#Watch the World Burn queue

[eternalstarlights]

.

[elysianightsss]

Oh my gosh I love love LOVE your ND reader as an autistic person myself when I find a fic or fics with a neurodivergent reader I cherish them and these my darling are a treasure. Please can you write when she realises that she likes Kyle? Thankyou Thankyou!

Soulmate 141 x ND Reader

You realise you like Kyle too

After a stressful day all you wanted was a slice of that chocolate chip banana bread, you could say it was a craving at this point. Something that was very rare for you.

Heading to your regular coffee shop after work, it was quiet at this time. The inside was all lit up with a golden orange glow from the lights hanging from the ceiling and the sweet vintage lamps littering the tables. It was getting dark outside, you figured you’d probably have to call a taxi soon.

“Oh hi, you’re not here at your normal time.” You looked up from where you had been getting your phone out of the black leather bag hanging on your shoulder.

“Hi Kyle.” You smiled at the man in front of you. Deep soulful brown eyes you could drown yourself in, beautiful chocolate skin that looked so silky and smooth under the orange glow. Holding a broom in his hand you only just noticed how most of the chairs were stacked on the tables. “Oh I’m so sorry it’s probably closing time soon. I’ll just go.”

“No it’s okay,” Kyle rushes out, the tips of his ears burning when he reached out and grabbed your wrist. Quickly he let go as if your skin had burnt him. He cleared his throat with a mumbled apology, “It’s alright, stay. I’ll make your regular.” He gave you a simple smile that had your insides warning up like seeing lights on the tree on Christmas morning.

A small nod, a little hesitant to ask for what you really wanted. Kyle noticed and managed to peel the information from you. “One slice of chocolate chip banana bread coming right up.” He grinned gesturing you towards one of the two empty tables that didn’t have chairs on them.

A few minutes pass of you just watching the outside world through the huge glass windows and Kyle is placing your regular and your craving in front of you on the table. You take a sip, eat a bite and sigh.

“Good?” Kyle asks sounding genuinely interested to know.

“So good.” You say, voice all muffled from the food stuffed in your cheeks. The answer, along with the cutest food pout he’s ever seen, makes Kyle grin. His heart skips a beat, his stomach flutters and his hands become sweaty. Such a reaction you pull from him and you don’t even know. He’s fought and killed men twice his size and yet here you are making him nervous.

Kyle doesn’t sit down, he gives you your space like you like but he can’t stop himself from glancing at you out the corner of his eye. Can’t fight the need to have you in his sights even if it’s a struggle to say no to the voice in his head urging him to take you in his arms.

He’s a strong man, mentally and physically. He can do this, if not for his sake, if not for his team’s sake, then for yours.

The next thirty minutes get away from you both, Kyle is just amazing at making you giggle. He jokes and says silly things that you’re almost certain he doesn’t mean but it’s funny either way.

Plate empty, drink finished and yet you find yourself wanting to stay. Wanting to converse with this lovely man that you spend twenty minutes with every morning. The way his eyes light up when you banter with him, how he grins to himself at your unrelatable awkward jokes.

If you could pick up on social queues maybe you’d actually see how much he likes you but you’re stuck on the realisation he might be number four on your list.

Kyle clears your table and once he’s done he offers you a ride home. It’s dark outside and unsafe are your reasonings for saying yes, definitely not that the gorgeous man in front of you looks like heaven to you.

The drive home is quiet, but a peaceful type of serene you love. The type you daydream about at your desk when things are too loud and overstimulating at work. Kyle can’t wipe the smirk off his face imagining Johnny and Simon’s reactions when he pulls up with you in the passenger seat.

He’s the complete gentleman when he does, opening the car door for you, a warm hand just hovering over the small of your back as he walks you up to the door of your flat building. It’s so sweet and endearing. It’s more than you’ve ever had before, it’s makes you a little light headed or is that just the cologne he’s wearing?

Either way it makes you go stupid, leaning forward with no control and lightly pressing your lips against his cheek. The action makes you jolt back to reality, you jump away from him a hand over your mouth eyes wide in shock. Kyle seems just as shocked, and when he goes to speak you basically shout ‘bye’ in his face before bursting into the building and sprinting up the stairs.

You completely ignore Johnny stood in the doorway of his flat with worried eyes, he asks if you’re okay as you’re unlocking your door but you don’t answer him. Your only goal is getting inside and slamming the door shut, you do it quickly before Johnny can ask more questions.

Johnny, one of the guys you like.

Johnny. Simon. John. And now Kyle. Maybe you should go to therapy? No, probably not best to go down that rabbit hole. Maybe just a week away from them all should set your mind right.

Yes, that should do it.

[cyberhughes]

SHORT N' SWEET.

PAIRING quinn hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY yours and quinn's relationship as told by songs from sabrina carpenters album, short n' sweet.

NOTE this is dedicated to my wife, @isaadore the number one quinn hughes enjoyer<3 always spoiling me so here's me returning the favor heh i hope you enjoy bbg. juni comeback era okay now i promise i’m gonna post for my au sorry chat

WARNINGS lowkey out of character quinn i don't think he's this bold, swearing, casual drinking, suggestive but no smut, cheating, manipulation, i think that's it!

word count: 3.8k

TRACK 01. BUSY WOMAN ♬⋆.˚

the echoing sound of your heels clicking filled the hallway of your apartment, a coffee in hand and a confidence holding your head up high. your hair fell and swayed softly against your back, entrancing anyone who preceded your steps.

you didn't pay any mind to the familiar faces of your neighbors as you breezed past them in a hurry, and you didn't pay any mind to the grey orbs that burned into your skin the second you stepped into the elevator. you pressed the main floor button with a light hand, before stepping back and checking your wrist watch.

shit.

the hum of the elevator as well as the consistent stopping of floors began to test your patience. you sighed as you glanced at the floor indicator, why are there so many floors? seeing movement in your peripheral vision, your gaze naturally fell onto the unfamiliar face who had been standing in the elevator before you.

an unfamiliar face that looked at you like he had seen you in another lifetime. you gave him a tight lipped smile before looking back to the floor indicator, avoiding any possible awkward interaction.

though you had looked away, you didn't fail to notice the way his lips quirked up into a smile as he scanned your features.

you turned your head to him, hair whipping around your shoulder, "got a staring problem?" your eyes burned with annoyance, a contrast to the smile on your face.

"woah, a guy can't admire a pretty girl?" his response caught you off guard, any other guy would have muttered a quick sorry before staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

you furrowed your brows as you scoffed, typical man. though, you could admit that his confidence was intriguing. your eyes fell over his messy brown hair, some stray strands falling to the front of his face, but not enough to cover the enticing gleam in his eyes.

"who's got a staring problem now?" he spoke and you rolled your eyes, huffing and turning to face the reflective steel of the elevator door.

the final ding of the elevator sent relief over your body, and you instantly rushed out. your steps quick as you glanced at your watch for the thousandth time that morning.

you groaned when you heard the same voice that challenged you in the elevator call out, and though you wanted to continue your pace and look ahead, something in you made you stop and look back.

"hey," he jogged five steps towards you, keys clinking in his pocket. "i uh, i'm sorry."

you narrowed your eyes at his words, "sorry for what?"

"if i made you uncomfortable in the elevator, i promise i'm not usually a douchebag." he rubbed his nape, a small blush tinting his cheeks before he continued, "i just thought you were really pretty, hence the staring."

you nodded your head slowly, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. he did sound like a douchebag, but in all fairness, you were the one who started the hostile interaction.

"it's fine. and thank you, i guess." you gave him a tight lipped smile, ready to turn on your heels and continue on with your morning.

"could i grab your number?" he blurted out quickly, the blush on his cheeks growing darker.

he was handsome, and seemed to be witty; you'd give him that. but there was no room for dating in your routine, a man was out of the question.

"i'm sorry..." you dragged out your words and he got the queue.

"quinn. quinn hughes."

"quinn." you nodded. "i'm sorry but," you glanced at your watch before looking back up to him with a sheepish smile on your face. "i'm a busy woman."

he chuckled and nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "don't be sorry. guess i'll see you around," he cracked a cheesy smile, "busy woman."

it was your turn to blush. you didn't get a chance to admire his smile for too long before he turned around to walk away.

you didn't know it yet, but quinn hughes would wiggle his way into your schedule.

TRACK 02. 15 MINUTES ♬⋆.˚

the floor was sticky and the air was warm as you took down a shot of tequila, your face scrunching in disgust as your friends cheered and clapped.

you weren't a huge drinker, but loved the way the tequila spread a warmth through your chest, letting the stress of work projects and unanswered emails leave your body.

one of your friends, sydney, had stood up clapping her hands together in a swift motion, catching everyone’s attention. she feigned a serious expression before she let a toothy grin take over her face.

“let’s go dance!”

the dance floor was cramped and hot, and there shouldn’t have been such little space between bodies as you all moved with the music to the center of the floor, but with the smiles on your friends faces and the beat flowing through your body—as well as the alcohol—you couldn’t find any reason to care with your hands in your hair and your hips swaying to the rhythm as if no one was watching.

one of your friends had tapped your shoulder before leaning in to speak into your ear, the music being far too loud to hear anything properly. “what?” you yelled, asking for confirmation at her words.

“that guy over there is staring at you!”

your head turned over your shoulder to see who she was talking about.

there was no way.

from across the floor you stared into those fiery eyes you had seen in the elevator two weeks ago, the fiery eyes that had been lingering in the back of your mind—unwillingly. there weren’t enough hours in a day, yet you found yourself wasting every one thinking back to the first man to leave you dumbfounded.

you wanted him to look away. you thought you wanted him to look away. but as his eyes trailed down your body you couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on your lips.

stop it.

maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you denied yourself any fun for the past year and secretly yearned to get back in the game. either way, you couldn’t fight the excitement that bubbled in your chest as you turned back to your friend, whispering in her ear and leaving a grin on her face, “i’ll be right back.”

you didn’t look back to him as you made your way to the bar, leaning your weight onto your elbows as you rested on the counter while slightly jutting your ass out, waiting for the bar tender. you fought the smile that tried to form as you saw him approaching in the corner of your eye.

you quirked a brow with feigned shock, “you again?”

he chuckled as he set down his glass onto counter, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalant smile on his face, “didn’t i tell you i’d see you around?” you nearly cracked a smile, it wasn’t often you’d find someone who’d tease just as much as you did.

he shifted his posture so the his side was leaning against the bar, hands finding his way into the front pockets of his jeans in a calm manner, “so what are you doing here?”

“what do you mean?” your hair fell to the side side as you tilted your head, his eyes watching the way you batted your eyelashes.

“I mean, didn’t you say you’re a busy woman? didn’t think you’re the type to spend your time in sticky bars.”

“been thinking about me?” you teased, smirking.

“how could i not?”

you felt the heat spreading on your cheeks, it was the alcohol you’d tell yourself, but from across the bar your friends would see that a man was beginning to beat you at your own game, that you had finally found yourself in a situation where you had no comeback.

you watched his eyes flicker to your lips before you regained your composure, standing upright. “you’re bold, quinn hughes.”

he didn’t say anything, just smiling and nodding at you with hooded eyes.

after a moment of tension he spoke, “never got your name.” he said almost as a question.

“no? i think you’re gonna have to earn it.” you giggled before pulling your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. “aw man, I’m so sorry quinn,” teasingly emphasizing that you had his name, and he didn’t have a clue as to who you were, “but my friends and i are leaving soon.”

he stepped closer, “give me fifteen.” you didn’t back away as you looked up at him, your confidence growing by the second. “only fifteen?” you pouted in false disappointment.

your breath hitched as he leaned down, lips almost grazing your ear, “I can do a lot with fifteen minutes."

you were lying of course, you weren’t planning on leaving any time soon—and you had definitely given him more than fifteen minutes when you found yourself in a cramped bathroom stall, your hands tangled in his shaggy brown hair while his lips left hot kisses down the column of your neck.

the heat of his hands shifting from your hips to the exposed skin of your waist was more intoxicating than anything you had to drink that night, and the way his lips molded against yours would leave you drunker than ever.

“y/n.” you muttered out, eyes fluttering closed at his ministrations that he soon stopped after your words, looking back to you with hooded eyes blown with want.

“what?” he breathed out and you smiled softly, cocking your head to the side, “my name.”

his eyes glistened as he repeated it softly, you felt his heartbeat thumping against your hands as you smoothed them down his chest.

he broke into a boyish grin before finding your lips again, kissing you for what wouldn’t be the last time that night.

TRACK 03. BAD REVIEWS ♬⋆.˚

quinn hughes had managed to worm his way into your life completely. stolen glances and sneaking away together at the bar, risky flirting in the elevator and coming over to your apartment at ungodly hours of the night.

he had managed to break down your walls, your once uptight and anxious demeanor fading away and being replaced with something more care free and relaxed.

your friends noticed it, your family noticed it, even your coworkers noticed it.

you had been officially dating for four months, after him taking you on a proper date just the week after your heated second encounter at the bar.

though four months wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things, you found every moment of your spare time being spent with him, like you were a clingly teenager.

of course, you didn’t let this new relationship completely distract you from your work and goals—though sometimes it did.

that happens to everyone in a relationship though, right?

your tongue burned at the heat of your coffee as you caught up with an old friend in a local cafe, her going on about her girlfriend’s family issues as you nodded, listening intently.

“and what about you, back in the dating scene?” she wiggled her brows and you chuckled, setting down the warm mug.

“i am, it’s still pretty new though.” you replied and she nodded with a smile as you went on about your first interaction in the elevator, and how you felt even more confident with him around.

“what’s his name?” she questioned.

“quinn.” she smiled at the name, “aw, that’s a cute name. what’s the last?”

you watched her smile falter as you told her.

letting out a confused chuckle, you furrowed your brows, “what’s with the face?”

“i just…i think I’ve heard of him.” you felt your stomach twist at her words.

“how so?” you questioned, sipping your drink to calm yourself down. you didn’t like the way she frowned as she adjusted her posture, like she was getting ready to tell you definitely didn’t want to hear.

“one of my friends uh,” your eyes narrowed as you watched her search for her words. “well they dated a while back, and apparently he was super manipulative and also a…cheater. i’m not too sure about specifics, but generally just some bad reviews.”

you felt sick at her words. that wasn’t the quinn you knew, but that’s probably what every girl thinks when they get told that their boyfriend isn't who they think he is.

she watched the way you fell silent, lips quivering as a million thoughts raced through your head.

placing a hand on yours she spoke, “i’m sorry,” she looked at you with sympathetic eyes. “i don’t know what he’s like now, but i really don’t want you to get hurt.”

you nodded, putting on a small but fake smile. you glaced at your watch, something you did far too often. you weren't even looking at the time, but rather trying to not seem awkward. “i uhm, i need to go.” you got out of your chair, the bottom screeching against the floor louder than you intended to, earing some looks from the other patrons.

“it was nice seeing you.” you said as you pulled her into a hug, her mumbling another apology before letting you go.

you didn’t head straight for your car, but opted to go for a quick walk around the block to clear your head.

you were never the type to make excuses for a man, and you were never the type to lose sight of your worth.

but the way your heart thumped rapidly against your ribcage and anxiety bubbled in your chest proved that you weren’t that type anymore.

he wasn’t that type of man anymore, you thought.

that’s not the same man who’d pull you back into the warmth of your sheets in the morning as you tried to get ready.

that’s not the same man who’d pepper your face with kisses and ‘i love you’s as you tried to leave for work in the morning.

that’s not the same man who’d bring you food when you didn’t have time to cook, shutting your laptop as he told you to relax with him on the couch.

but it was.

and though you knew you should’ve confronted him the second your friend told you the rumors, but you bit your tongue, and chose to stay in love with him.

quinn hughes had broken down your walls, breaking down who you were without you even knowing it.

TRACK 04. COINCIDENCE ♬⋆.˚

you let out an exasperated sigh as you rolled off of his body and onto your back, letting him kiss your sweaty hairline and pull the sheets over your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin.

“so beautiful,” he whispered leaning over you to place a gentle kiss to your lips before he stood up, throwing his pyjama pants on. “i’ll get you water, just wait here baby.”

you nodded as your eyes fluttered closed. they didn’t remain closed for long though, your peaceful state interrupted by the vibration of his phone on the side table.

you wouldn’t have minded, but it was buzzing quite a bit.

your thoughts immediately went back to the conversation you had with your friend two weeks ago.

you had tried to fight the sore feeling in your chest as you ignored the truth.

he made his way back into your room, glass of water with five ice cubes in hand, just how you liked it.

“thank you.” you took the glass from his warm hands. “uhm, your phone’s kinda blowing up.” you eyed the back of his phone case and he raised his brows, “oh, really?”

he walked over to the other side of the bed, and you attempted to hide the way your eyes tried to see the notifications on his home screen, his home screen that was a picture of the two of you.

you couldn’t catch a glimpse.

“oh, it’s just my mom.” the boyish grin you loved falling over his face. “i’m gonna step out to take this, seems important. drink your water.” he winked before walking out the door, and you didn’t fail to notice his steps get quicker after exiting your bedroom, making his way out and into the hallway of your apartment.

you hated the way you continued to push away the gut feeling that it wasn’t just his mom, and you hated the way you told yourself that you were simply paranoid from some stories you had heard that took place in the past.

the paranoia that kept growing when he’d stop showing you things on his phone, always leaving it screen down on the table.

the paranoia that kept growing when the two of you ran into an old friend of his while on a date, claiming that she was in the city for the week.

the paranoia that kept growing as you watched the way she’d make quinn’s group of friends laugh harder than you ever had.

the paranoia that grew as you kissed him, trying to ignore that his mind was clearly on something, or someone else.

you tried and you tried to fight the feeling, but you knew you were right.

you should have put the pieces together the second your friend revealed his past. you should have known that all this time he wasn’t trying to help you or shape you into a better person.

he was carefully sabotaging your life in every possible way.

his slender fingers danced along the skin of your back as you cuddled into his chest that night, nothing but the sound of the breeze brushing through the curtains filling the room.

that damn phone buzzed again, and you felt his warmth leave you as he shifted to grab it.

he thought you were asleep as he whispered words you couldn’t quite hear into his phone.

he thought you were asleep as he threw on a hoodie before gently pulling the covers over your body.

he thought you were asleep when he quietly tip toed out of your bedroom, careful to not step on any of the spots of your floor that creaked.

you definitely weren’t asleep when you heard the sound of your front door lock at three am.

for the past week that she had been in town, he’d leave you cold and alone in your bed during the hours where he should have been cuddled up next to you.

what a coincidence.

TRACK 05. DUMB AND POETIC ♬⋆.˚

you couldn’t fight the lump in your throat as you sat on your couch, the living room only illuminated by a single lamp.

you felt your stomach twist and turn as you listened to his keys jangle on the other side of your door, a key he’d soon return to you.

you felt defeated as he walked in, a calm smile on his face and a box of pizza in hand, like nothing was wrong in the world.

like nothing was wrong when your intuition told you to check his messages last night while he gently snored. messages that were filled with planned dates and sweet nothings that weren’t intended for you. you felt queasy as you looked at the pictures she had shared with him, wearing less and less as they got more recent.

“hey, why do you look so glum baby?” he gently rested the pizza on your kitchen counted before walking towards you, eyes narrowing in confusion when he saw the cardboard box rested on your coffee table.

“what’s that?” he questioned with a smile, peering over and looking inside.

his clothes that you once wore, his self help book that found a home on your nightstand, his beanies that you’d beg him to take off, and the picture frame holding the two of you together.

“why…why is this all here?” he laughed uncomfortably as searched your eyes, but there was nothing there.

he kneeled down to your position, taking your hands in yours as you stared at him with a blend of disappointment and pity.

you averted his eyes, turning your head and trying to hide the tears that formed. it hurt, you weren’t enough for him. he had pursued you first, you weren’t even looking for love, it wasn't on the table for you. but in the end it was you that wasn’t enough.

“is it…is this about jessica?” he asked gently and you scoffed, wiping a tear that slipped.

“that stupid name.” you muttered. “you found out something is wrong, and the first thing on your mind is her?”

“what are you taking about? if this is...baby i’ve never cheated on you!" he looked pathetic, groveling and begging for forgiveness for something that you hadn't even confirmed.

“i never said that you did." pulling your hands away from his for what would your hands away and his mouth dropped open, wanting to speak word’s but they wouldn’t come out. his reaction was truth enough.

and for the first time, quinn didn't have anything to say.

“you’ve got it all wrong.” he brushed a hand through his hair “i only love you, i think i’ve loved you since the day i saw you in the elevator.”

“you think?”

“don’t do that.” he shook his head as he stood up, running his palm over his face as he tried to calm himself.

“why are you getting so mad? you’re the one who put us in this situation.”

“fuck, y/n.” he paced around your living room, "you're putting words in my mouth." he looked at you sternly, like a dad scolding his child. "i didn't fucking do anything, okay?" your body turned itself away from him as he raised his voice, he had never talked to you in such a way.

he always talked to you with a gentle tone, always so soft and well spoken.

maybe the quinn you knew, wasn't him at all.

"i think you should go, quinn." your voice was hushed, barely above a whisper as you grabbed the box, raising it in front of you for him to take.

"y/n...please..." you hated the way his expression instantly flipped as he pleaded. "you love me, don't you?"

you felt sick. he was grasping for straws, trying to manipulate you into feeling bad, to make you feel like you'd be nothing without him.

but you were nothing with him, and everything without him.

"go." you repeated, tears slipping down your cheeks.

he scoffed, any sign of remorse gone just as fast as it appeared. you couldn't believe you were so blind to it before. acting all kind and protective when you needed him, but now looking at you with hatred in his eyes when you didn't.

he didn't take the box, instead shaking his head and walking out of your apartment, and your relationship.

a relationship built on performative empathy and false sensitivity.

how dumb and poetic.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[writeriguess]

I KNEW YOU'D BE BACK SOMEDAY I'M SO HAPPY!

Can I please request Reader and Kiri being the sweetest couple in public but being depraved and extra kinky behind closed doors - bonus points if Bakugo accidentally hears them once and is scarred for life

author's note: I’m really happy to be back! <3 It’s such a shame that the plagiarism incident forced me to wipe my queue. I had already written and scheduled this piece, and I was really proud of it… I just hope this version does it justice.

Sinful Secrets

Eijiro Kirishima was the absolute picture of a perfect boyfriend. The kind that held doors open, pressed sweet kisses to your forehead, and always called you “babe” with the softest, most adoring tone. In public, you were that couple—sickeningly sweet, always holding hands, always smiling at each other like you were the only two people in the world. Even Bakugo, who wasn’t one to praise, admitted—begrudgingly—that Kiri was probably the best boyfriend ever.

But what nobody knew—what nobody could ever suspect—was just how depraved the two of you were behind closed doors.

And unfortunately for Bakugo, he was about to find out.

Kirishima had you pressed against the mattress, your wrists bound to the headboard with his belt, your legs spread wide around his waist. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out as he ran a hand along your stomach, fingers teasing the soaked heat between your thighs.

“You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with sinful praise. “Always taking me so well.”

You whimpered as his fingers traced slow circles around your clit before dipping inside, curling against that spot that made you arch and gasp his name. He grinned, sharp teeth catching the dim bedroom light.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, pulling his fingers out to spread your slick along his aching cock. He lined himself up, rubbing the thick, flushed head along your slit, making you whine. “Beg for it, baby. Tell me how bad you want it.”

You writhed beneath him, tugging against the restraints. “Please, Kiri,” you moaned, voice trembling. “I need you—need you to fill me up, fuck me like you own me.”

His breath hitched at that, and then he was pushing inside, stretching you inch by delicious inch. The burn was exquisite, and you gasped as he bottomed out, his cock throbbing deep inside you.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, dropping his head to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. “So fucking good for me.”

He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming back in, forcing a cry from your lips. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as the headboard rattled against the wall.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your broken moans and Kirishima’s deep grunts. He reached down, grabbing your thighs and pushing your legs higher, angling deeper into you.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he groaned, watching the way your body arched and trembled under him. “Taking me so well, letting me use you like this.”

You were a mess beneath him, bound and helpless, moaning with each thrust as he claimed you completely. Your fingers curled into fists against the restraints, back arching off the bed.

And that was when Bakugo made the mistake of walking past your door.

“What the—”

He froze, eyes widening as he heard the unmistakable sound of your desperate moans, Kirishima’s deep, filthy praises, and the rhythmic banging of the headboard.

“Oh fuck, baby, you’re taking me so good. Such a tight little pussy, made just for me.”

Bakugo’s face burned. “Oh, fuck no—”

He turned on his heel, making a beeline for the kitchen, determined to bleach his ears. But even from there, he could still hear you moaning, still hear Kiri groaning, still hear the obscene sounds of your bodies moving together.

He grabbed his phone and immediately texted Denki.

Bakugo: I NEED TO MOVE OUT. IMMEDIATELY.

But that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was that once Bakugo heard it, he could not un-hear it.

Even in training the next day, he was haunted. Every time Kirishima so much as smiled, Bakugo felt like throwing a punch. Every time you touched Kirishima’s arm, giggling, all Bakugo could think about was the noises he’d heard through that damn door.

By the end of the week, he was ready to commit homicide.

The final straw was when Denki and Sero decided to tease him about how “adorable” you and Kirishima were together.

“Aren’t they just the cutest?” Sero grinned.

Bakugo snapped.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I KNOW,” he roared, slamming his hands onto the table hard enough to shake the plates.

Silence.

Denki blinked. “Dude. You okay?”

Bakugo turned on his heel and stormed away, mumbling something about needing therapy.

Meanwhile, you and Kirishima sat innocently across the cafeteria, sharing a milkshake like the picture-perfect couple you were.

Little did they know, last night had been even filthier.

[ckret2]

Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen. 

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe). 

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

[herjuhodivine]

How would yandere Ekko handle a darling who got injured while trying to escape?

Ty 4 reading my request!

ㅤ        ㅤ             ⠀◌   𑁍 _ my baby fire     ⸝⸝  

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

not proofread

if you escape during an important firelight meeting and he find that out DURING the meeting, oh he would be pissed but he wouldn’t be able to show it cause the members didn’t even know that he kidnapped you, everyone just thought you were the secret lover he was hiding for so long.

but let him catch you running, hiding etc and you’re injured. he would be concerned first and making sure you’re not dying on him.

“hey hey—you’re okay. relax, i’m not going to hurt you.” he walks slowly towards you as you backed up until your back hit a wall. your whole body tenses; coming to terms with your faint and freedom slipping away from you and completely vanish as the white haired boy stood before you. a sharp piece of wood cut your side, deep but not deep enough for major stitches or brink of death.

he would cradle you back to the hideout, everyone becoming worried about your obvious bleeding out and the children wanting to comfort you but ekko gently pushed them away, reassuring them that you’ll be okay. you’re not seeing the light of day for a month. minimum.

“firefly.” he spoke sternly as he cleans the wound properly but deliberately making it slow and painfully for you to hurt. “what did i tell you about running away?” his voice low and the feeling of pressure on your chest was unbearable and his burning gaze as you stared at the wall the entire time. “you’re so ungrateful.”

his top priority was healing you up first then feeding you. don’t try to refuse eating he will shove it down your throat if needed.

“now.” he slowly paces in front of you, sitting in the cold basement with chains tying your hands tightly. he grabs your face firm but gently. “who have you the right idea to try to get away from me? hm?” he breathes out and his head slide down from your face to your neck, his hand form around your neck but doesn’t squeeze it. “such a pretty thing. you’re too good for zaun.” he mumbled, more to himself than you. his lips connect to your lips, firm but soft; the type of affection signaling you’re never escaping after today.

he’ll only allow you out of the basement is to play with the children or help around the base, understand his strict watching of course, he can’t have his firefly running out into the dangerous world again, especially zaun, you seen this dump? why do you think he made firelights in the first place? is to keep people safe, to keep you safe.

©︎ J U H Ō . all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

edit: 9:40pm: omg this was suppose to come out yesterday at 8pm with episode 2 of purpose of fun love but the queue set it to 4am and i didn’t feel like changing it or posting it earlier than it set to be cause i actually have a post limit ( 2-3 max ) so i just let it be.

[saythenametotheworld]

You’re Not Sorry | l.jn (18+)

Being with Jeno was a whirlwind of dizzying highs and crushing lows, each moment burning brighter—and darker—than the last. Even with someone new, someone infinitely better, why does it always feel like every road leads back to him?

Campus Confessions masterlist

Genre: fwb to lovers, college au, smut Pairing: Lee Jeno x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), frustrating (lol sorry) Notes: 24k words. Part 2 of the Campus Confessions series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. This took too long. Sorry. Changed the premise halfway because that's just how it is, things change and it's okay. lmao. Song prompt was You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist:  You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift, The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift, toxic till the end by ROSÉ 

“You used to shine so bright, but I watched all of it fade.”

It was a beautiful sunny day when you first saw Lee Jeno. First day of uni, there were two queues in front of the freshmen registration booth, and he was standing in line opposite you. It was the sound of laughter from his loud group of friends that made people glance over instinctively, and you were no exception. You found yourself staring at him in particular—captivated by the way his crinkled eyes lit up his face, his cheeks lifting as he laughed. The weather made everything bright, but his smile somehow made the day feel more radiant. Warmth spread through you, a little thrill that felt almost embarrassing. 

When he caught you looking, your breath hitched. Instead of looking away like a normal person might, you stared right at him with widened eyes. You thought he’d find you weird for staring, but he just grinned wider—as if he’d just caught a fish on a line. Then he winked.

Your face heated instantly, and you turned away, suddenly finding your registration form interesting. But it was too late. The image of his smile, playful and radiant, burned itself into your memory.

You didn’t know him—hadn’t even heard his voice yet over the chatter of the crowd—but at that moment, you knew you liked him already.

You ran into him again at your first college party. The room was packed, music pulsing loud enough to make your chest vibrate, and bodies pressed together in a blur of laughter, sweat, and alcohol. You were just getting comfortable, a drink in your hand and your new friends—and housemates—Karina and Giselle by your side, when you spotted him across the room.

“His name is Jeno!” Karina told you when you asked if they knew him. “We went to high school together.”

“Lucky you,” you muttered absentmindedly, their words fading out with the rest of the world as your eyes focused solely on Jeno. 

He looked even better under the dim, colorful lights. His hair was perfectly tousled, his smile radiant and handsome as he laughed at something his friend said. The way his arms crossed over his chest made you stare at his muscles, wondering if they were as strong as they looked.

“Girl,” Giselle prompted, pulling you out of your musings.

“Yeah?” you asked, momentarily caught off-guard and embarrassed about being caught staring at Jeno.

Giselle narrowed her eyes playfully at you. “Do you like that guy?”

“Was I obvious?” you quipped, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Glaringly obvious,” Giselle replied, rolling her eyes and chuckling. “I’m gonna go this way. Will you be fine on your own?”

“Yeah. Where did Karina go?” you asked, realizing Karina was missing from your circle.

“Someone called her over. Probably her friends.” She tapped her red cup against yours. “See you later?”

“Later,” you replied.

You watched Giselle walk away and disappear into the crowd. And when you glanced back to where Jeno was, you were surprised to see him staring at you. In the few minutes that you took your eyes off him, his friends had disappeared. He was still leaning against the wall, nursing a drink with his gaze fixed on you.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, but you masked it with a slight tilt of your head and a sweet smile. You raised your cup in the air as a greeting. Jeno smiled back, pushing himself off the wall and making his way over—all confident and charming.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in just close enough to be heard over the music. His voice was warm and casual, and you were already hooked.

“Hi,” you replied, smiling back.

“Is it okay if I start by asking ‘what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a crazy party like this?’” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

You chuckled lightly, genuinely amused. “Yeah, well, can I say ‘I’m just here for the drinks?’”

“Good answer,” he said, shrugging. You both laughed for a bit, before he asked again. “But seriously. I’d love to know what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a party like this?”

You shifted a little closer, enjoying the warmth of his words. “Maybe I’m here to see if I can find someone interesting to talk to,” you replied, your voice soft, playful.

His gaze flicked to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again, a teasing glint in them. “Well, you’re in luck,” he said, voice lowering slightly, “because I’m the most interesting guy in this room.”

You hummed approvingly, smiling. “Confidence is a good look on you,” you teased, though the compliment felt oddly sincere as you met his gaze.

He was flirty from the start, throwing compliments and sly jokes that made you giggle. He leaned in closer as the night went on, his hand occasionally brushing your arm or resting lightly on your back. Normally, you might have found this too forward, but it was Jeno. He was hot, and you were tipsy enough to let it slide.

You didn’t even realize how quickly time passed until you found yourselves upstairs, away from the crowd, in a quiet corridor. His lips were on yours, hot and urgent, and your heart raced in your chest. Kissing Jeno was everything you imagined it would be, and more. It was surreal, and you couldn’t tell if you were heady because of all the booze you’d drank all night or because of the sensation of his lips against yours.

The door behind you slammed open, the sound like a gunshot that made you flinch. You turned just in time to see a girl storming toward you, her eyes blazing with fury. She grabbed your arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to pull you aside—and then, without hesitation, her hand landed on Jeno’s cheek.

The slap landed with a crack that echoed in the quiet hallway. Jeno’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t move at all—smirking like he’d been expecting it.

“Asshole,” she spat, her voice shaking with rage. Then she turned to you, her expression softening for a brief moment. “Piece of advice? Don’t get played like I did. Stay away from this jerk.”

You barely managed a nod before she walked off, her heels clicking against the tile. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud and erratic, and you were acutely aware of Jeno beside you.

He didn’t seem fazed at all. Slowly, he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, his grin stretching lazily across his face. “Well,” he drawled, as if nothing had happened. “Should we pick up where we left off?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Before you could respond—or even decide if you wanted to—Karina appeared at the end of the hall. Her sharp eyes darted between you and Jeno, her lips pressing into a thin line as she called your name.

“Jaemin’s looking for you,” she said, concern evident in her voice. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t argue. You let her grab your arm and steer you back downstairs, but your mind was spinning in a thousand different directions.

That night should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve taken the girl’s warning seriously. You should’ve let the slap—and Jeno’s shameless reaction—be the sign you needed to stay far away. But you didn’t. Instead, that moment cemented him in your head. His cocky grin, his calm defiance—it stuck, and you couldn’t shake it. 

From then on, you admired him from afar. The casual nods in the hallway, the fleeting smiles at parties, the way his laughter echoed like a siren call—they all fed your growing infatuation. Jeno didn’t make any effort to talk to you again after that night, like the whole thing had been nothing but a passing blip in his evening. Over time, through mutual friends, you learned more about him, and the picture of the nice, charming guy you’d imagined turned out to be false. Jeno was the apathetic type, and he was unapologetically a fuck boy.

But somehow, that didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat every time his eyes met yours.

Sophomore Year, 20XX

When you returned from Spring Break in Aruba, you were forced to leave the cozy apartment you shared with Giselle and Karina. The building has been sold and will soon be transformed into a shiny new commercial office space. It was bittersweet packing up the memories, but you didn’t have time to dwell. The hunt for a new place led you to a small flat in a student-friendly area—convenient, affordable, and as you’d later learn, situated right next door to Donghyuck and Mark.

At first, living next to them seemed harmless. Mark was polite and friendly, always flashing you a bright smile when you passed each other in the hallway. Donghyuck, on the other hand, was a different story. Loud, shameless, and constantly trying to flirt with you. It didn’t take long for you to discover his habit of bringing random girls into their unit and you also discovered how thin the walls between units were.

The first night you heard it, you thought it was your imagination. You buried your head under your pillow, praying it would stop. You endured the next few times, but by the fourth time, you marched to their door, fuming. Donghyuck answered with a smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’d been expecting you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he greeted, dragging out the words while his eyes shamelessly roved you from head to toe—stopping at your breast.

You tugged your cardigan over your chest. “Can you please keep it down?”

He tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Keep what down?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you snapped, your cheeks heating despite yourself.

His grin widened. “Oh, that. Sorry about that, princess. I didn’t realize you could hear everything.” His tone was all mock innocence, and you could feel the heat rising in your face.

“Oh, shut up, Lee Donghyuck. For all I know, you’re doing it on purpose to annoy me,” you huffed, rolling your eyes and looking away.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Are you upset because you wish it was you in here with me?”

You blinked at him, stunned for a second before the irritation surged back. “Unbelievable.” You turned on your heel and marched back to your flat, his laughter echoing in the hallway behind you.

After that, you quickly learned that confronting Donghyuck was a waste of time. He seemed to take pleasure in riling you up, always twisting your words or throwing out some teasing remark that left you flustered and annoyed.

Eventually, you figured out his pattern—Donghyuck’s escapades only happened when Mark was out. You memorized the days Mark would go out to his part-time job, and those were the nights you made yourself scarce. Giselle’s place became your refuge. She didn’t ask too many questions, just handed you a pillow and let you crash on her couch.

“Why don’t you just report him to the landlord?” Giselle asked one time.

“I tried, but no other tenant complained about it so he said he couldn’t do anything,” you sighed, grimacing in annoyance. “I should probably just pray that Donghyuck would find a quieter hobby.”

So you became a regular guest at Giselle’s apartment. On one particularly rainy day, while in the elevator on your way to Giselle’s, you ran into Jeno. He had a cut above his eyebrows, his lip was split and there was dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His clothes were rumpled and he was looking worse for wear.

“Jeno?” you blurted out, your voice laced with concern.

He looked up at you and grinned, the same lazy, confident grin you’d seen so many times before, only now it was tinged with exhaustion. “Hey,” he said, his voice slightly slurred.

“Are you okay? What happened to you?” you asked, stepping aside as he boarded the elevator.

He shrugged, brushing off your concern. “I’m fine. Just—” Before he could finish, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Panic surged through you. You crouched down, shaking his shoulder. “Jeno! Jeno! Hey, open your eyes! Stay with me!”

When he didn’t respond right away, you grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling as you began dialing for help. But before you could hit the call button, his hand shot up to stop you. He grabbed your phone and put it away.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Just need... sleep.”

You leaned in closer, and that’s when you caught the unmistakable smell of alcohol on his breath. “Are you drunk?”

He groaned softly, then suddenly pulled you closer, his arm draping over your shoulders. “Here. Smell for yourself.”

You wrinkled your nose as you steadied him, confirming your suspicion. “Eugh,” you muttered.

Jeno chuckled, the sound low and raspy. “Seventh floor, unit 702.”

“What?”

“My passcode is 0-4-2-3,” he added, slurring slightly as he fought the urge to sleep. “Please get me inside.”

You reached his floor and unit, your steps hesitant but determined. You could’ve left him there, sprawled on his couch, but the sight of his bruises nagged at you. It felt wrong to walk away, especially when you knew you could help.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” you asked, already scanning the room for it.

He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. You went in, rummaging through drawers until you found it tucked under the sink. When you returned, you sat beside him, your hands steady but your chest tight.

“Sit up,” you said gently, patting his shoulder to guide him. He did, though the effort was slow. “This is going to sting,” you warned, your voice softer than you intended.

“Be gentle with me,” he teased with eyes half-lidded but still playful.

You smirked but didn’t respond, focusing on cleaning the dried blood from his lip, then carefully dabbing at the cut above his eyebrow. You winced when he winced, and you shushed him gently when he made any complaints. When you were done, you offered him a bottle of water you grabbed from his fridge.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the water you handed while shrugging off his flannel jacket.

“Where do you keep your shirts?” you asked, noticing that his t-shirt was damp with sweat.

Before you knew it, you were rummaging through his drawers for something clean. When you pulled off his shirt, you met his gaze only to find him watching you with that lazy, crooked smile. “Are you taking advantage of a drunk and helpless guy?”

“In your dreams,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite the heat rushing to your face.

“My dreams?” he repeated, his voice softening. His head tilted back against the couch, his eyes fluttering close. “Yeah, well... you do visit my dreams sometimes.”

You froze for just a second, unsure if he was serious or if the alcohol was talking, but before you could figure it out, his eyes were closed and his breathing evened out. He was asleep.

You stood to leave, but as you looked down at him, curled up on the couch, you found yourself lingering. He looked pitiful and somewhat cute curling up to fit on the couch. You could already imagine the body aches it would give him in the morning. Sighing, you gently tapped his shoulder. “You should move to your bed.”

Jeno groaned, half-opening his eyes. “Fine, doc,” he sighed, slowly sitting up and rubbing his face. He staggered to his feet and you followed, resisting the urge to offer support as he wobbled slightly while making his way to his bedroom.

You waited as he settled in, his expression softening when he finally relaxed. But as you turned to leave, you heard his voice calling your name.

“You’re leaving already?”

You stopped, glancing back. “Jeno—”

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Stay for a bit.”

You hesitated. “My friend is expecting me.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Not really,” you admitted, a little sheepish. “I’m just sleeping over like usual.”

“If it isn’t urgent, can’t you just stay? I’m a patient, you know.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. “Don’t you need to make sure I’ll be fine?”

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, “If you’re gonna manipulate me, at least try harder.”

Jeno smirked lazily, his eyelids heavy. “I’ll practice next time. For now, just stay… please.”

You couldn’t resist. You sat down on the edge of the bed, but Jeno motioned for you to lie down beside him and you did. The bed dipped slightly as you settled in, the proximity making your pulse quicken.

For a few moments, neither of you moved. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet filling the space between you. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, wondering if he was really asleep. 

“Jeno?” you whispered, but he didn’t respond. Thinking you’d spoken too softly, you tried a little louder. “Jeno?”

His eyes fluttered open, and he smirked faintly. “I won’t be able to sleep if you keep calling me like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you still awake?”

“Because it’s you,” he said, the teasing tone still there but softer. “I’m waiting for you to stop talking.”

“I was quiet the whole time, what are you talking about?” you defended, smirking. 

He didn’t say anything, and then silence stretched between you both, the kind that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. You were feeling a little self-conscious, most probably because of the fact that you hadn’t seen each other for a while, let alone interacted closely since freshman year. Save for the occasional nods and half-smiles you’d thrown at each other every now and then, you never had an actual conversation with him since that party.

“What happened to you?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

He sighed, turning toward you. “Just a scuffle with some guys at the party. Nothing serious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t cuckold some guy and get caught, right?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “Is that what you think of me?”

You shrugged. “I was just joking. Why? Do you care what I think of you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled closer to you, locking his gaze with yours. Then, without warning, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

“Jeno,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away. “I’m going to report you for sexual harassment.”

He smiled lazily. “If you hate it that much, you’re free to go.”

But you didn’t move. There was something comforting about the calmness of the way he held you. For once, you didn’t want to overthink it. So, you stayed, letting the warmth seep into you, feeling the peace you didn’t know you needed.

The next thing you knew was waking up alone in bed. On the nightstand, the digital clock displayed time in bright red numbers: 09:10 pm. You slowly pushed yourself up, looking around the dimly lit room until your eyes landed on the slightly ajar door. You could hear the faint sound of what you assumed was video games from the TV. Jeno must be playing a game outside.

You felt your cheeks heat up, remembering how you fell asleep in his arms and lost track of time. Squeezing your cheeks together to clear your mind, rose to your feet and padded across the room. Then slowly, you opened the bedroom door wider, peeking at the gap to see what Jeno was doing.

He looked much better than he did earlier and his damp hair told you he had just taken a shower.

“You’re up,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the screen but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“And so are you,” you replied, clearing your throat as you stepped out. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Only now did you get a proper look of his apartment. It was bigger than your studio unit—a one bedroom apartment with a living room and a proper kitchen. The lack of decorations spoke volumes about Jeno’s personality. He had only a few necessary furniture and a TV. The cream-colored walls gave it a bright ambience though.

“I’d feel bad if I did,” said Jeno, his forehead creasing ever so slightly as he focused on his game.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” he chimed, finally sparing you a quick glance before his attention returned to the screen. “Thanks to you.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on the TV. The game was unfamiliar, full of explosions and rapid movements, but Jeno looked completely at ease as he played. “Well, then, I should go,” you said, reaching for your bag on the couch.

“Already?” He glanced at you longer this time, his brow lifting. “I ordered food for two because you probably haven’t had dinner yet. Don’t you wanna stay for that?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Giselle was probably expecting you, even if you hadn’t explicitly said you were coming. Wednesdays and Fridays were your usual nights there.

“It’s Chinese,” Jeno added, his tone light but persuasive. “I can’t finish it by myself.”

You shrugged. “Alright, then,” you said, dropping your bag back onto the couch.

Jeno’s grin was boyish, turning his attention back on the TV. You settled onto the couch beside him, pulling out your phone to send a quick text to Giselle. You told her you’d be late and to have dinner without you. Her reply came almost immediately.

My Gigi: good bcs i already ate lol

You watched Jeno’s thumbs skillfully navigate his controller, the vivid graphics on the screen doing little to distract you from the silence hanging between you. After a while, you decided to make conversation. “So, uh... what game is this?” you asked.

Jeno glanced at you briefly, then back at the TV. “It’s a shooter game. You pick a team, complete missions, and shoot the opponents from the other team. First team to find the treasure wins the game.”

“Oh,” you said, leaning back a little. “Sounds… fun.”

“Not into games?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

“Not these kinds,” you admitted, watching the screen flash with explosions and fast-paced action.

He explained a few mechanics, but it flew over your head. You nodded occasionally, throwing in a hum or two for good measure. Still, your lack of interest must have been obvious because Jeno eventually chuckled and said, “Want me to turn it off? We can watch Netflix or something.”

You shook your head quickly. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Quietly, you sat there for a few more minutes, scrolling absently through your phone as he focused on the game. An explosion flashed on the screen, followed by a groan from Jeno when the words Game Over appeared. He set the controller down with a sigh, leaning back on the couch.

“You know,” you said, clearing your throat, “this feels… awkward. Was it always this awkward between us?”

Jeno chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t know. You and I never really got the chance to properly get to know each other.”

You forced a smile, though the memory of your first meeting burned vividly in your mind. “You’re right.”

His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Probably because you were so quick to escape last time.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending not to follow. “Escape?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. “Scared I’d play with your feelings like that girl at the party said I would?”

Your chest tightened at the mention of the party, but you quickly feigned confusion. “You still remember that?”

“You don’t?” he countered, his grin widening. “You really are something else. Broke a guy’s heart and forgot all about it. You’re hurting my feelings.”

You rolled your eyes, playing along. “Oh, please. Like someone like you could ever get their heart broken.”

“Hey, I’m being serious,” Jeno said in mock offense. “One moment, we’re vibing, and the next, you run away like I had the plague or something. If that doesn’t bruise a guy’s ego, I don’t know what does.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, smirking. “Did it hurt your pride?”

“Obviously,” he shot back, grinning. “My confidence hasn’t recovered since.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, recalling all the times you’d seen him get chummy with random girls since that party. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of girls inflate your ego since then.”

Jeno shrugged. “Doesn’t erase the fact that you broke my heart.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “It was your heart or mine, Jeno. I wasn’t gonna risk mine.”

“Right, but did you really have to run away like that? You didn’t even say goodbye,” he replied pouting.

“You’re distorting the truth. I didn’t run, my friend was looking for me.”

“Excuses,” he huffed, smirking. “Just say you stopped liking me. I understand. Some people are fickle and that’s totally fine.”

His words struck a nerve, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “I didn’t stop liking you, okay? Even after what she told me. But you didn’t come looking for me, so what was I supposed to do?”

You were quiet for a while, shocked at your own admission. Jeno’s gaze didn’t change—no surprise, no annoyance, no anything. He just sat there, staring at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes. As the air grew thick, your heart gradually quickened, spreading a familiar nervousness throughout your body—the kind that told you something was gonna happen.

Before you could even process the rush of emotions, Jeno closed the distance between you, pulling you into his arms. His lips found yours, and the kiss was intense—deep, urgent—the kind that left you lightheaded and excited. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the growing tension, the undeniable need for more.

Your heart raced as his hands roamed to your hips, tugging with purpose, inviting you to move. With one swift motion, you straddled his hips, holding his face so you could kiss him properly. But it turned out that Jeno wasn’t one to yield control. He grabbed the back of your head, tilting it at an angle that allowed him to easily trail his kisses down to your jaw and neck.

You let him ravage your skin, loving the sensations his lips were sending through your body while grinding against his hard-on to give him something in return. You were ready for whatever came next. Everything about this felt like the moment you’d been waiting for.

But just as you thought you’d both lost yourself completely in the kiss, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the heated atmosphere, and you froze for a second, eyes wide with frustration. Jeno pulled back just enough to glance toward the door, not even masking the annoyance in his expression.

“Who’s that?” you asked, your voice low. Jeno turned to you, smirking as he pushed your hair behind your shoulder. He kissed you again, slowly and deliciously.

“Ignore it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands never leaving your body as he guided your hips against his crotch, seeking more friction. The kiss deepened again, and for a moment, you thought you might be able to forget the world outside that door.

But the bell rang again, persistent, annoying. Neither of you moved to answer, yet the sound continued, filling the silence between heated breaths. Finally, Jeno groaned in frustration, pulling away reluctantly.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, standing up from the couch and raking a hand through his messy hair.

You sighed, frustrated, leaning back on the couch and trying to control the rising heat in your body. He disappeared out the door, and you stared at the empty space, trying to calm your breath, frustrated but also amused by the timing. Of course, it would be now that someone would show up.

You didn’t think anything like this would happen, to be honest. But in retrospect, you should have known it was possible the moment you stepped into the apartment of a notorious playboy like Lee Jeno. You don’t hate it—no. You were just surprised at the turn of events.

The door opened again, and Jeno returned with a bag of takeout and a sheepish grin. He set it down the coffee table, gawking at you for a second before motioning to it. 

“Is now a perfect time for dinner?” he quipped, his tone light despite the heat still lingering between you.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the food and him. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” you asked, your voice low, teasing.

Jeno smirked, stepping toward you with a confident grin. “You’re right, it’s a stupid question,” he said. Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, effortlessly lifting you as though you weighed nothing. “I have my meal right here,” he added, his lips finding your neck as he carried you toward his bedroom.

The door to his room clicked shut behind you, and in that moment, nothing else in the world existed but the two of you.

“Hi,” Giselle greeted as soon as she opened the door, her gaze sweeping over you. “You did say you’d be late, but I didn’t know you meant super late.”

You took a deep breath, hesitating before stepping inside. Giselle tilted her head, her curiosity intensifying. “What happened? Donghyuck forgot to bone last night and gave you a peaceful Wednesday for once?”

“No,” you replied with a small laugh, brushing past her into the cozy apartment.

Giselle followed closely, refusing to drop the subject. “Then where were you? And what’s got you so flustered?”

You sank onto her velvet sofa, pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks. “If I tell you, are you gonna judge me?”

“Never,” she said, grinning mischievously.

Right, Giselle was never judgmental toward you. You raised an eyebrow. “I figured you wouldn’t. Karina probably would though.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, plopping down next to you. “Karina judges everything and everyone. Come on, spill.”

You groaned, covering your face again, the memory of last night flashing vividly in your mind. “I hooked up with Lee Jeno,” you said in one breath,

Giselle gasped dramatically. “No way!” she squealed, smacking your arm. “Are you serious?”

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the excitement, cold and sharp. “No fucking way.”

Your head whipped around to see Karina standing in the doorway, arms crossed with an expression of disbelief and disapproval. You chuckled nervously. “Kat. I didn’t know you were here too!”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Karina demanded, walking toward the sofa. She stood in front of you with her hands on her hips. “I knew you had a crush on him, but I didn’t think you’d actually pursue it.”

You exhaled, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your chest. “It just… happened. It wasn’t something I planned.”

Karina sat down across from you, her expression hardening. “Do you even know what you’re doing? Jeno’s bad news. He’s got a reputation, you know that, right?”

Giselle chimed in, leaning back with an easy shrug. “Oh, come on, Kat. They hooked up once.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her voice skeptical. “Yeah, and you think she’s not gonna go gaga over him in the next few days? She’s like the biggest loser for Lee Jeno. We all know that.”

“Wow. I’m literally sitting right here,” you mumbled, sheepish. “And I’m not the biggest loser for him. I like him, that’s it. I didn’t chase after him or begged him to notice me. That’s what losers do.”

“Not the point,” Karina chided. “Jeno can’t stick to one girl for more than a week. You’ve seen it too.”

You frowned, gripping a cushion. “I know. I know. But like…” You shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to… you know, see where this goes, right?” You glanced at Giselle, seeking affirmation.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Giselle.

Karina sighed, her expression softening just slightly. “Look, I get it. He’s hot, he’s charming, and he’s probably really fun to be around. And since you’re already in this situation, just don’t get too attached to him, okay?”

“She’s not wrong,” Giselle said to you, her tone gentler. “Jeno’s got his charms, but just keep your guard up, alright?”

You nodded slowly, taking in their words. “I hear you. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” Karina said, standing up. “Because I really don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ later.”

Giselle nudged her, grinning playfully. “You would love to though, wouldn’t you?”

You giggled at Karina, who just rolled her eyes.

To say you started dating Jeno then would be a stretch. You weren’t dating, just hooking up. After the first time, Jeno asked for your number, adding in a request that you don’t ignore his messages. As if you would ever do that.

You didn’t text each other much, except at night, and it made sense given the nature of your relationship. Late-night texts turned into spontaneous meetups, the kind where you’d walk around the block and he’d invite you to his apartment with a lame excuse like, “Just wanted to hang out with you.” 

You’d barely make it past the doorway before his lips found yours, hands guiding you backward until the door slammed shut. Those moments were a blur of heat and urgency, your laughter muffled between kisses as he lifted you onto the counter or pressed you against the wall.

Mornings at his place became your new favorite thing. You’d wake up wrapped in his arms, his messy hair brushing your cheek as he mumbled something incoherent about breakfast. Sometimes you’d actually get up and cook together—well, more like you cooked while he stood behind you with his arms around your waist, insisting it was a ‘team effort’.

You didn’t go on dates—not that you were expecting to, but you did movie nights on his couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders as you both bickered over what to watch. Only for the movie to become a mere background noise to your vigorous activities.

A handful of times, you’d gone on random drives to nowhere, the city lights flashing by while he reached over to rest a hand on your thigh. And of course, the nights often ended with him pulling you close and whispering, “Stay over.”

Sometimes, you’d talk about parties and agree to meet each other at the venue. But you never went together, and it was alright with you. You were content with seeing him there, exchanging glances and cues, having small talk, and eventually ditching the party altogether to go back to his apartment.

“You sure you can wait till we get back to my apartment?” he asked as you were both heading out of a particularly rowdy party.

“Yeah.”

“We could just go upstairs. I’m sure there’s a vacant room somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “And fight with other couples over a room? No thanks. Besides,” you paused, just as you reached his car. You leaned on the car door, placed a hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. “I think I developed a little phobia of making out with you at parties. Who knows which one of your girls would pop out of nowhere and land a sharp blow on your pretty face?”

Jeno chuckled slowly, leaning closer to plant a quick peck on your lips. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

You shook your head, smiling sweetly. “Never,” you said, pulling him into another kiss. Before it could deepen, you pushed him back. “Let’s go.”

He wasn’t just physical, though. He’d surprise you with snacks when you said you were too tired to cook or stay up with you during late-night study sessions, teasing you for your elaborate and colorful notes, saying you spent more time on them than actually studying. One time he insisted on cooking ramen for you at 2 a.m., standing shirtless in his tiny kitchen with bedhead and sleepy eyes, stirring the pot with one hand while holding you against the counter with the other. 

“Are you a pervert? Stop staring,” he teased when he caught you looking.

“I’m not staring,” you said, your eyes sweeping over his toned abdomen and arms. “I’m admiring.”

“Haven’t you had enough of it?” he asked and you replied with a shake of your head and a grin.

He just scoffed, albeit proudly. He then served the noodles and offered you the first bite after blowing on it. “Taste it first,” he said, as though he’d spent hours preparing it instead of ripping open a packet five minutes ago.

“Girl, is he like…” Giselle began, hesitating. Her brows knit together in mild concern. “...in love with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No. I don’t think so,” you replied quickly, the idea too far-fetched to entertain. “What made you say that?”

Giselle shrugged, tilting her head. “Honestly, I thought you guys were just hooking up. But you go on drives, cook together, take care of each other, all that stuff. It’s a bit too domestic and sweet.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, your tone defensive without meaning to be.

“No, but fuck buddies don’t do that,” Karina cut in. She leaned back on her hands, smirking.

Giselle nodded, adding, “Yeah. Usually they just meet, hook up, and then go their separate ways.”

You scowled. “Really?”

“How do you not know that?” Giselle asked, bewildered, her eyes wide with genuine confusion.

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “How was I supposed to know that? It’s not like I was given some kind of fuck buddy manual.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Giselle laughed, shaking her head. “How long has this been going on already? I just know you broke his One Week Fling record.”

You grinned sheepishly, feeling both pride and coyness. “It’s been two months now.”

“Oh my god!” Giselle squealed, hitting your arm. “You go girl! Reform that man!”

You chuckled. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing that.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Karina said, nodding toward the distance. You followed her gaze and spotted Jeno heading your way, a takeout cup holder in hand. He greeted you with a quick peck on the cheek before offering a polite smile to your friends.

“Here,” he said, handing the drinks to you. You immediately recognized the logo of the coffee shop he’d taken you to once, where you’d spent an afternoon sharing stories over caramel lattes.

“Oh my god! Thank you!” you exclaimed, genuinely touched. “Please tell me you didn’t drive all the way there just to get these.”

Jeno shrugged, playing it off casually. “I was passing by this morning, so I figured I’d grab some since we haven’t been there in a while.”

“But it’s far… aw,” you said, your voice softening as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Share it with your friends,” he said, giving you a small grin as he straightened up. “Gotta go.”

You waved him off, watching as he jogged toward the main building. The warmth in your chest lingered until you turned back and found Giselle and Karina staring at you—Giselle with an amused smirk, Karina with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. He’s definitely in love with you,” Giselle said, breaking the silence.

Karina groaned, crossing her arms. “Don’t start, Gigi. You’re going to give her false hopes.”

“What? You saw it too!” Giselle countered, motioning toward where Jeno had just been. “That’s boyfriend energy. I don’t make the rules.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “He was just being nice. It’s not that deep.”

Giselle tilted her head. “Driving halfway across the city for coffee isn’t just ‘nice.’ That’s ‘I-like-you-a-lot’ behavior.”

You squealed, covering your flushed face with your hands. “Oh my god, stop!”

Your relationship with Jeno could be described as quiet affection. He wasn’t big on words, but his actions were loud enough—bringing you coffee when you had an early lecture, texting you random pictures that reminded him of you, and holding you close each chance he got. Still, there were no labels, no discussions about what you were. He’d never call you his girlfriend, but he’d kiss you like you were the only one who mattered, and hold your hand like it was second nature. It was confusing, but you told yourself it was enough.

Then there was Jeno’s jealousy. You never talked about it, and he never admitted it, but you didn’t need him to; the signs were obvious to you. When a guy from your literature class offered to walk you to the library, Jeno appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sliding an arm around your shoulders and smoothly steering the conversation away. At parties, he often left you to have fun with your friends, only to whisk you away the moment some guy approached you to try flirting with you. Even Jaemin, your close friend of almost ten years, didn’t escape Jeno’s radar. He once stopped by your apartment while you were with Jeno. Though Jaemin was his usual friendly self, Jeno stayed uncharacteristically quiet until Jaemin left. 

Later, you reassured him with a laugh, “Jaemin and I have been friends since we were kids. He doesn’t see me that way, trust me.”

“Hmm? It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself. I don’t think that,” he had replied, but the way he refused to look you in the eyes while he said that was evidence enough of his lie. After that, Jeno seemed to be more at ease with Jaemin. He was surprisingly chill around him, even cracking jokes with him on the super rare occasions when you’d see them together.

But the one person Jeno couldn’t tolerate was Donghyuck.

Donghyuck was in several of your classes, and he had always—without fail—tried to sweep you off of your feet. From the moment you met him freshman year, he had been relentlessly hitting on you, though you always brushed him off. You knew he wasn’t serious; it was just his way of getting under your skin. Jeno, however, didn’t see it that way.

The first time was subtle—his jaw tightening as he watched Donghyuck lean in during a group conversation at a party. The second time, it was harder to ignore—the way Jeno placed his hand on your lower back possessively, his thumb grazing your skin as if to remind you who you came with.

It wasn’t just one incident with Donghyuck; it was a series of moments that began to grate on Jeno. At a party, Donghyuck had leaned against the wall beside you, his tone dripping with playful confidence as he asked, “Why do you keep running away from me? I’m starting to take it personally.”

You had laughed it off, casually pushing him away with a grin. “Because you’re the worst.”

Another time, in the cafeteria, Jeno had walked in to find Donghyuck sitting far too close, gesturing animatedly as he talked about some inside joke. You had rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed, but the sight still made Jeno’s stomach tighten.

Outside your apartment one evening, Donghyuck’s voice carried up from the sidewalk. “You know, if you ever get tired of the broody one—”

“Not gonna happen,” you cut him off with a glare, making it clear you weren’t amused.

Jeno had seen it all, these little moments that didn’t mean much to you but added up for him. He knew you weren’t encouraging Donghyuck, but it didn’t make it any easier to ignore.

Then, there were the smaller instances—the way Donghyuck lingered at your table in the cafeteria, cracking jokes that made everyone else laugh except you. Or how he seemed to magically appear whenever you walked out of class, always quick with a flirtatious comment.

The tipping point came one afternoon after class. You had just stepped out of the lecture hall when Donghyuck slung an arm around your shoulders, his usual grin plastered across his face. “You know,” he began, his tone dripping with mockery, “you should really stop playing hard to get. It’s getting embarrassing.”

“Get off me,” you retorted, rolling your eyes as you shrugged off his arm. “When are you gonna give this up?”

“Never,” Donghyuck shot back, leaning closer, his grin widening. “You secretly love the attention, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, a familiar hand reached out, pulling you gently but decisively away from Donghyuck. Jeno stepped in, his calm yet firm demeanor instantly changing the air. “Can’t take a hint, can you?” he asked calmly, but the sharpness of his gaze pierced Donghyuck.

Donghyuck raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Relax, lover boy. It’s all in good fun. No need to get so worked up,” he chuckled and then stuck his tongue in his cheek.

But Jeno wasn’t amused. His only response was to place a steady hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the parking lot without another word. You glanced up at him as you walked, his jaw clenched and his gaze fixed ahead.

The car ride back to his place was tense, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. When you arrived, you expected him to drop it, to shrug it off like he always did. As soon as the door closed, and you’d seated yourself on his couch, Jeno turned to face you. “Why don’t you just tell him you’re not interested?” he asked, his frustration barely contained.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “I do. Every single time.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jeno said, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell him—and every other guy—that you’re not available?”

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “Because I can’t,” you said softly.

“Why not?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor. “Because I can’t say I’m taken when I’m not. I can’t claim you like that because I don’t know if you want to be claimed.”

Jeno’s expression softened, but his voice was still firm when he asked, “You think I’d want to see other girls?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quickly, finally looking up at him. “We’ve never talked about it, and I didn’t want to assume.”

Jeno exhaled, his frustration melting into something gentler. He sat on the couch next to you. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else. Not since… this.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you saw the same flicker of realization cross his face.

“Have you?” he asked, his voice quiet now.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

Jeno smiled as he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you with a satisfied hum. He cupped your cheek and pulled you into a kiss. It was soft at first, but as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, the kiss deepened. It grew more urgent, more intense, as if something inside both of you had finally snapped into place. The heat between you intensified, and every soft touch seemed to ignite something inside you.

He pulled away, just enough to breathe, the tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear.  “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I was starting to think I’d have to fight Donghyuck for you.”

You let out a laugh, heart still beating wildly from the kiss. “Who do you think would win?”

“Me,” he replied without hesitation, his grin returning. “Easily.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your heart fluttering at how easily he could lighten the moment. Jeno’s expression softened as he looked into your eyes, his smile fading into something more earnest. 

His next words were quiet, sincere. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You paused, your heart racing again as you processed everything—the kiss, the shift between you two, this question. He was asking in a way that felt as if he wasn’t sure if you’d say yes. Shouldn’t he know by now that you had been his ever since the first time he brought you into his apartment?

Still, you were glad that he asked. You nodded, a smile pulling at your lips. “Yes.”

Jeno let out a relieved breath, the tension leaving his body. He kissed you again, but this time it was slow, and sure. Jeno’s hands were gentle, almost reverent as he cupped your face. His breath was warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—no Donghyuck, no uncertainty, no nothing, just the quiet rush of the feeling building between you two.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, the world still spinning around the edges of the bubble you had created.

“I want you,” Jeno murmured, his voice rough but steady.

He’d never said it like that before. You met his gaze, searching his eyes for any trace of doubt. Instead, you saw something raw, something real—desire, affection, and certainty.

You cupped his cheek in return, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “For fuck’s sake, Lee Jeno. I’m already yours.”

Jeno shifted, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and carefully tugging it over your head. There was no rush, no urgency. This wasn’t a hasty decision—it was a choice, something deeper than just physical desire. As he undressed you slowly, each piece of clothing falling away, so did the walls between you, and you felt more exposed than ever.

When he gently laid you back on the couch, his lips trailing down your neck, a soft shiver ran through you, making your heart flutter in anticipation. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a quiet devotion, and you couldn’t help but give in completely.

The late afternoon light poured softly through the window of Jeno’s bedroom. You were lying on the bed beside him, watching as his eyes remained glued to his phone. His expression was one of intense concentration—the furrow of his brows, his lips slightly pursed as he stared at whatever was on the screen.

You tilted your head, studying his face as if you hadn’t already memorized it by heart. He looked so handsome when he was focused, so effortlessly captivating. It made your heart skip a beat. But still, what’s so interesting about that video?

You peered at his screen and found that he was watching a replay of some football game. You let out a dramatic groan and fell back onto the bed, feeling frustrated. Jeno glanced sideways at you, but only briefly.

You then squeezed yourself in his arms, resting your chin on his abdomen and drumming your fingers on his chest to get his attention. Jeno shifted to accommodate you, but his eyes never left the screen. With a sigh, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tiny mole under his eye. When he didn’t react, you kissed it again—this time with a little more insistence. And again. And again, until you heard him exhale, finally peeling his eyes away from his screen.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and amused as he set his phone aside and pulled you closer.

You grinned, poking the beauty mark with your index finger. “I heard about a legend that says your mole is the spot where your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life.”

Jeno’s lips twitched upward as he hummed in response. “Was it you? The soulmate who kept kissing me there and gave me this mole,” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Was it you?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you moved to sit up. “Probably not. But do you believe it?”

Jeno shrugged casually, shifting onto his side so he was face-to-face with you. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you back toward him. “Not really. I was raised Catholic.”

“Ah, so no past lives?” you asked, laying back on the bed.

He nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m religious or anything.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “If someone like you is religious, then I must be a saint.”

Without missing a beat, Jeno squeezed your butt cheek, making you yelp in surprise. “You think I’m promiscuous?”

“Aren’t you?” you shot back, laughing as you tried to squirm away, but he gave your ass another playful slap. “Stop that!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

Jeno’s grin only widened as he leaned in, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He caressed your jaw, and then tilted your chin so he could kiss you. “I’m feeling promiscuous right now.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes again. “And I’m feeling sleepy. Go back to watching your football game or something,” you replied, turning on your other side.

Jeno tugged you back in his arms, finding the spot on your waist where you were the most ticklish. The sound of your giggles and laughter echoed through the entire apartment as the sun continued its descent and its light filtered through the curtains to paint the room in beautiful hues of yellow and gold.

Your days with Jeno began to blur into a routine, one you fell into so easily it felt as though you’d been together for years instead of weeks. Every morning, he’d pull into your driveway, flashing that lazy, boyish smile as you hopped into his car. The drive to campus was often filled with shared playlists and laughter, your fingers intertwined with his on the gearshift.

Lunches weren’t planned but always felt inevitable. You’d wait for each other outside lecture halls, silently deciding that you’d eat together. Some days, it was quick meals at the campus cafeteria, sharing fries and teasing each other over bad food choices. Other days, you’d escape to the backseat of his car, balancing takeout boxes while rain tapped lightly on the windows. 

Then there were the drives. With no destination in mind, he’d take the wheel, and you’d go wherever the roads stretched out before you. Sometimes, you’d stumble upon a charming little café with mismatched furniture and the aroma of freshly baked pastries. Other times, you’d park by the lake, sharing stories, making out in the backseat, and just letting the hours pass in each other’s company. Those unplanned moments became your dates, spontaneous and perfect in their own imperfect ways.

It was in the little things, too, the intimacy shared in moments outside the bedroom. The way his hand always found the small of your back when you walked into a room. How he’d absently twirl a strand of your hair while you talked. The way he’d kiss your forehead before he left, even if you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

But Jeno wasn’t perfect, and neither was the relationship. He had no idea how to be a boyfriend, and it showed in ways that left you reeling in frustration and anger.

“Why didn’t you text me back?” you’d demand, voice trembling with frustration after waiting hours for a reply.

“Relax. I was busy,” he’d say casually, as if that excused everything. “It’s not like I’m glued to my phone all day.”

And every time he was late—ten, fifteen minutes, sometimes an hour—you’d bite back your irritation until it boiled over.

“Do you even care?” you’d shout during one argument, the sound of your voice echoing in his car. “If you cared, you’d be on time!”

“At least I showed up, didn’t I?” he’d counter, his jaw tight with defensiveness. “And the event hadn’t even started when I arrived.”

“It’s not just today, Jeno. This happens all the time!” you’d insist, your palm flying to your forehead at how frustrating it was to argue with him.

The fights were loud, dramatic, and exhausting. The worst ones were after university events or  parties when you were ready to leave, but he wasn’t.

“You could’ve driven me home,” you snapped one night, pacing in his room while he sat on the edge of his bed. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“You were safe, weren’t you?” he argued, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “What’s the big deal?” He didn’t understand. He never did.

And yet, every fight seemed to pull you closer rather than push you apart. When the anger subsided, his apologies came in whispers and kisses that left you breathless. You’d find yourselves tangled in each other’s arms. It was always the same. His hands would find yours, his lips pressing apologies into your skin until the frustration melted away, replaced by a fire you couldn’t resist—a pull so magnetic that all protests seemed to fail. Maybe the way he liked you—imperfect, messy, but consuming—was the only way he knew how. And there was an odd beauty to it, something that kept you drawn to him. Love, probably. A love so consuming it left no room for doubt—only the certainty that, for better or worse, you were his, and he was yours.

Things didn’t get better. The passionate moments still came, leaving you breathless and feeling adored. Jeno still kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered, whispering sweet nothings in the soft light of his bedroom, or laughing with you as you raced each other up the stairs. The spontaneous road trip dates still happened. Those moments made you believe that all the fighting and misunderstandings were just temporary. That it was necessary for the two of you to eventually navigate each other’s flaws, become better people, and finally find harmony.

But it didn’t happen.

You tried to be more understanding, biting back your irritation when he forgot to text you goodnight or when he turned up late without so much as an excuse. You tried to take a step back, to not overanalyze every little thing he did or didn’t do. But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t seem to find the right wavelength to match his.

It was like you were speaking two different languages, your love trapped in a tug-of-war between passion and frustration.

“I don’t get it,” you confessed to your friends one day, staring into your latte. “I’ve tried talking to him about it. I’ve tried being more understanding. But it’s like we’re stuck on repeat. I can’t figure out why we can’t just… fix this.”

Giselle offered a sympathetic smile, always the lenient one. “Relationships take time. He’s not going to change overnight. If you really like him, you have to be patient.”

Karina wasn’t as forgiving. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, her expression firm. “Patience is one thing, but you can’t let him keep walking all over you. If he really cared, he’d be putting in the effort to meet you halfway.”

Jaemin, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up and tilted his head thoughtfully. “You two should probably sit down and talk properly,” he said simply. “You said so yourself, you only talked about all these issues when you’re fighting.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Giselle exclaimed, as if she just had a light bulb moment. “You need to talk about this calmly, not when you’re both emotional and angry.”

You sighed, massaging your temple because just the thought of bringing it up was already enough to anger you. Jaemin patted your back.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he said with a teasing tone, though you could tell he was worried. “Men are much simpler than you think. Just tell him what you want.”

That night, after hours of rehearsing the conversation in your head, you finally worked up the courage to call Jeno over. He arrived in his usual casual way, hoodie slung over his head and that boyish, simply disarming smile that always made your stomach flutter.

“Hi,” he greeted, pulling you by the waist and kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hands wrapping around his neck out of habit.

“Dinner?” you asked when you pulled away, foreheads pressed together.

“Done. How about you?”

Your heart sank. You were sure you told him you wanted to eat dinner together when you asked him to come over. Still, you hid your disappointment behind a smile and a lie. “I had dinner with the girls earlier.”

“Good. We can go straight to business,” he quipped, cupping your face and kissing you again.

It didn’t take long for him to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue expertly in your mouth as his hand slipped under your shirt. Warmth spread through you but you pushed him away before it could fully consume you.

“I actually want to talk to you about something first,” you said briskly, biting your lip as you studied his surprised expression.

Then he shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “Alright then,” he chimed, hugging you from behind as you led him to your bed.

He sat on the bed, resting his back on the headboard as he cradled you in his arms. You curled up on his lap, playing with his fingers as you wondered how to bring it up. The practice was totally useless since you couldn’t even open your mouth at all.

After a few minutes of silence, Jeno tightened his embrace and nuzzled his nose against the side of your head, kissing your ear. “Is this about yesterday?”

Yesterday, when you tried to confront him but couldn’t even get a word in because he put on his headphones before you could open your mouth—as if he hadn’t just kept you waiting for forty minutes outside your favorite café.

“No,” you replied, clasping his hands tightly to keep yours from shaking. “It’s about a lot of things, Jeno. Including yesterday.”

He said nothing, and you couldn’t even see his expression because he was behind you. You took a deep breath. “I just want us to talk about our issues properly and fix them,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute.

“We do talk about it.”

“No, we don’t. We fight about it. That’s different,” you sighed, leaning back against him and reaching for his face. “I thought we’d get better over time, but nothing has changed. We still fight about the same things. We can’t keep doing that.”

Jeno chuckled behind you, as if he was amused. “Well, maybe you should stop making a big deal out of everything.”

That made something snap inside of you. Luckily, you caught yourself before you could lash out. You blinked rapidly, steadying your raging heartbeat and calming the anger that had suddenly engulfed you.

“Jeno do you—” you stopped, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You turned to face him, gouging the meaning of his words by studying his expression. “Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

“I do understand,” he replied, his tone defensive. “We can talk without fighting, you know? We fight over everything, even the little things. You always blow things out of proportion.”

“I blow things out of proportion?” you echoed, feeling the anger rise higher up your chest. As calmly as you could, you said, “Every time I try to tell you how I feel, it turns into a fight because you act like it’s nothing. And you’d say you’re tired of fighting but you don’t do anything to fix things. You’re still late, you still don’t text back, and you don’t even try to understand why these things matter.”

“Baby—”

You cut him off, still keeping your anger at bay. “You call it little things but these are big things to me, Jeno. And it adds up until there’s a whole mountain of these big things and I’m too small to keep it inside. Do you think I’m arguing with you just because I like picking a fight? No. I’m telling you what I need from you, and you’re brushing it off like it’s nothing.”

Jeno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to brush you off. I just… I don’t know, I didn’t think relationships were too much… work…” His voice faltered, as though he regretted saying it.

But he already said it, and the damage has been done. “Too much work?” you repeated, your voice quieter now. “You think I’m too much work?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, panic evident in his eyes.

You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is too much work. But isn’t that how relationships should be? Isn’t it natural for two people in love to have expectations of each other?”

Jeno stood too, reaching for your hand but you stepped back. He sighed out your name, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“I think you should go,” you told him, looking away. “We need a break, Jeno,” you added, your voice cracking but resolute.

“A break? Seriously?” His expression shifted into disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Jeno, seriously!” you belted, unable to hold it in anymore. Your eyes began to sting, tears threatening to fall as emotions overwhelmed you. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m asking for too much just because I want you to care as much as I do.”

He exhaled sharply, placing his hands on his waist as he stared at you with a rigid, unreadable expression. “You think breaking up is gonna magically solve this?”

“No,” you said through gritted teeth. This was not how you imagined this conversation would go, but now that it was happening, you couldn’t take it back. Not that you want to. “But it’s gonna rid me of you, at least. I need to figure out if this is even worth it anymore. And maybe you should, too.”

He stood there, looking like he wanted to argue, but no words came. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

And just like that, he walked out the door.

The first three days of your breakup was the worst. You never left your apartment, you didn’t move an inch in bed, you stared at your phone all day, waiting for him to call but ignoring the messages from your friends. As long as you could endure it, you didn’t touch any food, too lazy to move and too heartbroken to think of anything or anyone.

It wasn’t until Jaemin came banging on your door that you finally inhaled air from outside your apartment.

“Eugh,” Jaemin grimaced as soon as he saw you, covering his nose. “You stink.”

You scowled, offended, but you lifted the collar of your shirt and brought it to your nose. You did stink. You asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Karina said they couldn’t reach you,” he replied, handing you a bag of takeout from your favorite fastfood chain. “They asked me to check in on you and see if you’re still alive.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, taking the bag and rummaging through it. You grabbed the burger inside and unwrapped it hastily.

Jaemin sighed, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “Just look at yourself. Did you like him that much? Did he say he’d take you back if you starve yourself like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” you scoffed, walking back inside your apartment. Jaemin followed, closing the door behind him. “I dumped him. I should be the one taking him back, not the other way around.”

“Really now?” he sniggered, picking up a few pieces of clutter on the floor. “It looks to me like you’re the one waiting for him to reach out.”

That hurt your pride a little, but you were too tired to even argue. You sat on your couch, placing the takeout bag on the coffee table as you glared at your friend. “Just tell me what you want from me and then leave.”

Jaemin placed your cluttered items back to their original places before turning to you. “Go take a bath. It’s Monday. You have classes.”

You frowned, but didn’t say anything, you just bit onto your burger and looked away. 

“And it’s Karina’s birthday. Did you forget?”

You froze mid-bite, the burger hanging limply in your hand as guilt twisted in your stomach. Karina’s birthday. You hadn’t forgotten entirely—it had nagged at the back of your mind—but in the haze of your heartbreak, you hadn’t done anything about it.

You set the burger down and mumbled, “I didn’t forget.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Oh, really? So you’ve got her gift ready, then?”

Your silence said it all. Jaemin groaned and threw his hands up dramatically. “Unbelievable. She’s gonna kill you if you show up empty-handed, you know that, right?”

“I wasn’t planning to go,” you said quietly, sinking further into the couch. The thought of dressing up, putting on a smile, and pretending everything was fine felt impossible. Plus the guilt of forgetting something so important was beginning to gnaw at you.

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. You’re coming. You’re not ditching her because of some guy. Stand up.”

“I can’t,” you protested weakly.

“Yes, you can,” he retorted, grabbing the burger from your hand and tossing it back into the bag. He pulled you up and guided you toward the bathroom door. “You’re going to take a shower, put on something decent, and we’re going. I’ll drive you to the mall to get her a gift.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Jaemin—”

“No excuses, love,” he interrupted, opening the bathroom door and pushing you inside. “You’re not gonna let your friend down just because your love life sucks right now.”

You wanted to argue, but he was right. Karina had always been the one person who never let you down. You owed her this, at the very least.

“Fine,” you muttered, dragging your feet further into the bathroom. As you shut the bathroom door behind you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe stepping outside your bubble of misery, even just for one night, was exactly what you needed.

Karina’s birthday dinner was simple and warm. The pasta restaurant was your go-to place for special occasions, the kind of place where the ambiance felt like home, and the food was always reliable. Karina, seated at the head of the table, looked radiant, her cheeks flushed with happiness as she opened her first gift—a sleek fountain pen from Jaemin.

“I figured you’d need it for all your artsy journaling,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

Karina laughed, twirling the pen in her fingers. “It’s perfect. Now I can write about how annoying you are in style.”

Giselle leaned forward, her chin propped on her hand. “Or you can write about how I’m clearly the best friend you’d ever had.” She passed over a small wrapped box. “It’s from me. Open it.”

Karina obliged, peeling away the paper to reveal a dainty silver wristwatch from a designer brand. “Oh my god! I love it,” Karina said, her voice soft, as she turned the wristwatch over in her hands.

Ningning chimed in next, presenting her gift dramatically. “Mine’s practical but fabulous.” She handed over a beautifully wrapped package that turned out to be a designer planner. “For your future plans and daily journaling.”

Karina was swooning and before she could say anything, Jaemin cut in. “You’re into planners now too?”

“What do you mean? I have always used planners,” Karina replied, scoffing.

Jaemin nodded, glancing at Giselle. “I see you contracted Giselle’s weird addiction with planners and schedules.”

Giselle hit Jaemin with the back of her hand. “It’s called being organized. Try it and maybe your life would be less messy.”

When it was your turn to give Karina her gift, you pulled out a framed print of a watercolor painting you’d found at the mall earlier. It was of a serene sunset over water—Karina’s favorite motif.

“For your room,” you said as you handed it to her. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

Karina’s smile grew wide as she unwrapped it. “This is gorgeous.” She reached over to squeeze your hand. “Thank you. I’m so glad you came.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Over plates of creamy carbonara, pesto linguine, and margherita pizza. You didn’t expect to feel this good, this normal, but here you were, laughing along with Giselle’s witty banter and Ningning’s sarcastic comments. Jeno’s name didn’t come up once—not in passing conversation, not in anyone’s concerned glances. It was as though your heartbreak had been tucked away in a box for the evening, and the world had returned to how it used to be. You let yourself enjoy it, basking in the warmth of your friends and the comfort of being with people who knew you inside and out.

“This carbonara is amazing,” Ningning said, her eyes wide as she twirled her fork. “Worth the trip, honestly. I’d come back just for this.”

“You came back for me,” Karina teased, raising her wine glass with a smirk. “Admit it.”

“Fine,” Ningning laughed, clinking her glass against Karina’s. “Happy birthday, babe. Another year hotter, just not hotter than me.”

As the evening wound down, the server brought out a small birthday cake topped with a small candle. Karina made a wish, blowing out the flame as everyone clapped. You caught yourself wishing, too—not for anything extravagant, just for this sense of normalcy to last a little longer.

After a few rounds of toasts, the group paid the bill and wandered out into the cool night air. Jaemin ushered everyone into his car for the ride home. The drive was loud and chaotic, filled with over the top renditions of pop songs blasting from the radio. Giselle insisted on sitting in the middle of the back seat, demanding that everyone join her in singing, while Ningning occasionally threw out sarcastic remarks about your lack of rhythm.

When Jaemin finally pulled up to your apartment complex, Giselle leaned out the window, waving her hand at you. “Class tomorrow, okay? Don’t skip.”

“Yes, ma’am!” You waved back. “I’ll be there!”

The goodbyes were loud and warm, your friends’ laughter ringing out as Jaemin’s car disappeared down the street. The quiet that followed was jarring. Sighing, you climbed the stairs to your floor, the warmth of the evening still clinging to you like a comforting jacket. But as you turned the corner, the sight at your door stopped you in your tracks.

There was a man slumped against your doorframe, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms tucked inside the pocket of his hoodie. His head was tipped back against the wooden door, with his hoodie covering half his face.

“Jeno?” you called out hesitantly, your voice breaking the silence.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, but then they locked onto yours. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. He looked tired, disheveled, possibly tipsy. You wondered if it was because he was drunk that he’d fallen asleep at your door, or was it because he was waiting too long. What if it was both?

Your chest tightened with frustration and longing. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the door for support. He took a step toward you and rested his head on your shoulder, staying there for a moment, sighing as if relieved just to be near you.

“I needed to see you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. Everything in you wanted to ask him why, but the words wouldn’t come. And at that moment, it felt like nothing was really over—not yet at least.

It had been only three days since the last time Jeno was at your flat, but you hadn’t realized how empty those three days were until now.

You lay on your side, facing each other. The space between you was small but it felt like a mile. Jeno’s eyes were steady, almost searching, as though he was trying to gauge the thoughts swimming in your head. His fingers idly twirled the ends of your hair, a familiar gesture that once made you feel at home but now left you teetering on the edge of something fragile and painful.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.

Your chest tightened. “You’re drunk,” you said, forcing your words to come out steady.

He gave you a faint, tired smile. “A little,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I missed you more when I was sober.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill, your throat tightening as you swallowed them down. “Why are you here, Jeno?”

“To see you.” He hesitated, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, soft and tentative. “And to apologize.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

“For being a bad boyfriend,” he said, his words quiet but heavy, as though they carried the weight of something he couldn’t yet say out loud.

“Go to sleep, Jeno,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with exhaustion more than anger. Without waiting for a response, you turned your back to him, facing the opposite side of the bed.

You felt the mattress shift behind you. His arm slid under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you into him until your back was flush against his chest. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. The way he held you, firm but gentle, told you everything he couldn’t.

Then again, maybe it was just your wishful thinking deluding you into believing that there was something there when really, there wasn’t.

Your body stiffened for a moment, your mind caught in a whirlwind of push and pull—of reasons to let go and reasons to stay. But eventually, you exhaled, sinking into the familiarity of him. It was easier than fighting the storm in your head. For now, you’d just ignore it.

His breath was soft and steady against the back of your neck, and soon enough, the rhythm lulled you to sleep. When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the sunlight spilling through the curtains. The second thing was the steady rise and fall of Jeno’s chest against your back, his arms still wrapped securely around you.

You stayed like that for a while, and neither of you was in any hurry to move. It felt normal like any other lazy morning you’d spent together. Eventually, Jeno stirred, his voice still husky with sleep as he asked, “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your throat dry. You didn’t turn to face him. “Why are you still here?”

“Did I overstay my welcome already?” he quipped, his tone light, though his arms tightened ever so slightly around you.

You didn’t answer. The words felt too complicated to untangle so early in the morning. Instead, you reached for your phone on the bedside table, scrolling aimlessly through nothing. Jeno’s chin came to rest on your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said flatly, locking your phone again.

He hummed. “Look at me then.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He huffed, tightening his arms around your waist. “What’s wrong? Woke up on the wrong side of bed?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “More like woke up with the wrong guy in bed.”

“Oh?” he asked, amused. “Who were you hoping to wake up with this morning?”

“Not you, obviously.”

“Alright, fine. I’m leaving,” he said, sighing. But he didn’t leave, instead, he grabbed your phone, tossed it aside and pulled you back on the bed with him.

For a moment, it was quiet again, but not uncomfortable. He kissed your forehead. “So… did you have fun at Karina’s thing?”

“It was fine,” you said, staring at the ceiling. “Everyone was there. Jaemin was annoying, Giselle was—well, Giselle. Ningning came too.”

“Must have been fun,” he scoffed. “They still hate me?”

“They never hated you, Jeno. They simply didn’t like you.”

“Comforting,” he said dryly.

“Well, you don’t exactly make an effort to try to be friendly with them.” Not to mention, your friends disliked how Jeno often stressed you out with how terrible he was at being a proper boyfriend, but you didn’t want to tell him that.

“I’m friends with Jaemin,” he countered, the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to ignore.

“You’re friends in-game. That doesn’t count,” you huffed, sitting up. “If you wanna be liked by them—no. Actually, if you wanna be a proper part of my life, you should at least try to get along with my friends.”

Jeno propped himself up on his elbow, flashing a mischievous grin at you. “Are you saying you want to try again with me?”

There are about a dozen—no, a hundred—ways he could try to win you back. This wasn’t one of them. If only he’d try to talk about this like an adult, like he was serious about this, but this is Jeno. What were you even expecting from someone like him?

“Go home, Jeno,” you huffed, stepping down from the bed.

Jeno followed after you, trapping you in his embrace once more. You squirmed against his hold, trying to shake him off, but he only pulled you closer, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Then he let out a sigh and the playfulness that laced his tone just now seemed to dissipate in the air. It was as if everything—the break, the distance, the issues you never talked about—had finally caught up to him and was weighing him down just as much as it did you. You wanted to believe that was true.

“Please,” he whispered, so softly it was almost swallowed by the silence. His voice cracked slightly, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry. Just… please. Don’t make me leave. I want to stay here… with you.”

Your heart twisted, caught between the instinct to push him away and the aching pull of his sincerity. But you didn’t move. Instead, you exhaled shakily, your voice barely audible. “Jeno…”

But before you could finish, he added, “I love you.”

“What?” Your voice cracked, the disbelief hitting you harder than you expected. You stepped back sharply, pressing your palms against his chest to create space. “How can you say that?”

Jeno met your gaze and there was no mistaking the anguish on his face. “It’s true.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean it’s true?” you asked, your voice sharp. “You don’t just get to say that, Jeno. You don’t get to show up here, after everything, and tell me you love me like it’ll fix things.”

He flinched at the edge in your tone, but he didn’t back down. “But I do,” he said quietly, almost desperately. “I love you.”

You shook your head, the heat rising in your chest. “Do you even know what that means? Or is this just another one of your ways to make me take you back? Say it and I’ll forgive you, is that it?”

“No!” Jeno’s voice rose, and for a moment, it seemed like he didn’t even know how to defend himself. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You can start by explaining,” you shot back, your voice trembling. “Why now? Why couldn’t you say it before? Why wait until we’re—”

“I don’t know! Damn it!” Jeno cut you off, his voice breaking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the emotion in his words spilling out in raw, uneven waves. “I just know I missed you so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Every second, every stupid little thing reminded me of you, and I didn’t know what to do. I just know I missed you. So fucking much I was losing my mind.”

His confession hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You felt like you were drowning, your own anger and hurt mingling with the unmistakable ache of wanting him too.

“Jeno…” you started, but the words died in your throat as he stepped closer. His eyes burned with frustration and longing, and before you could say anything else, his hands cupped your face.

“I know I messed up,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I know I don’t deserve this, but I—”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was fiery and unrestrained, driven by everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit. His lips pressed against yours with a desperation that stole the air from your lungs. His hands even trembled slightly as they tangled in your hair.

For a moment, you froze, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. But then your restraints failed you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as though that could make sense of the chaos swirling between you.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly nothing else mattered—no words, no explanations. Just the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his hands traced over your skin as if trying to memorize you all over again. 

Jeno backed you against the edge of the bed, his lips never leaving yours as his hands slid down to your waist. The emotions—anger, longing, love—pushed you both past the point of no return. When your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, his forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice strained but gentle. “If you don’t want this, just say the word.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled him down into another kiss, letting the storm of emotions take over. Words would only complicate things. For now, you needed this—you needed him.

“I love you,” he rasped in your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress, tugging it over your head in one motion.

He tossed your dress aside, and it landed somewhere across the room. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, and intense, taking you in as if committing every detail to memory. As if he needed to—you were sure he’d memorized every part of you by now.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you met his gaze boldly, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, lingering over the firm muscles and supple skin. You kissed his shoulder and collarbone, savoring how he tensed under your touch.

Jeno leaned to meet your lips, his weight pressing against you deliciously, and you arched into him, gasping as his lips found the hollow of your throat. His hands roamed your body, exploring the length of your skin until he reached your core. He knew exactly what to do—knew exactly how you liked being touched down there. And the expert motions of his fingers made you delirious with desire, your nails dragging across his back and leaving faint red trails.

“Jeno…” you moaned into his ear, holding on to him for dear life as you bucked your hips forward to meet the movements of his fingers.

You missed his touch—every caress seemed to awaken a bolder side of you, more feral, and more desperate. When his lips found yours again, you tugged him forward, moulding your lips together in a fervent kiss. 

“I’ve missed you, babe,” he breathed, caressing your cheek. “I was so lost without you.”

He planted a quick kiss on your lips before sitting up to discard his shirt and unbuckled his jeans. He then hovered over you, gaze so enrapturing, you genuinely thought you’d spiral into a climax if he kept at it.

I should stop this, you thought to yourself. Before it consumes me entirely.

But it was genuinely so hard to make rational decisions when his hand was on your bosom, squeezing with just the perfect amount of force while his teeth grazed your other nipple delightfully. And as he tugged his jeans off his waist and his manhood sprang free from the confines of his underwear, your rationality fell apart. It shouldn’t be a surprise. You had never been good at listening to reason in the first place.

Soon, the room was filled with the lewd sound of your moans and skin slamming against skin. You clung onto him, rocking to meet his hips. He was thrusting and kissing you at the same time, trailing kisses on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone and your breasts. And when a particularly hard push made you whimper in both pain and pleasure, Jeno shushed you gently, reminding you that the walls were thinner in this apartment complex.

“Is it good, baby?” he asked, licking your earlobe after.

You shivered delightfully. “More. More, Jeno. Please.”

He let out a feral grunt. “Fuuuck.”

He pulled back, tugged you by the waist, and hoisted you up so you were on all fours—all in a matter of seconds. Then without warning, he shoved himself back inside you, making you let out a sweet little cry. He then rammed into you, relentlessly, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck as he pressed your cheek on the mattress. You muffled your own moans by burying your face on the sheets, your head spiraling with intense pleasure.

Soon, you felt your body twitching with the tease of release, eyes blurring with tears caused by overstimulation. Then in no time, waves of euphoria tore through you, stealing all the strength from your limbs. Jeno didn’t stop, chasing his own high until you heard that familiar grunt, the sudden emptiness when he pulled out, followed by hot stuff spurting on the skin of your back.

You both collapsed on the bed, out of breath, mildly weakened, but both basking on a delightful high. Jeno rolled over on his side, smiling when he met your gaze.

“Did you like that?” he asked, his smile turning smug.

You scoffed, refusing to admit it. “Meh. It was okay,” you said flatly, making him laugh.

His laugh was soft, the kind that vibrated through you, and when he kissed the side of your head, it was sweet. Sweet enough to distract you from realizing that you had just walked into a new phase in your relationship with Jeno. You didn’t know at the time, but it was a phase that would leave you reeling in both bliss and misery.

The first few days with Jeno back in your life felt like a dream. He texted back almost immediately, sometimes with silly jokes or memes or selfies he took of himself. For once, he made plans himself instead of leaving it to you. He still wasn’t the most punctual, but you noticed the effort, and it was enough.

More than that, it was the little things—the thoughtful way he’d text ‘I love you’ unprompted, or the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. It felt like he was finally trying, and for a while, you allowed yourself to hope. But then, the cracks never failed to show themselves.

At first, it was small things. A delayed reply here, a forgotten promise there. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was busy. He had mentioned working on a big school project, and you didn’t want to seem clingy.

But the doubts crept in. One night, as you sat beside him, his phone buzzed incessantly. He sighed and picked it up, muttering something about it being distracting. Over his shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the screen—messages, mostly from girls.

You tried to play it cool, but the knot in your stomach tightened as you noticed just how many there were. Though he never replied, the sight of all those names made your chest ache.

“Why are they even messaging you?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“I don���t know. Probably because I’m not at the party,” Jeno replied as he glanced at you09, his expression softening as he set his phone down. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t even know half of these people. You’re the only one I need,” he chimed, snuggling closer against you as the movie played on.

The next day, his social media accounts went private. He mentioned it casually, saying he didn’t want random people messaging him anymore. It was a small gesture, but it made you feel better.

For a little while, things were good again. Then, you heard about the girl from his class. She’d been hitting on him, according to one of your friends. When you brought it up, Jeno waved it off like it was nothing.

“Don’t worry about her,” he had said, brushing his hand over yours. “She knows I’m with you.”

But the doubts didn’t go away. Especially not when he started responding to your texts less frequently. You told yourself he was just busy, but your heart whispered otherwise. One afternoon, frustrated and restless, you found yourself walking past his building. You weren’t even sure why you were there, but as you glanced toward an empty classroom, you saw Jeno.

He was sitting at a table with a few other people, his head bent over some notes. Beside him was the girl your friend had mentioned, leaning in a little too close, her laughter ringing out loud enough for you to hear even from where you stood.

The sight stopped you in your tracks for a whole minute. You took out your phone and snapped a photo before walking away, hoping no one noticed you. By the time he met you that evening, your thoughts were a storm you couldn’t contain.

“So, you’re working on your project?” you started, your tone sharper than you intended.

Jeno blinked, taken aback. “Yeah, why?”

“With her?” you asked, showing the photo you took of them.

He froze for a moment, then sighed. “It’s a group project. I can’t control who’s in the group or where they sit.”

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms. “And you couldn’t text me back because you were too busy sitting next to her?”

“Come on, babe, it’s not like that,” he said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “Let’s not fight about this.”

“It’s just exhausting. It feels like I’m always the one waiting, Jeno! Waiting for you to text back, waiting for you to choose me over—whatever this is.”

“Choose you?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “I’m here, aren’t I? I barely even talk to any other girl who isn’t you. What more do you want from me?”

“I want to stop feeling like this!” you burst out, your voice trembling. “Like I’m always second-guessing where I stand with you.”

“You’re not second-guessing me. You’re doubting me because you can’t seem to stop looking for reasons to.”

“That’s not what this is, Jeno,” you said, but your voice wavered.

“It is,” he said firmly, his eyes hardening. “You don’t trust me, and that’s not my problem.”

His words cut deeper than you’d expected. For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure if you were hurt or furious—or both. “Fine,” you said finally, your voice cold. “Since this is a ‘me’ problem, maybe we should stop this. Maybe you’re right—I’m the problem, and this isn’t going to work.”

His eyes widened, his expression faltering. For a moment, you thought he might reach out or say something to stop you. But he didn’t.

“I don’t wanna see you again, Jeno.”

You turned and walked away, your steps quick and determined, your heart breaking a little more with each one. Behind you, Jeno stayed rooted to the spot, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t look back.

A few days later, you found yourself back on campus, trying not to think about Jeno. It wasn’t easy. Everywhere you went, it felt like something reminded you of him—the bench where you’d shared lunch, the library corner where he once dozed off while you studied, even the vending machine he’d kicked to get you a stuck drink.

You were heading to class when a snippet of conversation stopped you in your tracks.

“Jeno? Oh god, don’t even get me started with that guy,” a girl said, her voice carrying in the quiet hallway.

Curiosity piqued, you slowed your steps, pretending to check your phone as you listened. You recognized Belle, the subject of your last argument with Jeno which eventually led to the break up—though you had to admit she wasn’t the main reason for it, just a catalyst.

“I took that class just so I could try getting close with him. I don’t know if he’s tactless or just truly indifferent, but I’m sick of it,” she continued.

“Are you serious?” her friend asked, incredulous. “Girl, that’s insane. I didn’t think you’d go that far for a guy. And he had a girlfriend too.”

“I knew that. I didn’t think they were serious. He’s never been tied down by a relationship before, you know?” Belle sighed, pouting. “And then I heard they broke up. I thought maybe I’d have a chance, but... he kind of shot me down. Said he wasn’t interested and that I should find someone else to bother. He was kinda rude about it too.”

Her friend chimed in, “That’s rough. What if they were serious and he’s just not over her yet?”

Belle shrugged. “Who cares? I’m over that guy. Although I did notice he seemed a bit down these days. If that’s true, then she’s one lucky girl. Making a loyal boyfriend out of Jeno and all that.”

The ache in your chest tightened. You already knew deep inside you that Jeno didn’t deserve the blame. And hearing this now just confirmed that the pieces didn’t fit the narrative you’d convinced yourself of. You turned and walked away before you could hear any more.

In his own way, the only way he knew how, Jeno was trying to make things work with you. Looking back now, you might have overreacted, though you still tried to justify it to yourself—to tell yourself that your feelings were valid and he should have done a better job of reassuring you.

Still, the doubt gnawed at you until later that evening when you found yourself in Giselle’s apartment. She had a way of prying things out of you, and it didn’t take long before you were spilling the whole story.

“So, you broke up with him because he wasn’t responding to your texts and because of that girl?” Giselle asked, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitated, feeling a bit ridiculous now that you said it out loud. “It wasn’t just that. It’s… everything. I keep feeling like I’m not enough for him, like he’s always got one foot out the door.”

Giselle frowned, setting down her mug. “Look, your feelings are valid. You deserve to feel secure in a relationship. But… don’t you think you might’ve been a little impulsive this time?”

“Impulsive?” you echoed, defensive.

“I’m just saying, did Jeno actually do anything to deserve your suspicion?” she asked gently. “From what you told me, Jeno didn’t do anything wrong. He can’t help it if girls still try to hit on him, and it sounds like he’s been making an effort to shut them down. Setting his socials to private? That’s huge for someone like him.”

You stayed silent, biting your lip.

“And from what I’ve seen, he’s head over heels for you. Maybe it’s time to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she added. “Look, you already know Jeno’s always had a reputation, even before you two started dating. He’s that guy—aloof but fun, hot and charismatic, all the girls want him. But now that he’s with you, it’s like no one else got the memo. That’s not his fault, though. And honestly, I think he’s trying. Maybe you should talk to him instead of assuming the worst.”

Her words lingered with you long after you left her apartment. Swallowing your pride, you found yourself standing outside Jeno’s unit. Your heart raced as you texted him, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard before finally pressing send.

You: Can we talk?

His reply came quicker than you expected.

Jeno: Are you outside? You: How did you know? Jeno: I was hoping you were. Jeno: Wait, you are?

The door in front of you swung open, revealing a wide-eyed, slightly disheveled Jeno. His eyes lit up briefly, the corner of his lips twitching with a faint smile before he masked it with a casual shrug. You waved awkwardly, your embarrassment battling the small rush of relief at seeing him after several days apart.

Jeno cleared his throat, straightened up, and crossed his arms as he leaned lazily against the doorframe. You couldn’t help smirking at his obvious attempt to appear unbothered.

That made him raise an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Oh,” you fumbled, swallowing hard. “I, um… Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What?” You blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

“No, you can’t.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” you shot back, trying to steady your voice despite the growing irritation. You stood there for a second, looking down at your shoes. You didn’t wanna waste any time, but the words wouldn’t come out of your lips.

“If there’s nothing else, then—” Jeno began, moving to close the door, but you darted forward, grabbing the doorknob to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the words tumbling out faster than you’d intended. You looked up at him, your heart pounding. “I think I might’ve overreacted. About… everything.”

Jeno’s expression didn’t soften immediately. His brows were slightly furrowed, his hand still on the door. “Oh, you think?” he said, his tone neutral.

“No, I mean, I know I did. I just… I get in my own head sometimes,” you admitted, stepping back. “I start overthinking things, and I end up pushing you away when what I really want is to pull you closer.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping closer. “You think I don’t overthink too? I feel like I’m screwing up every time I see the disappointment in your face. Even if you tried to hide it.”

You looked at him, surprised.

“I know I’m not the best at this—at us,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know what to tell you, except that I want you and I love you. And everyone else are just… potatoes.”

You chuckled before you could even stop yourself. Jeno simply gawked at you, as if he had no idea what was so funny. For a while, neither of you said anything, just standing there face to face—you with a smile on your face and him with a pout. Then, finally, you spoke. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jeno didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as though afraid you’d slip away again. “I’m sorry too. I should do better.”

“Yeah, you should,” you quipped, wrapping your arms around him and closing your eyes to bask in the warmth you’d grown so fond of.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “So damn much.”

You hummed, eyes fluttering open. “Can I come in now?” you quipped, making Jeno pull away with a grin. Without a word, he pulled you inside, finding your lips in the dimly lit apartment and kicking the door behind him.

And just like that, the cycle repeated.

You got back together. For a while, things were good. Sweet texts, stolen kisses, quiet nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. But eventually, something would come up—another fight, another misunderstanding—and you’d break up again. Then you’d find yourselves back here, trying to piece things together, neither of you quite willing to let go.

“It’s bad. You were never the patient type, but with him? You’ve got the patience of a saint,” Karina remarked, shaking her head after yet another breakup. “I don’t even know if I should be proud of you or worried.”

“How many times has it been this month?” Jaemin asked, his eyes fixed on his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

Karina shot him a look. “Excuse me, Jaemin. In case you didn’t notice, you’re not part of this conversation. We know for a fact that you’re playing a game with Jeno right now, Traitor.”

Jaemin smirked, barely glancing up. “We’re only buddies in-game. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You rolled your eyes at their banter, though you could feel the weight of Karina’s words sinking in. They weren’t wrong. It was bad.

Still, you and Jeno persisted. Despite everything, there were moments when you felt like the luckiest person alive. The way he’d send you voice messages of a song stuck in his head just because it reminded him of you, or how he’d show up with your favorite snacks after a long day, made your heart flutter. Those little things kept you going.

But then there were the other moments. The times when he’d brush off something that mattered to you, his inconsistency leaving you feeling unsteady. He drove you crazy in all the ways someone could—sometimes in the best way, but often in the worst.

The breaking point came when you almost failed a class. You’d spent the entire week crying over yet another breakup with Jeno, replaying every fight, every unresolved argument, until the deadline for your paper had come and gone. When you logged into the portal and saw the glaring red INCOMPLETE notification, it felt like the universe was screaming at you to wake up.

Karina wasn’t subtle when she confronted you about it. “You’re throwing your future away over a guy,” she said, her voice sharp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “A guy who clearly doesn’t have his shit together either.”

Giselle chimed in, softer but no less firm. “We get it. You love him, and he loves you, but this? This has to stop, hon. He’s obviously bad for you.”

You wanted to argue, to defend Jeno, but the truth was staring back at you. You couldn’t deny it anymore: you’d been neglecting yourself, stretching yourself thin, just to hold onto something that was already slipping through your fingers.

Luckily, you were given a makeup project to salvage your grade. You spent hours on it, giving it your best, reminding yourself that you may have done averagely ever since you started college, but you’d never had a failed grade before. The paper was submitted, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of pride. But you knew that wasn’t enough. This wasn’t just about school anymore. It was about you.

And so, you made the decision to let Jeno go. It wasn’t easy—it never was—but it was necessary. It was what you needed. For the first time in months, you chose yourself. The day you broke up with him was quieter than you expected. No shouting, no grand gestures, just two people staring at each other, knowing it was over.

“I wish it could’ve worked,” Jeno said, his voice low.

“Me too,” you replied, your heart aching as you turned away.

He didn’t chase after you—not that he ever did each time you broke up. That was disappointing, but also clarifying. If he wasn’t willing to fight for this, then why were you fighting so hard?

When you told your friends, Giselle nearly cried, while Karina popped open a bottle of champagne as if you’d just announced your graduation.

“Nine months!” Karina exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock disbelief. “Nine whole months!”

Jaemin raised a finger, grinning mischievously. “Eleven if we count the hooking-up phase.”

“Wow, that’s almost a year,” Karina sneered, turning to you. “You really must have been insane.”

Giselle snorted, nudging Karina with her elbow. “Come on, she wasn't insane—just a little too crazy in love.”

“To a brighter future and fewer sleepless nights,” Jaemin declared, raising his glass dramatically before handing you one.

“Not just fewer,” Karina added, leaning closer with a grin. “None. You deserve to sleep like a queen, babe.”

Their laughter and cheers filled the room. You took a sip of the champagne, its fizz tickling your nose. For a moment, you let yourself bask in the comfort of their joy, the love they poured into lifting your spirits.

Jaemin raised his glass again with a smirk. “And for surviving our second year of college in one piece. Barely.”

You all laughed. “Hear! Hear!”

Even with the bubbly warmth of their company, the ache lingered quietly in your chest, a reminder of everything you’d let go. Letting go wasn’t the same as forgetting. It never was.

Still, as the cheap champagne bubbled on your tongue and your friends’ laughter rang in your ears, you felt something shift. It wasn’t healing, not yet, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

When you walked down the halls of NCIT in the first semester of your third year, you were overcome with the oddest sense of unfamiliarity. The chatter and bustle were all the same, yet it felt distant, like watching an old memory play out from the sidelines. The walls, the quad, the staircases—everything looked the same from when you last saw them, but unfamiliar. It was like stepping back into a life you’d left behind a long time ago.

But then, as you turned a corner, the reason for this weird unease became clear. There he was—Lee Jeno, leaning against the staircase with his friends. He hadn’t changed at all. Then again, it had only been six weeks since you saw him last.

A voice from behind you cut through your thoughts. “Yo, Jeno!”

Jeno’s head turned at the call, and his eyes met yours. For a split second, neither of you moved. But just as quickly, you looked away and turned in the opposite direction. You didn’t wait to see if he reacted, your feet carrying you toward your classroom hastily.

Time is a strange thing. Sometimes it rushes past, stealing days and months before you even notice. Other times, it drags slowly, each minute stretching endlessly as if it wanted you to feel and experience every passing second. People say time moves faster when you’re happy, slower when you’re not. With Jeno, it felt like both.

You hadn’t realized how much time you’d spent with him until it was over. Eleven months. Almost a year. It felt like a lifetime and a moment all at once.

“Eleven months. I really was out of my mind,” you muttered to yourself as you sank into your seat. Shaking your head, you lightly smacked your own cheek, hoping to jolt yourself out of the spiral. As you did, you caught sight of the guy sitting next to you, watching your antics. You blinked, embarrassed but mostly surprised. “Renjun?”

“Hi,” he greeted, flashing a smile that you remembered all too well—sweet, beautiful, angelic. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you agreed, chuckling awkwardly. “How have you been?”

“Good,” he said, shrugging. “Same as always.”

You leaned closer, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Still out there unintentionally breaking hearts?”

Renjun’s laugh was awkward, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Uh, no. Not that I know of.”

“Oh, good. That’s great then,” you chuckled, turning your attention in front. There was a pause, one that was more awkward than expected. You turned back to him and said, “Not a good subject to bring up after not seeing each other for a long time, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, chuckling, this time genuinely. “It’s good to see you again, though.”

“I know. It’s good to see you too,” you echoed, smiling at him just as the professor walked into the hall. Your conversation ended, replaced by occasional glances and small smiles. After class, Renjun caught up with you outside, falling into step beside you.

“Where are you headed?” he asked casually.

“The cafeteria,” you replied. “Meeting my friends. You?”

“Same. I heard they’re serving pasta today,” he said, his voice light.

You didn’t say anything for a while and just wondered why you were having this conversation. But when Renjun kept walking with you without saying anything, it suddenly clicked. “Do you wanna… join us?” you asked.

His face lit up, the sheepish smile returning. “Are you sure? You’re with your friends…”

You waved your hand dismissively. “It’s alright. I’m sure they’d love to see you. It’s been a while for them, too.”

His smile grew. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

As expected, your friends were thrilled to see Renjun again. He was the center of attention the whole time during lunch, with them asking why they didn’t see him at all year. Giselle said they had a class together though, so it was just you and your other friends. And when that was over, you all went your own ways but Renjun didn’t forget to wish you a good day.

The next day, you ran into him again as you left your morning class. He was leaning against the wall near the door, scrolling through his phone, and looked up when he saw you. His familiar smile lit up his face. “Hi, where are you headed?”

“I’m going to the library,” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag. ���I need to do some reading for an assignment.”

Renjun seemed skeptical. “Willingly?”

“What does that mean?” you asked, chuckling.

“Nothing. Just…” He didn’t finish, just shrugged and grinned knowingly.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t waver. “Hey, I still go there sometimes. Just because I’m not glued to it like in freshman year doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to read.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, nodding toward the hallway. “Alright, let’s go, bookworm.”

The walk to the library felt oddly nostalgic, like slipping into an old routine. You had easy conversations, talking about your summer break, your professors, and everything in between. It wasn’t until you were both settled at a table in the far corner of the library that it hit you how much you’d missed this—just sitting and talking with Renjun.

“I forgot how nice and quiet this place is,” you said, looking around at the tall shelves and the quiet students scattered throughout the room.

“Did you seriously not come here at all last semester?” he teased, propping his chin on his hand.  “You practically lived here back then.”

“I might have. Maybe once, I’m not sure,” you murmured. “It shames me to say this now, but I only hung out here back then because of you. I was never a library person from the start.”

Renjun smiled. “I see. That’s a relief, then. I sometimes wonder if you stopped coming here because of what happened back then.”

You shook your head, grimacing sheepishly. The library had been your shared space, a sanctuary from the chaos of campus life. It was also where you’d spent countless hours pretending to study while sneaking glances at him, your freshman crush growing stronger with every thoughtful smile he sent your way. But that was a long time ago. So much had changed since then. 

Still, as the afternoon wore on, the ease between you remained. You left the library with a faint smile, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to drop by more often.

t started small: an invitation to grab lunch in the cafeteria after class. Then coffee at your favorite café the following week. And before you knew it, you were spending more time with Renjun.

One afternoon, as you walked across the quad with him and Giselle, Renjun gestured toward the fountain in the center. “Got time before your next class?” he asked casually. “We could sit for a bit.”

You nodded without hesitation this time. The sunlit quad, the quiet murmur of students passing by—it was your favorite time to hang around the quad. 

As you made your way to the fountain, Giselle discreetly nudged your elbow, turning your attention briefly to a group gathered under the shade of a tree by the library. Jeno was there with a few other students, talking and laughing together. He looked happy, normal. The sight lingered in your mind, but it didn’t stop your feet from moving forward.

Renjun glanced at you as you reached the fountain. “Here okay?” he asked, gesturing to a sunny spot on the stone ledge.

You smiled and sat down. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

He settled beside you, resting his elbows on his knees, and the conversation picked up where it had left off. Renjun had a way of drawing people in through conversations of substance—the kind that made you want to keep talking to him. He listened intently, not just waiting for his turn to speak but genuinely engaging, even when your opinions clashed. He laughed in all the right places, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and when you stumbled over your words, he didn’t interrupt—just waited, his expression patient and encouraging.

After that day, spending time with Renjun became part of your routine. Sometimes it was lunch in the cafeteria with Giselle and Jaemin, Renjun effortlessly fitting in with your friends as though he’d never left. Other times, it was just the two of you, wandering the library aisles or lingering in the campus café over iced lattes and pastries.

He had a knack for noticing the little things. Once, he brought you an extra pen during a study session because he remembered you’d mentioned running out of ink. Another time, when you’d complained about skipping lunch to meet a deadline, he’d shown up with a neatly packed sandwich and insisted you eat while he proofread your work.

Despite all this, you didn’t think much of it. Romance was the last thing on your mind—you were still quietly dealing with your own tangled feelings, and getting involved with someone new seemed far too complicated. That is until Renjun brought it up.

You were sitting under a tree near the quad, sipping iced coffees he’d insisted on treating you to.

“This is nice,” he said, leaning back against the trunk. “It’s like freshman year all over again.”

You chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Yeah, except it’s less embarrassing and delusional.”

Renjun chuckled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t embarrassing back then.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at your own expense. “Forget it. We’re way past that now.”

“I missed hanging out with you, you know,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “You were my favorite study buddy.”

The words caught you off guard. You laughed, a little uncertain. “Wow, didn’t know you were this sentimental, Renjun.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve missed having you around. And now that we’re spending time together again... I think I like you.”

You blinked, your smile faltering. “What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, his gaze steady. “Romantically, I mean.”

The memory of freshman year came rushing back—his soft rejection, your embarrassment, the way you’d quietly drifted apart afterward.

“I’m not saying I’m in love with you or anything—it’s too soon for that,” he added quickly. “But I know I like you. If that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll understand. Just tell me now, and we’ll stay how we are. No pressure.”

You hesitated, studying him. Renjun had always been kind, always thoughtful. You should’ve been wary, but something in his voice, in the way he looked at you, made you hesitate.

“I’m not sure,” you finally admitted. “If I like you that way.”

Renjun nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Can I try?” he asked. “To see if there’s something here?”

“I’m not really in the right headspace for something like this right now.”

He shrugged. “If it’s alright with you, I can wait. I wasn’t really thinking about rushing things. I just thought I should let you know.”

You stared at him, weighing the possibilities.  It was funny to think how over a year ago, you’d been in this exact position—but on the other side of the conversation. Back then, it had been you confessing your feelings, your heart on the line. Now, as you looked at Renjun, his soft eyes warm yet expectant, you realized this was how he looked at someone he liked. You didn’t know he could get any cuter than he already was.

It was strange how much had changed since then. But maybe that was the point—you weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

“Alright,” you said, your lips curving into a tentative smile. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Renjun’s face lit up, his smile so genuine it made your heart ache a little. And just like that, the two of you began again—not as the people you were back then, but as the people you were now.

And just like that, things changed. Subtly at first—a shift so gradual you almost didn’t notice it. But Renjun’s efforts were unmistakable.

He didn’t just invite you to hang out anymore; he planned outings carefully. One weekend, he suggested a trip to the city’s botanical garden. It wasn’t flashy or extravagant, but the way he lit up as he explained how the seasonal blooms were at their peak made it hard to say no. Walking alongside him through the rows of beautiful flowers, you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

On a rare free weekend, he suggested visiting a nearby art café you hadn’t heard of. “They host live acoustic sets,” he explained as you settled into a cozy nook. The atmosphere was intimate, the music soothing, and Renjun seemed entirely at ease, sipping his coffee and asking your opinion on a mural hanging near the stage.

Sometimes the dates were simpler. A shared umbrella as the two of you made your way to a nearby ramen shop during a surprise downpour. A quiet evening in the music room, where he played the piano while you hummed along to a melody you vaguely recognized. And the night he showed up at your door with a small box of your favorite cake, claiming he was ‘just in the neighborhood.’

When you mentioned your stress over upcoming exams, he showed up with two steaming cups of tea and a promise to help quiz you. “Let’s keep it efficient,” he had said with a light but focused tone. He set up a study session so structured it felt more like a strategy meeting. You were whining half the time, but his calm encouragement made you feel strangely at ease.

Each moment with Renjun felt thoughtful, deliberate, as though he’d carefully considered how to make you feel seen and cared for. He had always been nice, always considerate. But now, there was an added purpose to it—an effort to win you over that didn’t go unnoticed.

And though romance wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, you couldn’t help but notice how much you enjoyed the moments he created. With him, there was no pressure, no expectations. It was easy to enjoy his company for what it was: a quiet comfort, a welcome distraction from everything else.

One day, while you were at the café with your friends, Renjun handed you a pair of tickets to the Fine Arts Department’s exhibit. “I thought it’d be nice to go together again this year,” he said, handing you the stub with a sheepish grin.

Jaemin, seated across from you, immediately perked up. “Oh-ho,” he drawled, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face as he leaned forward. “I see. Someone has taken my responsibility of providing tickets for her every year.”

“What?” Renjun blinked, looking genuinely puzzled. “You used to—?”

Jaemin interrupted with a quick pat on Renjun’s back, his grin widening. “You’re doing great. Keep at it.”

Giselle laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just stirring the pot, as usual.”

At the exhibit, the group stayed close as you explored the gallery, admiring the work on display. Renjun, however, never strayed far from your side. Your friends were there to support Jaemin, whose entries were finally being showcased, and he looked proud but uncharacteristically modest as you wandered from piece to piece.

The pieces were captivating, and you found yourself genuinely moved, especially upon seeing that Jaemin had a solo shot of you on display as one of his entries—a 16x20 photograph of yourself displayed on one of the walls. Taken at your favorite spot on the campus quadrangle, the image captured you sitting on the grass, your head tilted back toward the sunlight, eyes closed with a radiant, unguarded smile on your face.

You gasped quietly, covering your mouth. “Na Jaemin,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “Is this why you asked me not to sue you for portrait rights last week?”

Jaemin’s grin spread slowly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You already promised. No take backsies.”

“Yeah, well, I’m suing,” Giselle cut in as she and Karina squinted at the next photo. “There is no solo shot of me.”

“Right?” Karina chimed in, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “This is the one photo where we’re in the frame, but you can barely see us because the building takes up three-quarters of it.”

Jaemin threw up his hands dramatically. “I was going for an artistic composition!”

“Artistic?!” Giselle shot back, mock-offended. “So, what, the building is more photogenic than us?”

Karina nodded solemnly, tapping her chin. “I’m starting to think he’s a fake friend.”

Jaemin groaned, looking to you for backup, but you only laughed. Watching him try to explain himself while your girl friends continued their lighthearted attack was too entertaining to interrupt.

Eventually, you turned to Renjun, who had stepped back slightly from the group, quietly observing. He was staring at your photo, his expression unreadable at first, but as you stepped closer, you caught the small, soft smile tugging at his lips.

“He’s really good,” Renjun said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. “The composition, the light—it’s simple, but it feels… honest. I can see why he saw fit to include this.”

You smiled, glancing at the photo. “He’s had plenty of practice taking pictures of me. I used to give him hell if he captured me at a bad angle.”

Renjun chuckled warmly. “That sounds just like you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. Renjun’s gaze lingered on the photograph, the golden flicker of the lights overhead casted a soft almost whimsical glow over his features. He looked surreally beautiful, like a painting come to life. For a brief moment, you wondered how things would have turned out if your timing with him had been different. Then, as quickly as the thought came, you brushed it aside and returned to the present. 

Renjun’s presence in your life now should be enough, you reminded yourself. He was thoughtful, steady, and sincere. Yet, no matter how much you tried to bury it, the shadow of your days with Jeno lingered in the back of your mind—a part of you that still missed the spontaneity and chaos Jeno had once brought into your life. You knew deep down that while your dates with Renjun were pleasant and lovely, you missed the spontaneous road trips you’d gone to with Jeno.

“We should move on,” you prompted, tugging his elbow. “I’m starting to think you’re a simp.”

He chuckled sheepishly. “A simp is too much.”

You continued wandering through the gallery, trading comments with Renjun and admiring the art. At some point, you’d lost track of your friends, but Renjun didn’t seem to mind. In fact, without the group’s chatter, he’d become more talkative and more forward.

And while he was occupied eyeing a particularly intriguing painting, you felt a strange pull to glance back toward the other side of the hall where your photo was hanging. Turning, your gaze landed on the figure standing in front of your photo. His stance was relaxed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted slightly as though he were studying every detail of the image.

Jeno.

There was no mistaking it. You’d recognize that silhouette anywhere—the broad shoulders, the way his weight shifted casually from one foot to the other. Seeing him there, staring at your photograph for so long, stirred something in you—hurt, frustration, and longing. 

What was he doing? Why was he staring at your face so openly like that? And what did it mean?

Then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Jeno turned slowly, meeting your gaze from across the hall. Time seemed to pause. He didn’t look away, and neither did you. From this distance, you couldn’t decipher the emotions in his expression—was it longing? Anger? Regret? You told yourself it didn’t matter, but deep down, you hoped there was something in those eyes.

Before you could dwell on it though, Renjun called your name, making you glance over your shoulder. “Should we check out the sculptures next?” he asked, his tone light as he gestured toward another section of the gallery.

You tore your eyes away from Jeno and turned to Renjun. His gentle smile and the steady warmth in his gaze felt like a lifeline, pulling you back to solid ground. Forcing a smile of your own, you nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And just like that, you left Jeno behind, walking forward beside someone who offered you peace, even as a storm still brewed somewhere deep inside your heart.

It was a lazy afternoon at Giselle’s apartment. The three of you were sprawled on her couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn on the table as the latest episode of your favorite show played in the background. But as usual, the conversation veered off topic, and soon you were talking about Renjun.

“Renjun’s a total sweetheart,” Karina said, her voice laced with admiration. “I mean, the way he looks at you? You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

Giselle, lounging against the armrest, threw a popcorn kernel into her mouth. “He’s sweet, no doubt. But…” She hesitated, as if weighing her words. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“I’m not jumping into anything,” you replied, your tone firm but not defensive. “I know I’m not ready for a relationship. I just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’m enjoying spending time with him. That’s all.”

Karina exchanged a look with Giselle, but neither pressed further. “Just don’t let anyone rush you,” Giselle finally said, her voice softer now. “Not even yourself.”

You nodded, offering a small smile in thanks. “I won’t.”

When the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and you had plans early the next morning. Rising from the couch, you grabbed your bag.

“I got to go,” you said, stretching. “My laundry needs ironing.”

“Or you could just run it in the dryer again and take it out as soon as it’s done,” Giselle suggested as you headed for the door. “No wrinkles, no need for ironing. It will save you some time.”

“You know what, I might do just that,” you beamed, giving them quick little hugs and pecks before leaving.

The ride down the elevator was uneventful at first. You leaned against the mirrored wall, scrolling through your phone, half-distracted by a string of unread notifications. Then, with a soft chime, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.

You froze as soon as you looked up.

Standing on the other side was Jeno. His hair was tousled, and he had the same familiar slouch you’d seen a hundred times before. For a moment, he seemed just as startled as you, his hand hovering over the elevator button like he hadn’t expected to see you either.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The door stayed open for what felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds before it began to close again. Still, neither of you made a move to stop it.

The moment broke as the elevator resumed its descent, and you let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your heart was pounding, the remnants of that brief, silent encounter lingering like static in the air.

When you stepped out of the building, the cool evening breeze hit your face, but it didn’t calm the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. You decided, then and there, that you wouldn’t visit Giselle’s apartment as often anymore. You weren’t ready to face Jeno—not like that, not when you couldn’t even trust yourself to stay unaffected by a mere elevator ride. For now, avoidance seemed like the safest option.

The next day, you met Renjun again for a study session. The library was unusually quiet, even for a weekday. Your usual spot by the large arched window felt more secluded than ever, sunlight spilling through the glass and illuminating the table where you and Renjun sat. He had just excused himself to browse the shelves for a book, leaving you to jot down notes in peaceful solitude.

Or so you thought.

“Boo.”

You nearly jumped out of your seat, twisting around to see Donghyuck grinning at you from the leather armchair behind your table. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d just woken up.

“Donghyuck?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed the disturbance. “What are you even doing here?”

He stretched lazily, letting out an exaggerated yawn. “Mark kicked me out.”

Your lips twitched into a smirk. “If that’s true, I’m baking him cookies to celebrate.”

“Ah, so brutal.” He slid into the seat across from you. “So, this is your life now? Hanging out with Nerdy McBlond every day?”

“Mind your own business,” you muttered, turning a page in your notebook.

But Donghyuck was nothing if not persistent. He leaned forward, lowering his voice deviously. “You know, I kinda miss the old you. The one who used to make out with Jeno in parking lots. Now that was entertainment.”

Your pen froze mid-sentence. Slowly, you looked up, grimacing in disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now? You’re such a pervert.”

Donghyuck clutched his chest, feigning offence. “Excuse me? You’re the ones who did it in the open. Why should I be called a pervert for enjoying a free show?” He leaned back on the chair, smirking. “Too bad you didn’t do it in your apartment, though. I would have loved to hear how you’d sound like when you getting—”

You kicked his leg under the table before he could finish, making him groan in pain, the sound prompting the attention of other students in the quiet library. You gave them apologetic smiles before turning back to Donghyuck and glaring at him.

In a low but agitated voice, you said, “Go away.”

Donghyuck didn’t move, lounging comfortably in his seat as his gaze flicked to something—or someone—behind you. You turned to see Renjun approaching, a thick book tucked under his arm, his curious eyes shifting between you and Donghyuck.

“Who’s your friend?” Renjun asked as he sat.

“Oh, he’s not my—” you paused, catching yourself. You exhaled. “Donghyuck. He’s a neighbor, and a pain.”

“Ah,” Renjun said, his tone neutral but his expression unimpressed.

“Can you fight?” Donghyuck asked abruptly, his smirk returning.

Renjun blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Never mind,” Donghyuck said, standing up with exaggerated flair. “I’ll leave you two to your thrilling world of books and productivity. Try not to bore each other to death.”

“Finally,” you huffed, shaking your head.

Donghyuck paused beside you, leaning down to whisper, “I’ll bet the last 20 bucks in my pocket that he’s vanilla as hell.”

You felt your cheeks flare, and without thinking, you picked up a book from your desk and hit Donghyuck’s arm with it. He left laughing, much to the librarian’s annoyance. 

Renjun chuckled softly, shaking his head as he settled back into his seat. “Is he always like that?”

“Worse,” you muttered, trying to focus on your notes again.

But Donghyuck's words about Jeno stayed with you, uninvited and unwelcome, scratching at the back of your mind. No matter how much you tried to brush it off, the mention of Jeno left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You hesitated at the entrance to Giselle’s apartment building, staring up at the familiar structure. You’d promised to drop by and help her with a last-minute project, but being here filled you with dread. He was somewhere inside, just a few floors away. Jeno. You told yourself the odds of running into him were slim, but the memory of that elevator encounter still clung to you, sharp and intrusive.

Still, you had no choice. Taking a deep breath, you stepped through the doors.

The visit went smoothly. You kept yourself busy, helping Giselle as best as you can. Your worries were momentarily forgotten until it was time to leave. Fortunately, you didn’t run into him and left the building uneventfully. But as you walked down the street, heading home, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You glanced at the screen, frowning at the unknown number before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um… is this Jeno’s girlfriend?” a male voice asked hesitantly.

You stiffened, your grip tightening on the phone. “No. It’s not.” You swallowed hard. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh,” the guy said, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t know. It’s just… Jeno’s really sick, and we don’t know what to do. He keeps saying he’s fine, but he’s burning up. We thought maybe you could—”

“Call an ambulance,” you interrupted firmly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I mean, it doesn’t seem that serious,” he stammered. “But he’s—”

You hung up, cutting him off. Shoving your phone into your pocket, you walked faster, forcing yourself not to look back.

But the farther you got, the heavier the knot in your stomach grew. You shouldn’t care. It wasn’t your problem anymore. Still, your mind betrayed you, replaying the image of Jeno sick and alone. Before you realized it, your fingers were already flying across your screen, calling back the unknown number. The dial tone grated through your eyes, making you grow restless with every beat.

“Where are you?” you asked as soon as the guy picked up. He told you they had just pulled up to Jeno’s apartment and without hesitation, your feet quickly changed direction, carrying you to him.

The door to his apartment creaked open as you stepped inside, and the scent that welcomed you was painfully familiar—woodsy with a faint hint of his cologne. You saw him slumped on the couch, pale and sweating, his head resting against the armrest. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Jeno,” you called softly, crouching beside him. His eyes fluttered open, barely focusing on you.

“Baby…” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Babe, is that you?”

“Don’t talk,” you murmured, your throat tight.

You spent the next hour taking care of him—dragging him into his bedroom, changing his sweat-soaked shirt, cooling his fever, coaxing him to drink water, and forcing him to rest. When he finally drifted off, you sank into the living room chair, staring at the familiar space. 

Everything looked exactly as it had the last time you were here. The blanket draped over the couch, the framed photo of you and him that you’d placed on the shelf—it all sent a bittersweet pang on your chest. You didn’t realize that in your time together, you’d made a cozy home of what used to be an empty and lifeless apartment.

The ache in your chest grew unbearable, so you decided to distract yourself. You thought about cooking something for him, but his fridge was nearly empty save for a few bottles of water, some beer cans, and what could possibly be a week-old pizza. So you stepped out to buy groceries, telling yourself it was just to make sure he had something to eat when he woke up.

By the time you returned, he was still sound asleep. You quietly worked in the small kitchen, making soup that filled the apartment with its comforting aroma. You were ladling it into a bowl when you felt a presence behind you.

Turning, you found Jeno leaning against the wall, watching you with a faint smile. His hair was disheveled, and he looked exhausted, but his eyes held that familiar warmth that made your knees weak.

“You’re awake,” you said sharply, masking the turmoil inside you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied, his voice low.

You turned back to the stove, focusing on the task at hand. “I made soup and picked up some bread. Eat something,” you told him, keeping your tone neutral.

Before you could step away, you felt his arms wrap around you from behind. His head dropped onto your shoulder, his breath warm against the crook of your neck.

You sighed, exasperated. “Jeno, don’t do this.”

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, his words cutting through your defenses.

Your hands gripped the counter as tears pricked your eyes. A quiet sob escaped before you could stop it, and you hated yourself for it—for still feeling so much.

And due to some hideous twist of fate—or simply your penchant for making bad decisions, the wall you’d put up between the two of you collapsed. His touch was too familiar, and his presence was too intoxicating. One moment you were telling yourself to leave, and the next, you were tangled with him in his bed, lost in the remnants of what you once had, and drowning in a storm you should have stayed far away from.

You and Jeno got back together, but it wasn’t the storybook reunion you’d secretly hoped for. Instead, it came with guilt, secrecy, and a gnawing sense of uncertainty that refused to leave your mind. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell your friends—how could you, after all they’d seen you go through all this time? Giselle had warned you to take your time, and Karina had all but sworn off Jeno for you. Telling them would mean confessing that you’d ignored every lesson you’d learned.

When you told Renjun you couldn’t return his feelings, he accepted it with a grace that only deepened your guilt. His words were sincere—he wished you happiness and hoped you’d be treated the way you deserved. Obviously, he means well, but as the saying goes, “you deserve what you tolerate.” Renjun had no idea what you’d been tolerating all this time.

Now you were starting to think you deserved it—every careless word, every moment of neglect. You tolerated it, didn’t you? And in doing so, hadn’t you silently agreed to it all?

At first, you convinced yourself it was different this time. Jeno was softer, more attentive. He held you close as if he feared you’d slip away again. You allowed yourself to believe he’d changed, that maybe love really was enough to fix things. But cracks began to show again, the same cracks that broke you apart before.

He was still Jeno—charming, but inconsistent. Passionate, but detached. He’d say all the right things but leave promises half-kept. When you tried to address your doubts, he’d dismiss them, brushing you off with half-assed words of assurance, a grin, or a kiss.

“Why are we even doing this if you don’t care?” you’d asked one evening, your voice trembling with frustration.

“I do care,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms. “You just overthink things sometimes.”

And just like that, the fight was over before it began.

It became a pattern. Every time you gathered the courage to end it, Jeno found a way to pull you back in. He wouldn’t let you go, his touch silencing your protests, his whispered apologies dulling your resolve. It was intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

One night, after yet another argument swept under the rug, you lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling. His arm draped lazily over your waist, and his soft breathing filled your ears. You realized then that nothing had changed. You were still walking on eggshells, still carrying the burden of a love that wasn’t enough.

The next morning, you woke up with a decision. It was time to confront your demons, time to let go for good. No more excuses. No more clinging to the remnants of a love that felt more like a habit than a home.

You walked into the conversation knowing it would hurt, but you also knew staying would hurt more.

“Let’s stop this. I’m done,” you told Jeno, your voice trembling but firm.

He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. It was so typically Jeno—calm, almost indifferent. You could almost see the thought bubble hovering above his head that reads: “Here we go again.”

“I’m serious, Jeno,” you said again, more forcefully this time. “I can’t do this anymore.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his lips curling into a half-smile that only fueled your frustration. “You’re always serious, but you never mean it,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Your stomach churned at his dismissal, but you held your ground. You had almost snapped, but you caught yourself and prevented what would have been a long and tiresome argument. “Well, I mean it this time,” you replied with a weary smile.

Jeno pushed off the counter, stepping closer to you. His eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the boy you’d fallen for, the boy who had once made you feel like you were the center of his world. He reached to cup your cheek, his gaze not leaving yours.

“I love you,” he said quietly,  as if the words alone could erase the pain, the fights, the endless cycle of promises and disappointments.

Your heart wavered at his admission, that same heart that had been broken and patched up too many times to count. It would have been so easy to fall for those words again, to let them soothe you like they always had. But this time, they weren’t enough. You stepped away from him.

“I thought you did too,” you replied bitterly.

Jeno reached for you, his hand hesitating in midair, but you took another step back before he could touch you. You thought you’d cry, that this would be an emotional conversation. But strangely enough, your eyes were dry despite the heaviness in your heart.

Jeno didn’t say anything, just stared at you as if he had no idea what was going on. You grabbed your bag on the couch and turned toward the door. With each step, your chest grew heavier, but you didn’t look back. Yes, you’d done this dozens of times before. Yes, you still went back in his arms each time. But you’d swore this would be the last time—that there will be no going back after this one.

By the time you reached Giselle’s apartment, you were barely composed, each breath making you more nauseous. You were on the verge of throwing up, as if it was the only way to release every sob you had swallowed. You raised a trembling hand and knocked on the door, the sound of your knuckles hitting wood echoed in the deserted hallway. A moment later, the door opened, and there stood Giselle, her expression shifting from surprise to concern in an instant.

“Hey, are you okay?” she began and the moment her worried eyes met yours, the fragile composure you were holding on to fell apart.

A sob escaped before you could stop it, and then another, until you were standing there, shaking and crying like the broken mess you were.

“Hey, hey,” Giselle said softly, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You clung to her, tears soaking her shoulder as she gently guided you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and the world outside faded away. For a long moment, you just let yourself cry, the heartbreak and exhaustion spilling out in uneven gasps.

Giselle didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. She simply held you tighter, and her presence was comforting enough. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

As your sobs subsided, you pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. Giselle handed you a tissue, her gaze warm and understanding. Despite the ache still lodged in your chest, there was a small, fragile sense of relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t fighting to hold something together anymore. You weren’t clinging to the hope that things would change, or to the version of Jeno you’d loved so desperately. You did it. You had finally, truly this time, chosen yourself.

To: LJN You don’t have to call anymore. I won’t pick up the phone. -xx

[fin]

[cheesus-doodles]

New Year with You

Yandere Rollo

Masterlist | TWST Masterlist | Letters

‎‎

continuation from my other Rollo fic Letters, but can be read as a standalone as well!

good time to mention that I have been and am on a current semi-hiatus as I've kind fallen off all my fandoms at the same time, but i'm slowly working my way back! thank you for your support so far!

Two hours and forty five minutes down, fifteen minutes left.

“Still can’t believe you actually came all the way,” you said over the cup of hot chocolate copper between both hands as you glanced around the Isle of Sages' crowded main town square, the stone paved area jam packed with people inching past each other. This was certainly no place that one would usually find the Nobel Bell’s Student Council President. “I can’t even spend all night here. You shouldn’t have.”

But Rollo could hear the genuine appreciation in your voice for all his efforts, if you were even trying to hide it. “It’s no bother,” the white-haired boy responded, his usual purple robe and striped cap having been forgone for an elegant black long coat and pressed trousers, one pale hands tucked into a pocket and the other holding a matching cup as narrowed green eyes tailed a laughing couple who brushed past you. Tainting your perfect otherworldly self with their disgusting stench of a magical world they could never run from, a sin he would have incinerated them for, but he took a deep breath and tore his eyes away. Focus. “Barely an inconvenience.” 

A lie.

The sheer amount of arrangements Rollo had to make just to be present here aside from the letters with strict instructions to you was something he would never disclose. The previous trip he made a week ago to scout out the place that he told his vice president was a research trip, the contingency plans he had in place so that your wretched schoolmates wouldn’t interrupt him, the entire flow of activities, locations and conversations he had all planned out in his mind in the weeks leading up to this - but you didn’t need to know any of that. 

No, everything had been carefully planned with one goal in mind: to make sure you had the perfect countdown with him. Nothing that Malleus and his cronies would be able to top.

Lifting his cup to thin lips to take a careful sip, the stoic Noble Bell student watched steam curling lazily into the windless air, the hustle and bustle of the masses blending into the background as people jostled for the best spots to catch fireworks. Filthy magic-laden fireworks, but Rollo had already scouted a quiet spot where you would have an unblocked view. He just had to make sure that you stayed till then.

‎‎

Time had flown by like water - you had been here at 9.30pm sharp, as per requested by his latest letter, but he had managed to burn and wheedle down the hours and minutes to just the last few minutes to midnight. Presenting the bouquet of flowers and your favourite pie that he had brought for you: ten minutes. A leisurely stroll around the fountain, followed by a planned sit and chat: another seventy-five minutes down. The queue for hot chocolate: thirty minutes, the queue carefully joined behind two individuals who hemmed and hawed at the counter. 

“Are you at least staying until the countdown?” He asked smoothly as he turned away from the fountain that occupied the center of the square and began to walk. You followed, because of course you did, and Rollo slowed his stride when he noticed you doing those little short runs to keep up.

“Um, I don’t know,” you answered uncertainly as the two of you came upon the small alcove built into the old stone wall, with a scattering of couples lingering along the sidewalk bordering the mariana. “Some of my friends are hosting a countdown party back at Ramshackle-”

Rollo sneered before he could catch himself, though he decided to simply play into it instead of making up excuses; you would certainly see through his act before he’d be able to convince you otherwise, considering what he had attempted to already do to them back in Fleur City.  “You wouldn’t be able to make it back in time,” he stated coolly, free hand shooting out to steady you when you stumbled on a protruding stone tile. “Not without…running. Fast.”

You gaped for a moment at him, before bursting into giggles. No doubt not only at his awkward pause, but also the absurdity of a mage suggesting running. He hadn’t rehearsed that, but the way your face lit up as you laughed made the stutter slightly more bearable. “Alright then,” you agreed. “Guess I’ll head back after the countdown instead.”

Well. That was easy enough. Another milestone in his disruption of Malleus’ plans achieved.

‎‎

The view here of the town square was impeccable, because of course it was. On one side, a gentle breeze blew in from the sea, the horizon where sea and sky met lost in the dark of night, the glittering reflection of stars swallowed by the dancing waves washing up against the sea cliff far below. And on the other, the town floor spread out beneath the two of you like a picnic mat, the numerous people mulling about blending into waves, their conservations and the music from the live band blending into the hustle and bustle of a busy background that only grew and grew into an almost coordinated swell of numbers as midnight approached.

“Three! Two!” Rollo kept silent as he watched you cheer along.  “One!”

Your eyes shimmer in that unmistakable way that betrayed your excitement as fireworks whizzed into the sky, bursting into a multitude of colored flowers with a life on their own granted by magic. The Noble Bell Student Council President reaches over to gingerly tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear in a calculated move. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year!” You returned, toasting your cup at Rollo and giggling when the cocoa from your cup splashed slightly onto the ground, before returning to admire the blooming fireworks against the starry night sky. “They’re beautiful!”

“Indeed.” The white-haired boy replied without glancing away from you. His plan to rid the world of magic and Malleus was advancing nicely with every play he made, but maybe, he had some space for you, where you had wheedled yourself into the hollow in his chest.

[kaiyunsim]

dreamer -

pairing : childhood bestfriend!yushi x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

summary : having a sleepover at your childhood bestfriend's place !

warnings : fluff, crack, short read, friends hanging out !

a/n : i love nct wish <3. hope you enjoy !

queueing : dreamer - laufey, no one noticed - the marias

- wc : 1.1k - not proof read ! -

it's a lazy saturday evening when you find yourself at tokuno yushi’s house, a familiar routine that’s been part of your friendship for years. he’s sprawled out on his living room floor, a pillow tucked under his chest, while you’re curled up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket thrown over your legs. the soft hum of a cheesy rom-com plays in the background, but neither of you are really paying attention to the movie.

yushi’s hair is a mess of dark waves, falling into his eyes as he props himself up on one elbow. "so," he says, breaking the comfortable silence, "what’s your snack of choice tonight? popcorn or instant ramen?"

"you’re asking me to choose between two staples of fine dining?" you tease, tossing a throw pillow in his direction. it lands near his head, and he grabs it dramatically, pressing it to his chest like you’ve wounded him.

"i need answers, not sarcasm!" he exclaims, but his grin gives away his amusement. "your indecision is delaying our feast."

"fine, ramen," you say, stretching your legs out over the couch. "but you have to make it."

he groans like you’ve asked him to climb a mountain. "you’re lucky i’m feeling generous."

you watch as he stands and heads toward the kitchen, his oversized hoodie nearly swallowing him whole. it’s endearing, the way he moves with a casual ease, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. you’ve always felt that way around him—like the world slows down just enough to let you breathe.

he comes back a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of ramen, balancing them carefully as he kicks the coffee table aside to make room. he plops down next to you on the couch, handing you your bowl. "don’t burn your tongue," he warns, already shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

"hypocrite," you mutter, but you’re smiling. the warmth of the soup seeps into your hands as you cradle the bowl, the savory aroma filling the room. it’s nothing fancy, but it’s perfect.

"so," yushi says between bites, "what’s the plan for tonight? do we marathon terrible movies, or do i crush you at mario kart again?"

"excuse me? 'again'?" you nearly choke on your noodles. "you’ve never crushed me at mario kart."

"oh, the denial," he says, shaking his head in mock pity. "it’s okay to admit defeat, you know. it builds character."

"let’s settle this right now," you challenge, setting your bowl on the table. "prepare to eat my dust, tokuno."

his eyes light up with excitement as he grabs the controllers, handing you one with a flourish. "may the best racer win," he says, already selecting his character. you both know this is going to get competitive, but that’s half the fun.

the next hour is filled with laughter, shouted insults, and dramatic cries of "betrayal" whenever one of you launches a blue shell. yushi’s couch becomes a battlefield, your legs tangling with his as you both lean into the game, fingers flying over the buttons. at one point, he’s so focused on trying to overtake you that he leans too far and nearly falls off the couch, catching himself at the last second.

"serves you right," you say, nudging him with your foot. "that’s karma for stealing my item box."

"you’re ruthless," he says, but he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your chest feel warm. "i respect it."

after your victory—which you’re quick to rub in his face—the two of you collapse back into the couch, the controllers forgotten. the movie’s still playing in the background, but neither of you pays it any mind. the only light comes from the soft glow of the tv and the faint string of fairy lights draped along the wall.

yushi’s quiet for a moment, his head tipped back against the cushions as he stares at the ceiling. "hey," he says softly, "thanks for coming over. it’s been a weird week, and... i don’t know, it’s just nice having you here."

his words catch you off guard, but they’re not unwelcome. "of course," you say, nudging his shoulder lightly. "you don’t have to thank me, yushi. you’re kind of stuck with me."

he turns his head to look at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "i wouldn’t have it any other way."

the warmth in his gaze makes your cheeks heat up, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is. you clear your throat, trying to shake off the butterflies. "okay, enough sappiness. what’s next on the agenda?"

"pillow fort?" he suggests, his grin widening. "we haven’t built one in ages."

"you’re on," you say, already grabbing the nearest blanket. the next half hour is a chaotic whirlwind of pillows, blankets, and some questionable engineering. yushi insists on being the "architect," which mostly involves him balancing precariously on the arm of the couch to drape a sheet over the top. you’re in charge of "structural integrity," which basically means you’re holding everything together with sheer determination and a few strategically placed clips.

when it’s finally done, you both crawl inside, the makeshift fort lit by a single flashlight. it’s cramped but cozy, and yushi’s shoulder presses against yours as he settles in next to you.

"not bad," he says, surveying your handiwork. "i’d give it a solid 8 out of 10."

"excuse me?" you say, feigning offense. "this is at least a 9.5."

"we’ll compromise on 8.7," he says, grinning. "deal?"

"deal," you agree, rolling your eyes. "you’re impossible."

he nudges you lightly with his elbow. "but you love me anyway."

the words hang in the air for a moment, and you’re not sure if he meant them as a joke or something more. either way, your heart does a little flip, and you’re grateful for the dim lighting that hides the flush creeping up your neck.

"yeah," you say softly, "i guess i do."

he glances at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens. "good," he says, leaning back against the pillows. "because i’m pretty fond of you too."

the rest of the night passes in a blur of quiet conversation, shared laughter, and the occasional sound of rain tapping against the windows. eventually, you both drift off to sleep inside the fort, your head resting on his shoulder and his hand brushing against yours. it’s simple and sweet, the kind of moment that feels like home.

and as you drift off, you can’t help but think that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[eternalstarlights]

Bi Fang: A mythological bird with one leg in Chinese mythology. Messengers of misfortune. They were greatly feared for their presence being an omen of disaster, especially with fire.

[redrobin-detective]

So I had an interesting ATLA thought.

Let's say if Zuko had been there and the invasion was successful, but not entirely. The Firelord, Azula and some high up generals got away but the Gaang had captured the Capital. Just imaging how S3 pt 2 would have gone down.

The Caldera citizens who could leave are split into thirds: those who are Ozai loyal and want the Avatar out, those who are loyal to anyone NOT Ozai and are happy to embrace the Gaang, and those who are scared shitless. So anytime the resistance interacts with any FN citizens they have a 1/3 chance of either being stabbed, bowed at or cried on.

The Gaang has gotten used to roughing it, now they have fancy personal bedrooms and 5 star cooking?? every day?? Sokka never wants to leave. no sir he is staying put forever. Another mango juice please!

Zuko trying to teach Aang and there's so many other Firebenders around to have opinions and Zuko is very protective and fierce about who gets to to teach his student. Aang is very touched watching his Sifu run off another so called expert like an angry chihuahua.

Boiling Rock is exactly the same except they learn Suki is there and Sokka is off running. Sokka spends the entire time pretending to be a FN noble.

Iroh, upon breaking out and realizing the Caldera is lost, decides to assemble his White Lotus buddies there. He takes unofficial charge, working as a general to end the war. Everyone assumed he'd be Firelord afterwards not knowing he always intended to hand the crown to Zuko.

Everyone -including Zuko- thought Iroh would be Firelord so he'd chatting with Sokka and Toph about what he'll do after the war. He was considering being some sort of ambassador while also teaching swordsmanship and the true source of firebending when Iroh drops the news. Zuko is blindsided.

With the White Lotus now hanging around the capital we would be Toph vs Bumi (who escaped and made his way over JUST to ensure Aang's earthbending teacher was good enough), Katara vs Pakku 2 (feminism and family edition), and Zuko vs Jeong Jeong who debate firebending philosophy until they're breathless. Aang and Iroh are happily playing Pai Sho in the background.

Ok picture this, Azula and Ozai are on the run, they have sympathizers but they have to get to them first. Queue S2 pt 1 Zuko and Iroh on the run only they're both Zuko and everything is on fire. Azula, who has some experience with the real world, needs to corral her angry, sheltered father around. Ozai just gets dunked on every moment.

Azula gets a little of her own development throughout this. She can survive on her own but she isn't used to not being the shining princess who gets everything. Ozai treats her like dirt even as he is struggling with basic survival. Azula's loyalty wavers for him, watching him flounder without his peons and threats.

There are some guards with them, guards who are NOT paid enough for this. Oh you want a 4 poster bed with turtleduck feather pillows and silk sheets, Your Majesty? I have a rock with some moss on it.

They would eventually mount a defense to take back the Caldera and reclaim their throne during Sozin's Comet. The world would watch Ozai's willingness to burn his own damned country and people to get his power back. There is minimal protest when they stick Ozai's awkward teenage son on the throne. Anyone is better than Ozai.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Chapter Six

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Some smutty behaviour and voyeurism. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.7k

A/N : ... 😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

Master List

Chapter Six

It wasn’t real.

But, just how much of it wasn’t real was what concerned you.

Billy kept his arm around you, holding you like you were really his, like he actually wanted you in his arms, but all the while he was smiling the same self-satisfied smile he always had whenever things went his way. He was getting what he wanted, a private meeting with VDK, a chance to trick them into thinking that he’d changed.

When it had just been the two of you, out in public, playing at being a couple, it hadn’t seemed real, but now you were lying to people’s faces, you were cheating and deceiving. And you already felt awful about it.

Billy, on the other hand...

“I can’t believe this might actually work,” he said again.

For a second you allowed yourself to wonder if he’d doubted it and, if so, why had he never brought it up.

There were a thousand awkward questions playing on repeat in your head, things you didn’t want to ask because, lies aside, you’d had a mostly enjoyable night with him. So, you stayed silent, your smile turning a little more forced, watching and waiting as a queue of limos slowly trickled along the street.

A figure appeared behind Billy, causing him to turn, his grin getting wider. You peered around him and realised it was Frank. Karen was with him and flashed you a smile.

“Sorry for abandoning you earlier, there was someone I needed to talk to,” Karen apologised. “A senator’s been giving me the run-around for weeks.”

You waved off the apology. 

“You two lovebirds want a ride home?” Billy asked.

Frank looked at Karen and then shrugged. “Sure.”

And that was how you came to be in the back of the limo with them with Billy’s arm draped around you, pulling you into his side and holding you tight. Clearly it was for Frank and Karen’s benefit - though, for the life of you, you didn’t understand why he hadn’t just told Frank the truth about your arrangement.

“You should come have a drink with us before you head home,” Billy said, still grinning that grin that only you seemed to understand. 

“Nah, we uh -” Frank started, pausing a second to smirk at you, “- we wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

The comment earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from Karen, and you felt your cheeks start to burn and your stomach lurch at the implication; he thought you and Billy were heading home to fuck.

“Come on, Frankie, just one drink,” Billy said, oblivious to your discomfort. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Asked Frank.

“We’ve got a dinner with VDK next week.” Billy answered.

“How’d you swing that?” Frank seemed legitimately shocked and, for a second, you genuinely believed that he was going to put two and two together and figure out what was going on.

Billy shifted so he could look at you, and your cheeks burned so hot you felt like you might burst into flames. “Someone got talking to Catherine Van Der Koy.”

Karen inhaled sharply. “Well you must have done something right, Catherine Van Der Koy isn’t exactly known for being friendly.”

“She, uh, just didn’t appreciate the way someone was talking about me,” you said, shrugging and trying to ignore the way Billy’s attention was suddenly entirely on.

“You didn’t tell me that,” he said, and you found that you could barely maintain eye contact. “Who was it?”

“It’s fine, I -” the look on his face told you that he wasn’t going to let you brush it off. You sighed. “I don’t know, Corrine someone. And she didn’t say it to me, she was just talking about me in the bathroom.”

“Fucking Corrine,” Billy grumbled, his head shaking. “What did she say?”

“It  doesn’t matter.”

You didn’t want to have the conversation in front of an audience (or at all, if you were being completely honest), but Billy didn’t seem to care about that.

“It does, it -”

“It doesn’t. I’m a grown woman, I can handle someone making a bitchy comment about me.”

The tone of your voice was enough to stop him from continuing and, unfortunately, enough to make the last couple of minutes of the drive to Billy’s building more than a little uncomfortable for everyone in the limo. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the feelings that started to swell inside of you when you finally saw where he lived.

You were reminded of the first time he’d taken you home, the remark he’d made about your building not having a doorman. His building had a doorman and security. (Which, of course it did - everyone who lived there was probably as rich as he was.)

Frank and Karen had decided to come up for drinks with you - probably because the awkwardness you’d caused had been more than enough to kill the idea that you and Billy were racing home to do anything romantic. And, fortunately, they were too involved in conversation with Billy - something about last thanksgiving? You weren’t sure, you weren’t listening - to notice the way your eyes widened at the sight of his apartment.

His penthouse apartment.

Just the large open plan area that held the kitchen, dining area, and den was at least twice the size of your apartment. (No wonder he’d looked down his nose at it.) There was a high ceiling and windows that went from the floor all the way up, giving an amazing view of the city.

The shock was enough to make you forget your annoyance, and the sight of the roses - your roses - in a vase on the large dining table reminded you of how he’d managed to make you feel when he’d gifted them to you.

You would have hesitated to look around the place if it hadn’t been for Billy’s hand on your back, ushering you towards the large, wrap around sofa, barely giving you time to take everything in. One thing you did notice was how cold the place seemed. Like his office at Anvil, there were very few trinkets or photos around. Everything was dark sleek wood and metal, and exposed brickwork.

It was nice, but it felt so empty.

You took a seat, along with Karen and Frank, while Billy went to fetch a bottle of wine.

“So, no one told me how you and Billy got together...” Karen said, trailing off and expecting you to tell the tale.

You hadn’t even thought to ask what he’d told Frank and if it was the same story you’d been telling everyone else.

“I guess we just sort of clicked?” You said. “When you spend so many hours working with someone, you get to know them, and then it just... happened.”

“I’ve spent hours working with Bill,” Frank said, grinning, “can’t say that it’s ever made me want to kiss him.”

“Lie all you want, Frankie, but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Billy smirked as he returned, handing out glasses before filling them.

For the most part, you were content to sit back, kicking off your shoes, and sinking into the sofa at Billy’s side. You made conversation when addressed, but you were tired; it was late and all you really wanted to do was curl up in bed. Your own bed. But that wasn’t possible.

Instead you sat and listened, letting your eyes subtly sweep around his apartment, wondering silly little things, like how long he’d live there and if he’d always lived alone. And, when Karen excused herself to use the bathroom, your eyes followed her, learning where the bathroom was by watching rather than having to ask Billy.

After she returned, you waited a few minutes before excusing yourself and heading to the bathroom. 

It was as dark and sleek as the rest of the penthouse, leaving you wondering if it had been that way when Billy moved in, or if he’d paid an interior designer.

You took your time, daring to check your phone, and seeing that there were already pictures from the gala circulating online; luckily a lot of the larger socialite gossip blogs were focused on the far more important people in attendance but, still, a few photos of you and Billy slipped through. There was one in particular while you were dancing, Billy was looking at you like you were the only other person in the world and you were staring right back.

The caption read; it must be love.

They were still talking when you returned, and you had half a mind to make some excuse, to tell them you wanted to head to bed. But you couldn't do that either, not unless you wanted to go crawl into Billy’s bed and wait for them to leave.

You felt awful, like a fraud and a liar - and you’d never considered yourself particularly good at lying in the past, but that photo, the way you’d been looking at Billy, showed you were nothing short of an expert.

And you didn’t want to think what it said about Billy. These were his friends that he was lying to with such confidence and ease, and it didn’t even seem to bother him.

A sound that was half-gasp, half-squeal escaped you as you tried to pass Billy to return to your seat, only to find his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“Billy -” you started to protest but stopped as he pressed his face against your neck, his lips ghosting your skin as he smiled.

Your cheeks started to heat again, and you found you could barely look at Frank and Karen as the pair smirked at you while Billy nuzzled at your neck.

For a few seconds you were frozen. At some point your hands had gripped his arms - probably when he’d wrapped them around you - so you started to tighten your grip, digging your nails into him through his shirt. You weren’t trying to hurt him or break skin, but you applied enough pressure to convey your discomfort.

When he pulled back from your neck, you were almost certain you heard him sigh.

But, even though his arms loosened their hold on you, he didn’t let go, leaving you trapped on his lap.

You thought over your options, wanting to pull away and put an end to it but, seconds later, you found you didn’t have to.

Karen cleared her throat and made a show of draining her glass before tapping Frank on the arm.

“It’s getting late and I need to stop by the office in the morning,” she said.

“On a Saturday?” Frank asked, seemingly oblivious to why Karen wanted to leave. 

“Yes,” she answered, leaving her hand on his arm.

A look passed between the pair and, finally, Frank understood. She wanted to leave to give you and Billy some privacy.

Only the kind of privacy you needed, wasn’t the same sort of privacy that Karen believed you wanted. No, you needed to get Billy alone so you could finally set some boundaries before things escalated further.

You used Karen standing as an excuse to pull away from Billy, feeling a hint of reluctance, his hold on you remaining a second longer than necessary. But soon enough, you were all on your feet and the evening was finally coming to an end.

While Billy walked them towards the elevator, you said your goodbyes and busied yourself by collecting the empty wine glasses. You headed to the kitchen, set on washing the glasses so Billy wouldn’t get the idea of trying to make you have another drink with him. 

It wasn’t long before you heard the elevator doors slide shut, leaving you alone with Billy. 

He said something about not having to wash up, but you remained at the sink, rinsing the glasses and wiping them clean. You didn’t turn, didn’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the conversation you needed to have with him, barely noticing him getting closer until he was standing right behind you.

“What?” He finally asked.

“What, what?” You countered, knowing what he was asking but still not sure how you wanted to address it.

“What’s wrong?”

You let out a sigh as you finished rinsing a glass.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me,” he said and, like he had done in your apartment only a couple of nights ago, he placed his hands on your hips and turned you towards him. “What’s wrong?”

He was close - as close as he’d been to you while you’d been dancing only a few hours before but, now, it felt like too much. It all felt like too much.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” you blurted out.

The moments the words had left your lips, you felt like an idiot. Your eyes immediately dropped and your whole face burned with embarrassment.

The silence only lasted three seconds, but it felt like three lifetimes and, in that time, you didn’t dare blink or even draw breath. You were stuck, frozen in front of him, vaguely aware of the warmth of his hand bleeding through your dress at your hip, and you could feel his dark eyes fixed on you.

“What?” He asked.

You moved, quickly pushing past him and pulling away. Billy called after you as you left the kitchen, but you didn’t stop until you reached the sofa, and only stopped then to grab your shoes and purse.

“Just - can you just stop and talk to me?” He asked, following after you. “What brought this on?”

Glancing towards the elevator, you knew that you should just leave, despite the arrangement to stay the night. He stopped a few feet away from you, giving you space, but not nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell Frank the truth?” You asked, feeling neither brave nor sober enough to explain all the strange and conflicting thoughts that the night had stirred in you.

“Because he has a terrible poker face and he would’ve said it was a stupid idea. Is - is that what you’re worried about? Frank Caste thinking we’re having sex right now?” He asked, amused by the thought.

And, of course he was amused. It was fucking ridiculous. It was all an act and he’d just been playing the part. But he slipped in and out of the lie so easily that you were left wondering if he was a sociopath who was incapable of considering the weight of what you were both doing.

“It’s not that, it’s -” you let out a frustrated huff, “- how is this so easy for you?”

“How is what easy for me?”

Could he really be that obtuse? Did he really not understand what you were trying to ask him?

“All of it. Lying to everyone, lying to your friends, all the... the...”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words and ask how it was so easy for him to touch you the way he had, to hold you, kiss you. There were only two answers he could give and you didn’t want to hear him admit to either of them. Either it was easy because it meant nothing to him and you were there to serve a purpose as little more than a puppet in his schemes, or it was easy because he enjoyed it and figured he might as well have some no-strings-attached fun with you.

But that was the problem; you couldn’t do no-strings-attached. You didn’t want to, especially not with a man like Billy, a man who you knew would burn you if you let yourself get too close.

“The what?” He sounded exasperated.

“Kissing me, touching me -”

“I thought you were okay with that.” He said, discomfort tugging at his features.

“I am but not - not like...” you let out another frustrated sigh. “It feels like you’re doing it just because you can and not because you want to make things look real between us. I’m not an object to be played with, Billy. I’m not here for your pleasure.”

The look on his face told you that you might as well have slapped him.

“No, you’re just here for the money.”

The sudden cold detachment in his voice felt like a knife between your ribs and left you feeling a mixture of shame and regret - not for what you’d said, but for letting Billy know why you were really doing this. By telling him about your brother, about Saint Martin’s, you’d given him leverage, something he could use against you and weaponise to make you feel even worse about what you were doing.

You were still and silent for a few seconds, your face the picture of calm despite feeling like you were crumbling from the inside out.

“Where’s my bag?” You asked after taking a long, deep breath.

Again, you couldn’t help but think about how ridiculous it was; you’d been playing his doting girlfriend in front of his friends for the last hour, and you didn’t even know your way around his stupid, oversized apartment to find the spare room and your bag.

“Why?” 

“Because I want to get changed and go home,” you said flatly.

Billy took a step forward, his expression shifting again, almost seeming worried.

“No,” he said. “You don’t have to - you agreed to stay the night.”

He seemed at a momentary loss, as if he didn’t understand why you suddenly didn’t want to be around him. (Or, maybe he was just concerned because he was worried about his plan falling apart.)

“Look, I -” he started again, daring to take another step towards you, “- I’m sorry. I got carried away. I don’t see you as an object. That never crossed my mind.”

Of course it hadn’t.

Of course Billy Russo didn’t want you, even if it was just for sex.

You stayed silent, not knowing what else you could possibly say. As stupid as it has been to blurt it out, you had needed him to know that you were uncomfortable. And, now he did.

“I’m a... tactile guy. When I’m with someone, I guess I can get a little handsy. But I - I shouldn’t’ve -” he took an uncomfortable breath. “I just let myself get a little too comfortable with you. But I never wanted to make you feel like I wanted more from this agreement than you’re prepared to give.”

It occurred to you, very belatedly, that you used to be better at reading him. These last few weeks of getting to know him, enjoying being around him, had dulled your senses and you hadn’t been paying close attention to his moods. Now that you saw Billy as a real and fully actualised person instead of just the boss that you needed to keep happy for nine hours a day.

Ultimately, you couldn’t even tell if he meant what he was saying, or if he was just saying it because he thought it was what you wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Please just... just stay the night. It’s late and I don’t want to send you home alone after you’ve been drinking.”

The concern was unexpected, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been after all the times he’d insisted on walking you up to your apartment (though, some part of you still wanted to believe that that had simply been to make his driver think you were having sex). 

“Please,” he said again, his voice turning softer, “Just stay the night and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You let out the breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding and looked at Billy for a second. He seemed genuinely remorseful, more than that, he looked tired. 

And you were tired too.

“Okay,” you finally relented.

Billy managed something that was almost a smile, before giving a wave of his hand and asking you to follow him. He showed you to a spare room that was just as devoid of personal touches as the rest of the penthouse, but the bed was huge and the sheets were clean, so you weren’t going to complain.

Before he left you for the night, he told you that you could use the main bathroom - you assumed that he probably had a private en-suite somewhere - and that you could help yourself if there was anything else you needed. 

Once he’d left you, you waited, listening intently to the sounds of him moving around until, somewhere, you heard a shower running. You would have loved a hot shower - you could probably have one if you wanted, but it just felt weird in someone else’s home. It almost made you wish that you’d held your ground and headed home for the night.

Slipping out of the bedroom, you quickly made your way to the bathroom, cleaning the make-up from your face and brushing your teeth before changing into your pyjamas. It all took less than half the time it would have taken you at home, but you were desperate to return to the perceived safety of the spare room.

You placed your bag against the closed door - not because you were worried about Billy trying to come into your room while you slept but because...

Honestly, you couldn’t say.

You’d always had a hard time sleeping in new places, feeling paranoid at every strange sound.

Before you headed to bed, you pulled a ragged and worn stuffed bear from your bag and clutched it to your chest. You felt silly for bringing it, but you knew you wouldn’t sleep without it.

Finally, you slipped into the bed, beneath the covers that must have had a thread count in the millions for how soft they felt, and you turned off the lamp.

Sleep found you with surprising ease, but it didn’t last.

Two hours was all you got before you were wrenched awake by an all too familiar nightmare.

Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, you pulled the bear to your chest again, forcing yourself to take a series of slow, steady breaths. And, once you were certain it was under control, you rolled over, fixing your gaze out of the window and on the twinkling lights of the city.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you decided to get up, needing a glass of water (and, silently, you cursed yourself for not having thought about bringing a glass to bed with you).

With only the light of your phone and the moonlight spilling in through the windows, you quietly crept through the penthouse, your thick, fuzzy socks softening your footsteps on the wooden floor. 

Every little sound had you pausing, feeling like a naughty child about to be chastised for getting out of bed in the middle of the night, but you made it to the kitchen without incident.

You used one of the wine glasses you’d cleaned to get a drink of water, not wanting to risk rummaging through Billy’s cupboards. When you’d had a drink, you refilled the glass and slowly started to tiptoe back towards your room with it.

But a sound stopped you, an awkward gasp from the direction of the master bedroom. Billy’s bedroom. Without thinking, you moved closer to his door, realising that he’d left it slightly ajar - living alone, he probably wasn’t used to having to close doors.

You heard another noise as you got closer, another sharp inhale and your stomach nodded. Was he having a nightmare? Was he in pain?

You stopped at his door, peering through the gap. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the gloom enough to make out Billy, sitting up against the headboard, his chest bare and his hand -

Oh.

While the movement was obscured by the sheet, it was very obvious what he was doing. He was touching himself with slow, steady strokes, letting out barely restrained gasps and grunts.

You knew that you should stop watching and go back to your room, but you were frozen, transfixed. The only part of you that seemed able to move were your thighs, clenching together at the sight of him pleasuring himself.

Slow and steady, his hand shifting up and down beneath the sheet, and the longer you stood and watched, the more your eyes adjusted to the low light, letting you make out the lines of muscles on his chest and the way that he was biting his lower lip. 

Your thighs rubbed together.

It felt dirty and wrong, but there was no denying the arousal that was starting to build inside of you. 

Every quiet hitch of his breath had your heart beating faster, a dangerous longing building inside of you - not because it was him, you rationalised, but because it had been so long since you’d been with a man.

One hand gripped your phone tighter, while the other still held your glass, stopping you from giving in to the urge to slip a hand into your pyjama bottoms. Your thighs continued to press and rub together, stoking the heat between your legs and causing arousal to pool in your stomach.

After a couple of minutes his hand began to move faster and his breathing became more ragged. You held your breath, knowing he was close and not wanting to miss a single second. 

At the last second, you watched him reach for a tissue, and over the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, you almost thought you heard him mutter your name.

(No - no, you were imagining things. There was no way that Billy Russo had just jerked off to thoughts of you.)

Shame and disgust at yourself quickly took over and you made your way back to your room, barely breathing until you were hidden beneath the thick, heavy quilt again.

Try as you might over the next hour, sleep wouldn’t come.

You couldn’t get the thought of him out of your head and, every time you started to think about it again, your thighs would squeeze together with desperate need and that hot feeling of arousal would start to fill the lower half of your body.

Exhausted frustration eventually got the better of you and you allowed a hand to slip into  your pyjama bottoms and between your legs.

Again, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t him that was getting you all hot and bothered, it was more the situation, the act. But that didn’t keep your thoughts from returning to him over and over as your fingers got bolder, slowly circling your clit.

You didn’t want to think about why you were already so wet, so needy. But, even as you touched yourself and felt your arousal coiling tighter in your stomach, you found no relief. Desperation had you reaching for your phone and opening the gossip site you’d been looking at earlier, and finding the photograph of you and Billy dancing, him looking at you as if you meant something, as if you really mattered to him.

Zooming in on his face, your fingers moved with a renewed vigour, your clit throbbing and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. You came undone staring at his dark eyes and smile, thinking about the man sleeping in the room next to yours.

Then, at some point, consumed by an awkward and embarrassing feeling of bliss, you managed to drift off again, this time sleeping until your alarm sounded.

The scent of pancakes and coffee pulled you out of bed and had you padding sleepily towards the bedroom door to glance out into the living area of the penthouse.

Billy was sitting at the table, wearing his running gear, looking like he’d just gotten back. (A sudden and strange pang of hurt ran through you at the thought that he’d gone without you, that he hadn’t even bothered to ask if you wanted to join him.) 

You lingered for a second too long and Billy noticed you.

“I got breakfast,” he said, smiling at you, completely unaware of what you’d witnessed in the early hours of the morning.

“Oh, I -” you looked down at yourself, at your blue, flannel pyjamas and big fluffy socks.

“C’mon, it’s getting cold.”

You moved slowly, almost cautiously, but Billy didn’t notice. The moment you started to walk towards the table, his attention fixed on his phone. You wondered if he’d seen any of the photos from last night, and that thought had your cheeks starting to warm, remembering how you’d come while staring at his picture.

He didn’t look up again until you sat down, opposite him.

“Help yourself, the coffee should still be hot,” he nodded towards the half-full French press, “or there’s juice if you prefer.”

You reached for the coffee, filling the mug that he’d put out for you before topping it off with cream and sugar. Billy watched but didn’t say anything, and he continued watching as you took a plate and a couple of pancakes from the stack. Then you helped yourself to some bacon and syrup.

“You made all of this?” You asked, not sure you could handle sitting in complete silence for however long it took you to finish eating.

Billy laughed, shaking his head. “No, there’s a dinner a couple of blocks away...”

“So, you don’t cook?”

It was strange the sorts of things that you didn’t consider about a person until you really got to know them. You supposed that a man of Billy’s wealth didn’t need to know how to cook, but he hadn’t always been rich. But for you, being able to cook, being able to feed yourself was a matter of survival and it wasn’t something that you’d ever just been able to throw money at.

“I can cook a few things but...” he trailed off and gave a telling smirk.

You turned your attention to your breakfast and started to eat, while Billy continued to scroll from what looked like emails on his phone. He let you eat without interruption, occasionally sparing you a glance as he lifted his mug and drank his coffee. He waited until you pushed your plate away and sat back before speaking again.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

Your heart stopped and, for a moment, you thought he was talking about jerking off.

But, no - that would be ridiculous.

“You were right, my behaviour last night was -”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted. “I shouldn’t’ve jumped to conclusions about your intentions without talking to you about it. I think maybe we both just had a little bit too much to drink and things got awkward.”

Billy nodded, seeming to lose himself in thought for a few moments before continuing; “you were right. What you said about me, I mean. I do find it easy to lie about what’s going on. You make it easy for me to lie.”

You made it easier? What did that even mean?

You didn’t dare ask.

“I know you think I’m clueless about how people see me - and, in some regards, maybe I am - but I’m good at controlling narratives. I have to be,” he explained, though his explanation didn’t exactly make things clearer to you. “So, it is easy for me to lie, but I should have taken a minute to understand that you’re not the same as me. So, I’m sorry.”

You took a second, letting his words sink in. There were questions you wanted to ask, things you wanted to understand but, ultimately, you just settled for accepting the apology.

“Okay,” you said, hesitating a second before adding, “and I’m sorry for the way I - well, what I said, I shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a... a creep.”

That got a laugh from Billy.

“I think in future we should both have a little less champagne,” he said.

You smiled and nodded your agreement, wrapping your hands around your coffee mug.

Once the air had been cleared between you, you found that you were in no real rush to get home, though there was still the lingering embarrassment over what you’d witnessed in the middle of the night.

After your coffee was finished, Billy left you to go shower and you returned to the spare room, grabbing your wash stuff and heading to the bathroom to get washed and dressed. And then, of course, Billy insisted on taking you home.

It was the first time he’d driven you himself and, as you crossed the city on the way to your apartment, he apologised that he wouldn’t be able to walk you in.

“I know you said you’re busy on Sundays but -” Billy started before awkwardly hesitating, as if he was reconsidering whatever he wanted to say, “- if you’re free tomorrow evening, I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked to take you out for dinner, so you weren’t sure why the offer felt so different this time, but the fact that you didn’t instantly respond had him quickly clarifying; “so we can prepare for dinner with Catherine Van Der Koy next week.”

“Oh,” you said softly, fixing your gaze on the city streets beyond the windscreen. “Sure. I’m free tomorrow evening, any time after seven.”

“Okay, great,” Billy said, barely holding in a sigh of relief. “I’ll call you later with the details.”

Less than a minute later, he pulled up outside your apartment building and, for reasons entirely unknown to yourself, you leaned across to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before scrambling out of the car, with your bag in one hand and your roses in the other. You didn’t even dare look back over your shoulder at him as you made your way into your building and towards the elevator, planning to have the world's hottest shower the moment you got into your apartment.

A/N : Who had any of that on their bingo card for chapter six?? 😅 when I tell you that I have a plan for this and it's going off the rails, you should know that everything that's happened up to this point was supposed to be done in the first 4 chapters. So, clearly I'm getting carried away 😅 it's fun though, and I'm loving reading everyone's responses every chapter!

As always, thanks for reading, it means so much to me! Likes/comments/reblogs are also greatly appreciated! Hope you all have fantastic weekends!

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! Otherwise new chapters will be posted around 7:30pm GMT on Fridays.

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[gilverrwrites]

What do you think about a pinning Roy finally getting the girl after some time being in rehab and all that? I'm sure he'll be so happy and feeling lucky!

I love this! It has so much potential for slow burn with a big, soft explosive ending, as well as the possibility of angst.

I immediately thought of his girl as a teenage/young love sweetheart. Somebody he has this idealist image of in his head. They gave each other their V cards, have all these memories of summer road trips and late nights together, but as they got older it was harder and harder for her to watch him destroy himself. They have this awful bitter break-up.

Roy, however, can’t stay mad at her for long. Queue: Him texting her constantly from all over the world, whenever he thinks about her. Usually, it's friendly, until he’s had too much. Then he gets needy, desperate, downright rude when she stops responding, until one day she sends him an essay telling him that it is unfair of him to keep contacting her like this, that it’s making it hard for her to move on, that she keeps warming back up to him and he keeps reminding her why they broke up by getting wasted and doing something stupid, and that she will be blocking him post voicemail/text whatever.

So, whenever he’s back in town he starts showing up at her place with worse and worse excuses. “Just passing by, thought I’d say hi.” “I lost my arm support, think I left a spare here, mind if I look?” “Lian kept asking about you, and it’s my weekend so I thought we’d surprise you.”

And they keep almost getting there. Ill-advised kisses. Seeking the other out when they need comfort from a long-time friend. Bumping into each other and winding up spending the day together just because it's so easy to fall into stride. Maybe she even starts dating other guys which causes even more problems, and makes him emotional and then he spirals proving even more why she was right to break up with him.

But they never take the plunge because either she just doesn’t buy that he’s ready for that yet, or because he proves he’s not ready yet by going out on a bender or drinking too much over dinner.

Obviously, she’s only one of many reasons he finally decides to get sober and when he starts going to rehab and attending AA, he doesn’t tell her until he gets his 30-day chip. Then he shows up at her door once again to show her, she is happy for him, ecstatic, but she needs more commitment than 30 days. He mails her all his proceeding chips, 60 days, 90 days, 4 months, 5, 6, 12. By the time he sees her again, she is ready.

She’s been waiting for this moment for months, she swings the doors open, and throws herself into his arms. They spend a whole weekend in bed joyously making up for lost time. Sorting their shit, making plans. They’re gonna move in together, somewhere with a second room for Lian, and space for a dining room, and a big TV. A garden large enough for Roy to have a shooting range and garage to tinker in.

They have years to catch up on. It’s perfect, nothing in this world could bring him down. They’re stronger than ever, Roy keeps attending his meetings, and then Heroes in Crisis happens.

[houseofaegon]

HOUSEOFAEGON’S SCHEDULE ╱ SERIES/WIPS & FICS 💋🖋️📜

🌾🌅🤠 MONDAY — DUST & DESIRE SERIES

★ thunderbolts AU (cowboy!bob reynolds x fem!reader)

✷ ─── summary: after eight years away, you return to your hometown for the summer—older, richer, and sharper than the girl who once ran barefoot through dusty fields with bob reynolds at your side. you left for nyu law and built a polished, high-powered life in new york city. bob stayed behind, taking over his family’s ranch and turning into something harder, quieter—hotter. invited by his mother to stay at the reynolds ranch, you walk back into a world that feels both foreign and familiar, dragging designer suitcases and memories behind you. but nothing is simple now. not with the tension that crackles every time bob looks at you like he’s still trying to hate you and can’t. not with the heat that builds when old wounds surface and words go unsaid. not when every glance, every touch, lingers on the edge of something you never really let go of. you’re not sure what’s harder to face—the past you walked away from, or the man who never chased after you… but might now.

💌💭📝 TUESDAY — REQUESTS/ASKS

★ my requests are always open!!! feel free to send your smuttiest, most unhinged, craziest fic requests<3 older ones are prioritized but if your ask hits just right?? bestie it’s going in the queue <3

🌙🕯️🔮 WEDNESDAY — ENCHANTRESS

★ post thunderbolts (bob reynolds x avenger!oc / void x enchantress)

✷ ─── summary: arabella montenegro was born under a blood moon, marked by old gods, bound to ancient magic, cursed and chosen all at once. a witch. a weapon. an avenger once, before the world became too loud, and her own shadows grew teeth sharper than anyone could control. they called her the enchantress, not realizing that name belonged to something else—the other half of her. the darkness that lives beneath her skin. not evil. not good. just ancient, and waiting to be let out. now, arabella walks barefoot through the watchtower—salt at her doorways, obsidian rings on her fingers, shadows whispering her name like a sacred incantation. her tarot cards never lie. her shadows never sleep. after the near-destruction of new york by the void, she's called back to a world she tried to leave behind, she’s called back to the fight—to the thunderbolts, to bucky, to the ghosts of who she used to be. and to bob reynolds. the golden god with too much power, and too many fractures.he is power incarnate. and arabella is the only thing he cannot destroy. but the void sees her too. wants her. recognizes the entity buried inside her—the one who looks back when she stares too long into the dark. because inside bob, something dark stirs. and inside her, something just as dark answers. arabella montenegro doesn't believe in salvation. not for herself, not for anyone else. but somewhere between salt circles and moonlit rituals, between banter, bitten lips, and stolen touches—the witch and the void begin to burn. and when they finally touch, the world will never be the same.

🍸🏝️💍 THURSDAY — WICKED GAME

★ the white lotus AU (sebastian stan x engaged heiress!oc)

✷ ─── summary: genevieve amelia rothschild is a problem. born into old money and scandals, raised in million-dollar penthouses and pressed into silk dresses, forced into etiquette and expectations. but beneath the polished surface, she's always been something else entirely—a wildfire wrapped in couture and gold, a scandal waiting to happen. she's spent her years living fast, breaking rules, and racking up headlines. party girl. wild child. black sheep. always too much—and always exactly what the press loves to hate. now she's twenty-five and engaged to a man she doesn't love. the wedding is a carefully arranged spectacle—beautiful, calculated, entirely hollow, and nothing but a fucking lie. the guest list read like a who's who of high society, of the elites. the dress? dior. the venue? a billion-dollar mansion in los angeles. the whole world watching. all ginny has to do is smile and behave. but behaving has never been her specialty. after one too many public disasters, her mother sends her away to sicily. alone. "to rest," she says. "to stay out of trouble." ginny is exiled to sicily, to the white lotus—a luxury resort carved into the cliffs above the sea, where everything smells like citrus, stillness, aperol spritz, and the staff are trained to forget your name. It's beautiful, remote, elite, and fucking suffocating. she drinks too much, sunbathes too long, and drapes herself in expensive silk and bathing suits. she's bored. restless. one sharp breath away from doing something reckless. then she sees him. sebastian fucking stan. he's older than she remembers. quieter. distant in a way that makes it impossible to stop looking. he came to the white lotus to disappear. he's here under a fake name, hiding after a very public divorce and a slow-motion fall from grace. and ginny? she's the last kind of person he should want. too loud. too rich. too well-known. but she looks at him like she already knows all his secrets. and he watches her like she's the first real thing he's seen in months. she's spoken for. he's sworn off. but something about the sicilian heat makes you forget the rules.

🕸️🗡️💋 FRIDAY — WIDOW’S WEB

★ marvel au dark romance (bucky barnes x widow!oc)

✷ ─── she was supposed to be dead. s.h.i.e.l.d. agents don’t survive an entire building collapsing on their heads—let alone walk away untouched, vanish off the grid, and reappear years later as an agent gone rogue, as a high-level international threat with an extensive body count, several bounties on her head, and a growing list of governments too afraid to speak her name out loud. but isadora vale did. she was one of theirs once. recruited and rescued by s.h.i.e.l.d. after the red room fell. a weapon reprogrammed into a multi-billion dollar asset. they gave her missions, orders, trust—until she learned the truth. until they betrayed her—and left her for dead. and now she’s back, leaving bodies behind like breadcrumbs. each corpse marked with a crimson lipstick stain. a signature. a warning. an invitation. she’s a ghost. a myth. a weapon built by the red room—refined by s.h.i.e.l.d. —now turned loose against the world that made her. against the governments that used her. against the people who claimed to protect her. against the man who was supposed to be watching her six. s.h.i.e.l.d. wants her gone. the avengers want her caught. and bucky barnes? he can't stop looking for her. can't stop thinking about her. can’t decide if he wants to capture her and bring her in, or press her up against a wall and beg her to ruin him. he was assigned to stop her. he tells himself that’s still the plan. instead, he lets her slip through his fingers again and again. but every time she slips through his fingers—smiling, taunting, calling him sweetheart through stolen comms—he doesn’t pull the trigger. because somewhere between the blood, the fights that end with heavy breathing and lips too close, the chase, between her whispers in his comms, between the way she smiles before she disappears, he stopped wanting to catch her. he doesn't understand what's happening to him. but there’s one thing bucky barnes is sure of: he’s already wrapped around her fingers—caught in her widow’s web. and the worst part? he doesn’t care, and he doesn't want to get out.

⌨️✍🏼✏️ SATURDAY — MUSE DAY

★ brain dump zone!! just some free writing, whatever comes to my mind, blurbs, one-shots, headcanons, character rants, yapping sessions, and whatever is living in my brain rent-free.

BRI'S NOTE: once each series is done, this schedule will be updated to fit the current WIP!! this blog is 90% unhinged smutty fics and 10% me screaming in the tags and yapping non-stop like a caffeinated raccoon. i try to post 4-5x a week, answer requests/asks whenever i can, and go feral over fictional characters and celebrities like a cat in heat. 'cause im just a girl.

i will try my best to stick to this weekly schedule but i am also a mood writer so expect surprise fic drops mid week or double fic updates when i spiral.

want to interact more? ❀ let's be moots!! send me your fic requests, tell me your favorite tropes, send me your favorite songs, your favorite books, tag me in your favorite smutty fics, let's be feral together!!!!! reblog my fics with comments or reviews—it truly fuels me to write more, and it makes my day so much better. i read every tag, reply, and comment. i try to respond when i can, but just know: you make me smile sooo much, it really makes me so happy. thank you for leaving a little bit of love behind for me!! <3

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN!!! got something unhinged on your mind?? my inbox is your confession booth. i'm right here screaming with you!!! send me your smuttiest chaotic fic requests, what if scenarios, lyrics, blurbs, rants, screams, love, whatever you please!! try to be as descriptive as you can, the more you give me the more my imagination runs wild!! give me backstory, heartbreak, songs, anything!! i love writing while listening to music, so requests with music are very much appreciated! make sure to read the rules and guidelines before requesting <3

` ִ ☆゙ rules & guidelines masterlist side blog ֶָ ࣪ ׅ ♱

[hai7ani]

link to previous

ok now what about this. what about carrying your son up into your arms only to have him tug on your sweater and repeatedly chant "daddy?" while looking at you with so much hope in his eyes. he's excited, he's confused, his eyes are lighting up, and he looks so much like him -- an exact copy of his father when he was younger. you'd compared their photos as a child shortly after your son has turned 5, and you'd gotten the shock of your life.

the purple in his eyes used to scare you a lot. they used to make you shudder and cry during baby blues when things were so much harder to go through -- because those purples also belonged to a person who'd looked you straight in the eye and told you he doesn't want you anymore when he'd left you and your broken heart alone in the middle of december -- before new years, it'll make things easier. the blond in his hair used to haunt you so much too, because those strands were also the ones you'd used to comb through with your fingers when the two of you were still young and still in the dating stage.

but as time passes you don't think you'd have it any other way, because these are lovely features belonging to a boy who'd wait for you to come pick him up at daycare and then call you "mommy" while handing you a rose and a warm hug when you do.

he tugs again but you don't reply. you huff out a shaky breath and kiss the side of his head, telling him to never run off like that again, and you don't say a thing more -- you don't even know what to say. you feel as if you have committed a crime and you don't even know what it is. and rindou is burning holes into your back when you turn around and pretend like you don't even know the man who is the father of your son, and he's standing behind you now.

he's waiting for you to turn around -- you know it. your son's even reaching a hand out to him -- the ultraman toy in his hand now in rindou's, but you don't know that, and you don't turn around, and the bus arrives. you cut the queue and hop on before anything else happens and rindou watches as you pick a seat on the right side of the bus -- where he can't see you as clear, where he can't watch as you nervously take the scarf off your son despite his protests and shove it in your bag.

you don't look out the window when the bus drives off. "mommy? that was my daddy." he says, like it's a fact -- one backed up with concrete evidence -- even though he has never once saw a photo of rindou, let alone met him.

your heart aches, but you don't want to lie to him. you think the world is cruel to you.

"i know." and you don't say a thing more.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Part 1: To belong

Part 2: To dream

The ikran continued nudging against your side, the deep, rumbling sound emanating from its chest like a purr. It was almost comical, seeing such a fearsome creature reduced to this affectionate display. You giggled softly, stroking its snout as you murmured soothing words that seemed to enchant it further.

Neteyam stood nearby, his arms now loosely at his sides, but his eyes remained fixed on you. His spirit brother had never behaved this way, not with anyone but him. Yet here it was, utterly entranced by you, as if Eywa herself had woven an invisible bond between the three of you.

You tilted your head, your hand trailing gently along the ikran’s neck as a wistful look crossed your face. “Once,” you began, your voice soft, “I dreamt I rode an ikran.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched. His golden eyes widened as he processed your words, his heart thundering in his chest. And then, as if it had understood you, his ikran suddenly lowered its massive body, bowing its head until it rested on the forest floor. Its wings folded neatly at its sides, and it turned its gaze toward you, an almost expectant look in its sharp eyes.

You froze, glancing between the ikran and Neteyam, your expression a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope. “Neteyam,” you said hesitantly, your voice trembling just slightly. “Is it… is it letting me…?”

Neteyam’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The idea of anyone but him riding his ikran should have been unthinkable, an impossibility. Yet here it was, submitting to you with a grace and willingness he’d never seen before. His gaze softened as he looked at you, the awe and hope in your eyes making his resolve solidify.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him. “H’s letting you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you glanced back at the ikran, who nudged you gently with its snout, urging you forward. You turned to Neteyam, your eyes bright with excitement. “Do you think… could we ride him together?”

Neteyam’s heart stuttered. He didn’t hesitate for long. “Yes,” he said, his voice resolute. “We can.”

He stepped forward, his large hands reaching out to you. “Let me help you,” he said softly, and you nodded, placing your hands on his shoulders for balance. With an ease born of his strength, Neteyam lifted you effortlessly, guiding you to sit on the ikran’s back. You settled carefully, your movements tentative, but the ikran remained still, its body relaxed beneath you.

Once you were securely seated, Neteyam climbed up behind you in a single fluid motion. His legs bracketed yours as he settled close, his chest pressing against your back. His arms came around you instinctively, strong and steady, holding you securely in place. You felt the warmth of his body, his strength enveloping you, and you couldn’t help but feel safe.

Neteyam reached for his queue, his braid in hand as he leaned forward slightly. You watched, entranced, as he made the tsaheylu, connecting the tendrils of his braid to the neural links on the ikran. The moment the bond formed, the ikran let out a low, harmonious cry, its body trembling slightly with energy.

Neteyam inhaled deeply, his senses aligning with his spirit brother’s. Through their connection, he could feel the ikran’s contentment, its acceptance—not just of him, but of you. The realization sent a surge of emotion through him, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and gentle by your ear. He could feel the slight tremor in your body, a mix of nerves and excitement, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering of your heart. “I’m ready.”

Neteyam gave a soft command in Na’vi, and the ikran responded immediately, its wings unfolding with a powerful snap. You gasped as the creature lifted off the ground, its body surging upward with a grace and strength that took your breath away. Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to him as the wind rushed past, lifting your hair and sending it streaming behind you.

The forest blurred below as the ikran soared higher, its powerful wings beating against the air. You let out a laugh, the sound bright and free, and Neteyam’s chest tightened at the sound. His heart swelled with pride, with joy, and with something deeper—something he didn’t dare name aloud.

“Neteyam!” you called over the rush of the wind, twisting slightly to look back at him. Your (y/e/c) eyes sparkled with exhilaration, your cheeks flushed. “This is amazing!”

He smiled, his gaze soft as he looked at you. “You’re amazing,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You blinked, a slight blush coloring your cheeks, but before you could respond, the ikran dove suddenly, its movements smooth and fluid. You let out a delighted squeal, leaning into Neteyam’s hold as the world tilted around you. He held you tightly, his hands steady on your waist, his touch grounding you even as the sky seemed to open up before you.

For that moment, everything else fell away. There was no fear, no doubt, no distance between your two worlds. There was only the wind, the sky, and the two of you, bound together in a way that felt as natural and eternal as Eywa herself.

And Neteyam knew, with a certainty that went deeper than words, that he would give anything—everything—to stay by your side.

After few long minutes the ikran descended gracefully, its powerful wings stirring the air as it slowed for landing. The soft moss of the forest floor cushioned its talons as it touched down, and Neteyam leaned forward slightly, his hands still steady on your waist to ensure you dismounted safely.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, you spun around to face him, your face alight with pure, unfiltered joy. Your laughter rang through the air, bright and infectious, and you threw your arms wide as you spun in a little circle, your energy uncontainable.

“That was incredible!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing on your toes. “No—more than incredible. That was the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire life!”

Neteyam slid down from his ikran, his movements fluid and practiced, but his gaze was fixed entirely on you. He stood there for a moment, silent and still, watching you as you flitted around him like a beam of sunlight come to life. The way your hair shimmered as it caught the light, the way your eyes sparkled with excitement, the way your smile could rival the brightest of stars—it all stole his breath.

You turned to the ikran, your hands resting on your hips as you addressed it directly. “And you,” you said with mock sternness, though your grin betrayed you. “You’re amazing, you know that? I can’t believe you let me ride you!”

The ikran rumbled low in its chest, dipping its head slightly as if it understood. You reached up to pet its snout again, your touch gentle and full of affection. It leaned into your hand, rumbling contentedly, and you laughed softly, the sound warming Neteyam’s heart like nothing else could.

You whirled back toward him, practically skipping as you closed the distance between you. “Neteyam!” you exclaimed, your hands reaching out to grab his forearms, your excitement bubbling over. “That was… I don’t even have words for it. It was like flying and dreaming and being free, all at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it!”

Neteyam couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, wide and genuine. His hands moved of their own accord, gently closing over yours where they rested on his arms. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said softly, his voice warm and filled with affection. “You were incredible.”

You flushed at his words, but your grin only grew wider. “I can’t believe you let me ride with you,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less filled with wonder. “And your ikran… I still can’t believe he let me. It’s like… like a dream come true.”

Neteyam tilted his head, his gaze steady on you. “It’s no dream,” he said gently. “My spirit brother sees you. He chose to trust you, just as I do.”

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and for a moment, you looked down at your hands, as if overwhelmed by the weight of his words. But then your smile returned, softer this time, and you looked up at him, your eyes shining. “Thank you, Neteyam,” you said, your voice full of sincerity. “For everything. For trusting me, for sharing this with me. I’ll never forget it.”

He felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding in a rhythm that seemed to echo through the forest. He wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, how much he cherished this moment—not because of the flight, but because of you. Because your joy, your laughter, your very presence made his world brighter.

Instead, he nodded, his smile soft. “It’s my honor,” he said simply.

You beamed at him, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, standing there in the heart of Pandora, the forest alive with the sounds of life around you.

The ikran let out a soft chirp, nudging at your shoulder, and you turned back to it with a laugh, reaching up to stroke its neck. “Alright, alright,” you said playfully. “You’re part of this, too. Thank you, big boy.”

Neteyam watched you, his heart swelling with a deep, unshakable feeling. You had no idea how much you meant to him, how much joy it brought him to see you like this. And in that moment, he made a silent vow—to do whatever it took to keep that light in your eyes, that smile on your face. To protect you, to cherish you, to love you, whether you ever knew it or not.

And as you stood there, laughing with his ikran and spinning around with joy, Neteyam realized something with absolute clarity: you weren’t just a part of his world—you were the very center of it.

Part 3: To gift