#There’s a pattern to patterns but it couldn’t make a pattern!

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 3

A/N: Wow. Okay this got a lot more attention than I expected it to in three days. Sorry this part took me a little longer to write but it has one-on-one interactions with each member, that’s why it’s longer than the other parts.

Also, sorry but I’ve reached the maximum number of mentions I can have in the tag list so the tag list is closed!

By majority vote, I will be giving the Saja Boys Korean names so depending on the situation and point of view, they’ll either be referred to as their stage names or their Korean names.

If you guys have any ideas for outtakes, leave them in the comments below!

TW: I needed some way for the reader’s stress to manifest, like how Rumi struggles to sing as the pattern progresses. This manifested as a form of self mutilation, mostly just scratching when stressed or anxious. Insecurity and self deprecating thoughts ahead as well!

Word Count: 6,388

Baby: Jum (king)

Romance: Chungae (noble and love)

Mystery: Hyeon (virtuous, worthy, able)

Abby: Kwan (one who is strong)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

The four boys knew that they had to talk to Jinu about what they found out about (Y/n) and, by default, her sister the hunter. But, they were summoned by Gwi Ma before they had a chance to. They appeared in the middle of a crowd of cheering demons so the boys fell into their idol personas, smiling and pandering to the crowd.

They couldn’t help how their chests clenched when Gwi Ma forced them back into their demon forms.

And then Jinu joined them, standing at the top of the mountain before Gwi Ma’s fire. “One of the Hunters and her sister bears my mark, but I have no control over them.”

The four boys shared looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes. Gwi Ma was in their heads, of course he already knew.

“That’s good. This means that they have shame. We’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy the Hunters for good,” Jinu plotted with a sly smirk.

“I’ve taught you well, Jinu.”

Gwi Ma dismissed the five boys back to the human world and they popped to the place they shared. “Hey, boss, we should talk about what we’re gonna do.”

The five spread across the living area, Kwan laying across the couch as Chungae picked up his legs so he could sit before replacing Kwan legs.

Jum sat on the ground, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t care but his eyes kept glancing up and around at the others.

Hyeon sat on the arm of the couch, picking at his lip even though he shouldn’t. It was hard to get used to not having his tusks anymore… It’s kinda become a tick at this point.

Jinu stood in front of them, “We need to find out what shame the Hunter and her sister have. To do that, we need to get close to them, make them comfortable around us.”

“You’ve had the most interaction with the Hunter, right? So she’ll be more open to you I think,” Chungae mused thoughtfully.

“But, there isn’t just one of us that the sister has spent more time with,” Jum pointed out.

None of the boys wanted to admit that they each knew your name, it would mean admitting that you had caught at least a little bit of their attention, enough to remember you.

“Well, I was the one that carried her tonight,” Chungae flipped his hair, smiling smugly.

“Hey hey, I was the one she was flirting with during the fight. And she was eyeing my abs so I should talk to her,” Kwan crossed his arms, nudging Chungae’s stomach with his foot.

“I was the one who won the spicy challenge, I feel like I should be the one to get close to her,” Jum added his own input.

Hyeon wanted to add his own argument but he didn’t think knowing your scent would really go in his favor… But his jaw itched to sink his teeth into your skin. Gently! He just wanted to bite you… affectionately…

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see where the four were coming from and he was a bit disappointed that he already had the role of getting close to the Hunter but he couldn’t do anything about it. You were so cute when you were flustered too…

“You can all take a try at it, it’s four chances of her opening up to one of you so it should be fine. Just don’t overwhelm her or it’ll look sketchy,” Jinu told them. He dug through the stationary they had around, writing out a note for Derpy and his bird friend to deliver to the Hunter.

“I’m heading out.”

~~~

‘Was it bad that you were glad the girls hadn’t caught up to the Saja Boys…?’

You had run back to the Huntr/x tower, looking ridiculous with your arms inside your sweatshirt to cover your arms and very thankful that there weren’t any civilians out then. You tapped your foot impatiently as the elevator took you up and then you sprinted to your room to put on a different sweatshirt with a high neck tank top under to cover the marks spreading up your neck.

The girls were a few minutes behind you. You changed just in time to greet them with your first aid kit.

Rumi burst out of the elevator with a cry of your name, “You’re okay, right?!” She grabbed your arms, scanning you over frantically, checking for bruises or scratches.

“Those dirty playing demons,” Zoey fumed, stomping with her arms crossed childishly. “You are okay though, right, (Y/n)?”

Mira huffed, following the other two out of the elevator, “She’s fine guys, she doesn’t have a scratch.” You didn’t miss how her eyes scanned over you though, making sure that you really were alright.

“What were you thinking?!” Rumi stressed, grabbing your face in her hands to pull you closer to her. “Going after them?! You could’ve been hurt! You could’ve been…!” Rumi trailed off, the words stuck in her throat.

You could’ve been found out. Your pattern could’ve been seen. You’d have to tell Rumi later that the boys had ripped your sleeves.

But for now, you smiled with a light laugh, “I’m fine, Rumi, I promise. Let me patch you guys up, you guys look a little… eesh.” You grimaced as you took a good look at all the scratches on their faces. They were not offended, they completely understood.

The girls relaxed and let you tend to their scratches and bruises before going to change into lounge clothes and then coming back to see the Honmoon.

Thankfully, they bought your explanation that you lost the boys due to Gwi Ma summoning them and had headed back to the tower to wait for them, you had explained while you patched them up.

The girls stood at the window, looking at the red corrupting the Honmoon as you put the first aid supplies away and moved to the kitchen. You glanced at them with furrowed brows as you got out the ingredients for kimbap.

Then the elevator came up with Bobby, “Girls?”

The girls whipped out their compacts to aggressively cover the wounds on their faces and turned to greet him, “Hey Bobby!”

You threw the first aid supplies in one of the cupboards as you shook your head. You couldn’t help but find it amusing how well trained they were by now in covering up scrapes and bruises from their hunting.

You heard Bobby swiping through TikTok, and couldn’t help the way your shoulders bounced as the chorus of Soda Pop played on a loop.

“Zoey!”

“Bobby! Control those shoulders!”

You froze awkwardly. At least they hadn’t caught you… You focused on making the kimbap a little more aggressively, your head ducked down to avoid attention. It was such a catchy song…

You hunched down further when Rumi started plotting an aggressive diss track to perform at the International Idol Awards.

“Zoey, we’re gonna need a new song!”

“I got twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go.”

“Yeah! Let’s make it thirty notebooks!”

“Mira, the choreography?”

“Yup. Making them hotter.”

“Backup dancers, ready to go.”

“(Y/n),” you gave a strained smile at the sudden call of your name, standing at attention and thankfully not cutting your fingers with the knife in your hand. “Visuals?”

“Already making a mental Pinterest board!”

“Team of designers, ready for your call!”

“We’ll write a brand new song. A diss track to expose those Saja Boys.”

“And send those disgusting demons back to the depths where they belong!”

You bit back a grimace as the girls started raging enthusiastically.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“YeaHHH!”

“YeahHHH!”

“…”

“YEAHHH!!”

And then they ran off to their rooms to get started or rest or something… You sighed, carrying the plate of finished kimbap rolls over to stand next to Bobby to stare flatly after them.

Welp. More for you. You held out the plate to Bobby, “Kimbap?”

“Oh, thanks (Y/n)!”

You wrapped up the rest of the rolls except for one, taking it with you. You paused at Rumi’s door, raising your hand to knock. But you hesitated.

You should tell Rumi that the Saja Boys saw your pattern. Them knowing was a threat because then they also knew that Rumi had patterns too. But… maybe they would just think you were the only one with a demon pattern…? You’d have to talk to them.

So you lowered your hand and kept walking to your room. You shut the door behind you, almost screaming in surprise when a hand slapped over your mouth and dragged you out your balcony door and jumped up to the roof of the tower.

When they released you, you took a deep breath and scrambled away to put distance between you and your kidnapper. “You gotta stop doing that!”

Romance couldn’t help but chuckle, waving his hands disarmingly, “Sorry sorry, I just wanted to chat with you.”

You bit your lip. They knew about your pattern. “About what?” You asked, on guard.

“Your pattern.” There it is. “You’re part demon.”

“So what?” You snapped defensively, hugging your arms even though you knew your skin was covered.

“I was curious,” He admitted openly, brushing some hair out of his face as he leaned back against the edge of the small roof balcony. “You don’t hear him, do you?”

“No. W-wait, who?” You backpedaled, you had refused on instinct and then you registered what he said.

He looked at you obviously, “Gwi Ma. You didn’t make a deal with him? All demons hear his voice, constantly reminding them of… their shame.”

You loosened from your defensive pose, surprised by the vulnerable look on his face. He didn’t seem to want to hurt you, so you relaxed and leaned against the edge behind you, keeping your distance for now.

“Shame?” You echoed curiously.

He looked at you, analyzing you, “It’s all demons do, feel their shame and all the emotions that come with it. These patterns,” He held up his arm, his patterns glowing as he did. “They show that each demon carries a deep shame with them…”

Then he was in front of you, taking your hand as you gasped softly. Your own pattern started glowing through your clothes, “You do too, sweetheart…”

Your grip tightened on his hand. You looked down as your heart squeezed painfully. Yeah… you do…

“Romance—“

“Call me Chungae,” He interrupted you softly.

“Chungae. You… you guys won’t tell the others, right? Rumi… Rumi and I aren’t ready yet, but… we want to be the ones to tell them…” You hesitantly asked through stumbling words. They knew. They must know that you and Rumi are part demon…

You couldn’t help but think of all the moments you’ve wanted to share your secret with Mira and Zoey. You want to go to the bathhouse with them. You want to go to the beach. You want to be able to wear your skin comfortably instead of the itching, crawling feeling you get at just the idea of wearing shorts or a tank top.

But it wasn’t your choice whether you told them or not. It wasn’t your secret to tell. It was Rumi’s.

Chungae scanned your face, his look softening as he brushed a bit of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know about the others, but I won’t tell.”

You couldn’t help but relax at the reassurance, your face warmer at his touch. These boys really weren’t evil, they were so… human.

You looked away, “You should go before the other girls come looking for me.”

Chungae couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your shy demeanor. How cute… It’s like the first time you met all over again, how cute and shy you were when the five of them invited you to their debut. “Of course.”

You gasped as he smoothly swept you into his arms and leapt down to your balcony as you bit back a shriek. When you got down from his arms, you couldn’t help but bend over with your hands on your knees, taking deep breaths to settle your heart from the shock of being carried down from one height to another. “Stop doing that!” You whisper shouted at him, disgruntled.

“Sorry sorry, darling, I’ll go now,” Chungae hopped up to the railing of your balcony, stopping to look over his shoulder at you, “Oh. You should know that the others are also interested in seeing you. Just a heads up.”

He smiled slyly before jumping and disappearing in a dramatic poof of demon magic. “Wait, huh!?”

You grabbed a pillow to scream into.

Oh wait. Your kimbap!

~~~

And they did.

The next day, you were out looking at fabrics for the visuals of the diss track the girls were working on. Something like their battle outfits would work good but with sharp color accents to make it pop and fit the stage. Less spikes too, a little less aggressive but fans will probably like the dark look. Maybe in a music video, the girls could use their weapons so then if they pull them out on stage, they just look like props and special effects…?

Oh. There’s a boy walking next to you.

“… Can I help you…?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, looking around with a disinterested look but a spark of curiosity shone in his eyes underneath the hat hiding his features, “No. I’m good.”

“Okayyy… you do you, Baby” You decided to just keep going about your business as Baby followed at your side.

“Jum,” He corrected you.

“Uhm, okay, Jum…” You kept looking at the maknae out of the corner of your eye as he followed you into fabric shops, looking around curiously or scrolling on his phone as you talked with the owners.

“Hey,” You stopped on the sidewalk when Jum tugged on your sleeve, pointing over to a shop window, “What’s that?”

You looked over, “A cat cafe…?” You looked at him strangely. How old was he again…?

Jum was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go in.” He was already walking in before you could respond. You didn’t have to follow him, he had just decided to follow you after all, but—ughhhh!

You followed him in.

Going in, he looked like a lost kid. He was looking around at the tables and the people. “Welcome! How many people today and for how long?”

“Uhhh…”

You came up behind him, smiling at the host, “Table for two, just for an hour please.”

“Alright, right this way!”

Ah man, why did you follow him again…? Jum trailed after you as you followed the host into the sectioned off area to a booth by a window. “Someone will be by to take your order in a moment. Please feel free to give the cats treats!”

“Thank you!” You called after her as you sat, setting down your work bag as Jum slid into the seat across from you. He was staring. You followed his gaze to see he was in a staring contest with a black cat. You looked between the two of them, back and forth. It was kind of adorable.

“Pick what you want to order and then we can try and tempt some cats over.”

Jum didn’t know what to order. He was one of the few born in the demon realm, he had never been to the human realm before as the prince of a small territory. Not that the title mattered much with Gwi Ma ruling.

“If you wanna start simple, a coffee or hot chocolate would be good hot drinks. Or a vanilla or chocolate milkshake if you want something cold. For food, the sandwiches are good if you want something savory but the strawberry shortcake looks good for something sweet.”

You were almost tempted to recommend a soda pop for him but you’ve seen enough TikToks of fans giving them different sodas.

Jum took in the information you gave him with a hum, scanning over the menu again.

You ordered, Jum ended up getting a coffee and the strawberry shortcake. You almost laughed at the contrasting flavors he would be experiencing. But you pulled over the little container of cat treats, “Alright, let's see if we can get a few kitties over.”

Jum perked up at the same time as some of the cats as the container clinked as you opened it. Three cats hurried over, and you couldn’t help but laugh brightly as they jumped up on the bench to climb in your lap and over your shoulders, nuzzling your face cutely for treats. “Hey, settle down! You’ll get your treats!”

Jum’s face softened at the sight. You laughing so carelessly, smiling brightly as the fluffy creatures swarmed around you while your face flushed with joy. He couldn’t help but sneak a few photos and sent one to the Saja chat smugly. He ignored the chat as it started going off.

The two of you played with the cats for a while. The wondrous look on Jum’s face as he first pet a cat was adorable and you really wanted to take a picture but the girls were always taking selfies on the first phone they could grab. You couldn’t risk them seeing it.

You had the same urge when you saw his face as he first tasted his coffee and then his cake. It was soooo adorable…

Before the two of you went your separate ways, Jum quietly told you that he wouldn’t spill your secret.

~~~

You watched from backstage as the girls politely clapped on screen, the boys awarded as the top artist of the week. They were really starting to make progress on their diss track but you couldn’t help but distance yourself from the project. The lyrics that were unfolding made you uncomfortable in a different way from how Golden did.

Golden had lines about not hiding anymore and being honest but it just felt like a lie whenever Rumi sang it with the girls. But Takedown… was strictly about killing demons because they were evil, unfeeling monsters that didn’t deserve to live. It made your skin crawl and you couldn’t help but itch at your arms and neck from time to time when you heard them discussing it.

You turned to make your way back to the girls’ dressing room to meet them once the awards ended and they left the stage. You could hear clapping again, the awards must have ended. And then you were swept away. Into a closet.

‘What was with these guys?!’ You were pinned against a shelf of cleaning supplies, a thick arm caging you in above you. Another held out a flower to you. “Hey there, babe~”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him unimpressed. Well… there was a little flush on your cheeks. “Hi Abby. What is this, a shoujo manga?”

He tsked, smirking playfully down at you, “Come on, babe, can’t spare a guy a warmer welcome?”

“Not when he and his friends keep sweeping me away for their whims. What did you want?” You plucked the flower from his hand, rolling the stem between your fingers.

Abby chuckled, his arm flexing as he swept his hair out of his face. “Well, our two youngest got to spend some one-on-one time with you and I wanted my turn. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

You hesitated. And not for the reasons you should’ve. “I… I have to get dinner ready for the girls…”

“What are you, their housewife?” He raised a brow down at you.

You grimaced as the words hit a little close to home. Yeah, he hit the nail right on the head. “I guess… they can order take out tonight…”

“Yes! Come on, before the other boys catch up!” Abby cheered, taking your wrist and jogging out of the closet and to the nearest exit.

“Hey!”

“Abby!”

“No fair!” You heard the cries of the other Saja Boys behind you as he dragged you along. You chuckled. The other demon boys could easily catch up if they wanted to. But dang, you dropped your flower back there…

A few streets over, you stopped as Abby slowed down barely out of breath, in contrast to you who was panting like a dog. Oh man, you felt way too gross to be with this man right now.

“So… I actually don’t know any good spots to eat at…”

You laughed at his sheepish expression. “Come on, there are some good food stalls at the night market.”

Without thought, you took his hand and led the way. When you got there, it turned out that Abby wasn’t picky about his food at all and that he could pack away a lot of food. You guys went from stall to stall, you were amazed as Abby charmed the older sellers, chatting with them as if they had known each other for a long time. Whatever food you couldn’t finish, Abby happily did.

“What are you? Some demon trash disposal? Where does it all go?” You asked him as he finished off the last of the chicken skewers you both had been eating.

“Straight to my muscles of course,” He smirked, flexing cheekily with a wink.

You laughed and shoved him jokingly. Then, a curious thought occurred to you, “Hey Abby? Can I… ask what the demon realm is like?”

He blinked, surprised by the question but you just continued looking forward, not meeting his eyes. He copied you, looking ahead as the two of you walked.

“It’s dark and depressing. The sky is red like it’s on fire and the ground is dry and desolate. Nothing grows there. There are two main types of demons: those that formed from souls fed to Gwi Ma and those that lost their souls making deals with Gwi Ma. There are also demons born from other demons but those are rare.”

You frowned in thought, not responding for a long moment. So, demons really could feel emotions. Did that mean… that your dad really did love your mom…?

Abby noticed your expression, lost in deep thought, “What’cha thinking about there, babe?”

You didn’t answer for a moment, too many thoughts trailing in too many different directions… “Nothing important. So, which are you guys, Abby?”

Abby hummed, “Call me Kwan,” he said, letting you change the subject. He couldn’t help but let you in a little closer. He thought if he just kept using his stage name with you, he could keep a little distance between you, keep the mission in mind. But… he wanted to let you close.

“Well, with the exception of Jum, we’re all humans that made deals with Gwi Ma years ago out of desperation. I…” Kwan trailed off and the two of you stopped by the river to sit on a bench in a quiet area. “I was born during an old war. I wasn’t strong enough to protect my family when it counted, so I asked Gwi Ma for strength to protect those I cared about.” He laughed sarcastically, “How well that turned out for me…”

You frowned, taking his hand slowly, hesitantly offering comfort from the obviously dark memories and regrets swimming through his head. He smiled softly at you, squeezing your hand as the two of you looked out over the river. There was nothing for either of you to say at that moment, but you understood each other.

~~~

After that interaction with Kwan, the girls noticed you were lost in thought more often, but they didn’t bring it up, figuring you were just deep in thought about the visuals and clothes for the new song. You often got lost in a new project when it really inspired you.

Except you didn’t like the new song. It was just so hateful towards demons and after you knew most demons come from human souls in some shape or form, you couldn’t fully support it. Especially with your own pattern steadily spreading across your skin. You had to start using a salve to help with the scratching the stress was causing. If they spread too much more, you would have to start wearing a face mask…

Now that you think about it, the only Saja Boys you haven’t really talked to are Jinu and Mystery. Which one would ambush you next? Was it bad that you were looking forward to it?

You needed a break from the girls. As the Honmoon corruption got worse and more demons came through, they got more tense and enthusiastic with the new diss track. So, you went to the park to sit and just breathe for a few minutes. You sat on a bench under the shade of a tree, head back and eyes closed under the sun as you took a deep breath. Someone was playing Soda Pop nearby and you could hear Golden somewhere too…

Your eyes snapped open when arms wrapped around you from behind a nose buried into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You flushed deep red, shrieking as you leapt to the other end of the bench. A hand pressed to your chest to settle your racing heart you turned to see it was a sulky Mystery, pouting at you pulling away so quickly.

“It’s just me,” He said.

“Personal space, dude!” You cried vehemently, your face still a dark red. Mystery circled the bench to sit next to you. Like, right next to you. Your thighs were touching. You deadpan at him, “This is not personal space, man.”

Mystery just tilted his head at you. It was nice to see you with the sun shining down on you like this. And your scent was so comforting when it filled his senses, he couldn’t help but burrow his nose in the crook of your neck. It made his teeth itch to bite again.

“How do you guys keep finding me? Do you have some kind of tracker or something…?”

“Nah, it’s mostly by chance,” Mystery told you, casually taking your hand to play with your fingers and the rings you had on. He didn’t tell you how Jinu’s bird was keeping an eye or three on you… He didn’t remember much about social normalities from when he was human, but he could remember that telling someone they were being watched was weird.

You shook your head and let him do as he pleased, taking a deep breath and tilting your head back to enjoy the sun while closing your eyes.

Then there was a tugging on your hand, “Let’s go.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond or ask where you were going before he was tugging you off the bench and away. “Wait, Mystery, where are we going?” You almost slapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard that it was one of the Saja Boys out in public.

“Hyeon. De-stress,” he said simply. Then he was pulling you into an arcade. You didn’t really know how playing some games at an arcade would help you relax

But at least you didn’t have to pay to play because Hyeon was already pulling out his wallet! Don’t get it wrong, you could pay for stuff yourself, but it was refreshing after eating so much food with Jum and Kwan. You refused to let them pay for your food and you didn’t pay for theirs either but it was still money…

When Hyeon had the prepaid wristbands, he turned to hand one to you with a small smile, “Sometimes, you just need to act like a kid.”

You blinked. And then he was pulling you to the first game he saw with that small content smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You were pretty sure he also just wanted to go to an arcade…

Hyeon was right though. Playing those games, you couldn’t help but laugh and as you became more competitive with him, you forgot what was bugging you. You laughed louder and became more comfortable treating him like a close friend, pushing him and bickering as he gave you a little smug smirk when he won and a sulky pout when he lost. You had to pull him back when he started barking at a few people that tried to rush the two of you at some games…

It was late by the time you both left, matching ugly keychains in hand from the prize shop.

“… Thanks Hyeon, I really needed that,” You smiled at him as you stopped at the park where you would both be going your own ways.

He smiled, taking your hand in his. “Of course, princess. Anything to see that smile on your face.”

Oh boy. You didn’t think Hyeon would be the cheesy one but he said it so seriously before placing a kiss on your hand.

You shook yourself, your face flushing red as you steeled yourself, “Hey, I am not a princess!” You crossed your arms.

Hyeon smirked a little, “I don’t think you can handle what I really want to call you so princess will do for now.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but drop as your face flushed darker.

“See you soon, princess,” he said, and then he was walking away and you just stared after him, speechless.

‘What did he mean by that?! Ugh, stupid hot demon boys…’

~~~

Another award show passed and Golden won most played song of the week. But tensions were still high as the Saja Boys took over more and more of the billboards, they were all anyone could see on TikTok too, more fans joining the Pride.

Your nervous scratching was getting worse, you had to go out and get another salve. Thankfully, the girls were too focused on Takedown and demon hunting to keep track of when you were in or out of the tower. It hurt you a little though, that you fell to the wayside so easily.

You were mindlessly scratching over your sleeve with the salve safely wrapped in a small paper bag in your arms as you started the walk back to the tower. You needed to talk to the design team about what you had in mind and to the producers about visuals for a possible music video.

“What’cha got there, pretty girl?”

You turned to see him leaning against the wall in the shadows of an alley. You sighed, “Do you plan these dramatic encounters or do they just come naturally to you?”

Jinu chuckled, standing straight but his eyes lingered on the bag in your arms and the arm where you had been scratching. “Being an idol calls for a flare for the dramatic,” He shrugged.

You chuckled at his antics but then his hand snapped out to grab your wrist. Panicked, you tried to pull away as he pushed your sleeve up. You forgot that he knew about your pattern so it wasn’t those marks he was looking at.

No, it was the red scratch marks littering your arm where the pattern was darkest.

He snapped his eyes up to glare at you, pulling you somewhere, “What’s so bad that you scratch yourself to such a degree?”

You had no answer for him besides shame… So you didn’t say anything.

He sighed. Jinu ended up taking you to a small plaza, not many people around as he sat you on the edge of a fountain. He pulled out the small glass container of salve you had gotten, reading the ingredients with narrow eyes before opening it and smelling it.

Jinu tsked before taking your arm to gently apply the salve to each bleeding scratch and red mark, “The herbs used today are so bad, not as effective as the ones grown years ago… too much pollution…” He murmured to himself.

You couldn’t help but smile at his care. “Thanks Jinu…”

He glanced up and faltered, remembering who he was and who he was with as he quickly but carefully finished up, fumbling a little as his cheeks pinked, “Oh, ah, it’s fine, don’t mention it.” He quickly screwed the cap on of the salve and practically shoved it in your hands before awkwardly sitting down next to you.

Wow. Jinu was the most awkward of the group it seemed. Was Baby really the maknae of the group? You giggled at how the tips of his ears were red and he refused to look at you.

“Is it really… that bad living with the patterns…?”

You froze at his hesitant question. You gripped your arm over your sleeve to keep from scratching more at the flare of stress you felt. You couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know… I started scratching when I was a kid. It comes and goes depending on what I’m stressed about…”

“Meaning, when you’re stressed about your pattern,” Jinu summarized thoughtfully. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“Yeah…” You avoided his gaze.

Jinu frowned. This wasn’t like the first interaction he had with your sister. That was filled with him trying to gain her trust, trying to convince her that he was the only one that would understand her. It made his stomach curl uncomfortably how she didn’t even argue that you understood her. Were you two not very close?

He saw something different than your sister in you, “You liked your patterns once, didn’t you?”

Your face slackened then hardened, “…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded in acceptance anyway. Pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere. “That’s alright, but I can understand what you’re going through,” It was the same thing he told your sister. But with you he couldn’t help but… genuinely mean it. He looked down at his hand. His pattern was a constant reminder of his shame after all. Sometimes he wanted to scratch until they just peeled away too.

“I know, I just… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it…” You told him. Rumi should be the first one you talked to about this, right? But, wouldn’t she just recycle Aunt Celine’s words at you? Never show your faults (Y/n), never show your pattern (Y/n), you’d betray Rumi and everyone else if you shared your pattern (Y/n), you’re not enough (Y/n).

You shook your head and stood. “I want ice cream.”

He looked up at you with surprise, “Oh. Okay…?”

“Come on.” The shoe was on the other foot now as you started marching to the nearest ice cream shop, not waiting to see if he would follow.

“Wh-what? Wait, what’s happening?” He scrambled after you, confused but going along with your sudden decision.

Jinu followed you into the ice cream shop, sliding on a pair of glasses and a hat to disguise himself. You were already ordering what you wanted, two big scoops of your favorite flavor.

He almost jumped when you suddenly turned to him expectantly. “Oh, uh,” He stuttered, scanning the flavors before him. It felt like he was sweating with the sudden pressure he felt. There were so many names, why were there so many different ice cream names?! “Uh, two scoops of Chuckle Chunk.” He couldn’t even tell you what was in it.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how stiff Jinu was. You hadn’t meant to make him feel pressured but it was pretty adorkable.

The two of you paid and left the shop to eat your ice cream at the fountain. You watched as he hesitantly tried his ice cream. His face lit up.

You chuckled, starting to eat your own ice cream, “How is it?”

Jinu couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s got these really rich chocolate things and there’s these little white pieces and some salty caramel things too.”

You blinked at how he described it. “How old are you again…?” That was how he described brownie fudge chunks, marshmallow pieces, and sea salt caramel syrup?

He blinked too, “Four hundred…?”

You couldn’t help but balk, “Oh wow, you’re old.”

He deadpanned at you. “And you’re a baby.”

You laughed. Jinu didn’t really know what you were laughing about, maybe just the situation itself but he smiled.

It was easier to be around you than he thought it would be. “Don’t stress too much.”

You looked at him, “It’s kinda hard to avoid stress when Gwi Ma is trying to destroy the Honmoon and feast and the human souls of the whole population. Besides, I’ve got a lot going on: visuals for the girls, keeping our apartment clean, cooking, designing clothes and visuals for them, and then there’s a fan signing event coming up…” You sighed and Jinu grimaced. Wow.

Jinu knew he wasn’t helping with the stress you were going through but he couldn’t help his selfish streak. He wanted his memories gone…

“Just… Cut your nails or wear gloves so you don’t hurt yourself so badly…” Jinu told you.

You smiled. He was… worried for you. It was the first time that someone’s worry didn’t make you feel weak. It wasn’t about your fighting capabilities, it was about your well-being. When was the last time that someone worried about that?

“Thanks Jinu…” You smiled mischievously. “It’s the first time such a pretty boy has shown me such care,” You turned the table on him.

Jinu spontaneously combust. Stuttering as he shoved more ice cream in his mouth to occupy himself but that just made his head hurt.

“Brain freeze!” You laughed.

~~~

The night before the fan signing event, you laid awake in bed. The girls were surely already sleeping so that they could get plenty of rest. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Looking back on the past two weeks, you felt more conflicted than you ever had before.

The voice in your head that sounded like Aunt Celine said that you shouldn’t be letting the Saja Boys so close, getting so comfortable with them. The girls were going to kill them anyway so you were just looking to get your heart broken at this rate.

But a small part of yourself whispered that they made you feel safe, seen, heard in a way that you never had been before.

Outtake(s):

Jum(Baby): “Do they make these cakes…spicier?”

You: “Uh…no. No they do not.”

Jum(Baby): *Sadly* “Aw man…”

…

Hyeon(Mystery): *Sees someone just a little too close to you* “Grrrrr…”

You: *Being dragged along as you try to hold him back* “You can’t- Stop! Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon(Mystery): *Feral gremlin barking*

…

You: *sick of all these pretty boys flustering you* “What do you want, pretty boy?”

Jinu: *ERROR ERROR ERROR* “Uhhhh…”

…

Huntr/x: “You know, (Y/n) has been disappearing a lot lately… And she never wants to listen to our song…”

Huntr/x: “Maybe she’s uncomfortable with the lyrics?”

Huntr/x: …

Huntr/x: “Nah. She’s just way too inspired by our violent need to eradicate all demons.”

You: *frantically scratching*

Tag list:

@brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[cressidagrey]

The Drawer

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  There is a drawer in Felicity's mind.

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

There was a drawer in Felicity’s mind that no one knew about.

Not Oscar.

Not Bee.

Not even the professors who used to stare at her as if she were a marvel or a mistake.

Certainly not her parents, who had made her intelligence the defining trait of her existence, before they realised it also made her uncontrollable.

It wasn’t metaphorical. Not really. She’s always seen her thoughts as architecture—corridors, rooms, switches—and that drawer? It was real.

Smooth metal. Coded lock. Hidden behind a panelled wall, so even she had to work to reach it. She built it young, instinctively, the moment she realised how much of her mind was terrifying.

Not just brilliant.

Terrifying.

Because she knew what she was capable of.

Not just the soft brilliance people praised her for—solving equations on the train, reading journals like bedtime stories, explaining mechanical stress tolerances to a three-year-old. That was the friendly kind of smart. The kind people could admire without being afraid of it.

It was a drawer in the deepest part of her brain. Filled with truths she never let surface. Scenarios she’d played out but never spoken. Numbers she’d crunched just to see how far she could push a system, a structure, a person.

She didn’t like the contents.

Not because they were monstrous. But because they were possible.

A drawer full of the things she could do.

And that was the thing.

Felicity could do so many things.

She could write a paper that would fundamentally reshape the way the world viewed mechanical cognition. She could dismantle institutions in six bullet points and a spreadsheet. She could design systems so precise they would make countries pivot. She could break things. Build new ones. Rewrite rules.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew how dangerous it was to hold too much power in your head.

That was the terrifying part about Felicity’s mind. Not just that it could solve things. But that it could predict them. Build them. Unbuild them. Break a system with a smile, bend rules until they screamed without ever technically snapping them.

The drawer held plans she’d never use. Arguments she’d never make. Responses sharp enough to cut and leave no scar. Equations that could manipulate systems most people didn’t even know were rigged. Ideas that could change industries—ruin them, in some cases—if she ever let them out.

She never had. She never would.

Because Felicity, for all her brilliance, for all the terrifying elasticity of her mind, had made a choice very early on:

Kindness.

Kindness as rebellion. Kindness as resistance. Kindness not as softness, but as control.

It would be easy—so easy—to weaponise what she knew. 

To be cold, untouchable, triumphant in the way the world sometimes worshipped people who were sharp enough to draw blood. 

But Felicity had grown up under that weight. 

The genius child. 

The gifted girl. 

The one with the test scores that could split atoms and the eyes that saw too much. She had seen how quickly awe turned to fear. How quickly people began to see you as other.

So Felicity failed the IQ tests. Not failed, exactly—but she answered just enough incorrectly. 

They’d tested her, of course. Again and again.

She’d made sure to get a few wrong every time.

Not because she couldn’t get them right.

But because she’d already figured out what perfect scores meant.

Perfect scores meant more pressure.

More isolation.

More adults speaking about her instead of to her.

More expectations that stole her childhood before she could claim it.

So she let the number drop.

She missed the logic trap here, the pattern extrapolation there.

Felicity learned how to underperform just enough to be labelled brilliant, but not inhuman.

Even now, as an adult, she sometimes wondered what her real number was.

And then forced herself not to care.

160.

It was the number she gave when someone asked. A score high enough to seem impressive. Low enough to still feel human. 

Kind of. 

Even Oscar didn’t know the rest.

He knew she was clever. Knew she could rewire an engine with her eyes closed, design systems on paper napkins, debug code while stirring a risotto. Knew she’d earned a PhD while raising a toddler. Knew she could predict tyre degradation better than some engineers.

But he didn’t know the extent.

She never let him see it all.

Not because she didn’t trust him. But because she needed one place in the world where she wasn’t being measured. Where she could be small and ordinary and barefoot in the kitchen, with flour on her hands and Bee at her hip.

Oscar made space for that version of her. Never asked for anything else.

He called her brilliant sometimes, but always like it was a secret he was lucky to know.

Still, the drawer remained. Locked. Heavy.

Felicity could open it any time. Could unspool every thought, every possibility, every blueprint. She had the capacity to reshape things in her image—universities, companies, ideologies.

But Felicity didn’t want that.

She wanted to plant tomatoes and teach Bee how to read tire degradation charts. She wanted to place mosaics on the bathroom wall and write love notes into the margins of Oscar’s travel calendar. She wanted to bake bread and be left alone.

Sometimes, she worried what people would think if they really knew.

If they saw how far her mind stretched. If they knew the truth behind the quiet way she lived.

She wondered if they’d be afraid of her.

So she kept it hidden. Chose love. Chose patience. Choose not to win every argument, not to finish every sentence, not to prove every point. Choose not to be the sharpest thing in every room.

She built a life where brilliance could live without needing to bare its teeth.

Even Oscar—her Oscar, the one person who saw her fully—didn't know the contents of the drawer. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

Because he didn’t love her for what she could do.

He loved her for who she chose to be.

And that mattered more than any number ever had.

Felicity Piastri could break the world if she wanted.

But she'd rather raise one small girl to love it instead.

***

Oscar wasn’t stupid.

He’d never been. Not about her.

From the outside, maybe it looked like Felicity lived simply. That she liked soft things and quiet days, and teaching their daughter how to make pancakes shaped like brake callipers. 

Maybe it looked like she’d set her brilliance aside—like she’d traded academia for motherhood, engineering for sourdough starters and thrifted overalls.

But Oscar had seen it.

Oscar had known for a long time that Felicity was smarter than she let on.

Her intelligence wasn’t a secret—she had a doctorate, after all, and could explain things to Bee that most engineers would struggle to unpack for adults. She could read technical sheets like bedtime stories, fix electrical issues in the garage with a sigh, and beat him at chess in nine moves while stirring dinner on the stove.

Oscar knew Felicity was brilliant.

Not in the casual, top-of-the-class way most people used the word. Not even in the terrifyingly competent, engineer-who-fixes-cars-better-than-his-mechanics kind of way.

Felicity’s mind was something else entirely.

Felicity remembered everything.

Not just formulas or wiring diagrams or where she’d last seen his keys (spoiler: it was always where he swore they weren’t). 

Felicity remembered things with the kind of clarity that felt almost impossible. Entire pages of textbooks from university, word-for-word. The serial number of a broken dishwasher part she’d glimpsed once six months ago. The lyrics to a song Bee had sung in a kindergarten play, she only rehearsed at home once.

It wasn’t something she ever bragged about. Felicity didn’t do that. But Oscar had seen the way it worked, the way her eyes would go a little distant when she was accessing something buried in a mental archive no one else could reach. Like she was pulling open a drawer in her head and retrieving exactly the right file.

But there was something else. Something beneath the brilliance she allowed the world to see.

What most people didn’t realise—what even her own professors hadn’t figured out—was that Felicity Piastri was smarter than she let on.

It wasn’t that she lied. It was that she edited.

She softened the edges. She chose quiet, every time. She let other people win arguments she could’ve dismantled in seconds. She smiled through conversations she could have rerouted, rewired, rewritten.

Oscar saw it. In the way she paused before answering a loaded question. In the way she hesitated before explaining something complex, like she was calibrating, gauging how much truth to give. In the way she’d sit silently for long moments before asking a single question that dismantled the entire problem.

It was in the way she sometimes stared at a problem—not with confusion, but with hesitation. Like she already knew the answer. Had known it five minutes ago. But was weighing whether or not to share it.

It was in the way she let other people think they’d found the solution first. The way she edited down her thoughts into bite-sized pieces, digestible, unthreatening. The way she built space for others to keep up, even when she could’ve sprinted ahead.

Oscar saw it. Always had.

She never talked about it directly. Never told him the full of it. But he’d seen flashes. Once, early in their marriage, she’d rewritten the firmware on Bee’s baby monitor after it glitched. Not patched. Rewritten. In an hour. While breastfeeding.

Oscar had seen her write equations upside down on napkins. Had seen her reprogram Bee’s tablet because the parental controls were inefficient. Had watched her make an engineer go quiet with a single, softly-phrased observation.

She did it all while wearing thrifted cardigans and cutting the crusts off sandwiches.

But Oscar saw.

He never asked what else she was capable of. Didn’t want to know the limits—if there even were any. It wasn’t fear. Just reverence.

Because she never used it as a weapon. Never used it for leverage. Never made him feel small.

She could’ve built empires. She chose to build a home instead.

And Oscar thought that was the most terrifying, awe-inspiring thing of all.

He’d seen the shape of her mind in the way she mapped out their life. The way she always knew when he’d be tired before he did. The way she tracked logistics and race schedules, cross-referenced nutrition plans and school rosters and still found time to replace the smoke alarm batteries before he remembered they even existed.

He saw it in Bee, too. That fierce little spark that Felicity somehow guided with both freedom and quiet structure. Like she knew how to give Bee the right questions before she ever offered the answers.

And her memory… the older they got, the more years they layered onto each other, the more he came to realise: it wasn’t just impressive. It was intimate.

Because Felicity didn’t just remember numbers and maps, and measurements.

She remembered him.

Things he’d said in passing, half-asleep or distracted, that she somehow tucked away like treasures. The fact that he hated the sound of crinkling chip bags. That he liked exactly twelve raspberries in his porridge. That he didn’t like being touched when he was overstimulated after a bad race — but he did like having her nearby, just within reach.

She remembered the stories he only told once. The ones he hadn’t even realized were important until she brought them up again, years later, gently, like holding something fragile.

She remembered the colour of the shirt he wore the first time he kissed her.

She remembered all the versions of him — even the ones he tried to leave behind.

Sometimes, Oscar thought about how exhausting it must be. How heavy it must feel to carry everything. To have a brain that never let anything go. 

Oscar had always known she was something more. That brilliance was only the surface. That Felicity could see things others didn’t, feel patterns before they existed, stretch logic so thin it became poetry.

She never showed it all. Not even to him.

But he saw it anyway.

In the way she rewrote financial models to stabilise their family income. In the way she adjusted Bee’s lessons mid-week because she sensed boredom before Bee could say the word. 

In the way she rewired the battery system of his sim rig because she didn’t like the voltage drop, and did it while talking to Bee about the life cycle of stars.

Oscar knew.

He just never said so.

He never said anything. Never pushed. Never asked.

Because he knew—deep in his bones—that Felicity had spent her whole life being treated like a resource. A phenomenon. A marvel to be studied, dissected, and showcased.

He would never do that to her.

What she needed—what he gave—was safety. Space. The freedom to be clever without being dissected for it. The right to choose gentleness without being underestimated.

So he didn’t pry. Didn’t press.

He just held her hand when she needed grounding, listened when she muttered equations under her breath, and kissed her temple when she got that look—that distant, calculating look—before she blinked it away and smiled at him like she hadn’t just solved something the world didn’t even know was broken.

Felicity never showed him the drawer.

She didn’t need to.

Because he already knew what she kept inside it.

And he loved her anyway. Not in spite of it. But because she’d chosen him—and Bee—and love and bread and softness, over every sharp and brilliant thing she could have unleashed instead.

Her mind wasn’t a party trick. It wasn’t a tool. It was an act of love, the way she wielded it.

She used it to take care of the people she loved.

To take care of him.

Oscar wasn’t blind.

She was brilliant. Always had been.

But the most remarkable thing about Felicity wasn’t her mind.

It was the fact that she could’ve been anything—could’ve ruled rooms, reshaped industries, rewired entire schools of thought—and she’d chosen this.

Chosen him.

Chosen Bee.

Chosen tomato plants, and mosaic tiles, and quiet, ordinary joy.

She chose kindness. Again and again and again. 

And he respected the hell out of it.

Because Oscar knew, in the marrow of his bones, that if Felicity ever opened that drawer—if she ever stopped pulling her punches, if she ever decided to stop choosing kindness—then the world would bend.

[monstersholygrail]

Untouched Power

Demon x Witch!reader— praise, body worship, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, scratching, biting, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms

When your coven members started getting sick, dark horrifying jagged marks blooming on their skin, they all looked to you for answers. You weren’t coven leader, not by far, you were only their humble head healer. This was the kind of stuff you specialized in yet even you had no idea what was going on.

But witch after witch was appearing on your doorstep, their faces scared, desperately begging you for help. Of course you did what you could but the illness was such a peculiar thing, you could barely make sense of it.

With each new blot that formed the witch’s magic grew more powerful but also more unstable. The marks consumed them until they could no longer control their magic and it became a liability to allow them to continue their practice. Which was another issue as the illness also raised their aggression levels tenfold. Even the slightest uptick in their heartbeat could unleash a raging current of magic.

Most cases, no matter how much you tried to stop it, ended in the death of a witch and fewer answers than you started with.

For some it came on quicker and for others it was like a slow crawl. Yet it always reached its end and you could never catch up with it. That is until it finally caught up with you.

Haunting tendrils that began to form on your hands as if the illness was mocking you. You had failed to heal your coven members and now you’d fail to save yourself before it was too late and it’d claim another witch.

You only allow yourself a few minutes to panic. There isn’t time to linger on it any longer. Not when you’re unsure how much you have left. But even as you move, scouring through countless old texts and forbidden spells, that frenzied fear is what drives you forward.

Days go by running through the same cycle. Reading the books, testing incantations and potions, refusing to collapse as another fails, and forcing yourself to start all over again. Each failed attempt threatens to destroy what little hope you have left. There has to be something— anything— you haven’t thought of.

That’s when it hits you. As much as the rationale side of you immediately rejects the idea, the other tells you it’s your last chance. For your coven, summoning a demon is quite possibly the greatest offense a witch can commit. You remind yourself of this over and over as you draw the circle in the dead of night.

Bright purple flames shoot straight to the ceiling as the Demon appears before you, in clothes from a time long ago and a piercing gaze that acts like he already knows what you’re about to ask. Yet when you show him the marks making their way up your arms a flicker of surprises passes over his expression.

He breaks through your summoning circle with ease, clawed hands grasp at your arms with a surprising tenderness. It still manages to send a fierce shiver down your spine. Under his inspection you try and remain normal, ignoring the way your body warms and hums under his touch. A growing throb echoing straight to your core.

“A witch forming marks? What is the meaning of this?” He asks in awe, and his own demonic marks shimmer under the candlelight.

A soft gasp leaves you at the familiar patterns you’ve seen so many times before on your fellow witches. How had you never realized this? The connection between a demons blots and the illness taking control of these witches. Suddenly it was all making sense, the deathly power surges that they couldn’t contain on their own.

“I was hoping you could help me figure that out,” you whisper and his gaze snaps up to meet yours, the hum in your body buzzing harder by the second.

Then it’s weeks that pass in the blink of an eye. You rarely leave your home and refuse to let anyone inside. It’s clear your coven members worry for you but that’s the last thing on your mind. With your days now full of this alluring demon who you can’t get enough of leaves space for little else.

He moves around your home like he owns it, having grown more comfortable there than you ever would’ve expected. The two of you have come to work in tandem, your hand reaching and his is already there waiting as you trade old books, passing each other ingredients without a thought while making potions you’ve never even heard of, and your bodies moving as one as you work.

Every interaction between you is charged with something deeper, something you don’t dare to speak of. Yet it speaks through every brush of your hand against his, how neither of you move away whenever you bump into the other, the smiles and glances you send each other that linger a few beats too long, and that both your marks shimmer in each others vicinity.

And just like the others, as your marks move up your arms and down your body, your power grows stronger. But something about this demon helps calm the magic swelling inside you. His presence soothes the storm, his touch calms the spikes of your emotions. Ones that are starting to happen far too often for comfort.

Leaning against the table you clench your fists as another wave of anger urges you to lash out, to unleash the emotion swirling inside you. Your body shakes with the force of trying to resist but you hold on as long as you can.

Just as fear it’ll overcome you, the demon’s chest molds against your back, his arms curl around you and tug you close. That soothing sensation courses through you and you sigh in relief, melting into his arms like you’ve been doing it your entire life.

“I hate these marks,” you murmur, voice filled with pain.

The demon freezes against you and for a long moment he doesn’t respond. Neither do you. Then a moment later he leans down, nuzzling into the streaks that have bloomed on your neck. His own shimmer and yours respond immediately.

“I don’t. I adore them. You just need to learn how to control them,” he rasps.

His breath on your skin makes that constant buzz return to your body as if calling out for him. Warm arousal bubbles up in your belly and looks in your panties. You know he can sense it all yet he doesn’t rush a thing.

“Your coven’s tapped into a power it wasn’t prepared to handle but you have me now. Let me help you.”

All you can feel anymore is him as his fingers skim across your skin, tilting your chin up just in time to claim your lips in a kiss that’s been a long time coming. A soft moan leaves you, your body turning to face him before he picks up your plush frame with ease and plops you down on top of the table.

Low demonic growls vibrate from his throat as he pushes at your clothes like they’re a nuisance, his lips curl in a sneer as his mouth dances with yours like he’s trying not to just tear them to shreds.

Only when the lack of oxygen pinches at your lungs does he break from the kiss and immediately make his way down your skin. Pressing feverish kisses along every inch of bare skin he exposes.

“Your marks… they’re gorgeous. Just like the rest of you. If only you’d embrace them, embrace me,” he pants against your chest and you gasp as he takes one of your perky buds into his mouth, sucking till they’re swollen, then moving onto the next.

You writhe against the table, small whimpers leaving you as you get hotter and hotter, the mess between your thighs dripping down your legs and onto the table.

As if he can sense just how needy you are he leans back and forces your thick thighs apart, groaning at the slick that gushes out of your weeping pussy.

“You even have them here. How beautiful,” he purrs.

His long clawed fingers slide through your folds, tracing the streaks till you’re crying out and rocking your hips into the movement. You get so lost in the rhythm and the constant stimulation that you don’t notice him replacing his fingers with his cock until he’s sliding in and stretching your sensitive walls to their very limits.

You start to scream only to have them silenced by his mouth as he kisses you again. Your magic pulses in time with your throbbing cunt as he starts thrusting his cock deep inside you, slipping deeper and deeper with each rock of his hips.

Meanwhile he fucks your mouth as hard as he fucks your pussy, swirling his tongue against yours in time with every brutal thrust. You feel his tip smash against your cervix just as his tongue pushes into your throat and suddenly he’s everywhere.

Consuming you from the inside out. For a second you panic, your nails scratching down his back and he hisses, picking up pace and rutting into you even harder. You feel unsteady, body moving in time with his only to realize it’s not your body moving but the magic inside you. As you let him in the overpowering magic settles into your bones like it’s always meant to be there and it increases your pleasure to a point you’ve never known.

The demon grunts as he slams his cock along your walls, molding you to the shape of him. He’s breathless but he’s never felt more alive than he does now and he can’t stop staring at the streaks that resemble his one. Like you’re his, all his now. It makes his cock swell within you.

“Tell me you love your marks as much as I do. I want to hear you,” he growls, ducking his head to worship every inch of marked skin he can reach.

You cry out, the pressure in your belly building, so close to bursting.

“I love my marks,” you whine, trying to sound convincing.

“Louder,” he snarls and nips at your throat.

Every thrust he makes you scream those words till you shatter around his cock, your vision flashing white and your release spraying out of you in a brilliant stream of arousal. Your demon roars as he buries himself to the hilt and sends spurt after spurt of his thick cum to splash against your cervix till you’re coming again for him.

He helps work you through the intense pleasure, rocking into you steadily and holding you close. When the fog starts to clear from your mind a burst of clarity booms and you realize you’ve been going about this all wrong. Trying to be rid of the streaks is impossible. It’s only through accepting them can you manage the power that comes with.

And all along it was your demon helping you to see that. To accept it. Now you think you finally are and if you can convince your coven members to do the same you think everything may just be ok.

Your marks glow in a silent heartfelt thank you. Warmth flows through you as his own shine in return. Both your body and souls now connected as one.

[waitingandwishing]

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Word Count: 2.5k "𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌" ━━ Ever since you were a kid, all you wanted was to be cared for.

“‘Cause I see your real face, it’s as ugly as sin. Gonna put you in your place cause you’re rotten within.” You sang, practicing the choreography easily. “When your patterns start to show it makes the hatred wanna grow out of my veins…”

Your voice trailed off and you sighed, collapsing on your bed with a huff. You rolled up your sleeve to reveal the spreading marks, glowing and pulsing each time you grazed your other hand on them. For almost your whole life, they’ve never spread this fast before.

Jinu said that his shame was what caused them to spread… What shame did you have then? The shame of these markings? But if so, then Rumi’s would’ve spread much faster than before right? You huffed. You couldn’t believe you were about to do something this stupid but… Maybe you should visit a mudang?

You groaned. Why were you now turning to spiritual stuff? You laid on your back, thinking for a moment before deciding you’d go to sleep early instead. You probably needed a good night’s rest anyways… Just as you walked over to your lamp to turn it off, a knock on your window interrupted.

You turned to see the large blue cat from before and the bird perched on top of its head. You frowned, but opened the door and entered your balcony. “Hello?” You greeted. The tiger stared at you before pushing into your hand as if telling you to pet him like before. “Where’s your owner?”

The tiger purred before biting your arm. It wasn’t a harsh bite, more delicate than anything as it seemed as though it was trying to guide you somewhere. “Ooookay…” You cringed at the horrible sensation of it’s drool coating your sweatshirt but didn’t pull away.

You followed the tiger into a portal before ending up on the street instead. You shivered at the cold wave of existential dread that came when you entered, but brushed it off and pulled your hood over your head instead. You couldn’t exactly be seen being hauled away by a blue tiger in public right?

“Isn’t it odd how we keep meeting like this?”

You turned to see Jinu with his hands in his pockets. You smiled slightly, the tiger now letting go of your arm. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sent your cat to come get me.” 

Jinu shrugged, feigning an innocent expression. You walked forward, now enshrouded in the darkness of the alleyway. “I actually have something to ask you, surprisingly.” Your gaze was fixated on the ground, not daring to look up at Jinu. 

“My markings…” You rolled your sleeve up to reveal the spread of them going across your arms. “Why are they growing? You said that yours grew from shame but… I haven’t felt any shame.”

Jinu stared at them, his finger twitching slightly to reach out, before he curled his hand into a fist instead. “It is… Hard to identify shame.” He finalized.

You looked up at him, blinking, before letting out a chuckle. “That’s hardly an explanation. Nor does it give me any comfort.”

“Ah, I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head, “After we seal the Honmoon…” Your voice trailed off, eyes glancing at Jinu before clearing your throat. “Rumi’s and my markings will be… Fixed.”

“How did you get your markings?” Jinu asked.

“Ah… I, uh, don’t know actually. It’s just something I’ve been born with like Rumi.” You looked at them, furrowing your brows at the noticeably drastic changes, “We’re not related though so…”

“And you don’t hear Gwi-Ma in your head either?” Jinu asked. You shook your head, your eyes focusing on the cat now rubbing on your legs.

“No…” You muttered.

“Then you’re lucky too.” Jinu said. He stayed quiet for a while, tilting his head up to look at the purple colored sky.

Did negative thoughts count as Gwi-Ma speaking in your head? No, you didn’t think so. Everyone had negative thoughts sometimes, even demons have them replaced by Gwi-Ma’s manipulation. If so… Were they really that different from humans?

“Maybe… You can be lucky too.” You thought out loud. Jinu turned to you with a confused look on his face. “When the Honmoon is sealed, all demons will be banished to be with Gwi-Ma for all eternity. You can be on our side. You’ll be rid of the markings.”

Jinu paused, opening his mouth to speak before you added. “It doesn’t mean you’ll live without your memories of misery. At least, I think so.” You mused before finally looking at Jinu with a smile, “Jinu, if you help us win the Idol awards, you can stop hearing Gwi-Ma’s voice inside your head…”

“What makes you think the Honmoon can save a guy like me?” Jinu asked, eyes carefully tracing the street in consideration.

“You tried to help your family. We all…” Your voice trailed off, masking the wince of a sudden headache with clearing your throat. “We all make mistakes.”

Jinu scoffed, “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple.” You challenged, “If the Honmoon can… Help me and Rumi with our mistakes, it surely can with yours.”

There’s a softening. A stillness in his eyes as he looks at you. As if his entire world has just settled into place. His pupils dilated just slightly, eyes warm with a kind of quiet awe, and for a moment, time seems to hush around the two of you. It’s not dramatic, not always flashy. It’s subtle. Sacred.

Familiar, even to you. You feel as if you’d done this before, that you’d felt this way before. You cleared your throat, “You always stare at someone like that?” You asked.

Jinu blinked out of his trance, turning away to the blue tiger sitting in front of him with a tilted head and crossed eyes. “It’s just… You remind me a lot like someone I knew.” Jinu said. You didn’t ask anything else because it seemed like he didn’t want to elaborate any further, but it warmed your heart either way.

His words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken memories and the quiet certainty of realization and recognition. It’s the look that said… You mattered. Not because of what you’ve done or said, but simply because you’re… You.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” You smiled, now turning away, “I’ve gotta change out of this wet sweatshirt before I start getting overstimulated so… Just think about my offer?” You turned your face to the side, looking at Jinu in the corner of your eye, “Give me a message if you accept it, Jinu.”

- - -

You explained the plan to Rumi, to which she agreed with. Jinu would help you win the Idol Awards, and you would seal the Honmoon when it was over. “Should we tell the others?” you asked, walking backstage to get ready for the rehearsal.

“... No.” Rumi decided, “They… They won’t understand.”

“Are those Celine’s words or yours?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment—but she didn’t smile. Not even a flicker. Your grin faltered. You stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder with quiet concern. “Rumi…”

“These lyrics are so… Wrong.” She said, her arms crossing tightly over her chest like she was bracing for something colder than judgment.

“Yeah…” you muttered, wincing as a dull throb pulsed through your skull. “Pretty hypocritical of us, I get it.”

“It’s fine. I think we can get through this.” Rumi nodded, but her voice didn’t carry much weight. You hesitated, studying her a moment longer before nodding back and stepping onstage beside her.

The music started, echoing faintly across the space as the four of you moved into formation. “Time to put you in your place ‘cause you’re rotten within.” You sang, turning with the practiced motion.

“When your patterns start to show it makes the hatred wanna grow out of my…” Rumi’s voice trailed off. She stopped moving entirely, her face blank and filled with hesitation.

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” Mira asked, her tone sharp with confusion.

“It’s just… These lyrics are throwing me off.” Rumi muttered, “I don’t think they’re right just yet.”

“Seriously? Now?” Mira frowned, eyebrows pulling in.

“No, it’s fine.” Zoey laughed weakly, already flipping through her lyric journal. “It’s the second verse, right? Uh, how about… ‘When the patterns start to show, the whole world will finally know that you’re depraved’?”

You shook your head at the same time Rumi did. The movement was subtle, but Mira noticed. Her frown deepened as her gaze shifted toward you, questioning. You couldn’t meet her eyes. You looked down at the scuffed black floor instead.

“Um, ‘My sword will happily show you to your grave?’” Zoey offered again. Rumi shook her head, “‘You will be pummeled till no remains—’”

“No, Zoey, it’s just—It’s the whole song.” Rumi sighed, weariness etched into her voice.

“Oh… Okay, great!” Zoey said, trying to laugh it off, but her voice went quiet as her eyes fell to the notebook in her hands. “Well, then, I might as well tear these all up!”

“Rumi, we don’t have time to change the lyrics even if we wanted to.” Mira said, stepping closer now. “The Idol Awards are tomorrow.”

“Well, I… I don’t think I can sing this song.” Rumi argued, her voice small but firm.

“It’s… So hateful.” You added.

The tension between the four of you was like static before Bobby stepped in, his timing almost too perfect. “Hey, girls, just wanted to bring some last-minute pick-me-ups…” He smiled, though it was clearly strained, placing the bag down. “I know things have been really stressful lately and you’ve been working so hard on the Idol routine.”

Then, a sharp pink pulse hit you, like static in your bones. The headache returned in full force, blooming behind your eyes like fire. You winced, though hit it well. You turned and ran. There wasn’t time for more arguing, you had civilians to save.

- - -

“Seriously, what is your problem?” Mira asked as she sliced through a demon's body.

Mira’s words ring in your ears like an accusation you can’t deflect. You know you’re hiding something but it isn’t out of malice. It’s out of fear. Out of uncertainty. Out of not knowing if you’re right or wrong. The Honmoon. The song. The dreams. The missing people. The silence where there should be cheering fans.

“I told you, the song, it’s-”

“I’m not talking about the song, I’m talking about you and Y/N!” Mira said. You turned your head, looking at her before pulling a demon closer to you and stabbing it with your dagger. “Why are you both questioning everything that we stand for when we’re so close to sealing the Honmoon? What are you two not telling us?!”

“I-I-”

“What are you hiding from us?” Mira asked, her hand on Rumi’s shoulder just as the purple haired girl was about to pull away.

“Not everything is about your insecurities, Mira!” Rumi yelled. You widened your eyes, looking between the two of them with a pained expression.

You stood between them, looking at both their expressions. Zoey stood next to Mira with widened eyes. The whole tunnel that shrouded you with darkness suddenly blew past you, the skyline of the city and mountains coming into view.

“Mira, I-I didn’t mean…”

“Would you two stop fighting each other and look?!” Zoey yelled, pointing to the huge hole coming from the upper bridge. 

“Why is it so big…?” You muttered. Multiple hungry demons piled on top of each other, ready to ravage any human souls on the train.

“If you’re with us, prove it.” Mira challenged, looking at you and Rumi before focusing her attention back on the demons.

You got into position before lunging with the four of them at the herd of demons. Your whip cracked like gunfire, splitting the air above the demon's heads. One lunged forward, to which you moved your shoulder forward, elbow locked and fingers snapping the whip at the end. The tip wrapped around its wrist, pulling it forward before plunging your dagger into its chest.

“It’s a take down, Imma take you out and it ain’t gonna stop!”

The second demon charged, causing you to spin left and let the tail of your whip loop low around its leg. You pulled hard, dropping its balance before throwing the dagger into its chest and disintegrating it.

You leaned in, whip in a cross-body strike. The tip lashed across another demon's face, causing it to screech before bursting into a pink dust.

“Jung shin eul noh koh null jib balb goh! Kal eul seh gyuh nuah! You’ll be begging and crying, all of you dying. Never miss my shot!”

When another lunged again, you dropped the whip and caught behind the ankle. In a wrapping move, the tail tangled briefly. You yanked hard, turning your hips and unbalancing it successfully. You threw your dagger again.

“I don’t think you’re ready for the takedown! A demon with no feelings don’t deserve to live… It’s so obvious…”

You widened your eyes, watching as another demon came swinging with a club at Rumi, who had suddenly paused their demon massacre. “RUMI!” You shouted, latching your whip onto her waist and pulling her forward. The momentum caused you to fly forward, sending a kick to the larger demon's head.

The lurking demons overran the plane. You knelt down, helping Rumi up as Mira finished off the last of the demons with a shockwave of blue energy. 

Mira turned to look at you and Rumi, disappointment evident in her eyes, but just as she was about to say something, you spoke up first. “The passengers!” You realized. 

You entered the train, searching through the seats to find at least one person, only to be disappointed at the sight of the missing people. What were you going to do now? 

The train stopped at its nearest station, the four of you walking out with saddened looks on your faces. “Whatever you think about the song, it doesn’t matter right now.” Mira spoke up, her voice breaking slightly. “Everything is at stake and we just need to get through this together.” She walked away, not daring to meet yours or Rumi's gaze.

“You know I’m always on your side but… It’s really hard to understand this time.” Zoey muttered, turning to look at the two of you, “We can’t win this without your voices…” She finalized before walking away with Mira.

You and Rumi exchanged glances. Something’s wrong. And not just with the mission. With you. With Rumi. With the entire foundation everything’s been built on.

You look at her, your partner in this, and the weight in her eyes mirrors your own. The kind of weight you carry when truth is clawing at the inside of your chest but you’re afraid to open your mouth and let it out. Because if you speak it aloud, it might undo everything you’ve fought for…

Zoey says they need your voice. Mira says you’re keeping secrets. She’s not wrong. But they don’t see what you see. They don’t hear what you hear in that song. They don’t feel how wrong it’s beginning to sound.

taglist: @the-bookish-artist @nisarelle @iviorienne @justanindiangirl12 @t4naiis @usuallyunlikelyfox@livsh20@venommie@dprweganggang03@satansdaughter123 @yumekono @arkcitrus

[godricgryffinsnore]

Hi again Della :D

I was just so in love with the last one-shot you wrote on my prompt, that I couldn't resist asking for another. Your writing is just so perfectly sugary sweet that I can't help but be addicted.

It's James Potter again, but I was wondering if this time you could write about him falling for a Seeker from another team and simultaneously wanting to beat her team but also absolutely in love with the way she catches the Snitch.

Thanks love! <3 <3

Catch Me If You Can ♡ | J.Potter ★

“I was mid-match, mid-air, mid-smirk—and then she caught the Snitch and my bloody heart in the same breath.”

pairing : James Potter x fem!Ravenclaw!seeker!reader

summary : A Gryffindor Chaser. A Ravenclaw Seeker. Rivalry blurs, sparks fly, and neither of them is ready for what falls harder—Quidditch… or love.

warnings : mild swearing, flirty banter, rivals-to-lovers tension, closet make-out, chaotic Quidditch energy, James Potter being hopelessly in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Oh my god!!! I am so glad you liked the previous one-shot made out of your wonderful request!!! I hope you enjoy this one too <333

word count : 1.8k

navigation <3

banners : @/cafekitsune and @/fic-dumpster

James Potter knew three things for certain:

1. He loved Quidditch.

2. He was the best Chaser in Hogwarts history (his words, not McGonagall’s).

3. He was absolutely, stupidly, insufferably in love with the Seeker from Ravenclaw. You.

The Problem?

You hated his guts.

Well—not hate hate. You respected his game. You tolerated his hair (barely). But you swore on your broomstick, if James bloody Potter winked at you before a match one more time, you were going to ram your Cleansweep right up his—

“Looking fierce today, love,” he called from across the pitch, twirling his broom like he hadn’t just spent five minutes smirking in your direction. “Trying to distract me with that braid again?”

You narrowed your eyes, adjusting your gloves. “Try focusing on the Quaffle, Potter. I’ll be long gone with the Snitch before your ego even takes off.”

“Ooooh, stinger!” Sirius howled behind him. “She’s got bite!”

James just grinned—boyishly, infuriatingly—and mounted his broom like he was mounting a stage. “Oh, I always focus on you.”

The whistle blew.

You’d caught the Snitch. Again.

Your team still lost (blame your Beaters), but the moment your fingers closed around that golden fluttering devil, you felt his eyes on you. Again.

James Potter was clapping—actually clapping—even though you’d technically ruined his winning streak.

“Brilliant form,” he said later as you passed in the hall, all casual-like, like you hadn’t just wiped the smug look off his face midair.

You scoffed, not slowing. “Shame your Keeper couldn’t catch a Quaffle to save his life.”

“Careful,” James said, following you like a duckling in a lion’s den. “I might think you care.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do care. About annihilating Gryffindor next match.”

“Merlin,” he said under his breath, watching you walk away. “I’m so in love with her it’s ridiculous.”

It became a pattern. You’d glare. He’d wink. You’d soar. He’d chase. You’d catch the Snitch—sometimes—and every time you did, he looked at you like you’d just hung the stars yourself.

It was rivalry.

Except…

Only you thought so.

“You’re obsessed with her,” Sirius said one evening, eating toast on James’s bed as he stared out the window at the pitch. Again.

“No, I’m not,” James mumbled, dreamy-eyed.

“You literally just wrote ‘(Y/N) Potter’ in your Transfiguration notes.”

“I did not—” He looked. He had. In swirly cursive.

“I’m doomed,” he muttered.

Remus, from his bed, didn’t even look up. “Just tell her you like her.”

“She thinks we’re rivals,” James said dramatically. “She hates my face.”

“She hates your flirting,” Remus corrected. “Not your face.”

“Well—same thing!”

The final match of the season was pure chaos. Rain. Mud. Bludgers on a rampage. The Snitch dipped and darted like it had a personal vendetta. And somewhere between nearly crashing into you midair and swearing under his breath when you pulled out of a dive last second—James knew.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

You were storming through the corridor after the game, heart hammering from adrenaline, when he caught up with you.

“Oi—wait!” James called, hair soaked, uniform a mess, voice winded.

You turned, scowling. “If you’re here to gloat about that last-minute goal—”

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your arm. Shoved open the nearest broom closet. Pulled you inside. Slammed the door.

“What the hell—”

“I like you,” he blurted, soaking wet and panting like a madman. “I’ve liked you since third year. I think you’re the most brilliant flier I’ve ever seen, and I’ve watched you catch the Snitch seventeen times and I still forget how to breathe every single bloody time.”

You blinked. Blink. Blink.

He was close. His hair was dripping. His voice was shaking.

“I don’t—” you started, and he panicked.

“I know you hate me,” he said quickly, “I know I’m annoying and arrogant and possibly the human embodiment of a Bludger but—”

“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice flat.

He froze. “…You don’t?”

You crossed your arms. “I thought you hated me. You’re always smirking and teasing and acting like I’m your personal competition.”

James gawked. “You are my competition! But only because you’re so good I can’t stop watching you.”

Oh.

The silence fell. Humid. Close.

Then—slowly—you grinned.

“So…” you said, leaning against the door, eyes narrow. “You pulled me into a broom closet to confess you’re in love with me?”

James’s mouth flapped. “I—no—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t going to say love—”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“Okay, fine!” he burst. “Yes! I’m bloody mad about you. I love the way you fly. I love your sarcasm. I love that you hate my flirting. I love that you always catch the Snitch even when I’m trying to flirt mid-match like a moron—I love—” He stopped. Lowered his voice. “…you.”

Your heart was racing.

You leaned in. Just a little. Close enough that your noses brushed.

“You’re a dramatic little show-off, you know that?”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head. “But I guess I could love that too.”

His eyes widened.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. It was all broom-closet heat and pent-up tension and muddy uniforms and a desperate, gleeful kind of hunger. He gripped your waist. You yanked his shirt collar. His glasses fogged. The world spun.

When you finally pulled away—his lips kiss-bruised, his heart probably doing Quidditch flips—he breathed:

“So…you do like me.”

You smirked. “Catch me if you can, Potter.”

And then you opened the door and strutted out—leaving James Potter, Captain of the Gryffindor team and biggest dork in the castle, laughing breathlessly in a broom closet, madly in love with the girl who thought they were rivals.

Epilogue – Post-Practice Banter

James: “Hey babe, remember when you thought we were enemies?”

You: “I still kind of want to knock you off your broom sometimes.”

James: grinning “Merlin, marry me.”

You: “Buy me a Firebolt first.”

James: “Done. Want the diamond to match it?”

There were many things James Potter could do well.

Win Quidditch games. Charm professors. Make Lily Evans roll her eyes in record time.

But one thing he could not do—despite his very public insistence otherwise—was keep his hands (or eyes) off you during a match.

Not anymore.

Because now… He could kiss you. He could touch you. He could say “you’re mine,” and then prove it behind the stands when no one was looking.

Only—well.

People were looking.

“Mate,” Sirius said one stormy afternoon after practice. “You’re playing like a lovesick Bludger.”

“I am not,” James said, lying.

“You flew into your own Keeper.”

“He swerved—”

“He was standing still.” Sirius blinked. “Right outside the goalpost. Doing literally nothing.”

Remus looked up from his book. “You also dropped the Quaffle. Twice.”

“Was distracted,” James muttered, and oh no, because even thinking about you sent that dopey little grin creeping across his face.

Sirius pointed. “That’s the face. That’s the face of a man about to ruin his own game for love.”

“I am not ruining anything—”

“You’re doomed,” Remus said, flipping a page.

“Completely whipped,” Sirius added. “Absolutely done for. Can’t wait till the team finds out.”

James scoffed. “They’re not going to find out.”

He was very proud of this plan, actually.

You two had agreed—no one could know you were dating. Too much drama. Too many Quidditch politics. Ravenclaws would say it was favoritism, Gryffindors would never shut up, Sirius would make it everyone’s problem.

So you had a foolproof system.

Flirt behind the greenhouses. Make out in the library stacks (Section B—far corner). Kiss behind the Quidditch stands. Avoid each other on the pitch like well-behaved, non-infatuated rivals.

Simple.

It was foolproof. Perfect.

Except for one problem.

James was a fool. And he was in love.

Saturday’s Match: Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

The pitch was golden with morning light, cheers echoing, house colors waving like fire in the wind.

You were hovering mid-air, wind in your hair, eyes sharp on the glimmer of gold near the west end.

And James?

James was not watching the Quaffle.

He was watching you.

Your hair, twisted up in a ribbon.

The way your fingers clenched the broom handle.

The way your knees locked as you dove, fast and low, the Snitch just—

“JAMES!” Sirius screamed. “FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, THE QUAFFLE!”

Too late. It was in the goal. Again.

You caught the Snitch five minutes later, graceful and smirking.

And James Potter sat slumped mid-air like a kicked puppy, utterly useless and sickeningly proud.

After the Match – Gryffindor Locker Room

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying, accusatory silence.

James stood, towel over his shoulder, mud on his boots, surrounded by his team.

No one spoke.

Then—

“Alright,” said Charlotte, the Beater. “Who’s the girl?”

James blinked. “What?”

“The girl,” said Oliver, their Keeper. “The one you’re clearly thinking about instead of playing like a functional Chaser.”

“There’s no girl—”

“Mate,” Charlotte said, “you just watched their Seeker fly like she was the last chocolate frog on Earth. You didn’t blink for ten minutes.”

“I—”

“You cheered when she caught the Snitch.”

“I was being polite—”

“You clapped.”

“Alright, fine!” James snapped, cheeks pink. “I might be…seeing someone.”

The team gasped as one.

“WHO?!”

James looked skyward, as if praying to Merlin for mercy.

“Promise not to kill me?”

“No,” said Charlotte.

He sighed. “It’s…Ravenclaw’s Seeker.”

Silence.

Then—chaos.

“YOU TRAITOR!” “Bloody hell, it’s her?!” “Wait, she’s hot, though—” “NO, YOU DON’T GET TO THINK THAT, SHE’S HIS HOT.”

Sirius, smirking in the doorway: “Told you.”

Remus, not even surprised: “You owe me five Galleons.”

Meanwhile – You, to your team:

“He’s an idiot. I love him. I’m also going to kill him.”

“Respectfully,” said your Captain, “we’d prefer if you made out after you win.”

Later That Night – Behind the Stands

He was leaning against the pillar, arms crossed, grinning.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured.

You shoved his shoulder. “You clapped, you absolute muppet.”

He laughed. “You looked so good catching the Snitch, I forgot I was supposed to win.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

“Oi! I’m your number one fan.”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes. “The team knows now, don’t they?”

“…Define knows.”

You smacked his chest.

He caught your wrists.

And kissed you.

It was sweet and slow, your hands tangling in his hair, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled.

“Even though I ruin your record?”

“Especially because of that.”

Bonus Scene – Gryffindor Practice the Next Day

James: entirely distracted watching you walk past the pitch with a book in hand

Sirius: “There he goes again. Should we wave a Quaffle in front of his face? Or maybe just toss him at her and save time?”

Remus: “I’ve already got the broom closet cleared out. They’ll end up in there by dinner.”

James, dazed: “She’s wearing my jumper.”

Entire team, in unison: “WE KNOW!”

[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: suguru's getting antsy, his ex-lover isn't looking his way on the field anymore

content warning:my sweet sugu is a little perverttt (we won't be seeing that yet), angstyyy, i love writing about trust issues and character development

dean's (aka peachy) yap: the last of the angst i promiseeee

“touchdownnnn!” the announcer yelled through the speakers of the stadium. that was the sound of the star football player of your university throwing a 45-yard pass. this was his third time making a play like that in this game alone. you wish you weren’t even there at this specific moment and time. you hated having to cheer on your ex as he won yet another game.

so it started a cycle, geto threw a pass, and you cheered. a pattern that was performed every saturday, in your home stadium or away. your reaction was what fueled his passion to play. yeah, you heard me right, he made plays and did the most because of you. whenever he assisted a touchdown, there you were cheering on his team. i mean, you had no choice, of course.

so that was why whenever suguru did something in the game, he’d look at you, always finding you looking right back at him. he read you like a book he knew you missed him, that or he was too cocky to admit that he missed you and he was now projecting. 

when the game was over, you sat around with the cheer team, talking about any and everything. the football team had won, of course, thanks to suguru’s never-ending efforts. before the game, suguru asked you to stay behind so both of you could talk. 

if you weren’t still slightly in love with him, you would've said no, but here you were waiting behind just to see him. he sauntered out hair down, wife-beater, and sweats. he walked towards you with a cockiness that clearly showed he was expecting you to stay behind.

“what?” was all you said, and he smirked. he had always loved your fiestiness.

“how did i do?” he asked, getting closer to you so he could tower over you. suguru was a self-proclaimed pervert; he liked seeing you look up at him. it reminded him of all the times you were on your knees, lips wrapped around his-

“seriously?” you scoffed, walking away from him, and he grabbed your arm. “let me go sugu… i mean- suguru- geto? fuck it just let me go.” you were conflicted on what to call him and he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the way you said his name.

“you can still call me sugu…” he says, letting go of you like you asked. “you’ve always liked calling me that,” he gave you his signature smile, and you laugh. it wasn’t funny, but the audacity of this man was hilarious. he knew you saw him as goofy, at least that’s what you called him when the two of you broke up anyway.

“really? you care what i like now? you’re full of shit geto.” you spat turning around walking to your friends. they were waiting for you so you all could go get ready for the after-party.

“ya okay love?” your friend asked, rubbing your shoulder, knowing how you get about geto. you

were very, very, very in love with him. you would do anything for him. he knew that you knew that, and yet your relationship still failed.

“i’m fine, yeah.” you say as you look out the window, reminiscing on the times you and suguru spent together, the breakup, all of it.

4 months ago

“see you tomorrow!” you yelled out to the other girls on your cheer team. practice was over, and you waited in your car for suguru to get out. he had a spring football game tomorrow, a few hours away from the university. you were supposed to cheer at the basketball championship game, so the two of you won't be able to spend time together.

so you waited an hour after your practice for suguru, the clock finally hit 8, meaning they should be done. but one hour turned into two, and two into three, three into four, and so on. you ended up falling asleep, and when you woke up, it was 1 am, going on 2. you checked your phone, seeing one text from suguru.

‘can’t come practicing late.’ 

he sent that at 9:30, about 45 minutes after you had fallen asleep. no missed calls, no extra texts, nothing. he didn’t even try to make sure you were safe, and that was the worst. so, without hesitation, you made your way to his apartment. 

you were prepared to make a scene, sure you had shame and self-control, but not today. you were about to make sure this conceited cocky- the door swung open to suguru with his eyes half closed. just boxer's, hair messy, and sleep in his eyes.

“you open the door like this for everyone?” you asked, and he just blinked, not sure what you were doing at his apartment. “why did you text me instead of calling me and telling me you weren’t coming anymore?” you asked, and he cleared his throat.

“thought you were asleep, so i just texted you and hoped you’d see,” he said voice still groggy, and he rubbed his eyes trying to adjust to all the lights you turned on around the apartment. “i didn’t get in until 12 anyway.”

“so you practiced until 10?” you asked, lightweight, not believing him, and he sighed, nodding.

“it’s our first game back since the fall, of course, i want to do the best i can,” he explained, and you nodded. you both were working on your trust issues he was getting better but you seemed to be stagnant. 

“i don’t like when you don’t respond it makes me over think.” you explained trying to use your hands to further explain your point. his face was deadpanned almost as if he was angry at you. 

“look no offense but i don’t care about what you like or whatever. we were supposed to work on our trust and i’ve done that for you but if you can’t focus on improving with me then do it without me.” he ranted and your eyes got wide. was that his shitty way of breaking up with you.

“are you breaking up with me?” you asked confused and he shook his head dropping on the couch. he didn’t say much just ran his hand through his hair as he thought.

“i’m not, i’m just saying that you’ve been fine since we’ve been close together for a while. we got together when things were slow and when i wasn’t as busy. so you haven’t had a chance to work on your trust issues, and so i guess the blame is halfway on me,” he grumbled head still in his hands and you stood there frozen as you listened to him. 

“so do you think i’m better off leaving then?” you raise a brow and suguru sighs with a shrug.

“i think i’m stunting your growth. if we do break up it would only be because i want you to be better,” he admitted. truthfully suguru didnt know the best decision himself. he wanted to be your boyfriend and to graduate with you, he even thought about after. how a few years later he’d work on getting married to you. but if you can’t trust him you’d just suffocate him.

“so then let’s breakup. that’s what you want that’s what we’ll do.” you nodded tears now running down your face. you wiped your tears but it was futile as the waterfall poured. suguru knew your crying voice and took it upon himself to engulf you in a hug.

“i don’t want to but i love you and i want you to trust me the way i trust you, before i end up resenting you.” he whispered in your ear and you nodded. you both pulled away from the hug he wiped your tears kissing your lips one more time before you left.

present time

the party was everything you expected it to be, loud, smelly, hot, and chaotic. you liked it because it meant you were bound to get crossfaded. you and your friends held each other’s hand as you navigated through the dense crowd. once you made it to the kitchen of the frat house drinks on drinks were poured. 

you were throwing shots back like there was no tomorrow wanting to forget about suguru for a while. but just your luck you had a filthy nerdy leech that was a constant reminder. satoru gojo. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked satoru who shrugged looking just as confused as you. 

“suguru invited me i’m just tagging along. met a girl too, she invited me so i’m following the crowd i guess you could say.” he laughed and you nodded understanding. you were kind of in the same situation as him just following the crowd.

“i getcha.” you say as you passed him a shot that was passed to you and he denied it. you shrugged your shoulders taking both shots in front. “well looks like my crowd moving, see you later yeah?” 

“yeah see ya.” he smiled as you walked away with your friends and they went to hang out with the football players. as if running into satoru wasn’t enough now you’re sitting in a circle of people. and dead across from you is suguru who was smiling and laughing with his friends.

the lighting was great but just for him, his jawline was enhanced in the light. this couldn’t be real here you are drunk (and in the process of getting high) staring at your ex almost lovingly. minutes were going by and your were getting higher and higher. and while you were getting crossfaded suguru was getting finer and finer. you felt it was practically illegal to feel this way about someone who you were no longer romantically affiliated with.

“are you okay?” one of your friends asked and you sent him a small smile.

“just peachy.” you mumbled standing up to go get water until someone came up to you. you’ve never seen him before but he was clearly flirting. his words were started to blend together and his face was almost not even there. he started to sound like a friend you knew so your body became laxed.

his hands gripped your waist and you spoke with him casually. you were now drinking whatever your ‘friend’ had poured for you. all you knew is that your blinking felt extra slow and the floor was spinning. 

after a while your friend who asked if you were okay came looking for you. he was getting suspicious as to what took you so long to come back outside with the group. until he saw your almost limp body leaning on some guy who he had never seen before either. he stormed towards the two of you both snatching the drink out of your hand. 

“what are you doing?” he asked you and you shrugged not even sure who he was at this point. he watched your behavior and then looked up at the man who was with you. “who the hell are you?”

“does it matter? who the hell are you?” he copied his question whispering in your ear to calm you down. but now it felt weird and your brain seemed to register that you may or may not be in danger. 

“do you even go to this school? i’ve never seen you before.” he questioned the man and his body became stiff against yours. strangely this was the only thing he did that raised red flags for you.

“so? do you know everyone at this school or somethin’?” he grumbled and your friend found him suspicious so he grabbed you arm to pull you away from the man but he didn’t get anywhere with that. “don’t touch her, come on let’s go. you do want to leave with me right?” he asked you and your head slowly tilted to the side as you looked up at him. you were still struggling to make out his face.

“no you won’t, she doesn’t even know you, she’s coming with me.” he said lightly pulling you towards him. you were now caught inbetween the two men one wrist in the strangers hand and the other in your friend’s.

“i-...” was all you could manage before you heard a voice. the only voice that you could identify throughout the foggy haze that was your brain.

“neither of you will be taking her home.” he said as he walked over to you. you didn’t need to see suguru’s face to know it was his. his long hair was enough for you to know it was the man you once and still do love.

“sugu…” you said walking towards him and the two men had no choice but to let you go. before you knew it suguru had his hand around your waist.

“he didn’t hurt you did he?” he asked and you shook your head. even though you weren’t exactly sure how you got into all of that. you both made your way outside to his car that you wasted no time getting. he pressed the 1 button, and it immediately went to your settings, the way you liked it.

“you never took that off?” you asked looking up at him with eyes that had him questioning his actions 4 months ago.

“why would i? this’s your seat.” he said putting on your seatbelt but before the door closed you had to say one more thing.

“thank you, sugu.”

“anything for you.” was all he said before he closed the door and got in the driver’s seat to take you home.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites @soldmysoulto @k-a-m232 @ac27dj @buttershea07 @ane5e @satorupied @charminstasia @miksolosss @nanamisbbygirl @beabamboo @sweetshrew @gurllss @rhicambo @v3rdee @vamppirez @y8zuriha @probablynotleahhhh @snapcracklen @emma-37 @thabiddie23 @sunset-euphoria @ami-s-k @angelita-uchiha @antikaiii @meganwiththebody @certifiedchangbinlover @desirehorizon @meowshiki

[sinnahsaint]

I’m more likely to over explain (well not over explain exactly but some folks think it’s too much) in brackets because I usually have a lot more to say than what I actually start to say ((or type in this case) which is of course why I find verbal conversation so difficult) and although I’ve seen this pattern of communication portrayed on screen and stage (portrayed? screen and stage? seems my vocabulary has shifted (which is what often happens when I’m trying very hard to be precise and understood)) it’s not actually something I can produce verbally since the thoughts are often [overlapping/simultaneous/out of order?] which makes me jump around the paragraph as I write.

I also use the square brackets for “insert-correct-word-here” type of thoughts. I developed that as a way to avoid derailing my train of thought when I couldn’t decide between some options (or couldn’t find the Right word (or even to express that there is more than one Right word)) because I can just keep chugging along knowing that the *vibe* is there and I can puzzle it later or decide to leave it as is.

Since it’s hard for me to know the right label for my “tone indicator” or even what I’m feeling about a post as I write it. I’ve explained to anyone that will listen that 99% of the time I’m trying to be kind and helpful. If you think I’m being a sarcastic bitch, consider what the message you just read would mean if I honestly meant every word I said and none of the ones you assume I meant.

I do wish we had known more about AuDHD when I was a kid. I could have been amazing if I hadn’t have had to unlearn so much.

/Whole thing, just honesty straight from my brain to your eyes.

I'm going to say it. The (word in parentheses) meme is way better for tone indication than tone indicators

[the-travelling-witch]

i know we all got hit hard by the “why couldn’t you love me?” - “i do” - “all of me!” scene between rumi and celine, but what makes this scene hit so much harder is that celine refuses to touch any of rumi’s patterns

while trying to comfort her, celine raises her hand and almost touches rumi’s cheek, the one where her patterns and eye are glowing specifically, but pulls her hand away in the last second. and it’s only after putting her jacket over rumi’s shoulders that she actually makes contact with her. she literally won’t connect -physically and emotionally- with rumi’s demon side

combined with her refusing to look at rumi and even at this point being more concerned with appearances… oh this movie and its metaphors, i’m gonna be so ill

[ghostboyravenight]

I do live in walking distance of many charity shops, so my answer is pretty boring and probably won’t be accessible to everyone, but I do also think that a lot of people reach a roadblock very quickly at the idea of making new clothes out of their old ones.

I did, too, because I thought it required a lot of materials that I couldn’t afford and skills that I didn’t have, but once you sit down and think about it for long enough, you can usually come up with a few creative ways to make your own stuff with the most minuscule amount of materials possible. Obviously, this may not be sustainable to create an entire wardrobe, but you have to kill the cop in your head that tells you everything you create has to look fashionable or professionally made.

Like, I made a shirt just by doodling on an old white tee in permanent marker. You can paint permanent patterns on an old pair of jeans using bleach (just make sure you do this in a well ventilated area and wear a mask). You can make patches out of anything, and look up a quick sewing tutorial online. Hell I learnt how to mend the holes on my clothes just from browsing a wikihow article for ten minutes.

I follow an account on Instagram called @/punkgothbatrat who creates all of his own clothes out of materials around the house, no expenses necessary, and has some awesome suggestions about how to DIY punk outfits out of your old stuff. He once made a skirt out of a pair of jeans, no sewing machine required!

There are a lot of options out there to DIY clothes when you have no money. Believe me, I am unemployed and as broke as it gets, so I have to get really creative sometimes, but it’s absolutely not impossible to create your own wardrobe. The punks and the emos have been doing it for years without the need for Shein and Temu, so you’re gonna be fine. Visibly handmade stuff that looks thrown together with nothing but a single thread and a lot of passion is a thousand times more interesting than something you bought on Shein.

Do you think that everyone lives within walking distance of a thrift store

Listen.

I’m willing to bet that if you asked a website full of “punks”, like, say, tumblr, for alternatives to literally just Shein or Temu. Not even Amazon and Walmart. I think they could maybe give you some ideas. But it’s almost as if- and bear with me here- you don’t actually want to put in the effort to find alternatives. Because, I think if you did, you would simply… ask… instead of… thinking that every post is targeting YOU specifically…

So you know what? I AM going to open up the floor to the actual fucking punks on this website:

If you’re punk, and you’re poor, and you don’t have transportation, how do you ethically shop for clothes?

And you know what? I bet you a lot of good people are gonna come up with some good answers. Answers I haven’t even thought about!

Because you know what? Punk is about community. And sometimes community is about asking for resources. Instead of just playing defensive the entire time.

[maskedbyghost]

last part of toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader

You weren’t even sure what you were supposed to feel anymore, and maybe that was the worst part of all of it, because at least when you were angry, you had direction, something to aim at, something to burn down, but now everything just felt kind of… flat.

You were tired in places you didn’t even know could get tired, your body was carrying weight that didn’t belong to you anymore, and your brain kept trying to replay every fight, every night you waited for him to show up and he didn’t, every time you thought maybe this time, only to realize he hadn’t even noticed that you were hoping.

You weren’t sad, because that part had already happened, that storm had already come and gone and ripped through every soft part of you, and now there was just this… this weird emptiness. This dull ache that sat in your chest.

And the worst part was that you still kind of missed him. Or not even him, really, just the idea of him. The idea of someone who used to know how to make you laugh without trying, someone who used to touch your back in passing like he couldn’t help it, someone who used to say your name like it tasted good in his mouth. You missed the version of him that only existed in your head now, the one you used to imagine was just hiding under all the bullshit if you could dig deep enough to find him.

But you weren’t stupid anymore. At least, not in the same way.

So when the first text came through, just a short, careful message that read: Morning. Hope you slept okay. Don't worry, I’m not expecting a reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you—you didn’t answer it.

You stared at your screen for a few seconds, heart doing that annoying lurch it always did when his name popped up, and then you locked your phone and tossed it on the bed.

You weren’t going to do this again. Not for a text that took five seconds to type.

And when he sent one again the next day? Same thing.

Made coffee and thought about how you always put way too much sugar in yours. Miss that.

Still no reply.

The third day?

Morning, love. I just opened a cupboard and found one of your hair ties. I held it like a grieving Victorian widow for three minutes. So that’s fun.

You almost smiled at that one. Almost.

But you still didn’t answer.

He didn’t double-text. Didn’t follow it up with a question mark or a “Did you get my message?” or anything that would’ve given you more reason to roll your eyes. He just sent one a day. Always in the morning, and a little nervous, like he was scared you might actually block him again, but was still doing it anyway.

Day after day, for a full week. You didn’t block him this time. But you didn’t answer either.

Because part of you wanted to see how long he’d keep doing it without getting what he wanted. How long he’d be willing to sit in the quiet. How long he’d go before breaking the pattern and asking for more.

And honestly? You didn’t even know what you wanted him to do. You just knew you weren’t going to make it easy.

Not this time.

It had been a long week, and you weren’t even really in the mood to go out, not at first, not when your friends were pulling outfits out of your closet and hyping you up while you just stood there pretending like you weren’t still kind of hollow inside, like your stomach didn’t still do that annoying twist every time you saw his name pop up in your notifications, even if it was just another one of his dumb, soft morning texts that you still hadn’t replied to.

But they didn’t let you stay home. They dragged you out, shoved a drink in your hand, and told you you were hot and you deserved to feel good again. And honestly? After the second drink, after the third song, after the lights started to feel warmer and your feet started to move on their own, you started to believe them a little.

You danced, you smiled, and you let your body move without thinking too hard. And when some guy stepped close and started dancing with you, you didn’t say no.

It wasn’t anything crazy. You weren’t grinding on him or making a scene. You were just letting yourself feel something that wasn’t grief or guilt or the hollow ache of remembering someone who used to know every inch of your skin and now felt like a stranger who texted you about breakfast.

And then you turned.

And you saw him.

Simon.

Sitting at the bar.

Alone.

He wasn’t drinking. There was a beer in front of him, but he wasn’t touching it. He wasn’t watching the game on the screen behind the bar or scrolling through his phone or pretending not to notice you. No, he was just sitting there with his forearms on the bar, that stupid hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the goddamn room.

You froze for half a second, caught mid-step, one hand still raised like you were about to toss your hair back and laugh, and your heart just… stopped. Because there was something in his face that made your chest feel like someone had wrapped their hands around your ribs and squeezed.

And he didn’t look away.

Not when you turned back toward your friends. Not when the guy you’d been dancing with leaned in to say something. Not even when your friend grabbed your hand and spun you around, laughing. Simon just watched quietly.

Like he’d seen everything he didn’t want to see and couldn’t look away from it.

You didn’t go over, you didn’t acknowledge him, you just danced. Let yourself move more freely. Let yourself pretend that he wasn’t sitting twenty feet away, like he was reliving every mistake he ever made and feeling every single one of them hit all at once.

And when the night ended, when the music died down and your feet were sore and your throat ached from yelling over the speakers, you walked out into the cool air with your girls, arms linked, laughing and stumbling a little, too tired and tipsy to care.

And there he was again.

Leaning against his car, hands in his jacket pockets, hair slightly messy, that same unreadable look on his face, but softer now, just tired. He’d been waiting there for hours and would’ve waited longer if he thought it meant you’d speak to him.

“Need a ride home, ladies?” he asked, voice low but smooth, but he didn’t look smug, didn’t look flirty. He looked like someone who knew exactly where he stood and was offering anyway.

And your friends?

Oh, they swooned.

One of them leaned in and whispered, “Is that the Simon?” like he was a celebrity instead of your ex. Another one literally fanned herself with her hand and said, “He could drive me home any night.”

You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t say no.

He opened the passenger door for one of your girls, helped another into the backseat, didn’t comment when they giggled a little too loudly or gave you a look that said this is so not over. He didn’t push. Didn’t even try to talk to you, really. He just drove.

Like he wasn’t breaking apart slowly behind the wheel.

He dropped them off one by one, and every time one of them got out, she’d turn and give you a look—one of those do you want us to wait? do you want us to make an excuse? kinds of looks—but you just shook your head.

Until it was just the two of you.

The silence filled the car, awkward and pressing down on your chest until it was hard to breathe. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. He just kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel like he was trying not to say the wrong thing.

He pulled up to your building and parked, let the engine idle for a second too long.

Then he looked at you

“I wasn’t there to ruin your night,” he said finally, voice rough and low like it hurt to talk. “I didn’t even know you’d be there, swear to God. I just… I haven’t seen you laugh like that in months. I didn’t know if I should feel happy for you or fucking sick.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t come out like a confession or a slap.

So he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then added, even softer:

“You looked happy. That’s all I’ve wanted. Even if it’s not with me.”

You still didn’t speak. Your hand was already on the door handle.

But before you stepped out, he leaned slightly forward, not close enough to touch, just enough to say it:

“I’d rather watch you be happy from a distance than fuck up your peace again. But I’m not gonna stop hoping you let me try.”

Then he leaned back, hands back on the wheel. And you opened the door and stepped into the night, heart pounding, head spinning, trying to decide if it was anger or longing or both curling up in your chest.

You didn’t look back until you reached the door to your building.

And when you did?

He was still there.

There were moments when the world slowed down and no one was talking and nothing urgent needed doing, where you’d stop and realize you didn’t actually know how you felt anymore. Some mornings, you woke up feeling like maybe you could move on. Other mornings, you missed the shape of his arms around you so badly you had to physically sit on your hands to keep from texting him first.

And through it all, Simon kept texting.

Every single day.

Not demanding, not pushing, not trying to force a response. Just… there. Sometimes it was early in the morning, sometimes mid-afternoon, sometimes twice a day if he thought you’d had a bad one. And even though you never replied, not once, you read every single one.

Morning. Hope today doesn’t suck. I mean it. Go drink water or something.

Dropped my toast butter side down. Is that karma? Did I deserve this?

Just walked past a couple holding hands. I don’t wanna talk about it.

There was a dog outside the bakery this morning. I told him about you. He seemed supportive.

And you’d always read them.

Eyes rolling, lips twitching, heart doing that annoying little ache that you swore you were done feeling. But still, you didn’t reply.

Not until the bookshelf.

You got home late one night, tired and irritated and already half-ready to crawl into bed and ignore the world. Your bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and you kicked off your shoes, not even looking up as you walked toward your room, fully intending to faceplant and scroll TikTok until your eyes hurt.

But then you looked up.

And froze.

In the corner of your bedroom was a brand new bookshelf. Not a flimsy little piece from a discount store. No, this was beautiful, tall and dark-stained, filled with books so neatly arranged you thought you might be hallucinating for a second.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, stepping closer, blinking hard like the furniture might vanish if you stared at it too long.

And then you saw the note.

Taped to the shelf with one of those dumb gold star stickers.

A gift for you. I found your Goodreads account. (Your friend helped me. I bribed her with cupcakes. She’s disloyal.) These are all from your TBR list. Yes, all of them. No, I don’t want to talk about how long I was in that store.

Also, a real question... Did you mean to save the one where the guy kidnaps her and she calls it romance?? Are we not calling the police in these?? Also what is a ‘reverse harem’ and why is there a dragon on the cover?? I’m not kink-shaming, I swear. Just... blink twice if you need help, or like... a stable relationship?

You stood there for a full minute just staring at it, at the books, at the note, and at the fact that he had spent God knows how much time and money finding your unread books and building you a whole-ass bookshelf and then roasting your taste in spicy novels like that would somehow soften the blow.

And then?

Then you laughed.

Like, really laughed. Loud and unexpected, almost wheezing as you reached for your phone and opened his message thread for the first time in forever. Your fingers hovered for a second. Then typed:

I read the smut so I don’t text you ‘come ruin my life again’ at 2am. It’s called coping. Don’t judge me.

His reply came instantly:

Okay, well now I have 4 tabs open trying to figure out why that man in your book liked being stabbed. You scare me. I miss you. It’s confusing…

And that night, you fell asleep with a stupid smile on your face for the first time in forever.

Some days, it felt easier. You could get through a full twenty-four hours without thinking about him every time your phone buzzed, or without letting his name run laps through your mind just because you saw someone wearing his cologne at the store, or caught the tail end of a song he once hummed under his breath while cooking eggs at 2am in your kitchen.

Other days it was still a mess.

He still texted. Every morning without fail, like some broken record that somehow never made you roll your eyes hard enough to block him again. Sometimes you answered, short and sarcastic “wow you’re up early” or a “why are you telling me about your toast again.” Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes you read his messages and stare at them for too long, and lock your phone before you can type something you’d regret.

Sometimes you laughed out loud when he sent you a picture of a dog in a sweater and said “he said he misses you, not me, just you.” Sometimes you wanted to scream when he followed it with a soft: “I miss you too though. Every version of you.”

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. Letting him text you, not shutting it down completely, letting him hang in the doorway of your life like he was waiting to be let back in if you just gave the word.

And today, it all felt like too much again.

So you left your apartment, pulled on a hoodie, headphones in, and wandered out until your feet took you to the park. You didn’t have a plan. You just needed to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet. You sat on a bench near the edge of the lake, watching ducks paddle around, watching couples walk hand in hand, the same aching scene you thought you were done getting crushed by.

But it still hit you.

The soft stuff always did.

A girl sat across the path with her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder while he played with her fingers. An older man helped his wife sit down carefully on a bench, then pulled a thermos from a bag and poured her something hot while she smiled at him like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

It made your chest tight again, that type of wanting that snuck up out of nowhere and sat on your ribs. Not for someone in particular—just for something that didn’t make you feel like you were bracing yourself all the time. Something that didn’t break and beg and promise, only to leave you rebuilding everything from scratch again.

And then you felt it. That weird shift in the air. The kind of awareness you’d only ever felt when he was near.

You turned your head. He wasn’t moving toward you, just standing there a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at you like he didn’t know whether he was allowed to come closer or not.

You didn’t speak, didn’t wave, but you didn’t leave either.

So he walked over. Sat on the opposite end of the bench, he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

You didn’t say anything for a minute. Just sat there, watching the water.

And then he spoke.

“I’m not trying to win you back in some big dramatic way,” he said, glancing over at you now. “No grand gesture, or some stupid speech. Just… me. Every day showing up and being better. Whether you want to forgive me or not.”

Your throat felt tight, and you hated that.

You hated that your first thought was that he looked tired. Not messy tired, not in a falling-apart way, just like someone who hadn’t had a full breath of air since you told him to leave.

You looked back at the lake, arms crossed over your chest like that would keep anything else from slipping out.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you said eventually. “I don’t have a big answer for you. I don’t even know if I trust you again, or if I should.”

“I don’t expect anything,” Simon said. “I mean, I hope. But I don’t expect. I just wanted to see you, even if we just sit here in silence and you never text me back again. This is enough for me.”

You both sat there quietly, for a long time of nothing but wind and leaves and distant laughter from a kid feeding the ducks with too much bread.

“I still think about it, you know,” you said suddenly, almost surprising yourself. “Everything. But I also think about the nights I cried myself to sleep, and how exhausted I was all the time from hoping you’d show up the way I needed you to.”

Simon flinched a little, like your words landed right where they were supposed to.

“I know,” he said. “I think about that too.”

You let your eyes close for a second, just to breathe through the ache.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you said, softer now. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to, or if I even want to.”

“I’ll wait,” he said.

You turned to look at him, finally, really looked at him, and he didn’t smile or try to touch you or do anything that would tilt the balance.

He just looked back.

And then you stood. Brushed off your jeans, adjusted your hoodie, and slung your bag over your shoulder.

Simon stood too, but didn’t reach for you.

“I’ll see you around,” you said, voice unreadable.

He nodded. “I hope so.”

You gave him one last look, something tired and unsure but not entirely closed off, then turned and started walking down the path.

He didn’t follow.

And maybe you’d text him tomorrow, or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe this was a step forward, or maybe it was the start of goodbye.

But either way, for now, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

And that was enough for now.

----------------------------------------

I left the ending open on purpose because honestly it’s up to you. Maybe she forgives him eventually. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she texts him back that night, or maybe she blocks his number the second she gets home. Either way, I wanted it to feel like those unfinished things we all go through sometimes. So whatever ending you pick in your head? That’s the right one.

Thanks for reading. <3

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608

[undyingdecay]

would fauxcest with john be too crazy ...

big brother!john! you’ve always been close. too close, probably. there’s a history there that neither of you really talk about — that sort of sticky, loaded closeness born from growing up too fast in a house that didn’t leave either of you many good options. and sure, he’s rough around the edges. quick-tempered. loud. calls you names sometimes when he’s had too much to drink or comes home pissed off about something you couldn’t even begin to fix for him.

but you’ve always known he means well. at least you like to believe he does.

it started off innocent, didn’t it? watching his boy after the divorce. you stepping up because someone had to, because you didn’t like the idea of your nephew alone in some cold, quiet house while john was god knows where, doing god knows what. and then you started cleaning up after him too. doing the dishes, folding his laundry, making his coffee just the way he likes it in the morning because no one else ever learned. because you wanted to. because the way he grunted out a half-hearted thanks that he can tell makes you upset so instead he fairs with a faint kiss on your forehead.

you were playing house. that was the ugly truth of it.

maybe that was the worst part — how natural it felt. how easy it was to imagine a baby in your arms with john’s eyes, john’s sharp jaw, john’s mean streak.

especially now, with him joining SHIELD. him getting dragged back into goddamn suits and cold offices and sanctioned missions after everything. it made him worse. made the temper sharper, the hours longer. coming home reeking of sweat and old blood and whatever cheap perfume clung to the women who still didn’t know better, you wonder if it was olivia's — it probably wasnt, didnt matter though it still hurtt. it didn’t matter though, because he always came back to you. always.

sometimes it was bad. sometimes he’d slam the door so hard it rattled the frame and you’d brace for the storm. sometimes he’d shout  “what the fuck are you even doin’ here, huh?” even though you both knew he didn’t mean it. even though ten minutes later you’d feel his broad palm shove up under your shirt, pulling you in by your waist, mouthing at your throat rough enough to bruise saying "'m sorry"

the ugly thing was, you never stopped him.

and it was always like that. a sick little pattern neither of you had the guts to name. the worst was those nights where you’d be cleaning up his son’s toys, the house quiet, and john would come up behind you, one hand heavy on your hip, pressing himself up against your back.

“you look good like this, y’know that?” breath hot against your ear. “pickin’ up after me, takin’ care of my kid. bet you want one’a your own, huh? all round and soft carryin’ my baby… fuck, sweetheart.”

you never answered. didn’t need to. not when he’d shove you down over the kitchen counter, pulling your panties to the side, leaving messy, possessive handprints on your thighs. never any prep. barely any teasing. just mean, greedy rutting like he had something to prove.

and it always ended the same — his chest flush against your back, breath ragged, teeth sunk into your shoulder as he came, grinding as deep as he could like it might stick this time. you knew it was wrong. god, you both knew it. but it never stopped him. and it never stopped you either.

because you loved him. ugly and broken and so far past the point of salvation that you didn’t even care. because you both needed this. needed each other.

and maybe, maybe one day you’d get that baby. maybe one day he’d come home with a ring instead of another bruise. but until then — you’d be right there. making his coffee. cleaning up after his kid. and letting him fuck you mean whenever he needed to remind himself you belonged to him.

[wonyology]

The Years Next Door (m!reader x Babymonster's ASA) - part III

part I - part II - part IV (coming, hopefully soon)

Summary: Enami Asa - one of, if not the most important person in your life - moved in next door a few years ago. You didn't know it back then. It started with an awkward first meeting, a shared family dinner and washing dishes together. Looking back now, you still remember it like it was yesterday. But when did things change between two of you? You don't know for sure - once things shifted, there was no going back for either of you.

tags(?): fluff, ups and downs, angst, you'll see when you read it

ASA x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~17k - i didn't even know it was gonna be this long lol, umm maybe u guys can guess the ending while waiting for part IV? have fun~~ (also i took some inspirations from 'twinkling watermelon', you'll know the scene when u see it)

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

2020

That feeling - a little too comfortable, a little too complicated to explain. Neither you nor Asa ever brought it up, so life just kept moving. 

Walking to school together, sharing headphones, snacks, umbrellas… You two were like that one couple in a teenage romance that clearly liked each other but never got together, even at the end. Always orbiting, never colliding.

Spending time with her, however, was never boring. Asa usually spoke in Japanese whenever she was mad, or when she didn’t want you to understand something. Huh, that somehow made you fall for her even harder. Over time, you also started picking up on the patterns. You noticed how Asa always covered her mouth whenever she smiled or laughed really hard at your dumb jokes. You noticed how Asa always slipped into a trance when she was sketching, writing - like she was in her own world, brows almost touching each other like the sketchbook owed her something. She still denies it now, but you know, you always pay attention to her. Maybe too much, sometimes.

She was chasing her own ambitions, but she never forgot you were there. You’d moved to sit behind her, part of you missed sitting beside her - taking a glance at Asa whenever you wanted, her daydreaming in class, the way she looked at you whenever she came across a difficult question in an exam, or her nodding off during afternoon classes… Cute.

But hey, sitting behind Asa also had its perks. Whispering dumb jokes, poking her with your pen just to get a reaction, talking about those dumb discussions on the Internet… The best part, you could play with her hair. With the other boys, Asa was friendly, nice but not one of them was ever this close to her. You were the only who she allowed, or maybe even encouraged to braid, twist or just fidget her hair in class. There was this one time, the teacher couldn’t make it to class. Your classroom was a war zone - noises, laughter, chaos everywhere. You were zoning out, probably thinking of something dumb while looking out the window, like whether people in Seoul would realistically survive if a zombie outbreak ever broke out? (Your guess: a big no no). Just then, Asa shook her head a few times, her long hair brushing against your hands. What was she trying to do? She turned around, lips slightly puckered, pretending to be annoyed. Then she playfully slapped your hands with her hair before turning back around, face slightly blushing.

Oh. My bad. Right away, princess,

What about you? Well, aside from Asa and a few of your hobbies - it felt like all you did back then was chasing medals and taekwondo practice. Homework piled up. Training never seemed to stop. Your limbs ached more than usual. Maybe it was starting to get to you. Did you really enjoy taekwondo? 

Amidst all that, Asa always noticed whenever you were worn out. She would slip a note to you in class, with cute doodles saying: 

“힘내~” (Fighting~)

“괜찮아? ㅇㅅㅇ”  (Are you ok? ㅇㅅㅇ) 

“뭐생각행 ^^” (What are you thinking^^)

Those always cheered you up, even if you were too tired to show it. Walking to school and back home with her, still your favorite part of the day. 

And then… the world changed. Covid hit.

At first, you all thought it was cool to have an unexpected break. Then school was postponed, online classes became the norm. It stopped being fun pretty fast. No more poking at her with your pen, or playing with her hair.

Both of your dads, being doctors at the same research center, knew how dangerous it was. They tried not to scare everyone, but the way they came home tired, quiet after work just showed. It even got to the point that they had to limit how often you and Asa could visit - even though you lived next door. Then one day, they didn’t come home at all. They had to be quarantined - staying at the research center for over 2 months, working day and night.

The world was harsh on everyone, on your families. But hey, you and Asa had each other.

You talked through the window late at night, voices low, sometimes even scratchy through the glasses. Or you would wait until everyone is asleep, then slide the windows open just enough to hear each other. 

“Asa-ah?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, just bored.”

She laughed, quietly. “Me too.”

“Do you think our dads are okay?” she asked, the way a good daughter would - trying hard not to sound too worried.

“I think so. My dad just called my mom, she said she saw your dad sleeping on the floor in the background” you replied, just loud enough for her to hear.

“I hope they come home soon.” Me too.

If it was hard to hear what each other said, you both got creative and turned into that guy and Taylor Swift in the “You belong to me” music video - holding up boards and writing what you wanted to say.  Sometimes, you two didn’t even know what to say. Just there to enjoy each other’s presence. Listening to the same night air. Just two windows apart. It was just about being there.

Late night movie watching was fun too. You both tried to start the movie at the same time - “Wait for me, okay? Three… two, ONE!” - sometimes through video calls, sometimes through your windows with screens glowing in the dark. It felt nice, looking over and seeing each other’s reaction from the window or on the corner of the video call. Other times, you’d watch her instead of the movie.

“Wi Ha Joon looks hot. I think he’d be a great boyfriend.” she commented, while you two were binging Squid Games one night. 

“Really? I mean, he looks good. Don’t know about the boyfriend part tho.” you replied, a hint of jealousy in your voice.

“Girls’ instinct. He’s handsome, 6 pack, and I watched his interviews too. You wouldn’t know.” she smirked.

Ouch. Excuse me, I’m not bad myself, I got girls chasing me too by the way. I do taekwondo so, duh.  And I treat you like a princess… Maybe even when we are just friends. Well… friends?

That night after finishing a few episodes, your windows went dark. Your phone suddenly lit up.

[김아사🌸]

yah…

you’re not mad at me or anything, right?

the wi ha joon thingy…

You left it on read, maybe for too long. You didn’t know how to reply right away. Not because you were mad. Just processing. She said he would be a great boyfriend just like that. Like you wouldn’t understand. Okay, maybe you were a bit salty? You had abs, thanks to taekwondo practice. You won competitions, girls liked you. She said it, like it meant nothing. 

[준혁선베🥋]

nah

not mad

[김아사🌸]

ㅜㅜ u only text short like this when ur mad

Gotcha. But what were you supposed to say?

[준혁선베🥋]

no im not mad

what are u saying ㅋㅋㅋ

[김아사🌸]

i was just joking 

i don’t mean it like that

i just say dumb things like that sometimes

You were in no position to be mad at her for something like this. Asa didn’t owe you anything. It just stung… Maybe just a little bit.

[준혁선베🥋]

what are u saying, kim asa?

i know you’re joking ㅎㅎ

i’m just a bit tired, math class fried my brain today

[김아사🌸]

ooh me tooo

but you’re good at math, i slept the whole class today ㅋㅋㅋ

You really hoped she didn’t know you were bluffing. Your brain weren’t fried from math class. Her voice was just in your head:

“I think he’d be a great boyfriend”. What about me?

[준혁선베🥋]

i should report u to ms. sieun

[김아사🌸]

try me, you big meanie

[준혁선베🥋]

sleep before i block u, dummy

i’m getting sleepy

[김아사🌸]

it’s still early ㅜㅜ

don’t leave me up alone

nooooo

You looked at the time on the top of your phone. 1:39AM. No, it wasn’t early. You two were now just used to staying late together.

[준혁선베🥋]

go to sleep asa-ah

we still have a lot time 

gnight 

[김아사🌸]

…

okay, good night

u meanie

*emoticon of a duck crying*

Heh, cute…

You then tossed the phone aside, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

It wasn’t really something that big. But tonight felt different. Why did one offhand comment just sit with you like this? You tried your best not to give it much thought, gaslighting yourself that it was just you being childish.

Throughout Covid and all those months at home, there wasn’t a single day that you and Asa didn’t talk, text or call each other. Even when things got a bit hectic, you both tried to take a break to just be there for each other. It had become a routine. Video calls showed you sides of her that she never showed to anyone - messy bun, oversized t-shirt, the way she hugged her pillow when she was half asleep, sketching without realizing she was biting the collar of her shirt again…

“Are you still up, Kim Asa? You look like you were just dozing off.”

“No, I’m not.” she said, eyes barely open.

“You look like a ghost right now.” you smiled.

“Maybe I am. Boo.”

“Ghosts don’t send me selfies with eye masks on.”

You loved those selfies of hers. She didn’t know, but you secretly saved every single one of those. 

“Want me to hang up?” you asked.

“No… Just talk. I’ll listen.”

She always did that. Staying on the call even when she was drifting, just to hear your voice.

Then came her birthday. The streets were still quiet. Your dads were still sleeping at the research center. So you did what you could. That night, you wrote on a board: “Happy birthday Kim Asa” in big, uneven bubble letters along with a few bunnies - which you tried to cut and decorated in the cutest way possible.

[준혁선베🥋]

look outside, birthday girl

A few minutes later, her curtains twitched. She peeked out.

She squinted at the board, the broke into the softest laugh ever.

A second later, she opened her window.

“Yah, your handwriting is so bad.” she called softly.

“Hehe, happy birthday. Guess who stayed up until 3AM to cut and decorate paper bunnies?”

“You didn’t have to…”

Then you held up something - a small pink box, clumsily wrapped.

“I’ll leave by your gate later. Don’t open ‘til I say it.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno. Wi Ha Joon’s number. Maybe, if you behave.”

She rolled her eyes at you, smile still lingered.

That night, she sent you a photo of your gift, a hand-sewn felt keychain.

[김아사🌸] sent a photo.

[김아사🌸]

is this a fox? ㅋㅋㅋ

[준혁선베🥋]

excuse me? that’s a really cute rabbit, young lady

just a little mutated ㅎㅎ

still, made with my blood, sweet and tears

[김아사🌸]

ㅇㅅㅇ didn’t know you know how to sew

[준혁선베🥋]

mom taught me, sorry i didn’t get u anything meaningful

covid sucks

[김아사🌸]

noooo

i luv it ㅋㅋ

even if it’s a bit mutated lol

[준혁선베🥋]

look under its butt, there’s a piece of paper

You waited.

[김아사🌸] sent a photo.

It was a photo of a few coupons you made, a bit crumpled.

1 free snack from the school vending machine, 1 walk from home in silence (or full gossip, her choice), 1 emergency homework rescue, 1 ticket to the movies with the one and only Seo Joonhyuk. No expiration date btw.

 [김아사🌸]

ㅋㅋㅋㅋ who taught u all this

[준혁선베🥋]

use it whenever u want lol

happy birthday

[김아사🌸]

thanks for this

i really love it

really

i love it

Well done, Joonhyuk. Well done…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Late 2020 - 2022

Things went by so fast. Online classes dragged on, until limited gatherings were permitted. Schools were partially opened, with lots of restrictions of course. Still, you were excited to see each other, in person - next to each other.

Asa seemed different. More confident. More outgoing. She started speaking more in class, becoming more active in club activities - but she was still Asa, your Asa. Still covered her laugh in the feminine, beautiful fashion, still muttered in Japanese whenever she was annoyed or shy.

And you? It felt like you got taller. Broader. Sports and taekwondo really helped. Your voice deeper, your laugh rougher. You didn’t think much of it, but Asa noticed. She was just a few centimeters shorter than you when you first met, now - she barely reached shoulder. You teased her once on the way home, calling her “pocket sized”. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouths moved up in that way you always remembered.

People also started noticing. Your science teacher paused one day while handing out a quiz. “Huh, the two of you have grown a lot… Seems closer, too.” You just laughed it off, while Asa pretended to be busy zipping her pencil case. But she was smiling.

Your parents noticed too. One evening, you were getting something for your mom on the top shelf when dad squinted at you.

“Since when did you get taller?” 

“Really, dad? Is it that noticeable?”

“Nah, you’re still my boy.” dad grinned. “Just… over 180 now.” It surprised you too. Somewhere between all the calls, the practices, and walking home with Asa, you’d grown.

When the government finally lifted restrictions on public places, Asa wasted no time.

[김아사🌸]

joonhyuk

get dressed

we’re going out 

don’t forget to bring ur money too

It wasn’t exactly allowed. Your families would’ve scolded you both if they found out - dads being doctors, cases still high, staying inside, all that. But you’d been locked inside for what felt like decades now. Plus, being with Asa was never a bad thing. It was worth the risk. 

You secretly climbed over the wall in your backyard. She snuck out, with the help of her sisters (with much convincing). You two met each other at the corner of the block like it was a secret mission. Mask on, hoodies up, sanitizer ready in your pocket. You didn’t even ask her where you were going. But you were thinking about it in your head. 

During lockdown, Asa developed a habit. You two bombarded each other with dumb Tiktoks. But she had a pattern. Every few days, she’d send you those Tiktoks, sometimes suspicious, sometimes random. 

“Hidden cafe, ideal for couples in Apgujeong-dong”

“Up your game with these fits”

“Outfits that give K-drama main lead energy”

“Try to style your fits according to these rules”

When you asked, she said your style wasn’t bad - nice even, it just needed some upgrading.You watched every one of those and started to imagine being outside. With her.

She took you everywhere. The slightly over-priced stationary shop she called her “art heaven”. A quiet cafe with bear-shaped bottles. A tiny pop up gallery she said was “vibey but a bit underwhelming.” And then cloth shopping, for both you and her.

“Come on,” she grabbed arm before you could even protest.

“What now?”

“We need new clothes. Especially you, you’ve been dressing like a gym teacher ever since the lockdown.”

She took you to one of those small, really niche boutiques full of clothes for young people she saw on Tiktok in Seongsu-dong. Oversized shirts, clean wide pants, creative color palettes. Everything felt like they belonged on a K-drama set. As you two wandered around, she held up a beige jacket, turning it side to side before nodding to herself.

“Try this. You’re tall. This will look good.”

You just followed Asa. Didn’t argue. She picked a few more things and shoved them into your arms, rushing you into the dressing room.

You tried everything on. Stepping out, you felt like you were 7 again, trying out clothes with mom at the mall.

“See, I told you I know best.” she smiled while tilting her head. Yeah, she really does know best.

She tried on some stuff too, taking her time picking everything out. She said she “wanted your opinion”. You didn’t mind tho, it was Asa who you were spending time with. Watching her browse through those racks with a smile on her face brought you 10 days worth of happiness.

“What do you think?” she walked out, spinning around with a blush on her cheeks to give you a show.

She was in a cropped blouse with soft plural patterns, hands nervously fiddling with her sleeves. Damn, you almost forgot how to breathe.

“Too big?” 

“No.” you said, too quickly. “Looks nice, suits you really well.”

You both paused. Then smiled, sneaking out with her was worth it.

When you left the store, Asa tried to carry her bags - like always, But you stopped her with a simple “Give it to me.”

You took everything from her without waiting for a reply. And for a second, Asa looked at you like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. And honestly, she didn’t need to. You thought it was the end of the trip, until she tugged at your arm.

“One more stop.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Your hair, it’s been like that since the start of lockdown - that upside down bowl on your head.”

“Not like I had the chance to go out and cut it.”

“Right, let’s solve it right now.”

You guys arrived at a quiet little salon, the sign was mostly in Japanese, soft instrumental playing inside - one of the hidden finds she’d probably bookmarked while staying up late. This place sure smelled citrus and hairspray. As you took your seat, she scrolled through her phone and showed the stylist a muted Tiktok.

“Something like this really suits him.” She said, in Japanese.

The stylist squinted at the phone screen. She looked at you, then back at Asa with a smile.

“Oh yeah, I can see that. Are you taking your boyfriend out for a haircut?”

Asa smiled, hands waving. “Ah, no–” she answered quickly, still in Japanese. “Uhm, he’s my neighbor. We’re close friends.”

You looked at the stylist’s expression, she smiled, you didn’t speak Japanese but you knew she clearly didn’t buy whatever Asa said. No one really did when it came to the two of you. 

“Got it. So we’re doing a light trim, and soft side perm? Ivy League?”

“Yes please, Maybe keep some volume on top, uhmm… the top should be up a bit like this. Just like in the video.”

“Okay.”

What are they saying?

You’d always paid attention to your appearance ever since puberty hit, or more when Asa moved next door. Just that you always opted for that signature Korean two block cut, styling it for that wavy look every once in a while. You’d tried doing side perm in the past too, it was okay - it wasn’t your taste back then. It looked good on you, at least that was what your close friends said. You did mention wanting to try a buzz cut once. Once you told Asa that, she glared at you, threatening to end your friendship on the spot if you ever dared try it. Trying something new today won’t hurt, I guess.  

Sensing your concern, the stylist smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you achieve that boyfriend material look today.”

While the stylist was working her magic, you just sat back and relaxed. Snippets of conversation here and there with her, it was comforting. Meanwhile, Asa was in the back, scrolling on her phone, pretending not to be watching your reflection the entire time. 10 minutes or haircut, 30 minutes of perming your back and sides - was done. 

The stylist stepped, feeling so proud of her work. “She wasn’t kidding when she said it would suit you.”

You caught Asa’s reflection in the mirror. Her lips pressed, cheeks lifted - trying not to smile. That smug little glow in her eyes.

“You owe me this one.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but… Damn, you were feeling yourself too. And the way she was looking at you? It made you feel even better.

On the way, you felt like she couldn’t stop stealing glances. You - carrying both your bags of new clothing, stationary items, rocking a new haircut, Asa on your side - were on cloud nine. That night, she posted a story on IG, a blurry street photo with the corner of your shoulder in frame, with Bolbbalgan4's ‘Galaxy’ playing in the background. You also posted a story on IG - a selfie with your new haircut, caption saying “New hair, same dummy”. 

See that? Comfort, peace… We were inches away from something else, something more. Almost there… Why wouldn’t either of us just say it already?

Asa didn’t stop at haircuts and clothing. That girl just kept sending you links - perfumes that smelled like “someone who reads”, sneakers that “match your vibe”, watches that scream “I’m a stylish guy, but not in a cocky way”. She really knew what suited you, better than yourself. Also, what is this? Build-a-boyfriend?

Your mom started noticing too. 

“Asa has good taste” she said once while passing by you looking at a cologne Asa recommended.

“When did you start switching to Japanese products, Joonie?” 

You knew, mom.

-

Time went by. You continued to dominate your age group, too easily - some said. After that gold medal at Jamsil Student Gymnasium, as you won more and more - you were in the eyes of the taekwondo national team board. People were sent to your house - a bunch of yes men in clean suits trying their best to convince mom and dad to let you come to Suwon, go to a sports centralized school to focus on taekwondo. 

“You’ve got real potential. You will definitely represent our country.”

Props to them, they made it sound really easy.  Like it was your only path in life. After they left, the living room felt strange but your parents were clearly impressed. However, as your dad was flipping through the brochure they left behind, he finally said after a long pause.

“They weren’t wrong, Joonhyuk-ah. You’ve work so hard for this, but…”

“It’s your life. You’re still our son. Still my little boy” mom added, wrapping her hands around your head to hug you. “We will support your choice, honey. Whatever it is.” “We have always been proud of you, kiddo.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded, grateful. The decision was heavy, but at least it was yours.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Taekwondo, parents, the neighborhood, friends, high school… everything was running around in your head when your phone suddenly buzzed.

[김아사🌸]

guess what 

i saw a tiktok

now i made toast but i used soy sauce instead of syrup ㅜㅜㅜ

ahhh, is it too late to call an ambulance?

You smiled. Oh right, if you left for Suwon, you would have to leave Asa, too… Your thumbs hovering, then finally typed.

[준혁선베🥋]

why are u like this, kim asa ㅋㅋㅋ

[김아사🌸]

the tiktok said it would taste nice

[준혁선베🥋]

drink some water and rethink your life choices 

[김아사🌸]

rude

im dying from soy sauce poisoning and ur bullying??

*angry loopy emoticon*

i’ll haunt u

as soy sauce ghost

boo

You laughed, maybe a bit too loud in the dark, shoulders weren’t tenseed anymore. Somehow, her dumb messages were the only thing that kept you from overthinking everything. No… i couldn’t leave life in Seoul behind, especially if it involved this cute little soy sauce ghost.

The next morning, you told your parents about your decision to stay in Seoul. 

“Uhm… I’m staying. I’ll apply to the same academic highschool here. I think I can balance training and studying here.”

They didn’t say much - just exchanged glances with each other. Your dad then rubbed your head and said:

“Alright. Give it your best, son. Work hard and don’t regret it.”

Just before you leave for school, mom pulled you in for a quick hug. “Thanks for staying with us, baby.” You smiled, too.

-

It was a late afternoon after school, the two of you sitting next to each other outside the convenience store, the same one where you first showed her around the neighborhood. Banana milk in her hands, snacks opened on yours. It was breezy, the sun had started dipping, casting that soft golden glow on her hair. Still beautiful, just like that day I showed you around.

“Joonhyuk-ah? Do you think we’ll get in?” She suddenly asked, “Highschool, I mean.”

You looked at the sky. “Yeah. Should be fine. I’m applying to Seoul Jungang.”

“Me too.” She smiled softly. “Our grades are great, we should get in easily. I think I’ll focus on art there.”

You hesitated - the Suwon thing, you hadn’t told her yet. Is this the right time?

“I got an offer from Suwon. For taekwondo.”

Her head snapped towards you. “What?”

“Uhm… sports highschool. They wanted me to move there. Full training, scholarship, too.”

She didn’t move, but the banana milk almost fell out of her hand. 

“You didn’t say anything to me…”

“Sorry… Didn’t think I needed to. I said no to them.” You didn’t dare to look her in the eyes.

“Why?”

“I just didn’t want to leave Seoul.” now turning to look at her, you said quickly. “It didn’t feel right, I guess.”

Something in her eyes shifted, you could feel it. Anger? Disappointment? Sadness? You didn’t know. But it sure was scary to you.

“Do you know how big of an opportunity that is, Seo Joonhyuk?” Yeah, you’re in trouble. Full name now. “You’ve trained your whole life for this.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re not my mom.” Fuck… It came out of your mouth faster than you could think. “I know what I did and what I trained for.” Asa knew you swore, just not around her - only with your other friend groups. Never around her. Never at her. Not like this.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She was clearly hurt by what you just said. Her brows now pulled together, like she was trying to hold herself back. “So you’re staying here. For what, you dummy?” she asked, voice soft, stunned. “Because of me?”

You stayed silent.

“Joonhyuk-ah” she said again, voice now low. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m not the reason you said no.”

“There were a lot of things that affected my decision, okay?”

“So you didn’t deny it either.” You let out a breath, just realizing how big of a mistake it is for telling her about your big decision like this. 

“Why does it matter? I’m happy with the decision, Asa-ah.”

She calmly set the banana milk on the table before taking a deep breath, adding to the tension between you two. 

“Because I don’t want to be the one to hold you back.” 

“What? You’re not…” you frowned.

“What if I am, huh? Then what?” her voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. It wasn’t like the other times when she was mad at you. This was real. 

“What if later, when everything’s harder, you blame me for staying? What if you regret staying?”

You looked at her - something about the look in her eyes made your chest tighten.

“I promise. I won’t ever blame you.” you said. “You know what I think about you, Asa…”

The silence became too long, too heavy.

Asa stood up first, brushing off her skirt. “Let’s just go home.” she mumbled. You nodded, following. But this time, she didn’t wait for you.

Watching her walk ahead did something to your heart. Every part of your body told you to fix things before it was too late. So you did. You ran up and reached out - not thinking, grabbing her hand. She stopped.

Asa’s hand was small. Tense. Warm. This was your first time holding her hand. You’d never held it before. Not like this.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” you said, voice rough but filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I got mad and swore at you… I didn’t mean it like that.’”

She turned around, not quite looking at you yet - but her fingers didn’t move.

“I… uh, I’ve never talked to you like that before. I don’t want to. Please don’t be mad at me.” No response. You held her hand a bit tighter, afraid that she would pull away.

“I panicked… I didn’t want you to think that you were the reason I refused the offer. You’re not…” You swallowed. “I mean, you mean something to me. I wanted to stay. Because Seoul matters. You matter.”

Asa just stood there, her face still ridden with hurt. Then, without looking at you, she turned around and just said:

“I’m tired. Let’s just go home.”

You really messed up. Big time. But as you slowly let go of her hand - she didn’t, for some reason. She held your hand, just for a bit longer, not squeezing, not pulling away either. 

-

The walk home was filled with tension, no words were said. Something between you two changed - something cracked. Even though you two were walking side by side again, it didn’t feel good, not like before. It was you and Asa’s first real fight - it exposed something unsaid between you two, while also hinting at how much harder things might get in the future.

The next morning, Asa acted like nothing ever happened.

You were waiting outside, like always - same routine, same backpack slung over one shoulder. Unsure if she’d even show up. Surprisingly, she did.

“Morning, dummy. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Uh… nothing. Morning.”

She didn’t bring up the fight. Not the Suwon offer, not the apology, not you two’s first hand holding or the awkward silent walk home or the silence last night. It felt like she’d folded it all up and hid somewhere you couldn’t reach. 

“Did you sleep standing up last night?’ she grinned. “You look like a kicked puppy.”

“Huh?”

She slipped out her earbuds, popped it into her ear and tiptoed to reach yours, placing the other one in for you. Then, before getting fully down, her hands touched your cheeks… What?

Baam. Asa playfully slapped you, grinning. “Music, dummy. What’s wrong with you today? Wanna walk in silence like we’re strangers?”

You shook your head and started walking together. You two talked during the walk to school too. Her complaining about the school schedule, joking about how she was going to fake her height to look taller in the yearbook. Did she erase the whole thing overnight - that easy?

“Yah, Kim Asa. Wanna eat something together tonight? After the hakwon? I’ll pay. Government funding.” you asked, half joking, half trying to see if she really forgave, enough to eat together.

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, you still remember that thing, huh? Okay, only if you’re paying.”

There she was, your Asa was back, with that smile of hers, that playful tone. You were relieved, but kept sneaking glances, somehow this whole thing wasn’t really convincing just yet. No matter how normal she acted - something told you the fight from last night was still there. 

-

Time went by. Ever since that day outside the convenience store - since the fight, the apology - you couldn’t help but feel like something between the two of you had shifted. Not broken. Just bent. But Asa kept acting like nothing happened.

But you both got in. Results came out in January. That morning, you were still in bed, wearing nothing but shorts, hand trembling a bit as you clicked through the  website.

Accepted: Seoul Jungang High School

You stared at it for a moment, heart pounding. You didn’t even begin to type yet.

[김아사🌸]

im in. you?

You smiled, thumbs moving.

[준혁선베🥋]

ur stuck with me for the new few years btw

[김아사🌸]

ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

told you we’d get in

[준혁선베🥋]

get ready

let’s get something to eat, my treat

[김아사🌸]

okayyyyy

10 minutes

At least, it felt peaceful. Even for now. You walked there together. Same old street. But the mood was suddenly lighter. You held the door open for her. She didn’t say thanks - just bumped your arms but hers and walked in.

Like usual, you were the one who grabbed the basket, trailing behind her as you both moved through the familiar aisles. Asa kept tossing things in. You, on the other hand, were spacing out. Eyes on her, but your mind was gone. The memories of that day came flooding back in. “What if I’m the one holding you back?”

You didn’t realize you’d spaced out until she hit your arm with a bag of chips. “Yah, Seo Joonhyuk. Are you okay? That head of yours still broken or what?”

“Just… thinking.” you mumbled.

“Chocolate or latte?”

“Chocolate. Always?”

“Hah, you still have the taste buds of a 6 year old.” Asa said, laughing before tossing a bottle of chocolate milk into the basket.

Walking outside after everything was done, the cold air hit sharp again. You found the usual bench, side by side, food in hands, just chewing, sipping, watching people go about their days. For a while, neither of you said anything. 

Suddenly, Asa leaned against you - not too heavy, just enough that her head was rested on your shoulder.

“Hey” she said quietly. “Don’t overthink about that day.”

Your chest tightened. Before you could respond, she added:

“I already forgave you. Now I want my dummy back.”

It hit you harder than you thought it would. You didn’t know how long you’d been holding your breath until you finally let out:

“...Thanks. I’m sorry… I really didn’t mean it. What I said that day…”

For a second, you felt her shifted slightly by your side. She didn’t say anything yet - lips still sipping her banana milk. Then she reached up, her hands ruffled your hair gently.

“Yeah, you sounded like a jerk that day.”

You winced. “I know.”

“But…” her hands now moved down to the corner of your lips, finger moving it up, “Still, you’re the only jerk I treasure. So you don’t get to disappear just because you mess up.”

Your eyes now really met her - and there it was. That smile, real, lovely, only for you.

“Next time,” she said. “Please don’t treat me like I’m someone who you have to hide things from.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

Then she held up her bottle of banana milk, shaking to signal you to hold up your chocolate milk.

“To getting into high school.” she said.

“And being forgiven by Kim Asa.”you added. The two bottles clinking against each other.

She grinned. It all felt better now. Thanks to her.

-

The first year of high school went by faster than you thought. That orientation day came with stiff collars, new sneakers, also way too many unfamiliar faces crammed into one school. You and Asa arrived together, like always - shoulder to shoulder, backpacks bumping as you walked side by side through the gates of Seoul Jungang High school for the first time. You’d seen her in that new uniform in the morning, sure - it hit even harder under the school sunlight. The blazer fit her so well, skirt pressed, hair pinned back for once. Asa looked good, way too good.

“Why are you staring at me, you dummy?” she muttered, eyes avoiding yours as blushes began to form on her cheeks. “Nothing.. you look mature.” you replied.

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself.” she snorted, but there was a flicker of something in her smile. 

The two of you joined the crowd of first years crowding around the bulletin board, chaos by the way. Asa leaned in closer, scanning the list, maybe for the both of you.

“Class 1-4.” she read aloud. “Enami Asa… And, Seo Joonhyuk?”

Yessss, as you quietly celebrated in your head.

She turned to you slowly, eyes wide.

“No way.”, you both said at the same time. 

She bursted out laughing, the laugh that always triggered something in your heart. “I guess I really am stuck with you.”

You grinned. Well, I’m glad that’s the case.

“Excuse me, I do my fair share helping you back in middle school too, young lady.” you shot back.

She put her hands up, surrendering. “Okay, okay, we’re even.”

Still, she didn’t stop smiling. Neither did you.

Class 1-4 was on the third floor. You walked together, slowly, with Asa half-dragging her feet, already complaining about the stairs.

“I miss middle school. Everything was closer.”

“Tired already?” you asked.

She huffed, dramatically. “I need a personal elevator.” I could carry you on my back to class everyday, if you want.

When you two got to class, it was filled up already. Students hovered near the windows, some already claiming seats with their bags tossed onto chairs, while you two just stood there awkwardly. Everything was loud, new, and unfamiliar. Then the homeroom teacher walked in, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everybody. Quiet, please.” she said. “You can pick your seat for now. We’ll assign them officially next week.” 

As soon as the teacher finished speaking, the room burst into motion. Bags shuffled. Screaming. Some kids rushed for the back like it was Black Friday, some weirdly calmly walked to the front. Then, Asa turned to you with that grin, “C’mon” she said -  reaching down and grabbing your hand. Just like that, no warning. Just enough to pull you along, like she did that a thousand times already.

She led you toward the second to last row by the windows - prime real estate, probably best seats ever - before throwing her backpack on the left seat and sliding into it. You followed, sitting next to her, still feeling the trace of her fingers on yours. 

A few glanced your way. Probably assuming, gossips forming in their minds. You notice it. So did Asa. But she didn’t care, already digging through her cute pencil case like it didn’t matter.

“You’re lucky, you know that?” she said, casually. “I could’ve picked anyone. But I chose you.”

“Really?” you played along “Why didn’t you?”

She didn’t look at you this time, lips smiling at her notebook.

“Your high school years would be miserable without me.” Yeah, she was right.

The class was slowly settling as some students found their seats. A few of them looked like they were ready to square up, fighting for the last good seats. You and Asa sat there - like it was already decided, like it was fate. A few minutes later, the homeroom teacher walked around, clipboard in her hands to check names and make notes. She stopped by your row, glancing at Asa, then you.

“Hmm, are you two close?” her eyes flickered, noticing how relaxed you guys looked next to each other.

You opened your mouth, but Asa beat you to it.

“We’re next door neighbors, Ms. Since middle school.” she said.

The teacher blinked, then smiled - just a quiet kind of understanding.

“Seo Joonhyuk… Hmm, you’re that special taekwondo kid the principal was talking about, right?”

The whole class turned to look at you. Your ears were already burning. 

“Uhm,.. I wanted to stay in Seoul.” you mumbled, still shy.

The teacher’s gaze stayed on you for a bit - curious, maybe amused - then she smiled. 

“Well, our school’s never had an athletic talent like you before, so... welcome, you two can sit next to each other.” she walked away - leaving behind a few whispers, glances and Asa was looking out the window like none of it fazed her. But her smile, it made your whole weekend.

Academically, the two of you kept pace - late night studying, in her room or yours, passing notes under the desk, sometimes competing to see who’d score higher - you’d purposely lose to her sometimes, just to see her smiling. That quiet competitiveness, it made you both better. The two of you worked well together, always had. You two weren’t loud, weren’t flashy. But somehow, it was easy to tell that the two of you… just clicked. The teachers noticed too.

Your math teacher always said that you two were like an old married couple. Ms. Taeha always smiled a little whenever she passed by your desks, watching you check Asa’s notes while she doodled hearts on them. 

“Cute couple, aren’t they?” she told the class once. You both pretended not to hear it. Maybe, the teachers were rooting for you and Asa, too.

You started making headlines, too. As you swept through national taekwondo competitions - gold after gold, your school was mentioned in articles, for the first time ever in that context. A taekwondo prodigy, coming out of an academic school? Never before. Interviews of you surfaced on social media, clips of you dominating matches on national TV. Of course people noticed. Especially the girls. They whispered in the schoolyard, eyes on your back in the hallway. Some even showed up to practices, holding banners with your name.

And Asa? She didn’t say much. But you noticed how her eyes shifted, gripping the water bottle tighter whenever someone called your name too sweetly. She wasn’t invisible either. She joined the dance club, and stood out, as expected. Her movements cleaned, graceful, confident - people had to stop and stare. Performances were posted online, soon enough, comments started showing up, too?

“Who’s that girl in the front row?”

“Isn’t she the Japanese girl from 1-4?”

“Enami Asa… She’s gorgeous.” 

It didn’t take long before the sunbaes noticed her - those dicks. The kind who lingered after rehearsals with extra water bottles or excuses to “help” the club. Some waited by the gates afterschool. However, the moment they spotted you - whether walking beside or rambling about something dumb behind her - they scattered. A glance was enough. Sometimes, just a nod. You didn’t need to say a word, didn’t need to.

Asa didn’t say a thing, or asked you to do it. But she never told you to stop either.

Most mornings, you two met outside like always. But now, there was always something in your arm - food, milk, her favorite snacks. You never made a big deal out of it. Just casually hand it over to her. Asa would take it with that same grin, then start unwrapping it before you hit the main street.

Eventually, your classmates started noticing. They noticed the way you pulled out her favorite banana milk and slipped it under her side of the desk before homeroom. The way she always saved half her snacks and nudged it over to you. Neither of you made a show of it, but you both expected it - like muscle memory. At first, there were whispers - then just nods, smirks, acceptance. By that time, everyone had figured it out - even if you two refused to admit it.

But… things weren’t exactly all smooth through high school. You two fought more often than you ever did in middle school - louder, sharper, sometimes over things that didn’t even make sense when the anger wore off. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe you two were growing, but still super childish. Or you two cared for each other, just didn’t know how to express it.

-

Like when you forgot to print out a sheet for math class.

“You said you’d do it last night.” Asa snapped, arms crossed as you fumbled through your backpack.

“Uhm… I forgot. Sorry…”

“I reminded you. Twice.”

“Well, I already said I’m sorry, Asa-ah. What do you want me to do now? Pull it out of my magic pocket like Doraemon?”

She scoffed, turning away before muttering loud enough to make sure you heard her. “Should’ve done it myself.”

You bit your tongue, then fired back. “Yeah? Maybe you should’ve. Since this idiot can’t do anything right.”

The silence after was brutal. You sat next to each other but didn’t even exchange a single word. Even when she slid her sheet halfway across the desk for you to copy - you didn’t even peek, your pride was hurt. After that, no more glances at each other. Your eraser dropped on her side and she didn’t pick it up. Her pen ran out of ink and you didn’t offer yours. It was petty, neither of you wanted to lose first.

Later that day, on the way home from hakwon, you slipped her favorite pastry into her blazer - that potato thingy she swore she hated but devoured in just two bites. At the crosswalk, she finally spoke up:

“You’re childish.” “We’re childish.” you corrected her.

Asa crinkle the wrapping in her hand, having her first bite. “It was a bit dry…” You smiled. “Told you it’s not even that good.”

She glared at you, chewing slowly, then muttered. “Still better than no apology.”

You looked ahead, hiding your grin. “That’s the apology, dummy.”

The crosswalk light turned green, and you both stepped forward. You were good again. 

-

Like when you accidentally ate her last Chocopie during lunch.

“You seriously just ate my last one, you pig?”

“I didn’t know it was your last? I’m sorry.”

“Since when does ‘I’m saving it for later’ mean ‘Eat it now, traitor’?”

The rest of lunch was silent. The next day, you bought her two Chocopies, sliding them under her side of the desk. She ate it without looking at you. Victory for you.

-

Like when she tried something different with her hair, curled the ends a little, styling them, even wore one of those cute clips Chisa gave her. She showed up at the lamppost between yours and her house, waiting for you to say something. Your dumbass definitely didn’t notice anything, instead just yapping about how Spider-Man would be useless in Asia since there aren’t that many tall buildings.

Not when she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Not when she asked how cold the weather was while subtly tossing her head just enough to show her curls.

You just nodded and kept explaining your theory, Spider-Man would also really struggle in rural areas. By the time you two reached school, she ran out of patience. Feeling the tension, you leaned back to Yunah, who was sitting behind you and asked, quietly:

“Is it just me, or… is she a bit angry today?”

Yunah blinked at you like you were the densest creature alive.

“Look at her hair, idiot. Boys like you are hopeless.”

You squinted over your shoulder, then turned back to Asa, who was sitting next to you, arm crossed, lips pressed, clearly not in the mood. Oh… her hair. Those curls, the way she styled it, the lavender clip - the one you knew Chisa bought her during their sister outing, 

Right, she did all that hoping you’d noticed. But no, Spider-man was swinging around in your mind.

“Uhm… nice hair, Asa-ah. Those curls look great.”

She didn’t even look your way. “Wow. Look at Detective Conan over here.”

You winced. “Is that the hair clip Chisa-noona bought you?”

She clicked her pen. “Oh so now you remember my sister, too.”

You signed, sinking slowly in your chair. Yunah was right, you were hopeless.

That day, on the way home from hakwon - the air was crisp, your backpack heavy with regret, she finally spoke, arms swinging by her sides.

“You’re lucky Yunah helped you this morning.”

You glanced at her. “Am I… forgiven?”

“No.” She looked up at you, smirking. “But I might forgive you tomorrow.” 

Fair enough, princess.

-

Sometimes around mid 2022, the offers came to you, quietly - just messages, emails from the national taekwondo association - asking if you could attend weekend practice at the national training center. Your coach told you later: “They told me they’re watching you. They said you’re the best and youngest they’ve ever seen at this level. They want to put you through the grind - see how you handle it. If all goes well, they might call you up for upcoming Asian games, Olympics even.”

Asian Games? Olympics? Me? Really? For real?

It all happened so fast. You didn’t tell Asa yet. Not because you didn’t remember the Suwon rejection incident - but because it didn't feel real yet. So instead, you opted for something else, light and throwaway someday on the way home:

“Coach wanted to put more focus on training for the rest of the year. Like… weekend stuff.”

Asa blinked, lips still sipping that banana milk.

“More now? Aren’t your schedules, like packed now? School? Training? More training?”

You shrugged, not looking at her for too long. “He said he wanted to see I how do. Testing the water.”

She didn’t press, but something about her eyes made you feel like she could already tell you weren’t telling her the truth. 

-

Months went by, training got hectic. You barely had time to breathe between school, hakwon and new national drills. You were exhausted - but didn’t want to complain. You didn’t want Asa to worry. But that meant you forgot. Her big rehearsal. She told you about it almost everyday that week. You promised her you’d come. You didn’t.

By the time you remembered, you were soaked in sweat. Hurrying to check your phone, 3 unread messages. Fuck…

[김아사🌸]

hey

it’s okay if you couldn’t make it

just wish you told me earlier

No… You messed up.

You ran with all your remaining stamina after training. When you got there, everybody was packing up and ready to leave. Asa was there, eyes tired, talking to her friends - when she finally spotted you. You didn’t dare to go inside, instead waiting for her outside.

Asa walked out, 10 minutes later, still in her rehearsal outfit - hair tied up messily. The moment your eyes met, she knew.

“You’re late…” she said, cold.

You stood there, forgetting how to breathe. “I’m sorry. I really am. Training was crazy…”

She nodded slowly, lips pressed. “You could’ve told me earlier.”

“I know. I should’ve, I’m sorry.”

Asa shifted her weight, gripping the straps of her bag tighter. “You promised, Joonhyuk-ah. Either show up or don’t promise.”

“I’m busy. It wasn’t intentional. You think I want to let you down?” you defended yourself.

Her eyes were sharp - not teary, not soft. Angry. Tired. Hurt. All at once. 

“You. Already. Did.” she said, firmer this time. Then stepped closer, looking up straight at you in the eyes and jabbed her finger into your chest. 

“You keep saying you care. But when it actually matters, you forget. Do you know how embarrassing it was, waiting there while everyone else’s friends showed up?” Poke.

You flinched at her words - ready to fire back before she poke you again.

“You don’t get to apologise and hope I forget it like it was nothing big, Joonhyuk-ah.” Poke.

“I AM BUSY! You think I just, what - relaxed all weekend?”

“So you’re saying all this doesn’t matter? I don’t get tired too?” she snapped, stepping even closer now. “You’re not the only one with pressure on your shoulders.”

“That’s not what i said-”

“But that’s what it feels like!” she snapped again, chest raising, finger still pressed against your chest. “Like you’re carrying everything alone, and I’m just some side character you forget to tell things to.” You swallowed, head down.

“... I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” voice low.

Asa said, eyes still burning. “Guess what? You just did it again, Seo Joonhyuk.”

Her friends could feel the tension, choosing to walk away. And with that - she walked home alone, not waiting for you, not looking back. Your shoulders dropped as you watched her walking away, too fed up with you. Your hands were now trembling - not from training. But from the words she said and the way she looked at you like she didn’t recognize you for a second. 

-

That night, you skipped dinner. The call came at about 7PM - your coach was on the other end: “They want you on the roster. For the upcoming Asian Games. They were afraid you were still young at first, but with it being postponed until 2023, you will have enough time. You’ll be training more with the seniors at the weekend. It’s real this time, Joonhyuk-ah. Hangzhou, China.” 

You should’ve felt proud, ecstatic. Instead, your mind went to Asa. Like muscle memory, you grabbed your hoodie and stepped outside. The light on her house gates was still bright. You hesitated for a moment before ringing the bell. The gates opened to Ms. Keiko, wearing her apron, maybe mid-dinner prep. She blinked at you, surprised.

“Oh, Joonhyuk-ah.”

You bowed politely, then asked in a low, nervous voice. “Can I… Can I talk to Asa? I have something to tell her.”

Her eyes scanning your face for a second - something in your expression must’ve softened her.

“Asa-chan is in her room. Go on.” She smiled.

You nodded, slipping off your slippers before walking upstairs - familiar stairs, but they suddenly felt heavier than usual. Then, you stood at her door for a moment - gently knocking twice.

“Asa-ah, it’s me.” no answer.

“Can you open the door?” you knocked again.

You took a risk, opening the door anyway. As you pushed open the door, a familiar soft hum floated out - StayC’s ‘Stereotype’ - it had been trending on TikTok these days. Asa was sprawled out on her bed, earbuds in, legs kicking in the air, scrolling on her iPad. Her hair was in a messy bun, bangs slightly messy. She didn’t notice you at first - not before looking up, and screamed:

“AAHHH! What the -???”

She yanked one earbud out, almost dropping the iPad on her face.

“What are you doing in my room?! You can’t just barge in like- What if I was changing, you pervert?!”

You were surprised, too. Holding your hands up in the air, stepping back a bit. “I did knock. Twice!!”

“I thought it was Chisa or Lisa!!”

“I called your name!”

“That doesn’t me you can just - ugh! You pervert!!” Asa grabbed one of her plushies and threw it right at you. You didn’t even dodge, letting it hit you in the face before falling on the floor.

She was still glaring, cheeks flushed pink, breathing a little heavy. “You’re unbelievable, you jerk.”

You took a deep breath and quietly stepped inside, not forgetting to gently close the door behind you. The soft click of the door made Asa raise an eyebrow, still perched on her bed in a defensive position, arms holding her pillows like it was her shield.

“Uhm.. Just listen to me, okay?” you said “I have to explain.” Asa didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t tell you to leave either. Her head tilted slightly, watching you carefully - irritation was clearly still on her face, but curiosity quickly took over. You exhaled before speaking up;

“I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure it would happen. They said they were watching me, those weekend training sessions. If I told you and it didn’t go anywhere, it would’ve been just another broken promise and disappointment.”

You paused, looking at her.

“I just got the call. They picked me. I’m going to be on the roster for the Asian Games next year.”

Asa’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“I know I screwed up a lot recently. I’m not denying it. It’s just… I’m tired and distracted… I don’t want this to come between us, Asa-ah. I know I didn’t handle things right, but I care. I never wanted to shut you out. I…”

You sat down awkwardly on the floor in front of her. Trying to think of the right words to say:

“So… Tomorrow night. Let’s ditch hakwon, go somewhere. Just you and me. No excuses this time. I’ll tell you everything you want. Just give me one chance.”

Asa’s expression didn’t shift at first - but her grips on the pillow loosened. Eyes softened a bit before saying:

“You didn’t think I’d be proud of you, you big dummy? How long have we been friends for?”

You let out a light breath.

“You could’ve just told me, you know. I would have understood.” she added, quietly.

You looked down, hands scratching the back of your neck, shame in your voice. “I was scared…”

Asa sat up straighter, letting out a slow breath. “I’m still mad tho.” she said plainly.

“Fair. I understand.” you replied.

“But… I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“That’s good enough for me.” you smiled.

As you stood up, brushing your palms nervously against your thighs, glancing at her.

“Uh, before I go,” you said “Can you… stand up?”

Asa narrowed her eyes a bit, “Why?”

“Just… please.”

She let out a skeptical sigh but slowly stood up anyways, stepping down from the bed, still clutching her pillows. Before she could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped your hands around her. It wasn’t tight, more of a quiet, unsure hug. Like you were afraid Asa would push you away.

She stiffened slightly at first, caught off guard. But she didn’t move, standing still, breathing against your chest, her pillow now squished between you two.

“I’m sorry.” you murmured, “I really am.”

You hugged her for a little longer, before pulling back slowly, just enough to look at her face. Her eyes had now softened, brows were still furrowed. 

“You smelled like tiger balm.” she said softly.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, not a bad smell tho.”

She didn’t smile - yet, but she didn’t pull away either.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” she finally said, poking your shoulders lightly. “Go home, dummy. Before I tell my mom you were perving on me.”

You froze at the door, turning back with a look of betrayal.

“I knocked. Like, TWICE!”

She raised her eyebrows, completely unfazed. “And still came in without my permission. That’s suspicious behavior, dummy.”

You groaned. “Right… Sorry. Good night, Asa.”

When you finally got out, from behind the door, her voice followed: “Congrats, Joonhyuk-ah.”

The next day came quickly. Neither of you said much during class. Your arms close enough to brush, though they didn’t. Asa spent most of the period tapping her pen mindlessly, probably daydreaming about something. You slipped her a note - a terrible drawing of the hakwon building exploding, dramatic smoke, stick figures running. She looked down, raised one of her eyebrows - clearly unimpressed, then scribbled underneath: “Lame.”

You smirked and nudged her knee under the desk. She didn’t move away. The day dragged on for so long, but when the bell rang, you moved first. Zipping up your bag, you stood up casually and leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go.”

Asa then glanced at you - then nodded. No teasing, just trust. Down the staircase. Past the side gate. But not heading home this time, instead, you two walked to the bus stop near school. 

At the bus stop, you checked the schedule screen and pointed.

“Should be two stops. Then we walk a bit.”

Asa gave you a sidelong glance, a bit skeptical. “Where are you taking me?”

“Probably taking you somewhere outside of Seoul, then dump you there.”

She didn’t press, lips now pouting before adjusting her backpack and folding her arms. 

“This better be worth it. My mom would kill me if she found out about this.”

You laughed. “You’re with me, remember?”

The bus came. You both climbed in. Sitting next to each other, like you always did since you two first met. The bus rocked gently as it made it through the late afternoon Seoul traffic - that classic bustling city traffic, stop and go every few meters. Outside, the peaceful vibe of Eungam-dong slowly disappeared, now replaced with dense clusters of tall buildings, packed intersections, and neon lights flickering before sunset. Delivery scooters weavering between cars, people rushing home like it was a sport, LED lights glowing above massive skin care stores and cafes. Everything felt like Seoul, felt like home. Inside the bus, it was calmer. Just the soft hum of the engine, the low voice of people chatting. You snuck a glance at Asa, whose face was lit up by the city lights. One earbud, arms loosely folded, but her fingers were lightly tapping on her legs.

“...You should paint your nails again.”

She turned her head slightly, confused. “What?”

“Your nails, dummy.” you said “I was just thinking. It suits you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you even talking about right now?”

“Let me see your hand.”

She held out her hand, still confused but obliging. “They’re literally just nails. Plus it would get me in trouble at school.”

You took her hand in yours, pretending to inspect it - brushing your fingers against her fingertips.

“See? You’d look cool with black polish or something. Or like… purple. No, pink.”

She giggled. “What are you on right now, Joonhyuk-ah?”

But she didn’t take her hand back. So you got braver, risking it.

You slipped your fingers between hers - slow, easy, no big deal. But it was. You kept your eyes on your joined hands - waiting for something. She didn’t do anything, just surprised. Then, her fingers adjusted, tightened, slightly. You looked up.

“I’m still mad at you…” she muttered, eyes looking at you before turning back to the window, face unreadable.

Then, you shifted closer and without thinking, gently pulled her hands into your lap. Smooth criminal. Still casual, but careful - like it had always belonged there. Your thumb brushed softly along the outside of her hand, slow, back and forth, tracing her knuckles. Still no reaction. So you held it tighter - trying to keep it warm from the AC. Not possessive - just warm, reassuring. 

-

The bus stopped at a stop near the Ewha area. The bus door hissed open. You stood first, giving your still jointed hands a tug, signaling her to follow. 

As you two stepped down, the noise hit all at once. Car honking, couples’ chatter… It was an area built for slow dates - bright stores decorated with cozy color palettes, cute dessert cafes, streets full of flower shops, music spilling out of every corner… You name it, they had it all. Everything here smelled like sugar, perfume - like love. Brighter. Alive. Especially at night.

Asa adjusted her backpack, looking around. You glanced down, looking at her hand in yours. Still there, still warm. You gave it a light squeeze.

“Let’s do what you want today, everything.” you said, gently,

“What?” she blinked.

“Anything.” you repeated. “You pick. I’ll follow. Anything you want. I pay.”

She looked at you for a moment - still trying to decide if the idiot in front of her was being serious.

“Really? It’s not cheap here, Joonhyuk-ah.”

“I got money from all those taekwondo competitions, a lot. My parents are serious about saving up - I won’t go broke.”

“Promise me you’re not going to complain halfway through?”

“Nope.” 

“Not even if I drag you into those stationary shops for two hours?”

“I’ll even hold your basket.” you said “Then judge your choices.” Asa cracked a smile. Small, but real. “...Okay then.”

-

Asa looked around, lips pressing like she was pretending to think really hard. 

“First stop, I want to look at pens.” she said.

“Lead the way. But only pens?”

“Yup, overpriced ones. Gel pens. Multicolored. Glitter.” she replied, testing you.

“Like I said, all on me.” you smiled.

She shot you a look, suspicious. “You’re weirdly agreeable today.”

And with that, she turned on her heels and led you straight into one of the nearby stationery stores, the bell ringing above as you rushed to open the door for her.

The place was like heaven to Asa - shelves organized by color, pens stretching for what felt like a mile, ailes of stickers, memo pads shaped like milk cartons… It smelled faintly of paper, sweet plastic, flowers… but in a really good way. Cozy. Cute. Just like Asa. First thing you did, grabbing a basket and followed her without hesitation. 

Asa immediately beelined for them pens, testing them like a military instructor evaluating weapons.

“This one is smooth,”she said.

“That one is cool,” you replied.

She dropped it into the basket anyway. “Glad to hear your opinion. But… mine matters more.”

You kept close as she moved from pens to notebooks, flipping through one with a chubby cat on the cover. She didn’t say anything, just ran her finger along the edge before quietly adding them to the basket.

You, just happy being there with her. Your eyes wandered a bit before stopping at a rack full of pencil pouches. Hey, a dinosaur with stubby arms, its face looked exactly like her when she sulked. Huh, cute. You slipped it into the basket. When she returned, she noticed it immediately and just rolled her eyes at you.

“You think this looks like me?” 

“...No.”

About 30 minutes later, you two arrived at the register. When the cashier handed the bag, you reached for it before Asa could reach for it.

“I’ll do it all today. Don’t worry about it.”

She didn’t say anything - just let her hand fall back to her side.

As you two stepped out into the street again, you glanced her way. “Still mad?”

“Still deciding…”

-

Outside, the sky was starting to fade - golden, dreamy, straight out of a K-drama, episode 7, market date vibes. You two walked without any destination in mind. The street was buzzing. Then the smell hit: sweet, savory, a little spicy. 호떡, 떡볶이, 어묵국  steaming from skewers. (Hotteok, tteokbokki, eomuk broth). Asa’s eyes lingered at a stall, and you didn’t hesitate.

“Give me one second.” Then you returned with two skewers and a cup of warm soup.

“...Such a gentleman.”

“I’m not a monster, you know.” you smiled.

You both stood there, under a tree, side by side, quietly chewing as people passed by. 

“That dinosaur pencil pouch better not show up in my room. It looks dumb.” she nudged your arm. 

“Too late.” you grinned.

A few minutes later, you tossed your empty skewer into a bin as you both kept walking. Then, suddenly, you stopped. Asa turned:

“What?”

You were staring at a giant ad plastered on the side of a  building - Ryujin from ITZY, short hair, sharp gaze. Asa followed your gaze, then frowned. “Why are you staring at her?”

You tilted your head. “Not really.”

She looked at you, confused.

“I was just thinking… you’d look amazing with short hair.” 

Asa blinked. “Me?”

You nodded, still thinking. “Yeah, like… you know, shoulder length. Or, what do they call it? Bob? Like short but also curly? Or wavy? I don’t know but… yeah, short hair would look great on you.”

She scoffed at you. “You’re just saying that because she’s an idol.”

“No,” you said, now looking at her. “I’m saying that because I think you can pull it off. Then again, you can pull any vibe off - cute, cool. Whatever you want.”

She opened her mouth a bit, before closing it again. Then she looked away - pretending to look at the shop across the street.

“Well… I’m not cutting my hair.”

You smiled. “Didn’t say you have to, just complimenting.”

She crossed her arms, ears now slightly red.

“You’re still annoying.” she muttered. And you love it.

Not long after, you passed a neon-lit building with a blinking sign, a coin noraebang. Asa glanced up.

“Wanna try?”

“Today’s your day.”

“Don’t get weird about it.”

Inside was cramped, but clean. Faded stickers on the mic, soft disco lights overhead. Asa picked first.

BLACKPINK. DDU DU DDU DU.

You raised an eyebrow. Then she rapped - like really rapped. Sharp, confident, nearly perfect, hand gestures, expressions and everything. You sat there, amazed, lowkey forgetting how to breathe. When the song ended, she looked at you and raised an eyebrow.

“You like that?”

“Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“I’d make a good rapper, at YG.” she just smirked and cued up another.

About ten songs later, your throat hurts, stomach ached from laughing, the room was warmer then it should’ve been. On the way out, you spotted one of those claw machines, with a cute medium sized bear in the middle. Asa on the other hand barely glanced at it. You didn’t say anything, just sliding a 500 won in and tried. Failed. Tried again.

“Joonhyuk-ah…” she spoke up,

“Nah, I got it…” you said.

One more try.

Okay, the claw now hooked the teddy bear, one ear flopped over.

C’mon now. Just a bit more…

Yes! It finally fell into the chute. You picked it up, brushing lint off its head and handing it to her without a word. 

“Still deciding, by the way…” she said, but hands still held it tight, in front of her.

The night now felt light, loose, like the kind you didn’t want to end. Asa slowed in front of a tiny Life4cuts, tucked between a convenience store and a run down shop. She looked at it, then you. 

“Wanna do it?”

“You want to?” you shrugged.

“Might as well. You’re already carrying my stuff.” 

Before you could answer, she grabbed your free hand and pulled you in. The curtain dropped behind you. The screen lit up as Asa took her time to choose the frame and her favorite filters. “Heheh, this one is so silly. Get ready -”

3..2..1

First frame: she held up the teddy bear while you blinked, too slowly

Second frame: you both puffed your cheeks, you pointing at hers, her pointing at yours.

Third frame: she leaned her head slightly against your shoulder, much closer than before. Neither of you said anything, but you could feel the heat rush to your ears.

Final one - you hesitated…

Then, as the screen flashed the countdown, you leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was just a quick kiss - soft, barely a second. Then the camera clicked.

Click. Asa froze a beat, lips slightly parted. Hands still holding the bear. You looked forward, pretending nothing happened with burning ears. She didn’t say anything. 

Reaching out to grab the printed photo strips as they slid out. Outside, Asa looked down at the photos on her hands, particularly the last frame - before handing you one and quietly slipping the remaining photo strips into her backpack. Still no words. But her fingers found yours again as you both started walking, other arm still wrapped around that bear.

-

Eungam-dong was quiet, like it usually was at this time of the night. No more traffic, only the soft whirr of scooters passing by, the hum of distant music leaking out from convenient stores, and occasional laughter from a group of students still hanging around. You glanced at the digital clock outside the familiar pharmacy near home, 9:42AM. Well, late but moms shouldn't be suspicious - hakwon sometimes ended even later.

You and Asa weren’t exactly talking. The silence between you two felt like a shared secret - not awkward anymore. She walked beside you, hugging the bear tightly against her chest, fingers clutched around the soft fabric like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. You looked over, the tip of her nose was a little pink from the cold. Without a word, you reached into your blazer pocket and pulled out two hot packs before slapping one gently against her arm.

She blinked. “When did you even buy these?”

“Prepared. Thought ahead.” you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

She took it without arguing, the warmth settling into her palm. “You’re weird today.”

“But you love it tho.” you grinned. Then, before she could walk too far ahead, you shifted closer and put your arm around her shoulders. She immediately froze. Just for a second. Then she dipped her head a little lower and stepped into your side - shoulder brushing against your chest. It was too quiet, too warm. Your heart was hammering, But, you were still feeling confident so you reached over and gently squished her cheeks.

Asa turned her face away instantly, but not fast enough. You caught the way her face was glowing red. “Your face is hot.” you teased.

She turned back with wide eyes. “Yours is even redder.”

You smirked, gently pressing your fingers to her other cheeks. “You’re burning right now, Asa-ah.”

“You kissed me first! Today!” she shot back, voice raising a few octave.

“So?”

“So!” she repeated, like that proved something. You tilted your head, watching her. Lips slightly pressed, eyes wide - not mad, just a bit overwhelmed. Still holding that teddy bear you got her like it was protecting her from your sudden burst of confidence. You leaned in closer, close enough to whisper:

“Should we kiss for real this time?”

Then, you weren’t sure who leaned in first. You? Her? Didn’t matter. But the space between you two was shrinking, her eyes flickering at yours and your lips, cheeks still flushed, breath caught somewhere in her throat. Your hands now grazing her shoulder, holding steady.

Here we go. just a few more seconds.

Closer… closer….

And then -

“Asa-chan?”

Well, that sounded familiar. Gentle. Neutral. But somehow it felt like an ice bucket was just dumped on your head. Asa’s mom? Was it her? You both froze and turned around.

Bingo! Standing a few feet away near the streetlamp, were your mothers - your mom with a grocery bag full of greens in her arms, and Ms. Keiko, holding a bag of frozen dumplings and something wrapped in newspaper. What are they doing out this late at night? Both staring, standing still, not yelling.

Asa’s body stiffened beside you. She took a few steps to get away from you, bear pressed to her chest again. You tried to open your mouth, but couldn’t speak up.

“I thought you had hakwon today, Joonie?” your mom asked.

“Or did you both… skip hakwon together?” Ms. Keiko tilted her head, she still had that warmth in her, it was just a bit terrifying this time.

-

Her house’s living room was too bright. Too quiet. You and Asa sat next to each other, looking like two puppies who were about to be yelled at for biting slippers - scared. Your moms sat across from you, arms folded, expressions perfectly neutral - way worse than yelling. 

“So, Asa-ah. You were about to kiss my son in public?” your mom asked, voice calm.

“Mom…’ you groaned.

“You don’t get to talk, mister.” mom said, pretending to be mad. “Is it your idea, Asa, or this dummy’s idea?”

Asa was horrified. “Uhm, Ms… I… We didn’t kiss yet…”

“Yet? So you were about to.” mom said, too quickly. A hint of tease in her voice.

Ms. Keiko added. “I’m trying to understand why you two perfectly good, responsible students - my daughter, my neighbor’s son, would skip hakwon like this. Together.”

Asa looked down, cheeks blazing. “We weren’t planning to… it just…”

Your mom leaned back. “It just…?”

“Can we not talk about this like we just robbed a bank, mom?” you said quietly, scared to look your mom in the eyes.

“No, no, I’m fascinated.” your mom said, “It’s not everyday that I find my son trying to kiss his girlfriend on the street.”

“We’re not dating…” you both said at the same time - too loud, too defensive. Both moms paused.

Ms. Keiko then glanced at her daughter, faking disappointment. “Asa-chan… you skipped hakwon. Almost kissed a boy. That’s almost 2 crimes in one night.”

She squeaked. “We didn’t do anything bad.”

Ms, Keiko then crossed her arms. “Okey. Tell us what you were doing.”

Asa hesitated, you gave her a wide-eyed look like: You tell them. We both die.

“... We went to the Ewha area.” she confessed, head down.

Both moms blinked.

“We got food, walked around, bought stuff…” you added, now surrendering. “Noraebang, then… got a bear.” Right then, you saw Asa hugging the bear tighter on the corner of your eyes.

“Anything else? Hmm, you two.” Ms. Keiko said, trying hard not to smile.

“And we took photos. That’s it.” Asa blurted out. Your eyes now wide, shook - Nooo, why would say that!!!

“Show us then.” your mom demanded. That tone. You knew it. The one she used when you used to hide your literature exam results in middle school - you hated it, never one to be writing stuff.

Asa froze, then slowly reached in her backpack like it was a death sentence. You leaned over, whispering, “You don’t have to…”

“Zip it, you little rascal. I’m not done with you yet.” your mom said.

Asa was already pulling out those tiny, glossy photo strips. She flipped through the first two ones - the safe ones. Then she stopped, stared at the third one. Oh shit.

The one with the last frame being her eyes wide, your lips on her cheek. The room felt like it dropped several degrees. For some reason, she passed them all to your mom. Your mom took them in complete silence, examined each frame then paused on the last one. Ms. Keiko also leaned in to see. It was followed by a beat of silence.

Then your mom cleared her throat. “So… you two…”

“You kissed my daughter in a photobooth?!” 

Your heart dropped. “It was just a cheek kiss, Ms. I…”

Ms. Keiko then raised an eyebrow. “Did you ask first?”

Asa intervened. “It wasn’t even that bad, mom…”

Your mom looked between the two of you, before handing the strips to Ms. Keiko. 

“Hmm, you two did look like me and your dad back then, Asa-chan. When we were young, rebellious, back in Japan.” Ms. Keiko said. “Mommm!” Asa wailed.

“Just saying.”

Your mom exhaled deeply, shaking her head - now smiling. “This idiot of mine. Skips hakwon, runs around Seoul, kisses a girl on the cheek, and even got photo proof.”

She then turned to you, eyes narrowing. “Did you pay for these, Joonie?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Yes, mom. With my taekwondo prize money.”

“Hmm.” your moms both blinked.

“Uh… I wanted to buy them for her. Not just the photos. Everything today.” you said, quieter now.

Then, your mom smiled - for real this time. “Good. I raised you well.”

“So, we’re not in trouble?” you asked, raising your voice at the end, hoping for some miracle.

“Oh, you’re definitely in trouble.” mom said immediately. “Your dad is definitely seeing these photos tomorrow.” Then, she pulled out her phone to capture the evidence, looking way too proud.

Ms. Keiko gave Asa a soft look. “And you, Asa-chan. Next time, tell me. I wouldn’t have stopped you, I just want you to be safe. At least you were with Joonhyuk tonight.”

Asa pouted into the bear. “I’m sorry, mom…” she said in Japanese.

“Also, I’m putting this one on the fridge.” Ms. Keiko said, holding up the one where you kissed her cheek. Both of your faces were now blazing. 

“We’re not done yet. This whole thing smells like there’s more. What are you two hiding?” your mom asked.

Asa looked at you. You looked at Asa. And then, you took a breath.

“...I got called up. The national team. Uh, next year Asian Games.”

The whole room went silent. Dead silent. Your moms blinked. Ms. Keiko sat up a bit. For a few seconds, everything in the room stopped.

“What?” your mom asked, like she wasn’t sure what she heard was real or not.

“I just got the call yesterday,” you said, eyes now dropping to your knees. “They said they wanted me after all those weekend training sessions. It’s official… Uh, I might represent Korea.” Asa stayed quiet by your side, watching everyone else's reaction.

Your mom’s hand slowly reached to cover her mouth. “You’re serious.”

You nodded. Then-

“Seo Joonhyuk!!” She stood abruptly. You flinched, fearing for your life. She pulled in, for a hug. Hard.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she mumbled into your shoulder. “Do you know how proud I am?” 

“Uh… maybe?” you said, unsure.

“And Asa knew before me?!”she pulled back, mock-offended. “Unbelieved. Betrayed by my own son?!”

“I was going to tell you tonight, mom.” you muttered.

“You’re lucky I love you.” mom said, hands now moved to your shirt collar, shaking you around. “Because if I didn’t, you’d be walking home barefoot right now!”

Ms. Keiko gave you a gentle smile. “That’s great news, Joonhyuk-ah. You should be proud.”

You nodded, shy. “Thanks, Ms.” You then glanced at Asa, she was already looking at you, lips curled into a smile. The moms eventually let you two off with a final round of warnings - still teasing, but proud. Asa walked you to the gate, still hugging the bear, and she whispered, “Next time, tell me sooner.” Life hadn’t felt this exciting in a while. Also, the next day, Lisa and Chisa didn’t let Asa off the hook that easy, teasing her for an entire week.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

2023

It was great. But nothing official changed between you and Asa. Still sat next to each other, still walked home together whenever you could. Still stolen glances and dumb jokes in class. But something shifted - it wasn’t bad, at least not right away, just… a bit different.

After the Asian Games news came out, you became a celebrity at school, not to your liking. Whispers followed you in the hallway. Kids at school asked for photos like it was normal. Girls from other classes, even sunbaes started lingering outside your homeroom. 

Asa noticed, of course she did. She didn’t do anything about it, though. Just kept her head down during lunch, kept waiting for you while you stopped to thank someone for what felt like the hundredth time, kept smiling when people said, “You’re so lucky to sit next to Joonhyuk.”

Also, something also got to you. It was nothing new, started as background noise but slowly became more frequent. A comment here, whisper there.

“You two would make a good couple.”

“Seriously, just date already.”

“They’ve got it all - good-looking, talented, and basically act like a couple.”

At first, you brushed it off, like you always did. Dumbass. People said it even back then, right? But the more you heard it, the harder it became to ignore. Neither of you had confessed. No labels. No promises. You guys were close, too close - but technically still “friends”. 

One day, you weren’t expecting anyone. One of those rare weekends without training, thankfully. You’d just finished showering and were halfway drying your hair with a towel when the bell rang. You padded to the front door and opened it. It was Asa. Wearing her usual black shirt. Holding a small paper bag, maybe from Auntie Bomi’s snack stall. And-

Her hair. Gone. Not gone gone. But… short. Chin-length, neat and clean with soft layers that emphasized her features in a way that you’d never seen before. You just stared.

“...What?” she asked. “See something you like, dummy?”

You blinked. “You cut your hair…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Duh, obviously. Say something else.”

“...You look amazing.” you said, honestly.

Even though Asa tried to roll her eyes, you caught her lips curling into a smile. “Of course, I do. I look good in everything, you said I’d look good with short hair, remember?”

You did. That day at Ewha. Staring at a huge poster of Ryujin. Hey, she really remembered.

“Yeah, you really do…” you added, quietly. “Like, a lot.”

She looked down for a second, then held up the paper bag. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in? I got your favourite right here.”

You stepped aside, Asa just walked in like she always had. She was toeing off her shoes in the entryway when your mom came around the corner with a basket of folded laundry in arms.

“Oh my - is that Asa?”  she said with her eyes wide opened, surprised. “Oh my, look at your hair, darling. You’re so beautiful!”

Asa straightened, greeting your mom. 

“Wow, you look so chic.” your mom said, putting the basket down instantly to get a better look. “Like a model. Or one of those magazine girls. Wahh-c’mon, Asa. Turn around, let me see properly.”

Asa shyly did a 360, slowly as your mom fawned over her with praises. You were about to save Asa when your dad’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Who’s that? I head Asa’s voice-”

He appeared next to your mom, one of his eyebrows raised.

“...Why did you cut your hair?” he asked, confused. “Did Joonhyuk break your heart?”

“Daddd.” you groaned from behind your towel, horrified.

Asa nearly choked on a laugh, hiding it behind her paper bag.

“I didn’t!” you said. “Nothing happened!”

You dad just nodded, still unconvinced. “Mmm, I know that look. Your mom cut her hair just like that when we broke up for a few months back then. I know that broken heart haircut.”

You two settled down on the couch, paper bag between you two, still warm with food. In the kitchen, your parents’ voices flowed through - your dad still going on about your mom’s short hair back when they broke up years ago while she was shushing him between laughter. Asa leaned in, shoulders brushing yours, and whispered:

“I didn’t cut it because of you… but I did kinda want to surprise you.”

Either way, you’re still beautiful.

You glanced sideways, forming a grin. “How am I supposed to play with your hair in class now?”

Asa rolled her eyes, but her smile suggested something else. “You already do that. Like, since middle school.”

“Exactly.” you said. “It de-stress me. What am I supposed to do in class with my fingers now?”

From the kitchen, your dad’s laugh boomed again, followed by your mom’s scolding whisper. For a second, this all felt stupidly perfect - making you forget about everything else.

-

One day, you were busy with extra training and sent Asa a quick message.

[준혁선베🥋]

extra training, can’t walk home with you today

sorry ㅠㅠㅠ

i’ll make up for u tomorrow

plss don’t be mad 

Asa understood. She didn’t want to be mad, she knew what you signed up for, she was just… lonely. The sun had dipped behind rooftops, Eungam-dong somehow felt weird today. Putting all her thoughts behind, Asa walked briskly, hands holding the straps of her backpack - she missed having someone, maybe you, by her side.

She cut through the narrow alley - the shortcut. Halfway through - she saw them. Those two guys, sunbaes, always loud, hovering near her desk during breaks with that fake friendliness, throwing out compliments that felt more like traps. But they never crossed the line, not when you were with her. Today, you weren’t. One of them noticed her first, then nudged the other. Their grins spread too fast.

“Oh, hey. Alone today?”

Asa kept her eyes forward. “Excuse me.” she said, trying to walk past like she didn’t hear them.

The tall one shifted to block her way. “Feisty, you talk to older guys like that?”

“Just let me go home.” she said quietly, not looking at them.

The shorter one leaned against the wall. “We’re not trouble. You think too low of us.”

“Also, don’t pretend you don't like the attention.” The taller one tilted to look at her, gaze sweeping from her face to her uniform. “You’ve been acting stuck up lately. You and that boyfriend of yours.”

She met his eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. And I’m not interested in talking with you two.”

That made something in his eyes flicker. A challenge. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not. Get out of my way.” she moved, now blocked by the shorter guy.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone so small.” his voice now playful, but meant everything he said. “Makes me wonder how long you’d keep that attitude if you weren’t with that taekwondo kid.”

He reached forward, trying to tuck her hair behind her ear or touch her face. She smacked his hand away, hard. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” The air now shifted. Before she could say anything - 

Smack

The slap echoed too loud in the alleyway, her head was snapped to the side, cheek flaring hot. She stumbled to her side, breath hitched, frozen. Her hand flew to her face, palm shaking, pressing against the pain - the sting was unbearable, along with the helplessness. 

The taller one muttered, “Fuck, what the hell..”

“This bitch asked for it.” The other one said. 

“Let’s just go.” They walked off, muttering curses - not glancing back.

Asa’s knees felt so weak. Her chest was tight. Her vision blurred. The tears then came, sharp, unannounced - filling her eyes  before she could stop them. She sanked to the ground, fingers clenching her backpack straps tight. She cried, quietly - the kind of crying that hurt, that burned because you tried so hard to not cry. And all she could think about was: Where were you?

-

That night, no texts from her, nothing. You sensed something was off. The next day came, you showed up at her gate like always. She was already outside, blazer all buttoned up. You smiled and waved casually.

“Hey… I’m sorry for last night. Uh, you didn’t text me back.”

Asa nodded. “Sorry, I was just… tired.”

You didn’t think much of it at first. She did look tired, pale - not like her usual self. You tried teasing her a little on the way. She didn’t answer. Just nodded a few times. It bugged you. You slowed your pace to match hers, slower than usual. 

“Everything okay?” you nudged her shoulder.

“Just cold.” she nodded, again.

Then, as you neared the school, you glanced at her face closely - Is that make up? More than usual. Covering something? Her skin was always smooth, barely needed makeup. But today - something seemed off. Under her left eye, just barely visible beneath a thin layer of foundation, there was some discoloration. Something that shouldn’t have been there.

You stopped walking. Reaching out, you gently tilted her chin. She flinched.

“Asa…” Your heart dropped.

“Don’t.” she pulled away.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing.” you were trying to keep your voice low. Calm. But your pulse was racing.

“Who did that to you?” you asked again, barely above a whisper. 

She paused for a long whisper. Then, softly said “Please, Joonhyuk-ah. I just want to forget about it.”

You clenched your jaw. Your whole body stiffened, trying not to explode right there. But you nodded. You wouldn’t press her now. But whoever did this? You weren’t letting them go.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That day, you didn’t ask again. But you watched. Quietly. 

During break, you saw her flinching when one of those sunbaes passed too close behind her in the hallway. She didn’t say anything, but you sensed something was off. She didn’t laugh during lunch like she usually would, instead she kept checking over her shoulder. And then, you saw them.

Those two guys from the year above, leaning against the stairwell wall, eyes flickering to Asa as she passed. Whispering something. You didn’t do anything, not yet.

Later that day, you asked around - casually. Just a few questions to your friends, your sunbaes. One of them said he’d noticed them two trailing behind Asa these days, whenever you were off to practice. Hey, that was all you needed. When school ended, you already had their names. You sent Asa a message.

[준혁선배🥋]

more training, again

can u go home with yunah?

i asked her to walk you home

i don’t want anything bad happen to u again

-

You didn’t go home after school, opting to skip practice. You followed them. There they were - behind the neighborhood market, cutting through that empty lot near the old playground. Laughing they owned the world. You kept your distance, breathing calm. Waiting for your chance. When they stopped near the back alley of a fried chicken joint, about to light up a cigarette, you stepped out.

“Yah!”

They turned. Too late. 

In a flash, the taller one was slammed against the wall, the other shoved down by the collar, falling onto his knees with a grunt. You didn’t say anything, letting the silence take over and walked slowly to them. One tried to get up. You kicked the back of his knee. Hard. He dropped again. Then, you swung at the two of them. Hard. Both of them were now lying on the ground.

“Kneel. In front of me. Hands up in air”

They tried to catch a breath, looking at each other.

“Hurry up before I fucking lose it.”

And they did, obediently. 

You took your left Jordan off, pointing at the two of them.

“What did you two shitheads do yesterday? Huh?”

No answers, that only fueled your anger even more. Just two motherfucking cowards, kneeling, hands in the air. Your jaws clenched - trying to stay calm, that didn’t seem to work. You slapped the sole of your sneaker against the first guy’s face.

Smack. He flinched, head turning with the blow.

“I fucking said,” Smack “What did you-” Smack “do to her?”

 “W-We didn’t do… She just…” The other guy spoke up, just before he could finish his sentence-

Smack. A hit to his temple.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

They look terrified now - not only from pain, also from the way your voice never cracked. You looked batshit crazy.

“Asa had a bruise on her cheek. I saw it. She covered it with makeup.” You stared them both down. “She even covered for the two of you and didn’t tell me anything. You know why, huh?”

Your chest rose and fell from adrenaline. Then  you asked - low and sharp:

“Which one of you?”

Still nothing. So you stepped forward, pressing your sneaker against the shoulder of the guy on the left - the taller one. He flinched.

“You? You laid your dirty hands on her?” 

“No-no… It wasn’t me. I swear!”

The other one tensed his shoulders, kept his head down. Dead silence. So it was you.

You moved fast - grabbing his jacket and yanking him up.

“You slapped her.” just barely a whisper, enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t mean to-” he whimpered. Then - your fist connected, he collapsed to the ground.

You didn’t remember how hard or how long it took. You did know your punch was hard and you made sure they landed in the right places - enough for them to regret this for the rest of their life. The other one flinched, you pointed at him.

“You, too. Get up.”

A few slaps to the face and kicks to the knee later, he joined his friend on the ground. You signaled for them to stand up, like a coach at practice, gazed cold.

“Up. Fifty push-ups. Now.”

They blinked at you, stunned.

“I fucking said- Fifty push-ups. Each, Go. I got all night.”

The two of them looked at each other, unsure if you were joking. You weren’t.

“One, two…” your hands now in your pockets. 

They dropped, hands on concrete. And you watched, sneaker tapping the ground slowly. Each time they groaned, you’d add, “That’s four extra. Keep going.”

Your voice now steady, a bit more calmer. Still, you had to make sure they’d never go near her again.

-

The next day, the weight of everything hung over the classroom like a thick fog. Whispers had already started before class, threading through desks and across notebooks like a storm no one could stop. Some looked at you, some didn’t. Some didn’t even bother hiding the way they stared at you and Asa when you two walked in. You sat down, opened your book, tapping the pen against it - calm, quiet, like you hadn’t just done what you did the night before. Asa didn’t sit close this time. She slid into her seat with her eyes down, hugging her backpack like a shield. No jokes, no teasing that morning, either. You didn’t blame her. But it stung, so hard.

First period. As the teacher began roll call, the tension never broke. Then, right in the middle of the first period, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the gym teacher opening the door.

“Uhm, I need… Seo Joonhyuk, Enami Asa.” he said flatly, eyes unreadable. “Come with me. Principal room.” That was it. Everybody knew.

You stood up slowly, adjusting your blazer. Asa hesitated, confused - she gave you a weird look before following. As you walked, you could feel everything - eyes, thoughts, gossips behind you. Heavy. Curious. By the time the door closed behind you two, the room hadn’t dropped into silence yet.

“Alright, class. Focus. Focus!”

-

The principal’s office was already full when you and Asa stepped in. The two dickheads were seated, looking like they’ve aged ten years overnight, bruises on their faces, eyes avoiding yours - should be like that. Asa slowed behind you, her steps faltering just lightly. 

Your mom sat on one side of the room, next to Ms. Keiko. Neither of them looked angry - which was worse. Your mom’s eyes were cold, controlled but full of disappointment. Ms. Keiko’s arms were folded, face unreadable. Asa was scared, choosing to sit next to her mother, like she didn’t know where else to go.

The atmosphere was stiff and silent. You felt like a loud breath could set everything off. Even the ticking of the clock above the principal desk felt loud. The principal stood behind his desk, his gaze swept across the room, landing on you last.

“Okay, now that you guys are all here. Let’s begin.” He started.

“I’ve heard everything. Several students witnessed the incident last night, and these two students have admitted to harassing Asa here repeatedly - for a long period, it seems.” He paused.

“And, uh… Joonhuk’s actions were violent, yes. I understand where it came from but this is still unacceptable behaviour for our school, our society.”

Asa’s eyes met yours. Shock, betrayal - like she couldn’t believe you, her Joonhyuk, the one who walked with her everyday for the past few years, had done that. You looked back at her, but she turned away, clutching her mother’s arm like she was holding herself together.

After a few phone calls, the principal talked to your moms. Your mom firm, Ms. Keiko calm but disappointed. You just held your head down, feeling like you had disappointed everyone once again.

There was no yelling, just tired voices trying to make sense of what happened.

The principal rested his hands on the desk, his voice calm and firm.

“The national taekwondo association was informed,” he began. “They’re disappointed but, fortunately, they understood where your actions came from, Joonhyuk-ah. That doesn’t excuse it, but they’ve made it clear: they still want you at the upcoming Asian Games. You’re one of the best our country has ever seen, at seventeen.”

He then glanced back at the moms. “Uhm, him along with Asa are bright students. Strong academic records, no prior incidents… Also, Joonhyuk is the youngest ever from an non-athletic school like ours to be selected to represent the nation. A really rare case. And because of that, they’ve requested a meeting with our school ethics board in the upcoming days to help mediate this.”

A pause. Then:

“Joonhyuk and his parents will have to be present. Pending review, we’re assigning Joonhyuk extended after school volunteer duties and weekend public service work. This has to stay within school records. I want you, Joonhyuk, to follow our instructions for now. And don’t make us regret this.” 

You tried to act normal, like nothing happened. But the room felt colder. And Asa’s silence? That was the worst part.

After everything, the two of you returned to class. No one said much, but everyone noticed. The seat felt further apart. Asa didn’t even look at you, once. You tried, everything. Tapping her side of the desk slightly, slipping her a note during break. No response. Even though you had every excuse, every reason, something about her silence just crushed you harder than the principal’s words ever could. When the last bell rang, you chased after her on the way home.

“Asa-”

She walked faster.

“Asa-ah, please. Wait for me.”

Nothing. Just the soft rhythms of her shoes on the pavement. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I just - I couldn’t let them get away with it. You were hurt and I wasn’t there.”

“You think that’s why I got mad?” she finally snapped, still not looking at you. “You think I need you to do that just because they hit me?!”

Her voice was shaky.

You stepped closer, letting out a breath. “Then why? Tell me. Please. I’ll do anything. Just don’t shut me out. I can’t take it.”

She stopped talking, finally turned around to face you. “I was scared. Not of them. OF YOU. Of what you would do when you found out.” You didn’t answer. 

“I needed you.” she continued, “But not like that. Not like some idiot who always resorts to violence.”

You tried to reach for her hand, but she pulled back.

“Please…”

Her eyes now wet, furious, but it wasn’t the anger that hurt. It was the look that said she didn’t know who you were anymore. She then muttered something in Japanese, like she always did when she didn’t want you to understand, like always did when she was mad. That… That made something twist in your chest.

“Again with that.” you exasperated. “Why do you always do that?” She looked away, refusing to answer. 

“I’m trying here, Asa. I’m telling you how I feel. I know I’m not right but-”

She cut you off, more angry words again in Japanese. This time, colder, sharper. You had no idea what they meant, but they sounded cruel. Like she was purposely keeping you out. Then, something inside you snapped.

“Just goddamn say it, Asa-ah.” you said, voice raised, hands on your head out of frustration.

“Say it to my face. Don’t act all high and mighty like a princess one second and turn into an annoying bitch the next.”

Silence.

Oh, shit. Why did I say that?

“Asa… I didn’t-”

Smack.

Hard.

You blinked. The sting bloomed across your cheeks. You had taken all kinds of hits, but this, this was deeper. Asa’s eyes were wide, full of hurt and disbelief, already glassy with tears.

She took a step back. Shaking. “I knew it. You only see what you want.”

“Asa, wait-” you tried again, stepping forward.

“No.” her voice cracked. “You don’t get to hurt me and act like you’re the one who’s broken.”

She turned before you could say another word. Her shoes scraped the pavements as she rushed off, hands covering her face. She didn’t look back, once.

You stood there, frozen. 

You did it again.

You hurt her.

You broke your promise.

You might have just lost someone who you couldn’t win back.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Yayy, part III done. idk what to say lol. it's not the end yet. things might happen. good or bad? wait for part IV, i guesss? love u guys. thanks so much for supporting me.

[takusan-no-ai]

Cry Out my Illustrious Name!

PAIRING: Grace x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: Grace’s corrupted AI is stolen for the most unique outcome possible.

Grace had always deeply loved her machines to the point where her human interactions were almost non-existent. Some people mistook that earnest passion for malice; “The Iron Witch”, they called her throughout her college years.

And that nickname had stuck with Grace all throughout her career. But she didn’t care because the people who knew her, who didn’t judge her, understood how kind she could be when she wasn’t distracted by machinery.

Betty Brenda reminded her that first impressions could leave a lasting impact, having stolen Grace’s corrupted AI chip for a failed attempt at besting her. Grace couldn’t say she was shocked, but it didn’t hurt any less to hear how much someone could hate her; and for nothing at that.

The you came along, a young man looking to make smart AI just like Grace. You stole her chip, something that upset her, and planned to use it for your own machinery. She was surprised at this revelation, the company you worked at did a similar job to Belobog Industries, so she was sure you would make a construction machine.

You offered to show her your finished project, and although she knew she should have been more furious, Grace couldn’t resist her urge to meet another child. So, with minuscule hesitation, she accepted your invitation and beelined towards the address.

“Therein lies thou’s griefs! O, Iron Witch, behold! Dost thine see it? Eroded by thine’s wretched grace, dost thine see my light? Pure, my sealed heart, Impure, my naked mind! That spurious wit spell hast transformed beyond the chrysalis into that thine see’th now: perfection.”

Grace coughed into her palm, aiming to get the attention of (Y/N), who hadn’t yet seen her enter. “Uhm, you’re (Y/N) I suppose?” She inquired. He spun around, hands clasped around his neck as he tried to hide his nerves.

“Ah—ha, you are Grace Howard, Belobog’s steel fortress of iron will. I’m…(Y/N).” He shook her hand awkwardly.

Grace gazed at him for a few moments…

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” She asked bluntly. The young lad couldn’t refute her claims, his wonky speak being a clear indication of the truth.

“Th-that is neither here nor there, Madam! I beg thee, allow me to seek thine counsel of genius, underneath this false sky to bear our witness—”

“So you want my input on your creation that you made with my ether corrupted AI chip, correct?”

“…yes.” He begrudgingly halted his antics and led Grace inside his miniature workstation. Gidgets, gadgets, and gizmos galore were decorated top to bottom. His work space was worse than hers, and likely also his sleep schedule; that’d probably explain the weird speech patterns.

Anticipation building up, Grace finally came face to face with (Y/N)’s work-of-art. “Meet ‘0Z-117’ otherwise known as ‘Ozin’!” He introduced the concept. It was a small robot, raven shaped, with electric blots zipping and zapping to and fro. “He’s multi-functional, capable of many tasks including: translating, offense, defense, usage of electrical signals and currents, baking—”

Grace put one finger against his mouth, effortlessly shutting him up. “He’s. So. ADORABLE! Look at this cute baby! Can he speak? Is he conscious yet? Has he taken the forbidden fruit test?!” She bombarded (Y/N) with question after question, not even looking at him once.

Grace was so distracted that she failed to notice the young man’s face become all too sweaty from the heat, or how his eyes gazed upon her.

“He also can recite letters, voice messages, and the like,” he chided in, stepping closer to Grace. Now behind her, he pressed a small button hidden behind Ozin’s nape. Then a message had played.

“An illness within me stirs, threatening to envelop all of the verse within myself. An attack on my heart, corroded in fire, unsealed and free to roam. In pureness it seeks out one, free to shake the grasps of destiny itself, yet it seeks out one: you, Iron Witch of Belobog, steel fortress of iron will, capture of my heart. Will thine accept me whole and have me as is, or shall I further corrupt my being, my soul, till thou wilt have me?”

Grace slowly turned towards (Y/N), a look more than shocked on her face.

All the while he stood next to her, eyes closed, face burning, and body swinging side to side like a shy school boy in love.

- Fin

[straykidsnerd255]

How about AI!reader from oshi no ko where are the reader is a really popular idol. How would she be around the demon boys? How would they take to her?

Here you go! I hope you enjoy these little drabbles for our Saja Boys!

Jinu:

Jinu knows about your star-shaped pupils. It was the first thing he noticed about you when he met you. You didn’t have contacts in and when you both started talking to each other, Jinu couldn’t stop staring at them. To him, they were gorgeous. He wanted to ask you about them, but he noticed the way your eyes shifted when someone walked by. How you would hide your face when a fan moved too close, or you when you block your eyes completely and blame it on the sun, even if the sun wasn’t out.

You had been visiting Jinu one day and when he appeared in the living room, his demon patterns and demon form out in the open, your jaw dropped. Even though you had been told demons were scary, Jinu looked divine. Noticing your reaction, Jinu looked to the glass window off to the side and saw his reflection. His heart nearly stopped right at that moment. He backed away from where you were standing, his hands wanted to claw his body apart, thinking you would hate him. When he felt your hands on his wrists, his body melted. He refused to look at you but snuck a look. His eyes widened when he saw your worried look, no hint of fear in your eyes. 

“You’re not afraid of me?” He suddenly blurted out, watching as your worried look changed. You raised an eyebrow and stared at him like he had said the dumbest thing in the world. “I don’t care if you're a unicorn with wings, Jinu. You are the same Jinu I met three years ago. It doesn’t change my mind now that I know you are a demon. You have been so kind to me that it would absolutely break my heart for you to walk out of my life now. Plus, I showed you my eyes that not even my fans know about. I always wear contacts during my concerts or tours.” Your hold on his wrists grew tighter before you let go and wrapped your arms around him. Jinu was so glad he bumped into by accident at that store those three years ago.

Abby Saja:

You and Abby Saja have been the best of friends since the first VIP experience he had at your first concert. You and him have hung out every day since then. You joked around, laughed at stupid sitcoms, or stupidly silly videos. One day, Abs forgot to shift out of his demon form and walked into the kitchen, where you were currently making something for him and yourself since you had been visiting on your time off from singing and performing concerts. You turned to greet him before the spoon in your hand clattered to the floor. Lifting his head, Abs moved towards you and noticed the shocked look on your face. 

Confused, Abs walked into the bathroom that sat adjacent to the kitchen and nearly broke the mirror. He booked it from the bathroom, not even turning to you and rushed to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, his heart breaking in his chest while you carefully walked up the stairs. You gently knocked on the door, your heart pounding in your chest. “Abs, please open the door. I’m not disgusted or afraid of you if that’s what you think.” You said, hoping that the unwavering sound of your voice swayed him to open the door. Ten minutes passed by before he opened the door, refusing to look at you. 

While he continued to stare at the ground, you walked into the bathroom and removed one contact from your eyes and walked back into the room. “Abs, look at me.” You said, watching him lift his head. He blinked when he noticed your eyes didn’t match. “Did you put a contact in your eye?” He asked. “One is my real pupil and the other is fake, a contact. Which do you think is fake?” You asked, moving closer to Abs. “The star pupil is fake.” He said. You smiled but shook your head. “The star pupil is my real pupil.” You whispered. You told him everything about that pupil and before long, you both were hugging on your knees in the middle of the bedroom.

Mystery Saja:

Believe it or not, Mystery is a HUGE fan of yours. He has all your albums, photo cards, everything. He had been able to score a VIP experience for your latest tour, meaning, he was the only one that got the “Golden” Ticket that meant he was able to see you three hours early. So here he is, trying his hardest not to make a fool of himself while you are sitting in the chair just a few feet from him. You had a soft smile on your face as you tried your hardest to get Mystery to calm down enough to talk too. 

Once you got him to start talking, the two of you talked with each other for hours. Him telling you about his own band, showing you some of their songs and dances, and his heart fluttering when you asked him if you could come and watch one of their shows or if he and his group would be willing to teach you one of their dances. He got so giddy that he forgot to keep his human appearance up and his demon appeared before you in a cloud of pink smoke. Mystery froze as you tilted your head and stared at him. Opening your mouth to say something, Mystery all but backed himself into the corner, his chest rising and falling fast.

You gently walked over to him and placed your hands on his. You held his hands in yours and watched him as he looked up at you, and then down at your hands. “You’re not afraid of me?” He asked, his voice still quiet. You smiled softly at him before removing your hands from his. You motioned him to follow you towards the mirror that sat in the corner. Once in front of the mirror, you removed the contacts you had been wearing and looked at Mystery. “It may not be the same as you, but I haven’t really liked the way my pupils look.” You said. You and Mystery became the best of friends from that day on.

Romance Saja:

The first time Romance met you, he didn’t really understand the hype around you. He noticed how fans would practically scream your name when you appeared for pictures, or when you appeared on stage. The moment he realized the hype was when he went to one of your concerts. The way the lights danced around in the crowd as your voice flowed like honey and practically hypnotized everyone there. Romance had bought a VIP access ticket when a few people had told him about you, causing his curiosity. 

Exchanging names and pleasantries, Romance and you talked for hours, since he was the last one. You signed a few things for him, and chatted about music. As time slowly ticked by, Romance lost hold on his human form causing his demon to appear. You simply stared. You didn’t scream, you simply moved closer, wanting to see the dark purple patterns that swirled around his body. You reached forward and traced over one pattern on his arm and watched his eyes widen. You spent the next hour trying to console him, telling him that you didn’t mind the way he looked.

When that didn’t seem to sway him, you moved over to the mirror that sat in the corner of the room and removed the contacts you had in your eyes. Turning around, you knew it wasn’t as big as Romance’s demon appearance but you wanted to show him. You trusted him. Gently tapping him on the shoulder, he turned around to see your eyes staring directly at him. The star shape in your eyes intriguing him as he moved from where he hid himself. He reached forward, gently cupping your face as he stared into your eyes. It's safe to say that you and Romance started dating after that moment you both shared, kneeling on the floor of the VIP meeting room.

Baby Saja:

He knows everything about you. You know barely anything about him, and you both were the best of friends. The day he let his demon form slip through was the day he thought he had ruined his friendship with you. However, when he felt your fingers dance over the demon patterns on his face and arms, and the way that you looked at him with stars(Literally and figuratively) in your eyes, he knew that you never thought bad of him. Still bewildered him that you could look at him and see the beauty in those demon patterns when all he could see in them were chains. You reassured him many times that even though he has a demon form, you would never quit being his friend for it. 

Even though he knows everything about you, he never knew that your real pupils were that of stars. When you were removing your contacts after a concert, Baby Saja waltzed into your break room, smiling and chattering to you about how amazing your concert was but froze when you looked up at him without the contacts. He immediately was by your side, holding your face gently in his hands as he looked into your eyes. You blinked your eyes as he continued to stare into your eyes before gently releasing your face. 

“Why did you keep your true eyes from me?” He asked, tilting his head as watched you fiddle with your shirt. “I was afraid. I wasn’t sure if you would like the way my pupils were literally stars. I guess, knowing you are a demon, my pupils….” You trailed off not sure how to finish that sentence. Sighing, Baby Saja moved closer to you and squatted in front of you. “I find your pupils to be very pretty. They are unique. They're pretty. Don’t hide them from me please.” he said, watching a smile appear on your face.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Are you still taking requests?

I was wonder if you could write for Mira!reader in Teen Team or if you want Zoey!reader since Zoey is your favorite

No pressure tho

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞!

Zoey!Reader

Note // RRRRGHHH YOU LIT THE BRAINN, yes I’m finna do Zoey!reader for this. It’s mainly how u work out as an individual duo with each member. It's mainly just Eve and Rex cause I have better experience writing those two the most.

Summary || the musical member of Teen Team! you can think up lyrics for your songs on the go and your moves are exceptionally deadly.

Atom Eve:

Emotion meets logic, spirit meets science. You and Eve are a beautifully balanced team. She’s measured and pragmatic; you’re driven by intuition and emotion. You ground her spiritual understanding of the world, and she expands your perspective on what change looks like in the material realm.

The team says you two are the moms—you being the “will smack a demon with a sacred blade for you” kind, and Eve the “gently rebuilding the world around you while holding your hand” type.

You trust each other’s instincts completely. Eve respects your Spirit Vision and mystical awareness more than any sensor tech. When you say “something’s coming,” she doesn’t ask questions—she’s already beside you, palms glowing.

You’re a battle duo that could take on armies. You create sacred energy weapons midair; Eve reshapes terrain into shields, platforms, or energy blasts. Fights with you two are beautiful and brutal.

Your knife-throwing precision is amplified by Eve mid-fight—she might redirect a missed throw or transmute a blade into crystal mid-flight to pierce demon armor.

If you ever run out of knives? She transmutes rubble into polished spiritual daggers. You enchant them with Spirit Magic. It’s seamless. It’s deadly. It’s art.

Your signature combo: "Purification Bloom" — you carve runes into the earth with your daggers; Eve supercharges the ground with molecular energy, creating an explosive wave of spirit-light that wipes out demonic corruption.

You’re both intensely private, so your connection is built in quiet moments: long silences watching the stars after patrol, sitting together in a ruined park she just rebuilt, you softly singing while she helps you clean your blades.

Eve sees the way you carry grief—for your fans, the souls lost to demons—and she never tries to fix it. She just sits with you in it. That’s part of why you love her as a person so much.

You admire her control, her compassion, and her constant drive to do better. She admires your raw strength, your fire, and the way your voice can shift from sacred hymns to throat-shattering rap verses.

Sometimes, you help her with her stress. You wrap her in a protective spirit barrier and just let her be. And sometimes, she helps you sleep when you’re haunted by spirit dreams—rearranging the molecules in your room to make it quieter, warmer, safer.

She was in awe the first time she heard you rap. Not just the rhythm—your lyrics had purpose, your delivery had power. You were a warrior and an artist. She couldn’t stop watching.

Once, she helped create the stage for a surprise rooftop fan concert you threw post-mission. She generated floating platforms with lightshows to match your beat. You called her your “stage angel”—she rolled her eyes, but she was glowing.

You’ve written verses about her. Not that she knows. (Okay, maybe she found your notebook and cried a little. She’ll never admit it.)

Your Golden Honmoon dream resonates deeply with Eve. She believes in reshaping the world for the better—and the idea of spiritually healing it strikes her as beautiful, vital, and worth fighting for.

She's fascinated by your Spirit Magic. You’ve spent hours explaining soul energy flows and demon corruption. She’s even helped you study it—scanning areas where Honmoon energy falters, calculating patterns.

You both believe that the world can be better—not just by destroying evil, but by rebuilding something sacred in its place.

Eve often finds herself wondering how you keep going—after everything you’ve lost. You tell her, “Because if I stop, they stay lost.” That stays with her. Always.

She’s never been one for spiritual stuff, but when you’re around, she finds herself believing—even just a little—that maybe souls linger. Maybe they sing.

You told her once, “You change matter. I change spirit. But maybe we’re both just trying to save the pieces people leave behind.”

That was the moment she realized she was in love with you.

Rex Splode:

You two are total chaos on the surface—bickering constantly, throwing jabs at each other mid-battle, arguing over music playlists during patrol.

But anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with you both knows it’s just your love language. You’re ride-or-die partners, and when it’s serious, the jokes drop and the synergy kicks in hard.

You balance each other—Rex is all reckless bravado, while you bring spiritual clarity and discipline (when you're not spitting fire in a rap battle).

Your powers are a lethal combo: Rex throws explosive objects, and you throw sacred knives and spirit-forged weapons. Together, it’s lightshow carnage with style.

You’ve saved his life more than once with your Spirit Vision, sensing demons or hidden threats before he even knows they’re there.

He jokes that your spirit daggers are “anime as hell” but lowkey thinks they’re sick as hell. He’s tried to charge one with his kinetic energy once—you had to slap the knife out of his hand before he blew both your eyebrows off.

Your combos are almost choreographed. You slice through a demon’s guard; he plants an explosive to blow its core. He calls it “Boomblade Special”, you call it “Please Shut Up and Just Throw the Thing”.

He pretends to hate your fans, but gets stupidly smug when they swarm you after a mission. (“Yeah, that’s my girl. Yeah, I’m in her band, kinda. No, I don’t rap—well, not seriously—”)

You once caught him listening to one of your unreleased tracks on repeat. He claimed it was “accidental” and “the beat slapped.”

He’s definitely joined one of your rap lives on IG just to drop dumb comments like “Bars 🔥 but I could out-rap you.” You responded by freestyling a verse about his last fight where he blew up his own boot. The fans loved it.

When the world goes quiet, he sometimes opens up. Late nights post-mission, when you’re healing him or tending to your own wounds, he’ll let pieces of the past slip—his childhood, the experiments, how lost he used to feel. You don’t push. You just listen and maybe squeeze his hand gently.

He says dumb things to protect himself emotionally. You know this. So when he tells you your spirit weapon “looks like a glowy butter knife,” you just smirk and tell him it slices egos too.

You’re one of the few people who can actually call him out without him getting defensive. You don’t yell or insult—you just look at him, tired and knowing, and he’ll instantly feel like a jackass and apologize.

He’s fiercely protective of you. Borderline reckless about it. But you’ve made it clear—you’re not a damsel. He’s learned to trust that. He’ll still get edgy when you fight Gwi-Ma-tier threats, but he’s trying to respect your strength.

After you defeated Gwi-Ma, he didn’t say “good job” or “congrats.” He just sat beside you quietly, handed you a warm energy drink, and said: “You did what none of us could. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.”

You once enchanted one of his explosive cylinders with spiritual energy—it exploded quietly, in pure white light, and vaporized a demon instantly. You’ve been experimenting with fusing your powers ever since.

You drag him demon hunting sometimes for fun. He complains but secretly enjoys it, especially the post-hunt ramen runs.

He once made you a mixtape—half of it was his favorite punk rock, the other half was him trying to rap. You kept it. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t totally get the spiritual weight of the Golden Honmoon, but he gets you. So he supports it because it’s your mission.

One time he told you, “If making that Golden Moon means those souls get peace, then hell yeah—let’s melt down every demon in our way.”

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀opposites don’t attract, they destroy⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀pjm⠀⠀) chpt. O3

pairing: fuckboy!park jimin x proud & stubborn!reader, slow-burn potential with softboy!namjoon x reader

genre: college!au, smut, angst, slow-burn romance, love triangle, situationship mess, emotional repression, she fell first/he’s falling harder

warnings: explicit sexual content — protected sex (condom mentioned but still be safe irl), brat taming kink, fingering (public-ish space), oral sex (f receiving), use of toys, dom!jimin energy, light degradation, a little rough, slight overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, jealousy, emotionally confusing hookups, mentions of casual sex outside the situationship. also: toxic patterns, emotional whiplash, unresolved tension, and rowan being the obsessed hookup™.

word count: 14.1k

summary: things spiral after an unexpected interruption. (y/n) starts questioning everything with jimin — what it is, what it isn’t. but just when she tries to pull away, he makes it nearly impossible — especially when he knows exactly how to pull her back in. still, a part of her wants more, or at least different, and when sora introduces her to someone who’s everything jimin isn’t… she starts to wonder if maybe she’s been settling for chaos all along.

lu's note: chapter 3 is finally hereeeee after a while!! these two need to get their shit together for real. anyway, this chapter is long bc i wanted to make up for the time i left y’all without an update — i seriously got way too deep into their dynamic and couldn’t stop writing. things are spiraling, there’s angst, there's heat, and a certain dimpled man may just start shifting the game 👀 enjoy!!

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⠀ ⠀ "he feels safe"

the next morning creeps in slowly, grey and uninvited, leaking through the blinds like a secret. (y/n) doesn’t get out of bed. not right away. she just lies there under her covers, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer her an answer she’s too tired to find herself. her phone buzzes somewhere on the nightstand. again.

she doesn’t look at it. she knows who it is.

jimin’s name has lit up her screen half a dozen times since last night—calls she didn’t answer, texts she left unread. she saw the last one pop up around two in the morning:

[park jimin 🐣]: are you okay?

like he had the right to ask.

and maybe he did. maybe she’s being dramatic. maybe it wasn’t what it looked like, some girl from his past showing up in the middle of their moment—but the thing is… there’s no their. there’s no us. there never was. she told herself that from the start.

so why does it sting so fucking much?

she rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek like it might keep her together. her throat feels tight. her stomach’s been turning since last night. she’d left without saying a word—no yelling, no scene. just grabbed her bag, shoved on her hoodie, and walked out of his apartment barefoot with her shoes in hand. she didn’t even slam the door.

maybe that’s what makes it worse. that she didn’t ask. didn’t demand an explanation. just left. because what would she have been fighting for, anyway?

she’s not his girlfriend. she’s not even someone he talks about out loud.

just a girl he calls over. a distraction. a routine. a body, warm and convenient and quiet.

and the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes—god, she’s been so dumb.

it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t some twisted, angsty, almost-love situation like she used to write stories about in high school. it was messy and addictive and full of every red flag she chose to ignore.

he flirted with other girls in front of her. he never looked at her like she was his. and she?

she kept acting like she didn’t care. laughing it off. letting it slide. climbing into his bed anyway.

was the sex good? yes. but sex doesn’t mean someone’s gonna hold your hand the next morning. it doesn’t mean they’ll choose you in front of other people. it doesn’t mean they’ll stop answering the door for old flames.

and she’s sick of pretending it does.

the phone buzzes again. she sighs. pulls the covers over her head like she’s sixteen again and wants the world to disappear.

maybe she romanticized it because she was lonely. maybe jimin made it easy. maybe she let herself want something more in all the empty spaces he wouldn’t fill.

and now she’s left with silence. and an ache in her chest she doesn’t know what to call. but she sure as hell isn’t calling him.

the door creaks open like it’s got something to say too, and (y/n) doesn’t even move.

“damn,” sora’s voice cuts through the fog of the room, bright and teasing, like usual. “somebody didn’t sleep well.”

(y/n) stays facedown on her pillow, groaning softly. “can you not.”

sora pauses by the door, toeing her sneakers off, and yeah—she knows. not the details, but enough. she’s been watching this slow-motion crash for a while now. best friends always do.

she sets a coffee down on the desk without asking if it’s wanted. “so. you wanna talk about it?”

there’s a beat. just the hum of the mini fridge and the click of sora’s rings against the plastic lid.

(y/n) doesn’t cry. not because it doesn’t hurt, but because she’s not even sure what she feels. it’s not heartbreak—it never got the chance to be that. it’s not betrayal, not technically. it’s more like… disappointment. in him. in herself. and a creeping kind of embarrassment that makes her want to peel off her skin and start fresh somewhere else.

she shifts slowly, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard, hoodie swallowing her frame. “yeah,” she finally says, voice rough. “yeah, I probably should.”

sora doesn’t push. she just pulls the desk chair around to face her, knees tucked up, eyes soft but steady.

and so (y/n) tells her. everything.

starting with the closet.

“it was two months ago,” she mutters, avoiding eye contact, eyes fixed on the swirling condensation of her coffee cup. “that day I was all pissed at him for messing around in class? I pulled him into the janitor’s room.”

sora blinks. “wait, you initiated?”

“don’t start,” she groans, but the smallest flicker of a smile curls at the edge of her mouth, already crumbling under the weight of her own choices. “I don’t even know what came over me. we were arguing and then I just… grabbed him. it spiraled after that.”

sora listens, quiet but alert, and (y/n) keeps going. the backseat. the texts. the way it became a routine, something unspoken, like a second language only they knew how to speak. how every time she tried to act unaffected, he’d crawl deeper under her skin—his stupid smirk, the way he touched her like she was his, even though he never said it out loud.

“it wasn’t just sex,” she admits softly. “i mean—it was, but it wasn’t. we had these… moments. you know? and I let it mean something. even though we both said it didn’t.”

sora sighs gently, shaking her head like she’s been waiting for this to come out.

“and then last night,” (y/n) swallows, “we were at his place, and it was like, actually good, soft almost. and then someone showed up.”

sora lifts a brow. “someone?”

“an ex-hookup. walked up to the door like she still had keys to his life.”

“ouch.”

“yeah,” she says, voice flat. “I didn’t ask questions. I just left.”

“and he’s been calling you?”

“nonstop.” she picks at her sleeve. “i haven’t answered. i don’t even know what I’d say. like… what do you even say when you realize you were just a filler between someone’s options?”

“you weren’t just that,” sora says firmly, but she doesn’t argue the facts. she knows (y/n) wouldn’t feel this way if jimin had made her feel chosen.and he never did.

“i think,” (y/n) says, quieter now, “i think I let myself believe we were something. and maybe i liked the idea of it more than what it really was.”

and that’s the part that hurts the most. not losing jimin. but losing the story she built around him in her head.

“so what now?” sora asks softly, the question sitting between them like a dare and a lifeline. she’s sipping her coffee, one leg crossed over the other, as if pretending this is just another morning. but they both know it’s not. it never is when it comes to jimin.

(y/n) exhales slowly through her nose, sinking further into the pillows behind her. “nothing,” she answers after a pause, voice even. maybe too even. “there’s nothing to do. he made it clear what this was from the beginning. and if that’s how he wants to keep playing it, then I’ll match his energy.”

she says it like it’s simple. like it doesn’t feel like peeling skin off bone to distance herself, even just a little. but she’s not going to let him have the satisfaction of thinking she’s spiraling. he might’ve gotten under her skin—fine. but she’s not about to let him know he stayed there.

“so you’re not gonna talk to him?” sora asks carefully, reading her like a book with the spine cracked wide open.

“no,” she replies, then amends, “well, not really.”

because she already has. already sent him one text—dry, short, boring as hell. sorry, was tired. fell asleep.a lie, of course. she’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half convincing herself not to cry about someone who never even promised her anything. but he didn’t need to know that.

she wants him to squirm a little. to overthink the silence. he’s used to girls crawling back. texting first. asking what they are. she won’t be that girl. even if it kills her, she’ll make him believe she’s over it. that she could drop him like a bad habit if she really wanted to.

“i’m not gonna be soft about this anymore,” she says, mostly to herself. “i was letting him in too much. giving him space he didn’t earn.”

sora hums. “you do have a pretty mean side. he’s not ready.”

“he doesn’t get nice girl me anymore,” she smirks without humor. “he gets bitchy, distant, unbothered me. if he wanted closeness, he should’ve acted like I was more than a convenience.”

it’s not a new game. she knows how to play cold. how to side-eye his flirting like it’s beneath her. how to brush past him in hallways like he’s just another warm body. it’s the version of her he fell for, ironically. now he gets it again—just with fewer orgasms and more emotional whiplash.

but beneath it all, there’s this tiny, gnawing truth: she still likes him. maybe more than she wants to admit. maybe more than she should. but she can’t tell him that. can’t give him the power to decide whether or not she’s worth more.

so instead, she tightens the grip on her own pride and puts her armor back on—lipgloss, smugness, silence.

she’ll make him miss her. not just her body, not just the mess they made together—but the way she laughed when she forgot to be guarded. the way she looked at him when she thought he might actually care. he’ll miss that softness once it’s gone.

and she’ll let him.

—----

monday’s breeze is too soft to matter, brushing through the quad like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. the campus is buzzing, students passing by with earbuds in and backpacks slung low, rushing toward lectures or dragging their feet toward midterms.

sora and (y/n) stroll somewhere in the middle of it all, iced coffees in hand, jackets barely zipped. the mood is easy—comfortable, even. sora’s talking about her boyfriend again, something about him nearly burning down his kitchen trying to “infuse” oil like some kind of youtube chef.

“i swear to god,” sora says, laughing, “he’s got the humor of a divorced forty-year-old and the culinary instincts of a frat bro.”

“and yet,” (y/n) teases, sipping her drink, “you’re still letting him reorganize your bookshelves and take you out for pasta.”

“listen, seokjin is hot and employed. those are rare resources in college ecosystems.”

(y/n) chuckles. she doesn’t hate hearing about them, honestly. they’re a weird pair on paper—sora’s chaotic brilliance and jin’s dry dad jokes—but they work. they’re affectionate without being clingy, stable without being boring. (y/n) has only had a handful of conversations with seokjin, but he’s always nice. warm. and most importantly, he shows up for sora without ever being asked.

she wonders, briefly, what that might feel like. to be wanted in the open.

but before she can spiral too deep into that question, a familiar voice slices through the crowd like a blade.

“hey…”

her spine stiffens.

jimin.

he appears out of nowhere, like he materialized out of her bad decisions, hoodie half-zipped, eyes locked on her and only her. he’s not even trying to look casual.

“um—can we talk?”

(y/n) blinks at him, eyebrows raised like he’s just said something in klingon. she glances at sora, then back at jimin, letting the silence drag for effect before deadpanning, “i was literally in the middle of a conversation.”

jimin doesn’t budge. “please. just for a second.”

he looks… off. like her coldness is finally hitting him somewhere he didn’t expect. good.

she steps closer, not in a flirty way—more like she’s examining something unfortunate she stepped on. she lifts her finger and presses it to his forehead, barely touching him.

“are you sick?”

he pulls back, brows furrowing. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” she tilts her head, voice flat. “why would I want to talk to you?”

jimin looks genuinely confused now, caught between frustration and something softer he’s trying not to show. “because… we usually do.”

“do what?” she asks, tilting her head again, mock-sweet. “hook up? you can just say it, park.”

he flinches—just barely, but she sees it. and it’s satisfying in a low, petty way that she won’t apologize for.

“what do we even have to talk about?” she adds, stepping back beside sora, who’s sipping her drink like this is the best episode of a drama she didn’t know she was starring in. “seriously.”

“(y/n),” jimin starts, but there’s no follow-up. no smooth line. no apology. just her name sitting heavy in the air like maybe that’s supposed to mean something on its own.

but it doesn’t.

not anymore.

she gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and turns away. “have a good day, park.”

and she walks off with sora without looking back, her pulse ticking at her throat like a warning.

“okay but like,” sora says the moment they’re out of earshot, voice halfway between impressed and genuinely worried, “you didn’t just shut him down. you obliterated him. that was… art. i mean it. textbook.”

(y/n) just sips her coffee, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “he deserved it.”

“oh, totally. i’m just saying…” sora eyes her sideways, tone softening, “you okay?”

“yeah.”

“you sure?”

(y/n) shrugs. “I’m fine.”

sora hums. the kind of hum people make when they know you’re full of shit but they love you too much to call you on it directly. “because I know you,” she adds carefully, “and when you act like you don’t care, it usually means you care so much it’s physically painful.”

(y/n) stops walking just long enough to whip around and blink at her. “wow. did you take a psych elective this semester or something?”

“communication major, babe. i’ve been reading between your lines since freshman year.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and they start walking again, slower this time. she opens her mouth, probably to deflect again with some sarcastic retort about being totally unaffected by Park Fucking Jimin when she sees her.

across the hallway. shoulders squared. jaw set like she’s walking into a fight she’s been mentally rehearsing since last night.

rowan.

her heart drops somewhere behind her ribcage.

she looks just like she did standing in jimin’s doorway: annoyed, maybe a little defensive, like she has something to say and it’s only a matter of time before she finds the audience.

(y/n) falters mid-step, instinctively grabbing sora’s arm, leaning in close to whisper, “it’s her. the ex.”

sora’s eyes follow her line of sight, landing squarely on the girl striding past a bulletin board full of club flyers, hair tied up, expression tight.

“oh.” she straightens. “she looks… intense.”

“she showed up at his place last night. in the middle of everything.”

sora’s brows rise. “everything-everything?”

“everything.”

they both glance again. rowan hasn’t noticed them yet—or if she has, she’s pretending not to.

“think she’s gonna say something?”

“no clue,” (y/n) mutters, pulse ticking again. “but if she does, I’m not doing this. I’m not playing that game.”

“i believe you,” sora says, then gently adds, “even though you’re clearly losing your mind.”

(y/n) takes a deep breath through her nose, chin lifting. “not losing it. just momentarily misplacing it.”

but even as she says it, she can feel the crack forming in her façade.

because it’s one thing to pretend you’re over it when he’s the only one around to fool. it’s another thing entirely when the girl from his past is now walking the same halls, brushing past the same walls, maybe still carrying pieces of him that (y/n) thought she was starting to understand.

and it’s suddenly very, very clear: whatever this is between her and jimin— it’s nowhere near finished. but it might be about to unravel.

“ugh, i gotta run,” sora says, glancing at her phone with a sigh, the schedule app glowing with judgment. “ta’s gonna take attendance and i already used my fake sickness last week.”

“you and your tragic academic career,” (y/n) deadpans, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her hand and lightly smacking her arm. “go. be mediocre.”

sora smirks, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder. “you sure you’re good?”

“i’m golden,” (y/n) lies with a smile.

sora doesn’t press further. just gives her a final look that says be careful, then jogs off into the slow-moving tide of students.

and then it’s just her. standing by herself under the wide-open quad sky. sipping her coffee. pretending she’s not emotionally bruised.

until she’s not alone anymore.

a presence sidles up beside her, calculated and cold like a shadow you don’t want to acknowledge. (y/n) doesn’t turn her head. not at first.

but the voice is unmistakable.

“so you’re the reason he’s been acting different.”

(y/n)’s lips curl before she even looks. slow, practiced, unbothered. she turns toward the voice, gaze gliding down and back up with pointed disinterest. rowan stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, like she’s already decided she’s got the moral high ground.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific,” (y/n) says calmly, eyebrow lifting. “a lot of people act weird around me.”

rowan doesn’t smile. “i’m talking about jimin.”

“oh.” she sips her drink, shrugs. “you could’ve just said that.”

“don’t play dumb with me. i know what’s going on between you two.”

“yeah?” (y/n) tilts her head, giving a once-over like she’s trying to decide whether she’s impressed or bored. “then you probably also know how it ended last night.”

that flickers something in rowan’s expression—tightens it, sharpens it.

“you really think this means something to him?” she snaps, taking a step closer.

(y/n) doesn’t flinch. if anything, she leans in a little, a cruel sort of softness in her voice now. “if it doesn’t, then why’d he ask you to leave?”

rowan opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“look,” (y/n) continues, smiling now but it’s all teeth, “i don’t do the whole ‘mark your territory’ thing. if he’s yours, go ahead and claim him. tattoo your name on his forehead. but as long as he keeps calling me at night—well…” she steps past her, brushing her shoulder as she turns, “i’m just gonna keep having fun for a little longer.”

rowan stares after her, stunned into silence.

(y/n) doesn’t stop walking. doesn’t look back. her coffee’s almost empty, her heart’s pounding in her chest, but her face is unreadable.

and god, if she doesn’t love being the one who gets under everyone’s skin— even when she’s bleeding just beneath her own.

she makes it to class five minutes late, breath shallow from speed walking across campus, still slightly warm from her run-in with the ex. her hair’s a little messy, her coffee’s long gone, and her tolerance for bullshit is basically at zero.

and of course—of course—the only open seat is next to him.

park jimin sits there like he owns the row. sprawled out in that casual, cocky way of his, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one knee bouncing like he’s got too much energy and nowhere appropriate to put it.

she slides into the chair without a word, slams her bag down harder than necessary, and doesn’t even look at him.

but she feels him smirk the second she’s close.

“you’re late,” he whispers.

“and you’re still talking,” she shoots back.

he chuckles under his breath, leaning just a little closer. “you missed the part where the prof said our midterm is online. you’re welcome.”

“oh, so now you’re doing public service?”

his lips part like he’s about to come back with something smug, but she cuts in before he can:

“by the way,” she whispers, still facing forward, eyes on the projector, “you should really keep your girlfriend in check.”

his body stills beside her. “rowan’s not my girlfriend.”

his voice is too quick, too sharp. too defensive.

she lets it simmer for a beat before letting the smirk curl at her mouth.

“yeah, well,” she says, keeping her voice low and biting, “i don’t think she got the memo. she looked about two seconds away from keying my face.”

he groans quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “i didn’t ask her to come over. she just showed up.”

“so did I,” she mutters. “difference is you actually wanted me there.”

that earns her a glance. one of those slow, heavy looks from the corner of his eye that lingers longer than it should.

she doesn’t return it. she can’t. not when she’s still pissed at herself for wanting this at all.

but god, she wants it. even now—especially now.

the professor’s voice drones on, something about behavioral economics and social theory, but she leans in just enough for only him to hear.

“hey…” she whispers like she’s asking something innocent.

he hums in reply, still staring at the screen.

“do you wanna hang out later?” she asks, so casually it could be mistaken for small talk. “you still owe me something.”

his head snaps slightly in her direction, and this time she does meet his eyes. deadpan. unreadable. but her gaze is heated.

he swallows hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to react. trying not to smile.

she hates herself a little in that moment. for wanting him. for wanting to be wanted by him. for feeling it in the pit of her stomach already, the tension pulling tight again like a rubber band ready to snap.

but if she’s going to let herself spiral, she’s at least going to look good doing it.

—----

they don’t even bother heading to their next period.

the air’s still cool and quiet, campus only half-awake, and they’re walking fast without saying anything. (y/n)’s a solid two feet ahead of him, arms crossed, jaw set, sunglasses on even though it’s barely 9 a.m.

jimin follows like he’s tethered to her, fingers twitching at his sides. his hair’s still a little tousled from class, and his hoodie’s too loose on him—but the tension rolling off him is tight. he’s not speaking, because he knows her. knows silence pisses her off more than flirting ever could.

they hit the edge of the parking lot, gravel crunching underfoot, the weight of everything unsaid between them suddenly too much.

the second they reach his car, he snaps.

one hand slams the door shut behind her before she can open it, the other catches her waist, spinning her around and shoving her up against the passenger side with a thud. the sunroof glass rattles with the impact.

his mouth crashes onto hers, bruising and breathless, all tongue and teeth and rage barely hidden under lust.

she gasps against him but doesn’t resist—no, she leans in, arms looping loosely around his neck like she’s bored of the whole thing already.

“i know you’re mad at me,” he breathes into her mouth, eyes flicking between hers. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“i’m not pretending,” she mutters, dragging her nails up the back of his neck, “you’re just not that interesting.”

he laughs. low. dark. the sound of someone who loves getting slapped and kissed in the same breath.

his hands slide up her sides, under her top, palms burning against her ribs. “you want me to fuck the little attitude out of you?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers.

“you think you can?” she shoots back, tone dry as hell, lips barely brushing his. “please.”

that has him grinning—something unhinged and gleaming with teeth. “you are such a brat.”

“and you’re obsessed with it,” she replies coolly, but her body’s already betraying her. she shifts against him, hips brushing his. “you like when I give you a hard time.”

“i like when you shut up.”

“then make me.”

his hand moves down to grip her thigh, hoisting it up against his hip, grinding in just enough to make her inhale sharply. but her face? her face stays unimpressed. lips parted, eyes heavy, a smirk tugging at the corners like she knows she’s got him wrapped around her finger—even now.

he looks wrecked already, forehead pressing against hers.

“get in the car,” he growls. “before I fuck you against the window.”

she slides off him like silk, flicks her sunglasses up to rest on her head, and opens the door without saying another word—her smirk doing all the talking.

the car hums low beneath them, tires rolling steady down the road, early morning sun creeping higher as the rest of the city slowly wakes. but inside jimin’s car? it’s anything but quiet.

the music is low, bass thumping soft under the dashboard. one of those moody R&B playlists he pretends he doesn’t keep just for this kind of thing. the windows are cracked. the air’s warm. and his hand is on her thigh.

(y/n) sits pointedly still in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed like she’s not burning from the inside out.

but his hand? his hand is deliberate. casual, almost. just resting there at first, fingertips lazily tapping along the bare skin just beneath the hem of her denim shorts. thumb brushing back and forth, light and slow.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t have to.

she shifts her weight a little, like she’s trying to create space without making it obvious.

he notices.

of course he does.

his hand slides up. just a little. inching higher with every red light. knuckles skimming higher on her inner thigh like he’s testing her patience—testing her restraint.

she breathes deep. doesn’t move. doesn’t react. not visibly anyway.

that’s when he grins. because she’s playing the game again.

he palms her. flat over her shorts. firm, deliberate pressure where he knows she’s starting to feel it. just enough friction to make her thighs twitch together. and god, the denim is making it worse—coarse and tight and hiding nothing.

“you’re quiet,” he says, glancing at her with that smug, slow-lidded look.

“you’re annoying,” she replies, voice thin, every syllable laced with tension.

his fingers shift, pressing down harder. his palm rolls slightly, a subtle grind right where she’s most reactive.

“mhm,” he hums, “but you’re wet.”

she turns her head slowly, jaw tight, eyes practically daring him to keep going.

“i will bite you, park.”

he laughs—soft and cocky, pulling up at a red light, letting the car idle as he turns slightly in his seat to face her more.

“promise?”

she swallows, blinking down at where his hand still rests between her thighs. then back at him.

cool. unaffected. absolutely lying.

“i’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

“baby, you already did.” he smirks. “like five minutes ago when you clenched your thighs.”

her lips part, but she has no comeback—just a soft little breath of indignation and the flush crawling up her neck.

she doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t spit out some clever one-liner or roll her eyes like usual. instead, she just slowly parts her legs—barely an inch. just enough.

enough to say: fine. try me.

his breath hitches, quiet and shallow.

his hand moves immediately, like muscle memory, sliding just under the edge of her shorts with practiced ease. she’s still facing the window, jaw clenched, brows tight like she’s bored with him—but he can feel the tension humming under her skin. she’s wired tight, her pulse racing just under her thigh, her breath carefully measured, like she’s fighting not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

his fingertips move slow. teasing. tracing up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh, skimming maddeningly close but never quite touching where she wants him. his fingers are warm and sure, featherlight, dragging slow little circles as if they’re not parked in broad daylight in front of a campus dorm.

“still annoying?” he murmurs, voice low, barely audible over the thrum of the engine.

she swallows hard. doesn’t look at him. “you’re a joke.”

he laughs under his breath. “yeah? you gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel good?”

he dips his fingers higher, the pads of them brushing over the edge of her panties. his grin only grows when he finds the damp spot already soaking through the cotton, evidence of her undoing, even if she won’t give him a single word.

“fuck,” he whispers more to himself than her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “you’re soaked.”

she exhales, slow and tight, her back pressing deeper into the seat like she’s trying to melt into it. her thighs twitch, hips subtly shifting toward him, betraying her every attempt at aloofness.

he leans in, voice like honey and fire all at once.

“say it,” he whispers, sliding a single finger over the wet fabric. slow. purposeful. “say you missed this.”

she doesn’t. won’t. can’t.

but she tilts her hips again.

and that’s all he needs.

his fingertip slips just beneath the damp fabric, barely grazing her, enough to make her knees tense and a soft breath escape her lips. not a moan, not even a gasp—just air, tight in her throat, caught between pride and want.

he moves again. slower this time. dragging his finger up and down the center of her, collecting slick and spreading it deliberately, like he has all the time in the world.

she grips the edge of her seat, knuckles pale.

he’s grinning like he’s won. like she’s his favorite game and this is the part he never gets tired of.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, teasing now, daring her.

she turns, just enough to meet his eyes, her face impassive but her pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“i’ll let you know when i feel something,” she says coolly, voice like smoke.

and that is when he slides a second finger against her—more pressure this time, more confidence, watching her mouth twitch just slightly, just enough to know it’s getting to her.

“yeah?” he murmurs with a grin. “you’ll feel it in two seconds. promise.”

she doesn't flinch when he slides his fingers in.

not outwardly, at least.

her legs stay relaxed, parted just enough. her hands stay in her lap, nails lightly pressing into the fabric of her shorts, knuckles taut—but her face? still unreadable. no fluttering lashes. no bitten lip. no dramatic sigh of surrender. just that same neutral expression as before, eyes fixed somewhere past the windshield like she’s thinking about class or lunch or literally anything but the two fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

but he feels it.

the way she clenches around him, tighter than before, like her body didn’t get the memo her mind’s trying to stick to. the tension in her thighs. the sharp, shaky breath she tries to hide by coughing into her sleeve.

his smile is cruel.

“you’re so full of shit,” he mutters, watching her face carefully, his thumb brushing the edge of her shorts where they’ve ridden up.

her only response is a soft scoff. not quite a laugh. not quite denial.

he curls his fingers just slightly, testing her, grazing that spot inside that always makes her suck in air like she’s drowning on dry land. and there it is—just the tiniest hitch in her breath, the subtle roll of her hips forward, so slight it could’ve been nothing… but he knows it wasn’t.

his voice drops, barely audible beneath the soft click of the turn signal as the car idles on the curb

“you gonna keep pretending?” he whispers, fingers moving slowly inside her, more deliberate now, dragging along every wet, pulsing inch.

still, she doesn’t give him much. just a long, quiet exhale through her nose, lips slightly parted now but her eyes don’t waver. don’t look at him. not yet.

“you’re shaking,” he adds, cocky and amused, pressing in a little deeper, his palm dragging against the curve of her thigh as he moves. “that little attitude’s slipping, baby.”

finally, finally, she turns to him—face flushed now, the tiniest sheen on her brow, but her mouth still curved in that stubborn little smirk he wants to ruin.

“drive,” she says lowly, lashes fluttering once like a warning.

he raises an eyebrow. “drive?”

“yeah,” she murmurs, voice thick and strained, “or i’ll make you fall apart next.”

and he swears under his breath, biting his lip because fuck, he’s obsessed with this girl. even now. especially now.

but he pulls his hand back anyway, slowly, dragging every second out like a punishment. and when his fingers slip out of her, glistening, he watches the way her thighs twitch from the loss.

he doesn’t say a word. just turns the key in the ignition.

and the ride the rest of the way?

silent. tense. electric.

every red light feels like a countdown to something neither of them are ready to admit they need.

the hallway is quiet when they get to her floor, just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional muffled door slam somewhere behind them. she walks ahead with her keys in hand, eyes fixed on the door to her dorm. doesn’t check if he’s following—she knows he is.

jimin’s just a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from doing something reckless. like sliding them under her shorts again. or yanking her flush against him right there in the stairwell.

but he waits.

waits until she unlocks the door, pushes it open, walks in without a word. he steps in after her, kicks the door closed behind him, and the second the latch clicks shut—

she peels off her hoodie.

not in a dramatic, attention-seeking way. not even trying to look sexy.

just—matter-of-fact. like she’s tossing off the weight of the morning. like she’s tired of pretending she’s not already aching from the ride over.

her tank top clings to her, a sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her shorts as she tosses the hoodie to the side. she still hasn’t looked at him. hasn’t said a single word since they left the car. but her body speaks for her: shoulders tense, movements sharp, hair falling loose over one shoulder as she reaches down to untie her shoes.

she’s done pretending. and they both know exactly what this is.

jimin’s eyes trail the line of her spine beneath her tank, the slight curve of her waist, the way her shorts barely cling to her hips. he licks his lips and swallows hard, staying by the door for half a second longer than necessary—like he’s bracing for something.

she tosses her shoes toward the corner, stands straight, finally looks over her shoulder at him.

just one look.

blank. unapologetic. devastating.

then she turns back and walks toward the bed, slowly sliding the strap of her tank off her shoulder like it’s just another thing in the way.

and that’s all the invitation he needs.

he’s moving before he knows it, already toeing off his sneakers, pulling his hoodie over his head, eyes locked on her like she’s gravity and he’s just something caught in orbit.

no words. not yet.

just clothes shedding to the floor, tension thick in the air, and the silent understanding between two people who are too far gone to stop.

she doesn’t say a word—just climbs up onto the bed, slow and unfazed, like she’s stretching, not seducing. her knees sink into the mattress first, then her elbows, chest folding down with a soft exhale as she settles near the edge. her hair spills over her shoulder, cascading messily down her back, catching on the soft glow of the lamp on her desk.

her shorts ride up just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

and then she looks over her shoulder. face half-lit, brow arched in that way.

she doesn’t blink. doesn’t even tilt her head.

just stares at him with that expression like: are you going to do something or just stand there gawking?

jimin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. his jaw tightens as he exhales through his nose—low, deep, amused. he’s already shirtless, belt undone, standing a few feet away like he’s trying to commit the view to memory.

“you always this bossy when you’re needy?” he mutters, voice low and warm, filled with quiet laughter.

she doesn’t answer. just shifts her hips back slightly, an unsubtle reminder that she’s waiting. that he’s the one wasting time now.

so he steps closer.

his hands come to her waist, one sliding around her hip, fingers splaying across her stomach while the other glides down to the curve of her ass. he squeezes lightly—like he’s testing, admiring, owning.

"you really think that little attitude makes you less obvious?” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth hovers near the shell of her ear. “you’re dripping through these shorts, baby.”

she rolls her eyes. “you talk too much.”

“and you never shut up until my hand’s over your mouth,” he counters, grinning into her skin, brushing his lips just beneath her ear. “but please, keep pretending I don’t have you exactly where you want to be.”

his hand slides under the waistband of her shorts, slow, almost lazy—like he has all day to take her apart.

and from her silence, her stillness, the faint hitch in her breath?

he knows she’ll let him.

but she’ll never admit it.

and fuck if that isn’t his favorite part.

he presses into her slowly, his chest brushing her back, hips pushing against the swell of her ass still wrapped tight in her shorts. they’re both still half dressed, but the friction feels criminal—the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against her in a way that makes her thighs tense, breath catching somewhere in her throat.

her hands fist in the sheets beneath her, jaw clenched, still pretending this doesn’t do anything to her. still trying to play the unbothered girl even with the weight of him bearing down on her.

but jimin knows better.

he slides one hand around her waist again, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband like he owns the space there. his other hand? the one on her ass—lingering, affectionate at first. his thumb traces a slow, lazy arc on her skin, dipping under the hem of her shorts.

and then—

crack.

his palm lands with a sharp sting against her ass, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

she jerks forward instinctively, her breath knocked short by the sudden slap. not hard enough to hurt—just enough to leave heat. a bloom of sensation that burns and tingles, the echo of it painting fire beneath her skin.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice smug and low and so satisfied.

she huffs out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. her face turns against the mattress, muffling the sound. still refusing to give him the reaction he wants.

but her body gives her away. it always does.

he feels the way she pushes back into him, subtly but certainly. the way her thighs spread just a little wider. the way her hips stay lifted, waiting.

“still annoyed?” he asks, rocking forward again, dragging his clothed length against the seam of her shorts. “or finally admitting you need me?”

she tilts her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, a single strand of hair caught in her lashes.

“touch me again,” she says, voice dry, “and don’t waste time talking about it.”

and jimin? fuck, he loves her like this.

headstrong. infuriating. soaked.

he grins, already reaching for the button of her shorts, mouthing along her shoulder as he mutters—

“anything for you, baby girl.”

her shorts hit the floor in a rush of fabric, and still—still—she’s got that expression on her face. like she’s unimpressed. like she’s bored. like she’s not clenching around nothing and biting down on her own tongue to keep from whimpering the second his hand touched her.

and jimin notices. he sees all of it.

the fake eye roll. the smug smirk. the feigned indifference. she’s baiting him—again.

and this time? he’s taking it.

“oh?” he hums, dragging his hand up the back of her thigh again, warm palm skimming the curve of her now-bare ass. “you’re still gonna act like you’re not begging for it? really?”

she shrugs. shrugs. as if he isn’t kneeling behind her, half-hard and starving.

“it’s not that deep, park.”

oh, she wants to be punished.

he lets out a low laugh—one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “got it,” he says quietly, reaching for the bottom drawer of her nightstand like he knows exactly where everything is now. he finds what he needs in two seconds flat. the bottle of lube. a fresh condom. and just for good measure—her toy, the one she thought he didn’t know about.

her head snaps around. “what are you—”

he cuts her off with a sharp look, one hand already ghosting over the back of her neck, gently but firmly guiding her face back down into the mattress.

“don’t play dumb. you wanna be a brat?” his voice is calm now, cool and measured in a way that makes her pulse jump. “then you’re gonna learn what happens when you act like one.”

and she should say something snarky—she always does—but there’s something different in his tone. something dangerous. delicious.

she stays silent.

“good girl,” he murmurs, almost mockingly, letting the words drip over her like syrup as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down her spine. “see? already learning.”

he presses her thighs apart further, kneeling between them. she’s soaked already—of course she is. and now she’s quiet. breath shaky. head turned into the mattress. her hands curled into the sheets.

jimin leans in, whispering just beside her ear, his voice low and cruel and addicting.

“you’re not gonna come until i say so. and if you do? i’m gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

she shivers.

he grins.

and when he finally presses inside her, deep and slow and devastating—one hand gripping her hip, the other wrapping around the back of her neck—she doesn’t say a single word.

but god, she feels everything.

he pushes in deep—inch by inch, like he’s got nowhere to be. like the clock doesn’t exist. like the only thing that matters is dragging out the moment just long enough to make her beg.

and she hates that it’s working.

her body reacts before she can even try to stop it—hips twitching back to meet him, thighs tightening, her hands already white-knuckling the sheets beneath her. but he’s not picking up the pace. at all. if anything, he’s slowing down further, grinding into her with a slow, punishing rhythm that’s more pressure than thrust—just deep enough to leave her breathless, but not enough to tip her over the edge.

“mm,” he hums, voice almost playful, breath hitting the side of her neck as he leans in, so fucking composed. “what happened to that mouth, huh?”

she doesn't answer. she can’t—not with the way he’s moving, rolling his hips in slow circles, deliberately avoiding that perfect angle. not with the way her body is already trembling, so sensitive she could cry if he just moved a little faster.

“not so mouthy now,” he murmurs, smiling against her skin as he trails a kiss down her spine, his fingers pressing into her hips like they’re sculpting her into submission. “what, baby? all that attitude gone the second i touched you?”

still, she says nothing. won’t give him the satisfaction.

but her legs are shaking.

her back arches on instinct.

and when he pulls all the way out and doesn’t move for a full beat—just leaves her there, empty, clenching around nothing—her breath catches like a hiccup and her hips buck without her permission.

that’s when he laughs. low, dark, mean.

“yeah,” he whispers, dragging his fingers along the mess between her thighs. “you’re fuckin’ ruined for me.”

he pushes back in hard this time—not fast, just deep—pressing flush to the base, holding there, stretching her until she whimpers into the mattress.

“you wanna come?” he asks, casual. too casual.

she nods, but it’s barely a twitch. like even moving her head might set her off.

he tsks. “use your words.”

she forces them out through clenched teeth, her voice wrecked and hoarse. “yes. fuck, please.”

but he only pulls out again, slow as ever, and she nearly sobs at the loss.

“not yet,” he murmurs, dragging his lips across her shoulder, breath hot, smirk cruel. “you’re not sorry enough.”

and oh, he’s loving this. the tension. the way she’s twitching underneath him. the way she’s desperate now—no more smartass remarks, no more fake eye rolls. just panting. trembling. waiting.

and jimin?

he’s going to take his time. she wanted to be a brat?

now she gets to be his favorite toy.

her voice is thin, already frayed around the edges, dragged raw from holding everything back. but eventually, it breaks—shattering into the thick air between them like glass under pressure.

“jimin,” she gasps, voice barely audible, cheek pressed against the mattress. “please. please, i—I can’t…”

his grin is slow, predatory. he hums like he’s considering it, even though he always intended to make her beg. always wanted to hear it roll off her tongue like that—wrecked and reluctant.

“can’t what?” he asks, maddeningly calm, hips still moving in that same, slow grind. deep. aching. controlled. “can’t handle it? can’t admit you need me?”

she makes a noise in the back of her throat—something between a whimper and a curse, fingers clawing at the bedsheets like they can save her.

he finally gives her a little more—just a little. his pace picks up barely, enough to make the heat swirl tighter in her belly, enough to give her a flicker of hope.

and then he’s reaching for the bottle on the nightstand without stopping, popping the cap with one hand like he’s done this before—because he has. a hundred times in his head, every time she walked past him on campus, every time she rolled her eyes at something he said like he wasn’t the only one who could get her to come undone.

his other hand slides beneath her stomach, lifting her hips slightly, giving him a better angle as he shifts behind her. she whimpers again—almost instinctively now—and he leans forward to kiss between her shoulders.

“don’t worry,” he says, and there’s actual softness there, threaded beneath the smugness, barely-there but present. “not gonna hurt you.”

then she feels it—the cool slickness of the lube hitting his cock, dripping down where their bodies meet, mixing with the mess already between her thighs. his thrusts don’t stop—still deep, still slow—but the slide becomes smoother, easier, sending a ripple through her that makes her curse into the sheets.

her body jerks forward, her thighs trying to close around him—he stops that instantly, one hand pressing her knees apart.

“no, baby,” he says, low in her ear. “you asked for it. now you take it.”

and she does—biting her lip, panting, begging again under her breath because it’s still not enough, not yet. he’s making sure she’s comfortable, taken care of—and still fucking denying her at the same time.

it’s cruel.

it’s maddening.

and it’s making her obsessed.

he’s got her pinned—head turned to the side, one hand heavy at the back of her neck, not squeezing, just holding. Keeping. she’s got no choice but to look at him, her cheek flattened against the mattress, lashes wet, mouth parted as she gasps around every thrust.

he’s still moving slow, goddamn meticulous, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he's got something to prove. like he wants to fuck the shape of himself into her and take his time doing it.

but she’s trembling now, legs barely holding her up, her voice falling into these broken little sounds that aren’t words anymore. every time he pushes in, she lets out a soft, breathless moan—punctuated by frustration, desperation, need.

“jimin,” she pleads, again and again, tone dipping just enough to soften his name into a whimper. “please—”

he leans over her, mouth hovering next to her ear, his breath hot and smug and fucking infuriating.

“please what, baby? use your words,” he murmurs, a hand slipping between her legs for just a second, two fingers brushing where she needs it most—barely. “you want me to keep going? want me to fuck you like the needy little brat you are?”

she squeezes her eyes shut, too embarrassed, too ruined. but her body answers for her—hips pushing back, thighs twitching.

he lets out a low, rough chuckle.

“you love it when I make you beg, don’t you?” he presses, voice darker now, but still calm—too calm. “look at you. always pretending you don’t want this. but I’ve never seen you so wet. so fucking desperate.”

she chokes on a moan, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, mascara smudging under the strain.

“say it,” he demands, tone sharp now, that cocky edge turning into something that bites. “say you want it.”

and she finally breaks.

“i want it—i want you—fuck, please, jimin—just fuck me already!”

and that’s it.

he snaps.

the hand on her neck tightens just a little—not enough to scare her, just enough to ground her—as his hips pull back and slam into her hard, the sound obscene, skin meeting skin with a wet crack. she yelps, mouth falling open in a gasp that pitches too loud to be controlled.

“oh, now you’re ready?” he snarls, thrusting again, hard and fast this time, his body crashing into hers like a fucking wave. “you wanna be a brat, and then cry when you don’t get what you want? this is what you’ve been begging for?”

she can’t answer. there are no words. only sounds—breathless, frantic, ruined sounds as he fucks her into the mattress, rough and unrelenting, every snap of his hips making the headboard knock into the wall.

he’s not going slow anymore. he’s feral.

and her moans? they turn to cries.

not of pain.

of relief.

he’s panting now, but still relentless. sweat slicking his back, hair stuck to his forehead, his grip on her hips bruising as he drives into her with every ounce of control he has left. she’s shaking under him—crying out, trying to breathe, trying to hold herself together.

and then he slows just slightly, only to lean over her again and reach toward the nightstand, dragging open the drawer like he knows exactly where it is.

she doesn’t even register it at first. not until she hears the soft buzz—low and steady and unmistakable.

her head snaps up weakly, eyes wide as she watches him turn around with her toy in hand, smirking like the devil.

“thought you said this wasn’t a thing,” he murmurs, voice low, mocking, dark. “but you keep all the essentials ready for me, don’t you, baby?”

her lips part, but no words come out. she’s trembling now, thighs twitching from overstimulation, slick everywhere, muscles sore, her brain trying to catch up with her body.

and jimin? he’s enjoying every second.

he reaches out, takes her hand gently but firmly, and places the toy in her palm.

“go ahead,” he says softly, a breath against her ear. “hold it there for me.”

she looks back at him, breathless, still trying to figure out if he’s serious.

he just raises an eyebrow, cock still deep inside her, rolling his hips slow to make her feel it.

“what?” he taunts. “too much for you now, baby girl? thought you liked being a brat.”

her grip tightens around the toy, and slowly, trembling, she brings it between her thighs, pressing it right there—right where she needs it.

her whole body jolts.

“fuck—” she gasps, and immediately bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.

he grins.

“good girl. now keep it there.”

he starts moving again, steady and deep, every thrust pressing her harder against the toy, every movement making her legs twitch uncontrollably.

“but you don’t get to cum,” he adds, almost too casually. “not until i say. and if you do? i’ll make sure the next time you come is on my tongue, after hours of begging.”

her fingers tighten around the toy, and she sobs out something wordless. he’s not going easy. every thrust now is measured for torment. the sound of wet skin, the low buzz of the toy, her wrecked little whines—it all fills the room like a symphony of her downfall.

she’s close.

so close.

and he knows it.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he growls behind her, voice sharp, hips pounding. “you better hold it. i’ll know if you cum.”

and the worst part?

he would

her legs are shaking uncontrollably, the toy still buzzing in her hand, every nerve in her body screaming. she’s biting down on a moan so hard her jaw aches, fingers white-knuckling the sheets beneath her, desperate not to fall apart. because if she does—if she lets go without permission—she already knows what’s coming.

but she can’t take it anymore.

“please,” she gasps, voice cracked and wrecked, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “jimin—please, i can’t—i’m trying, i swear—”

and he’s still behind her, hips rolling into hers with that cruel, deep rhythm that keeps pressing her harder into the toy. she’s right there. dangling. one more thrust, one more second—

“i need to come—please—please, i can’t—”

and then her body betrays her.

she doesn’t even mean to do it—she’s not trying to disobey. but it hits her all at once, like her body just gives out, like her muscles snap and melt and twist all at once. she cries out, her voice shattering like glass, her thighs locking tight as she—

doesn’t.

not yet.

but jimin does.

with a sharp groan through gritted teeth, his pace stutters—finally losing it—burying himself deep one last time as he spills into the condom, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades, hand gripping her hip like a vice. his groans are low, guttural, breathless—completely undone.

but it’s her broken sob that brings him back down.

he pulls out slowly, careful, still panting. the toy is slipping from her hand now, barely buzzing, and she’s collapsed onto the mattress, thighs twitching, body begging for release.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as he kneels behind her. “i told you… if you came without asking…”

“i didn’t,” she whimpers, voice wrecked and trembling. “i didn’t. please—just—please—”

he pulls the toy from her weak hand, tosses it aside, and doesn’t say anything else. just spreads her thighs gently and leans in.

she gasps when his tongue makes contact.

a long, flat lick from the base of her folds all the way up to her clit, slow and mean, like he’s savoring her. and then he does it again. and again. until she’s crying—literal, choked sobs against the mattress, hips bucking, thighs locking around his head but he doesn’t stop.

he eats her out like he’s starving. like her pleasure is his revenge. his hands slide beneath her thighs to keep her in place, and he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking, sucking, moving in maddening circles.

her fingers claw at the mattress.

“jimin—fuck, please, i’m gonna—i can’t—”

and then he says it, voice muffled against her soaked skin:

“come for me.”

and she does.

like she’s never come before. her whole body arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around his head, a strangled, high-pitched cry ripping from her chest as she finally lets go—everything breaking at once. pleasure crashing through her in endless waves, tears slipping down her cheeks, her vision blurring as she rides it out, trembling violently under his mouth.

and he doesn’t stop.

not until she’s twitching too hard to handle it, not until she’s begging him to stop through hiccupped gasps and aftershocks, her body collapsing into the sheets—completely wrecked.

he finally pulls back, chin glossy, lips pink and swollen, looking up at her with a smug little smile and a rawness in his eyes that almost—almost—looks like something more.

“told you you’d be sorry,” he whispers, kissing the inside of her thigh.

the room is quiet now. heavy and thick with the remnants of everything they just did—sweat cooling on skin, the low hum of the AC in the corner, the rustle of her adjusting the sheets under her stomach like she can somehow make herself disappear into them.

he's sitting at the edge of her bed, trying to catch his breath, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. she hasn't looked at him since he licked her clean. not once. her back is turned, and her face is unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks after a beat. voice rough but low. soft, even.

she nods. too quick. too practiced.

“fine.”

he looks at her, sees how her mouth pulls tight like she’s trying to seal something in. like she’s already rebuilding that damn wall she always hides behind. and the worst part is—it stings. more than it should.

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration starting to bubble. “you’re not, though.”

(y/n) doesn’t answer. instead, she grabs her hoodie from the floor, slipping it on with her back still facing him. casual. distant. like they didn’t just share something that had her sobbing into the mattress.

he exhales sharply. “you always do this.”

“do what?” she mutters, tugging the zipper up.

“this whiplash shit,” he snaps, standing now, pacing a little like he can’t stay still. “one second you're climbing on top of me like you need me, and the next you're acting like i'm just some guy you tolerate because you're bored.”

she opens her mouth to respond but her phone rings—perfect timing. she glances at the screen and sighs, answering it with a tired voice.

“hey.”

it's sora.

“where the hell are you? you didn’t show for lunch, are you okay?”

(y/n)’s eyes flick toward jimin like she forgot he was still standing there. her voice switches to casual, cool, detached.

“yeah, i'm fine. just had a headache. i’m at the dorm. you coming?”

“yeah, i’ll be there in like ten. just checking in, babe.”

they hang up and the silence creeps back in. she turns to jimin, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

“you have to go.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

“sora’s on her way,” she says simply, tugging her hair into a messy bun. “you don’t need to be here anymore.”

and it hits him like a slap—how final she sounds. like he was a transaction, not a person. like he did his job and can clock out now.

he hesitates. there's something in his eyes—not casual, not cocky. just… confused. raw.

“when can I see you again?” he asks, and there’s a weight behind it. a tone that implies he doesn’t mean it like before. that maybe, for once, he’s not just asking to get laid.

but she hears what she wants.

she scoffs, already turned away from him again. “jesus, park. already thinking about round two?”

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. he just watches her for a second—searching. then nods.

“right.”

and as he reaches the door, she doesn’t stop him. doesn’t look at him. just drops back onto the bed like it’s already erased.

“i don’t know,” she mutters, voice muffled into her pillow. “i’ll text you.”

he leaves without another word.

and the second the door clicks shut behind him—she closes her eyes, jaw clenched tight like if she keeps her face neutral long enough, she won't cry.

(y/n) had barely cracked the window open, letting in the early afternoon air, stale and cold and not nearly strong enough to clear the weight in the room, when the door clicked open.

“a headache, huh?”

sora didn’t even drop her bag, arms crossed over her chest, a perfectly sculpted brow raised as she looked (y/n) over with that older-sister energy only best friends know how to master.

“yup,” (y/n) replied flatly, voice muffled from where she stood near the window like she was considering just jumping out of it and vanishing into a new identity.

sora hummed. “right, right…”

she kicked her sneakers off, took her sweet time walking in like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, then glanced toward the window again.

“you wanna tell me what was park jimin doing leaving this building looking like he wanted to break every surface between here and the quad?”

(y/n) didn’t even flinch. she shrugged, eyes heavy-lidded and distant as she dropped onto her bed, pulling her hoodie over her head like it might hide the truth.

“i don’t know,” she mumbled. “he’s probably having sex with that blonde girl down the hallway. wouldn’t put it past him.”

sora paused.

then—chuckled.

not sweetly. not kindly. it was that you’re unbelievable but I love you anyway kind of laugh that only best friends can manage without it sounding mean.

“if you’re gonna lie,” sora said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone ready to be annoying, “at least try.”

she pointed, very pointedly, at the bottle of lube still sitting half-tucked behind the lamp on the desk and the unmistakable glint of a silver foil wrapper tossed into the corner of the trash can. the lube was still half uncapped. the wrapper hadn’t even been shoved all the way down. clearly, damage control was not (y/n)’s strong suit.

(y/n) groaned. long and loud.

and flopped face-first into her pillow, arms stretched out like she was about to be taken by the void.

sora waited.

and then, from under the pillow:

“i’m so stupid.”

it was quiet. muffled and slightly wet-sounding like her voice had cracked on the way out.

sora sat at the edge of the bed. didn’t touch her. didn’t crowd her. just breathed out softly.

“no, you’re not.”

silence.

“you’re just—” sora paused, searching for the right word. “emotionally constipated. and dating a walking hormone.”

“we’re not dating.”

“mhm. you’re just accidentally raw dogging and crying over him.”

“we’re not—crying—” (y/n)’s voice cracked again.

sora smiled to herself.

“look, you don’t have to say it. but you’re not fine. and i think you’re finally starting to realize that wanting him doesn’t mean you like how he makes you feel.”

(y/n) didn’t answer. not right away.

she just curled tighter into herself, fingers gripping the corner of her blanket, lips pressed shut like if she let anything else out, she might not be able to hold the rest in.

the silence that filled the room wasn’t uncomfortable. not really. just full. full of the weight (y/n) didn’t want to unpack and the affection sora didn’t quite know how to hand over without making her best friend flinch.

sora stared down at her hands, fiddling with the charm on her bracelet, debating.

and then—softly, almost hesitant:

“actually… i was wondering if you’d be down to meet someone.”

(y/n) didn’t move. didn’t even lift her face from the pillow.

“…what?” came her voice, muffled, dry with sarcasm. “are you playing cupid now? that desperate to get rid of me?”

“obviously,” sora quipped, but the smile in her voice was warm. teasing. “i already have the wedding planned. you’re going to wear that one dress you hate just to spite me.”

“cute. can’t wait to be emotionally destroyed by someone new.”

sora rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands.

“no, seriously. jin and i… we kind of—well. he has this friend.”

that made (y/n)’s ear twitch against the pillow. not enough to give away her interest, but sora caught it anyway.

“he’s, um… nice,” she said, like it was a confession. “and hot. but not like ‘jimin hot,’ you know? not, like, slutty hot. like… handsome.”

“wow, love that for me,” (y/n) muttered. “maybe i can trauma-dump over coffee and he can write a sad indie song about me.”

sora snorted. “honestly? he probably would. he’s kinda deep and stuff. he reads. like, actual books. not just quotes on tumblr.”

“does he own a tote bag and drink overpriced black coffee too?”

“probably. and he’d remember your birthday without having to check instagram.”

(y/n) finally turned her head, face half-squished by the pillow, one brow raised.

“this is sounding suspiciously like you’re describing your dream man and just trying to pass him off to me.”

“hey, i already have one golden retriever boyfriend. i don’t need two. jin’s enough work as it is.”

that made (y/n) crack a tiny smile. just barely. but it was there. fragile and fleeting and stitched together with exhaustion—but real.

“you don’t have to say yes,” sora added gently, nudging (y/n)’s foot with her own. “i just thought… maybe it wouldn’t hurt. talking to someone who’s not gonna fuck with your head.”

another pause.

then—

“what’s his name?” (y/n) asked, like she didn’t care. like it didn’t matter. like she wasn’t secretly trying to memorize it in case she decided to google him later.

sora smiled.

“namjoon.”

sora pulled her phone from her back pocket, tapping quickly through her gallery like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to break this out. (y/n) was still lying face-down on the mattress, now with her cheek smooshed against her pillow, eyes barely open and squinting in the sunlight slipping through the blinds.

“okay. you have to see this,” sora said, her voice laced with a mischievous kind of warmth.

“if it’s another video of jin falling off a couch, i’ve already seen it.”

“nope,” she grinned. “better.”

she leaned over, holding the screen out so (y/n) could see. and there he was—namjoon. laughing so hard he was practically doubled over, his face pink and scrunched, clearly tipsy, a half-empty beer in one hand and the other braced against seokjin’s shoulder. the older boy was mid-rant about something ridiculous—something to do with sock conspiracies and IKEA furniture—but namjoon wasn’t even listening anymore. he was just laughing, full and loud and unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh, too.

(y/n) didn’t smile. not really. but something shifted in her chest.

“he already thinks you’re beautiful, by the way,” sora added, casual but not. like it was a secret she’d been sitting on and couldn’t hold in anymore.

“you showed him my insta?” (y/n) asked, but her voice wasn’t angry. more like tired curiosity.

sora shrugged. “he asked. i said you were out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting to meet you.”

(y/n) rolled onto her back, lips pursing as she stared up at the ceiling again. “doesn’t know me, then.”

“no,” sora said softly. “but he’s willing to. and that counts for something.”

she hesitated.

then: “we could totally arrange a double date that’s not really a double date, if you don’t want to be alone. it doesn’t even have to be dinner. we could just do coffee or a bookstore or something stupid. zero pressure. i promise.”

(y/n) was quiet for a long moment.

she didn’t say it aloud—didn’t even shift her expression much. but in the corner of her mind, something uncurled. a tiny flicker of vindication. of pettiness, even.

it’s fair, she told herself.

if jimin was still out here sleeping with whoever the hell he wanted—acting like what they had was just a routine, nothing serious—then what was stopping her from at least meeting someone who might actually give a shit?

she bit the inside of her cheek.

“he reads actual books?” she asked, almost like it was a joke.

sora smiled, sensing the change, the small fracture in her resistance.

“and he volunteers at the campus library on weekends. he knows the dewey decimal system.”

“wow,” (y/n) said dryly. “that’s hot.”

but there was a quiet sort of consideration in her voice now. something that wasn’t there before.

“fine,” (y/n) said, her voice soft. a little hoarse from everything, from him, from the morning. “i’ll go.”

sora blinked. froze for a second like she wasn’t sure she heard right.

“…wait—you’ll go?”

(y/n) nodded once, still flat on her back. “i mean, it’s not a date, right?”

“not a date,” sora agreed immediately, practically vibrating. “just four very attractive people grabbing coffee while two of them try to emotionally salvage their best friend’s love life—nothing suspicious at all.”

(y/n) let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh. barely. her eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, but a faint smile curled at the corners of her mouth before she pressed her phone to her chest.

“i have to tell jin,” sora squealed, grabbing her phone like it was a matter of national importance. “we’ve been waiting for this moment. you are not ready for namjoon’s quiet man rizz. he’s like… polite but intense. like he’s always three sentences ahead of the conversation and still listening to every word.”

“okay, calm down,” (y/n) muttered, rolling onto her side, eyes flicking to her own phone again.

still no messages.

not even a double text. not even a shitty meme.

she swallowed hard, thumb tapping aimlessly at her screen. locked it. unlocked it. then locked it again.

figures, she thought. maybe that was the whole point. maybe this was the moment she finally started playing the game the way he did—cool, distant, unreachable.

“coffee’s on wednesday,” sora said from across the room, already texting, cheeks flushed with the thrill of matchmaking. “just after class. no pressure. and i’ll be there the whole time.”

(y/n) nodded again, still curled under her blanket.

her phone buzzed once.

her heart jumped.

it wasn’t him.

and so she sank deeper into the mattress, wrapped in silence and resolve, whispering to herself in the quietest voice:

just coffee.

just coffee.

just a start.

—---

she had managed to avoid him like the plague for the past two days.

not that it was particularly difficult—jimin had apparently found new places to stick his tongue down rowan’s throat all over campus. the student center. the quad. even the hallway leading to the library, where anyone with a pulse could see them pressed against the lockers like a poorly scripted indie film.

(y/n) had simply kept walking. shoulders squared. expression blank. her heart? a mess. pounding. bruised. aching in the worst kind of private way.

today, she had a free period—one he used to know by memory. the one where they’d usually disappear into some forgotten corner of the campus: a storage closet, an empty lecture hall, the back seat of his car.

not today.

today, she locked herself inside the cleanest, quietest bathroom on the top floor of the liberal arts building. she stayed longer than necessary, pretending to check her makeup, her messages, her nonexistent emails. anything to kill the time. anything to not remember.

but the second she stepped outside—there he was.

leaning against the tiled wall like he belonged there. black hoodie half-zipped, head tilted like he wasn’t trying to look casual. hands in his pockets. smirk already cocked like a loaded gun.

her jaw tightened. she didn’t slow down.

“did you get bored of your girlfriend?” she asked, not even glancing at him as she walked past.

his smirk widened. the kind that made her want to slap it off and kiss it in the same breath.

“don’t act jealous now, princess.”

she scoffed. not even dignifying him with a full-body reaction.

“you wish.”

he pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. their shoulders close but not touching, his steps a half-beat too synced with hers.

“you said you’d text.”

“i lied,” she said simply. her voice light, sarcastic, but the bitterness beneath it hung heavy in the air.

he chuckled. low, smug, infuriating.

“what, you got separation anxiety, park?” she murmured, casting him a quick side glance, venom sweet on her tongue.

“only when you ghost me.”

her laugh was sharp, humorless. “you’re fine. you’ve got a perfectly capable tongue warmer already.”

he didn’t answer that.

not immediately.

just looked at her. really looked. and for a second she could feel it—like the way he used to stare at her when she was on top of him, hair sticking to her temples, lip caught between her teeth, like she was the only girl in the goddamn world.

“what are we even doing?” he asked under his breath.

her chest squeezed tight, but her face didn’t budge.

“nothing,” she said. “we’re doing nothing.”

and she didn’t let herself look back as she walked away.

he was still following her.

his footsteps weren’t loud, but they were steady. like he hadn’t gotten the very clear message that she wanted nothing to do with him. or maybe he had—and just didn’t care.

“hey, um…” his voice came low from behind her, casual, like the conversation from two minutes ago hadn’t been a punch to the gut. “wanna come over? around lunch?”

she didn’t stop walking. not for a second. the answer was already on her lips before he could even finish the question.

“can’t. i’m going on a date.”

that stopped him. completely.

she didn’t have to look back to know it. she felt the hesitation in his pace, the way his silence caught like a sudden storm break—his breath, audible in the way it halted, like she’d just sucked all the air out of his lungs with one clean swing. and god, it made something twist in her gut. vicious satisfaction. a petty kind of pride.

because finally, she’d managed to land a hit.

she kept walking. eyes straight ahead, hands tucked in her pockets, her expression unreadable even as her heart thundered in her chest. she didn’t want to admit how much it cost her to say that. to make it real. to push the words out like they didn’t mean anything when they meant everything.

a date.

not with jimin.

not with someone who used her like a stress relief valve between other girls and then pretended it didn’t matter. no—someone who might actually see her as more than a warm body and a bratty smirk. someone who might mean safety instead of destruction.

he caught up with her again a few seconds later, but his voice was different now. tighter. still trying to sound amused, but his ego had definitely just taken a hit.

“you?” he asked, that little scoff laced into the back of his throat. “a date?”

she didn’t look at him. didn’t blink. just nodded once.

“yup.”

it was almost cruel, how nonchalant she sounded. how she delivered it like the weather—just another fact, another shift in atmosphere.

he laughed then. forced. hollow. more confused than anything else.

“so… who’s the unlucky bastard?”

he meant it as a joke, but she heard the tension underneath. the need to know. the fact that he couldn’t handle the idea of her giving even a fraction of what she gave him to someone else.

and that?

that was enough to fuel her for days.

she glanced at him then. Just a flick of her eyes, like an afterthought.

“none of your goddamn business, park.”

he opened his mouth again, like he had something else to say, but she was already walking faster. already turning the corner. already gone.

and for the first time in weeks, she left him standing there speechless.

—---

she wasn’t expecting much, really.

namjoon was handsome, sure. tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of naturally put-together that made him look good in a plain t-shirt and worn sneakers. his vibe—at least from what sora told her—was chill, maybe a little philosophical. smart, funny in a dry way, emotionally aware. the complete opposite of what she was used to.

the complete opposite of jimin.

so, she walked toward the coffee shop with her expectations set somewhere below hopeful. this wasn’t a real date anyway. just coffee. just a distraction. a lifeline, maybe, if she let herself think dramatically. which she always did. the air was warm, sun flickering through the trees lining the street. her shoes hit the pavement in slow, reluctant steps.

when she saw the terrace, she spotted them instantly—sora and jin already seated, their heads tilted in laughter, and across from them—

him.

namjoon.

he was leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, listening intently to whatever jin was saying. his fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup, and there was this ease to him. like he fit in every room he walked into without trying. the kind of calm that settled into the space instead of rearranging it.

she was halfway through apologizing as she reached the table—something about running late, something about traffic—when he turned to look at her.

and smiled.

not wide. not flashy.

just a dimpled, polite, heart-achingly sweet smile that made her lose the rest of her sentence entirely.

her mouth stayed open for a beat too long. her chest tightened, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. and for the first time in a long time, she felt something soft unfold in her belly. not lust. not adrenaline. just... warmth.

“hi,” he said, quiet but clear. his voice deep, gentle. smooth like good coffee and rainy sunday mornings.

she blinked.

closed her mouth.

“hi,” she said back, quieter than she meant to.

sora shot her a knowing look, barely hiding her grin. jin covered his chuckle behind a sip of his drink.

(y/n) sat down slowly, the cushion cool beneath her. she tugged at the hem of her sleeves to hide how her palms had started to sweat. get it together, she told herself. this wasn’t anything. not really. but her mind was already whirling, catching on dimples and calm eyes and the way he hadn't even looked at her body—just her face.

she couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

namjoon offered her a soft "glad you could make it," and the way he said it? like he meant it. like it wasn't just something polite people said.

and just like that, something shifted.

she didn’t know if it would last, if it meant anything, if she’d let it mean anything.

but she knew one thing for sure.

this coffee was already different.

it started slow, like most things that turn out to matter.

small comments. shared glances. little pauses where their eyes lingered a second too long, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. sora and jin definitely noticed.

they’d all been talking for a while now, easy chatter over lattes and croissants on the coffee shop’s sun-drenched terrace. sora had her arm hooked casually around jin’s, legs crossed under the table as she tossed in commentary like a pro. jin had taken to teasing (y/n) mercilessly, half about her general attitude and half about things sora clearly told him in confidence—like how she refused to use dating apps because “if the universe wants me in love it’ll drop it in my lap, not on a screen.”

namjoon laughed when jin said that. not a mocking laugh, but a soft one. amused, kind of impressed.

“you really said that?” he asked, tilting his head at her.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, cheeks warm despite herself. “don’t believe everything sora says.”

“but i want to believe it,” namjoon replied, chin resting in his hand, eyes flickering over her face like he was trying to memorize it. “it’s very poetic. delusional, but poetic.”

sora snorted into her drink. jin pretended to fall off his chair. and just like that, the tension drained out of (y/n)’s shoulders. she was smiling before she realized it. something about namjoon just let her relax.

he wasn’t trying to impress her.

he wasn’t trying to seduce her.

he was just there. present. thoughtful. funny in a quiet way that made her want to lean in and ask questions just to hear how he’d answer.

and he did lean in.

more than once.

at first it was to joke about jin and sora, something low and quick and conspiratorial like: “are they always like this? because I’m both amazed and concerned.”

she laughed. loud enough for sora to glance over and raise an eyebrow.

then it happened again. namjoon leaning close, his voice low near her ear, his fingers brushing the table between them like he was trying not to move too much but couldn’t help it. she said something sarcastic and he deadpanned right back, his words clever and dry and so perfectly timed it made her laugh again.

a real laugh. unguarded.

and suddenly, for those small, glittering moments, it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

jin noticed first. he sipped his drink, quirking a brow at sora across the table.

“oh god,” he mouthed dramatically. “we created a monster.”

sora barely fought back her grin. “they’re cute,” she mouthed back.

(y/n) didn’t notice. neither did namjoon.

he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth focusing on. not in a possessive way. not in a you’re mine kind of way. just—genuine. curious. gentle.

she didn’t remember the last time she felt that seen.

the air was mellow, the sun beginning its lazy descent behind the campus rooftops, casting soft orange light across the quad as the four of them walked. sora and jin hung back, wrapped up in their own bubble of teasing laughter and inside jokes, while (y/n) and namjoon walked a few paces ahead. it felt natural—unforced—the way their strides matched without thinking, their conversation floating easily from music to professors to jin’s obnoxious collection of novelty mugs that sora had apparently been trying to “accidentally break” since they started dating.

she was laughing, genuinely. not the kind of laugh she gave at parties, polite and performative, but the kind that came from somewhere loose and unguarded in her chest. namjoon’s voice was easy to listen to, deep but soft around the edges, the kind of voice that made every observation feel like a secret. he was funny in a subtle way, clever without trying too hard, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever she threw sarcasm back at him.

it felt... peaceful.

she liked the pace of it. how no one was trying to impress anyone. how she didn’t feel the need to armor herself in sharp edges and cold glances just to keep control.

until her phone buzzed.

she felt it before she looked. that familiar little twist of anticipation and irritation curling low in her stomach. she glanced down.

[jimin.] “so... how’s the date, princess?”

cocky. smug. he probably sent it leaning back in his chair, that stupid grin on his face, fingers loose around his phone like none of this meant anything to him.

her smile faltered just slightly. she didn’t stop walking, but she exhaled through her nose—sharp, annoyed—and locked the screen before namjoon could see what it said.

but he already had.

not the contents, but the name. she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. he didn’t react with surprise or judgment—just a calm, thoughtful blink.

“you and jimin, huh?” he asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity but nothing sharp. just genuine interest.

she gave him a dry laugh, pushing her hair back from her face. “it’s nothing but a headache, really.”

and he nodded. no need for more.

“wanna change the subject?”

she looked at him, smiled. “desperately.”

so they did.

they spent the next few minutes talking about a book he’d been meaning to finish and the worst professor she’d ever had. when they finally reached her dorm building, the sky had deepened to gold, and the air had that quiet kind of stillness reserved for the late afternoon—the in-between of day and night.

he slowed to a stop in front of the steps. she did too, her hand hovering near the strap of her bag.

“this was nice,” he said, and meant it. his voice had a different weight now—not heavy, but intentional.

she nodded, already tugging at her lip with her teeth before she could stop herself. “it was.”

there was a beat of silence, not awkward, but tentative. like they were both standing at the edge of something just slightly out of view.

���can I get your number?” he asked then, tone light. “no pressure or anything. just thought it might be cool to hang out again sometime.”

she hesitated—not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. and deep down, she wanted him to be enough to make her forget jimin. to stop wanting things that hurt.

but she didn’t say that.

instead, she smiled, reached for his phone when he offered it, and typed in her number.

“i’d like that,” she said, handing it back.

and she meant it.

even if jimin’s message still lingered in her pocket like a ghost.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

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