s kinda hard to move past the fact you’ve called me at fuck o’ clock just to tell me he looked at you wrong.”

(You had been enlightened that those were fuck me eyes Jeno was shooting you, but you didn’t think Mark would appreciate the clarification).

“Yeah, well, that was before Jeno and I decided to be adults and talk like you’ve said. We’re cool now.”

“I know, I know and I’m really happy about that.”

You huffed, squinting at him. “Way too happy.”

He grinned with a twinkle in his eyes and reached out to flick your nose. “I just can’t help but think that you’re only saying that to reassure me or something.” Mark raised, which didn’t make him wrong. God knows the exact amount of times you’ve called or texted the man in regards to your supposed then misfortune of taking Jeno in. “Glad to know that’s not the case.”

“You have no faith in me.” you said, dry. “We've lived together for almost four years and still, you have no faith in me.”

“I’m a ‘see it to believe it’ kinda guy, and I’ve seen enough to believe you. I’ve been trying to get you alone, y’know? And I can’t really do that when you’ve got Jeno hovering around you.”

“Okay? That literally has never stopped you before.”

Mark knew where he stood being the closest to what you would consider family, he knew the many advantages that came with it too and people were conscious of it as well, such as snatching you away mid-conversation with no repercussions. His current neutral mien then twisted into something shrewd and a touch gloating as though he was in on some kind of inside joke he could very well tell you about, but decided not to because it would be funnier for him.

“You both have my blessing then.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Mark, what the hell are you talking about?”

Mark also knew you hated not knowing anything.

Of all people, he was well acquainted with this pet-peeve of yours, yet it was so easy for him to give you a wordless pat on the shoulder and leave you in the dark. You were left even more lost when you caught him giggling to himself when leaving you on your own, probably to search for his better half, and that wasn’t even the end of it.

The simpering followed you all the way to the small collective of women you gathered with once every two weeks (minus Mark’s girlfriend who was likely still entertaining a few of their guests). Any other day, the sight of the girls would have filled you with elation, though it’s as if you weren’t allowed it under the varying states of coquettish looks you received and instead, confronted with the late realization that you’ve unknowingly walked into a snake’s pit.

It made your hackles rise and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

“What are the odds that I’d see an old hook-up at a housewarming party?” Jayme drawled, “and not only that, but he came with you too.”

You blinked slowly, already over it. “I would hope so since he is my roommate and the one with a car, in case you forgot.”

“No duh, we know that,” Aeri rolled her eyes. “but it’s still just so crazy to me! It’s like fate at work, y’know? We’ve all had our fun with Jeno once or a few times before he fucked off to somewhere and went radio silent, only for us to find out he landed at your door and stayed there. Indefinitely.”

“Uh huh. Kinda comes with the idea of having a roommate. You live with the person. Indefinitely.”

Aeri stuck her tongue out at you.

Fei cackled, making you turn to her with pleading eyes. This only made her smile turn sharper. “I’ve got to say, I’m kinda jealous that you have access to him twenty-four-seven,” she mused. “He looks really good tonight. I wouldn’t know what not to do to him if he lived with me.”

They were never really up for talking. Always a one and done thing.

Oh. So that’s what Jeno meant. At first, you had thought his blatant evasion was simply the result of the awkwardness that would at times stem after recounting his past physical involvements with anyone else. Showing up at this gathering—being in the same space with the handful of women Jeno had been with—you couldn’t help but wonder how he fared with the unprecedented reunion, especially within their range of scrutiny, because the more you listened to the girls talk, Jeno’s hesitance on broaching the topic grew easier to understand.

They were never really up for talking became this incessant drawl in your head, as grating as hearing the same damn mosquito buzz right by your ear alongside their flagrant chatter about your roommate and his performance limited within the four corners of his bed. To the girls, Jeno was nothing more than a toy to be discarded once they got bored playing with him.

“Okay—can you guys be normal for one second?”

You didn’t mean to snap the way you did, but if that put a stop to the one-sided conversation, then so be it. Whatever Jeno was feeling at the moment could not possibly be on par with the steadily growing irritation prickling under your skin. The last time you had checked on him, there was a relaxed slump in his form as he spoke with Mark and you hoped it stayed that way.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “He’s literally right there and this is hardly the time or place.”

They made it sound like Jeno wasn’t attached to the cock they raved about. A real human with real thoughts and feelings. It made your stomach roll uncomfortably just as you balled your fists to stop them from shaking. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Fei scrunched her nose as the rest of your posse leveled the cold bleeding into your words with mild alarm. “Girl, relax, it's all in good fun.”

“And aren’t you having as much fun with him?” Aeri asked, “since when were you a prude?”

A prude? Far from it. Promiscuous? Not that either. A healthy balance between two opposing natures, likely, teetering the fine line separating them. As far as you were concerned, however, no one knew—except for a small pool of people you've told personally—what you got up to with Jeno.

It was a running joke, the girls poking fun at the perk you refused to use to your advantage and there were times where you had been tempted to tell them just how often you pawed at Jeno until he gave in to your whims (which wasn’t all that hard really). In the end, especially after this talk, you’d prefer to keep the nitty-gritty details under multiple locks and keys.

“Or a hypocrite,” Jayme chimed in.

Leaving this place with a permanent scowl etched onto your face wouldn’t be entirely impossible.

“Just—just stop fucking talking about him like—like that. I—” I don’t like it. “It’s weird. Inappropriate.” you muttered, staring at your still tightened fists on your lap that bunched up the billow of your dress.

It went quiet for a while, like it does whenever someone expressed their grievances within the circle and it was especially unnerving when you became the very subject of the girls’ observation. You didn’t dare break under the pressure, staring resolutely at the loud artwork and wall decor hung up with an otherwise jaded stare. The least you could do was keep your head held high where your face could be seen so you wouldn’t get found out.

Fei took it upon herself to break the ice with a quirk of a thin eyebrow. “You think it’s weird?”

“It’s weird,” you echoed and offered nothing more. Saying that it pissed you off more than you had expected would just have them make something out of nothing, and dealing with it was not really part of your agenda for the night.

“You weren’t complaining before, unless…” Fei’s impression smoothed over as understanding dawned on her face. “Ah. Okay, I see.”

Okay, that’s also weird as hell because why was Fei (and the others) regarding you with the same look Mark had given you moments ago?

Whatever it was, your questions were unfortunately put on the back-burner the moment a pained yelp caught everyone’s attention.

When all of you faced the direction it came from and found Donghyuck writhing, it didn’t come as a surprise. Give Donghyuck an inch and he’d take miles upon miles until he found his limit. The limit seemed to be the man you just talked about this time as the crushing grip around Donghyuck’s hand pulled a pained whine from the latter. He must have ticked Jeno off so badly if his knees were so close to meeting the ground, as opposed to Jaemin who stood off to the side, lax and just happy to be there witnessing his roommate’s self-inflicted misfortune.

Aeri cleared her throat, “does that also mean we’re not allowed to look or..?”

“Look all you want,” you said, following it with a derisive noise and got up, dusting your behind as you went.

There was no harm in leaving them to feast their eyes on your Adonis of a roommate. They’re free to do as much. It’s not like they’re the ones who got to go home with Jeno and they sure as hell weren’t the ones who got to have him in any way you wanted.

“Oh, good,” Aeri said, relieved, and fully took advantage of the five second window to fix a hungry look onto Jeno which, yeah, totally understandable. She could have waited when you weren’t watching, though. “‘Cause your man looks insanely gorgeous tonight.”

You let out a scoff. You weren’t born yesterday and lord knows how you wished you were immune to your roommate’s charms. Being ignorant of Jeno supposedly winning in the genetic department was a rare feat on its own that even the agreement between strangers had been timely; double takes were more common than not when your roommate fit the equation, and tonight wasn’t any different.

Maybe it was how Jeno wore his dress shirt; three unlatched buttons to flash a glimpse of his pale chest with the sleeves folded to reveal veiny forearms phlebotomists fantasized about (you know you did. Sometimes. Where the hell was he when you needed someone to draw blood from for your labs and practicals?) or the plain jeans in the same shade accentuating his long legs, or the dramatic change to his hair.

A week ago, Jeno had mentioned getting his hair done. With the longevity of Jeno’s infamous blue hair, the immediate thought after telling him your usual boba tea order was he might have set an appointment to get a touch up like he had done a few times and keep the mullet, or at least give it a trim and keep it neat.

Neither of your assumptions were right and instead, Jeno had walked into the apartment with a two-block cut and hair dyed back to his natural shade of black as you were in the middle of vacuuming. It could have gone two ways, one where you could have finished with the list of chores you had for the day.

Eh, vacuuming can wait. I deserve a break, you had thought as the cold herringbone flooring met your knees, pulling down Jeno’s athletic shorts along with his stirrup leggings as you went—low enough for his dick to spring free before he could even utter a ‘hello’. That was a testament to how much you agree that, yes, Jeno might as well be the eighth wonder of the world. Truly a sight to behold. Sometimes, you couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was real. That he was this irresistible.

You couldn’t even begin to explain how utterly obsessed you had been with him during the days leading up to the housewarming party; the looks, the wandering hands among the other very obvious hints you’ve dropped. Jeno at least enjoyed the attention, just as you enjoyed watching him gasp and whine with tears lining his eyes when the need to cum had his body going taut, his cock nestled deep in your throat.

“You’re so lucky.”

The corners of your mouth quirk at the sight of Jeno smiling sweetly amidst Donghyuck’s distress. “Sure am.”

Fei barked a short laugh, “congratulations.”

The comment went ignored, as well as the collective hooting when you hurried over to the trio of men standing just before the small hallway that led to the bedrooms and home office, talking among themselves. Well, the conversation was mostly carried by Jeno and Jaemin. Donghyuck was still whining from Jeno’s grip. How long had that been going on again?

Once you reached them, you decided to spare Donghyuck’s poor hand and wound your arms around Jeno’s arm closest to you, surprising both you and him considering you weren’t exactly a fan of PDA. However, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the least bit satisfied from the scandalized gasps the girls let out.

“Hi,” you greeted. Jeno did nothing to hide his apparent shock, granting him a wry smile and a squeeze to his bicep as you turned to face the gawking pair with practiced indifference. “Oh, it’s you.”

Donghyuck was the quickest to recover, wrinkling his nose. “You saw us, like, thirty minutes ago.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

As opposed to Donghyuck, who immediately pouted at your blithe disregard of him, Jaemin found it amusing, drawing in all the attention with a mixed noise of surprise and delight. “Look at you two,” he cooed, eyes the beadiest they’ve ever been as they darted between you with a sharp grin. “Since were you this cozy with each other?”

“Don’t act coy. You weren’t even supposed to know about us, but somebody couldn’t lie to save his life.” Jeno at least had half the mind to look a bit guilty with a bashful smile tugging at his lips, if not a little prideful, when he stood a little straighter. Ugh. Men.

Jaemin’s shark-like grin didn’t falter in the slightest. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Since I realized he was worth more alive than dead, yeah. I guess.” You gave Jeno’s bicep another self-indulgent squeeze and pressed your cheek against it. “He listens to me very well.”

Jeno jerked in your hold with an affronted noise.

“He’s always been such a good boy,” Donghyuck cooed and reached out with his good hand to scratch Jeno’s chin. “Aren’t you?”

You caught the twitch in Jeno’s eyebrow and for about three seconds, Donghyuck’s pain-filled shriek drowned out the excited chatter. Barely anyone batted an eyelash, used to your friend’s raucous nature, and the party carried on as usual despite the small disturbance. The least you could do was pat Donghyuck’s shoulder, much more delicate than Jeno could ever be with him. You still ended up laughing at his pitiful state, however, before pulling Jeno aside and leaving Jaemin to deal with the aftermath of his roommate’s sulking.

“You okay?”

You herded Jeno further into the same small hallway, immediately relaxing from the needed privacy. Everyone else was too preoccupied anyway. Small mercies.

“Yeah,” you said with a meek nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeno’s face did this thing whenever his thoughts tend to process on the faster side of things. Although you’ve often seen this happen in real time, being on the receiving end of his muted scrutiny—at least from the times where you were aware—had been on the complete opposite of the spectrum. It made you feel a little weird inside, but you were honestly too tired to misread the look as something else that would then evolve into an argument you’d lead.

“For starters, you usually don’t grope me in public,” Jeno quipped, flexing his arm until his shirt tightened around the muscle and it’s actually so dumb that it was enough to make you laugh.

Jeno beamed, delighted.

“You have nice arms,” and you took it as an invitation to be handsy in the dim hallway. “Very nice to look at. Strong."

He rolled his eyes just as you inwardly winced at your lack of eloquence. Your attempt at ass-kissing could use some work, yet Jeno hasn’t made the move to pull away from your touch. He said it himself—Jeno was awfully easy to please.

“Just tell me what you want.”

“Your credit card details.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow.

“My credit…” He hesitated for a little bit, searching your face that—with years of practice—was schooled into a neutral expression that wouldn’t give anything away. Slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly worn leather wallet.

You cracked a smile. “I’m just fucking with you,” you chuckled. “I do want to go home though.”

He froze then hastily shoved his wallet back, pink in the face. “Right now?”

“Mhm, right now. It’s okay if you want to stay. I know you haven't been able to hang out with Jaemin and Donghyuck lately.” Jeno looked doubtful. “I’ll get an Uber home,” you assured him.

He didn’t answer right away, Jeno’s interest momentarily stolen by the party growing louder by each tick of the clock which you could immediately tell was Donghyuck’s doing from the distinct hearty yell of ‘Mark Lee!’.

A part of you understood that Jeno wasn’t technically bound by your decisions, disregarding the amount of times you gladly let Jeno bend, twist and pull you to mold seamlessly against him to a point where you couldn’t tell where he ended, or where you began. It’s not at all lost to you that you were still your own person just as Jeno had the free will to do whatever the fuck he so desired without you breathing down his neck, yet the other half of you—the ugly, selfish half hoped—wanted—Jeno to call it a night too and let himself get swept off of his feet to take him home. Hell, you half-considered shoving your pride aside to ask him to leave with you.

Though it seemed that no pride will take a hit tonight when Jeno gazed back at you with a sweet curl to his mouth and a gentle shake of his head. He reached out to loosely wrap a hand around your wrist.

“They can survive without me for a day,” he said as his fingers brushed down the back of your hand until they caught onto yours and laced them together. “Let’s go home.”

Everything dissolved into a blur after that. A blur of goodbyes to the hosts and the fair few that made up the shared circle of friends. You didn’t pay much attention to that; barely said anything, too focused on how well your hands fit together.

V.

“Would you do what it takes; If I fall, am I safe?”

“We’re getting old,” was the first thing you said the moment you and Jeno crowded through the front door. “Who dips at eleven?”

“It’s a reasonable time,” Jeno assured.

“Yeah, for losers.” He took your coat to hang it in the hallway closet with his. “We’re losers, Jen. What the fuck,” you whined, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna think you’re a loser for wanting to go home? This isn’t college anymore. I promise you, no one gave a fuck that we left early, and no one definitely gave a fuck that Jaemin passed out like an old man on Mark’s recliner.” Jeno snorted and yeah, it was pretty funny catching the light sheen of drool poking at the corner of Jaemin’s open mouth as he snored with a beer in hand still, but he had a reason why he conked out in the first place. You, on the other hand, weren’t sure if your reason for leaving would be considered.

Leaving because you couldn’t stand the way your friends gossiped about your roommate for being (kind of) a slut didn’t sound like a valid reason to most.

“I’d sure hope so,” you said drily. “A neurosurgeon—is he crazy? Let’s just hope he won’t get sued for medical malpractice or n-negligence.”

Jeno whirled around with both eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

You managed to get your chattering teeth under control. “Just cold.” You ran warmer than most, which meant you get cold easily and it won’t be long until snow starts to blanket everything in sight and possibly turn you into a bi-pedaled popsicle the moment you step outside even underneath the layers upon layers you dreaded to put on—

“C’mere.” And that thought was immediately put to a standstill when you were swathed by a firm coil of warmth; warmth that was Jeno and his toned arms, toned torso, toned pectorals, toned everything around your shivering form, which was admittedly nice. Comforting. If this were a cartoon, you can imagine the steam rising thickly off of your body as Jeno smothered you more into him, cheek pressed right into his exposed sternum.

“So.” You sighed at the rumbling against one side of your face. “What’s the real reason why we’re home early like ‘losers’?”

Despite Donghyuck dragging Jeno’s supposedly lack of humor to filth, you had always found him funny. He knew how to time his jokes well. He could be just as witty as you, Donghyuck and Jaemin combined when he actually tried and you could agree that Jeno’s dry sense of humor wouldn’t always be a hit with everybody, unlike yourself who had been surprisingly easily entertained now that you’ve gotten over your one-sided beef with him. Jeno’s humor was an acquired taste. Usually, you’d be laughing by now from Jeno piggy-backing onto your joke, but you stayed mum and just snuggled further into the welcoming warmth.

There was a little bit of coaxing from Jeno while he kept you toasty, gently rocking you both from side-to-side. Your feet were starting to hurt from standing so long, but you’d take your chances of greedily absorbing Jeno’s body heat.

You sighed, adjusting so that you were peering up at him with your chin digging into his chest. “It’s stupid,” you began, taking a few seconds to get your thoughts in order. “Well—no, it’s me who’s being stupid, but—ugh. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being dramatic,” then quieter, ”fuck knows how often I’ve been called that.” You seethed, frowning as you broke eye contact and pushed your cheek to his chest again, finding the even beats of Jeno’s heart sort of soothing.

His response was to hold you tighter, lips pressing into your hair before he murmured, “whatever’s bothering you isn’t stupid.”

You huffed softly. “Thanks for the validation, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jeno squeezed you again and then pulled back a little to regard you in earnest. “What’s wrong?” His face then twisted to worry. “Who pissed you off? Did you get into a fight?”

Okay, sure you were short-tempered, bordering on trigger-happy, really, and you were well aware of your own shortcomings atypical for the ideal woman, so it wasn’t at all shocking that Jeno assumed so. But you were going to toot your own horn here and say you’ve been well-behaved the majority of the evening. With no debates or fights instigated by you; up until you lost your streak when the girls had spoken out of line.

It took you a while until the very thing that gave your mood a 180 shift came spilling out.

“How would you react if a person talked shit about someone… close to you?”

Jeno, who clearly wasn’t expecting any words from how cagey you had been prior, flinched at the timbre of your voice that echoed throughout your bathroom, wide eyes blinking at your expecting reflection.

“How close are we talking about?” He hit back, adjusting the Cinamorroll headband to get his hair out of the way and then reaching for his toothbrush that was somehow there.

When Mark had moved out, you immediately took the chance of claiming the master bedroom as your own. It had a sizable walk-in closet big enough to house a separate collection of clothes for two people to which Mark’s wardrobes barely filled and a large full bathroom with ‘his and hers’ sinks. You claimed one of them, most of your shit either organized in one neat row such as your skincare, or left haphazardly scattered when you were in a hurry.

Jeno staked claim on the other sink. There was his bougie whitening toothpaste. A container housing his retainers where its existence would occasionally be forgotten until you reminded him, a select few of his own skincare—a less elaborate collection which made sense when he, to your envy, had near-perfect skin—and—ah. A half-finished bottle of Ferrari Light Essence. The cologne surprised you the most. As far as you could remember, it had never strayed from its original place: Jeno’s dresser.

“Close enough,” you answered eventually, purposely vague and passed over the logistics of Jeno unceremoniously leaving pieces of him with you—in your space, when you were sure your cleansing balm melted away your makeup. You leaned closer to the faucet to wash off the evidence that you had been out.

“I’d be pissed, obviously,” Jeno said, not really noticing your subdued reply. He took a moment to brush his teeth, spitting out the foamy toothpaste once he deemed his mouth brushed enough and once your face dripped of clear water. “Like, it’s one thing being an asshole, but being an asshole to my friend?” Jeno scoffed, shaking his head to demonstrate his displeasure. “—is that what happened?”

“More or less,” you mumbled into a face towel.

Jeno’s lips twitched as he patted his face dry. “Do I have to force it out of you?”

You lifted one shoulder to shrug.

“Wow, this is really bothering you if you’re this quiet,” he tilted his head, contemplating. “Was it Mark?”

“Be serious. Name one person at the party who hates Mark,” and you’d be crazy to not like the guy. Mark had never once done anything to warrant any negativity that could affect his person. He was probably one of the rare few who possessed a soul so pure that it was almost impossible for any hatred to fester in one’s heart. Hating Mark was like hating puppies for simply wagging its tail, happy to see you. Ridiculous.

Jeno’s nose wrinkled when he couldn’t name anyone. “Yeah, no. You’re right. Jimin, then?”

Jimin had her fair share of trouble in regards to people thinking badly about her; rooted from jealousy, of all things—insanely gorgeous Jimin. A charmer, not just by her sheer beauty, but also because of how approachable she was. A social butterfly—but her confidence in herself simply did not allow her to crumble underneath critical eyes just waiting to exploit a crack in her facade. She couldn’t care less of what the masses had to say about her, and you could only wish that you possessed some semblance of Jimin's self-assurance.

You shook your head, sighing deeply as your bottom lip caught in between the worrying edges of your teeth before letting it free, shiny with spit. “You’d laugh at me if I told you.”

You received a milder version of a frown from that, though you did clock the lingering look he gave your mouth. “Hey, believe it or not, I actually care about your feelings, so I promise—” Jeno sealed it with a swift ‘x’ his finger drew above his heart. Cross my heart and hope to die “—that I won’t make fun of you.”

Ah, fuck it. It’d be like ripping a band-aid off. Quick, painless and, hopefully, easy.

“It was you,” you said, quiet at first and then you rolled your eyes up to the ceiling and repeated it a bit louder this time: “The girls—they were talking about you and ‘their time’ with you, which was fine at first before we—y’know,” you rolled your wrist to the air in front of you to gesticulate the exact situation you’ve found yourself with Jeno. It looked complicated, and neither of you could make sense out of it, so you gave up, folding your arms.

“Anyway, I just… didn’t like how they make it sound like that’s all you’re good for?” You winced. You could have worded it way better. “Like you’re some sex object with no thoughts or feelings—” oh my god, shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. “and that essentially ruined my mood. Jesus. You should have heard how the girls were going on and on and on about your dick that could work miracles, apparently—actually, no, it would piss me off even more if I saw how uncomfortable you were, so I’m glad you weren’t there—what the hell are you smiling at?”

Jeno’s smile stretched—it’s a huge thing. Where it took up almost half of his face, eyes almost disappearing as it did, but they shone bright as ever. “You care about me,” he said, obviously delighted by the idea.

“Uh, no I don’t.”

Denying it didn’t shake him in the slightest. “Yes, you do.”

“You must’ve heard wrong.”

“I don’t know, my pure-tone audiometry scores have always been high.”

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” you exhaled in defeat.

“I’m not,” Jeno laughed. “I’m just happy. I didn’t know you’d care this much about my rep. I already know that I am kind of a slut. That I got around a lot, and hearing you defend me and think I’m more than that… It’s—It’s really sweet of you.”

“Defend is kind of a stretch,” you admitted. The words left a sour after taste in your mouth that, for a second, if you were given the chance to turn back time, you would have done more. “I just stopped them from saying anything else.”

Sweet. That was the last word you’d ever thought of relating to your standing up for Jeno. You’ve been called many things when your bouts of aggression came out to play, especially when it came to your friends’ defense, but rarely anyone would call it, or you, sweet. Though, the way Jeno spoke it into existence… he seemed certain of his claim—mirrored it too—cheeks dusted a precious pink and lips curled in a curious blend of a bashful, yet gratified smile. Really, and if anything, he was the sweet one here. Jeno for sure had the face and disposition for it.

“Still, it’s something I really appreciate,” he assured, “I mean, you were thinking of me in that moment too, so by all means am I really flattered—”

“Oh, brother—”

“You’re a huge softie.” Jeno quickly scooped you up into his arms, much like how he did when you almost froze your nonexistent balls off from the creeping winter chill. Your cheek ended up being pressed to his chest once again, like Jeno just knew his pecs would calm you down which yeah. What the hell, sure. “Prickly on the outside, but soft and squishy on the inside.”

“You callin’ me a sea urchin?”

Jeno laughed. “Whatever you want—and, you care about me.”

You rolled your eyes. He’s never gonna let that go, was he? “Am I not supposed to?”

Jeno clicked his tongue. “I didn’t say that, but it’s nice to know that you do,” he said, voice doused with such tenderness that it didn’t come as a surprise that it bled through to show on his face, too.

“Yeah, well.” You evaded his gaze by gently pushing him away by the cheek, clearing your throat and hoping it would dissipate the climbing heat from your neck, up. Jeno’s arms fell from their secure hold around your waist, yet he still remained in close proximity—close enough that he might as well fuse himself to you. “If you’re done, I’m taking a shower.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Just take off your clothes before I change my mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a mock two-fingered salute.

The hot shower was a definite need in unwinding the tension in your shoulders. You retired to the living room after pulling on one of your looser sleep shirts and a pair of boy-shorts, and falling onto the couch in an ungraceful heap. You could very well pass out here, become Jeno’s problem to deal with while at it.

Speaking of, he sure was taking his sweet time.

“What’s taking so long,” you hollered. “Do you have a hot date or something?”

“Are you not my hot date?” He said and you whipped around, peering over the back of the couch where you could see Jeno in the kitchen, putting away the dishes and cutlery in their respective places.

“You got me there.” You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing?”

“I…” Jeno trailed off, prancing over to the fridge. “got you a cake.”

The main lights were off, the warmer accent lights providing an ample amount of light source. Watching Jeno move about, bathed in the soft glow, made the simple action of unboxing the dessert no bigger than the span of his hand more intimate than it should be. Maybe it was his apparent determination in making things more convenient for you was what had you looking at the sight with a rose-tinted lens. Or maybe you just wanted to eat the damn cake and heckling the guy was one way to get your hands on it faster.

“I don’t think it’s my birthday yet,” you said, charmed at the way he hobbled over with the said sweet treat, two dessert forks tucked into one of its sides in one hand and an empty wine glass to join you in drinking in the other. “Is this your way of making me feel better?”

“More or less,” Jeno acquiesced, carefully placing the dainty looking cake and glass on the table and then joining you in your comfort. “I know it’s still bothering you, but really, it’s okay. I’m used to it.”

And it's just like Jeno to check up on you, really. Always so conscientious when it came to you—with the expense of himself being a later thought—that you were starting to find it difficult to keep him at arm's length at times. He was just… so good. So inherently kind to anyone without expecting anything in return. It’s one of the things you liked about him. A paragon of all things good in the world. Not that you would ever admit it to his face, though perhaps you softening up was enough for anyone to figure out where you stood.

“Wish you weren’t used to it, though.” You said with a sad smile, kicking your legs up to lay them across Jeno’s lap. “You have the right to be mad at being gossiped like that.”

“I kind of brought that upon myself.” Jeno snorted with a hand on his nape, following suit and scooting closer to you for more comfort, and so you could fit into his side more. “But enough of that. How was the party, honey?”

He got a light smack on the chest for his cheek, though your own smile betrayed your actions, finding Jeno’s constant hovering kind of sweet. “It was still fun, among other things. My bad for cutting it short and dragging you along.” Jeno waved you off of the guilt and you were really thankful that he wasn’t at all bothered by you calling it a night. “So, the cake?”

With a hand on your ankle, Jeno reached over to pick it up.

There was something funnier about SpongeBob now that you were watching it as an adult. The jokes that flew over your head making much more sense with a fully developed brain were significantly funnier, especially with the buzz the cheap wine you had stocked for future events. Guard down, your muscles relaxing and letting the stress accumulated from tonight wash away with each sip from your glass.

Handing you the bento sized treat, Jeno had the face of an absolute winner when you read what was written in cream frosting on top of the powder blue cake.

“‘I’m sorry for having loud sex’,” you managed to say through your giggles. “Very on the nose, Jeno Lee.”

“I realized that I never really said sorry for that until tonight.”

“And cake was the way to go? I thought the sex was your version of an apology?”

Jeno lifted one shoulder for a lazy shrug. “Everybody loves cake?” And well, he wasn't exactly wrong. You loved cake as the next person on their birthday did, and strangely enough, it felt like such. The word ‘sorry’ got smudged from dipping his finger into the loopy writing and then lifted it towards your mouth.

If it were any other day, you would have snorted and batted Jeno’s hand away in favor of getting a proper mouthful with a dessert fork. However, it could be that time (and Jeno) had worn down that hardass exterior of yours to a certain point that you had no problem giving in without having to argue; circling your fingers around his wrist as your lips parted to indulge him. As expected, it was sweet. Butter cream, you thought as the more your tongue swirled around Jeno’s finger, watching his eyes grow wide and his mouth slacken, the sweeter it tasted.

“Good?” Jeno asked, voice strained as he continued to watch you work your mouth almost the same way you would when you would give his cock the same treatment. He kind of looked like he wanted to eat you. Savor you, actually, like you were a piece of honeyed heaven Jeno had the privilege of having you melt all over his tongue and swallow your very essence until the last drop. It gave you a rush, to say the least. Not to mention an ego-boost when a man this gorgeous could be so gone just for you.

In the background, Squidward cried out, ‘oh no! He’s hot!’

“Mhm,” you hummed, letting his finger go with a lewd pop before sticking your tongue out to show that there was nothing of the creamy icing left. And to fluster him, mostly, and it worked. “Wanna try?”

’loud sex’ was the next to get smudged, leaving ‘I’m for having’ still intact which didn’t really make any sense at face value. Though taking a quick sweep of the current situation, you weren’t too far off from Jeno ‘having’ you.

Jeno wasn’t able to give a proper answer, much less a word, as you mirrored what he had done without letting him have a proper taste. He did, however, get a taste of your growing impatience; wiping the dollop of icing onto his bottom lip, hooking a finger down his bottom teeth and tugging lower, and then prying his mouth wide enough to slither your tongue in for a downright messy kiss, making him groan. Jeno tasted of sugar, cream and the mint of his toothpaste. You wanted more. You needed more.

So it’s not entirely your fault that you were fast to give in to your carnal desires and how lucky you were that Jeno was there to meet you half-way.

Ten minutes later, Jeno wrestled you down on the couch, mumbling, “I thought you were tired?” into your hot, wet pussy.

“Oh, I am,” you moaned, twisting your fingers into his mussed up hair as he worked two of his thick fingers into you alongside his tongue. “But I can’t really fall asleep like thi—is—shit—Jeno! Fuck!”

A pleased hum had you shuddering as the softness of your thighs squeezed around Jeno’s insistent head. He pulled back the second your insides squeezed his fingers and you let out a frustrated groan. There’s a lazy grin on his face, lower face damp with a nasty cocktail of spit and your slick and never had you seen a man look so damn proud of being messy. Then again, you’ve noticed a pattern whenever you guys fucked; Jeno liked dragging it out to the point it was messy, so that checked out.

“Sure you can.” You would kill for an orgasm right now. Maybe sitting on his face would do the trick. If you could overpower the musclehead. “You wanna test how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out?”

A tempting offer, sure, just so you could prove him wrong, but the need to cum easily swayed your decision. That could be discussed and experimented on next time. You told him that much with a slight threatening edge to your tone, all the while canting your hips as you pushed his head down to get on with it. Though it seemed like Jeno was in a particularly stubborn mood tonight.

“Any reason why you’re being such an asshole?” you groused, still actively trying with all your might to suffocate him with your pussy, but he still wouldn’t budge. “I want to cum. Make me cum.”

“Oh, I know you do.” Jeno’s fingers were still buried in your wet heat, his cheek resting against your inner thigh. “But that depends on what you’re willing to do for me.”

Your pout deepened. “You used to be so nice.”

Jeno hummed, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I’m not hearing any offers.”

“A blowjob.”

“Oh c’mon, we both know you can do better than a blowjob,” he teased. “Besides, your gag reflex is almost non-existent—which, you’re welcome, by the way—where’s the fun in that?” And Jeno looked pretty smug about the changes he had trained into you.

“Two blowjobs,” you muttered, cheeks flaming hot because he wasn't exactly saying shit just to be funny.

The first time you got in between his thighs to suck his dick as thanks for the handful of times he ate the fuck out of you had been a disaster that if Jeno hadn’t stopped you from forcing yourself to swallow more of him, you would have ruptured your esophagus. In short, you had never been so mortified in your twenty-or-so years of living, ever, until that very day. Though the miscalculation was easily fixed after some time, gradually earning back your ‘pro-cocksucker’ title, from Jeno’s gentle, yet firm, guidance.

You really couldn’t believe this was your life sometimes. Or the fact that the absence of muscle memory almost got you killed.

“Do you wanna cum or not?”

“I’ll—“ you swallowed thickly as he curled his fingers, and then let out a soft, broken moan when his thumb worked slow circles around your clit. “I’ll ride you.”

Jeno visibly deflated as if he hadn’t been reduced to a desperate whining thing whenever you bounced on it like the many times before. “Any other offers?”

“What is this?” you groaned. The thing that got you the most was how casually Jeno spoke as if seeing you in this state; rendering you into putty wasn’t affecting him at all. “An auction for me to cum?” Well, there was one last trump card you had saved when time calls for desperate measures.

“Going once.” Jeno wiggled his eyebrows with a stupid grin. “twice—”

“Fine! I’ll ride you raw.”

Jeno, who was about to dip in for a kiss, froze, then let out an aborted laugh. “I didn’t say ‘give me a heart attack’. Jeez, it’s never delicate with you, huh? Always straight to the point.” You did become a different entity when you wantsomething, so he was somewhat right.

He took a good look at you just in case you were pulling his leg, which you understood, considering you were adamant with the usage of condoms even on birth-control. The fact that you laid still was enough of a clue-in that you were serious. Your roommate seemed to understand this and nodded, lowering himself to plant a quick and tender kiss above your eyebrow.

“Deal.”

And went lower and lower, buried his face deep into where you fingers tangled in his hair guided him towards and ate you out until the fruits of Jeno’s incessant mouth saturated his face all the way down to his neck.

“Our poor couch,” you laughed, breathless and hyperaware of the wet warmth dribbling out of your cunt; a lewd mixture of his cum and your slick sliding down Jeno’s thighs and effectively widening the stain’s circumference previously left before you had swung a shaky leg over his lap to act on your end of the deal.

“Definitely seen way too many things.” Jeno, who had his head resting on the top of the couch’s cushions huffed in amusement, lifted one eye open to indicate he had been listening. “It’s your turn to pay for steam-cleaning.”

It was such an unfunny sentence. An instant boner-killer if you were in the middle of fucking, yet the sluggish delivery had you laughing, loud and unrestrained, tucking your face into the crook of his neck to smother your giggles.

Aside from it being another inside joke birthed from conning him into paying for the first ever one, it did eventually become a once or twice a month’s occurrence when you didn’t bother moving the sex to somewhere more private like, let’s say, either of your bedrooms. Actions came with their own sets of consequences, yet you always found room to find humor in them. Embarrassing as they may be.

“At this point we should just buy a new one, don’t you think?” you wondered as you withdrew from your makeshift hiding place and pulled him in for a quick, but lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough for him, it looked like, chasing after your lips. Jeno didn’t get too far, with you playfully yanking him back by the hair to smile cheekily at him. “I’m starting to think you like dirtying our couch. Marking your territory, puppy?”

Jeno stayed quiet, but the reddening of his cheeks was very telling.

“Oh my God.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Listen—“

“Puppy—oh my goodness—that’s really precious,” you cooed, the same way Jaemin would if his end-goal was to annoy someone to the point they would consider inflicting bodily harm. “Maybe Hyuck was onto something.”

“Do not talk about another man while I’m inside you,” Jeno whined. “You’re horrible. Get off me. I don’t like you right now.”

“I said it was precious.” He didn’t even have the heart to reject a quick peck on the lips. “I think it’s cute—that you look like Dozy.”

Despite the clear displeasure, his response to your nails scratching at his scalp was almost instantaneous; he relaxed, sagging against the cushions to bask in the undivided attention you showered him with. He could very much fall asleep like this; your warm weight making him sink into the soft clutches of the sofa with your magic fingers weaving all of the stress out of him.

Which meant you wanted something, if you were being nicer than what Jeno was usually used to.

“You want something,” he voiced the thought, squeezing your hips. “What is it?”

And there it was: a smile that said you were about to get what you want. “I was being serious about a new couch.”

Jeno let his head fall back once more, pretty eyes slipping closed as he let out a puff of breath. “Okay. We’ll get a new one.”

The couch came less than two weeks later.

You weren’t religious by any means, but you sent your silent gratitude to God anyway for blessing your eyes with the wonderful view of your roommate studying the manual with eyebrows knit together in concentration and a matching sweet pout.

“You are so sexy to me right now,” you said from where you sat on the floor.

The TV was on, but neither of you were paying attention to the happenings of a show that had caught both your attention when you sourced the internet for any TV show recommendations. This one looked promising; action packed gore with an interesting enough story-line (Jeno’s words) and the rugged machismo of the drool-worthy male main character supporting it (your words), yet those factors weren’t enough to keep your attention span from waning when Jeno—less rugged, but still so devastatingly gorgeous—was about to assemble your new couch.

He responded in kind with a snort and a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “We both know damn well you’re only saying that because I paid for the entire thing.” A hand made its way to perch on his hip too and your greedy eyes drank in the way his muscles rippled from the movement.

You gnawed on the knuckle of your forefinger. Good lord.

In hindsight, Jeno was half right. Sweet-talking him could increase the chances of you running scot-free of doing any heavy work, and maybe Donghyuck had hit the nail on the head with the whole thing about stability being what you needed because what was more attractive than a man readily dropping that much money for a couch without thinking twice? Looking absolutely darling swathed in pastel blue sheets you convinced him to get, deep in a fervent search for a good replacement with his personal laptop perched above his thighs, and with you tucked into his side as a pretty accessory that would occasionally voice opinions.

For someone who didn’t sound too enthusiastic searching the world wide web for furniture, he sure was hell-bent on countering any of your sales pitch every time your eyes would land on a probable couch replacement. The heavy debate—for a fucking couch, of all things—lasted almost two hours, both of you at your wits end until you found one that ticked every requirement that had been brought up; namely, how the L-shape design granted much more space and how easy it would be to clean by yourselves.

There was a thoughtful pull to Jeno’s face as he cycled through the available colors. “Please tell me that’s the one.”

Jeno had made an affirmative noise. “Can you hand me my debit card?”

You had beamed and hopped to it, smugly handing him the piece of plastic with a haughty cross of your arms.

“I did offer to split the cost,” you countered good-naturedly, resting your chin on top of your folded arms and watching on in appraisal as Jeno got to work. “And offered to pay extra to get some people to assemble it for us but—”

“I can do it myself, thank you very much,” he grumbled, seemingly put off by the thought of you having to watch strangers with the same intensity as he was experiencing now. It puts a smile on your face. A smug little thing because nothing brightens your day than getting underneath Jeno’s skin when you could. A sulky Jeno, you’ve come to find out, was possibly the cutest gift to mankind since puppies and kittens and exploiting the otherwise infrequent possessive streak he claimed to not have was honestly gratifying when he could have anyone and everyone.

“Yeah? Your muscles aren’t just for show?”

He shot you a bland look. “You have first-hand experience, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you feigned thinking it over, tapping your chin with a finger. “Maybe I need a reminder. Care for a hands-on demonstration?”

Jeno shook his head with a soft grin. “Later. Think you could sit pretty without being a distraction until I’m done?”

The offhanded compliment left a warm glow to unfurl within your chest. From there, it spread to just about everywhere. Your cheeks, for one as Jeno just had the knack for flustering you, fizzling out to pleasant tingles reaching the ends of your toes and fingers. You were quite possibly losing it and yet Jeno has shifted his attention, completely honing in on fixing up the couch before sundown if and if you spare him of being a—his distraction.

“I’ll try,” you relented in almost a whisper. Jeno heard, of course, nodding slowly in response and once you were sure that was that, you rushed to the kitchen to whip something up for you both and shake off whatever that was.

Jeno took no time at all to get it all set up and it was a wonder why the manual when it was pretty straight forward, but you have your couch and you didn’t waste any time to settle down with Jeno for your early evening dinner.

Things promptly escalated the moment your plates were wiped clean. From your pawing at Jeno’s face, still wound up from the whole handyman thing, to unanimously deciding that you should probably take this to the bedroom. To whose bedroom became sort of a guessing game. Not one of you was entirely aware when it was important, but really, who was counting when it would always lead to sex anyway?

On a similar note, It was a miracle by itself that your combined bodily fluids hadn’t turned your old couch into a biohazard. The old thing has been through the wringer since you and Mark had bought it off of Craigslist with your first paycheck and retiring the old girl was just the right thing to do.

Bumping into things along the way, clothes ripped off in haste, like a hurricane tore through the hallway and your bedroom; as rushed as it all was, the sex was surprisingly on the more tender side of things tonight, which wasn’t uncommon, though those ‘tender’ times were mostly rooted from lazy morning sex; but it wasn’t quite that either. Jeno still fucked like he means it, that won’t ever change. Always precise with his movements wherein you would often joke inside your head that the Mathematics nerd in him probably calculated everything in his head, maximizing the output of pleasure jolting through your veins. Shit like that.

Your enjoyment, comfort, pleasure above everything else—that’s what sex was like with Jeno and granted, he got off from you getting off.

Well, most of the time.

Jeno didn’t give any warning when he rolled the both of you over, forcing a gasp out of you from the feeling of his cock plunging deeper and nudging against the spot that sent a hot flash of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like you on top.”

“Oh, I bet.” You gripped around his girth like a vice, earning you a grunt and a hiss as the flesh of your hips dimple under the force of his long fingers. “You like having me do all the work?”

“I like—I like looking at you,” he admitted, breathless and face stricken with awe as he gazed upon you. Rough hands smoothed down from your hips to your ass then to your tensed thighs and encouraged you to take what you want with light measured strokes. “You’re even more beautiful like this.” Jeno’s breath hitched when you rocked back and forth, his breathing becoming more and more uneven with each sway of your hips.

“Drives me crazy sometimes. That you’re real. That you’re mine.”

The sincerity in his tone wasn’t anything new. How he looked saying that though… It’s something else entirely. There must be something in the air, perhaps due to the change of season as the temperature slowly climbed its way down to the negatives. You glimpsed outside the window and sure enough, flurries of white were making their floaty decent. The first snow fall of the year. Normally, you would be in a rush to get up close and personal, feel the biting cold of each snowflake kiss your cheeks.

By the looks of it, however, you don’t suppose you’d be able to get up any time soon. Not when Jeno’s strained grip on the gentle dips of your waist anchored you in place.

Mine.

You should be used to it. You’ve lost count of the times you would catch Jeno staring and if it were any other time, he would have ducked his head, pink in the face and embarrassed by the habit. That was the last thing he was in this moment, the foreign glean nestled within the depths of his rich gaze held no semblance to his would-be bashful state when he openly marveled at you.

Jeno was no stranger to seeing you bare of anything. He’s probably seen you naked more than you were clothed and yet his half-lidded eyes bore into your skin as if he was stripping each layer, trying his damnedest in finding a crack to slip under and see what you kept from anyone. It scared you, in a way that you wouldn’t really mind if he flayed you open and carved a space for himself in between your ribs, right next to you beating heart.

You were hot all over. Well, hotter than you were prior and stickier. Whether it was due to the nuisance you bedded on the regular showing that all control was reigned by Jeno still—feet planted on the bed, meeting each and every downstroke with increased intensity by his a heavy-handed guidance, showing you how he liked it—or having the very same man as a singular audience, but with a gaze as imposing as a crowd deep in the reverence of their worship. So intimate that the hair at the back of your neck rose at Jeno’s easy smile—sweet. Sickeningly so. All too consuming—and how easy it was for him to look at you like that.

It was too much.

You felt impossibly bare than you were in the moment, vulnerable under Jeno’s searching eyes that you started to shake, and a whimper, bordering on a sob, broke free from your tightly clamped mouth as your resolve gradually broke down. Fortunately, Jeno didn’t think too deeply on the matter, taking it as you simply wrung out from burning most of your energy (and desperate to cum) as he sat up just as you were about to fall forward. He gathered you in his arms and flipped you both over, making sure you landed gently and minding your head, no matter how plush the pillows were.

That brought forth another rush of feelings making it harder to breathe as your roommate settled with a paced rhythm. Slow, deep, purposeful where, for a second, you started to believe your insides would have to mold around the shape of his cock, where it left Jeno to be the only one capable of filling you to the brim. There was a tell-tale sting beneath your eyelids. You couldn’t even remember squeezing your eyes shut, but you were glad for the knee-jerk response kicking in. The stinging was felt in your nose too, and you were all choked up the next second when you met Jeno’s heady gaze.

You had to thank the heavens that timing was on your side for once, because at one pointed roll of Jeno’s pelvis you came crashing down with a shrill cry. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face as you let out a wet moan, crushing your nose into the crook of his neck while his movements gradually went from measured to frantic as he pulled you impossibly close to him, and fucked you to completion.

There was someone calling after you. Jeno sounded so far away until the gentle pats on your cheek reeled you back. It took a few seconds for you to refocus your vision the moment you opened your eyes. Catching your attention first was the concerned furrow of your roommate’s eyebrows, down to his eyes rounded with the same emotion, the corners of his mouth pulled taut.

He said your name again. “Are you okay?” Jeno asked with his hands cupping your cheeks as the pads of his thumbs wiped the remnants of the salty tracks beneath your eyes away. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, definitely not hurt,” you croaked, snorting softly at the dubious look on his face. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Your answer was quick. “Good.” Jeno was unconvinced by the looks of it, but you reassured him when you covered one of his hands with yours. “Trust me, I’m a nurse. I would know if you did hurt me.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

That got Jeno to chuckle, the tension visibly leaving his broad shoulders as he sighed. “Yeah, okay. You’re totally fine if you’re talking like that.” He bent down to press his lips to your eyebrow for a few seconds before he sat right back up. “Right, I’ll be right back. Want something to drink? Eat?”

The warmth Jeno’s touch provided stayed even when pulling his hands away. “Just water’s fine, thank you.”

Jeno left the room after making himself half-decent, pulling up a pair of clean boxer briefs, leaving you alone to will your frantic heartbeat into slowing down as you curled around his pillow, pulling it close to your chest.

“...he’s one of my more interesting patients so far. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that damn phone of his was an extension of his arm.”

So far so good. Jeno hadn’t questioned you once about the moment you had and went about the usual post-sex groove of aftercare and clean up. That at least helped you out of that weird headspace you were in and you weren’t as keyed up as you were while you told Jeno about an interesting week you had at the hospital.

A college senior who had sustained a collapsed lung from a multiple-vehicle collision. While the case itself wasn’t interesting considering you had scrubbed in to deal with cases similar to the twenty-two-year-old’s, the patient himself was. Normally, you weren’t one to prolong any conversation with inpatients, though you supposed his weaponized cuteness was effective enough that the Hippocratic oath had been momentarily forgotten as he expanded on what he had overheard from the Nurse’s Station right outside his room.

At the end of the day, he was still a stranger and the most intimate interaction you’ve had with him was cleaning his stitches, changing his dressings and reminding him of his care plan. Even then, he had no place in your personal life where you’d mull over the consequences of telling him. Once Dr. Kim gave him the clear to go home, you probably won’t see him again.

“I only gave him your first name, but he already found you on Instagram.” You burrowed yourself further under the thick covers. “He said he ‘approved’ of you. Whatever that means.” With a giggle, you shifted so you laid on your side and came face to face with Jeno already looking at you with those eyes of his, the same way he did when he had you bent over the coffee table.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, gracing him with a wry smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jeno, perpetually pretty no matter the situation, and confused, batted his eyelashes—on purpose or not, you weren’t too sure—full lips jutting out further into a pout. “Like what?”

“Like—” Like that. Like I’m everything. Jeno, for as long as you’ve known him, had this sense of wonder in him. Maybe that was the reason why his eyes, more often than not, lingered for what was considered socially acceptable, yet you couldn’t get why you were always the subject of his fascination, nor why you deserved such gentleness from a guy like him. You’ve always thought he would be much better off with someone who’s less of a hardass; someone good, someone—anyone who didn’t share the ugly parts of you that were ‘too much’ to handle.

“Just—” I just don’t get it. I don’t think I want to get it. “I’m going to gouge your eyes out.”

He closed his eyes, exasperated. “Do not do that? Maybe?”

“No promises,” you said blithely, turning your back to him and baffled, wondering why your face—out of nowhere—felt so hot to the touch, why your heart raced. Why now of all times? Pillow talk wasn’t anything new. Sharing the bed was a regular happenstance. It was normal. This was normal, but why were you acting like a total school girl about it?

All the niggling thoughts came to a screeching halt at the feeling of Jeno’s arm going over your middle to pull you in, letting out an involuntary sigh as you melted into the warmth of his embrace.

“Goodnight,” he said, trailing off in a hushed tone at the syllables of your name.

Eyes squeezed shut, you let out a deep breath. “Goodnight, Jeno.”

Pleased by your response, Jeno crowded impossibly closer until he was flush against your back, pressing his lips to your nape and relaxed after. His hand settled over the curve of your breast, the tips of his fingers splayed where it tapers flat and where your heartbeat was as its strongest. And If he could tell the difference between the gentle thumping of sixty beats per minute from what was considered abnormal, he didn’t bring it up and instead tucked his bent knees right behind yours.

Yeah. Totally normal.

Sleep evaded you, finding yourself awake in the dredges of the night unlike Jeno, who was off in the deepest end of slumber.

You didn’t know why or how you were awake. For as long as you were alive, nightmares were never a problem. Your dreams were on the weirder side, yes, but they never shocked you into lucidity. You didn’t have the need to pee, drink or have a quick whatever-the-fuck-time-is-it snack. You just were, unlike Jeno who had it easy, knocking out cold fifteen minutes tops no problem. Though dead asleep—even breaths with the slow rise and fall of his chest, laying flat on his back—it’s like Jeno can’t help but still face you, like you just had this magnetic pull that attracted each and every atom housing Jeno’s attention.

He looked so peaceful. It’s almost unfair he was still gorgeous in this state, mouth open and all. Handsome face void of anything that would sour the appeal which wasn’t possible. It’s as if he simply wasn’t allowed to be ugly, wasn’t allowed to lack in areas he was known for, wasn’t allowed to be less than perfect. A burden, weighing on yourself more than it did Jeno, you had resigned to when you couldn’t find it in yourself to come up with things to complain about.

Jeno existed and you were fine with it. Jeno, stubborn but meant well Jeno, found plenty of ways of integrating himself in your space and you were fine with it. Each second, each minute and each hour, Jeno was there and somehow, you didn’t think it was enough. Even as the hours stretched out into days, weeks. Months. Would it be so bad if Jeno was there—here with you for years to come?

Then it hit you all at once—like a shock to your heart, granting you with a clarity so startling that you looked at Jeno. Like, really took him in as much as you were able to in the dim glow of the full moon filtering through the sheer curtains.

Since when did wanting absolutely nothing to do with Jeno evolved into wanting him all to yourself? You couldn’t put the entire blame on him. Sleeping with Jeno (and regularly at that) was a risk you were very familiar with. No thanks to your gargantuan AO3 history when fan-fiction was the only thing that kept you going through the grueling college experience. Friends-with-benefits had been a filter staple that guessing which outcome you’d get became sort of a game. Some good, some bad and some were so emotionally devastating that you swiped back and pretended pain never existed.

Now that you wore the shoes of every FWB protagonist, you weren’t too sure of what the endgame could be. You could admit that you went in blind with the false pretense of it being a temporary set-up when either of you grew bored of each other. But the months had bled from one to the other and it was still you and Jeno, and whatever flat surface there was left to defile.

From the gentle sweep of his eyelashes, the bridge of his strong nose, the perpetual pout of his lips with sharp angles and soft contours framing all of that—that right there was a face you wouldn’t hate waking up to in the mornings to come. Better if those mornings weren’t just the aftermath of a wild night, but nights where one of you would grow tired from finishing a few episodes of a gory thriller before eleven PM. Nights where one of you would stay up waiting for the other to get back from overtime. Or nights where you simply would spend hours just laying in bed all warm and cuddled up before sleep inevitably took you.

And as you laid on your side, eyes boring into Jeno’s sleeping face, hoping that you get the good ending out of this messy start, you knew you were absolutely truly and well fucked.

VI.

“If you stay the night, you could change my mind.”

You were five seconds away from killing yourself.

You’ve been here before. More times than you would have preferred, if you had to be honest, where Mark and yourself would set up camp on the island counter. A large plate of something to snack on (cookies this time) doubling as a conversation buffer and keeping Mark occupied while you’d do most of the talking.

Not a word has been said. Not a peep. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Mark’s unease with your unusual silence was made apparent by his treacherous balancing on two of the wooden barstool’s legs. Truly a perfect example why women lived longer than men.

Something was up. For one, you were tight-lipped, which wasn’t a good sign. Mark’s head would have been done in with your longwinded tangents right about now; where words would have lost their meaning as he eventually tuned you out. Which, sure, whatever. You always got straight to the point anyway and he only greenlights the ranting as it was a way for you to blow off some steam, no matter if it was the third time you’ve complained how impossible it was to unglue Jeno from his computer to eat.

Mark didn’t need to think too long about the possibilities. He got his answer right as the front door opened.

“Hey, Mark.”

Though he wasn’t at all prepared for the awkward as fuck silence. One could imagine Mark’s surprise when you didn’t spare your roommate the acknowledgement as you pointedly kept your attention on the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Jeno sounded pleasant enough, yet you went stiff when he shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing himself a bottle of kombucha. The side-eye you got from Mark was diabolical, yet he returned Jeno’s greeting with his usual brightness as if to assure him that nothing was amiss. Both men left it at that and Jeno quickly disappeared behind his door with a click, letting you relax.

You flinched when Mark did a full body turn so fast that it could rival the speed of light, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Dude, what the hell did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

Mark’s gaze turned sharp and stared at you like you were stupid. Maybe you were. No, you definitely were, with all things considered. “Jeno ignored you,” he hissed. “He’s never that petty. Donghyuck treats pissing him off like an olympic sport and you’ve never seen Jeno lose his cool. He’d let you know if you’re pushing it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because Jeno could just punch the shit out of you. Have you seen him?”

“Jeno’s hot bod has nothing to do with this—and stop changing the subject!” Mark snapped, swiping a cookie from the tray, took a bite and jabbed the remaining half in your direction accusingly with a muffled: “something happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s exactly what people say when something has happened,” Mark quipped, crumbs flying out of his mouth. “I bet you did something.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“And if I stab you with this cookie?”

“Do it, you won’t,” you challenged. “You can’t. Because it’s a fucking cookie.”

His gaze narrowed and for a second, you believed he’d figured out a way to weaponize a food of all things.

“You’re giving me gray hairs here,” he popped half of the sweet treat into his mouth instead, biting down with an audible crunch. “Why’d you call me over anyway?”

“Because of that,” you said with a resigned sigh, pointing to the direction of Jeno’s room. “And I called for your girlfriend, actually—y’know, for a change, but you showed up instead, so.”

“Oh.” Mark blinked, shoulders relaxing. “well, she’s out at the moment. Took Ziggy to her grooming appointment so she sent me.” She sent me, he said like he was simply there to carry out her responsibilities when she couldn’t, no questions asked. Which, yeah, maybe—but not exactly. Mark was just game for anything (more when his girlfriend is involved), though it brought you great relief that he loved her that much to potentially be an extension of herself. Jealousy would be the death of you one day.

That’s not to say you were happy by the circumstances. You were expecting girl-time, and here you were given a man that was considered a stand-in during your bi-weekly Girls’ Night. Close enough.

Momentary panic crossed his face when you let a grimace slip through. “Try me! I’m wise enough.”

You scoffed. “Your wisdom is about the size of a grain.”

“And yet I’m the one in a stable relationship,” he pressed. “I think I’m qualified to tell you things.”

“Fuck you,” you groused. Because he was right, and nothing grinds your gears more than Mark Lee being right while dangling his picture-perfect love life right in front of your face.

You were well acquainted with the intricacies of Murphy’s Law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and the start of your downfall happened a few mornings after the earth-shattering realization that you had not only desired Jeno carnally, but also desired him… not-so-platonically. You felt sick to your stomach just thinking about it. Or maybe those were butterflies partying it up in your guts because they obviously were still you in some way: ridiculously enamored by a gorgeous man.

The morning had been a quiet affair. Quieter than usual, is what you could describe the chilly start of your Saturday. Quieter than what you were used to even with the groggy aftermath of last night, though you were sufficiently energized for the regularly scheduled back-and-forth before the stillness fell in place again, with the exception of the range hood sucking up all the smoke from what sizzled on the pan.

It was your day-off and Jeno still had the luxury of whether or not he’d go to the office unless necessary. From the lackadaisical slump to his frame, you figured he had all the time in the world today.

“Isn’t this mine?” Words came first and actions followed with Jeno’s arms winding loosely around your waist, one of his hands tugging at the hem of his hoodie you pulled out from his wardrobe, his chin hooked over your shoulder.

You woke up freezing that day and the weather application had said to bundle up, so you ended up clawing through his clothes since you did end up falling asleep in his room. It just so happened his hoodie was the first thing you had blindly grabbed in haste. Your feet were quick to get cold, so you made the detour to your room for your thickest and fluffiest pair of socks. Sure the look of the herringbone flooring was nice, but lord did it almost freeze your toes off.

Jeno simply hummed when you told him so, lingered for a moment, then left you to do your thing with a gentle pat to your tummy and started on both your coffees.

“What? No tea for me?” You mused when he took two mugs out from the cupboard, one of them being your favorite one, and plucked out two pods from the stack of them, no teabag in sight. “I thought you were trying to wean me off of coffee?”

“I’m feeling generous today,” he said with a teasing lilt and left it at that, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Your stomach grumbled as the last of the modest spread of food was placed on the dining table, wincing at the terrible screech the chair made when you scooted closer. Sweetened medium roast hits your nostrils, your favorite coffee mug emitting a dull ‘thunk’ when Jeno placed it right beside your hand.

“You made it just how I like it,” you said after a tentative sip, lips pressed against the mug’s rim.

Jeno snorted softly as he reached for the maple syrup. “You notice that now? Were the coffees I made for you each morning different from that one?” He nodded towards your cup.

“No. I guess I never really had the time to think about it,” you admitted, sheepish. “I don’t remember showing you how, either.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jeno shrugged, feeding himself a forkful of the fluffy scrambled eggs. He hummed in delight. Just how he liked it. “I watched you make it a few times, it’s really not that complicated.”

You often rushed through mornings at home to judge whether or not the morning coffee on the counter was up to taste. The ratio between bitter and sweet? Who has the time when you’ve got to get to the hospital before you do your rounds? Still, you had a window of a few minutes to notice how Jeno had waited each time for you to get a few sips in before transferring your coffee into a thermos to take on your way out. You don’t remember getting a thermos. One in your favorite color either. Christ, were you having a goddamn meltdown at the dining table?

“You’re always rushing in the morning,” Jeno explained and proved once again that he was quite the observer. “‘figured I’d make your mornings a bit more convenient.”

And there it was: the convenience of it all.

While, yes, work had left you exhausted like never before, it also had been a small act of mercy that had kept you distracted and away from the demons that were waiting to be acknowledged. Those demons being anything in relation to the current predicament you were facing: Jeno. Your shifts at the hospital had been draining enough as it was that there was never any free time to think about anything.

Statistics had kept its annual consistency in seeing a significant increase in casualties the closer it got to the most wonderful time of the year. People in a perpetual state of haste in hopes of getting everything in order before the holidays. You might as well find a permanent place in the trauma department from the amount of overtime you did that your brain had been stuck in work mode until the patient influx had dwindled down.

Sure, you’ve managed to survive what could be considered the hospital’s Annual Armageddon, but there was no way in hell were you going to survive the horrors that await: being alone with your thoughts.

This was where Jeno came in. Like a stream, your thoughts of him were continuous. They ebbed and flowed and it seemed there was no end to it. On some days, they would roll around in your head, or go round and around as a microwave would; heat up or explode; whichever would be better to your state of mind. The point was, despite wanting that part of your brain—the one responsible for filtering any Jeno-related thoughts—to stop thinking, you couldn’t. You could not stop daydreaming, could not stop the ‘what if’s’—what if this (whatever this is) could become something more?

Convenience was what led you to this point.

The convenience of Jeno being at the right place and the right time. Of him taking the very first step and dragging you into something that was supposed to be casual, no-strings-attached and nothing more. This entire thing was supposed to be just a convenience to you. Jeno was supposed to be a convenience to you; in a way he’d be there if you needed help, he’d be there to fuck when you wanted, be there for—well, being there, when you needed him to be and keep you company. But…

But.

As the days blended to the next, it—he became so much more than that.

Wanting more than what you already have has never been your style. One could give you a hand and you’d justify why grasping onto one or two fingers was more than enough. Perhaps it had something to do with how you were raised, at least, that’s what you had thought because as you sat across Jeno, ignorant of being the very cause of your tumultuous state of mind, greed reared its ugly head.

It rose up your throat—that thick, all-consuming feeling of wanting something so much to the point of insanity. What should have been casual evolved into something more than what you bargained for, but you knew enough that there was nothing casual about not just wanting the convenience that came with Jeno. Nothing casual about wanting more than being another meager notch on Jeno’s bedpost. You wanted him—body, mind, soul and heart. And it’s not as if developing feelings wasn’t allowed. It was never brought up in the months the friends-with-benefits thing went on, sure, but it still felt… wrong.

Here you were, a handful of seconds away from baring your bleeding heart to him, only to pause when another thought occurred to you.

Did Jeno even want the same things you did?

No.

Definitely not.

You had no business asking about the other girls he could be seeing, but it was made clear Jeno was fully committed to follow the lifestyle of a Casanova. Being tied down wasn’t likely part of his plans as of the moment. More or less, you were probably just a phase he was slowly trying to get out and you wouldn’t be the one forcing him into settling down. Even so, it still hurts, that you will never be anything more than just a friend he gets to fuck on the regular.

And admitting that was a blow to your chest, really—like it caved in on itself, the jagged pieces of your rib cage piercing your heart. You had no idea how to make it less painful as you shot a longing look in your roommate’s direction who remained oblivious to your internal war against yourself and your feelings.

That day was seared into the recesses of your brain. How Jeno looked when you had told him this couldn't go on any longer, that you should stop, all the while being in the comfort of his embrace while you washed the dishes.

Your hands went rigid under the stream of water from the tap as Jeno stiffened behind you. Slowly you turned around in place, only for a wounded noise to lodge itself in your throat at the stricken look on his face. Confused, lost… hurt? Maybe? No, that wasn’t it. Disappointed was more apt, losing another conquest could do that to a guy, you think, could do that to you, if you were being honest; losing something that could have been good for you.

“Why?” he croaked.

“It—It just doesn’t feel right anymore.”

In a sense that sleeping with him while harboring so much warmth and fondness for a man so gentle and kind felt like you were taking advantage of him: that if you couldn’t have his heart, then his body would be the balm to soothe the burn reality left you with. You felt so much for Jeno Lee, but you knew you deserved better than this, that you were more than a placeholder for the person who would get the opportunity of a lifetime having him wholly, and he deserved better than unknowingly taking part in your desire-fueled fantasies of domesticity.

Sweet Christ, look at you. There must be something wrong with your brain if the synapse of neurons made you sound like some no-name poet from the Romantic Period. Or maybe you were ovulating, but that was neither here nor there.

The silence made you want to crawl out of your skin. You’ve never known a silence so uncomfortable and that was saying something when Mom raised hell the morning after she had opened the door to your childhood bedroom and found you with a boy. She was eerily silent after Dad had told you a less than flowery rendition of ‘The Birds and The Bees’, and from then on, you’ve learned to never piss off Mom—or ask Dad to explain in that clinical way of his.

Things should have returned to their normal state now that casual sex was off the table; how they should have been if you weren’t the least bit attracted to your roommate, or if you knew better than to let lust cloud your better judgement. With how life has been treating you lately, it won’t ever be that simple. Not when lines were crossed over and over again.

“We’re okay, right?” You had asked Jeno one day. Just for the hell of it. The answer was pretty fucking obvious when he sat at the farthest end of the couch, putting as much distance as he could.

It took a moment or two for your ex-fuck-buddy to answer in that gruff way of his when the last thing he wanted to do in this moment was make small-talk with the girl that cramped his style which, okay. Fair enough. You wouldn’t want to talk to yourself either.

“Yeah,” he said, looking straight ahead and his face drawn into a careful mask of neutral. “why wouldn’t we be?”

Because you won’t look at me. You don’t want to be near me, like I carry the fucking plague, or you pretend that I’m not there even though I caught you glancing at me loads of times. Show me something else besides indifference. Because it’s like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what it is. You won’t tell me. I don’t think you ever will, and it’s killing me. That I can’t even make things right.

There was a lot you wanted to say. You wanted to argue, never mind if all he had for you was eyes full of disdain as his voice, normally even and soft-spoken, rose and rose until it became a screaming match. At least then Jeno wouldn’t shut you out, if it meant trading peace for barbed conversations that would be uncomfortable at best because you’ve never experienced a silence so cold, and made apparent by the space between you.

You wouldn’t expect anything less when you took away Jeno’s blinding smiles. Always filled with warmth, it was proven hard to live without once you’ve gotten a taste, what it was like on the receiving end of his affections he had so easily given. Though you knew the sun would, at some point, take its blinding light somewhere else.

Shit pretty much hit the fan after that, and you’ve accepted that the not-so-but-still silent treatment was well deserved. Didn’t mean you had to like it because this was getting ridiculous.

It was like the world was out to get you for your unwarranted fuck-up. You thought Annual Armageddon was bad? Try another wave of that—double the amount of patients to the point you were forced to spend several nights camping in one of the designated on-call rooms.

Your peers had taken notice of your tank in mood, which wasn’t exactly a problem. Your work performance was still exceptional and up to the hospital’s standards, However, interns, residents, and attendings couldn’t really say the same. Not when they’ve taken the brunt of your less than stellar attitude. The interns especially, which you thought was necessary. If you want competent people running a hospital, instilling the fear of God in them would do the trick.

However, that did not go without consequences.

Karmic retribution had been quick to get your ass handed to you in the form of a grumpy geriatric who had lashed out after you told him he couldn’t be discharged just yet. He was still recovering from a hip replacement and wouldn’t be able to leave for a week at least; or if he made quick progress with physical therapy. The old man ripped you a new one even with the absence of your abrasiveness.

Needless to say, after quietly excusing yourself, you hid in the floor’s storage unit and cried.

As if that wasn’t enough, you almost cost Chenle his budding trauma surgeon career after an error that almost had his patient coding. He reassured you it was fine, that you were okay after the apologies spilled from your lips once the clock stopped, but you knew he was taking this harder than you were, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Understandable. It was Chenle’s first ever solo surgery with Dr. Qian’s supervision and you almost fucked it up for him.

You had also hid and cried, a common theme these days.

All because you were still preoccupied with the awkward situation at home (if you can still call the apartment that), still hurt that you were back to square one with your roommate who refused to step foot into the same room as you.

“You were right,” you ground out as you untied the surgical mask. There were specs of blood on your O.R issued scrubs and a damp and warm spot somewhere along the hem of your pants that you refused to acknowledge until you were in the showers.

It had been one rough case after another; this particular one with Sungchan had the team searching for the source of the bleeding longer than it usually took. It left you tired and in dire need of a scalding shower. You wanted to go home and forget the antiseptic smell of the O.R with the hint of iron that had squirted onto anyone that had stood close to the sterile field.

“With what?” Sungchan was just a harrowed, looking a little less put together being the one who held the suction as you helped Dr. Jung patch up the rupture.

“You know what.” The whole casual sex thing biting me back in the ass? But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of reminding him.

Sungchan blinked, then squinted, tilting his head. “No I don’t, actually.”

The metal bin makes a clang as you roughly shoved inside the single-use gown and gloves. You stood to your full height, looked him dead in the eyes and repeated gravely: “you were right,” and started walking, leaving him there staring at your back, wildly confused.

“With what?!”

This was definitely some form of punishment. It had to be. It’s no coincidence that it started right when Jeno decided to minimize any sort of contact and it wasn’t as if you tried to gain back what you once had before you decided top open your big fat mouth and said ‘hey, maybe we should stop fucking around and act like normal housemates!’. You really did, offering home-cooked meals as an olive branch, placing orders for his favorite snacks on rotation, doing his laundry. Folding them too without being told to—stuff like that. You even venmo’ed him half of what he spent for the couch.

If he had a hand in making the smaller inconveniences of life easier, might as well do the same for him too.

It did something. Sort of melted the icy wall he put up, low enough where clipped conversations were had at least. Still, your roommate had still kept his distance, not to mention his smile wasn’t quite the same. You hadn’t expected him to take it that hard and for a moment, you thought that perhaps there was a chance that he may also—no way. You immediately bat that train of thought away. He probably just missed the idea of having a warm body within his reach.

Which was a funny possibility when you missed him. Just as much, definitely more than just his body which was surprisingly easy to admit. You really never learn to value something once you’ve carelessly let it slip it through your fingers—until it was too late, and fuck do you miss Jeno. Having him close in a way; in the kitchen, dancing around each other as either breakfast, lunch dinner heats away on the stove. Doing the separating of whites, blacks, greys and color for laundry when your schedules align. Recuperating on the couch after a long day, preferably, with your head on Jeno’s lap while he ran nimble fingers through your hair.

You missed the easy companionship solidified by living together and you were so fucking scared that you might lose that too.

It took some time getting used to, walking into a quiet apartment again. No six foot something tall man with puppy eyes’ head popping up from the couch with a smile so warm you wouldn’t know what the cold felt like balls deep into the winter season.

The apartment was warm though, the thermostat set at a desired toasty temperature matching the warm glow of the accent lights as you padded deeper into the clean space. Not a thing was out of place. Cleaner, definitely, judging by the neatly arranged cushions on the couch and a throw blanket you had picked out with him tastefully draped over the arm rest. Jeno’s doing, no doubt.

Walking into the kitchen got your stomach rumbling, reminding you of how hungry you were. The last thing you ate was a haphazardly put together turkey sandwich you had made in a rush that morning, along with your coveted coffee in a thermos, which—you’ve just realized—had never stopped coming. Each and every morning on days where you had work, they waited to be taken along without fail. Meaning there was still a chance of whatever there was left to pick up from this mess you’ve made.

But coffee, though tempting, wasn’t what you needed right now, nor did you think it would stop your tummy’s incessant growling. Exhausted as you were, you were determined to whip up something quick yet filling. Like a vegetable omelet, or something, with a few slices of sour bread toast. There was still a tub of kimchi Mark’s mom had asked (well, demanded) him to give you. Yeah, your mouth was already watering at the thought of a hot, home cooked meal.

Your backpack falls heavily onto one of the dining chairs, an aran-knit cardigan you wore under your padded coat slung over behind it. You reached for the sky to stretch. Damn, you’d kill for another hot shower, but food first, then you could wash away the weight from today and hopefully knock right out into a dreamless sleep.

Halfway towards the refrigerator was where you noticed it, one singular thing off about the otherwise spotless kitchen: the lone saucepan sitting on top of one of the burners. It’s the one you used when you had three or more people coming over for dinner. You were no stranger finding Jeno playing chef in the kitchen considering he had more time on his hands where his work had a more sporadically built schedule. A heartwarming end to your day, truly, coming home to—well, a home. One you have steadily built with him.

There was soft tofu stew in the covered saucepan, the metal still warm to the touch. As if Jeno just knew the exact minute you would be home to kill the fire and give it enough time to cool down a little so you could eat without burning your mouth. You turned ravenous on days like this and he knew. Jeno knew—knows you like the back of his hand at this point. Even when he wasn’t obligated to know the little details of your person.

As you sat right beside your work bag, you took a tiny sip of the red broth. It’s good as expected, you’ve never dared to expect anything less when it came to Jeno’s competence in the kitchen. The blunt edge of your spoon cuts the tofu seamlessly in half, a pleasant surprise. Jeno preferred tofu that was firmer, yet he made sure to incorporate your preferences.

It was two bites in when the preceding sting of your eyes and nose came. Tears soon blurred your vision, and then you were full on crying into your hearty serving of soft tofu stew. Why wouldn’t you? When the man who acted like he wanted nothing to do with you still went out of his way to look after you, keep you in his thoughts when he should have left you alone.

You hurt him after all, but Jeno had always been a conscientious bastard, always putting you first—above everyone else. No matter if you were the world’s biggest asshole to him.

It’s odd; being back in your room after another sobbing session in your bathroom (because god forbid a woman let out all those pent up emotions). There was no overzealous puppy in human form to greet you, or hover around while you were left to your own devices before you were eventually pulled into bed, a heavy, warm weight pressing you into the sheets.

Your bed felt bigger than it actually was. Emptier despite the handful of pillows you had. The thermostat remained untouched, yet you felt colder without anyone taking the extra space beside you and you had already switched to a thicker duvet for the season. Maybe you were going crazy for real this time.

And because you were nothing but consistent, tears had once again lined your eyes, until you had drifted off to sleep with a deep ache settling itself between your ribs. Wishing that upon waking up, you’d be in the past—before you had fucked it all up just for the sake of self-preservation.

In retrospect, maybe that had been selfish on your part: shutting something down before it even started because you were afraid of getting your heart torn right out of your chest and stomped on right in front of you. If things had gone your way, you wouldn’t have woken up still in the present day feeling like absolute shit, wouldn't have called in sick to your unit manager and charge nurse, and wouldn't have then begged for Mark’s girlfriend (now Mark himself. Who had his day off) to come over and talk you through your dilemma.

Fucking hell. Feelings were hard.

You were a shell of a woman after saying your piece. “He won’t even talk to me—won’t even tell me what I did wrong,” you said quietly. “I guess I thought I was doing the right thing. Ending things before it gets too messy. I mean, I don’t want to hold him back, y’know? Finding the right girl for him ‘cause she sure ain’t me.”

“Well, you did make the decision for him without even sitting him down to talk about—about what again?”

“Were you even listening?” you whined, “I got into an F-W-B arrangement with him even if I knew the risks and I developed feelings for him anyway.” You lay your cheek on the cold surface of the island counter to look even more pitiful in Mark’s eyes, who seemed rather pensive. “Seriously, where the fuck did you find Jeno? And why am I kinda crazy about him.” ‘Kinda’ was definitely underselling it, but it was funny to you anyway, chuckling to yourself.

Mark? Not so much. It did, however, snap him out of whatever subdued spell he was in. “Wait, huh?”

“What?” You sat up straight yourself, perplexed by the odd reaction. “What do you mean by that ‘huh’?”

“Waitwaitwait—lemme run by that again—” He sounded a little frazzled. “You were fucking casually on the side, then you fell in love—”

Your cheeks warmed. “Developed feelings—”

Mark gave you a look. “Fell in love with him—same fuckin’ thing, man—and you feel shitty about it and ended things? Is that right?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

The both of you ended in a staring contest. Until Mark broke the streak when he pressed his lips together and got that look you hated so much on his face.

You groaned. “Mark.”

“What?” he said, copying your whiny tone.

“I don’t like that look.” You squinted at him as he pointed to himself in ‘who? Me?’ gesture, widening his eyes for that full faux innocent look. “Like you know something I’m supposed to know too, but you aren’t telling me because you secretly get off on that momentary superiority complex you get when you know more than I do and will definitely use it against me.”

“Well, yes.” Mark was so smug about it too.

“I graduated with better grades than you, F-Y-I.” You countered, knowing it had nothing to do with anything, but you said it anyway to make yourself feel better under your best friend’s gloating.

The annoyance melted away eventually and you were left slumped against the counter, your chin resting on top of your folded arms as you pouted in silence. You could feel Mark’s beady eyes boring into your side profile, so you were forced to talk.

“What should I do, Mark?”

“You know what I think?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Mark reached over to pinch your cheek, laughing softly when you swatted at him. “I think you should do the adult thing and talk to him about it.”

“I’ve tried,” you mumbled. He shot you a blank look, aware of your tendency to avoid anything that involves talking. You know, by running away, but that was the old you and dealing with a grudge-filed Jeno wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. “I’ve tried!” you repeated, indignant this time. “but Jeno’s… slippery.”

A shit-eating grin slipped onto his face. The exact one a thirteen-year-old would get making unprompted dick jokes. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to talk to someone who’s just as good as running away?”

“By force?” He answered rather quickly, like it was obvious. “You’ve always been good at cornering people.”

As if it could be that easy. Your roommate could be just as stubborn when he wanted to be. Like a fucking boulder that was on all fronts impossible to move by sheer willpower alone. Though you still let the thought marinate for exactly fifteen minutes since Mark had left you with a mysterious smile you had half the mind swipe away with a punch before slamming the door in his face: fifteen minutes when you heard a muffled yell come from Jeno’s room.

Well, that’s a sign if you’ve ever heard one. You just hoped he wasn’t violently jerking off. That yell sounded guttural, barging into his room while getting intimate with one (or both) of his hands did not sound like a good start to as possible heart to heart. Depends on Jeno, really. Or you, if you did manage to corner him, though something told you that you might. If you chose your words correctly,

Jeno hadn’t been whacking it, thankfully. The loud sounds he had been making during your ten seconds walk to his bedroom were out of frustration directed at the small pool of guys he was playing League with. You immediately recognized the frazzled yells of Donghyuck. Jaemin’s hyena-like cackles whenever he witnessed someone dying. You hear Chenle antagonizing Donghyuck for sport and a surprising addition to the circus was Jisung trying to corral everyone into actually working together. It didn’t work. You swore it just got louder if that was even possible.

You took a moment to lean against the door frame to watch the chaos on Jeno’s end. You get an eyeful of him. Like really took him in his natural state because it genuinely felt like you haven’t seen him and his face in a hot minute. The tight black tank-top, loose sweatpants, mussed up hair—you had to bite your tongue from making any pathetic noise.

“You voice chat with them on speaker?”

Evidently, Jeno had not expected for you to barge in, startling him so bad at the sound of your voice that he bumped his knee quite hard against the table with a loud exclamation of ‘fuck!’. The gaming chair squeaked when he spun around to scowl at you. Whether it was from scaring the living shit out of him, disturbing his time with the boys, or seeing you, the cause of his biggest disappointment, you probably deserved it either way.

“Why? Are you gonna complain how loud I am again?” Oh wow. He really did not like you right now. That wasn’t going to stop you though. You were going to have that talk whether your roommate liked it or not. And possible broken hearts be damned.

“No, I just—can we talk?”

Jeno arched an eyebrow, looking from his monitor then to you. “I’m busy. If that wasn’t obvious.”

My God, is he being difficult, you thought, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I doubt playing LoL with the morons is more important than what I have to talk to you about,” you said dryly.

“Did you just call us ‘morons’?” Chenle.

“Oh, and one of them’s deaf too.”

“Do we have to..?” Jeno has this sort of pained look on his face and could not quite meet your narrowed gaze.

“Wait—holy shit. Are you guys fighting?” Came the crackle of Jaemin’s grating voice, sounding way too happy.

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting,” Chenle sang in a stupid tune which immediately got a snippy ‘go fuck yourself, Chenle’ from Daddy.

“Is this why Jeno’s been a sulky shit for the past few weeks?” Donghyuck asked through his obnoxious giggling. “What’d you do, Samoyed?”

“You should be asking her that.” The samoyed in question grumbled, swiveling towards his monitor as the guys (minus Jisung) whooped and hollered at his snipe. “Can we continue? Please?” His tone turned desperate at the last word. If it were any other day, you would have taken pity, but it was clear he was using fucking League of Legends as an escape and you were too keyed up to let Jeno have this one.

“Oh no you don’t, motherfucker.”

Jeno barely had his hand hovered over the curved surface of his mouse when he was violently spun around with all the strength you had. The hollering increased tenfold, a chorus of men asking what the fuck was going on adding fuel to the fire pushing your roommate by the chair’s arms until it hits the edge of his desk hard enough that it rattled.

The incredulous twist to Jeno’s face went ignored along with the excited yells of grown ass men begging to be part of this ‘lovers spat’ as you clambered onto your roommate’s lap. The chair creaked when you leaned forward, reaching behind Jeno for the keyboard and paid no mind to his muffled exclaim of surprise. So what if your breasts were right in his face? He was well acquainted with them. He had no room to act like a blushing virgin.

“What—what are you doing?”

“Are we getting a show?” Donghyuck asked, excited, followed by the rest of them pressing to get exactly that.

“Hell no.” Your fingers pressed down on a combination of keys. “I’m turning this thing off. Goodbye.”

The whirring cooling fans of Jeno’s coveted CPU died along with your friends’ protests of sticking around longer and promises of keeping quiet after you had forced closed all applications after a few mouse clicks and shut down the computer. Once you were sure everything was off, you sat up straight and forced him to look at you with your fingers grasping his chin.

“We should talk.”

“I figured.” Jeno’s shoulders slumped with a resigned sigh, though he didn’t make any move to pull away from your touch. ���Don’t you want to sit on the bed? Y’know, keep a normal distance between us?”

“Jeno, nothing about us is normal. Hasn’t been since that first kiss.”

He hummed, those brown pools of his glazing over as his cheeks pinked at the memory. “That’s fair. You sure you’re comfortable like that?”

“Just a precaution.” You shrugged. “I don’t want you running off. Which reminds me—” You let go of his chin in favor of leaning back and folding your arms above your chest. “What the fuck was that about? Avoiding me? I thought we were okay?”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say when Jeno’s face hardened and wrenched his chin from your grasp.

“Okay?” His disbelief has your eyebrows rising. “It was that easy for you, huh?” You were surprised he hasn’t thrown you off his lap yet. Jeno seemed to contemplate the idea as a series of emotions passed over his face. In the end, he settled on leaning back with a creak, mirroring your crossed arms and looking everything but pleased. “No. We’re not okay. Why the fuck did you think I’d be okay after you told me you wanted nothing to do with me?”

“Technically, that’s not what I said—“

“I know what you said. I was there.” That was a joke. A very dry one at that and if this were any other situation, you would have laughed. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less. We were doing good. We were happy and I thought you might’ve—” He shook his head.“I just don’t get why you called it quits.” Well, at least the urge to laugh was gone. You felt like absolute garbage. Jeno looked so tired, staring resolutely at the print of your shirt.

“Believe me when I say I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said gently, reaching out to brush your fingers against Jeno’s that were nestled in the crook of his elbow. “I thought I was doing the right thing—and you were right, we were happy. It was the happiest I’ve ever been and… and—I’m going to sound so stupid—but I got scared. Everything was good, yeah, too good. Perfect even, and that scared me.” When you heard nothing from Jeno, you took that as a prompt for you to continue, keeping your gaze set on his fingers you fiddled with.

“This was supposed to be just sex, y’know? But the longer it went on, the more I started to want more than that and it’s honestly driving me crazy,” you say, laughing softly to yourself. “You just had to be kind. You just had to be the sweetest fucking person I know and I guess I’m not as immune as I thought I would be when it comes to you.” You swallowed thickly. “And I can’t stand the fact that all I’m ever gonna be is your roommate you sleep with.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Laying yourself bare had never been easy. The vulnerability that came with admitting you’ve grown to care for Jeno outside the limits friendship entailed. Granted you didn’t explicitly pour your heart out, but your roommate was smarter than people would give him credit for so chances are, Jeno understood you perfectly. From the tremble in your voice, to the raw desperation in your words… you just hoped that whatever happens, you won’t lose his friendship.

Jeno stayed mum. You didn’t think he was breathing either and you were steadily growing worried because said anything for the past minute. Was he gearing to shove you off his lap like you had assumed? Get you comfortable first and then catch you by surprise? Alarmed by the likelihood of that happening, you steeled yourself as you lifted your head up.

And you were met with the most peculiar sight: Jeno red in the face.

“Oh my God,” he said, mortified and caught his face with both hands. The tips of his ears were tinged in a bright red too.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy heart. Of course he didn’t feel the same. “It’s literally my own fault that I caught feelings—”

“No no. Don't ever be sorry for that.” He made a noise muffled by both of his hands, dragging them down his face. Jeno was less red now, though he was still flushed, not knowing what to do with his hands until they settled awkwardly folded on his abdomen. “It’s just—this is really embarrassing.”

“We can pretend this never happened—” He cuts you off, saying your name.

“This is embarrassing because I thought you broke up with me.”

What?

“I broke up with you,” you clarified, all racing emotions coming to a screeching halt as you stared blankly into the distance.

The short laugh Jeno lets out was almost hysterical. “Yeah. I thought we were dating.”

“Dating? Since when?”

Jeno tilted his head. “The first and last time we had sex in my car. Because someone was scared of getting caught.”

“Well, I’m not exactly an exhibitionist, damn.” Now it was your turn for your face to flame up. That’s what he meant? “And you said you wanted to be ‘exclusive’! Not that you wanted me as your girlfriend!”

Jeno blinked in that cute way of his. “Is that not what being exclusive means?”

“Jeno, we hooked up in your car when you asked me that. At my job of all places. Who in their right mind would think you wanted to be my boyfriend? I literally thought you meant you wanted to fuck just me and no other girl. No-strings attached—that type of shit.”

“Well, no,” Obviously. His eyes seemed to say. “Wait. Was that why you kept making jokes of me still sleeping around?”

You winced with a reluctant nod. “uh—you can’t blame me for assuming since you look…” you made a vague gesture towards his face. “Like that.”

“You can say I’m hot," Jeno teased, smiling wryly. "It’s okay. I won’t get a big head or anything…”

“Too late, Megamind.” You scowled, then pursed your lips in contemplation. “Wait—holy shit… so that’s what Mark meant.”

Jeno blinked. “Meant what?”

“He said he gave us his blessing when we were at their housewarming party.” The knowing looks, the gentle pride gleaming from his eyes when you caught him staring at you and Jeno standing side-by-side at the party. “Oh my God. Did everyone else think that?” The girls losing their minds when you got up to make your way towards Jeno… Jaemin’s ever-present teasing dialed up to eleven once Jeno had let it slip through their phone call. “Why didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you find it weird that I wasn’t, like, referring to you as my boyfriend?”

Jeno’s lips parted into a darling ‘o’, then formed into a sheepish smile when you raised an eyebrow. “I just thought you were shy—that you wanted to keep our relationship private until you were ready to hard launch me on Instagram, or something like that.”

You wanted to kick yourself. “You’re literally too nice for your own good, what the fuck.” Jeno shrugged and you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. You were dating this man without even knowing, apparently and here you were, dealing with your feelings like an angsty teenager. This is the most ridiculous case of miscommunication you’ve dealt with so far. “And the things you’ve been doing for me… the morning coffees, the sometimes lunches you’d leave with Jimin. Taking and picking me up to and from work when you could. The couch… Everything, basically… that wasn’t just you being nice?”

“It was me trying to make up for being the world’s shittiest roommate at first, but yes, that’s also me being your boyfriend, I’m sure,” he confirmed with a solemn nod, eyes twinkling as he finally relaxed in his chair. “Should I bring you a flower every time I do? Y’know, as a reminder, that yes. I’m doing this as your boyfriend.”

“As your boyfriend,” you repeated, smiling bashfully at his use of present-tense. “Are you done giving me the silent treatment, then? Because that sucked. Every time I looked at the couch you bought for us, I got this urge to cry.”

“I’m venmo-ing your money back, by the way.” Jeno was sure of himself now, his big hands feeling at him with their hold on your hips. “Are you going to admit you like me enough to consider me as your boyfriend?”

“I like you more than I should, actually,” you admitted and that was said without any conflicting feelings this time. Proudly too, in fact and the smile on your roommate-turned-fuck-buddy-turned-boyfriend was so worth it. “You’re really hard to resist.”

“I can say the same for you.” Your hips got a firm squeeze from him, making you shiver in delight. You really missed this—missed him and the giddy rush you would get whenever he said something just as sweet. “One more embarrassing thing.”

“Yeah?” You leaned forward, hands trailing tracing up his chest, the skin left exposed by his skin-fit tank top until he let out a hum, smiling coyly when your nails scratched languid lines at his nape. “Tell me anyway.”

“I fell in love the moment I saw you.”

You snorted. “Right. And that’s coming from someone who had many girls over and kept me up.”

“In my defense, I was convinced you were unreachable.”

“You could’ve just said I’m a bitch and called it a day.”

“No—no. It’s not about that, and you had the right to be. What I’m saying is that Mark was kind of an overseller.” Oh yeah. You sure had your own experiences with that. “Like, he made it sound like you were this girl who would never give me the time of the day, y’know? And before I took a leap and—and kissed you that day, I got too in my head that I won’t have a chance—I give you full permission to call me an idiot—and here we are.”

“So you weren’t fucking other girls, then. When we were sleeping together.”

“Nah, I was too busy thinking you were my girlfriend. I’m a slut, not a cheater.”

“Quote of the year,” you teased, smirking at his embarrassment. “Then that's old news. I don’t give a fuck, but really?” Jeno looked very pleased with himself, precious blush and all from admitting that he had been shooting heart eyes in your direction since the very early stages of your lives when you barely had taken root in each other’s. “Even when I was the biggest bitch of the east?”

“Especially when you were a bitch.” He emphasized his point by sliding one of his hands to the small of your back and pushing you close as the limited space his chair would allow you. “I really wasn’t lying when I said you’re cute when you’re angry. Really turns me on.”

“I think you just like me bossing you around, don’t you?” The slow blink you were rewarded with when giving his hair an experimental tug said it all. It pulled out a soft sound of amusement from you, pressing your foreheads together as your palms curved over his cheeks. “Your taste in women is horrendous, Jeno Lee.”

That made him smile, leaning into your touch. “I think you’re perfect, actually.” The warm puffs of his breath ghosting against your parted lips made them tingle and Jeno closed the distance with a kiss so sweet, so full of longing that you could honestly cry.

Was it possible to go a little stir crazy from not getting to kiss the man for weeks? Because you honestly felt like it, with Jeno being the sole source for your fix. You missed this. You missed him, having Jeno this close. You saw no point in rushing this as you pressed deeper, running your fingers through his soft hair just as your boyfriend (boyfriend!) crowds you further into him by wrapping one secure arm around your waist. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, leaving you to melt into his touch.

“On the contrary,” you took a big gulp of air just as Jeno took to pressing as many kisses as he could down your neck. “I’m kind of a mess,” you said, granting him a rueful smile when he withdrew with his eyebrows knitted together. “And a lot to deal with. Are you sure you want this?”

“You hated me at first. The big idiot who didn’t know when enough was enough, and yet you still gave me a chance anyway. Fuck knows why, but hell am I glad you did. The whole Casanova thing would have been a turn off for anybody, but you’re still here.”

“I’ve seen you change overtime. You’ve never been the same guy since then and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you might want to give this long term thing a shot. I couldn't care less if you ran through every woman in our area.”

“And I couldn't care less if there are days where you’ll be difficult. I’m in love with you—” You’ve never thought your name in the same sentence as ‘love’ would give you this much warmth. “I love you. Good days, bad days—doesn’t mean a thing when I’ll be with you during those days. And it’s all I ever want. So long as you’ll have me.”

And my goodness do you hold so much fondness for him. All those things that he did, all those things that he had said so far… it really made you want to put that much faith in him. He made it so easy when he was this determined and sincere and you really didn’t care if the start of this was all backwards.

“I really, really like you, Jeno Lee,” you whispered as if the moment would be ruined if you said it any louder. Whispered as if Jeno was the only one allowed to hear it. “Please trust me when I say I do. This—this is new to me, so I’m a little overwhelmed—look.” You took his hand and placed it above your beating heart. “There’s probably going to be a bruise there from how hard it's beating.”

“Oh, physical confirmation. I like that.”

You laughed, taking his hand to press the palm of it to your cheek. “It really was torture when I had to temporarily put us on hold. I was so used to you being there and… yeah.”

“Trust me when I say it felt like my world just collapsed when you broke up with me.”

“Eh… does it really count when one of us didn’t know that we were dating?”

“I suppose not.” Jeno reached up to kiss your cheek, your nose and then your lips. “We’re both stupid, I guess.”

“And you're sure you still want this?”

"You're all I've ever wanted."

Jeno pulled you down for another searing kiss full on intention, and you knew just then he’d be here with you. On the good days and the bad, in this apartment that started it all for a long time.

Jeno: hey Jeno: just wanna say thanks

Mark Lee: for what lol

Jeno: for linking me with your best friend Jeno: didn’t think you’d set me up to be her roommate tho Jeno: but that’s killing two birds with one stone ig so thanks anyway Jeno: I owe you my life

Mark Lee: it’s whatever dude Mark Lee: only you would fall in love with the girl who puked on your shoes for your meet-cute 😆

Jeno: listennn Jeno: she said she loved me and cuddled with me all night after i cleaned her up sat her down Jeno: but it didn’t look like she remembered me or that night at all

Mark Lee: dude  Mark Lee: she was shitfaced at a club

Jeno: she could have remembered my face :/

Mark Lee: it was dark as hell 😐 Mark Lee: get a grip man Mark Lee: n she tends to not remember anything after THAT many tequila shots Mark Lee: i am curious tho what made her think you guys were just fucking and not dating lmfao Mark Lee: like what did you say 😭😭

Jeno: im blocking you.

END.

a/n: AND WE'RE DONE!!! LET'S ALL LIVE!!!! as always, special thanks to Aria, Aeriel and Moon for letting me scream and cry about how this fic was ruining my life and for lending a hand when it comes to forming ideas! I probably wouldn't have finished this piece of work if it weren't for them cheering me on and I am truly grateful to have them and their support i love you guys 🥹🩷🩷 and I'd also like to thank to wonderful people who had read this fic from start to finish! you deserve a cookie 🍪

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna @rjreins @pinknjm @kshynj @dorkyji @notevenheretbh1 @everytimeicrymytearsdonteverdry @iscocohere @seulkikiii @wintahh @peachesmilk @rxnexxi @rum-gone-why @bluedbliss @tiramisubox @jinxxdreamz @minkyuncutie @txnml @yawnzshit @suhwife @carelessshootanonymous @sanctify-mp3 @haechansbbg @dreamiestay @ryuvrsie @derywinkle @byungbyungbaek @surrealxox @jenoleeaesthetic @dreamy-carat @weiweific @focusonyeri (much thanks you guys who had expressed interest and asked to be part of the taglist!)

[ettawrites]

Naruto Boys genin discovering that reader is a girl?

Did this take me an insane amount of time to finally write? Yes. Have I been depressed and high? Also yes. Anyways!! Sorry I’ve been dead for 2 months, I’m back 😊 enjoy!

Genin Naruto Boys Discorving You’re a Girl

Includes: Naruto, Sasuke, Shikamaru, Neji, and Rock Lee

Warning: some shadowing of misogyny/bad writing

Context: You are from a different village and are attending the chunin exam, you never disclosed your gender cause it wasn’t a huge deal to you, but pre puberty you were mistaken for a boy.

Naruto:

- he only found out cause you got kicked out of your motel room cause you had an arguement with the person who runs it

- You had befriended him when you first arrived and became friends as you thought he was funny (and kinda lonely.. and he followed you around and you felt bad)

- You had asked to stay at his apartment for just a couple days cause you were also mad at your teammates and sensei

- He had started to change in front of you and you shrieked for him to go to the bathroom

- He was dumbfounded, as it was normal for him to change in front of his guy friends

- When you started spewing out how it was inappropriate to change in front of the opposite gender his face was like a big “HUH”

- “But you’re a guy???”

- “No I’m not!”

- “Yes you are!”

- “I think I would know Naruto”

- His face is flushed and all he can do is let out a small “oh..”

- it was awkward for a couple minutes as he goes to the bathroom to change and when he comes back out he sits across from you on the floor

- As Naruto was as a genin, he was a bit insensitive and so so curious, he asked you a billion questions

- He didn’t really care that much, he still considered you a good friend and honestly was kinda happy you were a girl

- Admires you a whole bunch, considering how strong you were and that you were a girl and a girl and.. wow a girl, you’re a girl?

- Might develope a small (huge, majorly huge) crush on you

Sasuke

- hated that he admired you, you had saved him during the Forest portion of the Chunin exam

- You guys became somewhat friends outside the exam, and by friends I mean he had showed up where you were and kind of just lingered around like a creep

- Soon the lingering turned into small chit chat and then sparing with each other

- He had only found out you were a girl when he over heard your teammates talking about you

- He kept this information to himself, a bit astonished as he had just assumed you were a guy

- “So.. are you a girl?” He had asked mid spare, catching you off guard for a second

- “Yup”

- “Cool”

- And that’s how it went on the outside

- On the inside.. sasuke didn’t know how to feel, he was use to the girls in the village drooling all over him and here you were just his�� friend? No weird intentions attached?

- It never was brought up again and Sasuke tried not to treat you lesser as he knew you could handle yourself

- But he did every so often stare intently at you, trying to find the “girl features”.

Shikamaru

- This know it all.. did not know

- Your dad was friends with his dad and you were staying with them for the duration of the chunin exam

- You and shikamaru haven’t met prior to this, via him not knowing your gender

- Obviously you guys become friends, as it was natural since he sees you everyday plus you were pretty funny

- You guys were walking around the village and you had asked to stop so you could use the bathroom

- When you started to walk into the women’s, he was shocked and grabbed at your arm to draw you back

- “That’s the girls?”

- “Yeah….?”

- He kinda just looked at you, taking in your confused expression and he let go of your arm and nodded

- “Oh..Kay..”

- when you came back out, you guys started walking again but you had realized the silence was much more awkward than it usually is

- “So… I’m a girl,” you explained, hands shoved in your pockets as you stared ahead

- He nodded, a bit upset with himself for never clueing in that you weren’t a boy

- How didn’t he know? He talked and saw you ever single day since you first arrived, he should’ve been the first to clue in

- “You don’t act like a girl, no offence,”

- “Sorry… I guess?”

- You guys just go back to your daily chit chat

- He will most definitely stay up late at night obsessing over how he didn’t know

- And also most definitely be intrigued and grow a teeny tiny crush on you…?

- Never brings it up though

Neji

- He had actually befriended your teammate first, your team and his team formed an alliance during the forest exam

- The boy genins were all planning on going to the offsprings and when he asked your teammates to tell you they brushed it off and said you won’t be going

- He got upset cause he thought they always threw you aside most of the time

- He had came up to you after your training session with your sensei and started talking about the offspring’s

- “Why are you… inviting me?”

- “Cause.. all the boys are going?”

- “I’m not a boy”

- All too formal Neji had his jaw to the floor

- He now realized why your teammates looked at him weird when he asked if you’d be coming to the offspring’s with them

- “Oh..that’s unfortunate..” he replied, stunned and embarrassed

- You kinda just gave him a weird look “me being a girl is unfortunate?”

- Cue Neji feeling overwhelmed and stupid and he’s just sputtering out non sense and just leaves

- He avoids you for a couple days

- Comes up to you and formally apologies

- both of you start to hang out and develop a friendship and every so often you tease him about mistakenig you for a boy

Rock Lee

- You had asked him to train you as you wanted to advance in Taijutsu (pretend he only got fucked up a lil during his fight with Gaara)

- The month leading up to the finals, you guys actually got along nicely

- You considered him one of your really good friends

- After a training session, you both went out to get some ice cream and were sitting on a bench just talking about random things

- Rock Lee started talking about Sakura and his big crush on her and asked if you liked anyone

- You had said you kinda found this boy intriguing

- He, completely innocent was like “okay! I didn’t know you swung that way,”

- “Wait what?”

- “Well you like the same gender…? it’s totally okay,”

- “I’m a girl,”

- Rock Lee just gave a awkward big smile as he looked at you and blinked

- “Wow!” He finally says after a couple minutes

- He goes back to eating his ice cream

- Is pretty much the chilliest out of the whole genin, he’s honestly good vibes all around

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, smut mndi, chronic pain mention, I always feel like my confessions are awk so sorry if you think this one is too

note for minors: a lot of this chapter is smut, but you can read up until the red line without worrying about it. There's no summary this time because it really is just smut for smut's sake and all the character development happens before it starts, so you won't need it for the plot. There is one vague mention of boners before the red line (sorry it's just for a laugh), but that's it

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 3.2k words

You catch on quickly to what’s happened between Sirius and Remus. What you don’t understand is why they’ve interrupted it to come talk to you. And how you could be wrong twice—do they cancel out if you were truly right the first time? 

Clearly, the chemistry you’d felt between Remus and Sirius wasn’t imagined. You’d convinced yourself you must’ve gotten your wires crossed—otherwise why would Remus have kissed you?—but evidently they’ve come to some sort of agreement. Are they here to ask for your permission? Intra-team fornicating: approved. 

You’re not sure if you wish they’d waited until they were less hard to pop by. 

“Um.” You keep your eyes very intentionally on the boys’ faces. “What’s up?” 

Sirius looks almost nervous, skittish even, but Remus’ hand wraps around his to pull him closer to your doorway. Your heart does something funny in your chest. 

“Could we talk?” Sirius asks. 

“Er…yeah. Of course.” You step aside, letting them into your small room. Remus sits politely on the edge of your bed, giving you deja vu from the night before, while Sirius makes himself comfortable further back. He leans his side into your pillow where it’s propped up on the wall. 

“We were talking,” starts Remus, “and I told Sirius about what happened between us.” 

Your next breath seems to come slower. Unwillingly, your gaze flits to Sirius, but he looks impassive, only like he might be scrutinizing you in turn. You look back at Remus. “You did?” 

“I did,” he says gently. “But it wasn’t—” 

“Babe,” Sirius interrupts, “don’t look so freaked. What’s the matter? And why are you still standing there?” 

You realize you’re hugging yourself around your middle, standing awkwardly in front of the bed. “I’m not sure it’s meant to hold three people,” you say weakly. 

Sirius snorts, whatever nervousness he’d arrived with vanishing. Sirius has always been good this way; he can only ever panic when no one else is, but the second you’re panicking too he’s all ease. 

“Don’t be silly.” He pats the space between himself and Remus. It’s as ample as the bed allows, which isn’t saying much. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, it’s your bed.” 

You can’t think of a good reason to argue. Something in you calms as you settle in between them, Sirius’ hip touching yours and the warmth of Remus’ body on your other side. It’s familiar, safe. 

“Are you upset?” you ask Sirius. 

His brows pinch. “Why would I be?” 

“Because…” You cringe. “Aren’t you two…?”

“There’s been a lot of confusion, I think,” Remus says kindly. “But when we were talking, we both sort of came to the realization that we fancy each other…and you.” 

There’s a dense pause. 

“And me?” you echo. 

Remus’ lips tilt slightly. “Yes.” 

“As in…” You rub your eyes, dumbfounded. “Sorry, I did just wake up.” 

Sirius laughs. Remus too, reaching over to rub your knee like he can’t help himself. 

“For the record, I didn’t plan any of this,” says Sirius, “but if I had, I’d have done it exactly this way. It’s very gratifying to finally disturb your sleep schedules the way you pricks have been doing to me all these weeks.” 

“Oi,” Remus chides teasingly, reaching over you to push at Sirius’ thigh. You marvel at this new easiness between them, now given even newer context. “Anyway, we thought we’d come see if you might be interested.” 

“In…you.” You rub your lips together, looking between them and noticing Sirius’ gaze has fallen to your mouth. Unless you’re terribly mistaken and you’ve got it all wrong, this means he fancies you as well. Your partner, your best friend. 

The idea isn’t as upsetting as it ought to be. 

Do you fancy him too? You’ve never thought about Sirius in that way. You love him, of course, but you’ve never taken the time to parse out if it might be a different sort of love than the kind between friends. And as for the rest—well, who wouldn’t be attracted to Sirius? You’re only human. 

“In both of us, yes,” Remus confirms patiently. 

“Is that something you’d be into?” Sirius asks. 

Your answer leaves you on a breath, thoughtless but true. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius grins. 

You nod. You’re suddenly fixated by the way his cupid’s bow flattens out when he smiles like that. It’s something you’ve noticed a thousand times before, but now…

“Yeah,” you say again. “Um…what do we do?” 

Remus chuckles. “I don’t really know. I’ve not been with two people before.” 

“Believe it or not, this is a first for me as well,” Sirius says lightly. 

“Right,” you laugh. It breaks up some of the apprehension in your chest. 

“If you want to,” Remus’ voice softens, “I suppose you could start by kissing him.” 

You look at him, then at Sirius. For the first time, something like insecurity flashes across his face. 

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly. No longer the brazen flirt, but the kind, considerate boy you know. “It’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply. 

It’s like he’s afraid to touch you until you get to him. You steady yourself with a hand on his jaw, your other pressing into the mattress as you lean towards where he’s reclined against your pillow and bring your lips to his. 

You know all the ways that Sirius moves, and even this new, completely uncharted part of him is consistent. Sirius’ kisses start out slow, probing, feeling out what you like and what he can do, but then he gives himself over to it. His hands find first your hips, urging you closer to him before one slides to the small of your back. Greedy fingers curl in the fabric of your pajama top. 

You make a small, accidental sound in the back of your throat when his teeth tease your bottom lip, and Sirius pulls away. You’re both breathing hard. 

Sirius stares at you for a weighted moment before his eyes drift behind you and he huffs out a laugh. “Enjoyed that, did you?” 

You look over your shoulder, and Remus is watching you both with a low flame burning in his gaze. He flushes a tad at the question but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward, kissing you, tasting Sirius on your lips. 

───────────────────────────────────────────

The three of you don’t need to speak much to communicate. Remus pulls you back into him, his length hardening against your ass, and Sirius follows. He kisses Remus over your shoulder with a relieved sort of sigh. All the while, his hands are roving your thighs, pushing up your pajama shorts until they crease and pinch at your crotch. 

You exhale and tilt your head to the side when Remus drops his lips to your neck. “We have a competition tomorrow,” you remind them both. “We ought to be resting up.” 

You feel Sirius’ grin as he brings his mouth to yours again. “Yup.” He nips your bottom lip. “I’m aware this is a bad idea.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t condone it,” Remus agrees, one hand covering your ribs while the other sneaks down to tease the waist of your pajama shorts.Your poor shorts are being attacked from both sides. “How far do you want to go?” 

Sirius pulls his lips from yours to watch you think. They still tingle, and you rub them together unconsciously. His eyes darken. 

“You drive me mad when you do that,” he says. 

“Do what?” 

Sirius’ mouth kicks up at the corner. He brings his thumb to your lower lip, pressing down on it gently. His own lips are swollen and gleaming prettily with spit, eyes nearly all pupil. Remus’ hand strokes lazily at your side. 

“I want to go as far as you guys want to,” you say without breaking Sirius’ gaze. 

His grin widens, and he looks at Remus, shrugging. “We could just go until somebody says stop.” 

“Alright,” says Remus. One of his hands leaves you, finger hooking in the waist of Sirius’ trousers. “Can we take these off, then?” 

Sirius isn’t shy, but you didn’t think he would be. He sits up on his knees and pulls them down, letting Remus help them over his ankles before they’re discarded in a heap on the floor. Remus gets rid of his too, and then you’re staring at the outlines of both boys through the far thinner material of their underwear. 

Remus ghosts a touch over Sirius’ cock, making the other boy’s expression pinch with want, before pulling down the waistband. Lithe, graceful muscles and hip bones curving inwards. Sirius curses as Remus’ long fingers wrap around him. 

Remus pumps slowly, his own arousal an insistent heat at your hip. You find your attention torn between the feeling of his body against your backside and the sultry droop of Sirius’ eyelids as he watches Remus work his cock. 

“Doesn’t he look pretty?” Remus murmurs. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s speaking to you. “Yeah.” Your mouth feels dry. You swallow, and watch as Sirius’ eyes flit up to the motion. “He always does.” 

Remus hums in agreement, pressing a light kiss to an exposed bit of skin beside the neckline of your top. “Do you want to try, lovely?” 

You turn your head to look at him. Remus’ eyes are glued to Sirius. “What about you?” 

A chuckle, and another soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’ll be alright.” 

Remus waits until your hand is around Sirius’ shaft, pumping a couple times against his own fist, before letting go. You choose a slightly less languid pace than Remus had. Sirius twitches in your grasp, taking your face in his hands and setting his lips to yours with a muffled groan. 

Behind you, Remus moves closer until his length is pressed against your ass. One of his hands steadies you by the hip while the other dips below the waistband of your shorts, palming you through your underwear. You shift, and he hisses when you move against him. 

You turn your head on instinct, Sirius’ lips smudging across your cheek. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Remus’ voice is breathy, amused. “You just surprised me.” 

“What’d she do?” Sirius is never one to be left out of the loop. 

“Just backed into me.” 

“Oh. Gorgeous,” he smiles, turning you by the chin to capture your lips again, “who wouldn’t want that?” 

Their praise soon has you devolving into a thoughtless, sensory creature. Sirius’ hands caress your face and neck and Remus’ fingers brush your panties aside to toy with your cunt. Every movement of your hips makes him push more insistently against you. Your shirt comes off, Remus dotting your shoulders with sweet kisses. Your grip tightens on Sirius’ cock, and a low, needy sound tears out of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

Your heart flutters at the endearment, but you don’t let your movements stall. Soon he’s pushing his hips into your hand, kisses turning messy and desperate, your own sounds harder to suppress as Remus bullies your clit with two fingers. You’re glad to know at least Sirius’ room is empty on your other side, because you’re beginning to wonder how thick these walls are. Remus pushes his length into the crease between your asscheeks through your shorts, Sirius’ cock beginning to twitch in your hand, and you press your lips together to contain a sound that promises to be both loud and mortifying—and the bed collapses. 

You fall backwards onto Remus as the cardboard on his end gives out, sending all three of you to the floor. Sirius’ teeth knock into yours and Remus catches you around the waist with both hands, keeping you from fully sitting on his hard cock. 

“Fuck.” Sirius brings a hand to his mouth. “What the fuck?” 

“Oh, shit.” You scramble away from Remus, onto the floor. Both boys look at you in alarm. You’re looking to where Remus’ leg is bent underneath him, not at a terribly cruel angle, but still— “Your hip. Is your hip okay?” 

“Oh.” Remus glances down as though he’s forgotten it himself, realization dawning over his features. 

“Fuck,” Sirius breaths, remembering as well. His hand moves toward Remus but lingers in the air, afraid of hurting him. 

“It’s…yeah, it’s okay,” says Remus. His eyes meet yours. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Sirius’ brows pinch, but his hand makes it the rest of the way, rubbing tentatively over Remus’ hip joint. “Are you sure?” 

Remus shifts slowly, sitting up off his knees to move closer to Sirius. “I’m sure.” A little smile graces his lips. “You worried about me, Pads?” 

Sirius’ face splits in the sort of grin you can only ever surprise out of him. “Fuck off,” he laughs, pushing Remus away when he tries to kiss him. Remus catches Sirius’ hands, his own smile unfurling slowly, almost unwillingly. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How sweet,” he hums, smug. 

You find yourself smiling at them both, your heart a balloon in your chest. 

“Okay.” You give the mattress a little tug. “In that case, could you guys get off?”

“What’re you doing?” Remus asks. Both he and Sirius move. 

“Having this on a slant doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I’m moving it.” 

It should be awkward, this break in the tension, but maybe it’s because you’re so used to working as a team that it isn’t. You all get the mattress situated on the floor, and then you’re dragging Remus’ underwear off, his hands moving kind and doting over the lengths of your arms. He inhales a small breath as Sirius takes his cock into his mouth. 

You watch Sirius’ lips move up and down his shaft, his eyes dark and growing shiny as he takes Remus as far as he can. You aren’t quite sure how to contribute, but when you rub the inside of Sirius’ thigh tentatively both boys moan. You take that to mean you’re on the right track. 

The muscles in Sirius’ back flex as he raises and lowers his head between Remus’ legs, mouth growing wet with spit and slick, and it’s not long before Remus’ fingers are curling in Sirius’ hair, curses spewing from between his lips in a Welsh accent you’ve not heard before. You can’t help but follow them back to the source, kissing Remus just before he cums down Sirius’ throat. He grips you by the arms with something like desperation. You’re happy to stay as the tension unwinds from his body, until his hands are moving down you, smoothing across the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. 

“Are you planning on keeping those on all night?” 

It’s Sirius who asks, his gaze sultry as he watches Remus’ finger skim just underneath the fabric covering your ass. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb. 

“How’s this?” Remus suggests. He pulls you gently into his lap, situating you between his legs with your back against his chest. Again, you can feel the impression of him pressed against your backside. 

Your voice comes out weak. “This is good.” 

He chuckles, soothing a hand down your side while Sirius grins. Sirius’ fingers grasp the elastics of both your shorts and your underwear. “Okay?” he asks you. 

You nod. 

He takes his time working them down your legs and off your ankles, his eyes locking on your exposed cunt and the arousal Remus has coaxed out of you already. Remus, too, is watching over your shoulder. His fingers gravitate back to it, dragging slick up through your folds idly, almost worshipfully. He kisses behind your ear. 

“Fuck, you’re lovely,” says Sirius. 

Both boys’ gazes stay glued to your cunt as Sirius positions himself over you, pushing into your warmth. You bite down on a small sound. Remus tuts at you, his hand spreading reassuringly over your navel. 

“You can do better than that,” he chides. “Don’t think we don’t want to hear you.” 

Sirius holds your hips as he sinks into you. His fingers dent your flesh, and you marvel at the fact that you’ve wasted so much time not doing this. That you’ve ever been in a room with either Remus or Sirius and managed not to kiss them dizzy. You’re not sure you’ll be able to manage it again. 

Remus draws slow, tight circles around your clit with his finger. You arch your neck back onto his shoulder, and Sirius groans as you tighten on him. 

“God—you’re so perfect,” he says hoarsely. “You feel so good.” 

Your reply gets lost on a lewd sound as he drags his cock along your walls. Remus kisses you rewardingly in the soft skin underneath your ear. “There you are,” he says. “Good girl.” 

Warmth unfurls through your gut. 

Sirius grins whatever reaction must show up on your face, his hands migrating to your ass as he thrusts into you. As he gets rougher, so do Remus’ ministrations to your clit, his slow circles turning quick and jagged. You feel yourself tighten on Sirius in little flutters that have him gripping you tight enough to leave fingerprint bruises. 

“Fuck, like that, yeah. Just like that, baby.” 

Your lips part at the pet name and Sirius’ eyes flick up to yours like he’s surprised too, like he’s let slip something he didn’t mean to. But you say, “come here,” and he goes, leaning over you to let you take his face in your hands and kiss him until you can’t breathe. 

Remus feels your high approaching before you do. His free hand smooths over the inside of your twitching thigh. 

“Are you close?” he asks you. 

Sirius parts his lips from yours, looking down to see the confirmation on your face. You give it.

“Good,” he says, picking up his pace, “good, sweetheart, that’s it. Cum for me, yeah? I’ve got you.” 

You nearly bite your lip in half when you do, Remus tsking amusedly and kissing your neck while the tightening of your cunt threatens to send Sirius over the edge as well. He starts to pull out of you, but you grab his hand. 

“It’s okay,” you manage. “In me.” 

“Really?” he asks in a strangled voice. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I wanna feel it.” 

That’s all it takes. Sirius’ expression pinches like you’ve said something cruel as he thrusts into you one last time, a shock that reverberates through you as he warms you from the inside out. He’s rigid for a few seconds before tipping forward, his head to your shoulder and to Remus' chest, which you’ve slipped down without noticing. His breath fans softly over your skin. 

Remus rubs your thigh comfortingly and with his other hand pets down Sirius’ hair, cupping his flushed cheek. “Alright, love?” he asks. 

Sirius’ blush seems to worsen. “Yeah. You?” 

“More than.” Remus kisses his head. 

It’s only after a few seconds of silence that you realize Remus’ question was posed to the both of you. 

“That was…” you shake your head, at a loss “...fantastic.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius nudges his nose into your skin. “I thought so.” 

Remus’ chuckle rumbles through all three of you. “Cocky,” he says fondly. 

“And decent enough with it, by all reports.” 

It starts up a round of sweet, half teasing kisses Sirius pretends to want to escape despite making no real efforts to do so. You give and receive plenty of your own, until not just your lips and shoulders but many other parts of you are wet with spit and slick. You fall asleep all three on a twin mattress on the floor, your head on Remus’ chest and Sirius’ arms wound around your middle. It might be the best sleep you’ve ever had.

[michanvalentine]

Some of my favorite lines—among the saddest—that Astarion has ever said. Every time I hear them, delivered so perfectly by Neil, my heart aches. I'm sharing them with you because my husband can't take hearing me talk about Astarion and Baldur's Gate anymore!

"It’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me." There’s an entire world behind this line: the expression on his face, the tone of his voice. There’s sadness and resignation. This is how things work—this is who he is. The person in front of him is no different from the others, just another one who wants to lose themselves in him, use him for their own pleasure, and then move on as if nothing happened. Not only that, but it's also the same old charade used to deliver unsuspecting victims to the slaughter. The same old script, one he’s tired of, one that causes him pain. His eyes grow sad as he says it, his shoulders sink, his lips curve downward, and everything about him exudes bitterness. In that moment, amidst sweet words and sensual movements, the real Astarion comes out, carrying all the heavy baggage he’s been burdened with.

"Maybe, but did he take it." Cazador is dead, Astarion won, he’s alive, and he’s free. But the death of his tormentor didn’t turn back time, the death of the monster didn’t undo the damage or return what was stolen. It’s a powerful, terrifying, and painful realization, especially when you think about how these things—these parts of Astarion—were taken and erased. Because what is gone wasn’t just lost—it was replaced with suffering, shame, anger, hatred, and horrific experiences. These are memories that will stay with him for the rest of his un-life, memories he’ll have to battle every single day.

"All right, I’ll do it." The way he says it, after Tav/Durge delves into his mind and uses his greatest fear against him, is utterly heartbreaking. Once again, there’s resignation, but there’s also fear and, worst of all, a hint of submission. In that moment, Tav/Durge is the embodiment of Cazador. They bring back his most horrifying experience, fill him with pure terror, and remind him of how useless, weak, and pathetic he is—unable to defend himself. It makes him feel small again, lost, and willing to do anything just to feel safe. And this is coming from the very person who, up until that moment (unless the player is a complete sociopath xP), had been helping him regain a shred of self-worth and independence. It’s truly a low blow, a betrayal—especially because Astarion depends on Tav/Durge, much like he depended on Cazador, but in a positive way instead of a negative one. They force him, against his will, to do something he doesn’t want to do, and with that statement, Astarion seems to be saying, “Yes, master.”

"I didn’t know how to say no." This one is heartbreaking too, it hits right in the heart. It really hurts, especially in context, but also in general. Saying "no" is a fundamental right of every free individual. But Astarion doesn’t say that he can’t say no—he says he doesn’t know how to say it. And that’s truly sad, because at this point, it’s no longer just an external imposition; it’s something internalized. And of course, it goes without saying that here too, Tav/Durge took advantage of Astarion—of his inability to defend himself, to immediately recognize and stop behavior that should be shut down at the first sign because it’s harmful to him. Once again, Tav/Durge betrays him in the worst way, right after an agonizing confession, no less—Astarion opens up and admits to having very real struggles with sex.

Do you have any favorite lines too? Obviously, there are a billion more funny ones, but I’m afraid I’d need an entire day to write down all my favorites. I just love this little shit too much. xD

[itsrlymine]

HEYA it’s been a bit , this is 📀!!

IVE GOTTEN SO MUCHHHH MOREEE FROM APPLYING ALL YOUR INFO! (For context, this is a college student speaking)

My SP is obsessed with me and has the fattest crush on me LIKEE HE TEASES ME ALL THE TIME AND LAUGHS AT ALL MY JOKES EVEN IF IM NOT TRYING!!! He never wants to upset me and makes sure I know I can talk to him if anything. He comforts me when I’m frustrated or annoyed and usually will take my side unless I’m really wrong and need to be steered in the right direction. He truly values me!!!! He shows all the signs of liking me — the eyebrow raise when they see you, blushing in my presence, laughing at all my jokes (even the unfunny ones), making time for me, ETCCCC <3<3

I finally manifested therapy to heal from my emotionally ab***ve African mother AND MY THERAPIST IS LITERALLY EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED HER: funny, intentional, educated, and direct. I LOVE HER OMG.

Getting material things that I want (it’s great because I never got what I wanted growing up but I’m not super obsessed with material things)

People chasing me left and right, tons of compliments and admiration and being able to see who isn’t really my friend. This brought me peace because I do want to have the RIGHT people in my life and I believe not everyone IS the right person. But I still love the positive attention although I’m REALLY shy bestie ���🤭

Princess treatment from my SP. he’s always offering to help me out and buy me things, the MINUTE I SAY I NEED SOMETHING, HES ALREADY LOOKING IN HIS BAG BEFORE I FINISH MY SENTENCE AND IM LIKE “😮” likeee okay backpack from Dora!!?!?!? OR h’ll be like “I can go get it for you?” LIKEEEEE and he’s so chivalry, old school gentleman. I REALIZE I MANIFESTED THIS BECAUSE I LISTENED TO SO MANY SP SUBLIMINALS WHEN I DIDNT HAVE AN SP AND NOW LOOK???? I trusted I’d match with the person who’s right for me and I DIDDDDD

I think women are into me BECAUSE?!?! (And everyone else better be next lmao) They’re always looking at me with heart eyes and I’m like stoppp before I kiss you by mistakeeee 🥰 LIKE OK I met this ADORABLE EXCHANGE STUDENT and she’s always so clingy and touchy in the sweetest and most wholesome way and she always blushes around me AND IM SHY BECAUSE I THINK SHES GORGEOUS AND I FEEL LIKE SHE THINKS IM A GODDESS AND OMG WHAT DO I DO JSIDDJDBDI she even giggles whenever I act cute (I think I’m destined to be a cutie pie like Chuu - the kpop idol who was in LOONA)

OK and in my Creative Writing class, EVERYONE WAS OBSESSED WITH MY STORY!!!!! I worked so hard on it and it was a LITTLE rushed (7 pages in a week…) BUT people still complimented it and only gave minor technical criticism, and they ALL WANTED TO KNOW MORE! And I was laughing so hard because they were being so sweet and funny omggggg 🥰😭🫶🏽

I LOVE MY WORLD I LOVE MY LIFEEEE OMG

And last thing, I’ve become so in love with MYSELF which I think is the most important thing about all this. I see myself as an iconic person, a goddess, someone who is loved and chased by all, a real work of art. I can’t look at myself and be negative because LOOK AT ME?!? Why would I lie? 🤨 I do deserve all this positivity and love and I won’t settle for less!!!!

THANK U FOR YOUR BLOG ILYSMMM 🥺❤️

Now I’m gonna go manifest being all cute and feminine to maximize the princess treatment and be babied and spoiled even more 😙 I want people wanting to protect me and hold me in their arms… 🥺 I’ll update!!! BYEEE

omg hi 📀 baby how are you??!! it's been a while wow i'm so happy to hear from you!! first of all, you better come through with all of these successes what the hell!!! i love that you got the type of therapist you wanted (bc why do some african mothers need to come with a therapist off rip omgg). ofc your sp is head over heels for you, why wouldn't he be? not you boutta have all the girls shook over you as well leave some of us ughhh! i think the best thing about this whole thing is about how we come back to self and appreciate ourselves for everything that we are. we might not have seen it before but once we do, there's no going back! congrats on the princess treatment and everything ugh isn't it the best???

[worldlxvlys]

sorry

part eight of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: violence, mentions of blood, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting, cursing

a/n -> read the previous part for context !!!

matt let out a dry chuckle at the pet name, “baby?” he spoke slowly, as though the word was one that only he could use when addressing me.

“um, matt…this is dylan. remember the guy i told you i was talking to?” i spoke hesitantly. matt looked him up and down, his glare never faltering as he nodded lightly.

“dylan, this is-” “matt” dylan finished for me, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. “she’s spoken a lot about you” he told matt, “i don’t really get the hype, but…” he mumbled under his breath, earning a slap to the chest from me.

dylan was usually a sweet, well-mannered guy. i don’t know why he was acting this way towards matt, only having just met him, but i wasn’t going to allow him to speak to him like that.

“that’s funny, didn’t hear a word about you until today” matt spoke, pressing his lips together with his eyebrows raised.

dylan opened his mouth to respond, but i spoke up before he could continue, “what are you doing here dylan?” i asked. i didn’t appreciate him showing up out of the blue, knowing damn well that i already had plans. he had only been to my house one time prior, to drop me off food when i wasn’t feeling well. i would’ve texted matt, but he had already been pissed off that day, and i didn’t want to be a burden to him.

“i figured i’d come see you, make sure you were doing ok, meet this best friend you’re always on about”

“well, here he is” i smiled awkwardly, praying that dylan would just leave. he seemed like a decent guy, but the way he interacted with matt told me everything i needed to know.

“you can go now” matt stated quite bluntly. he was obviously over the situation, and i couldn’t say i blamed him. “i don’t think it’s really up to you to kick me out, it’s not your house” dylan spoke smugly. who the fuck was this dude ? he acted so differently over text than he did in person.

“if matt isn’t comfortable with you here then i’m not either” i spoke up. dylan didn’t seem to like that response, his jaw clenching as he glanced at matt.

“hmmm, that’s interesting. you didn’t have that attitude a couple days ago, you practically begged me to stay” he smirked down at me. he was just pulling things out of his ass at this point.

“i was sick and i didn’t beg you for shit. i never asked for you to do anything, you took it upon yourself to stay” i clarified, knowing he was just trying to get under matt’s skin.

“so what, now you’re ungrateful ? you got your little boyfriend back and now i don’t matter to you? you just needed someone to keep your bed warm, is that it ?” he asked.

"what are you even talking about ? i never let your weird ass in my bed” his jaw tightened at that, he was growing angrier by the minute.

“i’m talking about you leading me on. who was there for you while your buddy here abandoned you ?” dylan asked, poking his finger into matt’s chest. matt immediately reacted to the touch, slapping his hand away.

matt’s silence throughout the entire conversation was a dead giveaway of how pissed off he was. his eyes held a blank look, and i had no clue what he was thinking. all i knew was this wasn’t going to end well.

“there for me? you were there for you. you didn’t even listen to a word i was saying. if you had, you would’ve realized that i never once gave any indication that i liked you. i wanted a friend and you clearly just wanted to get in my pants.”

“be honest, if matt wasn’t standing here, you’d let me. you can deny it all you want, but deep down you know it’s true. you’d take dick anywhere you can g-” one second he was talking, the next he was cut off by a sickening crack.

i didn’t even realize matt had thrown a punch until i saw dylan stagger backwards, the sheer force of matt’s fist causing him to lose his balance.

it almost seemed as though everything was moving in slow motion as i watched matt grab him by his shirt, holding dylan up to look in his eyes. matt’s eyes bounced between dylan’s before he let out a low chuckle, “you didn’t think i was just gonna let you talk to her like that, did you?”

dylan’s nose was bruised pretty badly, blood trickling out of it as he stared at matt with a blank expression. he was trying to hide it, but it was pretty clear that he was terrified.

“tell her you’re sorry” matt spoke, pulling him to stand up straight. instead of speaking, dylan just glared at matt, refusing to follow his commands.

“do i need to say it slower for you? you can either apologize or i can give you something other than that broken nose to worry about” matt’s voice was gruff and cold, something i wasn’t used to. i’d be lying if i said i didn’t find it hot.

dylan looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact as he muttered, “i’m sorry” in an annoyed tone. matt wasn’t having that shit.

his grip on dylan’s shirt tightened, his knuckles turning white as he got in his face once more. “look her in the eyes, and say it like you mean it.” he spoke firmly.

dylan closed his eyes in annoyance, before opening them and looking at me. “i’m sorry” he said, making it seem more believable. "great” matt spoke shortly giving him a quick push away from the doorway.

“bye” he raised his eyebrows before pushing the door shut and locking it. he turned to look at me, his hands resting on my shoulders, “are you ok?” he asked softly.

“yeah. are you?” i asked, staring at his knuckles, which were starting to bruise. “as long as you are, yeah” he spoke, his thumb gently rubbing my jaw.

i lifted my head slightly, looking into his eyes. i watched as his eyes moved around my face, observing my features. his thumb traced the outline of my lips, while his eyes fixated on them.

he blinked slowly, his mouth hanging open slightly as though he was in a trance. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, a few strands of his hair falling into his face.

we both stayed in that position, examining each other, waiting for the other to make a move. my breath hitched when matt’s free hand slid down to my waist, rubbing the skin under my shirt.

his cool hand traveled to the small of my back, the difference in our body temperatures sending a shiver up my spine. realizing he had no intentions of making a move, i wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine.

the sudden action pulled a low moan from matt, as he kissed back immediately. it was merely a tender brush of our lips, leaving a fluttering sensation in my stomach. i felt matt smile against my lips just before i pulled away, eyes still closed.

when i felt matt’s forehead pressed against mine, my eyes opened to look into his again. “what was that for?” he asked, his thumb running along the bare skin of my back.

“it’s my way of thanking you” i told him, grabbing the hand that was on my face and bringing it to my lips. i placed a soft kiss to his knuckles before intertwining our hands. “in that case, i think i deserve some more thanking” he smiled before placing his lips onto mine again.

the kiss went from hesitant to heated fairly quickly, matt’s hands sliding down to lightly squeeze my butt. he pulled me towards the couch, detaching our lips for a minute to pull me on top of him, before his mouth found mine again.

matt’s hand wrapped around my neck as he tilted my head back, leaving kisses to my jaw. his nose brushed against my skin as he left open-mouthed kisses down my neck. i let out breathy moans as he nibbled on the skin, his fingers sliding under the thin material of my shorts to brush over my skin.

he let out an audible groan when he felt the lack of clothing under my shorts. “no panties?” he asked, continuing to caress the supple skin under his fingers.

i shook my head shyly, a moan of surprise leaving my lips at the feeling of his finger against my bare pussy. “you’re so wet, baby. you weren’t gonna say anything?” he asked. before i could answer, he left a quick slap to my ass.

“get up for a second, pretty girl” he told me, watching as i followed his instructions, standing in front of him. “take off your shorts” he ordered, pupils blown wide as he watched me kick off my shorts.

“good. now sit on my face” he spoke, his bluntness catching me off guard. “what?” i asked, eyes widened. “i have some making up to do. so be a good girl and ride my face” he spoke, his eyebrows raised.

he moved to lay down on the couch, holding his hand out. i took his hand, crawling over him and hovering over his face. i lowered myself onto him slowly, letting out a squeal as he wrapped his arms around my thighs and pulled me down onto him swiftly.

i rested my hands on the arm of the couch, clutching onto it for dear life as his tongue explored every inch of my heat. his grip on my thighs was bruising as he lapped at the wetness that dripped out of me.

my loud moans continually filled the room as i rocked my hips against his face desperately. he swept his tongue through every fold meticulously, not leaving an inch of my core untouched.

his face was red, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost himself in the taste of my essence. he seemed to be in his own world, the only thing occupying his mind being his face buried in my pussy.

his hands slid to my ass, alternating between striking the skin with his palm and rubbing it in soothing circles. he went from giving me slow, languid strokes in a long stripe to quick kitten licks all over my heat.

“yes, matt! right there, holy shit” i cried out rather loudly, feeling him smirk against me. he licked and licked at my puffy lips, the pleasure shooting through me becoming almost overwhelming.

he adjusted the angle of his head, titling it forward slightly, hitting my clit perfectly with each push forward of my hips. i screamed out at that feeling, my toes curling up and eyes screwing shut.

“matt! i’m close, so close” i whined as he pushed a finger into my entrance from behind, earning a loud moan from me. “yes, matt! don’t stop, oh my god”

he plunged his finger in and out me, the sloshing of liquid accompanying it, alerting matt to what was coming. “you gonna squirt for me, beautiful? you got it, let it go baby” he muttered against me, causing my body to shake on top of him.

“fuck! yes, yes, yes” i chanted as the liquid spewed out of me, drenching matt’s face in my pleasure. shortly after, white beads of my arousal dripped out of my hole. “shit” i spoke, letting out a deep breath as i lifted myself off of matt.

“bath or shower?” matt asked, his face and hair drenched in my orgasm. “shower, i can return the favor in there” i answered as he interlocked our fingers.

“oh, no need to. that was really hot” he spoke, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “i came while you were on my face” he spoke, leaving a kiss to my cheek.

he flashed a cheeky grin at my shocked expression, before pulling me by the hand towards the bathroom.

the last way i thought this night would end was with matt being pussy drunk. not that i was complaining.

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @matthewscherrypie @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris @selenascorner

[jelloapocalypse]

Hi! I guess it’s ask time? Just wanted to say I think you’re one of the funniest people on YouTube; I have a playlist called ‘Emergency Funny’ and like half of it is just your videos.

I’m wondering, when you’re cold-reading a line, like in those streams of voice acting a video game while playing it, what are the small details, if any, that you look to to figure out how to read the line? I’m continually amazed how you manage to have near perfect delivery while never having read the line before. Sorry if this is worded confusingly I legit don’t know how to phrase it

This was sent months ago, but it's actually a very good question and talking about this might help people who like to voice games on stream get better at doing that.

For context, this is about our "fully-voiced" game playthroughs where we cold read an entire video game out loud.

One small thing I try to do that helps is pressing the "advance dialogue button" when the person speaking is about 65-70% of the way through their line. That way, if the next line is from the same character the actor has a chance to read it smoothly as though the lines were not separated at all.

If it turns out to be a different actor's line, this gives the new actor more time to skim the words as well as extra time for them to realize they're about to be speaking so they don't get caught off guard.

Doing this is actually kind of hard because every actor we work with reads at a different pace and the person actually playing the game has to keep that in mind. Oz, Vixen, Arim, and I can sight read most lines almost instantly. I've seen Oz and Vixen in particular read entire text boxes that were only onscreen for a couple frames. But, obviously, not everyone is that fast, so everyone gets different "advance the dialogue" speeds.

Ideally, if a game is well-written and the characters you're playing have a strong voice, you'll slowly fade into the character as you read them. You begin to feel the things they're saying rather than just reading words on a page. Once you hit that flow state, it becomes easier to process what they might logically say next. If you notice one of us make 2-3 errors in the span of just a few lines, it means we're probably not in that flow state.

Some games are also much easier to scan than others, usually because of their character poses.

A game like In Stars and Time has such incredible character portraits that you can usually tell the tone of the accompanying line within a few frames of a portrait change.

Loop (above) is an extremely suspicious and weird character, but voicing them was so much fun because I could always rely on the portraits and the font changes in the text to give me direction on how to play them accurately, even though I didn't actually know what their deal was until about halfway through our playthrough.

Coffee Talk also has very strong portraits that react in real time to the lines of dialogue. The framing can push characters smaller or larger in focus depending on how upset or meek they are, so it's very easy to react on sight and adjust accordingly.

Every time a game developer takes the time to painstakingly add portraits that match every single line, every time they add SFX to accentuate certain words, every time a font wiggles to tell you someone is speaking in a sing-songy way, that's all direction that the game's creators are giving you.

Another thing that helps is just media literacy. I think everyone on the channel is pretty good at that because, speaking frankly, I don't like hanging out with people who have bad media literacy, lmao.

The more media you consume, the easier it becomes to know how a story is going to go. Even a really well-written mystery usually has only 3-5 real options for an ending, and while you're reading games aloud it's a good practice to consider all of them equally so your reads make sense no matter what. You'll notice it's pretty rare something takes us entirely by surprise in a read-through.

Also, of note, it's much easier to notice specific foreshadowing and word choice in dialogue when you're reading it aloud as opposed to silently skimming.

A solid example is our fully-voiced playthrough of Trails From Zero, which actually happened on SurpriseRoundRPG a few years back and not my own Twitch or YouTube.

Minor spoilers, but the character above, Ernest, has some antagonistic interactions with your main party over the course of this game. He wants Ellie, the white-haired party member, to quit the police force (that's your group) and go back to working with him in the Mayor's office.

When Arim played this game solo he didn't really think much of this guy. However, when he played the game for us and we read it out loud, having lines like the one pictured above spoken aloud makes it kind of impossible not to notice that this man is a freak. Mo, his VA, ended up playing him as a manosphere incel weirdo because that's the vibe he was putting out, and, lo and behold, that's pretty much exactly the character he turned out to be.

There's a running theme on our channel where commenters are often surprised to see the game "play into our bits" and how we "accidentally predict things".

What's really happening is the reverse.

It's very, very rare that we decide to make up a bit from absolutely nothing. It's not a hard and fast rule, but I find we only make jokes and play up aspects of characters based on things that are already there. Hence that one time in Miles is a Robot when I said something awful and sexual as Ray Shields, Oz groaned, and I said "Hey man, I'll give him a different joke when the game gives me somethin' else to work with!" I didn't choose to make Ray awful and sexual all the time. That's just how he is, so that's the well we pulled bits from.

Because we only extrapolate from existing content and our "silly" versions of the characters onscreen are just exaggerated versions of what's really there, whenever the game gives us more info about them, the new stuff tends to be very in-line with the bits we've already been doing. It's not us being psychic. It's us being consistent!

It also helps that almost all the regulars on my channel have done professional voice work and have been doing some version of this for literally 10+ years. Practice makes perfect!

[wonnieluv]

Live from New York, It’s Saturday Night! - Mark Lee

Summary: In September 2024 you found out that you’ll be hosting Saturday Night Live in December! You’re a bit nervous and as time passes you realize you need to choose a musical guest. What happens when you request one of your favorite artists and he just so happens to be in NY that weekend for Jingle Ball AND has a new solo releasing the next Monday (you just don’t know about the solo yet). Will he say yes?

soloist!Mark x actress!reader

warnings: implied that Y/N reads fan fiction about Mark because I thought it was funny, fluff, kissing

masterlist

author’s note: I know all of Dream were in NY but for plot purposes Mark is a soloist in this fic because I didn’t want Y/N to seem like a solo stan for inviting Mark alone

“MATT IF YOU DON’T SAY SIKE RN I’M GOING TO HIT YOU” a woman’s loud voice echos through the apartment

“Y/N WHY WOULD I JOKE ABOUT THIS. I know this has been a dream of yours” A males voice can be heard from the phone in the her hand.

Let’s pause and give some background context, shall we?

Y/N L/N, accomplished actress at the young age of 23 years old. You’ve been acting since a young age starting on the Disney Channel. When you were a teen you made it out of Disney and began taking more rolls outside of the image you had previously crafted for so many years. Now here you are, a multi-academy award nominated actress (you’ve won a couple too 😉). You grew up watching Saturday Night Live with your parents and SNL was a goal you’d always wanted to achieve in your career which brings us to the present day. You’ve been booked to host SNL and you couldn’t be more excited!

"Matt can I call you back, I'm gonna go scream, cry, hyperventilate, and probably run a lap around the block" You tell your manager Matt, he's become more of your best friend in the time you've known him so he's pretty used to your dramatics.

"Yea, I'll get more details and discuss some contract related things with them and I'll swing by yours in a couple hours." He finishes hanging up the call.

You let out a squeal as you skip around your house. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you don't think you were this happy when you got nominated for your academy awards.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

As the days grow into weeks, Halloween is beginning to approach rapidly and you're on your way to meet with team at SNL to discuss of details that need to be prepared ahead of time for your episode.

your episode...

Yup! your episode in the 50th season of SNL. Things are moving quickly. It's already been almost a month since you got the call notifying you of your casting and you haven't been able to think of anything else. You're so excited to hear the pitches from the cast about the skits they want to do. Being able to work in this environment is like a dream come true.

One of the things you're nervous about is the topic of the meeting today. They want you to have a musical artist picked out so you will need to be providing a list of people that they can reach out to to ensure they get the artist booked before everyone has their schedules set for the holidays.

You arrive to the meeting greeting everyone in the room as you listen intently to what's being said. As time goes on you just get more and more excited about the process.

"... and finally the last thing we need to get ironed out today is who you'd like to have for your musical guest. As you know this episode will be airing December 14th so we'll need to be mindful of holiday plans and schedules so we really should get on this soon. For right now we'll get the name of the top artist you'd like to have and we'll have your management send over the rest of the list via email so we can get an artist booked as soon as possible."

You nod as you listen intently.

"So who is your top artist at the moment" He looks at you expectantly

"I'd like to have Mark Lee be my music guest. He's a singer and wrapper with a sizable following and I think he'd be a great fit." You try to come off confident but you know he has the power to just flat out say no if he wants

"Hmmm... I'll have to look into him before we make any calls but... we'll keep you updated." You nod in response.

You leave the building with a pep in your step and a smile on your face as you anticipate the coming months of preparation

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

"Hey Matt, what's up" You ask as you pick up the phone. It's a Saturday in November so you were relaxing at home as you watch the people wrapped in their winter coats facing the cold of the coming New York winter.

"I have an update from SNL. I thought you'd like to hear this one."

"Oooh what is it?" He's piqued your interest

"They've confirmed your musical guest for your episode of SNL and the guest was from the list we gave them"

"OH MY GOD really?!?!!?! Is It Mark? Matt please tell me it's Mark." You didn't want to get your hopes up but clearly your attempts were futile for how much you were anticipating his answer.

"Stay calm Y/N... but yes... Mark's management just agreed to have him be your musical guest"

"...Matt...I'm going to mute myself real quick..." You quickly get out before muting yourself and screaming bloody murder into your pillow. THE Mark Lee... agreed to be YOUR musical guest... on YOUR episode of SNL...? Life just took a whole new turn of unreal. You've been a fan of Mark for a while now and him agreeing to join you is insane.

You clear your throat as you pick your phone back up again "...hey Matt... soo... Mark Lee... he said yes?"

"Yup he'll be in town for the jingle ball event that's happening the day before so they agreed to extend his stay for a couple of extra days"

"Great! I can't wait!"

"The SNL producers would like to hold another meeting soon to discuss the logistics with his team and with you so start preparing yourself mentally. I know you like him but don't try to jump his bones through the screen."

"Heyyyy, I would never..." You try to defend yourself.

"Yea yea... I'll talk to you soon"

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

"Y/N it's good to see you again, I hope your preparations have been going well." One of the producers greets you as you enter the room

"They have! I'm excited to be back with you all again"

"Y/N this is Mark Lee and his manager, they're joining us through zoom from their company in South Korea. Today's objective is to talk over what our expectations are for Mark as the musical guest as well as clear up any questions. Shall we get started?"

You nod trying to focus on the task at hand and less of the fact that the man you've had a minor celebrity crush on for years isn't perceiving you over zoom at the moment.

"After we received your offer I put some thought into the songs I'd like to perform that day. I think this is a unique opportunity and I think the songs chosen will be perfect for the SNL stage" Mark begins

"We figured it'd be nice to start with a slower track with a nice intimate mood 200 - Minhyung's Version as it's a more unplugged acoustic vibe. For the second song we'd like to have Mark perform a single that is yet to be announced but will be releasing December 16th. It's called Fraktsiya. It's a hip hop song with a heavy 808 base and we think it would be a big draw for him and for the show to have it be the first time anyone hears it officially." Marks manager explains.

You can't help but perk up at the mention of a new song.

So does that mean I'd get to hear it for the first time in rehearsals? Before anyone else does..?

Not the time Y/N you mentally scold yourself for letting your thoughts wander during an important meeting. You shake away your thoughts and pay attention for the rest of the meeting.

"This was a very informative session, we'd like to thank you all so much for the opportunity to have Mark perform on such an iconic show" You hear his manager say as the meeting wraps up.

"It'll be our pleasure to have you here in December. We'll be in touch" The producer says before the call is cut and you're all dismissed

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

December 14th, 2024, show day

Here you are, sat in your dressing room, running over your lines preparing for the final rehearsal before tonights live show. Due to his schedule at Jingle Ball yesterday night, Mark wasn't able to the join the rehearsal meaning you'll be seeing him for the first time today when you run through the show.

"Y/N it's time to head out" Matt gets your attention as you quickly get up and head towards him so the two of you can head to set

"Let's go" You say with a smile

"Keep your hormones in check when we get out there"

You slap his shoulder in response "Hey I am a very calm and composed thank you very much. It's not that big of a deal"

"Your tumblr history says otherwise" You freeze while looking at hime with your mouth agape

"MATT GET BACK HERE" You run to catch up to him

As the two of you arrive to set you're done smacking him for seeing your tumblr history and you’ve been able to mostly calm the bright blush that had appeared as you slowly approach the producer.

“Good morning Y/N are you ready to get started?” He asks as you and Matt reach him

“Yup! Let’s get started!”

You begin your final rehearsal with the opening monologue which goes without a hitch and finally the moment you’re waiting for, Mark is going to rehearse his songs

He comes out onto stage looking very casual as he introduces himself and checks his mic. You decide it’s for the best if you stand to the back to watch because you knew yourself. You wouldn’t be able to not ogle him so you may as well do it from the sides instead of in front of everyone…

God he’s so cool

As he rehearses 200, you can’t stop staring. He’s on a stool with a spotlight on him and the guitarist playing next to him and his voice is so melodic and calming. You’re blatantly staring at this point but you don’t care, he’s so charismatic and his aura is mesmerizing, you can’t help but watch intently.

“Thank you…” he says into the mic with a short bow as he finishes with everyone clapping for him. The producers chat with him and the band before they change the set for Weekend Update. You aren’t needed for this segments rehearsal so you head back to get some snacks from your dressing room. You arrive closing the door behind you taking a breathe pulling out your phone as you scroll for about 15 minutes before you get a text from Matt.

You power your phone off and you leave the dressing room. As you close the door and start walking down the hallway you’re met with a something hard that sends you stumbling back

“Oh watch out!”

You grab onto the wall next to you as you feel a gloved hand grab your arms to help stabilize you.

“You okay…?” You look up to see who you ran into and of course… it’s Mark

“Oh! Y-yea… I’m fine sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going” you mentally slap yourself for stuttering

“No it’s okay, I wasn’t looking either” he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck

You take in his appearance and you see he’s wearing the same outfit as earlier but his hoodie has been replaced with a long leather jacket

“Are you also heading to set?” You calm your inner fan girl and ask

“Yea I am, shall we?” He asks knowing that you’re heading that way too.

You nod as you walk next to him. The two of you having casual conversation. He told you about Jingle Ball yesterday and you told him about the cat you feed sometimes on your block that also happens to be named Mark (you didnt name him, you swear his collar said Mark when you found him)

“Dude there’s no way…”

“I swear. He’s got this old collar on him and I swear it says Mark. I’ll have to show you a picture.” You laugh at his disbelief

The two of you finally arrive to set and go your separate ways so he can get onstage as you find Matt giving you a knowing look.

In response you slap him before turning turn attention towards the stage.

An unfamiliar heat starts playing through the speakers as Mark comes out looking the same as he did when you saw him only now he’s sporting some expensive looking shades and he’s got this intimidating aura around him. He’s not the playful Mark you met in the hallway.

Your mouth fall agape as you watch him rap his new song exuding nothing but utter confidence

Yeah, how many schedules in a day? (Baby, listen)

He’s pulled his glasses down as he tilts his head down looking at the camera above the glasses so he can make eye contact

My airline miles fling honeymoon out of space (I said listen)

He turns his head look towards you as you says the line before redirecting his eyes ahead before adjusting his glass back to cover his eyes properly again

SM got to wait (SM, listen)

Phone is buzzing, uh, SNL shoot with Y/N

I said, wait

You’re frozen in your place as he says your name… did he adjust the lyrics? You know he did but it still made your heart race a little too hard. The fact that the entire song is him bragging about his accomplishments and you have a spot in the lyrics, even if it’s just an adlib for the live show. You have to calm yourself down at the thought

You continue to watch him finish his rehearsal with wide eyes. When he finished the song you clap along with the rest of the crew before continuing on with the rehearsal. You had a couple skits along with Mark who they included in one. He did really well despite the lack of rehearsal time and by the time you all finished you were feeling ready for the live show that night.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

You were sat in your dressing room after getting styled for the top of the show. You’ve got some down time so Matt left you to go probably flirt with one of the cast members he found cute (but wouldn’t admit it) so you’re relaxing in your chair trying to shake the nerves. Your mom flew to New York to watch live tonight so you really wanted to do well for her.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door

“Come in” you say as you turn around to see who knocked and to your surprise… your met with the face of Mark Lee

“Oh Mark? I didn’t expect you to come by…” you say with a smile

“Yea… I had some downtime so I figured I’d stop by” he says walking in scratching the back of his neck awkwardly again.

“You look nervous” you laugh lightly

“Nahhhh… well… maybe just a bit” he says “but I think I’ll do fine. I think I’m more worried about how people will perceive the new song rather than whether I’ll do well”

“Hmmm” you hum in understanding “well I do owe you a picture of little Mark” you say pulling out your phone “oh! Feel free to sit down” you usher him over to the couch as you sit next to him

“Look” you show him a picture of a little orange cat that’s a bit chubby

“Awww dude he’s so cute”

“I know right” you pull back the phone and zoom in on the collar “look what I told you… he’s named Mark”

“That’s a crazy coincidence man… I have to meet this Mark sometime.” He laughs out

“Ooooh I don’t know about that. Two Marks within close proximity… the world might implode” you fake a shiver as you lean back on the couch

“Maybe your right” he chuckles at you before also leaning back on the couch

“Now how did you meet this Mark? He’s not a stray is he?”

“No… although that’s what I thought at first but I called the number on his collar and he has a home. He’s just an outdoor cat. He only comes home for food” You say thinking of the cat you’ve begun to love “If he was a stray I would’ve adopted him”

“Yea… maybe I should get a cat and name him Mark”

you chuckled at his response. “Mark and Mark. Sounds like a comic book”

“You know some people think I’m like Spider-Man… a superhero has gotta have a sidekick” He laughs looking at you

“Should I call you spider-mark then? You’ve got your guy in the chair and everything it seems.” You chuckle out

“Just you wait someday I’ll be in the spider-verse movies”

“I’ll look forward to it” you smile “you are missing one thing though”

“What is it?” He raises an eyebrow as he sits up and looks back at you

“Well you need an MJ of course” you say sarcastically as you look at him

He quirks an eyebrow at your statement “oh yea…” he pretends to think “I think I’ve got an MJ though too” he says as he looks at you “so I’m all set by your logic”

Your eyes widen slightly at his statement “oh yea. I guess so” you cast your eyes down for a second and when you look back up Mark is much closer to you

“You look disappointed” he says inching forward

“Why would I be…” you don’t move towards him but… you also don’t move away.

He smirks a little “I don’t know…” he brings up his hand a gently brushed your hair behind your ears as his face is just inches from yours

“I-“ you can respond before you hear Matt knocking on your door

“Y/N it’s time to get backstage” you and Mark immediately break from one another before you stand up and clear your throat

“Ok… I’ll be out in a second” you walk to your vanity grabbing your water and drinking some before turning back to Mark

“I should go…” you say to Mark, who has now risen from his spot on the couch and has begun to approach you

“Yea… you should…”

You look up and meet his gaze before beginning to walk towards the door. You don’t get very far before you feel a hand grab your wrist.

You don’t even have a moment to say anything before you feel a soft peck on your cheek

“Good luck…” he says softly

“Th-thanks…” you stutter out as your cheeks glow bright red.

You hurry out of the room and rush backstage to get ready for the start of the show

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

The first half of the show goes by in a blur. All the sketches have been going really well and there has yet to be a problem. Now you're at the part you're most excited about Mark's stage

"Now introducing... Mark Lee" The audience claps as everyone becomes focused on him. He's dressed in black pants with a white button up unbuttoned with a tank top underneath. You listen as he sings 200, completely enamoured by him from your place behind the camera. You've realized you're beginning to fall for this man in the short time you've been able to really meet him and part of you wants to think he feels the same with the way (you think) his eyes shift to you behind the camera every so often. But you refuse to get your hopes up and get your heart broken.

He finishes up the song before heading back to get prepared for the next song as they bring out the Weekend Update set as usual.

You laugh as Colin and Micheal share their usual good jokes along with their bickering enjoying seeing the iconic pair in their element with your real eyes. Before you know it you're introducing Mark for his second song.

You take your place behind the camera once again as you take in his new appearance. His shirt now neatly buttoned with a tie around his neck. His thick sunglasses and his black leather clothes with his hair slicked back topping the look off made your jaw drop. He looked HOT

You watch the audience excited for their reactions to his new song and you could tell everyone loved it. You were so into the atmosphere that you almost forgot to pay attention to the stage and before you knew it, everyone was clapping and cheering for him.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

The show ends successfully as you say your goodbyes to everyone onstage before heading back to your dressing room to change into your regular clothes. As you've finished changing, you're collecting your things when you hear a knock on the door. You don't even get the chance to say come in before you see it open and Mark steps into the room.

"Sorry... I-" he sighs clearly a little unprepared

"You okay Mark?" You begin to step closer to him

"Yea yea.. I just thought you had left... someone said they saw your manager leave so I wanted to come check" He says a bit nervously

"Well I'm still here... so what do you need?' You look up at him but he's clearly avoiding your eyes.

"Well, I have to go back to Korea tomorrow... but I was wondering if... I could get your number." He says as he raises his gaze to meet yours

You softly smile at his request before you nod "give me your phone"

The two of you exchange numbers before you fall into some lighthearted conversation again. He's so easy to talk to. He laughs at your jokes and he matches your energy perfectly. He's just easy to be around.

You grab the rest of your belongings while you chat and once you're ready to go he walks you out to your car.

"This is it huh...?" He asks you hesitantly

"Well it cant be. You haven't met little Mark yet" You smile back at him. "Now you have a reason to come back to New York"

"Make that two..." He says softly

"Huh? What's the second-" You barely finish your sentence before you feel his soft lips on yours. After a moment of hesitation, you wrap your arms around his neck as his go to your waist as you reciprocate the kiss. It felt sweet, soft, careful, like he's testing the waters, but almost desparate, as he knows it'll be a while before you see each other again.

The two of you pull away "I'll see you soon... spidey..." you say softly with a smile on your face. You quickly peck his cheek before running into your car. You don't look at him out of shyness as you drive off with a bright smile on your face and 200 - Minhyung's Version blasting through the speakers of your car.

This took me way too long to write to I hope you all enjoyed this. Also yes I made up the SNL skit but it was FOR THE PLOT I’m not too proud of that part

[taetebebe]

NAMES

Pairing: Sunoo x afab!reader

Synopsis: Two strangers, a mailbox mistake, never sharing names - only thoughts, confessions, and quiet longings.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author note: Something different. I would love some feedback pls!

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

Letter One: 

Dear Whoever You Are,

I’m not even sure this will reach anyone. Honestly, I meant to send this to my landlord to ask, no, beg him to fix the leaky ceiling above my bed before I drown in my sleep. But when I sealed the envelope, I realized I copied the address wrong. Again.

I was going to toss this in the bin, but then I thought… maybe a stranger could use a little story. Or maybe you’ll laugh at how dramatic I sound. Maybe you won’t read this at all. That’s fine too. But on the off chance you do - hi.

I don’t usually write to strangers. Or talk to them. Or let them see the messy parts of my life. Or much of it really. But maybe that’s what makes this safe. There’s no context, no pressure, no expectations.

Just… ink on a page.

The ceiling still leaks, by the way.

Sincerely, Not Your Landlord :(

𖤐 

Letter Two:

Dear Not My Landlord,

You had me at “drown in my sleep.”

Your letter arrived in a pile of boring bills and takeaway flyers, and I almost missed it. But something about the handwriting made me open it. Not neat, not messy - just… a person.

I don’t know your name, or why I feel like I should reply, but here I am. Writing on the back of a bookstore receipt because I ran out of paper. I’d say I’m not usually this impulsive, but that would be a lie.

There’s a coffee ring on the corner of your envelope, like you hesitated before dropping it in. 

For what it’s worth, I hope your ceiling stops trying to murder you.

Sincerely,

 The Stranger at 4B

𖤐 

Letter Three: 

Dear Stranger at 4B,

It’s probably against every good decision I’ve ever made to keep this going, but something about your reply felt like a window cracked open in a stuffy room.

I’m not sure why you replied, and I’m not going to ask. But I will ask this: 

If you had to write something, anything, just for the sake of writing it, what would it be about?

Tell me about the book. I want to know what kind of stories find you.

My ceiling is still leaking, by the way. I’ve named the drip. His name is Harold. He’s punctual, if nothing else.

Still nameless,

 Harold’s Roomate

𖤐 

Letter Four: 

Dear Harold’s Roomate,

Funny you should ask about the book. It’s an old edition of The Secret Garden, the kind with pages that smell like attic corners and warm dust. I didn’t mean to buy it, I was looking for something else. But it practically fell into my hands.

Inside the front cover, someone had written “Return to her when the gate is open.” No name. No context. That kind of thing stays with you.

I read the first chapter sitting on the windowsill. I forgot how much I missed silence, not the lonely kind, but the kind that lets a sentence echo for a while before you move on.

I don’t think I realised how noisy I’ve been until I started reading your letters.

Harold sounds like he keeps you company. Let me know if he starts talking back.

Still just me,

 The Stranger at 4B

𖤐

Letter Five:

Dear Stranger,

That note in your book - it’s haunting, in a lovely way. “Return to her when the gate is open.” Sounds like something from a dream.

I keep imagining who “her” is. A girl who planted something and waited. Someone who left and promised to come back. A woman who locked the garden because the person she built it for never came.

Sometimes I do that, get lost in stories that don’t belong to me. Maybe that’s why writing to you feels so easy. I don’t have to be the version of myself everyone else knows or expects.

I’m writing this on my kitchen floor. There’s a towel catching Harold’s rhythm, but I can still hear him. I wonder if you’d find that annoying or poetic.

Your windowsill. I imagine ivy curling around the edge. Or maybe pigeons. Or a terrible view made better because you sit by it.

~ Still Nameless

P.S. I might have accidentally sent my actual rent check to your address this time. If you get it, buy yourself a croissant.

𖤐

Letter Six:

Dear Still Nameless,

I do have pigeons. And a view - though “view” is generous. It’s mostly bricks and fire escapes and a crooked chimney that leans like it’s tired of holding itself up.

But it’s mine, I guess. I sit there when the world feels too sharp. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I stare at the chipped paint on the sill and wonder who lived here before me, and whether they sat here too, thinking everything felt impossible.

Your letter made me pause today. I read it slowly. Twice.

I like how you think in stories. I do too.

And I like that you haven’t asked who I am yet. No name, no expectations. Just this.

If Harold ever drowns you, I’ll steal that towel and bury it with full honors.

With bricks and birds, The Stranger at 4B

𖤐

Letter Seven:

Dear Stranger,

I’ve started looking forward to your handwriting. It’s uneven in places, like you don’t always know what you’re going to say until the words spill out. That makes two of us.

You said this view is yours, even though it’s made of crooked things and pigeons. I admire that. Most people only claim what’s beautiful.

There’s something comforting in the fact that we’re just… here. Two people orbiting the same city, writing like it matters.

I won’t ask your name. I won’t ask what you look like, or what you do, or why you write back. Not now.

But I will ask: What would you say to yourself five years ago?

~ Your Unknown

𖤐

Letter Eight: 

Dear Unknown,

Five years ago, I thought the worst thing that could happen was being left behind.

I was wrong. The worst thing was realizing I’d been standing still, waiting for someone who never said they’d come back. And that I was the one who left parts of myself behind, every time I stayed quiet when I wanted to scream.

So what would I say to that version of me?

I’d say: It’s okay to want something soft. It’s okay to leave before someone else does. And it’s okay to begin again, even if all you have is a brick wall, a tired chimney, and a stranger who writes back.

Your turn. If that’s not too much to ask.

With care, Your Stranger

𖤐

Letter Nine:

Dear Stranger Of Mine,

Your letter stayed in my jacket pocket all day. I kept rereading one line: “It’s okay to want something soft.” I didn’t realise I needed permission.

Five years ago, I would’ve told myself to stop apologising for being quiet. To stop letting people measure my worth by how much space I took up. I was always the easy one. The one who didn’t ask for more.

But even easy people break.

This, writing to you, feels like breathing without trying too hard. I didn’t know it could be like this.

I’m still not ready to sign a name. But this time, I’ll draw you something instead.

 (Taped to the letter is a small pencil sketch: two pigeons sitting side by side on a slanted chimney, beneath a crooked moon.)

Until next time, Your Nameless One

𖤐

Letter Ten:

Dear Pigeon Artist,

I taped your drawing above the sill. They make the chimney look less tired. Or maybe just less alone.

I used to think connection came with pressure. Like love only counted if it made your heart race or your bones ache. But I think this, the soft unfolding of it—feels more real than anything that’s ever left me breathless.

I’m not asking your name. Not yet. But if you ever feel ready, I won’t run.

Do you ever imagine us passing each other on the street? I do. I think we already have.

From the window with a view, Still Your Stranger

𖤐

Letter Eleven: 

Dear You,

I almost signed my name this time. Almost.

But instead I’ll say this: You remind me what trust feels like. Not the loud kind. The kind you build by accident, through folded paper and pigeons and the drip of Harold on the kitchen floor.

I used to believe people left eventually. That no matter how warm they were, they’d cool, drift, disappear.

But here you are. Still writing. Still choosing this.

So I’m choosing it too.

Same hands. Same heart. Still nameless (but not for long)

𖤐

Letter Twelve: 

Dear My Nameless,

It rained last night. The kind that taps the window like it’s trying to be let in. I stayed by the sill and thought about you.

Not your face. Not your voice. Just… you. The way you see the world. The way you pause before asking questions. The way you said “easy people break.” I haven’t stopped thinking about that.

If you ever stopped writing, I’d let you go. But I’d reread every letter until the paper gave out.

There’s no pressure. No expectation. But I think I’d recognize your silence now, too.

~ The Stranger You Keep Choosing

𖤐

Letter Thirteen: 

Dear Choice,

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to knock on your door. Not to say anything. Just to know if I was right - if I’d feel it, standing there.

But I think this, right here, is a door too. One we’ve both opened. Carefully. Consistently.

So I’m not knocking. Not yet.

But I will tell you something I’ve never written to anyone else.

When I was ten, I mailed myself a letter and waited three weeks for it to arrive. I signed it “Love, Someone You Haven’t Met Yet.”

I think I was always waiting for a reply.

Turns out, I just had the wrong address.

Still yours, Still not signed

𖤐

Letter Fourteen: 

Dear Someone I’ve Almost Met,

I’ve read your letters more times than I can admit. They live in a shoebox beneath my bed now. Next to a flashlight, a scarf I never wear, and a polaroid of my parents holding hands at a train station.

This isn’t a confession. It’s a thanks. For showing up. For staying.

I’m still afraid of names. Because names change things.

But I also think… names anchor things.

When you’re ready, I’ll be here. Window open. Gate unlocked.

With every brick and bird, Your Wrong Address

𖤐

Letter Fifteen:

Dear You,

I do need you to know this: Every time I write to you, it feels like planting something and knowing it will grow.

I think you’ve changed how I see the world.

Yours, The Gate

Letter Sixteen: 

Dear Her,

The gate is open.

I walked past your building yesterday. I didn’t mean to. I just… did. I didn’t knock. I didn’t leave anything behind. But I looked up and wondered if you were sitting there, by the pigeons, with your name still tucked behind your teeth.

So here. Let me go first.

My name is Sunoo.

I don’t know what happens next. But I hope it still includes pigeons. And Harold. And letters, even when we no longer need paper to speak.

Yours Finally, Sunoo

𖤐

Letter Seventeen: 

Dear Sunoo,

You were right. The mailbox wasn’t a mistake.

And neither were you.

Here’s to gardens reopening, and stories we didn’t know we were brave enough to write.

You can knock now, if you want. Or keep writing. I’ll answer either way.

With all my softness,   YN

𖤐

One Last Letter (Unsent):

Dear Sunoo,

I haven’t written to you in weeks. Not because I’ve had nothing to say, but because so much of what I want to say can now be said out loud.

You were always just beyond the page. A flicker in the corner of a sentence. A warmth folded into the crease of an envelope. But now, you’re here - in the chair across from mine, in the space beside me on the train, in the way I reach for two mugs instead of one.

Sometimes I reread your first letter. You called my handwriting a person, human. I didn’t understand it then. I think I do now.

You made me feel like I was allowed to be soft and real and unfinished.

There are still pigeons on the fire escape. The bricks are still crooked. Harold retired once the landlord finally fixed the ceiling. But the window still opens. The gate is still unlocked.

And I’m still choosing this - choosing you. Not with mystery or metaphor. But with certainty.

This letter? I won’t send it.

You’re already home.

Love, Me

𖤐

© taetebebe 2025

[urhoneycombwitch]

plan b

husky!neighbor!Eddie x neighbor!Reader

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers mentioned), she/her pronouns used for R, embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.

[babydollmarauders]

BALLAD OF A HOMESCHOOLED GIRL — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n goes on a date with Jack and thinks she made a complete fool of herself

notes: obviously inspired by Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl by Olivia Rodrigo, not proofread and written on extreme sleepiness. (3.6k words)

third dates.

my mother always told me to have them in group settings.

she said the first date is to get to know each other; the second is to learn how he’d treat you in private; the third date is to learn how he’d treat you in front of his friends.

most guys seem to get intimidated when i ask about joining a hang out with his friends for the third date, but Jack was different. i had told Jack on our first about my rules.

first date in a public setting, but alone.

second date in private, his apartment or mine.

third date with a group of friends.

i hadn’t expected him to take it so well, nodding along as though even without context, it made sense. he didn’t ask for clarification, which was good because i had learned after my last relationship not to give any; lest they’ll act like a gentlemen in front of their friends until we start dating.

i honestly didn’t expect Jack to contact me again, fully awaiting the discovery that he’d ghosted me, possibly even blocked me to keep me from talking to him again. but then he texted me tonight.

“i know it’s last minute, but third date tonight? me and some guys from the team are going for drinks, would you wanna come?”

and now here i am, walking into a pretty secluded bar to meet Jack and about half a dozen other professional hockey players. to say i’m nervous would be a massive understatement.

i spent at least half an hour trying on various outfits, but nothing felt right. every article of clothing i tried on had something wrong with it; whether it be that it didn’t fit quite right, or it didn’t match the occasion, or i just deemed it didn’t look good on me, something was always wrong. so i finally settled on a nice sundress, despite the chilled air of the evening.

“y/n!” my head turns in search of the voice that called my name, locking eyes with Jack, where he sits at a high top table with five other guys. “i was starting to think you’d stood me up!”

my eyebrows furrow as i walk over to him, stopping at the end of the table. my stomach ties in knots at all of the eyes on me. i hate attention.

“why would i do that?” a few of the guys chuckle at my question, but i’m not sure i understand what’s so funny.

“i was joking.” Jack clarifies.

oh.

embarrassment washes over me and i can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, but Jack just smiles sweetly, rising to his feet and pulling out the chair beside him.

“oh, thank you.” i take a seat and he returns to his, his hand settling on my knee as one of the guys begin to speak.

“so, you’re y/n?” my eyes go wide, and i glance over at Jack but he’s looking over at the other guy. “i’m Luke.”

“nice to meet you, Luke.” i give the curly headed boy a tight smile, “so, you play with Jack?”

the boy grins, nodding his head, “i guess you could say that.”

everyone snickers, and i fear i’ve made a mistake of some sort. my blood runs cold; i hate feeling like i’m on the outside of some giant inside joke.

maybe this was a mistake.

Jack squeezes my knee, and i look over at him with subtly pleading eyes, silently begging for him to save me.

“Luke is my younger brother, but he does play on the team with me.” there it is. that’s where i messed up.

“oh, i’m sorry.” i’m not sure what i’m apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to do. i glance back at Luke, “i knew Jack had mentioned your name before but, he’s mentioned so many names that at this point they all jumble together in my head.”

Luke just shakes his head, waving it off. “nah, don’t worry, it’s okay.”

after that, i decide it’s better to go quiet; only really speaking when spoken to. i can’t embarrass myself if i’m not saying anything.

“hey.” Jack’s voice is soft, and at first, i don’t even realize he’s talking to me, until i tear my eyes from who i now know as Dawson, who’s telling a story with wildly gesturing hands. “do you wanna go get a drink?”

he nods his head over towards the bar, and i nod, desperately in need of something to ease my nerves, “yes, please.”

Jack and i rise from our seats, his hand going to my lower back to stabilize me as i stumble. my cheeks go red, but i decide it’s better not to acknowledge my clumsiness.

“and i— where are you guys going?” Dawson cuts himself off, drawing attention to Jack and i’s retreating pair. “did i bore you, y/n?”

i stop in my tracks, freezing up as guilt takes over me.

“i- what? n-no! Jack-” i stumble over my words in a panic, attempting to reassure him, but apparently i didn’t help my case.

“see, Merc! poor y/n even finds your story stupid.” John laughs and i shake my head wildly.

“no! i found it interesting!” Nico snickers at my words, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“interesting. that’s one way of putting it.”

oh god, i made it worse.

“guys, leave her alone.” Jack speaks up, rolling his eyes at his friends before he turns back to me. “c’mon, ignore them, they’re just raggin’ on you.”

my brows thread together in confusion, but i nod nonetheless, allowing him to use his hand that still rests on my back to guide me over to the bar.

“i’m sorry about them.” he sighs as we reach the counter, waiting for a bartender. “they have a stupid sense of humor.”

“no! no, it’s fine!” i assure him.

it’s not them, it’s me.

i’ve never been great at picking up on social cues, perhaps due to my odd lifestyle as a child.

when the bartender reaches us, Jack orders another beer before looking over at me, “oh, can i just get an aperol spritz, please?”

Jack hands over his card and when he gets it back he turns to me.

“i gotta run to the bathroom, are you okay waiting for the drinks? i’ll be back in a second.” i nod and he takes off towards the restroom, leaving me alone.

“so, you like him?” apparently not alone for long.

i turn my head in surprise, only to find Luke standing beside me. he asks the bartender who arrives back with Jack and i’s drinks for another beer and the man nods.

“hmm? Jack?” Luke nods and i smile looking down into my glass. “yeah, i really like him.”

“see, i said so!” my face scrunched in confusion as i look back at him.

“you said so?” i question.

“yeah! Johnny was trying to say you must not like him because you aren’t being very flirty, but i told him- i said you obviously like him if you’re on a third date.”

flirting.

i’ve never been great at that. and i haven’t needed to be, Jack is the one who approached me first, he’s the one who asked me out and he hasn’t given any indication that i have any reason to have to flirt to keep his attention.

“oh.”

Luke pays for his beer before retreating back to the table with a low “see you in a few.”

i’m quick to tear my phone out of my pocket, glancing over towards the restrooms for a moment to make sure my date isn’t coming back before making a quick google search.

this seems impossible.

“hey.” Jack reappears beside me and i hastily lock my phone, looking up at him as i go to slide it back into my pocket. but the combination of my fidgety hands, quick movements, and not paying attention to my surroundings doesn’t end well.

before i can even blink, my hand is knocking into my glass, the drink sliding off the bar top and onto the floor, shattering upon impact.

“oh my god!” i squeal, jumping back from the broken shards. i glance down at the mess before looking back up at Jack. “i am so sorry!”

i turn to the waitress who comes rushing towards us with a broom and towels, apologizing profusely and offering to clean it up myself.

“it’s no problem, happens all the time.” she tells me with a smile, but i still bury my face in my hands.

i’m making a fool of myself.

“can we get another aperol spritz?” i peek through my eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, watching as he hands the bartender his card again.

“i am so sorry, Jack.” my voice is low and whimpered, my shoulders rising as though to protect myself. “i just wasted your money and made a huge mess.”

Jack smiles softly, shaking his head as he chuckles, “don’t worry about it. it’s seriously okay, y/n. accidents happen, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

i nod, but i truly feel horrible now.

this was a mistake. i should’ve just stayed home; watched a cheesy romance or read a true crime novel and gone to bed early.

the bartender hands me the new drink, and i thank him before Jack leads me back to the table.

“everything okay?” Timo questions as we return and Jack just nods as we settle back in our seats.

“yeah, just a little accident. it’s all good.” the guys chuckle but all turn back to their previous conversation, somehow now on the topic of the wildest things they did in school.

i stay silent, hoping and praying to any higher power that they don’t involve me in this conversation, but my luck runs out pretty quickly. although i’m not sure i’ve had any tonight in the first place.

“what about you, y/n?” Nico is the one to rope me in, “what’s the wildest thing you did in school?”

“i- uh-” i internally cringe, mentally preparing myself for their jokes, “i was homeschooled. so, i didn’t really get to do anything crazy like you guys.”

“ohh, you’re a homeschool kid.” Luke nods as if it makes sense.

“did you know that statistically speaking, homeschoolers are more likely to graduate than public schoolers?” John pipes up, and i shake my head.

“really?” Jack questions, his nose scrunched cutely in disbelief.

“no, i- uh, i didn’t know that.” John nods at my words.

“yeah, look it up!” he points to my phone, which never actually made it to my pocket after the broken glass fiasco and now resides face down on the table.

i pick it up and Jack and Dawson, who both reside on either respective side of me, lean in to see my phone screen, eager to find out whether their teammate is correct.

but when i unlock my phone, my eyes grow wide and i’m eagerly attempting to swipe out of the current window, but it’s as if the world is against me because this is the exact moment that my phone screen decides to freeze.

“does that say ‘how to flirt?’” Dawson chuckles and i bite my lip, giving up and slamming my phone face down onto my lap as the table bursts into laughter.

i’m blushing like a mad woman, squeezing my eyes shut as i bury my face into my hands for the second time that night.

“aww y/n, you really let John get to you, huh?” Luke teases, and i feel like i could cry of embarrassment.

everything i do is tragic.

suddenly my seat is moving, scooting further to my right, before an arm is spindling around my waist. i let my hands lower just slightly to peer up at Jack, who wears a happy grin, his cheeks tinged pink.

he glances down at me, smiling even wider when he sees that i’m already looking at him.

it’s like a cat’s got my tongue, too stunned by the overwhelming mortification of the situation to even get a word out to explain or defend myself.

but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, pulling me into his body until my head is against his collarbone as he changes the subject; bringing up a story about he and his older brother trying to free an infant Luke from his crib when they were younger.

i’m quiet as the group speaks, most of them speaking over each other, which in turn makes others get louder to try and be heard. my head aches and i need a break.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom.” i whisper, freeing myself from Jack’s hold as he nods in understanding.

“okay. are you okay?” i give him a small smile, reassuring him that i’m fine before i leave.

my hands rest upon the bathroom sink, my eyes glaring into my reflection in the wonky bar mirror.

“get it together.” i try and tell myself, but it comes out in more of a whine.

why am i like this?

i run my hands through my hair, making sure it’s volumized, and heave out a sigh before i make my way back out of the restroom to join the table again.

on my way back, i can’t help but smile at the sight of Jack laughing with his friends.

he seems so carefree.

but i should’ve been watching where i was going, because halfway to the table, i’m tripping over someone’s heeled foot, landing on my knee on the hard ground.

“oh shit!” Jack’s voice echoes over the loudness of the music and bar-goers, and i can hear multiple chairs screech across the floor. “y/n, are you okay?”

oh god, i wanna curl up and die.

“yeah, i’m fine.” my voice is wavering and weak, so over making an idiot of myself tonight.

Jack appears in front of me, holding his hands out to help me up. his skin is soft as i slide my hands into his, allowing him to pull me up to my feet.

his friends stand behind him, a couple biting back laughs, but the others wide eyed in concern.

i let Jack guide me back to the table, and when i sit down, he’s kneeling in front of me, inspecting my knee for any immediate bruising or marks.

i sigh and he looks up at me, worry settled into his expression.

“that was a hell of a tumble.” Timo snickers, but he sobers up quickly as his eyes meet Jack’s, “you’re okay though, right?”

“physically? yes. mentally? questionable.” the table laughs, but i didn’t mean to joke, which only makes me press my lips together.

Jack finally deems my knee okay, settling back into his seat and letting his arm rest over the back of my chair.

“what were we talking about?” Jack asks, effectively diverting the attention away from my fall and back to the conversation from while i was gone.

“cheating.” John states, taking a sip from his beer.

i let out a little laugh, thinking he was just joking, but i sober up as i realize nobody else is.

“oh, you were serious.” i bite my lip as he nods.

“right!” Luke exclaims, “so people are saying he cheated on her?”

“yeah,” Dawson nods, and i’m a bit lost, “which i don’t understand, because all he did was hold hands with the other girl. we don’t know anything other than that. holding hands could have so many different meanings.”

i take a big gulp of my drink, listening intently as the guys debate cheating and what counts as cheating.

“i think, if one of you guys cheated on your girlfriend, i might ‘accidentally’ knock your teeth out on the ice.” Nico tells them, making the guys and i laugh. “i’m serious, you’d be bag skating until you physically drop from exhaustion.”

and like word vomit, before i can stop myself, i’m speaking, “my friend recently cheated on her boyfriend, and i can’t tell if i should tell him or let him find out on his own.”

their heads turn to me and i shrink in my seat as i realize what just escaped my lips.

“oh my god, i’m not supposed to be telling that to anyone.” my hand covers my mouth, and a few of the guys laugh at my actions.

“you should definitely tell him.” John shrugs, “he deserves to know.”

“i thought so too, but if i do tell him, does that make me a horrible friend?” the guys all start shouting different things along the same lines.

some telling me it doesn’t make me a bad friend, while others telling me that i shouldn’t be friends with her anymore anyways.

“has she done anything else?” Luke asks, and i scrunch my nose.

“cheating wise, no: just one drunken kiss with some guy.” i start. “but she told him she was sick to get out of meeting his parents.”

i clap my hand over my mouth again, shocked that these secrets are just tumbling out of me.

“fuck, i shouldn’t be telling you guys these things.”

the guys cackle and Dawson changes the subject, apparently just remembering a story of something that happened to him back home over the summer.

i remain quiet for the next fifteen or so minutes, just listening as the guys go back and forth, telling stories of their summers, until i feel Jack’s hand on my shoulder.

“hey, i’m heading home, do you want me to drop you off at your house?”

i eagerly accept his offer, happily willing to leave now and avoid paying for an uber during surge pricing. the both of us bid goodbye to his teammates and his brother, who says he’ll hitch a ride back to the apartment with Dawson, before we head out to his car.

i smile as he opens the car door for me, allowing me to climb in before he shuts the door again and jogs around the front of the car, slipping into the drivers side.

i don’t need to give him my address, our second date having been at my apartment, so i just clasp my hands tightly together in my lap, both of his on his steering wheel.

“i had fun tonight.” he tells me as we pull up to my apartment building.

“yeah, your friends are nice.”

not a complete lie. they are nice, i’m just not sure i got along with them, or more so, that they liked me.

“can i walk you up?” i accept his request and he exits the car, running around it to open my door before i get the chance to.

i mentally prepare myself on the silent elevator up to my apartment, readying myself to have him tell me that he doesn’t think we fit.

i was awkward tonight, breaking a glass, stumbling over my words, tripping, googling things that should be common knowledge, and telling secrets i had no business telling.

i couldn’t think of any worse ways to ruin a potential relationship.

when we reach my apartment, Jack stops me in front of my door, and before he gets the chance to belittle my dignity any further than i, myself, already have, i’m speaking up.

“i completely understand if you don’t wanna continue this.” i sigh, finding sudden interest in my shoes. “i made a complete fool of myself tonight.”

“why would you think i don’t wanna see you again?” he sounds hurt, his finger hooking under my chin and pulling my head up to look at him.

i chuckle lowly, “you can’t take me anywhere. every time i go out, it’s social suicide.”

“so you’re a bit clumsy and you need time to click with my friends and their humor, so what?” he shrugs, “i think you’re cute. and i’m incredibly honored that you wanted to flirt with me.”

i groan, my face flushing, and i tip my head back to look up at the ceiling.

“oh god, that was so embarrassing.” i whine.

“it was sweet.” Jack chuckles, pulling me into his chest. his arms wrap around me and i melt into his embrace, his chin resting on top of my head.

“i really like you, y/n. and tonight may not have gone the way you would’ve liked, and i can respect that, you’re allowed to feel that way, but i really liked it. i got a chance to figure out more about you and what you’re like, and it only solidified that i’d really like to keep getting to know you, see where this could lead.”

my head snaps up to look him in the eyes, “you would?”

he giggles at my actions, nodding his head. “yeah, i would.”

his head dips down and i suck in a breath as his lips near mine.

“can i kiss you?” he questions, and i nod.

“yes, please.”

his lips slot against mine, moving in sync and pulling me even closer to him if it’s possible. his hands slide up to cup the back of my neck, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and i part my lips to allow him entrance.

what starts slow and passionate, turns into something hot and heavy. i huff as he pulls away, my lips chasing after his and making him smile.

“do you wanna come inside?” i ask him, my voice low and sultry, and his eyes darken almost instantly.

he smirks, answering only by taking my keys from my hands and unlocking my door, leading me into my own apartment.

“ya know, i don’t think you needed that google search. you’re pretty good at luring me in all on your own.”

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiiii❤️ I idk if this is a Drabble or a headcaon but here I go anyways😅 . Hear some context So you don’t think I’m some weirdo. So in the 2017 movie called the babysitter and this character Allison got shot in the b00b and she “omg he shot me in the b00b what kind of dçk shots a girl in the b00bs” (funny scene) so basically fem!reader with platonic!taskforce141. And there on a mission and suddenly they hear the same line on their coms and they’re like 😳

(feel free to ignore)

A/N: LMAO - I had to look up the scene for this as a reference. Just picturing Price's paternal disappointment when he realizes his team acts like a bunch of children. Sorry, this is rlly short!

Summary: Your attempt at comedic relief sets off a chain reaction of immaturity.

Warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical mild injury, suggestive language, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 554

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver. | PART TWO

No Filter // 141 Drabble

Compared to some of the other operations you’d done with them, this was a piece of cake. A simple infiltrate and exfil mission where you’d be clearing house in one of Hassan’s safehouses—a mere breadcrumb leading to the man himself.

Price thought it would go smoothest if everyone split up, but to keep within shouting distance. It was only a small facility, after all.

Being ambushed? Shot? That was not something you saw in the cards for today.

Luckily, you got a bullet in him before he had a chance to do worse. But here you were, slumped against the wall with all the air knocked out of your lungs.

“Heard the shots, Sergeant. You broken?”

Captain Price’s voice crackled through near instantly, the second he had pulled the trigger on you. Though it took a few seconds, you managed to recuperate, and asses the room in front of you. The man who shot you K.I.A, and you very fortunate.

You peered down at your chest; indeed not broken, but injured. The vest had absorbed the shot, causing a relieved sigh to escape your lips. Obviously, if you really had a bullet in your chest, you wouldn’t just be sitting there—but the adrenaline of escaping death eliminated any rationality.

You unbuttoned the first few buttons on your shirt, seeing a welt on your breast as if the man had his gaze set on them when he pulled the trigger. Still, with your hand on the button of your radio, you finally gave some sort of answer.

“Bastard shot me in the boobs.” It was a mumble, but there was no way in hell they didn’t hear that.

As you winced, you seemed to forget that the entire team was on the other line—probably way more concerned with your life than the health of your tits. “What kind of dick shoots a girl in the boobs?” You asked rhetorically, despite the astonished silence on the other line.

“You were shot in your…?” Gaz was the first to speak up, his tone practically painting the picture of his signature squint.

Before the next voice chimed in, you could swear you heard whoever it was stifling a laugh. “Thanks for that.” Soap chimed in, accent crackling against the static. His smirk was visible even if his words; the natural flirt in him coming out no matter what.

Ghost had remained silent, probably muting his comms so he didn’t have to listen to this. And Price? Oh, Price… He’s got his head in his hands with pure disappointment. How did this status update turn so unprofessional, so quickly?

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soap comes in again, a smug sneer on his face. “He shot you on the—”

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Price blurts, interrupting the immature banter daring to be further set in motion. He was fighting every urge to crack a smile at the pure ridiculousness, but his poker face and stern tone prevented it.

“Tactical or not, John, it’s a tough break.” Laswell comes in, your only saving grace against Price’s father-like disappointment. She was the last superior of yours you’d expected to find it humorous, but she did, nonetheless.

This would definitely be the source material for the next HR meeting, you could see it now.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index Cont: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 20 - 'The Quiet' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.1k

You kept your tone breezy when you spoke to Dianne. You smiled like you’d only just met Trent in a work context, like he wasn’t the reason your mascara had run on your birthday, like your hand hadn’t once been curled around the hem of his shirt, pleading without sound. You told Dianne it was nice to meet her, and meant it, but you couldn’t hide the way your hands fidgeted around the strap of your bag. She didn’t call attention to it. She didn’t have to.

“Do you live close by or just visiting?” she asked, friendly. Curious. But she heard your accent. She knew you weren't exactly local to Toxteth. 

“Oh, I only live in Manchester, so not too far.” You said and her lips twitched. Her son lived near there. “But I’m on the move a lot. I’m off down to London in a day. Then I have to go right to Paris. Work’s been a bit mad.” You explained and she smiled softly. Her son was on the move a lot too. The obviousness was blinding but you were doing well though, trying to at least. You even chuckled lightly when she mentioned how the kids were always in awe of Trent, but that they had no idea he was technically shy when not on the pitch. You knew that though. Still, you fumbled when she asked whether you’d met his younger brother who she explained was the most outgoing of her three boys.

“Marcel?” you’d said, too fast. “Yeah—he’s great. He’s funny.” You clocked the faint raise of her brows before you could reel it back in. Her lips curved gently, not in suspicion, but in amusement. You'd stepped out of line. She wasn't drawing attention to it. But the slip was enough. And then there was the moment you mentioned his schedule, something about the international break and how he must be exhausted after the last away leg in the Champions League, and Dianne’s eyes narrowed softly, kindly. You were saying too much for someone who was just here to help a youth league event. But she never once pried. She just tilted her head slightly, as if to say I see you, but you don’t owe me anything. Still, you felt it. That warmth in her stare. That intuitive understanding. She didn’t need the full picture. She already had it. And then you felt it—him. Before you saw him. The shift in air, the subtle hush of the world adjusting. Your heart thudded harder as Trent approached from behind the field's scatter of children, voices behind him still carrying laughter as they whined about him leaving. 

“I’m just going to see my mum. I’ll be back before the next whistle. Promise.” He told them and they giggled. Trent Alexander-Arnold going to see his mummy. Just the same way they (six years old) would when they left the pitch. But yes, Trent Alexander-Arnold needed to see his mummy… now. Immediately. But his smile fell as soon as his trainers hit the grass near you. You turned. And there he was. Trent Alexander-Arnold. The boy you’d kissed in the heat of summer in Ibiza and told not to make it mean anything. The boy who sat on the carpet of your apartment when you needed him to hold you. The boy who had told you, almost bitterly, ‘You never let me have you.’ and later, painfully ‘I love you.’ And now here you both stood. In front of his mum. Your mouth parted slightly, unsure of how to greet him. The instinct was there, to grin, to tease, to touch his shoulder, but your feet felt heavy. He stepped forward first, smile trained. Polished. And then he hugged you. Not your hug. Not the one he’d given you in the car park after he picked you up from the train, or the one he gave when you fell asleep on his chest with a film still playing. This was clean. Careful. A press of bodies with too much space between them. Quick.

“Glad you came,” he said softly as he pulled back, voice neutral, hand squeezing your arm once before dropping. You nodded, blinking.

“Yeah, ��course.” That was when Dianne looked between the two of you. And she saw it instantly. Saw the way you tensed beneath his touch, expecting a familiarity that never came. The way he didn’t cradle the back of your head, didn’t whisper something only you could hear. It was performative. Or scared. Maybe both. Dianne had watched her son shake hands with the Prince of Wales and post-match pundits who were legends of the game. She knew when he was acting. But what she didn’t expect was the breath you let out as he let go. The tiny exhale that sounded like heartbreak laced with hope. And that was what gave it away. Not the hug. Not the silence. But that. Her gaze softened. And she didn’t say a word.

—

Dianne didn’t say anything either when she left you two alone. She only smiled and said something about grabbing a tea before the next session started, but you knew it was intentional. The kind of exit a mother makes when she’s seen enough to know what’s not being said. You stood beside Trent on the touchline, both of you watching six-year-olds dart after a ball like bees after sugar. One toe-poke followed another, the chaos of childhood football somehow steadying. You breathed easier in it. So did he. You didn’t speak for a while. Just stood next to him, close enough to feel him radiating warmth through the sleeve of your jacket, but not touching. Not really. Not like you used to. You smiled softly when a tiny kid celebrated a goal like he’d just won the Champions League. It was warm on your face, that smile. But Trent wasn’t looking at the pitch. He was watching you. Your laugh, the one you didn't even mean to let out when the kids started arguing about who was playing midfield, hit him like sunlight to the chest. He really loved you. You were just so good. So kind, so sweet. He never had this experience with a girl before. Where she cared, and you cared. Cared about people, about life, but what hurt was he just so desperately wanted you to care about him. And you did but it didn’t come out in the three words he wanted, not when he wanted them. He wanted to shake you sometimes—not hard, just enough to make you see it. To want him back the way he wanted you. That he didn’t care about anything but you. That all he ever wanted was you. Your care, your softness, directed at him. But instead he watched the game again. A moment passed, and the ball went wide. Trent stepped forward instinctively, trapping it with ease before flipping it up with the side of his foot and catching it in his hands. The little girl waiting clapped and he chuckled at her fondness. 

“You can do that too.” He told her, handing it to her with a wink. You smiled. And then you felt it—a nudge to the side of your trainer. You glanced down. His shoe tapped yours again lightly. “Like these,” he said, smirking like it wasn’t a big deal, like he hadn’t noticed. But of course he had. You looked down to your matching adidas sambas, different but the same, both not the usual kind. Your pair was Wales Bonner, rare, curated, limited. His too. A small giggle slipped out of you and it nearly broke him.

“Yeah? I was trying to be, you know… on brand. Footie and that.” You nudged his foot right back. 

“Aye!” He yelped with a lethal childish smile. “Don’t scuff ‘em up, you.” He smirked and your cheeks hurt for the flush and the fullness. 

“Oh shush.” You waved him off, eyes flicking to the pitch. “Anyways, guess I was on theme then. Big prem baller like you wearing them too.” You smiled. And then, without thinking, you reached across yourself and squeezed his arm. Just a gentle press of your hand around his forearm, your touch dainty but purposeful. Your fingers curling around the muscle like a memory. It was casual. But to Trent, it was anything but. He felt it in his ribs. Like you’d knocked on his heart and walked away again. He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Eyes stayed fixed on the field, lashes low, expression unreadable except for the smallest twitch in his jaw.

“Cute,” he murmured. You almost didn’t hear it. But he doubled down. “You’re really bloody cute, baby.” He shook his head. You had him down bad and he knew it. He remembered kicking himself sitting in your hotel room in Ibiza thinking it was insane he thought you looked cute struggling with the safe, and now, he unapologetically thought that. Cute. You doing the mundane like wearing a pair of sambas, that was even cute.  You turned to him slowly. Your eyes studied his face, the way his jaw set tighter than usual, the way his lashes didn’t lift. He wasn’t teasing. He was unspooling. And then it hit you—Blanche. Byredo. That soft, clean scent that clung to your pillowcases long after he left, lotion you’d once rubbed across his back in lazy post-shower rituals, trying not to read too much into it. But now? It made your head dizzy. Your skin pricked. You blinked. And just like that, you weren’t on a pitch anymore. You were in his sheets. You were back in the kitchen. In his arms. In all the moments that didn’t count out here in daylight. He still didn’t look at you. But he felt it. Felt you. Felt the way the silence between you wasn’t quiet at all. It was deafening. Because nothing was said. But everything was screaming.

—

You weren’t even looking at him anymore when it happened. Your eyes were back out on the pitch, caught somewhere in the blur of moving bodies and neon bibs, trying to ground yourself. But really, it was those three inches between you and Trent that held your attention. Three inches that used to be nothing. Less than nothing. A space he used to fill without hesitation. Now it felt like a canyon. And maybe he felt it too. Maybe he hated it even more. Because you didn’t notice he’d moved until you felt it—his finger, low and loose, hooking gently into the belt loop of your jeans. Your breath caught like someone had poured ice water straight down your spine. You didn’t look at him. But he pulled you in anyway. Not far. Just enough. Just so your arms brushed against his, just so your shoulder pressed into his. Just so you remembered that warmth, that softness, that safety that once lived in his skin. You stayed quiet. So did he. But the air around you howled. Kids squealed about a goal in the background, and somewhere in their noise, Trent was whispering something to you without a word. Don’t leave again. That’s what it felt like. That’s what it said. And then he did speak. Not loud. Not dramatic. Not breaking the moment, just slipping something heavy into the quiet.

"Y’know I don’t think I’ve ever had to pretend I don’t know someone before," he said, still watching the field. His voice was light. Too light. Like it was a joke, but it wasn’t. You blinked. He didn’t look at you. “Like, really know them. Like...know how they take their tea, what music they play in the car, what they do when they’re sad.” He paused. You swallowed. “I watched you talk to my mum and it—” He shook his head gently. Embarrassed even maybe. “Felt like I was watching you pretend you’re not the most important person in my life.” You didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. His finger was still in your belt loop, holding you there. Like he knew you’d run if he let go. But he didn’t. He just stood still beside you. Heart cracked open so quietly, you could barely hear it. “Just weird, that’s all,” he said at last. “Didn’t like it.” And that was it. He didn’t push. Didn’t ask for anything. But it echoed in you anyway. Loud. Real. Because maybe it was the first time Trent didn’t try to fix it, or flirt through it. He just told the truth. Quietly. Honestly. And waited to see what you’d do with it.

You didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t pull away either though. Just stood there with his finger still looped through your jeans like it was the only thread keeping you tethered to the ground. Your chest felt tight, throat drier than you thought possible for someone who hadn’t stopped swallowing back emotion since they got here. His words clung to you like the cold. You wanted to say something. Anything. But the honesty in his voice was still vibrating inside you, curling around your ribs like smoke. The worst part was… you knew exactly what he meant. You had done it, walked up to his mum with your best polite voice, your glossy smile, like you didn’t know what he looked like with tear-soaked lashes in the middle of the night. Like you didn’t know how he looked when he kissed you forehead-deep in sleep. Like you hadn’t once heard him say your name like it was a prayer he wasn’t sure he deserved to say out loud. And you hated that you’d made him feel that small. That invisible. So you turned. Slowly. Carefully. Like if you moved too fast, the air might shatter between you. He was still watching the pitch, like he hadn’t said anything monumental. Like his voice hadn’t just carved something permanent into the moment. But you saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. Saw the way his fingers curled slightly tighter in your belt loop. You looked at him for a long time. Then finally, quietly…

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to be to her.” You said. He looked at you. You shrugged, barely. “Wasn’t sure if I was allowed to be what I really was to you anymore.” That silence after was different. Not heavy this time. Just... real. And then, softer still, you added, “Didn’t want to ruin anything else for you.” He let out a breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Then he turned toward you a little more, his voice hushed but certain.

“You are everything. Still are. It’s already ruined without you.” Your heart split. And still, the kids squealed in the distance. One tripped, face-planted into the grass, and a ripple of chaotic laughter rolled through the air. But you and Trent stayed still in it all, like the whole world could fall apart around you—but here, just for now, it didn’t matter. Because finally, after all this time, you weren’t pretending.

–

It was starting to cool down now. The kind of chill that didn’t bite but reminded you it was still England, still April, still real life. You hadn’t said much after that. Not because there wasn’t anything to say—there was too much. It collected behind your ribs, blurred your thoughts, turned even small silences into loud, aching things. You stood beside Trent on the sideline, close but not as close as you wanted to be. Every so often, your hands nearly brushed, his jacket grazing yours. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t call you out on it. That made it worse. When a little boy kicked the ball too far out again, Trent stepped forward to get it. Casual. Like he always did this. His movement was smooth, grounded, his body memory sharp. He passed the ball back and jogged the short distance back to you. He reached out gently, hand landing for half a second on your lower back to guide you out of the way. You inhaled too sharply. His hand dropped.

“I’m not gonna apologise for touching you,” he said, voice low, not looking at you. You kept your eyes forward too. 

“You don’t have to.” But even you heard the shake in your voice. Felt the guilt begin to press behind your sternum.

“I’m not doing anything different,” he said, still quiet. “But feels like it’s always wrong now.” That stung, but only because it was true. You’d flinched. You’d pulled back. You'd made it so hard for him to love you, and when he stopped reaching quite so freely, you’d wept like he abandoned you. But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d just been tired. Tired of loving you so openly while you shied away. Tired of holding you when it left bruises on him. You hadn’t meant to make him feel like this. But you had. And now, standing here, you didn’t know how to put any of that into words without unraveling in front of him. So you didn’t try. You just stood there, hand clenched lightly around the strap of your camera, watching the pitch through wet lashes. He didn't look at you. Maybe because he knew if he did, you'd start to cry. Or maybe because he was afraid he would. That’s when Coach Craig called him over again. Just a wave from across the field. Trent shifted slightly, took a breath like he was about to say something important—then stopped. Instead, he turned to you and waited. You looked at him. He looked tired. Soft around the eyes. Still devastatingly gorgeous.

“I should…” you gestured half-heartedly at your camera, “I haven’t really taken any pictures. Sorry, I’ve been—” You awkwardly stuttered.

“Bab—” He caught the word with an exhale. “Y/N,” he corrected himself gently. “It’s alright.” You nodded, swallowing a fresh wave of shame. “I’m just glad you’re here.” His voice was calm, even. Like he didn’t want to scare you away. Like he knew you were already halfway out the door and still... he was trying to anchor you. You smiled, but it barely reached. He gave a small nod and jogged back onto the pitch, slipping back into his safe space easily surrounded by little kids dreaming to be him when he wanted to be anyone else. You stood on the touchline for a moment longer, watching the kids chase after the ball, listening to the echo of his words press into your chest. You were here. But only just.

—

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Trent jogged off, slipping back into the centre of the pitch where a circle of six-year-olds shrieked and scattered like marbles let loose across pavement. You stayed behind, on the edge, shifting your weight onto one leg, lifting your camera like it might shield you from the weight in your chest. The familiar click of the shutter offered rhythm, something mechanical in contrast to the mess you felt inside. Through the lens, you found him. He was crouched low now, arms out wide like wings as a little boy tried to dribble a ball past him. He was grinning, laughing, playful, patient. And even from here, with distance and the filtered glass of your lens between you, he still made you ache.

Because if you were so good, he was too good. Because he always had been. Not just in the way he moved or the way the kids looked at him like he was magic in trainers, but in the quiet things too. The text to check your flight landed safe. The way he remembered your mum’s name the one time you’d managed to say it. The late-night drives where he’d let you play your music and didn’t speak, just held your hand on the gear shift like it was a lifeline. And now… he looked up. It wasn’t deliberate, not really. He was half-listening to something a little girl said, nodding along, but he glanced toward the sideline and caught you in his eyeline. Through your viewfinder, it was like he stared straight through you. Your hands shook slightly, and the photo blurred. You lowered the camera. You didn’t deserve that look. Not when he’d loved you openly and without armor, not when he’d tried, and tried again, even after you’d flinched from his words. Because he’d said something real and you’d met it with silence. With fear. You’d turned love into a ghost, and now it haunted both of you. He was only distant now because you had made him so. That was the worst part. It would’ve been easier if he had messed up. If he’d flirted or left or fallen out of love. But he hadn’t. He still was. And now you stood with your expensive camera and glossy lips and stupid Sambas, pretending you were just here for the shots. But you weren’t. You were here because it was him. Always him. You lifted the camera again, caught him mid-laugh, kids climbing him like he was a tree. And it shattered you, soft and slow. You’d give anything to go back. To be braver. To say the word better. But not here. Not yet.

—

It should’ve been simple. He was standing in a sea of high-pitched laughter, kids crowding around, jostling to ask who his favorite player was–he was theirs,  if he could do an around the world–they couldn’t, if he’d ever played in the snow– they wanted to. One of them had his boot untied and Trent bent instinctively to lace it. Another tugged at his sleeve asking his favorite food. He obliged by telling him pasta. He smiled. He always smiled. But his heart wasn’t here. It hadn’t been since the moment he saw you lean against the goalpost, camera to your face, hiding and yet fully seen. You looked like a picture. Not just pretty. Not just poised. Poetic. The kind of image that stayed behind your eyelids when you blinked. The kind you didn’t know how to unsee. And he prayed for you to see him the same way. God, he was begging. Please. Please just look at me like that and mean it. Please say this isn’t just guilt or routine or some warped sense of obligation. Please love me the way I love you. Please let it not be too late. You were angled slightly, camera lifted again, one hip against the post, focused on something—on him, he realized. You hadn’t moved in minutes, like you were trying to preserve him in still life. Trent didn’t smile for it. He didn’t pose. He just stayed how he was, speaking gently to the kids, letting you see him as he is. Letting you take it, if you needed to. If that was the only way you could hold him right now. But he wanted more. He wanted you to run up and throw your arms around his neck and tell him you were sorry and that you loved him and that the year you’d spent trying to pretend this was anything less than gravity had been a lie. He wanted to feel the truth in your kiss the way he had a hundred times before you got scared of what it meant.

Instead, he got a glance. A small one. From behind the camera, you peeked around the side of it like you thought he wouldn’t notice. But he always noticed you. And for a second, it was like you were screaming I love you across the pitch, silently, wildly, completely unaware of how loud your silence had become. He couldn’t look too long. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it hurt. Because he could feel it in his ribs how close you were to being everything and how far you were from letting yourself be.

Dianne’s voice broke the stretch of tension before he drowned in it. He turned slightly as she walked past him, heading toward you. And even that, even the image of his mum approaching you, felt heavy. Not in a bad way, but in a way that said everything was real. That you weren’t just someone. That Dianne already knew. That she always had. His eyes flicked back. You were still looking through the lens, lost in him, until Dianne’s hand landed soft on your arm and you jumped, like you’d been caught trespassing. Trent’s chest pinched. You didn’t look like a photographer anymore. You looked like a girl scared of her own heart. He watched you speak, he couldn’t hear what you said, but the way your hand moved to your chest, the way your eyes darted toward him, then away, it was all there. You were terrified. And maybe that was the problem.

—-

You hadn’t heard her footsteps over the chorus shouts, muffled by the grass, didn’t register the shadow until her hand landed gently on your arm. You startled, sucking in a breath like you’d been pulled out of water. 

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped, instinctively pressing a hand over your heart, your camera dropping slightly.  Dianne just smiled, soft and maternal, eyes a shade too knowing.

“Oop sorry, hun,” she said, kind and light. “Didn’t want to interrupt your… focus.” You flushed, heat rising into your cheeks before you could stop it. Focus. If only she knew how much you hadn’t been. Your camera might’ve been steady, but everything else inside you had been shaking. She didn’t press. She wouldn’t. But you could feel it in her gaze. Not judgment. Just understanding. Which, somehow, made it worse.

“I was just…” You trailed off. There was no dignified way to say I was zooming in on your son like he’s the last safe thing I’ve ever known and I still don’t know what to do about it. Dianne glanced back toward the kids on the pitch. Trent still hadn’t looked away. But she turned to you again, folding her hands in front of her like this was all casual, like she hadn’t just seen the emotional tether between you two glowing like a live wire.

“I was going to make some tea after this,” she said. “Nothing fancy. Just something warm before the day’s done. Usually make Trenty come home after these types of things. Have to force him to sit still and sign a few things.” She laughed softly, knowing, loving, reciting a trait of Trent’s you’d come to be well aware of. Stillness wasn’t something he did particularly well. Then a pause. “You’re more than welcome, if you’re not busy.” She meant it sincerely. She did. This wasn’t a trick, wasn’t calculated. She was just being a mum. A nice one.  But Trenty? Home? Your heart started thudding too loudly anyway. What were you supposed to say? Who were you to him? And why did it feel so dangerous to answer? Were you supposed to go to his family’s house? Have tea with his mum? You hesitated, blinking fast. 

“Oh.. wow. Thank you for thinking of me. I—uh, sure,” you murmured, glancing briefly toward Trent again, like the answer could be found in his expression. “If… if it’s no trouble, or he’s not busy.” It came out small, almost shy. Like you couldn’t bear to make a choice of your own. Like you were throwing it back to him to decide—because maybe that was the safest thing you knew how to do. Let him lead. Let him hold it. Let him say yes or no so you didn’t have to. But maybe that was the issue. The not choosing. Dianne didn’t comment. She just nodded with that same patient warmth, though you could swear there was something a little sad behind it. Not disappointment—just… clarity.

“Alright, love,” she said, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before she turned. “We’ll see what he says. No pressure.” And just like that, you were alone again. Camera still in hand. Heart still hammering. Viewfinder still warm with the imprint of someone you weren’t sure how to name anymore.

—

The sun had dipped low enough to cast honeyed light across the pitch, soft and slow like it understood the sacredness of this hour. You were crouched at the sidelines, elbows resting lightly on your thighs, camera looped around your neck as you smiled up at the boy in front of you. He just turned six, he told you proudly. His curls glistened slightly, cheeks flushed with nerves and leftover adrenaline. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his jersey, his eyes flickering between his boots and the figure waiting near the centre of the pitch.

“Is it okay if you go get your photo taken?” you asked him gently, voice soft like you were sharing a secret.

“With him?” He looked up at you, worried eyes wide and unsure. You nodded, smile folding gently into your cheeks. 

“Yeah. With him. He’s really nice, I promise.  I think he’d be really excited to meet you.” But the little boy, who was shaking his head no already, small hands gripped the bottom of his shirt like he was holding onto safety. His lashes were long, cheeks chubby, and his lip trembled ever so slightly as he looked toward the pitch.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay. C’mon.” Your voice came like sunlight through leaves, gentle, slow, full of promise. You smiled at him, soft and conspiratorial. “He really wants to meet you…. Can I tell you a little secret?” The boy looked at you warily, but nodded. You leaned in, close enough for your breath to ruffle the edge of his curls. “Trent gets nervous sometimes too.” You felt it before you saw it, the pull of Trent’s gaze from across the grass. You glanced up for just a second, and there he was, watching with a fondness that tugged quietly at the air between you. Like the simple act of you being kind made something inside him ache. Dianne had stilled too. Her head tilted, expression unreadable, but attentive. “You ever watch him on the telly?” you asked the little boy, your hand finding the small of his back. The boy nodded, shy again. “Yeah? Different in real life, right?” You said gently but smiling a bit wider. “T, C’mere.” You called out, looking up from where you knelt in the soft grass. Trent’s walk over was unhurried, loose-limbed and warm, eyes flicking between you and the boy as if trying to read something in the spaces between.

“What’s up, lad?” he asked gently. All boyish charm. Confident and yet open. 

“We’re just a little shy, huh?” you said, lifting your brows slightly as you looked up at Trent.

“Ah, that’s alright, mate. I get shy too sometimes,” Trent said, crouching down behind the boy. His voice was low and kind, threaded with that subtle Liverpool lilt, the one that always made your stomach flutter in spite of yourself.

“No.” The little boy looked up at him, utterly unconvinced. “No,” he repeated, serious. “You're Alexander-Arnold.” That made Trent chuckle, head ducking as he let the laughter move through him. Trust him, being Liverpool’s Alexander-Arnold was filled with moments of nerves.

“You don’t think I get nervous?” he asked. The boy shook his head with conviction, and you bit your lip to hold back a grin. “Course, I do, lad” Trent replied, sure of himself. Grown to be comfortable in his shyness. “I get nervous all the time. It’s alright.” He turned his body a bit more, shoulders softening like he wasn’t just crouching, he was with him now. Like they were equals. And it made something in your chest go tender. “Did you watch the Euros?” Trent asked. The boy nodded, and this time the excitement cracked through. He lit up, just a little. “Did you watch the semi’s? The penalties?” Trent cooed, soft, knowing.  “You know I was so nervous,” Trent said, leaning in like it really was just between them. “But I wanted to be on that pitch. And do you remember what happened?” The boy nodded again, this time more emphatically, like it was seared into his brain. Because this little boy, like the entire nation, yourself included, were elated with Trent Alexander-Arnold’s bravery in that penalty. You watched his eyes widen, the memory blooming across his face. 

“Think you’ll score a penalty for England one day?” you asked, resting your chin lightly on your knee, smiling.

“Don’t know.” He shrugged, but there was a giggle just beneath it.

“I think you would,” Trent beamed, eyes crinkling. “Think you can take a picture with me? I want a picture with a future England goal scorer.” He smirked. But the boy’s face dropped again, nerves washing back over him like a tide. Trent’s smile faltered for just a second. You tried not to pout. You felt so bad for the little boy.

“Hmm,” you hummed gently, scanning the field. “What about taking a picture with Trent…” You paused as your eyes continued to flicker through the crowd. “And we ask your mummy to be in the photo too?” You found her in the crowd, standing with her phone ready, a combination of pride and fear, flickering in her eyes.

“Hunny, c’mon. Be brave, please” she called out. “Don’t take too much of his time. Come on.” She waved encouragingly but likely nervous too only because her son was so.  Trent leaned in closer, one hand bracing against the grass for balance. His voice was quiet, soft as cotton. 

“Gimme a big smile, bro.” And then he smiled too, really smiled. “There we go!” Trent cooed, his dimples in his cheeks crept out like they had a mind of their own. Your heart caught. Like something folded in on itself. Because that smile had been yours once. Or maybe it still was. You weren’t sure. You only knew it meant something, and you felt it too deeply to name. You stepped behind the camera as if to shield yourself from it, hands moving with practiced ease. 

“Yeah, see?” you said, voice warm as the sun still hanging low behind you. “So handsome!” Trent glanced at you over the boy’s head, a glint of mischief sliding into his tone.

“Me or him?” And there it was, that look again. That unspoken thing you kept passing back and forth like a secret neither of you knew how to say aloud. Your breath wavered, just slightly. But your smile didn’t falter. You didn’t flinch. Just smiled slowly, knowingly, camera rising halfway between you and your chest.

“Both,” you said softly, voice calm and sure. “Obviously.” Trent held your gaze for a beat too long. The boy leaned into his side without even realizing it, comforted, safe. And you understood that feeling too, leaned into him, how your whole body would still. You raised the camera. Framed the shot. Clicked the shutter. But your hands were trembling because you weren’t the one pressed into him now, there was no stillness to be had. Trent’s laugh was soft and low and slightly incredulous, more breath than sound. You could see the way his shoulders relaxed, the way the corners of his mouth pulled in something like disbelief. Like a man who was trying not to read too much into something, and failing.

Dianne was stood along the edge of the pitch nearby watching on. Her eyes were on you. Then Trent. Then you again. The air between the two of you was thick with something so alive, so obvious, it was practically a flare against the sky. You were staring across the field like there was a string between you, held by breath, by memory, by the ache of everything you hadn’t said yet. Trent stayed in a crouched position, all easy warmth and gentle eyes.

“Hey, don’t forget that it’s alright to be shy, bro, yeah?” he murmured to the little boy who nodded.  “But I think you’ve got a good smile. Just like she said. That’ll get ya places.” The boy beamed at that, turning his face fully to Trent now, trust unlocked in a single heartbeat.

“Does it… does it get you pretty girls?” he asked quietly, his voice soft but not sly, just earnest. Maybe eager. “Like her?” He turned and pointed back at you. And just like that, the world stopped for a second. Your breath caught behind your ribs. Trent blinked, like he hadn’t expected that kind of honesty to land right in his chest. Not from someone that small. Not when it was so true it hurt. Because no, it hadn’t gotten him you. He’d tried. Told you the truth, laid it all down. And you’d looked at that love and cried. Walked away. But here you were again, still looking at him like this. You stepped in a little then, fixing the strap of your camera, doing your best not to look like your hands were shaking. 

“Oh, with a smile like yours?” you told the boy, eyes glimmering. “You’ll get all the girls.” The boy laughed, smitten and bold now. Glowing. Trent’s gaze didn’t leave yours though. His next words were for the boy, but his voice had gone low and slow and warm enough to slide under your skin.

“Just gotta find the one though, mate,” he said quietly. And then he winked just for you. You blinked like it hit you, like someone knocked the wind from your lungs with a single beat of their heart. Your face was warm. Too warm. The camera felt heavier around your neck. You turned to frame the photo again, anything to have something between you again, but through the viewfinder, the world didn’t get smaller. It got sharper. There he was. Crouched beside the little boy, smiling soft and real. Looking a little more like the boy himself. And somehow, still looking at you. You took another shot. And tried not to tremble.

—

The moment passed like sunlight slipping through clouds, flickering, fragile. The boy and his mum wandered off after their photo, and you were still behind the camera, pretending to check the images, when you felt a familiar presence at your shoulder.

“Thank you, love,” Dianne said softly. You turned, startled slightly by her nearness. Her tone wasn’t just polite, it was genuine. Careful, maybe even a little... delicate.

“Oh—no, it was nothing,” you replied quickly, adjusting your camera like a shield. “He was so sweet. Just nervous.” Dianne smiled, and for a beat it was quiet between you. You couldn’t quite read her. She had Trent’s eyes, but hers were sharper somehow, like she saw everything, even the things you tried not to show. Because you weren’t just good with one shy boy, you were good with hers too. 

“You were good with him. You’ve always been good with kids?” She asked you.

“Thanks,” you said, voice a little unsure now. You weren’t great with praise, especially not from women like Dianne. Especially not her. “I think it’s easy to be good with people that are good. You know, kids, they’re just honest.” You babbled a bit.  She nodded once, then glanced past you toward the cars. 

“Anything keeping you in the area past this?” She smiled gently. Like she knew there was one thing that was like an anchor on the ocean floor keeping you wherever he was.  

“Not this far west.” You hummed with a little laugh and smile. You knew what she was asking.  “Just came for this.” You replied but you might as well have said, just came for him. 

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Well, how about next time you’re in the area, I give you some more notice and you pop by for tea, yeah?” Dianne offered and you wanted to gush a thank you. She read you like a book. She saw it. The hesitation. The love. The real fear of walking into her home. So she gave you ‘next time.’ You opened your mouth to respond, but Trent appeared beside you, footsteps soft over the gravel.

“Tea?” he echoed, his voice almost cracking on the word. 

“Don’t be rude, hun.”  Dianne raised her brow with a tilt of the head. 

“I didn’t mean—” Trent stammered, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly sixteen again and getting told off by his mum.

“She helped you today, but anyways we’re planning for a next time. I want to get to know her too.” She nudged him teasingly. Because she could read you, but only because she’d already memorized Trent. Dianne continued moving, back toward her car. She popped the boot open and pulled a cardboard box filled with shirts towards herself like a reminder. “Hun, I’m gonna drop these off with you. You’ll sign them by next week, please?” She called to Trent.

“Uh—yeah. Or I can…” Trent began, stepping forward. Caught out by being in such close proximity between you and her. 

“It’s fine, I’ll grab the other box from mine and I’ll meet you there with these,” she said breezily, shifting the box further into the boot with practiced ease.

“Okay…” he mumbled. You and Trent exchanged a glance, half confusion, half something heavier. You could feel the unsaid pressing up between your ribs. Then Dianne turned back toward you, her keys jingling softly in her hand.

“Y/N, does tea next week work for you?” she asked, tone even but not indifferent. It was a real invitation. But the question still landed like a stone in the middle of a still lake.

“Sorry?” Trent faltered, brows jumping. It was just such a finite offer. But Dianne didn’t miss a beat. 

“Whatever you decide, hun. Let me know whenever is good for you,” she said gently, her voice like a lullaby, like she was giving you the choice to step into something or stay safe on the shore. She kissed Trent’s cheek lightly, gave you a little wave, and got into the car without another word. And just like that, she was gone. You and Trent stood in the wake of her. The air felt full, of possibilities, or pressure, you weren’t sure which. Neither of you moved for a second. Or spoke. You could hear birds in the trees, a car door slamming far off. You turned your face toward him, slowly, and he was already looking at you. And then he exhaled, a little too forcefully, rubbing a hand down his jaw. 

“Jesus… Sorry you don’t have to…” He shook his head trying to come back to reality after standing in between his mum and the girl he was desperately in love with in a carpark. 

“I’ll go.” You interrupted his thoughts with a smile, finding his flush embarrassment rather endearing. “It’s fine, T.” You tried to reassure him. 

“Feel like I’m sixteen again. Wow." He chuckled. The laugh broke out of you without thinking, nervous, delighted, incredulous. 

“I think I’d like to be sixteen with you,” you teased softly, cheeks warming. His head tilted, eyes narrowing like he’d just remembered how to be smooth. 

“Yeah? Would you have a crush on me?” His voice had dropped an octave. That cheeky lilt returned, winding its way around your ribs. You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close he was, of how his scent, amber, cedarwood, something warm and golden, was curling around you like a memory you’d never quite been able to forget.

“You know my answer,” you murmured, trying not to fall apart under the way he was looking at you. Like he’d waited years to ask that question again.

“Nah, nah, nah, say it.” His hand slid to your hip, fingers curving gently, grounding you and pulling you in like he couldn’t help it. Like it was muscle memory now. Your heart stuttered, panicked, wanting. God, he’d said that before. Not here. Not like this. But on your skin, against your mouth, in a bed where your worlds had collapsed into one. Say it. Please say it. Say you love me back. And you had. Or maybe you hadn’t. Not then. But you wanted to now. So you swallowed your pride. Softened your fear. You said it for the boy who’d always loved you, badly, imperfectly, but with everything he had.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I really would.” You leaned into him just enough that your forehead nearly brushed his jaw. Begging him silently–please kiss me. But he didn’t. He paused. Pulled away just enough to breathe. His thumb swept along your hip once, then he squeezed gently and stepped back. Not here. Not yet. And even though it almost broke you, it also made you sure of him. Because when he did kiss you again, if h did, it’d be everything. And he wanted it to be right.

—

You didn’t move after that right away. Couldn’t. His hand still rested at your side like it belonged there, like it had never forgotten the shape of you. Your breaths felt synchronized, slow, shallow, cautious. Like one wrong inhale would tip everything over. Trent’s eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. Not yet, he thought. But he wanted to. You both did. So instead, he leaned in, not to kiss, but to rest his forehead gently against yours. Just that. No flash, no dramatics. Just the two of you standing there, held in something silent and sacred. You closed your eyes. The world went quiet again. The breeze tickled your jaw. A dog barked in the distance. Somewhere, a car door slammed again. But all you felt was him. His warmth. His restraint. His thumb still pressing small, grounding circles into your side like it was keeping a secret between you. A hum sat low in your chest, like your body was vibrating with something unsaid. Something undeniable. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, the expression on his face made your breath catch. He wasn’t smiling. Not really. He looked wrecked with love.

“Probably got more to do today than photograph me.” He murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering longer than they should’ve. He smirked but even with his subtle joke, and push to leave the car park, it was contradicted by his thumb staying right there at your hip, circling slow and steady like it was tracing a memory, or maybe trying to make one. The space between your bodies felt fragile, like a glass bubble suspended in air, thin enough to burst at any moment if one of you breathed too deep. You wanted him to kiss you. So badly it hurt.  But you both knew better now. Knew what rushing it could cost.  Knew what it meant to say everything in the wrong place at the wrong time. So you stood there. Inches apart. Drenched in something heavier than air.

—

The last streaks of sun painted his face in gold. It caught the glint of his chain, the warmth in his eyes, the barely-there crease between his brows that always showed up when he was holding something in. You’d learned to recognize that look. Want. Restraint. Hope. He looked at you like you were the cliff and the parachute all at once.

“Maybe don’t go yet,” he said, almost too soft to hear. Not a demand. Not even a request. Just the truth slipping out. A contradiction too.

“I have to,” you whispered, and you meant it. You had to, before the closeness, the stillness, became too much to carry home. “I should.” But you stayed a second longer. One second to memorize him like this, soft, wanting, right on the edge. His hand left your hip slowly, but not before he gave it one last squeeze. Not before he looked at you like maybe letting go was the hardest thing he’d done all day.

“Ah alright, go on then,” he murmured, stepping back with a small smile. “Before I change my mind.” You smiled back, wobbly, not really looking at him. You couldn’t. Not if you were going to survive the drive. And then you turned, walking toward your car like your bones didn’t ache from the distance already pulling between you.

—

The inside of your car felt too quiet. The engine hummed beneath you, headlights cutting through the dusky dark as the sky melted from lilac to ink. But it wasn’t enough to fill the silence. Your hand stayed on the wheel. Ten and two. Gripping like the steadiness might keep you from turning around. You could still feel his touch. Not metaphorically, actually. His thumbprint pressed into your skin like a seal, like some part of him had decided to stay with you. The road blurred a little. Not from tears. Just from that heavy, heady sense of longing. Of having almost had something and choosing—choosing—not to take it. Not yet. You could’ve stayed. You could’ve said yes to tea. To more. But that wasn’t how you were doing it this time. Not a rushed confession under the haze of adrenaline. Not a gasp of love in the dark, tangled in sheets and fear. This time, it had to mean something. So you drove. Past quiet streets and shuttered cafés. Past the places that didn’t know your story. The car ticked gently as it cooled in the night. The music stayed off. But in your chest, he pulsed. Loud. In your fingertips. In your lungs. In the beat you’d been trying not to name. He was in his car somewhere behind you, maybe taking a longer route. Maybe gripping his own wheel, trying not to think about what it felt like to let you walk away again. You’d both made the right choice. But it didn’t feel right. Not when you loved someone like that. Not when it was everywhere. Not when the distance between you wasn’t just measured in miles, but in all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t risk saying wrong again.

—

[YKWIM - Yot Club (slow// reverb)]

The match was crackling in low fidelity, all static-laced commentary and washed-out reds and blues, a grainy '90s replay streaming across the cinema screen in Trent’s house, though he wasn’t really watching it. He’d picked it at random, something far enough removed from today, from you, from the weight of you. But it hadn’t worked. The room was dim, a low amber light casting long shadows along the plush armrests and empty seats. He sat in the middle of it all, legs stretched out, fingers templed against his mouth like maybe if he sat still enough, if he quieted his body, he could silence his mind. But you were everywhere. In the places you weren’t. You weren’t here, curled up into his side the way you always used to, half-draped over him like you belonged there. Like the folds of your body had been moulded to fit the curve of his. You weren’t here tracing your finger along the hem of his hoodie, bare legs tangled with his joggers, breath hot against his throat. You weren’t whispering those soft, curious little questions that used to melt him. “Who won the league that year?”  “Was this when he still played for them?”  “Do you like playing in that stadium now?” You weren’t purring them into his neck while he pulled you in tighter, pretending to be distracted by the match even as his hand slid up under the back of your shirt. You weren’t softly laughing when he whispered a response with something cheeky, and you weren’t replying back with your lips right against his skin.

It was the absence of those things, the smell of your shampoo, the warmth of your body pressed into his, the quiet thrum of your presence beside him, that made the cinema feel colder than it was. Empty. Like the space had once held ghosts. He shifted. Stared harder at the screen. Tried to care about the positioning, the formation, the nostalgia of it all. But his chest still ached. That dull, familiar weight that sat behind his ribs like it had burrowed in for good. Because tonight, when he wanted you most, not in the wild, chaotic kind of way that left his mouth on yours in dark corners but in the quiet way, the I just want to be near you way… you weren’t there.

And that absence didn’t just hurt. It howled. He breathed out sharply through his nose, jaw clenched. It was pathetic really, how a man like him, built from grit and control, could be undone by the simple lack of your voice in a dark room. But then again, maybe it wasn’t so simple. Because he'd let you in. In every way. Let you see him when he wasn’t Trent Alexander-Arnold, the star, the name stitched onto shirts and shouted across continents but when he was just Trent. Just a boy in love with a girl who asked too many questions during matches and kissed his neck like it was holy. And now that you weren’t here,  now that you were almost, almost his again but not quite,  every second without you felt like penance. 

-

The glow of the screen flickered over his skin as the old match trundled through its final minutes of the first half. The crowd noise crackled like rain, white noise, unimportant. His fingers tapped absently against the cushion. He was barely watching. Because the more he tried to anchor himself in the rhythm of the match, the angles, the off-the-ball runs, the shape of the press, the more you kept bleeding into his mind. Quiet at first. The softest slipstream of thought. A scent. A sound. The phantom weight of your hand ghosting over his stomach like it had hundreds of times before. And then it wasn’t quiet anymore. It was everywhere.

It was your voice, teasing and syrupy, coaxing its way into his ear with that familiar ‘Keep watching then… ignore me’ as your fingers crept into the waistband of his joggers. Your thumb hooking just enough to make him twitch. God, he missed that. He missed you. Missed the way you’d press kisses into the warm part of his neck like you had nowhere else to be. Like this, him, was the only thing worth worshipping. Missed the way you’d touch him so slow at first, like you had hours to ruin him, eyes fluttering up with that knowing look he still wasn’t sure how to survive. You’d play coy, make him feel like he was doing you a favour by keeping his eyes on the match, when all the while you were the one orchestrating his undoing, with your mouth, your hands, your perfect fucking timing. And now, here he was. Hard. Really fucking hard. Alone in a dark room where you used to live inside of him, where you'd slip between his legs and take your time like it was ritual. Like it was sacred. He shifted, jaw tight. A low breath hissed out between his teeth as he adjusted his joggers. Useless effort. The ache wasn’t going anywhere. Because it wasn’t just about sex. Not really. It never had been. It was the intimacy of it. The closeness. The way you’d crawl into his lap and he’d forget a match was even playing, forget his name, forget his career, because all that mattered was your tongue tracing the sharp of his hip, the soft whisper of your breath against him, the way your hands knew every way to make him forget what control felt like. He ran a hand down his face. This was torture. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He had women, he had offers, he had options. He wasn’t supposed to feel this... devastated by the absence of a girl.

But you weren’t just any girl. You were the girl who made him feel seen in the most terrifying, soul-deep way. The girl who kissed him like he was hers. The girl who could break him in a whisper, and didn’t,  hadn’t, even when he deserved it. He pressed the heel of his hand towards the inside of thigh, willing the tension to drain. It didn’t. The screen played on, unbothered, forgotten. Someone scored. He didn’t look who did. Because all he could see was you, between his legs, between his ribs, beneath his skin, smiling, soft, impossible. And he was starving for it. For you. For home

—

Twenty minutes away from him, your flat was still. Still in that way that made your skin itch. That made the air feel too thin, too quiet, too full of all the things he wasn’t saying and all the things you were too scared to. You’d kicked off your shoes at the door, but you hadn’t moved much further. You couldn’t. Because the minute the lock clicked behind you, the wave hit, his absence. It crashed into you like a tide. Your chest was heaving before you even made it to the bedroom. You sank into your mattress, the fabric cool and unfamiliar without him there. Without the rustle of his trousers being peeled off. Without his laugh, low and sleepy,  as he nudged your knees apart like it was nothing, like it was routine, like it was home. Your hands drifted low, thin and dainty, fingers trembling as they grazed over your hips. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough, not for yourself, not like he was. Your hand wasn’t his. Not the way his palm knew your body like a compass, like he’d drawn it from memory a thousand times. You could touch yourself, sure. But it didn’t light that fire, didn’t carry that command, that need, the way he did. You could tease your own waistband, dip under silk and lace, but your fingers didn’t part you the way his always did. With reverence. With ownership. With that hunger that made you forget where you ended and he began. You pressed your thighs together, hot and aching, but still, it wasn’t him.

He used to push your panties aside without asking, like he knew he didn’t have to. Like your body was his to love. His weight would press you into the mattress, every inch of him wrapped around you, his lips at your ear as he whispered ‘Shh, baby... don’t talk, just let me feel you…’ You missed him. You missed his scent. His mouth. The soft scrape of his stubble on your inner thigh. The way he’d mouth at your collarbone like it was the holiest place he'd ever been. The way his voice would rasp, ‘You know no one else gets this, yeah? Just me. Just for you.’ Your back arched like it remembered the shape of him. Your pussy pulsed like it mourned him. You were soaked with the ache of it,  the ache of not being touched right. Not being held like he did, firm, like you were breakable, precious, like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting you go. Because when he touched you, it wasn’t just to get off. It was to know you. To worship you. To claim you in the only way he could when words failed. And now here you were. Clenched. Shaking. Alone. Because whatever your mouths couldn’t say, your bodies screamed. And yet, you both stayed silent, separated by a stretch of motorway and a shared fear of ruining something that already felt so rare. So sacred. But, God, what you’d give for his helping hand tonight. His fingers. His mouth. His weight pinning you in place as he made you come apart just to piece you back together again with a kiss. You both ached. You both waited. But how much longer could you last?

-

Trent came undone alone that night. Not fast, not thoughtless, slow, reluctant, as if every pulse of pleasure only pushed him further into the emptiness of your absence. His chest rose and fell, sharp and shallow, fingers slackening as the last of that tethered high slipped from him like smoke. It worked, he was a man, and your memory still lit him up like kindling. The way you used to whisper his name like a secret, how you touched him with confidence and care, how you always knew exactly what he needed. But when it passed, when the haze lifted and the glow faded, what stayed was the silence. The room felt colder than it had minutes ago, too big for just him. He didn’t reach for the remote. Didn’t move at all. Just sat there in the dark, boxers hitched lower on his hips, sweat cooling on his skin, surrounded by flickering light from a match he no longer cared about. His body had been satisfied, but his heart, that thudded on painfully. Because you weren’t there, tangled in him, mouthing gentle praise into the crook of his neck. You weren’t brushing your hand over his hair, humming soft thank-yous against his skin like what he gave you mattered more than anything. You weren’t curled into his side after, bare legs hooked over his, lips ghosting his collarbone, asking tiredly ‘if he enjoyed that’ just for the sound of his voice. That was what made it ache. The part after.

Not the sex, not the heat, but the quiet warmth that always followed. The safety of your body against his. The trust of sleep in his arms. The way you wrapped around his waist like you’d never let go. His hands fell to the sides of his thighs, jaw clenched, eyes staring into nothing. He missed a lot of things. Your laugh. Your smell. The feel of your fingers lacing with his while the world blurred around you. But it was that grip he missed most, your arms around him. Not claiming. Just holding. Knowing. And yeah, he missed the other grip too. But it wasn’t just his body that was starving. It was everything else. The match ended. He hadn’t seen any of it. He just sat there. Still. Silent. Missing you like it was the only thing he’d ever known how to do.

—

You didn’t mean to cry. But it’d been happening a lot lately. You didn’t even realise you were, not at first. It was quiet, too quiet, for tears to make themselves known. Just the slow weight of them trailing down the slope of your cheek, collecting in the dip of your temple, soaking into silk. The pillow beneath you was cool, then damp. You blinked, dazed, barely breathing, like even your body was trying not to disturb the ache that had settled in your chest. It wasn't loud or messy or dramatic. It was soft. Stinging. Unrelenting. It built behind your ribs like a bruise, pressing from the inside out. You missed him. Not his mouth, not his hands, not even the way he could undo you with a single look. You missed him. The weight of him beside you, arm flung around your waist in sleep. The way he’d rub the pads of his fingers along your skin absentmindedly, always touching, always reaching even when he was half-asleep. The way he’d laugh under his breath when you teased him, or murmur something dumb into your neck when he thought you were already drifting off. You loved him. You loved him. You’d throw every high, every flash of heat, every night spent tangled in each other’s limbs into the fire if it meant just once—just once—you could tell him out loud. No distractions. No fear. No sex to muffle the truth between your lips.

I love you.

That’s all you wanted to say. Not scream it. Not whisper it as a dare into the dark. Just say it, plain and open and unafraid. But you hadn’t. And now you were alone. And now it felt like maybe you were the only one who felt that deeply. Or maybe he felt it too. Maybe he was just scared for you to hurt him all over again. Maybe you both were. Your chest tightened, a sharp ache rippling through the hollow of your throat. You curled deeper into the sheets, clutching the edge of the pillow like it might anchor you to something other than the ache. The silk was wet. Your fingers shook. You’d never felt more unloved. Not because he didn’t love you. But because you did and it had nowhere to go. Just a hundred unspoken words, and a bed too cold for the warmth you used to fall asleep to. 

—

The music was low but pulsing, threads of bass weaving through the house like a heartbeat. The kind that thudded in your chest and temple, made worse by the heat, the sweat, the laughter that sounded muffled, like you were underwater. Bodies moved around you in gentle blurs, arms slung over shoulders, someone dancing, someone pouring another drink. The lights were low, all warm-toned and pretty, but the buzz in your limbs had long since turned from fun to floaty. Detached. You were drunk. Way drunker than you should’ve been.

It had started so stupidly innocuous. A tiny shot with Campbell as you got ready in her bathroom, sharing a lipstick, nervously hyping each other up. Then after you arrived, Delaney had handed you one, warm with best friendship and concern, and you hadn’t hesitated. Then Kieren passed you a tequila soda with a wink and a ‘c’mon gonna be alright.’ Then there were Leon and Foster, pressing salt to your hand and holding a lime wedge to your lips after you lost some dumb made-up game that everyone forgot the rules to halfway through. And now your world was tilting gently, like a boat at sea, the floor soft under your feet even though you knew it wasn’t. Your mouth buzzed with lime and regret. You were smiling too much and not at all. Your limbs were warm but your throat burned. There were about thirty people here. Not a crowd, not packed, but enough that it didn’t feel intimate. Enough that you could get lost in it. Enough that you had gotten lost in it. Because he wasn’t here. Not really.

Sure, it was his house. The same house you’d been curled up in not long ago, your head on his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his stomach like you were memorising something holy. But now? It was just a venue. An open door. A luxury showroom filled with strangers and laughter and liquor. And Trent? Trent hadn’t said hello. Hadn’t found you. Hadn’t so much as glanced your way, as far as you could tell. He’d said okay when Kieren asked if they could host something here, an indifferent shrug masked as permission. But it had spiraled. Drinks, music, people, people you liked, sure, people you trusted, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because the only person you wanted to see you hadn’t. He wasn’t in the kitchen, wasn’t in the living room. But you knew he was here. You felt him here. Like gravity. Like a shadow lurking behind your every laugh and drink and blink.

And still… he hadn’t come. He was hiding. From you, from this. From the ache that had carved itself into the weeks since you last touched. You didn’t know it, but up in his room, behind a closed door, he was pacing. Tense. Hands running over his face, trying to breathe around a pressure in his ribs that had nothing to do with the noise or the alcohol or the party. He hadn’t seen you yet. Not really. He’d watched you walk in and retreated. He hadn’t seen you drunk, soft, glowing under low lights. And he was scared. Scared that if he saw more than he already had, if he saw that sad sparkle in your eye and the pout he used to kiss away, he’d lose all self-control. Pin you to the nearest wall and beg forgiveness into your skin. Or worse, say something he couldn’t take back. Because he’d been seeing you all week anyway. In dreams, in photos, in memories. Your laugh had stalked him through headphones. The smell of you still lived on his hoodie. You were a ghost and a gravity all at once. And you? You were just drunk enough to hate him for it. For not being the boy who rushed into the room and found you. For not pulling you aside, not cupping your cheek and whispering he was sorry, he missed you, he loved you. So you laughed too loud. Pouted too obviously. Let your head loll against Campbell’s shoulder and pretend you were fine. Pretended you were fun. Pretended you weren’t stupidly in love with someone who hadn’t even said hello. And still, through the hum of music and the weight of liquor in your bloodstream, your body strained like a magnet, pulling, pulling, pulling toward the boy upstairs who couldn’t even look at you.

—-

You were drunk. Plain and simple. Hours and drinks had gone when the words came out of your mouth like soft cotton. 

"I’m gonna go find T." You barely noticed the way Kieren reached for you before pulling back, like he knew better than to touch a live wire. Like even he understood something was about to give. You were too far gone to see how everyone stilled. Not with their bodies, those still laughed, passed drinks, pressed shuffle on the playlist, but with something quieter. Something in the air. Like tension slipping under the doorframe, ghosting over shoulders, catching in the throat. Because you’d said it like it meant nothing. Slurred and sweet, tossed out into the room like an afterthought. But it felt like someone had picked up a loaded gun and pointed it at the past two weeks. You knew where he was. Of course you did. Trent always had his bolt-holes. Safe places. Corners where no one would look too closely, where he could tell himself he was present without having to actually be in it. So the party raged on in his kitchen, Kieren laughing, Campbell pouring another round, Foster and Leon dancing barefoot, and down the corridor, second door on the left, Trent sat alone in the cinema room.

[Space Song - Beach House]

A game flickered on the big screen. NBA. Something loud and unthinking. He wasn’t watching it. He hadn’t been watching anything in weeks. It was just the illusion of distraction. A screen to mask the fact that his mind had been replaying you like tape he couldn’t rewind. You pushed open the door, and for a second, it was like your bloodstream ran cold.  Like the tequila left you. Like you remembered how to feel again. Because there he was. And the room smelled like him, clean and warm and unmistakable. His head was tilted back against the seat. One ankle slung over the opposite knee. A bottle of water unopened beside him. Shirt tight across his chest, his hand running across his jaw like he’d been trying to pull himself out of something for hours and failing miserably. And then… you were in the room. The air shifted. Subtle. Cataclysmic. He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he felt you. Your heart was pounding. Your fingers tingled. And for all the liquor in your system, you were somehow too aware of everything, how his shoulders tensed. How your stomach twisted. How the silence between you had weight, texture. You swallowed, and it was so loud in the quiet you wanted to cry. You were scared. But you were drunk enough to act like you weren’t.

“Must be a big game,” you mumbled, voice thick, slurring on the light sarcasm. And then he turned ever so slightly to look at you. Slow. Lethal. Eyes meeting yours like a match to gasoline.  He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He just looked.  Like he couldn’t believe you were real.  Like the memory of you had stepped out of his head and walked through the door. “Didn’t want to party?” you asked, voice molasses-thick and slurred around the edges, a smile curling on your lips that didn’t reach your eyes. You collapsed softly onto the sofa like a falling petal, slow and deliberate, your limbs loose with drink but still careful enough to leave distance between you. Three cushions. An entire small country. You settled into the far end with the kind of grace that only heartbreak can teach, elegant in detachment, practiced in pretending.

Trent felt it all, the air thinning, the room bending, his own ribs tightening like they were trying to hold his heart in. The moment you entered, he felt it. Like instinct. Like muscle memory. And when your voice broke the quiet, light but brittle, the kind of light that splinters, he knew he was gone again. Already slipping. Already dizzy from you. Already winded by just the sound of your syllables and the scent you carried with you, warm vanilla, a trace of something clean, something womanly, something you. The same scent that still clung to the jumper he refused to wash at the back of his wardrobe. He didn’t look at you directly. He couldn’t. He’d been ruined by you once tonight already. From the moment you walked through his front door in that little cardigan—pink, soft, mocking him like memory [ref index.] He knew it wasn’t innocent. Not truly. You knew what it did to him. How it framed your chest like poetry, how the knit gaped at just the right moment, offering a sliver of your sternum, a tease of curve, the whisper of a nipple through cotton. But even if you hadn’t known, his body still would’ve reacted like you had. You always undid him. Just by being.

“Not in a party mood,” he muttered, mouth barely moving, voice quiet enough to keep him from unraveling. A ghost of a smile flirted with his lips. His eyes flicked over to you, just once, just a hit of the drug, before returning to the basketball game like it mattered. Like the stats and commentary could drown out the echo of your laugh in his bloodstream.

“Oh…” The syllable barely made it into the space between you. And then came tequila, your oldest friend and worst accomplice, dragging more from you than you’d meant to say. “I get that... I’m tired,” you sighed, letting your body melt deeper into the sofa. Letting yourself settle into the plushness of the space he lived in, the space you used to live in, the scent of his laundry detergent wrapping around you like an exhale. Trent’s stomach flipped. You moved again. Shifted just enough for him to see. Your heels sliding off your feet with ease, thudding against the carpet as you curled them under yourself. Your cardigan pulled open slightly, the neckline shifting, revealing more skin, that delicate hollow beneath your collarbones. He saw your chest rise and fall. The curve of you. The outline. It wasn’t even overt. But it knocked the air out of him.You were art. And the worst part was, you didn’t even mean to be. Or maybe you did. Maybe it was unintentionally intentional and that made it all the worse.

“And drunk,” he added, smirking—softly, gently—just enough cheek to tease, not enough to wound. You giggled, and the sound was like sugar cracking. It loosened something in the room. A dam somewhere upstream broke, and suddenly the silence wasn’t just silence—it was tension gone thin, stretching, fraying, breaking.

“Honestly, just want to get to bed,” you mumbled, sinking deeper. Your words were sleepy. Loose. But something about the way you said bed hit like a strike of lightning in his spine. He didn’t say anything.  Didn’t move. And the pause that followed wasn’t innocent. It hung, thick and charged. The kind of silence that comes after someone says I miss you with their body but not their voice. You were staring at the screen now too, eyes glazed with more than tequila. When he didn’t respond, didn’t offer the softness you ached for, your voice came again, quiet and fragile, a thread about to snap. “You don’t want me in your bed anymore though…” You said it like a fact. Like a sad, quiet little truth. Something you've made peace with, even if it still hurt to hold in your hands.  You reached for a pillow then. Something to cling to. Something to touch that wasn’t him. It was innocent. Mindless. And yet it crushed him. Trent’s jaw tightened, hand flexing subtly on his thigh. He hated that pout. The one you never knew existed that pulled at his heart as it rolled on your face. He could feel it. The itch under his skin. The need to reach for you. Shake you. Kiss you. Yell at you that you were out of your mind. Because he didn’t just want you in his bed. He wanted you on his chest, pressed tight to his side, your arm slung around his middle the way you used to in the lull of post-sex silence. He wanted you tucked into him in the dark, asleep before the second quarter ended. He wanted the weight of you and the softness. The sex, yes, but God, the quiet after. The knowing you trusted him. That grip. But instead, he stared at the screen. Cool. Controlled. A little broken. And you were next to him, flushed and vulnerable and almost trembling. Your lips slightly parted, your breath a little shallow, your cardigan open just enough to make his blood sing and his heart hurt. He wanted to tell you. He wanted to say You’re perfect, I’m a mess, and I’m not over you. But he didn’t. He just sat there. Breathing you in. And breaking quietly, beautifully, just like you were just for a moment longer before he couldn’t hold out any longer. 

“C’mere,” he said, soft as dusk, low like a lullaby you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. That tone, it pulled at something deep in you. That tone was yours. It lived in the space between your ribs, a sound made only for you. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You simply went. Your limbs moved before your thoughts could catch them, like instinct, like gravity, like being pulled into orbit. You slid toward him across the couch, the air between you thick with all the words neither of you had said for weeks. Three cushions had felt like miles, but the distance disappeared the second you reached him. He opened his arm to you and you folded into him like you’d never belonged anywhere else. His hoodie was soft and worn, and he smelled like skin and sun and a comfort you hadn’t let yourself need in so long. Your cheek pressed to his chest, your hand resting in the hollow of his sternum where his heart beat like a soft drumroll. You felt it skip. You knew he felt yours too. “Who told you that, hmm?” he murmured a rhetoric, his voice all silk and smoke, fingers coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. A touch so careful it made your eyes sting. His thumb brushed your cheek, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your sadness. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. You just curled tighter into him, let yourself melt into the safety of his arms. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until now.

“Miss being in your bed,” you whispered, lips dragging against the fabric of his hoodie, your voice a little slurred, a little soft, like confessional. “Wanna be there. With you.” His breath hitched and you felt it. Like you always did. Like you were attuned to the tremors he never let the world see. His hand slid beneath the edge of your cardigan, the pads of his fingers finding skin, reverent. Like he was relearning the braille of you. Like he wanted to remember what every part of you felt like. His other hand was splayed against your bare thigh, warm and wide, kneading gently, grounding you both.

“Alright.” He purred, fighting a victorious smile. “How about here though in my arms for right now?” he offered, voice scratchy with restraint. “That tide you over?” He smirked. It was so him, to pretend he wasn’t unraveling. But you felt it. The thrum beneath his skin. The want.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, sleepy-drunk and soft as you burrowed into his neck, hiding in the scent of him, letting his pulse calm the ache behind your ribs. Then, like a spell, your lips brushed the column of his throat. Once. Featherlight. And again. Then again. You felt his breath shudder out.

“Love when you kiss my neck,” he whispered, eyes fluttering closed lost in you. His voice was syrupy now, slow and thick, his hands no longer still– sliding, stroking, holding. You didn’t mean to wind him up, but you were drunk on him. You were full of him. Every time you pressed your lips to that spot beneath his jaw, you felt him fall apart a little more.

“Kiss you all over,” you murmured, your lips still pressed to him, words muffled but clear. An offering. 

“Mm,” he exhaled, a low warning-laugh. “Don’t play with me, baby.” You pulled away from the safety of his neck, slow, reluctant, just enough for your gaze to meet his. His face was flushed, lips parted, eyes heavy with want but gentled by something deeper, something that looked like love. Not lust. Love.

“I’m not playing,” you said, softly, like a promise. “You know I would.” Something flickered in his eyes. A hunger. A fear. A need.

“Alright,” he said after a breath, his voice quiet. “Wherever you want to kiss, you kiss.”  It landed in you like thunder in the chest, not loud, not violent, just deep. A rumble through your bones. The way he said it… like a confession folded into surrender. Like worship. Like he’d placed his whole heart in your hands and was daring you not to break it. You stared at him. Really stared. Trying to decipher what lived behind those eyes you knew too well, deep, unreadable brown, and yet, somehow, wide open just for you.  And it was dangerous, that gaze. Like he was trying to say everything he didn’t know how to speak. There were whole stories there. Chapters and chapters of ache and longing and the kind of love that felt too big for language. It made your throat tighten.

“Wherever I want?” you asked, your voice feather-light, strung through with disbelief and something quieter, reverence, maybe. A tiny challenge wrapped in awe. He nodded. Once. Barely. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, nerves buzzing under his skin. He was sure. But not steady. Not with you this close. Not when he was offering you the matchbook and standing in gasoline. His eyes dropped to your lips, a flicker, no longer than a blink like he already knew what you’d choose, a silent decision, a confirmation, an agreement. But you saw it. Felt it. Like a phantom touch. And suddenly, the air between you shifted. Like the moment right before rain, thick and still and expectant. Something about to break. The space between your faces narrowed and time slowed with it. You leaned in slowly, like you were approaching a holy thing. His breath caught, just slightly. So did yours. Because this moment,  this breathless pause before contact,  it was everything. It was all your almosts and not-quites and could-have-beens swaying on a thread. And then, Your lips touched. And the world fell quiet. It was barely even a kiss at first. Just a brush. A test. A tremble. But it sent shivers down your spine, sent your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.  It was soft. Painfully slow. Like the first bloom of spring after a brutal winter. He made a sound, low in his throat, like the kiss had knocked the wind out of him. You deepened it. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just… honest. Your mouth moving against his like you were making up for every second you’d spent apart. It was the kind of kiss that said I missed you so much it hurt. The kind that said I’m sorry, I’m still here though without needing words. His hands rose slowly, reverently,  to your waist. Not to pull you in, but to hold you steady. Like you were fragile. Like this meant everything. And it did. Your lips moving together like they’d rehearsed for centuries. But it was just once. One kiss. But that was all it took.  And when it broke, just barely, only when your lungs demanded it, your foreheads stayed pressed together,  eyes closed, breath shared in the quiet between you. And in that silence, something clicked into place. Something final. In the hush between heartbeats. In his arms in the quiet. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was a return. A homecoming. A beginning disguised as something familiar. Always him. Always.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

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Next part - Chapter 21

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