My Number 1

my number 1

jeno x reader drabble

notes : just pure fluff with jeno& jeno being down bad for his girlfriend 🥹 (not proofread)

You sat in the bleachers. wearing his number 23 jersey with his favourite skirt he loves on you. His eyes scanned through the crowd as he stood on the field. He eagerly found your eyes, and when he did, he gave you the biggest smile along with a bunch of hearts formed by his hands. Only stopping until he felt satisfied with your reaction. He went back to the game as you continued blushing.

With the final score being 2-3, the crowd goes wild. Cheering out loud for your boyfriend’s team that just won. You ran down to the field, holding your small, handmade bouquet. Searching for your champion. Only to see him running towards you. Grabbing your waist and swinging you around as giggles left both of your mouths. “Did my baby enjoy that match?” Jeno looks down at you with his glowing eyes staring right at you. “Definitely, I am your number one fan,” with that smile on your face as you reply to him. He pauses to admire you before tilting your head up to give you the sweetest kiss ever.

open the gates, let me in

summary. jeno always seems willing to do anything for you, and it takes a lot of inner nagging for him to finally realize why.

pairing. jeno x y/n ft donghyuck, jaemin genre. fluff, college au, best friends to lovers disclaimers. swearing, denial resonates so deeply with me its humiliating word count. 4.0k released. 02.05.23

masterlist

For what feels like the nth time this hour, a certain honey-skinned boy shamelessly rolls his eyes at one of his best friends. That title, however, is in serious danger of being revoked if he has to spend one more agonizing second in this store.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't ditch your ass right now," Donghyuck jeers. His habit of poking his cheek with his tongue shines through as impatience radiates off of his body.

Jeno ignores his complaining, eyes diligently scanning the rows of colourful fragrance bottles.

He's quite overwhelmed. The labels, brands, scents, and undertones—they all mean nothing to him. The only thing he's somewhat familiar with is the brand of the cologne he takes a liking to, but the strong woods and smokes of the men's cologne selection is a distinct opposite of what he’s looking for.

It leaves him to stand cluelessly among the shelves of white flowers and citruses and berries, trying to pick out the combination he thinks you'd like the most.

"Where would you even go? I drove," Jeno deadpans. 

He gently picks up a translucent, pale red bottle. Blood orange and peony.

Popping off the cap, he spritzes a tiny bit on his inner wrist and brings it up close to his nose. The scent is like a punch in the face, leaving him reclining back with a furrowed brow.

Too strong.

"We're going to be late to Jaemin's if you don't hurry the fuck up," Donghyuck says, burning holes through Jeno's skull before letting out a deep sigh.

"Can you just pick one so we can go? We look like fucking idiots here."

Jeno only hums, cracking a small smile.

He couldn't chide him for being wrong—the two of them look very out of place. Their sharp silver jewelry, inked skin, and dazed boyish smiles contrast against the dainty bottles standing atop the soft pink shelves of the women's fragrance section like black on white.

"Firstly," Jeno begins, voice riddled with amusement. "You don't give a fuck about punctuality-"

"Oh look at you, going off with your big words."

Jeno spins around. "Hyuck, you're drinking a matcha frappucino while looking like that."

He points at the green drink the boy was sipping on, the extra whipped cream he asked for contradicting his hard exterior.

Donghyuck scoffs. "Sorry I don't like to drink death in a cup," he drawls, sarcasm dripping off his tongue.

He breaks his glare on the black-haired boy as he sees two girls standing a distance away, his face doing a 180 as he notices them not-so-discreetly staring.

Smirking, Donghyuck confidently throws them a wink. He watches with pride as flattered giggles spill from their lips, before turning back to Jeno, who had picked up another bottle.

"Why are you even doing this?" Donghyuck asks out of genuine curiosity, though it's hidden underneath the guise of annoyance.

"Y/N asked me to."

Here’s some money. Get me something you think I'd like, yeah? you had said. Or something that you'd like. I'll still wear it, I don't care. I trust your judgment.

Donghyuck snorts. "I'm convinced you'd do anything for Y/N," he mutters.

It's an offhand comment, yet it makes the black-haired boy put his tongue between his teeth as a weird, sprawling feeling erupts in his chest.

The thought of why he seemed willing to do anything for you had never occurred to him. Not because the thought had never shown up to the gates of his consciousness—Jeno was uncomfortably familiar with the strange feeling in his stomach when you were around—but because he never let it in.

He doesn't dare to let it in, even going as far as telling it to leave and never return each time it knocks—because if he did, he would spend hours in this perfume section, legs going numb from standing as it invaded and overtook his brain, preventing him from getting anything done.

His eyes land on one last bottle. It's a clear one, with a clean, minimalistic label.

Lazy Sunday Morning. Maison Margiela.

Jeno repeats the action he's done with multiple bottles by now; spritzing the fragrance onto a new, untouched area of his inner arm and bringing it up to smell.

It's soft, it's floral, it's feminine. It infiltrates his senses in the way fresh, cotton bed sheets would. The soft sun after the rain.

It's how you look when he comes over to your apartment unannounced on a random weekend morning: wearing an oversized white shirt and a pair of high-waisted sports shorts.

It's the strawberry lip gloss that always stains your lips. It's your Hello Kitty pillowcase that you wash way more often than Jeno washes his, for which you constantly nag him for being unhygienic.

It's your flushed, red face at parties, your preference for tea over coffee—your smaller, softer hand grabbing his calloused one when he gets nervous.

Jeno thinks it's you, and he hopes you think it's you too.

He slowly turns around to Donghyuck, who's fidgeting with the tattered sleeve of his leather jacket.

"Smell this," he prompts, snapping the brown-haired boy out of his daze.

Donghyuck tugs at Jeno's arm, bringing it up to his face and taking a quick whiff before letting it fall. "Smells nice. I'm sure Y/N will like it. Now let's go," he presses, already taking off towards the exit.

Jeno only shakes his head, gaze falling on the bottle he held in his ring-clad fingers. He thinks it would look nice on your vanity, next to all your other bottles of products.

He doesn't know what they do, but they make you, you.

Donghyuck, whose brown strands are now dyed a refreshing purple, throws his head back howling with laughter as he sees you and Jeno approach the food court table.

He receives several displeased stares from nearby people, but he doesn't seem to care in the slightest, only being able to focus on what Jeno is wearing.

"Oh my fucking god, Jeno," he wails incoherently, pointing at his friend's pants while clutching his stomach. "What- what are those?"

Your choice to wear a pair of light-washed, ripped skinny jeans to come to the mall turned out to be a massive mistake. You're bitter towards the person who first said "beauty is pain" because of how miserably right they are; whose idea was it to make girls' pants so uncomfortable?

The walk across the parking lot to the entrance was enough for your legs to start screaming for relief, resulting in you pleading with Jeno to switch with you.

Jeno drops down into the empty seat next to Jaemin, letting out a deep sigh. He rubs at his temples as Donghyuck's high-pitched, maniacal laughter erratically rings throughout the air.

This is exactly why he was adamant about declining your request; Lee Donghyuck is an entity of pure evil, and Jeno felt the humiliation creeping up on him from behind like a tiger ready to pounce.

But as he always seems to do, he relented.

Now, his sweatpants sit comfortably on your hips, bunching up at your ankles while he wears your jeans, the pant ends stopping halfway up his calves.

"She was chafing," he mutters, referring to you.

Donghyuck laughs loudly and unapologetically, reaching down to poke at Jeno's bare knee through the large rips of the jeans. His actions result in him getting a hard slap on the arm, eliciting a pained "ow!" from him.

You give Jeno a sweet smile, slipping him another whispered apology before feeling a gentle tug at your wrist.

Renjun begins to drag you away from the table, mumbling something along the lines of "new premium watercolour set" and "20% off". Jumping up from his seat, Donghyuck follows suit with a devilish smile etched on his face, immediately asking the shorter boy to buy him a vinyl he had his eye on from earlier.

Jaemin watches as the three of you fade into the crowd of customers, leaving only him and Jeno at the table. As soon as you disappear from his sight, he whips around with anticipation. "So?"

A shaky blink. "So..?"

"So? Have you thought about what I said?"

Jeno doesn't respond as he stills, his lips pursed carefully.

Of course he had thought about what Jaemin said.

He tried his goddamn hardest not to, just like he has with every other possible reasoning behind his feelings that wandered into scary, uncharted territory—but how could he not? It wasn't something that he could just forget, like remembering to wash his socks or buying milk.

A week ago, Na Jaemin had brought upon him a revelation that was far too casually dropped at one of the group's regular get-togethers. It was like a silent bomb, and it had been doing no less than eating at him alive.

He wants to deny it so badly. In fact, that's exactly what he's been doing—denying its possibility of being true, denying its existence at all.

If it was going to slip through the cracks of the iron gates, Jeno was going to make sure it felt as unwelcome as possible.

And that's exactly what he does.

"I have," he begins meekly.

Upon hearing these words, Jaemin's lips stretch into a wide smile. "And?"

"...and I don't think you're right."

The lights in the younger's eyes flicker out just as quickly as they turned on. He doesn't even bother to hide his disappointment, giving his best friend a deadpan stare. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

He was expecting this reaction from Jaemin, but he couldn't let it get to him. Not when he couldn't let the narrative Jaemin was pressing so adamantly a week ago be true.

A loud sigh rips through the air. "Jeno, why are you so in denial?"

"I'm not in denial. It's not true."

Jaemin leans forward, looking into his best friend's eyes. He could tell there was a deep, buried sense of longing behind those dark irises.

"Lee Jeno," he begins slowly.

"I have known you nearly my entire life. I have been by your side since we were puny, disgusting first graders, and I have never seen you be so caring towards someone."

Jaemin has always doted on you.

He reminds you of a worrying mother; a fairy who is always there to remind you to dress warmly and take your vitamins. When you had a fever, Jeno had knocked on the door of your apartment only to be let in by Jaemin, who had been in your kitchen making his mother's soup recipe for you.

Donghyuck is the playful, sarcastic brother you never had.

He's the one who always encourages you to down another shot, to get you to do crazy things like jumping off the roof into a pool. But he's warm when he needs to be; Jeno had walked in one night through the door of his and Donghyuck's shared apartment to find you dumping your emotions onto the honey-skinned boy's shirt as he whispered words of consolation.

Renjun indulges your passionate side.

You share so much in common with him and you value his opinion like a sacred script. He's your 3AM therapist for your woes, he's your debate opponent for any topic—he's the one who encouraged you to chase after your dreams when you had trouble deciding on whether to choose what your parents wanted for you, or what you wanted for yourself.

Jeno thinks he's just Lee Jeno to you. 

The captain of the basketball team you met back in junior year of high school, who’s an architecture major at the same university you go to. Your best friend, but only if you thought so.

When it's about the others, Jeno seems to see everything—how they care for you, in what ways they’re integrated into your life—he doesn’t seem to notice how much he cares for you. 

He doesn't think about how sometimes, he miraculously finds himself entering your apartment at the crack of dawn to remind you to bring an assignment that's due that day. And when you knock your hand against his, silenting asking for him to hold it, he’ll reluctantly put his cold, mysterious image aside to gently slip his hand into yours.

There was one time when you asked to go stargazing in the dead of the night. Despite the subzero weather outside, not an ounce of regret coursed through his body when he agreed to go with you.

He couldn’t feel his fingers when he was out there, but it didn’t feel like it mattered when he saw you pointing at constellations with a smile of pure euphoria painted on your features.

He doesn’t notice how you notice that he cares.

The way your eyes lit up when he quietly entered your room with medicine and a hot water bottle went unseen by him. You never told him that Renjun was only half of the reason why you chose to pursue art, and that seeing him choose architecture over the path his own parents wanted for him pushed you over the edge.

He seems to remember you curled up to Donghyuck's side, but not how as soon as you saw him walk through the doorway, you gently peeled yourself up from the couch, out of Donghyuck's hold to throw yourself onto him, because you had come to their apartment looking for him. For his hold, for his comfort.

No, he doesn't notice these things because he's selectively blind when it comes to the possibility of there ever being a 'you and him', and it drives Jaemin nuts.

Jaemin laughs, dumbfounded. 

"For fucks sake, Jeno," he exclaims, dragging his hands down his face. "You're literally wearing women's jeans right now."

He removes his hands from his face, staring deeply into his best friend's eyes in a last-ditch effort to get through to the stubborn boy.

"You're in love with her."

"I'm sorry."

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times those two words had left Jeno's lips.

The party downstairs blares in the background, though it’s muffled by the closed door. Jeno’s murmured apologies are the only sounds that fill the air, other than the squelches of water as you squeezed your shirt in the sink. 

You turn your head around to look at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. He’s sitting on the edge of the acrylic bathtub, sliding his rings up and down his fingers with a distant look on his face.

"Stop apologizing. It's okay."

Despite graduating two years ago, Johnny Suh still parties like it’s his full-time job, and being in his second-floor bathroom makes the room feel like it’s a physical manifestation of his spirit.

There’s two lights above the bathroom mirror, though one of them had blown its fuse. It casts a dim, aquamarine light that reaches every corner of the small room, highlighting the slightly frayed shower curtains and dark crevices of the floor tiles. There’s a few shaving products and the remains of a half-smoked blunt strewn across the surface of the otherwise clean countertop.

The reason why you and Jeno are in the bathroom instead of downstairs isn’t one the boy’s proud of. 

You didn’t run into Jeno until around halfway through the night. They say you haven’t had the real college experience if you haven’t gone to a Johnny Suh party, and the flocks of people that covered every part of the estate prove how much people value getting their tuition’s worth.

A light sheen of sweat is apparent on your forehead as you try your best to weave your way through the masses. You don’t even know where you’re going, and you could feel it growing stuffier as more people spilled into the halls.

It’s only until you suddenly feel a piercing cold sensation on your chest do you see something other than drunk college students pressed together.

You come face-to-face with Lee Jeno, who’s staring at you with big, round eyes and lips parted in sheer horror.

You glance down at your own body. The center of your chest is several shades darker, a large wet splotch prominently standing out against the beige fabric of your long-sleeved top. 

Your eyes dart between your top and Jeno’s red solo cup that had several droplets of liquid dribbling down its side. Realizing what just happened, you can’t help but laugh.

“Why hello to you too, mister,” you say between giggles.

Jeno’s face is flushing redder by the second, and there’s a big bump on his head from the imaginary hammer that struck him for being so stupid. 

A few seconds go by of just him staring at you before stutters spill from his lips. 

“I- Oh my- oh my god,” he breathes out. “Oh my fucking god, Y/N, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay. I needed an excuse to get away from all the noise anyways,” you cut him off, reaching for his free hand. 

“Come with me to the bathroom?”

The words flow out of your mouth like a smooth, running stream; casual, and far more relaxed than the jittery feeling in Jeno's stomach. He doesn’t resist in the slightest, the feeling of your touch sending a surge of electricity up his arm.

Finally looking up from the metal around his fingers, Jeno’s breath hitches.

His eyes trail down your figure with innocent intention. The thin straps of your ivory, silk camisole delicately sit on your collarbone, your black miniskirt hugging your waist. 

He doesn’t realize he’s even staring, not when he’s mesmerized by the slope of your nose, or the outline of your cupid’s bow.

There’s something that the aquamarine glow is doing to you that makes his jaw go slack.

Usually, he’d be alert, keeping his thoughts in check—but the slight intoxication seeped through him, and he can feel himself growing careless.

Jeno's hand twitches. You're within arm's reach, he could reach for your waist and pull you right into him—but he doesn't, because that would ruin the scene.

This scene of you standing in front of the sink, twisting your shirt in your hands with a small crease in your brow. It's so domestic, so perfect—he can't help but wonder what it'd be like to see you like this every day—

—and then, he hears it.

There it is, the violent banging on the gates. It echoes through the halls from outside, persistent and maybe just a bit desperate. Or, was it actually his heart thumping against his chest?

Open up! it yelled. You would do anything for her. You're in love with her, idiot!

Had it been his heart all along?

"There we go," you give your top one final twist, grinning with satisfaction as the water drips down clear.

You turn the sink off and unravel the top from its scrunched-up form, flapping it a few times to prevent creases.

"That should do it. Okay, let's go back downstairs. Hyuck bet ten dollars I couldn't beat him in beer pong and I'm going to make him eat his wor-"

Your rambling is cut off as soon as you turn toward the boy on the edge of the tub. He's staring at you with misty eyes, and you can't stop yourself from taking a step closer.

"Jeno?" you call, leaning down to meet him at eye level.

Eyes twinkling with mirth, you lower yourself into a crouching position, and your hand finds its place on his knee. You let your fingers drum on the fabric of his black jeans, musing your wonder.

"You're drunk, aren't you? How much have you had to drink?"

The action is mindless, and Jeno knows it. The two of you often shared small, habitual touches—but this time, it's wholly different.

"I'm- I'm not drunk," he croaks out.

A light-hearted snicker. "Sure you aren't."

"I'm not."

"Then why is your face so red?"

"I'm just... thinking about something."'

An amused chuckle leaves your mouth before you muse your wonders, "You're drunk, Jen. But, would you care to share?"

Jeno feels himself unclicking the locks. "Okay," he huffs out nervously.

The iron gates swing slightly ajar.

"I'm thinking about how I would do anything for you."

A pause goes by. The sound of the music downstairs seems to have gotten even louder, to the point where Jeno can't hear his own breathing. He wonders if he's even still breathing as his gaze rests on you intensely, waiting for your reaction.

When your fingers stop drumming against his knee, Jeno's world stops.

"O-oh."

Your expression is indecipherable as his words sink in, eyes growing rounder and your lips part.

Your eyes dart around Jeno's face to see if you can locate a trace of playfulness, a hint that he wasn't thinking straight—and while his flushed, rosy cheeks are a telltale that he's a little intoxicated, his eyes are heavy with sincerity.

He's being serious, and it brings you to a loss for words.

"A-and? What did you conclude?" you manage to stutter out, peering up at him.

This is exactly what he was afraid of. Afraid of your disappointed expression, your lips ready to utter the inevitable words he wished he'd never have to hear.

He's not even sure what those words exactly are, because Lee Jeno feels like a fucking mess right now, but he'll know in a few seconds after you say them—

"I... I don't really know why..."

A lightbulb clicks in your head. You seem to realize Jeno's implications before he even does himself.

"Jeno?" you prompt, voice feather-soft.

The boy's eyes are screwed shut by now, unable to look you in the eyes. He's trying to lock the gates closed again, as they were for so long.

"Hmm?" he weakly hums.

"I love you."

Jeno's attempts are futile. The thought is victorious.

It pushes past his regret-driven efforts. It floods his head akin to a raging tsunami.

It's so loud. The music in the background is so loud.

You are so loud. Your eyes, your grip on his knee, your words—

—they're so loud.

She just said she loves me.

"I've loved you for so long. Do you love me too?" you whisper, hand subconsciously reaching for his.

It shocks Jeno how his voice doesn't fail him. "You love me?"

"I do."

"M-more than a friend?"

"Much more. I love you like I'll never have you, even if I always find myself in your arms," you say, letting out a dry chuckle as a small smile graces your face.

"Do you love me too?" you repeat.

The gates snap off their hinges from the sheer force, and the thought chants a victory song—

You're in love with her!

Jeno blinks.

I'm in love with her.

Jeno never seemed to mind, when it came to you. He never seemed to mind wearing your light blue skinny jeans for you, and he never seemed to mind looking out of place with his grungy demeanor inside of a delicate perfume section either. He never seemed to mind waking up at an ungodly hour for you, and he never seemed to mind holding you when the world was against you.

And as you look at him, your face glimmering underneath the dim, bathroom light—it clicks.

Jeno suddenly realizes why he'd be willing to do anything for you. He'd be willing to get you the moon and the stars if you asked, because he loves you.

And, because you deserve it. It's the least he could do for you for loving him.

Reaching out a wavering hand, Jeno gently pulls you up from your crouching position so the both of you could stand. Your gaze never leaves him, your previous question still hanging in the air.

The boy rests his hand delicately on your jaw. His eyes glaze over your face, taking in your beautiful features before landing on your lips with a shaky exhale.

"Do you love me too?" you ask for a third time, your irises shining with hope.

"Fuck," he breathes out. "I- I do. I love you, so much."

You don't even get the chance to beam at his confession before he closes the distance between the two of you, his soft lips against yours.

💜💜💜

ok ok I listened to some of the songs you recommended, and why are ISTJ and Boss so good?? Wake up

From the ones I’ve listened to, I really like Smoothie, SOS, Poison, Carat Cake, Kiss, Can We Go Back, Baggy Jeans, and The 7th Sense

i haven’t gotten to any nct 127 songs other than fact check and walk but i will eventually trust

oh man gawd! i’ve been reflecting & i feel so bad for recommending so much 😭😭 but it makes me happy hearing your enjoying it thus far! && i have some news regarding ‘die with a smile’ so like i’ve finally have come up with the plot so ill get to writing soon!

kitchen frolics || lee jeno

筐ｶ pairing: lee jeno x reader

筐ｶ genre: fluff, crack, romance, twitch streamer!au, (slight)YouTuber!au, non idol!au, college!au, established relationship

筐ｶ word count: 14.8k

筐ｶ synopsis: you and your boyfriend, Jeno, decided to do a Christmas cooking live stream on twitch with no cooking experience whatsoever. It窶冱 safe to say you two were just two loud, idiotic simps obnoxiously trying to cook with 6k people tells you say to do.

筐ｶ warnings: swearing, angst if you squint, absolute clownery, jeno being a funny boyfriend, inaccurate recipe I found online, y/n accidentally inhaled yeast?

Keep reading

open the gates, let me in

summary. jeno always seems willing to do anything for you, and it takes a lot of inner nagging for him to finally realize why.

pairing. jeno x y/n ft donghyuck, jaemin genre. fluff, college au, best friends to lovers disclaimers. swearing, denial resonates so deeply with me its humiliating word count. 4.0k released. 02.05.23

masterlist

For what feels like the nth time this hour, a certain honey-skinned boy shamelessly rolls his eyes at one of his best friends. That title, however, is in serious danger of being revoked if he has to spend one more agonizing second in this store.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't ditch your ass right now," Donghyuck jeers. His habit of poking his cheek with his tongue shines through as impatience radiates off of his body.

Jeno ignores his complaining, eyes diligently scanning the rows of colourful fragrance bottles.

He's quite overwhelmed. The labels, brands, scents, and undertones—they all mean nothing to him. The only thing he's somewhat familiar with is the brand of the cologne he takes a liking to, but the strong woods and smokes of the men's cologne selection is a distinct opposite of what he’s looking for.

It leaves him to stand cluelessly among the shelves of white flowers and citruses and berries, trying to pick out the combination he thinks you'd like the most.

"Where would you even go? I drove," Jeno deadpans. 

He gently picks up a translucent, pale red bottle. Blood orange and peony.

Popping off the cap, he spritzes a tiny bit on his inner wrist and brings it up close to his nose. The scent is like a punch in the face, leaving him reclining back with a furrowed brow.

Too strong.

"We're going to be late to Jaemin's if you don't hurry the fuck up," Donghyuck says, burning holes through Jeno's skull before letting out a deep sigh.

"Can you just pick one so we can go? We look like fucking idiots here."

Jeno only hums, cracking a small smile.

He couldn't chide him for being wrong—the two of them look very out of place. Their sharp silver jewelry, inked skin, and dazed boyish smiles contrast against the dainty bottles standing atop the soft pink shelves of the women's fragrance section like black on white.

"Firstly," Jeno begins, voice riddled with amusement. "You don't give a fuck about punctuality-"

"Oh look at you, going off with your big words."

Jeno spins around. "Hyuck, you're drinking a matcha frappucino while looking like that."

He points at the green drink the boy was sipping on, the extra whipped cream he asked for contradicting his hard exterior.

Donghyuck scoffs. "Sorry I don't like to drink death in a cup," he drawls, sarcasm dripping off his tongue.

He breaks his glare on the black-haired boy as he sees two girls standing a distance away, his face doing a 180 as he notices them not-so-discreetly staring.

Smirking, Donghyuck confidently throws them a wink. He watches with pride as flattered giggles spill from their lips, before turning back to Jeno, who had picked up another bottle.

"Why are you even doing this?" Donghyuck asks out of genuine curiosity, though it's hidden underneath the guise of annoyance.

"Y/N asked me to."

Here’s some money. Get me something you think I'd like, yeah? you had said. Or something that you'd like. I'll still wear it, I don't care. I trust your judgment.

Donghyuck snorts. "I'm convinced you'd do anything for Y/N," he mutters.

It's an offhand comment, yet it makes the black-haired boy put his tongue between his teeth as a weird, sprawling feeling erupts in his chest.

The thought of why he seemed willing to do anything for you had never occurred to him. Not because the thought had never shown up to the gates of his consciousness—Jeno was uncomfortably familiar with the strange feeling in his stomach when you were around—but because he never let it in.

He doesn't dare to let it in, even going as far as telling it to leave and never return each time it knocks—because if he did, he would spend hours in this perfume section, legs going numb from standing as it invaded and overtook his brain, preventing him from getting anything done.

His eyes land on one last bottle. It's a clear one, with a clean, minimalistic label.

Lazy Sunday Morning. Maison Margiela.

Jeno repeats the action he's done with multiple bottles by now; spritzing the fragrance onto a new, untouched area of his inner arm and bringing it up to smell.

It's soft, it's floral, it's feminine. It infiltrates his senses in the way fresh, cotton bed sheets would. The soft sun after the rain.

It's how you look when he comes over to your apartment unannounced on a random weekend morning: wearing an oversized white shirt and a pair of high-waisted sports shorts.

It's the strawberry lip gloss that always stains your lips. It's your Hello Kitty pillowcase that you wash way more often than Jeno washes his, for which you constantly nag him for being unhygienic.

It's your flushed, red face at parties, your preference for tea over coffee—your smaller, softer hand grabbing his calloused one when he gets nervous.

Jeno thinks it's you, and he hopes you think it's you too.

He slowly turns around to Donghyuck, who's fidgeting with the tattered sleeve of his leather jacket.

"Smell this," he prompts, snapping the brown-haired boy out of his daze.

Donghyuck tugs at Jeno's arm, bringing it up to his face and taking a quick whiff before letting it fall. "Smells nice. I'm sure Y/N will like it. Now let's go," he presses, already taking off towards the exit.

Jeno only shakes his head, gaze falling on the bottle he held in his ring-clad fingers. He thinks it would look nice on your vanity, next to all your other bottles of products.

He doesn't know what they do, but they make you, you.

Donghyuck, whose brown strands are now dyed a refreshing purple, throws his head back howling with laughter as he sees you and Jeno approach the food court table.

He receives several displeased stares from nearby people, but he doesn't seem to care in the slightest, only being able to focus on what Jeno is wearing.

"Oh my fucking god, Jeno," he wails incoherently, pointing at his friend's pants while clutching his stomach. "What- what are those?"

Your choice to wear a pair of light-washed, ripped skinny jeans to come to the mall turned out to be a massive mistake. You're bitter towards the person who first said "beauty is pain" because of how miserably right they are; whose idea was it to make girls' pants so uncomfortable?

The walk across the parking lot to the entrance was enough for your legs to start screaming for relief, resulting in you pleading with Jeno to switch with you.

Jeno drops down into the empty seat next to Jaemin, letting out a deep sigh. He rubs at his temples as Donghyuck's high-pitched, maniacal laughter erratically rings throughout the air.

This is exactly why he was adamant about declining your request; Lee Donghyuck is an entity of pure evil, and Jeno felt the humiliation creeping up on him from behind like a tiger ready to pounce.

But as he always seems to do, he relented.

Now, his sweatpants sit comfortably on your hips, bunching up at your ankles while he wears your jeans, the pant ends stopping halfway up his calves.

"She was chafing," he mutters, referring to you.

Donghyuck laughs loudly and unapologetically, reaching down to poke at Jeno's bare knee through the large rips of the jeans. His actions result in him getting a hard slap on the arm, eliciting a pained "ow!" from him.

You give Jeno a sweet smile, slipping him another whispered apology before feeling a gentle tug at your wrist.

Renjun begins to drag you away from the table, mumbling something along the lines of "new premium watercolour set" and "20% off". Jumping up from his seat, Donghyuck follows suit with a devilish smile etched on his face, immediately asking the shorter boy to buy him a vinyl he had his eye on from earlier.

Jaemin watches as the three of you fade into the crowd of customers, leaving only him and Jeno at the table. As soon as you disappear from his sight, he whips around with anticipation. "So?"

A shaky blink. "So..?"

"So? Have you thought about what I said?"

Jeno doesn't respond as he stills, his lips pursed carefully.

Of course he had thought about what Jaemin said.

He tried his goddamn hardest not to, just like he has with every other possible reasoning behind his feelings that wandered into scary, uncharted territory—but how could he not? It wasn't something that he could just forget, like remembering to wash his socks or buying milk.

A week ago, Na Jaemin had brought upon him a revelation that was far too casually dropped at one of the group's regular get-togethers. It was like a silent bomb, and it had been doing no less than eating at him alive.

He wants to deny it so badly. In fact, that's exactly what he's been doing—denying its possibility of being true, denying its existence at all.

If it was going to slip through the cracks of the iron gates, Jeno was going to make sure it felt as unwelcome as possible.

And that's exactly what he does.

"I have," he begins meekly.

Upon hearing these words, Jaemin's lips stretch into a wide smile. "And?"

"...and I don't think you're right."

The lights in the younger's eyes flicker out just as quickly as they turned on. He doesn't even bother to hide his disappointment, giving his best friend a deadpan stare. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

He was expecting this reaction from Jaemin, but he couldn't let it get to him. Not when he couldn't let the narrative Jaemin was pressing so adamantly a week ago be true.

A loud sigh rips through the air. "Jeno, why are you so in denial?"

"I'm not in denial. It's not true."

Jaemin leans forward, looking into his best friend's eyes. He could tell there was a deep, buried sense of longing behind those dark irises.

"Lee Jeno," he begins slowly.

"I have known you nearly my entire life. I have been by your side since we were puny, disgusting first graders, and I have never seen you be so caring towards someone."

Jaemin has always doted on you.

He reminds you of a worrying mother; a fairy who is always there to remind you to dress warmly and take your vitamins. When you had a fever, Jeno had knocked on the door of your apartment only to be let in by Jaemin, who had been in your kitchen making his mother's soup recipe for you.

Donghyuck is the playful, sarcastic brother you never had.

He's the one who always encourages you to down another shot, to get you to do crazy things like jumping off the roof into a pool. But he's warm when he needs to be; Jeno had walked in one night through the door of his and Donghyuck's shared apartment to find you dumping your emotions onto the honey-skinned boy's shirt as he whispered words of consolation.

Renjun indulges your passionate side.

You share so much in common with him and you value his opinion like a sacred script. He's your 3AM therapist for your woes, he's your debate opponent for any topic—he's the one who encouraged you to chase after your dreams when you had trouble deciding on whether to choose what your parents wanted for you, or what you wanted for yourself.

Jeno thinks he's just Lee Jeno to you. 

The captain of the basketball team you met back in junior year of high school, who’s an architecture major at the same university you go to. Your best friend, but only if you thought so.

When it's about the others, Jeno seems to see everything—how they care for you, in what ways they’re integrated into your life—he doesn’t seem to notice how much he cares for you. 

He doesn't think about how sometimes, he miraculously finds himself entering your apartment at the crack of dawn to remind you to bring an assignment that's due that day. And when you knock your hand against his, silenting asking for him to hold it, he’ll reluctantly put his cold, mysterious image aside to gently slip his hand into yours.

There was one time when you asked to go stargazing in the dead of the night. Despite the subzero weather outside, not an ounce of regret coursed through his body when he agreed to go with you.

He couldn’t feel his fingers when he was out there, but it didn’t feel like it mattered when he saw you pointing at constellations with a smile of pure euphoria painted on your features.

He doesn’t notice how you notice that he cares.

The way your eyes lit up when he quietly entered your room with medicine and a hot water bottle went unseen by him. You never told him that Renjun was only half of the reason why you chose to pursue art, and that seeing him choose architecture over the path his own parents wanted for him pushed you over the edge.

He seems to remember you curled up to Donghyuck's side, but not how as soon as you saw him walk through the doorway, you gently peeled yourself up from the couch, out of Donghyuck's hold to throw yourself onto him, because you had come to their apartment looking for him. For his hold, for his comfort.

No, he doesn't notice these things because he's selectively blind when it comes to the possibility of there ever being a 'you and him', and it drives Jaemin nuts.

Jaemin laughs, dumbfounded. 

"For fucks sake, Jeno," he exclaims, dragging his hands down his face. "You're literally wearing women's jeans right now."

He removes his hands from his face, staring deeply into his best friend's eyes in a last-ditch effort to get through to the stubborn boy.

"You're in love with her."

"I'm sorry."

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times those two words had left Jeno's lips.

The party downstairs blares in the background, though it’s muffled by the closed door. Jeno’s murmured apologies are the only sounds that fill the air, other than the squelches of water as you squeezed your shirt in the sink. 

You turn your head around to look at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. He’s sitting on the edge of the acrylic bathtub, sliding his rings up and down his fingers with a distant look on his face.

"Stop apologizing. It's okay."

Despite graduating two years ago, Johnny Suh still parties like it’s his full-time job, and being in his second-floor bathroom makes the room feel like it’s a physical manifestation of his spirit.

There’s two lights above the bathroom mirror, though one of them had blown its fuse. It casts a dim, aquamarine light that reaches every corner of the small room, highlighting the slightly frayed shower curtains and dark crevices of the floor tiles. There’s a few shaving products and the remains of a half-smoked blunt strewn across the surface of the otherwise clean countertop.

The reason why you and Jeno are in the bathroom instead of downstairs isn’t one the boy’s proud of. 

You didn’t run into Jeno until around halfway through the night. They say you haven’t had the real college experience if you haven’t gone to a Johnny Suh party, and the flocks of people that covered every part of the estate prove how much people value getting their tuition’s worth.

A light sheen of sweat is apparent on your forehead as you try your best to weave your way through the masses. You don’t even know where you’re going, and you could feel it growing stuffier as more people spilled into the halls.

It’s only until you suddenly feel a piercing cold sensation on your chest do you see something other than drunk college students pressed together.

You come face-to-face with Lee Jeno, who’s staring at you with big, round eyes and lips parted in sheer horror.

You glance down at your own body. The center of your chest is several shades darker, a large wet splotch prominently standing out against the beige fabric of your long-sleeved top. 

Your eyes dart between your top and Jeno’s red solo cup that had several droplets of liquid dribbling down its side. Realizing what just happened, you can’t help but laugh.

“Why hello to you too, mister,” you say between giggles.

Jeno’s face is flushing redder by the second, and there’s a big bump on his head from the imaginary hammer that struck him for being so stupid. 

A few seconds go by of just him staring at you before stutters spill from his lips. 

“I- Oh my- oh my god,” he breathes out. “Oh my fucking god, Y/N, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay. I needed an excuse to get away from all the noise anyways,” you cut him off, reaching for his free hand. 

“Come with me to the bathroom?”

The words flow out of your mouth like a smooth, running stream; casual, and far more relaxed than the jittery feeling in Jeno's stomach. He doesn’t resist in the slightest, the feeling of your touch sending a surge of electricity up his arm.

Finally looking up from the metal around his fingers, Jeno’s breath hitches.

His eyes trail down your figure with innocent intention. The thin straps of your ivory, silk camisole delicately sit on your collarbone, your black miniskirt hugging your waist. 

He doesn’t realize he’s even staring, not when he’s mesmerized by the slope of your nose, or the outline of your cupid’s bow.

There’s something that the aquamarine glow is doing to you that makes his jaw go slack.

Usually, he’d be alert, keeping his thoughts in check—but the slight intoxication seeped through him, and he can feel himself growing careless.

Jeno's hand twitches. You're within arm's reach, he could reach for your waist and pull you right into him—but he doesn't, because that would ruin the scene.

This scene of you standing in front of the sink, twisting your shirt in your hands with a small crease in your brow. It's so domestic, so perfect—he can't help but wonder what it'd be like to see you like this every day—

—and then, he hears it.

There it is, the violent banging on the gates. It echoes through the halls from outside, persistent and maybe just a bit desperate. Or, was it actually his heart thumping against his chest?

Open up! it yelled. You would do anything for her. You're in love with her, idiot!

Had it been his heart all along?

"There we go," you give your top one final twist, grinning with satisfaction as the water drips down clear.

You turn the sink off and unravel the top from its scrunched-up form, flapping it a few times to prevent creases.

"That should do it. Okay, let's go back downstairs. Hyuck bet ten dollars I couldn't beat him in beer pong and I'm going to make him eat his wor-"

Your rambling is cut off as soon as you turn toward the boy on the edge of the tub. He's staring at you with misty eyes, and you can't stop yourself from taking a step closer.

"Jeno?" you call, leaning down to meet him at eye level.

Eyes twinkling with mirth, you lower yourself into a crouching position, and your hand finds its place on his knee. You let your fingers drum on the fabric of his black jeans, musing your wonder.

"You're drunk, aren't you? How much have you had to drink?"

The action is mindless, and Jeno knows it. The two of you often shared small, habitual touches—but this time, it's wholly different.

"I'm- I'm not drunk," he croaks out.

A light-hearted snicker. "Sure you aren't."

"I'm not."

"Then why is your face so red?"

"I'm just... thinking about something."'

An amused chuckle leaves your mouth before you muse your wonders, "You're drunk, Jen. But, would you care to share?"

Jeno feels himself unclicking the locks. "Okay," he huffs out nervously.

The iron gates swing slightly ajar.

"I'm thinking about how I would do anything for you."

A pause goes by. The sound of the music downstairs seems to have gotten even louder, to the point where Jeno can't hear his own breathing. He wonders if he's even still breathing as his gaze rests on you intensely, waiting for your reaction.

When your fingers stop drumming against his knee, Jeno's world stops.

"O-oh."

Your expression is indecipherable as his words sink in, eyes growing rounder and your lips part.

Your eyes dart around Jeno's face to see if you can locate a trace of playfulness, a hint that he wasn't thinking straight—and while his flushed, rosy cheeks are a telltale that he's a little intoxicated, his eyes are heavy with sincerity.

He's being serious, and it brings you to a loss for words.

"A-and? What did you conclude?" you manage to stutter out, peering up at him.

This is exactly what he was afraid of. Afraid of your disappointed expression, your lips ready to utter the inevitable words he wished he'd never have to hear.

He's not even sure what those words exactly are, because Lee Jeno feels like a fucking mess right now, but he'll know in a few seconds after you say them—

"I... I don't really know why..."

A lightbulb clicks in your head. You seem to realize Jeno's implications before he even does himself.

"Jeno?" you prompt, voice feather-soft.

The boy's eyes are screwed shut by now, unable to look you in the eyes. He's trying to lock the gates closed again, as they were for so long.

"Hmm?" he weakly hums.

"I love you."

Jeno's attempts are futile. The thought is victorious.

It pushes past his regret-driven efforts. It floods his head akin to a raging tsunami.

It's so loud. The music in the background is so loud.

You are so loud. Your eyes, your grip on his knee, your words—

—they're so loud.

She just said she loves me.

"I've loved you for so long. Do you love me too?" you whisper, hand subconsciously reaching for his.

It shocks Jeno how his voice doesn't fail him. "You love me?"

"I do."

"M-more than a friend?"

"Much more. I love you like I'll never have you, even if I always find myself in your arms," you say, letting out a dry chuckle as a small smile graces your face.

"Do you love me too?" you repeat.

The gates snap off their hinges from the sheer force, and the thought chants a victory song—

You're in love with her!

Jeno blinks.

I'm in love with her.

Jeno never seemed to mind, when it came to you. He never seemed to mind wearing your light blue skinny jeans for you, and he never seemed to mind looking out of place with his grungy demeanor inside of a delicate perfume section either. He never seemed to mind waking up at an ungodly hour for you, and he never seemed to mind holding you when the world was against you.

And as you look at him, your face glimmering underneath the dim, bathroom light—it clicks.

Jeno suddenly realizes why he'd be willing to do anything for you. He'd be willing to get you the moon and the stars if you asked, because he loves you.

And, because you deserve it. It's the least he could do for you for loving him.

Reaching out a wavering hand, Jeno gently pulls you up from your crouching position so the both of you could stand. Your gaze never leaves him, your previous question still hanging in the air.

The boy rests his hand delicately on your jaw. His eyes glaze over your face, taking in your beautiful features before landing on your lips with a shaky exhale.

"Do you love me too?" you ask for a third time, your irises shining with hope.

"Fuck," he breathes out. "I- I do. I love you, so much."

You don't even get the chance to beam at his confession before he closes the distance between the two of you, his soft lips against yours.

come inside of my heart

summary. you and jaehyun travel together for the first time ever, and visiting the shiba inu cafe has planted some thoughts into your boyfriend’s head.

pairing. boyfriend! jaehyun x implied fem! reader

genre. established relationship! au, fluff

word count. 3,328

warnings/tags. none… i think. jaehyun and reader are just very much in love with each other, and the reader is jaehyun’s baby.

a/n. hello! this is my first fic on here and i’m excited to be posting it! seeing jaehyun with dogs in the japan vlogs really affected me so much, i ended up writing this lol. i hope you enjoy reading it and feedback is greatly appreciated <3

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Having known Jaehyun for so many years, it is no secret that he’s a dog lover. Gallery filled with pictures of dogs that he’d come across when walking along random streets, Jaehyun often sends these pictures to you. Every once in a while, he would also ask for the owner’s permission to pet their dogs.

Visiting a Shiba Inu café with him now, however, you’re not quite sure if the man in front of you is the same person that you’ve come to know.

The minute he stepped foot into the café, Jaehyun was immediately surrounded by the excited puppies. They were running in circles, huddling around his feet, and attempting to jump up on him.

Settling down as quickly as he could, Jaehyun put his belongings aside, directing all of his attention to the puppies in front of him.

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