#and someone genuinely wants to talk to him

[vitaminyu]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 ⟢

Sunghoon is a full-time fuckboy with a habit of never staying until the morning. You’re not into casual. Not into games. Not into the way he looks at you like you’re next. And yet, something about him sticks. Something behind the smirk, the flirting, the pretty face. You swore you'd never fall for a guy like him.

But then again…never say never.

✴︎ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: fuckboy!sunghoon x hook-up culture hater!reader

fluff, slow-ish burn but not really tbh, trust issues, sunghoon is a b-boy, reader likes photography and hates hook-ups, soft smut, weak in the knees, he looks at you like you’re worth everything, sensual intimacy... I am bad at this

✴︎ 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: themes of hookup culture, emotional vulnerability, light angst, reader struggles with trust/intimacy, smut (minors dni)

10.8k words

You’re sitting on a kitchen counter, legs swinging, drink in hand, detached from the mess of bodies around you. The music’s too loud, the lights too low, and the air smells like cheap beer and desperation. 

Small town house parties are always the same. 

Predictable. Repetitive. Pathetic.

You’re not drunk, not even tipsy. Just observant. Detached. Watching the night unravel around you. Trying to pass time until your friend’s done pretending this place has something new to offer. 

Then you notice him.

Park. Fucking. Sunghoon.

The local fuckboy with a reputation thicker than the scent of cologne trailing behind him. He’s all lazy smirks and sinful stares, the kind of boy who knows he’s wanted, and acts like the world owes him something for it.

Girls notice him. Of course they do. Their eyes flick to him like moths to an expensive flame.

His hair’s a little too perfect, that jacket too clean for a night like this. He makes eye contact with three of the girls on his way across the room. All of them smile. None of them hold his attention.

Until he sees you.

You sit on the counter like it’s the only place in the room that isn’t spinning. Not drinking to blur the night. Not trying to be seen. Just… occupying space.

You’re wearing black. Always black. Not because you’re trying to be edgy, but because it doesn’t stain, and it makes people assume you’re colder than you are. Which helps. People leave you alone when they can’t quite figure out if you’re worth the effort.

Your lip gloss is half-faded, and you’ve reapplied it twice with the tiny mirror in your phone, only because you like the way it catches the light when you talk. You’ve got that look in your eyes — one part bored, one part dangerous. Not in a loud way. Not in a “who’s that girl?” kind of way. More like background static. A presence. 

And Sunghoon is intrigued by that.

You’ve already said no to two guys. One of them slurred something about your legs, and the other asked if you were “waiting for someone.” You told him you were waiting for the earth to split open and swallow this whole place.

You weren’t joking.

Sunghoon looks at you like you’ve interrupted something inside him. Like he wasn’t planning to notice you, and now he can’t stop. He lingers near the edge of the kitchen for a moment, half-listening to whatever some girl’s saying, before peeling away like her voice just turned to a quiet hum.

He walks like someone who never rushes. Someone who knows the room bends for him whether he tries or not.

And now he’s right in front of you.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable,” he says, voice full of honey-laced mischief. “You always sit up there?” he asks, head tilted like he’s genuinely curious.

You sip your drink. “Only when I don’t feel like talking to people.”

He grins at that. “Too bad. I’m Sunghoon.”

You raise a brow. “I know who you are.”

“And yet,” he says smoothly, “you’re not impressed.”

“Not even a little.”

He leans in, mouth closer now, like he’s used to his smile doing half the work for him. “Then tell me what would impress you.”

You set your drink down and tilt your head, smiling sweetly. Almost sympathetically.

“If you’re talking to me just to get your dick sucked,” you say, “you should look somewhere else.”

His smirk falters for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut to the chase. You let the silence hang, watching the flicker of ego rearrange behind his eyes.

“There’s plenty of girls here who’d gladly drop to their knees for you,” you add, swinging one leg slowly back and forth. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Sunghoon recovers fast, smile curving back into place like he enjoys the challenge. 

“What if I want you on your knees?”

You don’t flinch. Don’t laugh. You just lean forward until your mouth is barely an inch from his ear. Your breath brushes his skin, and you swear you feel him tense.

“You’d have to deserve it first.” 

Then you pull back, like you didn’t just light a fire in him and hop off the counter, boots hitting the floor with a satisfying thud, and walk past him without a second glance. Just as your best friend rounds the corner from the hallway, fresh from the bathroom, eyes searching the crowd for you.

But he follows and you feel his presence before you hear his voice.

“Wait—” Sunghoon calls out, weaving through people until he’s at your side again. “Hey, at least give me your number.”

You glance up at him, a smirk tugging at your mouth despite yourself. Life is a little too boring for you these days, maybe toying with him a bit could make things more interesting. His expression is less cocky now. More curious. Like he doesn’t quite know what the hell just happened, but he wants to. 

To put it simply, he isn’t used to rejection.

You hand him your phone wordlessly. He types something in, presses ‘call’ so you’ll have his too, and gives it back with a grin that’s more genuine than you expected.

As you slide it into your back pocket and continue walking, your very drunk best friend nudges you with her elbow, brow raised.

“Who was that?” she asks.

You don’t look back.

“No one,” you say. “For now.”

Sunghoon watches the swing of your hair vanish between strangers and basslines, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he didn’t get what he wanted. At least not right away.

Which is… irritating.

Because he didn’t come here to get rejected.

He came to this party for the usual: a warm body, a messy kiss, something quick and meaningless to pass the time. That’s the game. That’s what people like him do. 

Approach. Flirt. Fuck. Never speak again.

But then there was you.

Sitting on the bar like a dare. Eyes glazed with disinterest. Lip gloss smudged. You didn’t look at him like he was something you wanted. And that should’ve been enough to make him walk away. He should’ve let it go. Find someone easier. Someone already halfway in love with the idea of him.

But no. You gave him nothing, and now he wants everything.

You weren’t supposed to say no. You weren’t supposed to smile like you saw straight through him. You weren’t supposed to hand him your number and then walk away uninterested, like it didn’t cost you a single breath.

Now he’s standing there with your number in his phone, your voice still in his ear, and all he can think about is how you didn’t laugh when he said he wanted you on your knees. You just leaned in and whispered something that flipped the entire room on its head.

You’d have to deserve it first.

Fuck.

He wishes he could just fuck you and forget it. Quick and easy. Something physical to burn through and leave behind. But you’re not that kind of flame.

You’re the slow kind.

The kind that leaves marks.

And the worst part? He likes it.

There’s a challenge in you he didn’t expect. A power in the way you don’t try to be wanted. You’re not throwing glances. You’re not performing. You’re just there, sharp and solid and untouchable. 

And now you’re stuck in his head.

So he does something he’s never had to do before: he texts you first.

You take your time getting ready.

Not because you’re nervous. Not because you care. But because if you’re going to waste your night on a fuckboy, you might as well look like the kind of girl a fuckboy loses sleep over.

Your room’s quiet, save for the occasional buzz of your phone…another text from Sunghoon, probably. He’s sent three since this morning. One said, “still on for tonight?” The second was a TikTok he clearly thought was funny enough to share (it wasn’t). The latest? A picture of his car parked in your driveway with the caption: “I’m outside. Try not to fall in love or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you gave yourself a headache. You know exactly what this is.

Park Sunghoon isn’t subtle. He didn’t text you because he wants to “get to know you.” He’s not suddenly into conversation or complicated girls who don’t melt at his smile and laugh at his jokes. He texted because you didn’t play the game. Because you made it clear he’d have to try if he wants you moaning his name.

And men love a challenge, don’t they? 

Especially if their ego is on the line.

That’s what makes this fun. He’s trying so hard for a mere one-night stand. And you? You haven’t even started properly toying with him.

You’re not going on this date because you’re interested. You’re going because you’re bored. Because toying with a man like Sunghoon, who’s used to girls bending over backwards for a one-word text and a half-hearted grin, sounds like a fun way to spend your Friday.

Let him think he’s winning, just long enough to keep him coming back. And when he’s invested enough to stop pretending it’s all casual, you’ll remind him that you never planned on giving him anything at all.

This is going to be fun.

By the time you open the door, you’re in your boots, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, and zero intention of pretending you’re excited. He stands up from leaning against his car like he’s in some teen drama, all smirks and practiced charm.

“Well, don't you look beautiful,” he says and hands you a bouquet of lilies.

You give him a once-over. “Thanks, the flowers are pretty.” 

He chuckles. “Figured it was the bare minimum.”

“How rare. A man aware of what that means.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide in without a word. The flowers sit in your lap, an unexpected prop in whatever performance he’s trying to put on tonight. You don’t hate it. But you don’t fall for it either.

The car smells like a cologne sample someone rubbed on a credit card bill. Clean, expensive, trying too hard. He gets in on the driver’s side. Glances at you, then at the road. 

“You didn’t text back.”

“Didn't feel like it.”

A beat of silence. 

“You’re not like other girls, huh?”

You blink once. Then scoff, full-bodied and shameless, turning your head to stare at him like he’s just insulted your entire bloodline.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

He laughs, genuinely this time, even if a little nervous at your outburst. “Right. Okay. Got it.” 

The drive is quiet for a moment,  save for the playlist he queued up. Something chill. Something he probably played for every other girl he thought he had to vibe with. 

“You know,” he says eventually, “you never told me your name.”

“Didn’t think you needed it. You seemed more interested in what I’d look like in your backseat.” You shrug as the car pulls into the parking lot of some half-decent diner. Neon signs. Flickering lights. A place people go when they’re too tired to cook or too young to care about ambiance. He parks, cuts the engine, and looks over.

He sputters. “That’s not…okay, fair.”

You smile to yourself. This is already better than expected.

He steps out first, rushes to your side, and opens your door like he’s got something to prove. You raise an eyebrow as you get out. “Chivalry?” you murmur. “Cute.”

Inside, the diner hums with low conversation and clinking silverware. The waitress barely glances up as she hands you menus and leads you to a booth tucked in the back. There's dim lighting, cracked leather seats, and just enough privacy to pretend this is something more than it is.

Sunghoon slides into the seat across from you, stretches his legs like he owns the space between you, and rests his elbow on the edge of the table.

“You really don’t want to be here, do you?”

You look up from the menu. “Not particularly.”

He huffs out a laugh, leans back. “Then why’d you come?”

You tap a manicured nail against the tabletop. “I was bored.”

“Boredom,” he repeats. “Harsh.”

“Honest.” You don’t soften the blow. You don’t apologize. 

He flips the menu shut. “Alright then, honesty for honesty. You caught my attention that night. Like actually caught it. That doesn’t happen.”

You raise a brow. “How tragic for you.”

“Okay, damn.” He laughs. “You’re not gonna let me have one sincere moment?”

“Maybe. If it’s a good one.”

You sip your drink when it arrives. He does too. There’s a pause between you,  not awkward, just heavy with whatever this is turning into.

And then, because you feel like it, you lean back in your seat and finally say it. Low and slow. Like giving him your name is an offering, not a courtesy.

“It’s Y/N.”

His eyes flicker. “Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “Pretty.”

You hold his gaze. “Don’t ruin it.”

He smiles. But it’s not that cocky grin from the party. It’s quieter. More real. The kind of smile someone gives when they don’t know they’re doing it. And for just a moment, you feel it. That flicker in your chest. That tiny, traitorous skip in your pulse. You crush it immediately.

The plates hit the table with a muted clink. Greasy diner food. Something deep-fried. Something Sunghoon didn’t even look at the name of before ordering. You’re too busy watching the way the window beside you stains his skin in washed-out blue and buzzing pink, like a painting someone left out in the rain.

He picks up a fry. Spins it between his fingers like he's stalling.

"So," he says after a beat, “you don’t do small talk.”

“Only with people I’m trying to impress.” You say as you pop a cherry into your mouth from your drink. It crunches between your teeth.

“Alright. No small talk. Big talk, then.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing slowly.

“Big talk?”

“Yeah. Like… the kind that changes the mood, for better or worse.”

You snort softly. “Was there a mood?”

“Not yet,” he says, mouth twitching. “But I’m working on it.”

There’s a small pause. He breaks first. 

“I dance,” he says, eyes still on the table. “Breakdancing, mostly. I’m in a crew. We battle.” 

That catches you off guard. You glance at him. “Like… actual dance battles?”

“Yeah,” he nods, like this is the part where most people either tune out or mock him. “Underground stuff. There’s a warehouse in Hongdae that we use to host dance battles occasionally. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

You take another sip of your drink. Let the silence stretch before answering.

“That’s kind of sick.”

He meets your gaze, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You don’t seem like the type to care about anything enough to practice it.”

That earns you a laugh, a real one. Soft. Eyes crinkling.  “Okay, harsh. But fair,” he says, grinning, but then he sobers a little. “I’ve got a younger sister. She’s eight. I show her videos from the battles. She thinks I’m famous or something, it's super cute.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t expected softness from him. Not this kind. Not this early.

“What’s her name?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Yeji,” he says, voice quieter now. “She paints flowers on my sneakers when I’m not looking.”

You smile. And this time, it’s not calculated.

There’s a lull. Not awkward. Just… gentle. Like a breeze passing through the booth. The sound of silverware, of soft pop songs from the speakers above, of the world going on without noticing that something strange and delicate is blooming between two strangers under neon lights.

He nods at you, finally.

“Your turn.”

You raise a brow. “For what?”

“Big talk.”

You hesitate. Then wipe your hands on a napkin and lean back into the cracked leather.

“I’m starting college after summer ends,” you say. “Communications major. Media and stuff.”

He nods. “You excited?”

You stare at him. Then softly answer, “I’m terrified.”

He doesn't smile at that. Doesn’t laugh. Just let it sit there like he knows how heavy it is to admit something like that out loud. “Good,” he says eventually. “Means you give a shit.”

“I also do photography,” you say suddenly, like it slipped out by accident.

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

You nod, eyes tracing the condensation sliding down your glass. “Started when I was fifteen. Took my mom’s old camera one day and never really put it down.”

“What do you shoot?”

You hesitate. Then answer like it’s a secret. “People. Usually strangers and their movement. Or hands. I like hands… they tell you everything,” you say. “Nervous tics. Calluses. Scars.”

He nods, quiet for once. “That’s cool. I get that, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You get the hand thing?”

“I mean… I get watching movement. Reading people without them noticing. It's kind of the same with dancing,” he says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s just now realizing it. “When I’m battling, I don’t just move, I watch. How someone shifts their weight. How they breathe before a drop. Trying to predict their moves. It’s all there, even in their hands.”

You blink, a little surprised. Not by what he said, but by the fact that he said it at all. That he said it like it meant something. A small silence curls between you, not awkward, just heavy with mutual understanding. 

He gestures toward your drink with a flick of his fingers. “So do you just carry your camera everywhere like a spy? Or are you gonna show me one of these mysterious hand photos?”

You smirk. “It’s in my bag.”

You reach down and pull it out; it's nothing too fancy, just a camera that’s clearly lived a life. Paint on the strap. A sticker half-peeled off the bottom. Dings, dents, charms.

He whistles low, impressed. “This thing’s got stories.”

“So do the people in it,” you say. Then, without warning, you lift the camera and snap a picture of him mid-sip, his eyes wide with surprise, a little drip of water sliding down his chin.

“Hey!” he coughs, setting his glass down. “Rude,” he laughs, then points a dramatic finger at you. “I've got a crazy good idea, next battle you’re coming with me. I want you to photograph me spinning on my head, looking like a tornado.”

You arch a brow. “Big words for someone who just got caught mid-sip looking like a confused turtle.”

“I have layers,” he says, grinning. “Besides, I think it'd be cool. You… behind the lens. The crowd in motion. My crew on the dance floor. Just thinking about it makes me excited.”

You pause. Not because you don’t want to go. But because, somehow, in the middle of teasing and you trying to act nonchalant… that felt real. Like an invitation that meant something.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at your camera. “That could be nice.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice quieter now. “You ever show your photos to anyone?” You shrug at that. “Sometimes. Online, mostly. But not really the ones that matter.”

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

“Because those are the ones that feel like me,” you say, barely above a whisper. “And people don’t always know what to do with that.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then he finally breaks the silence, “I’d get it. If you ever wanted to show me.”

You glance up, caught off-guard again. He’s not smirking this time. No teasing. Just looking at you like you’re not some game to figure out, but something already worth knowing. Is this all a scheme of his to get you naked? It doesn't feel like it is.

And you hate that your heart stumbles for it.

So you lift the camera again and snap another photo, catching him with his chin resting in one hand, eyes soft and steady.

“What now?” he asks.

You smile, just a little. “That one’s for me.”

The drive back is quiet in that way late-night rides sometimes are—comfortable, laced with half-thoughts and glances that last too long. The radio hums with something lo-fi and low-effort, the kind of music meant to fill the space without asking too many questions. City lights blur past in streaks, all neon pinks and golds, casting moving shadows across the interior of the car. Sunghoon drums his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. You pretend not to notice when he glances at you during red lights.

“So,” he says eventually, voice breaking the silence like it’s a bubble. “Was I... tolerable company tonight?”

You stretch in your seat, turning toward the window with a deliberately long sigh. “You didn’t talk with your mouth full. Or take a selfie mid-meal. So yeah, I’ve survived worse.”

He chuckles, low and genuine. “Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you murmur. “That thing’s already struggling for space.”

He gives you a mock-wounded look before returning his focus to the road, a lopsided smile still tugging at his lips. Outside, the city starts to thin. Fewer cars. Quieter streets. The kind of quiet that almost feels private. And then there it is, your street, familiar and dim under the yellow haze of tired streetlamps.

He pulls into your driveway like he’s done it before. Like it’s already a routine. The engine cuts, leaving only the clicking of the cooling hood and your shallow breaths in the stillness. Neither of you moves for a second.

“Do I get a rating? Like out of ten?” he starts again, voice softer now.

You pretend to think. “Five. But I added points for the lilies.”

“Five?” he echoes, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “This is the worst review I’ve ever received.”

“You’ll survive.” You reach for the door handle. He beats you to it.

You watch, vaguely amused, as he jogs around the car and opens your door like this is prom night. You step out slowly, eyes still on him, one brow raised.

“Chivalry again?” you ask, dry.

He shrugs, hands in his pockets again. “Get used to it.”

The walk to your front step is a few feet, but feels longer with the weight of unsaid things trailing behind you. You reach the door, keys already in hand, but he lingers, half a step closer than necessary. He’s looking at you the way people do when they’re working up to something. You can feel it before he says anything. The almost electric silence of someone about to act on a maybe.

“So…” he starts, leaning in just slightly, his lips getting dangerously close to yours. Not cocky this time. Not performative. Just… hopeful. Curious. You let him get close, just enough to think he might get away with it. And then you tilt your head at the last second, barely dodging his lips, and instead whisper near his ear, voice velvet-smooth:

“Good night, Sunghoon.”

You step back before he can recover, watching the flicker of surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, brows lifting just a touch. He laughs. It’s not loud, but it’s full-bodied. Like he wasn’t expecting it, but he’s not mad about it either.

“I should’ve known,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really aren’t gonna make this easy, are you?” You smile, faint and dangerous. “What would be the fun in that?”

“You like messing with me.” He watches you for a beat, eyes trailing from your mouth to your gaze like he’s trying to memorize something he shouldn’t want this badly.

You turn the key in the lock, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

“You're figuring that out just now?”

A pause. His smirk deepens, sharp at the corners but softer underneath.

“See you at the dance battle then?”

You nod once, pulling the door open just enough to slip inside. “You better win,” you say, not even looking back. “I’ll be watching.” And then the door clicks shut, leaving him on your porch, hands in his pockets, smirking at the wood grain like he’s just been played and loved every second of it.

The smell hits first: concrete, sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. The floor’s already alive when you get there. There’s no “door.” Just a guy on the stairs who eyes your camera and gives you a nod when you flash the printed flyer. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. The music’s already doing enough of the talking.

The battle’s set in a cavernous underground parking garage, fluorescent lights flickering overhead like they’re on their last breath. Concrete walls are sprayed with layers of graffiti – colorful tags, sprawling murals, sharp symbols screaming of a thousand nights like this one. Every inch hums with grit and possibility, like the whole place is waiting to catch someone mid-air.

Inside, the crowd’s tight, hungry. Hoodies and snapbacks. Pretty girls in cargos and gold hoops. Crews clustered like wolfpacks around the taped-off cypher, all waiting for blood. The floor space is roughly duct-taped off, even though everyone knows the rules: no pushing in, no touching, and if you enter the circle, you better have something to show off.

Music pulses through the space, old-school breakbeats with heavy bass that thumps in your chest and seeps into your bones. The DJ’s scratching keeps everything tight, carving breaks sharp enough to slice through the tension.

A speaker thuds out a beat hard enough to shake your spine, and the crowd roars as two b-boys launch into a footwork exchange. Quick, sharp, controlled chaos. 6-steps, elbow freezes, and windmills turning to flares. One misstep and the circle eats you alive.

You stay on the edges, camera in hand. You’re not here to dance. 

You’re here to watch him.

Sunghoon.

You spot him across the room instantly. Black joggers, scuffed at the hem, catching on the gritty floor. White tee under an oversized hoodie that sways with him, a quiet shout of street style against the raw backdrop. A bandana tied around his wrist. His crew stands nearby, dapping each other up, heads nodding to the beat. He hasn’t seen you yet.

Good.

You lift your camera and frame the shot, his profile lit by the glow of cheap LED strip lights, backlit by movement. You click once. Then again. Candid.

The DJ cuts the track mid-beat, and a ripple moves through the crowd like lightning. A new challenger steps into the circle.

"Next up," someone calls, "Echo versus Icey." A scream erupts

That’s him. Icey.

You didn’t realize it at first, but break dancers usually go by nicknames. It’s just how the culture works. Everyone has these sharp, catchy handles that stick way better than their real names. Makes sense when you think about it. When you’re spinning, flipping, and throwing down moves that look like they belong in a comic book, your given name just doesn’t cut it.

Take Sunghoon, for example. It’s like a secret identity, a persona that’s bigger than life on the floor. You wonder what your nickname would be if you ever stepped in.

Sunghoon makes his way towards the dance floor, and the crowd tightens. 

You raise your camera again.

He doesn’t start big. Just a bounce. Head nod. A few toprock steps that look too casual to be serious — until he drops, spins into a windmill and snaps into a hollowback freeze so clean you hear people yelling from across the garage.

It’s flow. Pure flow. Controlled power. Every move connected, like his bones know where the music’s going before the DJ does. He battles like someone with something to prove, but nothing to lose. Like he doesn’t just want to win, he wants to be remembered.

And in the middle of a thread combo so tight it looks animated, he glances your way. Direct. Sharp. Then he finishes the set with an elbow freeze, legs up, chest forward, eyes still on you. 

You click the shutter. Again. And again.

After the round, crews slap hands, people whistle, and the music doesn’t stop. The battle goes on. But you move around the space, framing him between silhouettes, graffiti, limbs in motion. You don’t notice when he disappears from the cypher. But you do feel him appear behind you.

“You get my good side?”

The voice is lower now. Sweaty. Slightly out of breath. You don’t turn around immediately.

“I don’t know,” you reply, adjusting your lens. “You blur a lot when you spin.”

He leans over your shoulder slightly, not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him. “Let me see?”

You show him one photo. It’s mid-freeze, motion caught mid-breath, body held in defiance of gravity. But it’s not the move that makes it good, it’s the expression. Focused. Drenched in light and shadow. Alive.

Sunghoon whistles under his breath. “Damn.”

You glance at him sideways. “You impressed?”

He shrugs. “I mean... I look kind of hot.”

“You looked kind of unhinged. Like you were about to levitate.”

“Same thing,” he smirks. “On a serious note, it's really good. Like really, really good. I might even print it out.” That makes you blush a little. He continues, “My crew’s doing a block party tomorrow. Real open floor. Bring your camera. Could use someone with your eye.”

You raise a brow. “You just want free promo.” He grins wider. “Nah. I just like having you around.” You snort at that, “You’re lucky you’re good.”

He’s quiet for a second, “I meant it. You’ve got an eye. Come shoot us.”

You finally nod, and then you lift your camera again and say, “Smile.”

He flashes a peace sign, sticking his tongue out. You snap it.

Ugly. Dumb. A mess of a shot.

You love it instantly.

The battles go on, and you find yourself captivated.

Finally, Sunghoon’s name rings out over the speakers. First place. The crowd roars, but before the noise can swallow you whole, he’s already making his way toward you, weaving through the crowd with a grin that’s all kinds of dangerous and playful.

Before you can blink, he’s at your side and then, without warning, he scoops you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your laughter spills out, light and breathy, echoing against the concrete walls. His arms are strong and warm, steadying you as the world tilts a little in the best possible way.

“You’re heavy,” he teases, voice rough and low, but there’s something soft in the way he looks at you. You giggle again, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “Lucky you’ve got muscles.”

He holds you a moment longer, like he’s savoring the space between battle and celebration, then pulls back just enough to grin down at you.

“Give me a sec,” he says, eyes flickering to the side. “Gotta do something.”

You watch as he steps away, the grin fading into something more serious. Across the circle, the second-place dancer stands, chest heaving, sweat slicked over his skin, eyes glazed with exhaustion and worry.

Sunghoon approaches, calm but purposeful. Without hesitation, he presses the prize money into the other guy’s hand. “For your mom,” he says quietly. The man blinks, shock rooting him in place. His voice cracks as he tries to speak. “I… I can’t. This is your prize.”

Sunghoon shrugs, eyes steady, voice soft. “I heard she’s in the hospital. Needs it more.”

For a moment, the world stills. The man’s fingers close slowly over the cash, gratitude and disbelief mingling in his expression. “Thank you,” he breathes, voice thick with emotion. Sunghoon just nods and turns back toward you, a small, almost shy smile pulling at his lips.

You stand there, heart pounding, the camera forgotten in your hand, watching the quiet strength behind his gesture. When he reaches you again, you look up into his eyes and say, “That was… very kind of you.” 

Sunghoon’s gaze softens. “This whole thing is not just about winning. It’s about what you stand for.” You swallow at that, heart tightening with something you can’t quite name. The noise of the crowd fades, replaced by the steady thrum of your own breath and the sudden heat of his presence beside you.

He squeezes your hand gently, just for a second, before stepping back to the circle. The moment feels charged, like a secret passed between two people who don’t need to say more. You lift your camera slowly, capturing a shot of him looking out over the crowd, victorious. 

“Come on,” he says with a grin, voice teasing but warm. “Dance with me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the invitation, a spark of something electric igniting under your skin. The crowd’s roar fades again, this time replaced by the pulse of the beat you can still hear in your chest. Your fingers tighten around the camera, hesitant but curious.

“Dance with you?” you echo, voice a little breathless.

He nods, stepping closer, his eyes bright with challenge and something softer, a silent promise that this moment is just for the two of you.

The circle clears, or maybe it just feels that way. He offers his hand, steady and warm, and you take it, letting him pull you into the middle of the cypher. The music swells again, bass thumping through the concrete like a heartbeat.

You don’t know many moves, you’re not a dancer, but Sunghoon’s rhythm wraps around you, guiding, coaxing. His laughter is low and contagious, and soon you find yourself moving, swaying, caught in the simplicity of the moment.

For a few minutes, it’s just the two of you: the music, the flash of his grin, your breath mingling in the air between you. No prizes, no crowds, no expectations. Just this fragile, perfect thread of connection.

When the song ends, he pulls you close, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

“You got moves,” he says with a teasing smile. You laugh softly, heart still racing. “Only with the right partner.” He holds your gaze, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks quietly.

And in that moment, you want to say yes. You want to dive into this wild, reckless pull he’s got on you. But the voice inside your head won’t let you. If you go with him, if you have sex with him, it whispers, he’ll leave. Mission accomplished. Just like that, gone. And then what? You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that truth settle like a stone in your chest.

He was supposed to be just a fuckboy. Someone to toy with, to keep at arm’s length. To make him think he can get what he wants, and then shove him away. Nothing more. But every time he shows you a new side, softer, realer, it pulls you closer than you planned.

Still, you shake your head softly, trying to steady yourself. You’re scared. Scared that if you let him in, if you cross that line, he’ll disappear like smoke through your fingers, leaving you alone in the dark.

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice barely audible between the fading beats. “Not tonight.”

Sunghoon’s eyes search yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something like understanding there. Maybe even patience. You step back, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to convince your heart to listen to your head. Because some things, no matter how tempting, aren’t safe to chase, not yet.

Sunghoon looks at you, eyes steady and patient. “I get it,” he says softly, voice rough but sincere. “No pressure.”

He holds out his hand. “Want to get out of here? Go for a walk. Clear the noise?”

You hesitate only a second before slipping your hand into his. His fingers are warm, grounding. Outside, the street feels quieter, cooler. You walk side by side, the air crisp and different from the stale heat inside. The pavement is cracked, the streetlights flickering overhead. Sunghoon glances at you. “Sometimes I think this whole thing, the music, the battles, the crowds… It’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then other times... it feels like a cage I can’t break out of.”

You glance over, surprised at his honesty. “I get that. Sometimes the things we want the most feel like they trap us.” He nods slowly at that. “Walking in the streets at night is the only time I really feel free. The quiet gives me space to breathe. To just be.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, just a heartbeat, you let yourself look. Really look.

Sunghoon’s profile is lit by the amber glow of a streetlamp overhead, soft golden light brushing against the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the little crease between his brows he gets when he’s deep in thought. His hoodie’s pulled half-up, messy strands of hair brushing his forehead, damp from the heat of the battle. His lips are parted slightly, like he’s still catching his breath from dancing.

And for a second, framed by flickering neon and the gentle hush of the street, he looks unreal. Like something pulled from a dream. Or a memory you haven’t made yet.

There’s a pause, the city’s hum filling the silence. You take a breath, feeling the words bubbling up. “I don’t usually talk about this, but… I’ve had some bad experiences with guys.”

Sunghoon looks at you, curious but patient.

“Not like… abusive or anything,” you say quickly, “just a few bad one-night stands. Thought it’d be simple. No strings. But it turned messy. Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used. So I don’t do that anymore.” Sunghoon listens quietly, not rushing you. “After that, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close, not like that, not easily. It’s safer.” 

Sunghoon’s expression softens. “I do that,” he continues quietly. “I'm that guy. The one who says all the right things, gets close just enough to get what he wants, and then ghosts before morning. Sometimes I didn’t even wait for the sun to come up. I hate myself for it.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head at himself. “At first, it felt easy. Like I had control. Keep it light, no strings, no expectations. I told myself I was doing them a favor. Being clear, keeping it casual. But I wasn’t. Not really. Most of the time, I was just scared.”

You don’t speak, but your eyes are on him now, your feet matching his step.

“I didn’t want to connect,” he admits. “Didn’t want anyone to see the parts of me I didn’t like. So I made sure it was always temporary. Quick. Clean. Forgettable.”

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is raw in a way you’ve never seen before. “But the thing is… after a while, it stops feeling good. All that surface-level shit. The adrenaline wears off, and you start to realize you’re just… empty. Like you gave away pieces of yourself for nothing. Took pieces from others. And it hits you.”

He stops walking. You do too.

“I don’t want that anymore.”

The silence stretches between you. It’s not awkward, it’s heavy. Real.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he says, softer now. “Even if that’s all I’ve ever been to other people. I don’t want you to feel cheap, or used, or scared to trust. I just… I like you. Not just how you look. I like how you laugh, or how you see things through your camera lens. I like who you are when you’re not trying to hide.”

Your throat tightens, and he must see it, because he steps just a little closer, enough to make you feel his warmth again.

“I don’t want to push you,” he adds. “If you say no, I’ll respect it. Every time. But I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to say yes. Not to sex. To something real. To us.”

You blink hard, suddenly aware of the way your heart is pounding.

“Damn,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “You’re really not helping my ‘fuckboy’ theory here.”

That earns a small laugh from him, quiet and a little rueful. “I’m trying to retire from the title.” You smile at that, even as your chest aches. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you say honestly.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he replies, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m just asking you to stay. Walk with me. Let me earn it.” 

And somehow, in that quiet pocket of night, beneath flickering city lights, with concrete beneath your feet and his hand brushing yours, it feels like maybe, just maybe… you could.

Your room is quiet, save for the soft hum of your laptop and the occasional creak of the old radiator. The city outside murmurs in distant sounds. Cars, the bark of a dog, laughter spilling from a street below, but up here, everything feels far away. Like the world paused somewhere between memory and longing.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, hoodie wrapped around your frame, the faint scent of smoke and sweat still clinging to your clothes from earlier. Your camera sits beside you, the memory card already slotted into your laptop. Folders open. Images load.

And there he is.

Sunghoon.

Captured frame by frame. Candid moments frozen in digital time. You scroll slowly, each photo tugging at something you can’t quite name. In one, he’s mid-spin, hair wild, body blurred in motion, untamed, electric. In another, he’s upside down in a freeze, perfectly still, perfectly impossible.

Then a close-up, taken when he wasn’t looking. His eyes half-lidded from exertion, lips parted, the edge of a smile caught like a secret only you were meant to see.

You stare at that one longer than you mean to.

He’s beautiful. Not in the polished, curated way people try to be. But in the way light hits him. Raw, unfiltered, honest. Like the city sculpted him from noise and rhythm and let him loose just to see what would happen.

Your fingers hesitate over the trackpad. He was supposed to be a game. A joke. A distraction from your own chaos. You were going to toy with him. Let him think he had a chance, and then walk away first. Clean. Simple. Safe.

But then he laughed with you. Pulled you into a dance you didn’t think you’d ever say yes to. Gave away his prize money without blinking. Told you the truth like it cost him something. And now here you are, knees curled to your chest, staring at pictures of a boy who was never supposed to matter.

You press a knuckle to your lips, trying to quiet the noise in your head. You can still hear his voice "I don’t want to be that guy to you." You remember the way he said it. Careful. Sincere. 

A little afraid.

What if he meant it? What if you let yourself believe that someone like him, who's made his share of mistakes, who’s been guarded and reckless and selfish, could actually want to be better... with you?

Your heart flips, traitorously.

But the fear rises again just as fast. You’ve let someone in before. Let them close, let them kiss you like they meant it, only to realize you were just a story they didn’t bother finishing. You’ve woken up in someone else’s sheets and felt like you left pieces of yourself behind that you couldn’t get back.

And Sunghoon… he’s dangerous in a different way. Not because he lies. But because he tells the truth too well. And truths can hurt more than lies when they fall apart.

Still…your eyes drift back to the photo, him grinning mid-freeze, looking like he belongs to the night and the light and nothing in between.

You save it in a new folder.

You name it Maybe.

On the other side of the town, Sunghoon can’t sleep.

He’s lying on his back in the dark, one arm slung over his eyes, hoodie still on, the city still humming somewhere outside his cracked window. His body’s tired, aching in the best ways from the battle, the dance, the high of it all, but his mind’s wired. Flickering like a dying streetlight. Loud with thoughts he doesn’t know how to silence.

You.

You, in the crowd with that camera, eyes sharp and curious, catching him like he was something worth framing. You, laughing against his chest, the sound so light it knocked the wind out of him. You, stepping back when he asked you to stay. Soft “I can’t” slicing through his chest sharper than he expected.

He gets it. God, he does. And that’s what hurts more.

Sunghoon shifts, pushing up to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through his damp hair. The room smells like detergent and old incense. He’s surrounded by shadows, and still, your voice echoes in his head like you’re right beside him.

"Most lied to me afterward. Made me feel cheap. Used."

He swears under his breath. The guilt, sudden and sharp, creeps in like a draft under the door. He’s done it too. Been that guy. The kind who made girls feel wanted just long enough to get what he wanted. Told himself it was mutual. That it was fun. That no one got hurt if no one caught feelings.

Lies.

He thinks about one girl who used to play with the strings of his hoodie when they kissed. Another who left a poem in his notes app. Another whose number he still has, unread texts gathering dust. He thinks about how he never stayed. How he never meant to.

Because staying meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant risk. Real connection always did. But with you… You scare him in a way he didn’t think possible. The way you see him, like you’re not impressed by the moves or the cocky smiles, like you’re waiting for him to drop the act, makes him feel both exposed and alive. Like he’s not performing anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, he could be himself.

He leans his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” he whispered earlier. He meant every word.

You don’t know how much it took to say that. How hard it is to unlearn being guarded. But he’s trying. He wants to try for you. He remembers the way you looked at him when you declined his offer. Not cold. Not distant. Just… scared. Like the walls you’ve built are the only thing keeping you upright. And he doesn’t want to knock them down. He wants to be patient enough to wait on the other side.

He gets up, walking to the window, hands shoved into his pockets. Down on the street, two bikes coast past under the dim glow of a streetlamp. Quiet. Brief. Free.

Sunghoon presses his forehead against the glass and exhales.

He doesn’t know what this is yet, not really. But he knows he wants it. Wants you. Not for one night. Not for the thrill. But for the way you looked at him after the battle. Like he was worth something beyond his pretty face.

He hopes you come to the block party tomorrow. He hopes you keep taking pictures.  He hopes you don’t give up on him before he gets the chance to prove he’s not who he used to be. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not thinking about who else he could be with, or what girl’s DMs he hasn’t opened yet. He’s just thinking about you.

Just you.

The smell of grilled skewers and burnt rubber hits first.

The block’s been taken over, tape strung between poles, speakers stacked like towers, lights strung from rooftops to trees like fireflies caught in wire. It’s dusk, the sky bruised purple and orange, and the music’s already thumping loud enough to make your ribcage vibrate.

You clutch your camera tighter as you step into the heart of it.

Crews are scattered in clusters, bouncing in place to the beat, trading handshakes and half-practiced footwork. Kids on scooters weave between legs. Someone’s spray painting the side of a truck. Girls are dancing on the curb, laughing with slushies in their hands, and the whole thing feels alive, wild and beautiful, and chaotic in the best way.

You scan the crowd for him.

You don't want to admit it, but your stomach's been tight ever since last night. Since the walk. Since the way he looked at you like he didn’t want to be the version of himself you'd imagined. Since you saw a version of himself he probably never showed anyone.

And now you’re here.

Because some part of you wants to believe that maybe people can change. That maybe this thing, whatever it is, deserves more than just a line drawn in fear.

You catch him before he sees you, again.

Sunghoon’s standing near the speakers, hoodie half-zipped, a New York Yankees cap on his head. He’s laughing at something a crew member said, head tilted back, gold chain catching the light. And for a moment, you don’t move. You just watch. Because framed by the pulsing streetlights and dusk falling in slow strokes across his cheekbones, he looks... devastating. Effortless. But not in a calculated way. Like the kind of person the city makes poems about. The kind of boy that breaks hearts and doesn’t mean to. And yours aches. Just a little.

Then his eyes find you.

Everything slows. His smile shifts, less wild now, more real. Something flickers in his expression, like he wasn’t sure if you’d come, like your presence just changed the whole weight of the evening.

He jogs toward you, weaving through the crowd. “You made it.”

You nod, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” he says, voice low, more relieved than cocky. “We’re warming up. Wanna shoot from the roof?”

Your brows lift. “There’s roof access?”

He grins, already leading the way. “There’s always roof access if you’re dumb enough.”

You follow him up a metal staircase that groans under your weight, past open windows spilling music and sweat and city air. When you hit the roof, the entire block unfurls below you, people spinning in the street, painted vans, cables humming with strung-up lights.

You lift your camera, framing it all.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You glance at him. “Yeah. Just... nervous.”

Sunghoon leans against the railing, watching the dancers. “Me too.”

You tilt your head. “You? Nervous?”

His lips twist into a wry smile. “About you.”

Silence sits between you. Thick, warm, honest.

“You scare me a little,” he admits. “You make me want to stop pretending.”

You lower the camera slowly.

“I think I’ve done a lot of pretending,” he continues, eyes on the street. “Pretending I don’t care. That no one else does either. That all this…” he gestures at the party, the dancing, the chaos “...is just noise.”

“But it’s not,” you say quietly. “No,” he breathes. “It’s not. And you, you're not. You see me. And I don’t think I’m used to that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. The camera is still in your hand, but your fingers aren’t steady anymore.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says. “I’ve hurt girls before. Not because I hated them. Just because I didn’t know how to stay. Didn’t want anyone to see the shit I was trying to outrun. But I don’t want to lie to you. Not even by omission. I’ve been a fuckboy. I’ve ghosted. Lied. Said things I didn’t mean just to feel wanted for a minute.”

You blink, surprised at the rawness.

“I didn’t expect this,” he says. “Didn’t expect you. And I don’t deserve your trust yet, I know that. But if you let me, I’ll earn it. Bit by bit. Even if you never say yes. I still want to be someone worth staying for.” 

You stare at him a long moment, wind tugging at your sleeves, music thudding up from below like a second heartbeat. And finally, you lift the camera.

Click.

Sunghoon blinks. “Did you just take a picture?”

You smile softly. “Yeah. Had to catch the moment.”

He exhales a laugh, but it’s soft around the edges. Hopeful. “Do I look tortured and tragic?”

You glance at the preview. “You look real.”

As those words leave your mouth, the music pulses louder and the block party really kicks off. People spill into the streets and alleys, laughter and shouting weaving through the warm night air. Lights strung between buildings cast a carnival glow, and the scent of grilled food and spilled drinks fills everything.

You find yourself pulled into the flow, the beat catching under your skin. Before you know it, Sunghoon’s hand is at your waist, guiding you. The song is slow, romantic. He pulls you close, fingers curling gently around your back, and you rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. Your bodies move in quiet rhythm, slow and effortless, as if the whole city paused just for this.

You smile, heart quickening. “I like this.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes searching yours in the soft light. “I like you.”

You lean in, the space between you shrinking until it vanishes. His lips meet yours softly at first, almost hesitant—like he’s testing the waters. Then the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more certain, as if he’s been holding back all this time, waiting for this moment. Your breath mingles, hearts racing in sync beneath the glow of the city lights. His hand cradles your cheek gently while the other rests at your waist, pulling you closer. Time seems to stretch and blur, the world around you fading until there’s only the warmth of his mouth and the steady thrum of your heart beating.

When you pull back just slightly, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.

“Stay with me,” he whispers.

You nod, feeling like maybe this time, you just might.

The two of you stand hand in hand on the rooftop, the warm glow of the block party spilling up in waves beneath you. From this height, the crowd looks like a moving sea of colors and lights, people laughing, dancing, shouting, living. The scent of grilled food drifts up, mixing with the faint coolness of the evening air. Sunghoon leans close, his voice low. “Crazy how something so chaotic can feel… kind of perfect, huh?”

You nod, eyes tracing the tangled web of string lights and pulsing speakers. “Yeah. Like the whole city is alive tonight.”

He shifts closer, hand brushing against yours. “Wish moments like this could last.”

“Maybe they can,” you say quietly.

He smiles, and the city feels a little less loud, a little more yours. The music shifts, the beat quickening. “Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging you down the stairs. The party swirls back to life around you. Laughter, shouting, the pulsing bass, people everywhere, lost in the moment.

He weaves through the crowd with ease, and soon you’re introduced to his crew. Ni-ki, with his sharp smile and easy confidence, Heeseung, calm and steady, and Jake, who’s already handing you a plate piled with grilled skewers.

“Food always tastes better at a party,” Jake says, winking.

You nibble your skewer as Sunghoon leans close. “Ready for round two?” You nod, eyes catching his under the string lights. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, pulling you close. This time the dance is lighter, freer. Laughs escaping you both as you spin, move, and find the rhythm together. The cool breeze tousles your hair, and when your eyes meet, the world feels still.

Then, as if drawn by some unspoken magnetism, your lips meet again. Longer, deeper, filled with all the moments you’ve been holding back. The city fades, the music dims, and all that exists is the two of you, tangled in the night.

The party eventually winds down. The music fades into a distant hum, and the crowd thins, laughter turning into quiet goodbyes. You and Sunghoon find yourselves back on the rooftop, wrapped in the calm after the storm.

He pulls you close, the city still glowing faintly beneath you. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable.  “I don’t want this night to end,” he admits, fingers tracing your jaw gently. “I just want to spend every second with you, all of it.”

You meet his gaze, heart fluttering in the quiet morning light.

“Then don’t let it end,” you whisper.

Without another word, he leads you to his car and drives both of you to his apartment. There's no one. Just the two of you. The streets are mostly empty now, painted in the amber hush of early morning, and neither of you says much. There’s something reverent about the silence. Something sacred.

His apartment is dimly lit, clean but lived-in. A hoodie draped over a chair, speakers stacked near the wall, a cracked mug on the counter. It smells like clean linen and something faintly earthy, like cedarwood and mint. Like him.

You stand by the window, looking out at the city, still catching your breath from everything the night had been. Sunghoon walks over slowly, stopping just behind you.

“Still okay?” he asks gently, not touching you yet.

You nod, but your arms stay folded across your chest. “I’m just…” you trail off. “Nervous.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, “Because of before?”

You glance up at him, and the look in your eyes is answer enough. He exhales slowly. “You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I want to. I just don’t want to feel like I did back then. Like I’m being discarded.”

Sunghoon gently reaches for your hand, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you don’t, he interlaces his fingers with yours. “I’m not leaving,” he says. “And you’re not a maybe to me. Not a moment. Not something I’ll ever pretend didn’t happen.”

You meet his eyes. He’s watching you like you’re the only thing that matters. Like the party, the city, the rooftop kiss, none of it compared to now.

“I just want you,” he continues, his voice low, honest. “But only if you want me too. No pretending. No pressure.” Your chest tightens at his words, soft and full and aching all at once.

“I want you, too,” you say.

He leans in slowly, giving you time. When his lips touch yours, it’s careful. Tender. Like a promise sealed in warmth. The rest happens in slow motion. His touch is patient, never rushing, never demanding. It's exploring, learning, and worshipping in the smallest ways. Fingertips over ribs. Lips on your shoulder. Whispered words that you feel more than hear.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs

When he’s finally above you, the space between your bodies gone, he pauses.

“Still okay?”

You nod, breath trembling. “Yes.”

And this time, when he moves, it feels different than anything you’ve known before. Less like being claimed, more like being seen. More like a soft surrender than a loss. Like trust, like healing, like the beginning of something that scares you in the best possible way.

He kisses you again, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, tracing the path from your mouth to your collarbone. The air between you hums with quiet urgency, but he doesn’t rush. His hands, warm and steady, slide along your waist, fingers spreading to map the shape of your hips like he’s memorizing them by touch alone. He takes off your shirt and your bra as his mouth dips lower, breath grazing your chest as he lingers there, almost breathless.

When his lips close around your nipple, it’s not just desire, it’s devotion. He teases gently, tongue flicking in slow, measured circles, then draws it into his mouth with a low hum that vibrates straight through you. A small sound slips from your throat, and your back arches instinctively, pulling him closer. Your hands run along the muscles of his back, slipping under his shirt, and when he takes it off, your palms find his skin. Warm. Solid. Real.

You don't realize you're trembling until he kisses you again, slower this time, his hands stroking your sides in calming rhythms. It feels like he’s grounding you, anchoring you to something steady. Something safe. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, voice low and almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. I just…” The words tangle in your throat, soft with uncertainty. “I don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

Sunghoon stills for a moment, then leans in and brushes his nose against yours. “It’s not,” he says. “It won’t be. I want all of you. Over and over again. Every day, in every light.”

And there’s something in the way he says it, not just lust but need, aching and honest, that makes your heart ache in return. He kisses you again, deeper now, more sure, and when his body presses against yours fully, you feel it. Not just the strength, the warmth, the barely restrained hunger, but more than that. The care. The weight of someone who’s choosing you with intention. With hope and love.

Clothes fall away slowly, piece by piece – his jeans pushed down, your panties hooked off with careful fingers. Every touch is unhurried, a question offered and answered with soft nods, with the way your bodies lean into each other like magnets finding their pull.

When he lowers himself between your legs, it’s with the kind of attention that steals the air from your lungs. His touch is patient and precise. Not performing, not taking, but offering. Learning what makes your breath catch, what makes your thighs tense, what makes your hands grip the sheets. He listens. Responds. Adjusts. And when your fingers clutch his and your body arches, he doesn’t stop, he stays with you, holding you through the waves until you’re gasping his name.

He comes back to you slowly, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, the hollow at your throat. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers again. “Every part of you. Every sound you make.”

You pull him into another kiss, messier this time, needier, your body flushed and open beneath him. And when he finally enters into you,  slowly and carefully, there’s a stillness that settles between you. A hush. Like the world has narrowed down to just this. Your breath in his mouth, the trembling of his hands as they cradle your face, the way your hips tilt to meet his like you’ve always known how.

He moves gently, each thrust a question, each gasp of yours an answer. There’s no distance now. No room for fear, no room for the walls you once guarded so carefully. Only skin. Heat. The shared rhythm of two people choosing to be seen.

You moan his name like it’s sacred. He moans yours like it’s a prayer.

Time bends. The world blurs. The build-up is slow and inevitable, like tides pulling you under. And when the high finally hits, it’s not sharp. It’s soft. Blooming. It ripples through your body like light, like warmth, and Sunghoon doesn’t let go. He stays with you, wrapped around you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin, even as his own body trembles above you.

After, neither of you speaks for a long moment. You lie tangled together, your heartbeat still racing, your skin dewy with sweat. His chest rises and falls against yours, his fingers tracing slow circles along your spine.

“You feeling okay?” he murmurs against your temple.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

He pulls you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, his warmth seeping into you like a slow-burning fire. His lips find yours again, soft yet urgent. Every kiss is a promise, every touch a confession. You let yourself fall into the moment completely, unguarded and safe. The outside world disappears, leaving only the steady rhythm of two hearts learning to beat as one.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers, voice rough with feeling. You smile, a warmth blooming inside that no words can quite capture. “I want that, too.”

And in that quiet, fragile space, the future feels wide open, waiting just for the two of you.

Yay, another fanfic! This one feels deeply personal to me, as I relate to Y/N a little too much here. I’m, surprisingly(?), a big hater of hookup culture. Oh, and I also dated a breakdancer, lol. Hope you liked it! If you want to get a feel for the dance battles, I highly recommend looking them up on YouTube. My favourite one is this one, because I've met Kriss myself many times, and even used to take his classes.

[julietcpulet]

When did Maomao fall in love?

There’s not necessarily a conclusive moment when we know Maomao’s feelings change from ambivalence to friendship to romantic interest. For me though I think her feelings for Jinshi were progressing from attraction to love somewhere around light novels 5-9. Maomao isn’t someone who ever directly says the word “love”, it’s only implied in the strength of her affection or defense of a person. And a moment I really see as pivotal for exemplifying this feeling from her, towards Jinshi, as falling in love is in her comparison to Luomen from light novel 9.

Who was she talking to? She knew Jinshi was standing in front of her, but for some reason she kept seeing Luomen’s face.

Her adoptive father is the only man Maomao has ever felt genuine attachment and love for without voicing it directly. Her respect, concern and daughterly affection for Luomen are some of the only times we see her think genuinely in a fond way of another person or be willing to speak boldly on their behalf. So to compare Jinshi in any way to this man whom she holds in such high regard and consider them similar, that’s huge. Also because of how she’s comparing them.

The principle that drove Jinshi’s behavior seemed very similar to Luomen’s. She was afraid that if he went on like this, he would end up just as luckless in life as her old man.

It has to do with her worry. That Luomen’s kindness ends in his own suffering and Jinshi will be much the same. She’s not comparing them to contrast, she’s comparing them to show how alike they are. Although Jinshi has now stepped into his role as Ka Zuigetsu, he struggles to leave behind all he knew in the rear palace. However, it’s not just due to him being a workaholic, actually he would enjoy far less responsibilities, the reason he still has dealings with his past role is because of the people there and the trust he has established amongst so many. It’s this trait of his, his dependability and willingness to shoulder others troubles that is why Maomao and others close to him know he would be crushed as Emperor. As although he has the acumen to fulfill his duty, he would hold himself responsible for the lives of every individual until it ran him dry.

She discovered, though, that there was something else behind her boiling anger. Her hands went to Jinshi’s cheek. “You’re only human, Master Jinshi. You’re not some mythical immortal who can save everyone.” She held his face in her hands, the fingers of her left hand brushing his scar. “You can be wounded, scarred, brought low. Only human.”

Maomao especially sees similarities to Luomen in this, how he gives charity to others at the apothecary shop where she would charge people. How he spends his mind and health when he’s already worn down. So we notice in these small comparisons that she’s coming to care what happens to Jinshi should he be put in a position where he’d be compromised. Although she wants him to use his position for good, what she truly wants is him to stop burdening himself unnecessarily like her own father. And that, to me, is a show of blossoming love.

She respected Luomen immensely. A man who never lost his kindness no matter what unhappiness he encountered was like a miracle. The price, though, was that his body and his heart were both battered. In time he became so that everything he did, he did in the expectation of defeat. Would Jinshi end up like him one day?

That she’s realizing she fears for Jinshi but also respects him because of the way he is almost breaking himself to help others. Only on the flip side, this is what makes her worry it will be the end of them both. This is where I think we see her falling in love even without expressing it, in comparing him to the one person she’s let down her guard for, the man who raised her. Now Jinshi is the person she’s beginning to see as a different kind of safety, someone worthy of letting past her defenses and her worry is transferring to him.

“Please, please don’t go do anything else like burning a brand into your skin,” Maomao said. “I heard you…the first several times,” Jinshi replied. “Are you sure?” A smile flitted across Maomao’s face, and she slowly pulled her hands away. Except they didn’t leave his cheeks. Jinshi held them there.

It’s a quiet kind of change but she very much acts like a future wife might in this moment, giving loving counsel and advice, mixed with honesty and concern. No, her feelings are not outwardly acknowledged yet nor may they ever be as “love” in the way we expect but to me this is where it began. 💜💚

[juicykvnture]

DANCE, DANCE

Dick Grayson x fem!reader

tags: AFAB reader, dubcon, intox/aphrodisiacs, size kink (if u squint) college AU, he’s a little feral, alcohol use

a/n: so uh! yup!

wc: 3.2k | masterlist

“You done drooling over her, man?” Wally’s words snap Dick out of his momentary daze, making him lean back against the speaker with a grumble. His brows are furrowed, messy black hair falling into his eyes. He’s trying to look unfazed, but he’s failing miserably.

Okay, maybe he has been eyeing you for ages, but it’s not Wally’s place to get involved, like at all.

“Go. Talk. To. Her.”

“She’s busy, look!” Dick scoffs, drumming his fingers against his cup as he glances over at you, tapping away at your phone in the corner.

He doesn’t have a problem talking to girls, really! Just you.

“She’s probably texting someone cause she wants to go home. This party sucks ass.” Wally rolls his eyes, taking a sip from his own plastic cup.

“You’re a horrible wingman.” Dick’s words are muffled by the rim of the plastic cup, chewing on it slightly as he tries to be subtle with how he’s staring at you, squinting under his dark lashes.

“Ask her out or I will.” Wally gives him a blank stare, unceremoniously tossing a bottle his way.

That makes him stiffen. No. Wally isn’t allowed to ask you out. Who the hell does he think he is?

Dick catches the bottle with an arched brow, glancing down at the unlabelled booze and then back at Wally.

“Dude, what the fuck is in-”

“Go.”

He’s never letting Wally drag him to a dorm party ever again. The music is awful, the beer tastes like piss and the company is uh.. questionable to say the least.

Dick shuffles through the crowd a little awkwardly, fixing his hair up with one hand as the other grips the bottle a little too tightly.

Thank god he’s got recession pop music to get him through this shit, right?

“This party ain’t your style, I take it?” Dick arches a brow as he takes a step towards where you’re sat on the floor with your phone, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Huh? No, I’ve been to worse.” You shrug, shifting a little bit on the couch, hesitantly offering him a seat beside you, “I’m just waiting for Kori, she’s running late.”

It’s been a little awkward between the two of you, to say the least, it’s not like you’re avoiding each other per se but it’s been better. Who knew kissing one of your closest friends in the spur of the moment would make it a little weird?

Sensing your hesitation, Dick runs a hand through his hair, letting himself settle down on the couch beside you. He’s making sure to keep a good few inches between the two of you, as badly as he wants to throw his arm around your shoulder he thinks you’d be weirded out, all things considered.

But Wally said he’s just gotta talk to you, right?

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, glancing around the room at the other shitfaced partygoers and then at the bottle in his hand, awkwardly holding it up.

“I have a peace offering?”

That makes you arch your brows, leaning closer to him to hear what he’s saying over the loud thrum of the music.

“What’s in that?” You mumble, incredulous as you stare up at him and then down at the bottle in his grip.

“Uh,” he doesn’t know what to tell you, he doesn’t know. His brain is too preoccupied with the fact that you’re leaning so close to him that he could probably count your eyelashes if he wanted to. He kinda does want to, actually.

He’s lagging for a moment, thinking of what to say to you.

Firstly? It’s probably Wally’s stupid attempt at playing Cupid by getting the two of you grossly inebriated - but he can’t just fucking say that.

Secondly? Dick genuinely has no idea what’s in there. It could be anything from tequila to nail polish remover and he’s none the wiser.

“Wally gave it to me?” He offers sheepishly, glancing across the crowd to where his best friend and total failure of a wingman stands, two thumbs up with a genuinely idiotic grin across his face.

“..right,” you murmur, following his gaze to Wally causing Dick to sputter.

“I’m sorry, he’s being weird. Ignore him.” He blurts out, gripping the bottle tightly in his slightly shaky hand before he feels your fingers brush against his, gently prying it out of his hand.

“It’s fine. Worst case scenario we throw up.” You shrug, cracking the lid open.

Tilting the bottle back, the immediate sweet taste of it makes you grimace, clearing your throat.

You seem far more optimistic than he does. Your worst case scenario is vomming into someone’s sink - his being the fact that he could blurt all of his feelings out in one go and make you ghost him for the rest of his existence.

But.. you live once, right? And maybe if he says something embarrassing neither of you will remember it?

Bracing himself, he takes a sip - letting out a cough the second it hits his tongue.

What the hell did Wally put in this?

If you could go back in time a half hour and tell yourself not to drink whatever the fuck that was, you would. You truly would.

You’ve never claimed to be a heavyweight when it comes to alcohol. But you’re not drunk, you know what drunk feels like - this isn’t it. This is worse, like a sickly heat crawling through your skin.

It’s not just you, Dick can’t keep himself together either.

You’re hunched over in the elevator now, his face pressed into your shoulder as he tries his eyes on the elevator buttons, his head swimming.

“Which floor are we?” He’s hot, far too hot like he needs to crawl out of his own skin completely to cool off, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Uh,” you blink, staring at the buttons, it looks like the numbers keep switching places, moving around up and down and to the side.

Bracing yourself against the metal door with one hand, you reach a shaky hand out, taking a guess when it comes to which floor your dorm is on, you guess the 5th and you can only hope you’re right.

“Fuck,” he hisses as the elevator lurches upwards, causing the two of you to nearly stumble to the floor, his hips bumping against your ass with a shaky groan.

His arms immediately lock around your mid-section, panting into your shoulder as he uses all that’s left of his brain power to keep the two of you upright. You were barely able to drag yourself across the room in your heels, hence you ditched them, opting to stand on the tops of his shoes so your feet don’t touch the floor.

Fuck, it’s hot in here.

“Are you feeling… weird?” He rasps, trying hard to sound stern, but the slur in his words ruins it. He swallows deeply and clears his throat, feeling a drop of sweat slide down from his hairline to the base of his neck. Everything was starting to feel too hot.

“Uh-huh,”

No way someone could’ve spiked either of you, you’ve been talking together for most of the night. Besides, who the hell would want to go after you both?

You’re not sure why you feel like this, sure - you’ve always been a bit of a flirty drunk but you’re sure the two of you had no more than two or three sips each.

“Jesus,” you rasp when it jolts to a halt, gripping onto his sleeve as you stumble out of the elevator. You stare down the hallway in despair, each dorm room looking identical.

“..where we goin again?”

“Uhhhh.. your dorm?” Dick was very, very aware of how his body was pressed up against you, and it was making trying to get to your room even more difficult. His grip on your shoulder was like a vice, holding onto you with much more force than he probably should.

“..5F,” You blink, using up all that’s left of your brain power to try to remember your dorm number.

F? End of the hall, fuck.

Dick almost laughs, but the amusement is quickly replaced with a gasp when he can feel the fabric of your dress slide under his hands a little too well.

His chest pressed firmly into your back, and he kept stumbling with every step you took, accidentally rutting into you.

“Hurry.” He pants. His face practically burning.

“Quit fuckin’ rushin’ meee..” You slur under your breath, not even aware why until you two are halfway down the hall that he keeps bumping against your ass.

It’s not your fault you didn’t notice, it’s probably better for your sanity if you never did but fuck neither of you can take it anymore, like you’re teetering on the edge of a heart attack, breaths heavy and faces flushed.

You’re not rushing fast enough.

His steps falter for a moment when his crotch pressed right against your ass, and he choked on a groan. It was involuntary, but it makes you stop still in the middle of the hallway.

“Sorry,” he murmurs under his breath, trying to get his legs to cooperate so he could keep walking toward your door. The blood in his body has been rushing south for a while, and it’s getting difficult to keep himself upright as it is.

When you two stumble inside, he’s not sure what’s worse - the fact that he hasn’t even asked you out properly or the fact that you don’t even make it to the bed, the two of you ending up a shaky mess on your floor.

“M’sorry,” he’s panting, almost desperate like he doesn’t know what’s possessed him, his hips rutting against yours as he tries to keep himself together, desperately searching for a coherent thought to cling onto.

“No,” you shake your head, trying to stop your back arching up off the floor as you press yourself against him, sweat dripping down your collarbone “Nuh-uh, no I’m sorry, fuck-”

You’re cut off by his face falling into your neck, fingers gripping the bottom of your dress like he’s trying to pull it up and out of his way but isn’t exactly sure how.

“Sorry,” he pants again, dark strands of his hair clinging to his forehead as he tries his best to keep himself together - acting like he’s not humping your thigh at this point with his mouth hovering over yours

“Uhh—fuckk,” His hands move to your ass, lifting you a little to get a better angle for him to grind up against your inner thigh.

“Y-you drunk?” You slur under your breath, clumsily leaning back on the floor to bunch the bottom of your dress up at your hips.

“No,” Dick mumbles, unable to hold back a little whine at the fact he can feel his cock leaking through underwear, desperately fumbling with his jeans “you?”

“No, n-not drunk,” you force out a reply, forehead bumping against his in a daze as your hand finds the back of his neck.

You’re not drunk.

You’ve been to enough college parties to know this isn’t the alcohol talking.

You can’t be drunk. You and Dick only had a couple sips. You didn’t even pre-game tonight.

“Please,” Dick murmured into your neck, needy and practically begging as his fingers tug your underwear every which way. “Need to be closer.”

“You’re on t-top of me,” you argue, brain too offline to actually understand how he could possibly get closer to you.

“No,” His hips moved again, grinding the aching bulge of his cock against your thighs, just to get some sweet, sweet friction. He needs you, needs you so bad, needs this.

“W-want you,” Dick pants. Want doesn’t even cover it.

“God, I need—“ he can’t even finish that sentence, too lost to even think.

“I need to f-fuck you, m’sorry.”

He genuinely is sorry. The rational part deep down in him is guilty. He should be asking you out, planning a date, anything else.

You should be waiting downstairs. Deep down you know Kori is probably waiting for you, fuck only knows where your phone even is.

You can’t be rational right now, no matter how hard you try. The heat between your legs is just too much to ignore.

“S’not your fault.” You swallow, trying to focus enough to kiss him which just ends in an awkward clash of your teeth against his.

Neither of you care, unable to focus on anything other than how badly you just need to fuck as his shaky hands finally manage to pull his boxers down his thighs.

You can’t hide how the sight of him makes your cunt throb, precum already dripping from his tip as his flushed cock slaps up against his abs.

Part of you is still thankful for the fact that he’s stronger than you, even in this state.

You know damn well you wouldn’t be able to coordinate yourself enough to hold your body up if Dick wasn’t there to hold your thighs in place - incoherent and slurred little whines falling from your mouth as you arch your back.

He’s got one hand gripping your thigh, the other behind your head so you don’t crack your skull open on the hardwood floor.

See, it would be sweet in any other scenario, if Dick was panting and babbling and telling you how pretty you are for him, how good you’re taking him.

That’s just not the case right now. He’s fucking you like he genuinely can’t stop himself - his thrusts are sloppy and out of rhythm but so fucking mean to the point your body wants to give out, your half-lidded eyes glassy as you stare up at the ceiling.

“L-look at me,” Dick pants, giving the back of your neck a desperate little squeeze so you meet his gaze, “f-fuck, please look at me,” he groans, each one of his words punctuated by a sloppy thrust into your aching pussy.

“Sorry.” It’s like he’s pleading again when you finally manage to meet his eyes, bottom lip trembling like he’s trying not to whine like a bitch at how good you feel around his cock.

He’s sorry he can’t help himself. He’s sorry he wasn’t able to keep his hands to himself. He’s sorry that it all happened the way it did.

“God,” you manage a rasp, fingers clutching the fabric of your dress to keep it held up “s-stop apologising to me and just fuck me,”

“Huh?” His lips are parted, staring down at you as his brain works to grasp onto what you’re saying - like his head is full of cotton wool.

“F-fuck me harder,” You repeat, trying to coordinate your body enough to lift your hips up to match his thrusts.

“Harder, huh?” Dick pants, like your words have managed to snap him out of his daze for just a split second, a sharp slam of his hips making you cry out as you clench around his cock.

“You want it h-harder?” His chest is heaving, his face is flushed, he doesn’t care - both hands finding your thighs to lift your ass off of the floor to throw both of your legs over his shoulders.

“H-holy fuck,” Dick hisses under his breath, gripping your thighs so hard his knuckles are turning white as he fucks his cock deeper into you, unable to find it in himself to look away from your face.

He was gonna compliment you on your sparkly eyeshadow and everything earlier, but it just looks so much better melting down your cheeks, same goes for the pretty lipstick now smeared across your face.

“Dick-“ you try to pull back, even if it’s a little bit to catch your breath. He’s not having it, one hand grabbing your chin as he presses his thumb down against your tongue, hips stuttering as he slams into you again.

“What?” He breathes, you can’t tell if he’s mocking your desperation or if he’s that out of it himself, your drool around his thumb making his cock twitch inside you.

“Y’wanted it h-harder,” It’s hard to recognise him at this point, just hours ago he was standing around trying to figure out how to even talk to you, making up any excuse to stall.

He’s all over the place now, fucking you on the floor of your dorm like a slut and the worst part is neither of you can tell who’s worse.

And he just can’t help running his stupid, stupid mouth.

“Always thought you were s-so fucking hot,” he whines, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a small string of spit - mouth now hovering over yours.

“Even j-jerked off to your f-fucking instagram,”

Normally, he’d rather curl up and die in a hole than ever admit that. But he just can’t stop.

“Huh?” You pant, barely able to suppress a whimper at the thought of it as your pussy clenches around him.

“M’serious,” he’s digging himself a deeper grave with every word he says, brain almost melting out his ears with every thrust into your sloppy cunt.

“S-shit you’re clenchin’ round me so good,” he mumbles against your mouth, lips meeting yours in more of a mess of spit and teeth than anything else.

“Bet you like it,” Dick breathes out, tongue brushing against yours as he pulls back for a moment, only to slam his cock into you even harder.

“B-bet me bein’ a f-fucking loser for you makes you wet huh?”

“Dick-“ See, you would argue.

If he wasn’t balls deep inside you, that is.

“I’m right aren’t I? S-shit, you won’t deny it.” He’s just babbling to himself at this point, staring at your fucked out face as you whine and writhe beneath him.

“B-bet you probably laugh at me, y’probably think I’m pathetic but you’re still letting me slut you out on the fucking floor, huh?”

Your body aches as the sunlight comes in through the blinds, brows furrowing as you find yourself draped in a black t-shirt that isn’t yours.

In efforts to try be gentlemanly after last night Dick stands shirtless in your kitchen - at a loss as he tries to figure out a breakfast he could conjure up from cabinets upon cabinets of beer and energy drinks and instant noodles.

He jolts a little when he hears a knock at the door, hesitant as he glances towards your bedroom and then back to the door once more.

Dick braces himself for a moment, expecting to be met with the sight of one of your hungover roommates making their way back to bed.

But no. He’s met with something far, far worse.

Wally West, beaming like an idiot with your phone and jacket tucked under his arm, belongings you presumably left downstairs.

“So,” he hums, barely fighting the smug grin curling at his lips as he stares at Dick, taking in his disheveled state.

“..you two have fun?”

Fucker.

a/n: take a shot every time I say “fuck”. You will genuinely end up floored.

(me when I reference my previous writing)

love u thanks for reading!! track suggestions open!

Dick Grayson m.list

[syrecjh]

Omgggg. This idea is haunting my dreams. Katsuki having a crush with school hearthrob who's literally perfect. Pretty, rich, talented, smart and kind. She's from the Support course. She's always been popular but you know how the Hero course is almost always in their own bubble? by the time he meets her, she already has a fan club and getting confessions at least twice a week. But you know our Katsuki always wants the best and always wants to be the best. Want to know how he'll try to catch her attention, beat the competition and win

──★ ˙💐 ̟ !! Winning Her Over

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

He met her by accident—or fate, if you asked someone softer than him.

Bakugo had been stomping through the halls of the Support Course building, muttering curses about some dumb circuitry issue frying his gauntlet mid-practice. He wasn’t in the mood for detours or delays. But fate didn’t care. Because just as he turned the corner, half-scowling and half-focused on the busted wire schematic in his head, he nearly crashed into her.

She looked up from her sketchpad with startled eyes—wide, bright, and caught somewhere between panic and poise. Like a doe frozen in a storm. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover it. She was striking. Ethereal, but not in a breakable way. There was steel behind her softness.

“Sorry,” she said, voice airy and polite, a breathless apology that didn’t match the firm set of her shoulders. “I didn’t see you.”

He blinked. “Tch. Should watch where you’re going.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t roll her eyes or walk away. She just smiled—soft and unbothered, like she hadn’t just bumped into one of the most explosive tempers in UA. Like she wasn’t afraid of sharp words and sharper reputations.

After that, it was like she started appearing everywhere. Not in the literal sense—she was always tucked away behind tech and tools, locked in her own world—but her name floated around him like static. People talked. They always did. The girl from the Support Course. Pretty. Rich. Talented. Rumor said she played two instruments, spoke three languages, already had overseas offers waiting in line. But it wasn’t her resume that stuck with him. It was her kindness. Quiet, steady. And just shy enough to make you want to know her more.

He wasn’t the only one curious, either. She’d turned down a dozen confessions before, each rejection wrapped in grace. No drama. No cruelty. Just a soft smile and a firm no. Every time, he’d overhear some extra whisper about how impossible she was to reach.

But Bakugo wasn’t most people. He never liked waiting in line.

One afternoon, he found himself leaning against her workbench, pretending he had business there. He didn’t. Not really. But she didn’t kick him out, and that had to count for something. His eyes scanned the clutter—spools of wire, soldering iron, half-built casing for some new prototype—but it was her face he watched.

“Why’d you say no to all those guys?” he asked, casual as he could fake it.

She glanced up, fingers pausing mid-adjustment. “Because I don’t know them,” she said, brows furrowing slightly in thought. “And I… I think I’d like to fall for someone I really see.”

He scoffed, shifting his weight like the floor was suddenly too stable. “Cheesy.”

“Well, it’s true.” Her lips curved. “Why? You thinking of joining the list?”

He looked at her then—really looked. The way her eyes held his, expectant but never pushy. The way she didn’t try to shrink herself or flirt or play coy. Just honest curiosity.

“I’m not here to confess,” he said, voice low. “I’m here to win.”

There was a beat. A flicker in her expression, surprise wrapped in something warmer.

“Is that so?”

“Damn right.” His arms crossed as he leaned forward slightly, gaze steady. “I don’t do half-assed anything. If I’m coming for you, I’m not stopping until you can’t look anywhere else.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—soft, startled, but genuine. Like he’d said something she hadn’t expected and didn’t quite know what to do with.

“You’re intense,” she said with a breathless sort of amusement.

“And you’re distracting,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to her unfinished schematic. “So stop being so damn radiant or I’ll never get anything done.”

The laugh that followed was lighter. And this time, she didn’t look away.

He started visiting more often after that. No excuses, no pretense. He’d drop in between training and class, lean on her table, offer unasked opinions about her prototypes, and insult her taste in snacks. She never asked him to leave. She teased him back when she got comfortable. And slowly—somewhere between shared silences and teasing jabs—he started to realize something he hadn’t admitted to himself before.

It wasn’t about winning. Not really.

It was about how her laugh made something loosen in his chest. How her stubborn work ethic reminded him of his own. How she never treated him like a weapon or a warning, just a boy with too much drive and no patience. And when he caught himself pausing outside her lab late one night just to hear her humming, it hit him like a gut-punch.

He liked her. Really liked her.

Not because she was perfect.

But because she saw him—and didn’t flinch.

And hell, maybe that was the only kind of victory he’d ever wanted.

[moonstruckme]

Mae, have you ever done a whimsical reader with Steddie? I don’t really have an idea exactly but I love reading whimsical reader. I think whimsical reader would both confuse and make Steddie swoon

I have not! And I agree, I think she would :)

poly!Steddie x whimsical!reader ♡ 668 words

You’ve been missing for a whole afternoon before your boyfriends set out to find you. They know better than to be worried—you have a tendency to set out with purpose and then get diverted along the way—but they also know better than to think you’ll notice it’s getting dark out with enough time to make it home. 

Steve and Eddie split up with intent to meet back at Skull Rock by sunset, and of course that’s where Eddie finds you, sitting pretzel-style on the ground laying down pieces of bread while Steve slaps the back of his neck agitatedly. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Eddie says, loving how you and Steve both look up. He was talking to both of you, really. 

“Hi.” Your voice floats towards him like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. For someone who’s made no effort to come home all day, you look genuinely pleased to see him. “Your hair looks nice.” 

Eddie grins. He’s tied it up in a bun because it’s so fucking hot out, and it’s probably damp and frizzy, but of course you would find something to like. “Thanks. Where’d you run off to today?” 

You hum. “I wanted to go sit in the stream.”

“It’s dried up,” Steve informs Eddie. 

“It was dried up,” you echo wistfully. “So then I came here to lie in the sun, and when I woke up—” 

“She fell asleep,” Steve fills in, his voice heavy with a signature mix of dryness and affection. His mouth twists as he smacks a spot on his arm. 

“—I saw these ants taking apart an old apple to carry it away. I find their organization very impressive, don’t you?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. “Super impressive, yeah. Sweetheart, did you nap here for the whole afternoon?” 

You take your attention off the ants by your knees for a moment to blink up at him. “I don’t know. Is the afternoon over?” 

Steve huffs an appalled laugh. “Yeah, it’s over. You know it’s over because the fucking mosquitos are out. Are you two not being eaten alive?”

“Nope,” says Eddie, at the same time as you say, “I don’t mind them taking what they need.” 

Steve’s brows sew together concernedly at that, but he only snaps, “Can we go, please?” 

“Okay, you big baby.” Eddie slings an arm around Steve’s neck, hauling him in for a kiss. “Jesus. Can’t even take a couple of mosquito bites, huh?” 

“I think it’s sweet,” you say. You ensure the last few pieces of your bread are broken up and dispersed before standing. “It means they like your blood the best. I bet they really appreciate you.” 

Steve scoffs as he threads his fingers through yours. “Oh, great. They appreciate me.” He bumps Eddie’s hip. “Are we sure they’re not all just going to me because he’s anemic?”

“Your contribution does a lot to help the forest ecosystem, Steve.” 

“I think he’d like it better if they asked,” Eddie tells you, shooting your boyfriend a teasing look. “Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”  

You frown at this, as though a bit distraught on behalf of the mosquitos. “I’m sure they would if they could.” 

Steve mumbles something like okay, pressing a pacifying kiss to your head. 

“It’s a good thing the bugs have you to look out for them,” Eddie tells you. “I mean, standing up for mosquitos, giving your lunch to ants…” 

“I still ate most of it,” you say. Steve’s kiss seems to have lifted your mood considerably (Eddie can also testify to this effect). You’re now gently swinging your joined hands between you as you walk. “I didn’t think they needed much. It’s just that sometimes one of the ants would go out of the line, and I didn’t want them to feel silly coming back with nothing.” 

So you laid down tiny pieces of your bread in their path. Fucking adorable. 

Steve and Eddie share a look, and this time it’s Steve who says, “They’re lucky to have you, babe.” 

[dissociativewriter]

hello hello if your requests are still open can i have a zayne and nonMC reader who is a veterinarian? a meet cute would be nice if you're down to writing it! hehe thank you!!!!

Clopidogrel was sick, and Zayne was more worried than he’d like to admit.

He knew it was ridiculous. It was ridiculous to name the squirrel outside his office window at Akso. It was ridiculous to feed said squirrel. It was ridiculous to talk to that squirrel on slow days at the hospital when Zayne’s thoughts consumed him and he had to get them out to someone.

Zayne should never have gotten attached.

But here he was, halfway out the window looking for Clopidogrel in his nest. The squirrel in question was huddled in a corner, visibly trembling and less energetic than Zayne had ever seen him.

Cursing himself for honestly entertaining this, Zayne scooped the little squirrel up, tucking him into his doctor’s coat. Zayne had the next hour off as break, he noted, checking the time.

Off to the veterinarian it is.

Zayne has never felt so laughable as he did walking through the streets of Linkon with a squirrel cradled against his chest. Clopidogrel wasn’t shaking so much, though, so Zayne couldn’t really complain.

The closest veterinarian’s office was, conveniently, just a couple streets down from Akso Hospital. Zayne checked in swiftly, admitting a sick squirrel under the name Clopidogrel (“Yes, that’s C-L-O…”) before taking a seat across from an unruly Lakeland Terrier.

The exam room of the office wasn’t much different, but Zayne busied himself with an article on penguin’s mating tactics while Clopidogrel was taken to the back. Before long, Zayne was met with the smiling face of the resident veterinarian.

“Hi! Doctor Li, is it?”

“That’s right.” Zayne nodded, watching your face.

It wasn’t very appropriate to be finding the veterinarian attractive, but then, Zayne supposed he was breaking a lot of his own expectations recently.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that Clopidogrel will make a quick recovery!” You grinned. “He’s got leptospirosis, which explains the flu-like symptoms, but we should be able to get him up and healthy soon,” you explained.

“I’m glad he’ll be alright,” he said stiffly.

“Are you… interested in penguins?” you asked, pointing towards the article in his hand.

Zayne looked down at his hand, tips of his ears flushing a faint red. “Ah… yes, I am.”

You smiled again, so bright and full Zayne thought his heart might stop. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so overwhelmed, so self-conscious of himself.

He felt like a little schoolboy with his crush, a life he hadn’t been able to indulge.

“So am I!” you chirped. “Maybe we could talk sometime!” You paused, suddenly aware of how you sounded. “You know, whenever you’re here with Clopidogrel.”

“I’d like that.” Zayne gave you his first genuine smile, and you thought you might melt on the spot. Although, to be fair, Zayne thought he might, too.

“Great! I’ll see you soon, then?” you offered.

“You will,” Zayne confirmed, unable to fight the warm smile on his face.

Stepping out of the vet’s office, Clopidogrel in tow, Zayne caught sight of a remarkably smooth pebble in the dirt. Stooping to pick it up, he smiled as he rolled it around in his hand.

Maybe going to the veterinarian wouldn’t be so bad.

this was such a cute idea!!! they’re two awkward little babies omg i want to push them together like dolls and make them kiss 😭 i hope you liked this, i know it might not be what you were thinking but i still think its cute!

(it crossed my mind that you could have a snow crow meet cute where zayne is taking clopidogrel to the vet while sylus is taking in a kitten he found nearby, and then the kitten chases clopidogrel around ahhhh it’d be cute i swear) (idk why i’ve had snow crow on the mind recently)

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

taglist (9/50): @dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl @angelkazusstuff @lamogliedizayne @cordidy

[nothoughtsjustficrecs]

Review Written for The K-Fic Collection.

Oh, this was just so genuinely lovely. And now I really want someone to hold me under the stars and softly tell me their stories 🥺.

Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!

When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go, as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].

-

“ it’s directions to a wetland park ” oooh that kind of bog. I literally thought reader was asking for a toilet break lol

“ You beam at him, eyes sparkling in the sun’s last rays of the day, like a pet showing its owner a present they brought back from the outside. ” aw, cute

“ “Not until tonight, I haven’t,” is his smooth answer; and before you know it, he’s pulling the shift into drive and pressing hard on the gas. ” we love that support!

“ “Explain it to me.” ” oh, that’s the sweetest thing you can say when talking to someone who studies words 🥺

“ He lowers his face so that his mouth is close, so close, right by your ear. Freeing one of his hands from your embrace, he tilts your chin up with his fingers ever so slightly, pointing at a faint cluster of stars somewhere above and to the right. You squint your eyes to focus better as Jeonghan softly begins his story. ” oh, I love this so much 🥺

“ “Just.. how perfectly nature fits within itself sometimes, like one big recurring metaphor. As if the mother of the universe finds her favorite verses in the stars and rewrites them over and over because she can’t get enough of them.” ” love this

“ “Personally, I think I’ve received the message pretty well through you.” ” YESSSSSS! Be brave and honest, my child!!!

“ There’s a sharp intake of air. You feel Jeonghan exhale a breath, tingling your skin, and his lips are so close they kiss the shell of your ear as they move.

“I agree. I guess we are yet another recreation of her favorite tale of love, then.” ” 🥺

“ “The duality of man.”

“The duality of man, indeed,” you murmur. ” indeed indeed (yes, I did mean to write that twice)

“ “That’s never been something to ask of me. It’s always been pure fact, like the origin of the word bog. Pine has different Latin roots, Orion chases the Pleiades, and I want you.” ” 🥺💗

I feel like the majority of my reaction to this fic has literally been 🥺 and I should probably try to be more eloquent on a fic that has language as a theme, but unfortunately, my brain does not want to word, so I apologise for that!

📋 the study of prosody | ft. yoon jeonghan

PREVIEW. pros·​o·​dy. noun. the patterns of stress and intonation in a language. an example of its use would be the study of the following phrases: i.) if you want me, ii.) if you want me, iii.) if you want me.

FEATURING. stargazer!yoon jeonghan x linguist!reader GENRE(S). yearning, fluff, friends to lovers, suggestive (minors beware.) LENGTH | WC. <20min | 3.4k words EXPLICITS. cursing, one (1) mention of a spider, r ends up on yjh’s lap, car makeout session, light marking, grinding, yjh calls r sweetheart, lowk sub!r & sub!yjh (they are so effing down bad for one another)

JAY’S MUSINGS. been in the Craziest jeonghan brainrot for So long. someone help. for my beloved ashi, @junplusone, as we will now unfortunately promptly disappear again as stem major curriculums pick up once more. i offer u my love thru begging jeonghan. tysm for beta-reading. (p.s. slightly inspired by @mochacoda's night d(r)ive!! there is so much love written into her words it consumes me whole. pls go take a look <3)

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE. if you want me, you better speak up by ljh // understand by keshi // striptease by carwash // touch tank by quinnie // better half by jeonghan (ft. omoinotake)

i.) if you want me,

“Bog time?”

Jeonghan looks up from the GPS on his phone, an eyebrow quirked up at your out of the blue words. He has the address of a random park punched into the navigation, finger hovering over the Start Route button, but he easily swipes out of the tab as if it was a mere thought in the back of his mind.

“And what might you mean by,” he lazily curls two fingers in the air in quotation marks, “Bog time?”

To his question, you simply offer your phone to him. There’s a curve to his smile as he takes the device and stares at the screen; it’s directions to a wetland park about nine minutes out from your location, in some suburban neighborhood. Pictures show a few benches around the small pond and a trail leading behind to the forest.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling in the sun’s last rays of the day, like a pet showing its owner a present they brought back from the outside. “A bog! Have you ever been to one?”

Jeonghan hands you back your phone, fingers sliding against yours, and looks to the sky thoughtfully. He rests his hand on the steering wheel of his sleek black Toyota Camry, the leather glinting with shine, tapping his finger to a beat you wished you knew.

“Not until tonight, I haven’t,” is his smooth answer; and before you know it, he’s pulling the shift into drive and pressing hard on the gas.

Loving Yoon Jeonghan is easy.

It’s more of an afterthought for you at this point. You grab the last bag of his favorite chips at the convenience store? He’s planning his move to steal it as if you weren’t going to surrender it to him without a fight, but you play along anyway to indulge him. There’s a spider in the kitchen? He’s cheering you on for moral support as you grab a cup and some paper to trap it, but it takes one tremble of your hands for him to click his tongue, say you’re too slow, and get the job done for you.

His quick-witted, ever playful banter keeps you on your toes. You thrive in the presence of him like a sponge soaking up as much water as it can—except, unfortunately for you, you’re constantly on the verge of having it all flood out and drowning in it.

Because while loving Yoon Jeonghan is easy, wanting him is a whole different story.

Loving doesn’t result in an ache in your heart every time he talks about his latest date with someone. Loving doesn’t cause the burning pit in your stomach that surfaces when he leans over, just right, to whisper something only meant for your ears.

Love, to you, is the noun you hold for Jeonghan, stored in your hands when you light-heartedly swat him away with a tsk—and want is the verb that jumps out of you when he effortlessly catches your wrist in his hand, honey eyes gleaming in your lamp’s light.

“Yah, we’re here.”

His teasing tone snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink in surprise. There’s no parking lot; his car is stalled on the side of the road, the headlights flickering for a moment before turning off.

“Where’s the bog?” you tilt your head in different directions, trying to get an unsuccessful glimpse of your surroundings.

Jeonghan snorts and pushes a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. “You tell me, dude. Can’t see shit out here.”

“Language,” you scold, before unlocking your side of the car and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

The neighborhood is quiet save for the occasional hoot of an owl and the wind’s loud escapades through the trees. You shiver and tuck yourself into the knitted sweater you had chosen for tonight, the wind picking up ever so slightly as if to mock your choice of clothing. Jeonghan is on your side before you can even think of yanking him out of the car, much to your dismay. He shuts your door and shines the flashlight of his phone onto the dewy lawn grass.

“What even is a bog?” Jeonghan queries as the two of you begin to walk in a seemingly random direction. “Just a wetland?”

“Basically, yeah. The thing we’re going too isn’t really a bog. More of a pond with some swamp aspects. I just think bog’s a funny word.”

Your shoes scrape against the cement. From Jeonghan’s light, you can see up ahead that just across the road is the sign from your Google Search, signifying your destination is close. Your eyes trace the trail winding behind it into the forest.

“Explain it to me.”

Startled, you glance back. Jeonghan’s face is faintly illuminated from the light bouncing off of you. If you were to focus well enough, you would be able to outline the slope of his cheekbone and the way some strands of his hair brushed against it ever so softly.

“The word bog? Are you serious? It’s really nothing,” you try to argue, turning back around.

“Come on. Try me.”

You heave a sigh. “Alright. If you want me to.”

“Yah. ‘Course I want you to.”

The air feels a little thicker now, but you swallow the feeling back and press forward as the grass gets taller. You wish it was warmer; maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to hear the night calls of a toad, or see fireflies milling about the shoreline.

“Gaelic origin, mostly. Just an adjective that describes something that’s soft and damp. There’s also some roots back to Ireland—they had a word that describes moist ground.”

While you’re explaining, Jeonghan carefully takes the lead, shining his flashlight onto the wooden sign marking the entrance to the trail and oncoming wetland. He hums in response.

“Nerd.”

You smack his shoulder blade.

“Ow—fuck, okay, I’m sorry!”

He’s laughing, and like the death of a star your anger explodes into oblivion, rolling your eyes good-naturedly as you shove him with your elbow. “You were the one who asked.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right.” You glance at Jeonghan from within your peripherals while he speaks. There’s a flicker of surprise as you take note of his small smile that curls with an emotion you can’t quite read.

“Can’t help it, y’know,” he muses aloud. “To want is a cruel thing.”

ii.) if you want me,

Your breath evens as the concrete path gradually gives way to wooden boardwalk. The two of you walk quietly side by side, the water’s surface still and reflecting the moon’s light from above. Jeonghan had mentioned earlier that it was a waxing gibbous, and that a super moon would be occurring in a few nights’ time.

Moments were always stolen with Jeonghan—not because you two didn’t have the time for each other, but more so because you two seemed to have all the time in the world to spend in each other’s presence. Inseparable like the twin stars marked by the constellation dubbed Gemini, you grew so used to his existence that it took outrageously spontaneous adventures like this one to really cherish him.

Or, in this particular case, curse him and his ever observant nature.

“You want me to do what?”

“Just come here,” he urges, opening his arms a little wider.

Your hesitance is palpable, but ultimately, you relent, wiggling your way into his warm embrace. His hoodie is worn with seasons of journeys that you’ve accompanied him on, and it’s always been a comfort you’ve relied on for warmth.

Just… never with him alongside it.

“There you go,” Jeonghan’s lips skim the crown of your hairline and you shudder, the motion backfiring on you when he only presses you closer to him. “Y’know, you usually know better than to wear the thinnest knitted sweater known to man on a night like this.”

“You could’ve just given me your hoodie, you know.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to do that. Then I’d be freezing. This is a win-win.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and bury yourself further against the fabric.

The self-proclaimed bog is forgotten as the two of you find more interesting things to take notice of. Once more, a comfortable quiet overtakes you two, with your eyes following the sway of a tree’s branches and Jeonghan focused on the sky above. A moment to journal about later, maybe, with a fern taken and pressed to be studied after it dried. Perhaps tonight you’d snag the formidable prickles of the pine tree nearby. You’d always be interested in how words took shape after nature, the conifer’s history included.

As if on cue, Jeonghan’s voice is pulling you out of your thoughts in asking about the tree before you two. You respond in turn about the specifics of the pine.

“Doesn’t that have another meaning? Pine?”

“Mhm,” you hum noncommittally. “The tree existed first, then the verb pine came about later; means to long for or seek after, similar to yearning. They both actually stem from two different Latin words—pine tree from pinus and pining from poena. Cool how they ended up as the same word though, huh?”

Jeonghan is surprisingly still for a while. Leaves rustle nearby, being stirred by the wind, and you bite your lip.

Even though he’s heard you ramble about nonsense background contexts of words a thousand times over, the silence scares you. Sometimes you still fear Jeonghan will be bored by your constant, monotone voice, as if he was only listening to reply rather than understand.

“Hey, look up. D’you see those three stars up there?”

You glance above the tree you’re studying and nod against the fabric of his hoodie. The three stars in question are a straight shot line, banded together diagonally like a belt. Above those, another group of stars come together to form the torso of a man, one arm held out to hold something akin to a bow.

“Orion and his belt,” you confirm. “You’ve told me his story before—the hunter who boasted about killing all animals, right? I remember arguing about the right myth to follow.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more to it,” Jeonghan chuckles and wraps his arms a smidge tighter around you. You try to ignore the electricity shooting through your veins, piercing your heart like a lightning strike.

He lowers his face so that his mouth is close, so close, right by your ear. Freeing one of his hands from your embrace, he tilts your chin up with his fingers ever so slightly, pointing at a faint cluster of stars somewhere above and to the right. You squint your eyes to focus better as Jeonghan softly begins his story.

“The Pleiades were seven sisters who were sought after by Orion. Their father was Atlas, the Titan condemned to holding up the sky, and once barred to his eternal punishment, Orion took this chance to begin his pursuit. He was persistent in his chase for the sisters, wanting to win any of their favors through any means possible. Zeus eventually had enough of Orion’s attempts and turned the Pleiades into doves to free them; however, they asked to be placed in the sky to be closer to their father. That’s how the constellation we know of now came to be formed. Unfortunately for them, Orion took to the skies soon after and continues to chase them to this day.”

It’s your turn to fall speechless. Something about the tale makes your bottom lip jut out in a solemn expression; eternal punishment of any form, be it to hold up the sky for forever or to be chased unwillingly by a hunter in various forms, makes your heart ache. You stubbornly hope there is an end to your own suffering, fingers shaking as Jeonghan pulls his hand away from cupping your face.

“Don’t worry, though,” he whispers; his tone is so gentle it has you leaning into him subconsciously. “The Pleiades are safe. All Orion can do is long for, or pine after them, as you so dutifully defined for me earlier.”

“I’m glad.” Your voice, low and full of emotion, is almost lost to the wind as it begins to surge. “Sometimes feelings just can’t be returned, no matter how much we desire them to be. I would want them to be happy.”

You stare woefully at the sisters. Jeonghan’s gaze remains fixated on you.

“Me too.”

iii.) if you want me.

As you stare up at Orion and the Pleiades, your gaze rests on the silhouette of the tree before the two of you. The branches sway in the wind, catching the breeze, and you trail the outline of the tree across the sky. From just the right angle, Orion seems to lean against the pine, his weight being supported by the sturdy evergreen like it had grown specifically for him to rest upon. The thought makes you smile.

“Isn’t it crazy?” comes your muffled murmur from against the material of his hoodie; Jeonghan makes a noise for you to continue.

“Just.. how perfectly nature fits within itself sometimes, like one big recurring metaphor. As if the mother of the universe finds her favorite verses in the stars and rewrites them over and over because she can’t get enough of them.”

The wind begins to die down; there’s no need for you to be bundled up within Jeonghan’s arms, but you stay, waiting with bated breath for his response.

“How so?”

Perhaps it’s the late hour that boldens you with no room for overthinking, your phones tucked neatly away in your pockets as to not distract you. Your heart is throwing itself against your ribcage as you muster up a confession.

“There’s so many tales like Orion and the Pleiades, as sad as it is. But there are just as many triumphs as there are tragedies, all recreated over and over. The universe—she’s trying to tell us something. She’s telling us to find love in each other, and therefore, in ourselves.”

You swallow back any possible regret and finish, “Personally, I think I’ve received the message pretty well through you.”

There’s a sharp intake of air. You feel Jeonghan exhale a breath, tingling your skin, and his lips are so close they kiss the shell of your ear as they move.

“I agree. I guess we are yet another recreation of her favorite tale of love, then.”

Something shifts in you; an unspoken agreement that has your head reeling when he doesn’t let you slip away from him on the way back to the car. Your fingers are grasped lightly in his, and soft giggles tumble out of you when he fumbles to open the door of your side. They fall silent as he slides in, adjusting the chair back and looking up at you expectantly. His hand is out for you to take.

“Well?” is all he says, and the single word’s implication hits you like a freight truck.

Aren’t you going to be with me?

The wind howls, delighted and amped up from the excitement swirling within you. Your hair whips around your face protectively, tears beginning to stain the apples of your cheeks. There is nothing in your mind except for the way Jeonghan’s wisps of blonde hair fall away from their place behind his ears. You ache to fix them.

“Are you sure?” is all you can croak out.

His eyes shine in the moonlight, and with no hesitation he replies, “Yes, if you want me.”

Your weight rests on his lap in a painfully easy manner. The car door clicks shut and is swiftly locked, and before you know it, Jeonghan’s hands are settled around your waist.

“Hi.” You squeak ever so eloquently.

Jeonghan has his face mere inches away from you. His nose tickles yours in a sheepish laugh. “Hi to you, too.”

“Did you mean it?” you blurt out with trembling fingers, daring to clutch onto the hem of his sweater as if he’ll blow away with no warning. “Are you serious about this?”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” he teases. “Are you saying I’ve been implying something tonight?”

“I want to say so. I want to believe that you have been.”

The way your name falls off his tongue is pure silk, and you swear he’s reinvented a new meaning to it just now. Who knew that meanings could be born from different intonations?

“Please,” Jeonghan breathes your name again; it’s a borderline whine that rushes the air out of your lungs. “Just let me want you. I’ve been denied it for so long.”

The kiss that follows is searing, burning with the desire you’ve wrestled with shoving back into your throat until now. You aren’t entirely sure who’s lips pressed to who’s first, but what you are sure of is the moan that slips from Jeonghan’s mouth, his breathing harsh and ragged.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you have half the mind to tell him to mind his language again when he interrupts you by squeezing your waist. “You’re so goddamn hot.”

Laughter bubbles out of you. Jeonghan glances up at you in surprise, his eyelashes fluttering with confusion. You giggle and cup his cheek.

“Weren’t you just versing poetry to me thirty seconds ago? What happened to that?”

He just shrugs and leans forward to press a feverish kiss to your lips. “The duality of man.”

“The duality of man, indeed,” you murmur.

Your fingernails scrape along his neck enticingly, tangling in the tufts of his blonde hair. You give an experimental tug and revel in the gasp he lets out, a whimper being drawn out of you.

Jeonghan tilts your chin up and begins to pepper your jawline with kisses, each more passionate than the last. He’s pushing your sweater’s neckline to the side by the time he reaches your collarbone, spurred on by your quiet moans and high intones of his name, nipping marks into your skin. Red blooms across your shoulders from his love bites.

“I didn’t know you were a biter,” you quip through gasps. “Should’ve figured, though.”

His fingers, running along your curves from under your sweater, suddenly pinch your butt. You yelp and whine at his antics while Jeonghan just laughs.

“Better than you, sweetheart,” he smirks, rubbing circles into your skin as a silent apology. “All bark, no bite.”

You kiss him to shut him up, tongue sliding against his before beginning to suck on his bottom lip. He tastes like the honey lemon tea you shared earlier at the cafe. You wonder if you taste the same.

A wave of heat scores through you at the thought, wanting nothing more than to eternally be enveloped by his scent, his taste, his everything. You don’t even realize how hard your hips are pressing into his until he breaks the kiss with a groan, bucking up into you with a delicious sigh.

You feel him, hard and hot and sorely needy, and you take the chance to grind back down against him, adoring the way his shuddering lips chase yours. The world is lost to you; all you know is Yoon Jeonghan, and he simply is enough.

“I want you,” you suddenly say, pausing to take in the sight below you.

His cheeks are flushed, yours no doubt no better, and his hoodie is barely hanging on to the lower half of his torso. Pale, muscled skin peeks out and tenses at your touch sliding up his abdomen. Jeonghan is glowing, and tears prick the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by emotion.

“I want you,” you repeat, lips ghosting his. “But I want you to want me, too. Do you?”

“Dumb question,” he whispers back. “That’s never been something to ask of me. It’s always been pure fact, like the origin of the word bog. Pine has different Latin roots, Orion chases the Pleiades, and I want you.”

A sigh escapes you, and you let yourself press once more to him, answering his confession with a kiss.

 I want you. Your body, made by the universe, retells your story over and over as it moves in time with his own. I want you and I want you to want me and I want us.

Jeonghan eagerly kisses you in return as if to say, Go ahead then, take me. Take it all. I want you.

Take everything in me, and leave nothing left but us.

[lukehughes]

Things We Never Did (JH86)

Pairing: Jack Hughes x Fem!Popstar!Reader

WC: 14k

If it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

General Warnings: slight angst but nothing of my usual caliber, self doubt and insecurity surrounded by a bunch of assurance from each other and otherwise heart melting fluff 💕 there might be sexual references but there's no smut, I thought about it but inserting filth in the middle of this just didn't quite fit the narrative lmao

A/N: this felt so beyond blurb territory, and it's been so long since I've posted anything with an actual fic graphic, that I wanted to make this it's own thing. I once upon a time said I didn't think I'd ever write for Jack, and I want to thank every person who has ever requested him for pushing me out of my comfort zone, because I get to make things like this - that I'm genuinely proud of and that inspire me at a point where I really thought I had no inspiration in me anymore lmao (this isn't me saying flood me with the jack requests lmao I feel like this is what I've been waiting to write haha, I literally wrote most of this in a day and I haven't written more than little snippets I can piece together in a very long time!!)

I talk a lot about certain players being perfect for certain tropes, and I've always thought Jack would be the ideal candidate for a PR dating fic!! like he just is the type of guy that would end up in a fake relationship with some perfect pop star and charm the absolute pants off of her!! and this song feels made for that, so I wrote it a little different to the others, I hope the anon who requested this likes it!! and again, thank you for requesting it, I really did have a blast!

*also disclaimer I possess not a singular clue in regards to how record labels, music contracts or PR relationships operate (obviously), this is a work of fiction lmao

“Isn’t the whole point of this thing that people see us out together?”

Jack Hughes is far from your first rodeo when it comes to PR relationships.

You've been in the industry since you were a teenager - releasing albums every other year or so since you were 18 years old - and you've been chewed up and spit back out again by enough heartthrobs to feel like you know how these things usually go.

First came Milo, an actor on some hit Netflix series at the time, who shared a management team with you - and your own agent had insisted, you're gonna need all the help you can get, honey, it's cut-throat out there for girls like you.

He had been your boyfriend during your first album cycle, a record packed full of songs you'd written in high school about your first love, so it sort of fit to make it seem like they could possibly have been about him.

There were a lot of girls your age out there who wished they were in your shoes, and listening to your music at the time helped them live out that fantasy - singing along to lyrics about kissing in cars and falling in love for the first time and picturing the pretty boy from the show they all obsessed over instead of some guy back in the middle-of-nowhere town you originated from, who might not have had the movie star good looks but he sure had a big heart.

Milo lasted 18 months, and your breakup led you perfectly into the next album - angsty, dramatic, scathing, you're pretty sure one of the reviews had said, all fitting for the ways in which that first fake relationship messed with your head.

You were young, and you were naive, and you'd made your agent promise no more actors after him - because for someone who could barely even muster a convincing tear on-screen, he sure knew how to lie to you off one.

He’d somehow convinced you that the lines were blurring, that he felt something for you beyond what he was contractually obliged to feel, and, being a young girl who just wanted to be loved, you fell fast, and you fell hard.

And then the rug was pulled out from under you when he moved on to one of his co-stars.

After Milo, there was Noah - a musician, like yourself, who you thought you might find common ground with. He was a little older, not inappropriately so, a little more seasoned, and you could get away with all the fun boy vs man analogies in your lyrics just to aim a dig at the first guy.

Noah never played too much into the relationship behind the scenes - always acting like it was a major inconvenience, like his label had forced him into it and he had no interest in going beyond the bare minimum expected of him to get his name back into people's mouths after his own last flop of an album. And that meant that he'd ditch you whenever you were out as soon as the cameras turned. There were no staged dates, no pap walks for coffee, no conversations over dinner while you faked smiles knowing some creep was lurking with a long-lens down the street.

And for a while, you had thought that was what you wanted after getting so blindsided by Milo and his performance of a lifetime - but Noah just made you feel small. Invisible. Lesser than.

You should have known better, anyway - guys with guitars often possess that kind of over-inflated sense of ego that you’re safer steering clear of.

It helped you convince your fans of your sadness while you sang to growing audiences about being lied to and manipulated, but as those crowds thinned out, you just felt alone. You were so far removed at that point from any sense of normalcy lingering from your life before, that you didn’t really have anywhere or anybody to turn to, either.

Noah lasted half as long as Milo, and after that, you'd asked your agent, no more musicians.

After Noah, you sort of spiralled - seeking validation from men in seedy situations, just wanting to be seen - and an encounter at an industry event with some film producer, who strayed from his wife so often that the tan line on his left ring finger had completely faded, that ended up plastered all over social media meant your agency had to scramble to put everything to rights.

That’s where Rhys came in, the influencer. You honestly think he might have just been the first to reply to the SOS sent out to any single Z-listers in your general vicinity. By that point, you didn't know what perks being seen with him brought you, but you didn't dare ask. You had to put in the work to restore your good girl image and the public's faith in you, and Rhys was about as faithful as they came.

A golden boy from some small town with millions of adoring followers and very little actual talent, he was supposed to be harmless. 

He had a bible verse in his instagram bio, for god's sake!

When you pass through waters, I will be with you - Isaiah 43:2.

And he really lived by his own crazy version of that.

Rhys was on you like a cheap suit. He went with you everywhere, never giving you a minute to breathe.

He wanted to follow you into the studio, wanted to put his opinion in over some lyrics he thought might have been, in his own words, unchristian, saying he didn’t like the direction you were heading in. He came with you to fittings, trying to tell your stylist what to put you in, and to photoshoots, trying to have a say over what pictures made the final cut. He made up for his own lack of creativity and individuality by completely stomping all over yours.

He was a nightmare.

And for a boy of supposed faith, he sure made you a sceptic.

You'd begged and pleaded with your agency after that, telling them you needed a break - no more losers, which may as well have meant no more men, period - and thankfully, you had people in your corner - the one you felt so backed up into at that point - who arranged to get you out of it.

You had managed to stay single for a year, trying to figure out what came next and thankful for the space to do so.

And then, your latest single bombed.

You wish you could say you took a creative risk, and that you didn't care because you believed in the music you were putting out - but none of that is true. Your label had been a part of some mega-merger in the summer, and your creative team had been completely disbanded. All the resources you had before had been spread so thin you had no one left that you trusted, and the one person you did have had convinced you to put out a song you didn't write.

Years of advocating for yourself, for your talent and your creativity, gone in the blink of an eye.

We just need to get something out there, he'd told you, let the big wigs know you're someone they need to prioritise.

It's a guaranteed hit, I promise.

You should have known at that point in your career, after 5 years in the industry, that there was no such thing.

There were meetings behind the scenes about your future - meetings you were somewhat ironically not invited to - and it was decided that another PR relationship might boost the sales of your next single.

So, then came Jack, an athlete - but, maybe more importantly, a mystery.

Milo had a show to promote, Noah had an album to sell, and Rhys had followers to gain.

But Jack's talent speaks for itself - an ever-rising star in his sport, with skill and charisma to boot. He's social media-shy, so he doesn't need to flaunt you for likes and clicks, he's fairly uncontroversial, so he doesn't need you to cover up his bad behaviour.

What could he possibly have to gain from agreeing to fake-date you?

Especially considering he's so bad at it.

"Probably," he shrugs in response to your question, hands tucked in his pocket and baseball cap tugged low enough to cast a shadow over the rest of his face, "But I don't know, sometimes I'm alright with not being seen."

This is your third time meeting him - the first at a private dinner held by your management, where introductions were made across tables, and you'd barely got a handshake out of the evening before he was being dragged away by his own people. The second had been in some office building, where the two of you had signed your lives away in the name of gaining something unspoken from one another.

And all of a sudden, he's knocking on the door of your apartment this morning dressed like Joe from You - jacket zipped up to his chin and a Yankees cap angled down to cover his eyes.

"I think that defeats the purpose of a publicity stunt," you tell him, your own arms folded in front of your chest to shield yourself from the cold, the two of you walking side by side down an otherwise empty street, occasionally bumping into your hip when he swerves to avoid a pole or parking meter by the curb. “I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to have someone standing over there taking blurry, pixellated zoom-ins of us holding hands.”

“I forgot you’re a vet when it comes to this stuff,” he snorts, “If you need to hold my hand, feel free, but I’m not about to call someone over to take a picture, something about that feels a little forced.”

You figure it will be a fruitless thing to say, that’s sort of the point.

“Where are we even going?” You ask, instead, a little too late in your venture out of the apartment to actually be concerned about where he’s dragging you off to with no advanced warning. You’d bundled up at his request, put on shoes that were comfortable to walk in, and accepted the way he’d unclipped another baseball cap from his belt loop and perched it atop your own head. 

He’d just seemed so sure of what he was doing that you didn’t think to question him, but you’ve been out for an hour now - half of that time spent getting coffee - and nothing about this situation feels like it usually does.

“There,” he points across the street.

“A record store?” you ask as he gestures for you to cross, eyes fixed on the black and white signage that reads, Vinyl Destination, and lips turning up a little in the corners.

For some reason, it reminds you of before.

Saturday afternoons spent browsing the shelves of the independent vinyl store in your hometown, branded a similar punny name - For The Record - with your boyfriend from back then. You’d both buy something you’d never heard before, swap between you, and feed back on the album the following Friday after school  in the basement of your parent’s house, where there were shelves and shelves of music to peruse.

You haven’t really had the time to do anything like that in a while.

“The best record store in New Jersey,” he corrects, “It’s like the Oxford Library in there, I figured this could be a good start to getting to know each other.”

You don’t remember getting to know Milo or Noah or Rhys.

They definitely didn’t get to know you.

“I thought if music’s your thing, you can show me the ropes.”

“Does that mean I have to learn about hockey?” You ask as he ushers you into the shop, a little bell ringing above the door that definitely doesn’t carry all the way to the back of the store to alert anyone of your presence.

It looks like it’s been extended, aisles stretching further back than it looks possible from the outside, and something about that warms you - like they’re struggling to contain the creativity flowing between these four walls.

“Maybe,” he chuckles, “Depending on who you ask, hockey might just be the least interesting thing about me, though. I like music, too.”

You're not sure you can say the same of your own career. Music is your life, it has been ever since you unwrapped a mini Fender Sonoran one Christmas when you were a kid - a guitar you subsequently decorated in fruit stickers that you'd pick at whenever you were frustrated.

“Do you like my music?”

You don’t know why you even ask, but it comes out before you can stop yourself. 

Damn your constant need for validation.

Of course he doesn’t like your music!

Guys like him never do.

“I haven’t really listened to it,” he shrugs, not making it a big deal, “As in like, I’ve heard the radio stuff, but I’ve never really checked out the deep-cuts.”

“But the radio stuff isn’t your thing?”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” he says with an apologetic smile, “It’s just that I’m more into other stuff.”

“So it’s the genre you don’t like?”

“It isn’t you.”

You suppose that’s alright.

Nothing personal.

He’s entitled to his own opinion, regardless, and something about Jack tells you that he’s an honest guy. He’s a little guarded, and a lotta mysterious, but he isn’t deceptive.

And he isn’t like Noah, who had taken every opportunity you unwillingly gave him to talk down on you, your art, and the blood, sweat and tears you poured into it. 

“I like country music,” He hums as he guides you down aisles he seems all too accustomed to, flicking his thumb out toward the aforementioned genre as the two of you pass by. And that’s not the same thing as, I don’t like your music, so you nod along with a lighter smile.

“Oh,” you drag out, because it probably should have been obvious. He seems like the type. “Trucks ‘n’ beers ‘n’ babes?”

“Not that country,” he snickers, a glimmer of amusement flashing across his soft blue eyes when he turns his head to meet your gaze. “Maybe the beers.”

“Trucks are cool, too,” you say, “It’s alright to admit it.”

“Fine, trucks too.”

“Don’t you wanna pick something up?” You frown once you’re completely out of the section that houses the likes of Luke Combs and Tim McGraw.

“I thought you could show me what Pop is all about,” he suggests, and when he stops by the relevant shelves, he looks a little nervous as he turns to face you properly. “Glitter ‘n’ lip gloss, or whatever,”

You might have taken offence if anyone else had said that, but something about his mocking country accent and the way he so lightheartedly pokes fun at you for some strange reason makes you laugh.

“There’s more to pop music than glitter and lip gloss,” you snort.

“Show me, then.” He nods towards the aisle before you. “I want the whole masterclass.”

It takes a second to tear your eyes from his, and then you get to work.

He isn’t gonna understand Mariah, and he probably won’t admit to relating to Britney, although something tells you there’s a little Lucky in him, but you think there’s some magic in Prince you can convince him with. You start with Purple Rain, because who wouldn’t, and then you find Michael, and even though you refuse to believe Jack has made it to the ripe old age of 24 without hearing Thriller in its entirety, you pick that up, too.

The classics are a good start, you think, but you sort of want to go for something deeper, too. Something that might bleed out if you were ever cut open. Kate Bush, Hounds of Love, then Robyn’s Body Talk, and Melodrama by Lorde. 

And then, as you’re flicking through the stacks, you find something else.

Your fingers land on something familiar, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you pull it out, and when you glance up at Jack, he’s looking back at you instead of the plastic-wrapped record clutched in your grip.

“You look like you love that one,” he smiles back, arms wrapped around the other albums you had passed over.

Hats by The Blue Nile, a record filled with synthy, euphoric pop melodies that perfectly encapsulate that magic era of the 80s - the era that is still so influential in the genre today - that made you want nothing more than to transport back in time as you sat in that homely basement all those years ago, when you were nothing but a kid with a whole lot of passion and not a single clue.

The frontman of the band had once compared making an album to falling in love, and that was something that stuck with you throughout your own years of doing so.

Up until the most recent record, that is. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, “It’s been a while since I’ve listened to it, though.”

“We’ll listen together, then,” he grins, a smile that is boyish and sweet, and you have to remind yourself not to let it sucker you in. “You’ve got a record player in your apartment, right?”

“I do,” You reply, “Are you inviting yourself in?”

“Would you let me?”

You blink back at him, hesitation forming in the pit of your belly as he subtly seeks your permission - the first time anyone has done that in a long time.

“I don’t think I have a say,” you shrug, sheepish and resigned, because you know deep down that it’s the truth.

Jack is very good at keeping up the illusion of choice - like you could say no, or back out, or not keep up your end of the bargain - but you’ve been doing this long enough now that you’ve lost all sense of autonomy. You can decline him into your home, decline this instance of being in his company, but you can’t escape completely.

And as nice as Jack is, God, you want to escape.

“You always have a say,” he tells you, like he genuinely believes it.

He has that same naive sparkle you had back in those early days of your first fake relationship with Milo, where you’d believed it could just be a little bit of fun. Where you had been blissfully unaware of the thousands of little strings you had been tethered to whenever you thought you were free.

Where you’d slipped and fallen and lost a lot of yourself on the long way down, dragged up by those same strings as you constantly fought to go and find the pieces of you that had broken off.

“Okay,” you agree, because you don’t really want Jack to lose the sanguine side of him that makes him say or believe such things like, you always have a say. “You should pick some, too. Country, if that’s your thing. You can show me the ropes, or lasso’s or whatever.”

“Country it is.”

“You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

You’re so used to being criticised that your spine stiffens at the suggestion, brows furrowing a little as you turn to see Jack come up beside you, two drinks in hand and a knowing smile on his pretty pink lips. 

He isn’t critiquing you. 

He’s playing along. 

“I thought you said I didn’t have to pretend so much.”

You’re a few months into your arrangement, now - 3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days to be exact - and you feel a lot more comfortable around him than you did those first few times you hung out.

He’s a little less of a mystery, these days.

Jack Hughes loves hockey, and golf, and his family. He loves live music, and watching sports at any given opportunity, and reading. And beyond all of that, which you could probably have learned from a deep dive into his very minimal social media presence, he loves paying attention.

You’ve figured out that it gives him some weird thrill, to pass a throw away comment on something imperceptible to anybody else, like, told ya, is his own personal catchphrase or something.

If you were at all letting yourself feel anything when it came to this relationship, you might say it’s cute.

It had started at a random dinner one night, as you’d sat across from each other in some hole in the wall restaurant, and you sat trying to ignore the feeling of being watched. There was some guy in the corner pretending to take a picture of his friend, and very obviously zooming in on the two of you as you talked, and something about it made you nervous.

You were used to that kind of thing, but your time spent with Jack thus far hadn’t been like that, and he was sat talking about his brothers - about a story from his childhood that you didn’t want anyone to intrude on if he was making the effort to open up about it - it just felt wrong.

And the anxiety resulted in you fidgeting, leaning onto your elbows and pinching at the pads of your fingers as you made a mental effort to maintain eye contact and not send daggers to that corner.

“Do you wanna leave?” He’d asked, concern curling his brow into a funny shape, and you’d frowned back almost immediately.

“We haven’t even eaten yet,” you pouted, your stomach almost grumbling at the thought of the spaghetti dish you had ordered. “Do you wanna leave?”

“No, but you look like you’re about to break out in stress hives.”

You had thought you were masking your discomfort a lot better than that. You often find yourself adopting the same position in meetings, sometimes, or getting ready for shows, or sat waiting to be interviewed, and no one has ever associated you squeezing your fingers with you being stressed.

“We’re being filmed, I think,” you told him, chewing nervously at the inside of your cheek and subtly nodding toward the back corner, careful not to let your eyes meet the lens. “It’s making me feel really weird.”

Jack didn’t look back into the corner, thankfully - didn’t draw even more attention to what was happening over there. Instead, his head tilted, his eyes darkened a little - still soft, but intense - like he was trying to figure out how best to handle the situation.

He didn’t tell you that that’s the whole point of your arrangement.

He didn’t call the waiter over and have them removed, making a spectacle or a big deal that would embarrass you further.

He just reached over and wrapped his fingers around yours, pulling your hands apart until one was stretched across the table, resting comfortably in his.

There wasn’t even a whisper in your mind that he was doing it for the cameras, either. He was doing it just to comfort you.

“One day I’ll be more than just a back of a head in the story of your life,” he had sighed dramatically, pulling an easy smile out of you as you pictured all the shots they could get from that angle, you listening intently as, what probably looked to them as, just a head of soft hair told you about how his older brother once ripped the braces straight off his teeth. “But until then, we can ignore them, and you can rest easy knowing you look really fucking pretty in this awful lighting.”

“I just feel like I have to perform now, or something,” you had pouted, fighting the burning blush that was rising up your neck and tinting the tips of your ears.

“You don’t have to pretend for anyone,” he had assured you, “If I’m boring you, feel free to let your face show it, although that might actually get them more clicks.”

“You could never bore me.” You had said. And even as early as that date was, you knew it to be the truth. 

And ever since then, he’s found insurmountable ways to make you feel seen.

Like tonight, the two of you dressed to the nines at a fundraising event for your label, surrounded by a bunch of big wigs with fat wallets, as your manager had said. 

Jack had made your mouth go dry the first time you saw him, in a tailored suit and a tie that made his eyes seem even bluer, as If that's even possible, and he's been by your side most of the evening. Your heart skips a beat at every glance he casts your way, every graze of his fingertips against your hip, every time any one refers to you as the happy couple.

He's the one thing getting you through. 

“This is all just so boring.”

He snorts as he hands your drink over, your fingers brushing for maybe a second, the glass cold in your grip, and you lift it until the straw within it meets your lips. “Thought you said I could never bore you?”

You like how he remembers that, too - ever so perceptive, and all.

“You don’t,” you affirm, “It’s all the patronising comments from all these old guys who don’t have a clue, I’m so tired of it.”

You never used to mind this stuff, back when you were coming up. You believed in the magic of it - believed the people who would make little suggestions on how to perform better, how to dress, what to sing about, what to say - you thought those people had your best interests at heart.

You never really saw it for what it is - a bunch of people finding more and more ways to control and suppress you, to mould you into their own version of the perfect pop star you spent your whole childhood dreaming of being.

“Old guys are the worst,” he rolls his eyes, “There’s this one dude who keeps making comments about me every time he’s asked about my game, says I play instagram hockey. It’s just a bunch of dinosaurs out of touch with reality.”

You frown, although there’s a part of you deep down that opens up a little at the thought of him going through the same thing, as hard as you know it to be. Who ever thought you’d find actual common ground with someone like Jack?

Whoever thought that the idea of anyone speaking down on him would have you feeling so personally wounded?

“What does that even mean?”

“Hell if I know,” he scoffs, “I’m making a conscious effort not to listen to the opinions of idiots, these days.”

“Isn’t that hard?” You ask, turning your body entirely towards him instead of scanning the room for one singular interesting person to talk to, like you had been doing before he came back. “Considering there’s so many of them, and all.”

He smiles at you in a way that feels treasured, eyes glinting like you're both the only two people in on the joke - and maybe you are. Maybe no one else could possibly ever understand.

“You know I read this autobiography a while back about this soccer player, and he was talking about how a few years after he became a dad, his priorities sort of shifted,” you keep your eyes on him as he talks, watching the way his face scrunches subtly as he does, “And it started to show in his game, like the way he was evolving as a person off of the field was starting to bleed into the way he played, and people started just dogging on the poor guy 24/7.”

You frown, and Jack does too, pretty lashes fluttering as he blinks, like he’s still trying to absorb the teachings of this random athlete. 

“And he’d go home to his daughter, and see how perfect his life was, how hard he’d worked for it to be that way, and all those comments just started to hurt more, I guess ‘cause it felt personal.”

You start to wonder how Jack feels about stuff like that. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve learned a lot - and with that, comes seeing the sort of stuff people say about him online. Where some will call him the future of his sport, others make out like he’s the beginning of the end of it, and no matter what he does - how well he performs, how many goals he scores, how much of himself he gives - it’s never enough.

“And one day he’s playing with his kid, and she notices he’s a little sad, so he tells her what’s been going on,” and as he remembers what comes next, his lips turn up a little in the corners, “And she tells him that when you’re a king, you get to decide who lives in your land, and if someone doesn’t like you, they can move out.”

“Are you a king?” You ask him.

“Not yet,” he chuckles, earnestly. “I think in my head maybe I’m a knight or something and I’m guarding the gates of the castle,” he tells you, his voice a little deeper like he’s getting into the spirit of a storyteller, and you smile as you watch him - a little dorky underneath all that blazing charisma. “And deeper in that kingdom is my family, and everybody that I love, ‘cause they all have to hear this stuff, too. And I only let through the people who matter. I think a little criticism is healthy, but some guys take it way too far.”

You’re reminded of the last single you put out - the one you released that caused your label to lump you into another PR arrangement - and all the criticisms that came with it.

People called you vacuous and shallow, unimaginative, one dimensional.

And maybe there had been some validity in that.

There was definitely shame - you’d ignored your dad’s calls for weeks after the fact, too afraid that he’d read all those words about you, and that maybe deep down he agreed.

You hadn’t written the song, after all - just recorded it in a booth at the instruction of others and flung it out into the world without putting up much of a fight - and he’d always told you that nothing else mattered as long as you were honest.

And having it pointed out that you’d strayed from that had hurt a little at the time, but maybe some of the people doing so expected better because they cared. 

Maybe if you were guarding your own castle, you might let some of those people in. 

“Don’t the idiots end up piling up at the gate?” You ask, trying to think of all the times you’ve tried to ignore the endless voices telling you that what you’re doing isn’t right, or good enough. After so many, they become incredibly hard to drown out. “Seems like it would cause some sort of problem with crowd control.”

“Not if you throw them to the wolves,” he smirks, his voice even lower, like he’s reading an adventure book to a curious child, and he just got to the point where they encountered a grizzly bear. Dramatic and a little sinister - although he doesn’t quite pull that part off. It makes you smile a little like a child, close lipped with eyes gleaming back at him - all previous boredom forgotten as something glints back at you in his own oceanic irises. “Some people will say things about you just to get a reaction, and some will use their words to try and change or control you, and you’ve got to make it so neither have the chance to get through.”

“You’re a lot wiser than you look, Jack Hughes.”

You can see him appreciate the compliment over the backhanded nature of it - can see him see straight past the way you persist in resisting the little ways things about him that charm you in much bigger ways - and he casts a glance back over the crowd of people you no longer have any interest in sticking around.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks, just like that time back in the restaurant, only this time, it isn’t because you’re uncomfortable, or anxious, or uncertain, and he thinks it might make you feel better.

It’s because he knows there’s no need for either of you to be there.

“Yeah,” you smile back at him, because after 3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days, as absolutely mad as it feels, you think you might let him take you anywhere. “I wanna get out of here.”

And then he guides you out of the event, shielding you from the dizzying flashes of cameras with your hands clutched tight together, and the two of you spend the rest of the evening in the back of a town car that’s pulled up discretely in the corner of a McDonalds parking lot - the driver has the partition rolled down, and he’s offering you his fries while Jack asks him a million questions about his fantasy football league. 

And it’s the realest moment you’ve lived in years.

“Don’t you two look very cozy?”

The holidays came around 6 months into your relationship with Jack, and you’d been lucky enough that your schedules overlapped in time to see him for New Years Eve.

You had been back in the mid-west for the latter end of December, and while you both spent Christmas apart, with your families - because extending the performance onto both of your parents and his brothers during such an intimate time, just for the sake of a few pictures your management could leak, didn’t feel right - you really wanted to share some part of this time of year with him.

Even if your relationship wasn’t technically real - even if you were putting up the fight of a lifetime to push down your rapidly growing and unrelenting feelings for him - Jack was still one of the closest friends you’d made since you started your career.

He had a game in Columbus on the 31st, and his next game was back in Jersey on the 3rd, and your management teams had conspired to get some pictures taken of you in the crowd at both games. 

It had been the first time you met his parents, sat in between his mother, who showered you with compliments for your work ethic, your stage presence, and your influence over younger girls, and his father, who told you Jack had got him into the deeper cuts of your sophomore album, and he could pick out the slight influence of Joni Mitchell in some of your lyrics. 

High praise from two incredibly admirable people, and there was no fighting the way it went straight to your head - thinking of them talking about you over dinner at Christmas with their son, and his own gushing opinions about you flooding into their vernacular. 

You can see it so clearly because you’d done the same thing - flooding your dad with knowledge he never in a million years thought you’d be feeding back to him, so far removed from the little girl he raised who wouldn’t know what plus-minus meant if someone waved the definition in front of her on giant cue-cards, and telling your mom about the time you’d been out for coffee and Jack had spent ten minutes hyping up this total stranger of a kid for his junior tournament coming up. 

The reality of your situation was very quickly slipping from your subconscious, but the joy you felt sort of distracted you from just how deep into the hedge maze you had found yourself - hypnotised by the dazzling smile he would cast your way from down on the ice when he found you in the crowd during warm-ups, and the way he’d throw an arm over your shoulder when you met him in the lobby of the hotel he and the team were staying in. 

His parents knew you weren’t a couple, and his teammates knew too, so there had been no need for the way he kept you close all night other than the fact he simply wanted to. He kept a hand on the small of your back as you mingled, or on your thigh as you sat and sipped at your drink, waving away the compliments a couple of his friends tried to shower you with and ignoring the way his touch would firm up - lingering like a possessive promise despite the fact that it never travelled any further. 

The two of you had promised your management that you’d get a couple pictures, and those were out of the way early into the night of the 31st, his brother sneaking a shot of what was supposed to look like a New Years Kiss, but was, in fact, him pressing the tip of his nose to yours and challenging you to a staring competition.

You’d laughed so hard that your lips might have accidentally brushed, just for a second, but he never made a big deal of it, and the two of you could just enjoy being around each other - being around his family who had looked after you like you were their own, and his teammates who you’d gotten to know quite well over the past few months - and it was bliss.

The picture of your kiss is the one that your manager takes a particular liking to, and something about the way he grins down at his phone as he shows you makes you feel uneasy.

Only you and Jack know what’s real.

That’s all that matters.

“You asked for juicy pictures,” you shrug as your hairstylist tugs at your hair from behind and you lock your phone to hide your most recent text thread, like you’re trying to protect the boy behind it.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to like this one,” he sighs, sinking down onto the couch opposite you and rolling his eyes - like this is about to cause some major headache for him.

You don’t like his tone - the way he refers to Jack like he’s just another name on another list. Like he isn’t the one person you’ve ever felt comfortable playing the game that is your entire career beside. 

“So what if I am,” you frown, “Doesn’t that sell the story better?”

“Don’t you ever actually read the contracts I put in front of you?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, a genuine look of exasperation crossing his features. “You have six months left on your agreement before a very messy breakup, which will line up perfectly with the album release date after the extension you were so mercifully granted. I thought we said after Milo that you wouldn’t be feeling things when it came to this stuff, any more.”

“No one but me gets to dictate what I feel or who I feel it for.”

It’s the first time maybe ever you’ve had the courage to fight back.

You don’t even know where you found the voice to do so, but something about the idea of a messy breakup with Jack, and having to sing about it in the months and maybe years after, twists very deep in your gut. 

There are so many things about your relationship that aren’t real - dinner dates and pseudo-eskimo kisses at parties, appearances at events and hoping you’re seen walking down the street hand in hand. But something genuine lingers beneath the surface.

Deep conversations about your hopes and dreams - futures you conjure up in your minds despite people on the outside assuming you already have everything you might want. Learning more and more about each other as the days, weeks, and months go on. He knows how to calm you when the storm starts swirling within, encourages you to rebel in little ways against all the people who try to cage you, and you’d like to think you provide the same sort of relief.

He’s wildly intelligent - generous with it, too - and he cares for you like no one ever has before. 

Not like any of those other guys pretended to.

Your relationship may be fake, but your affection for him is not.

“They do when they’re responsible for financing both of our lives,” your manager argues back, and again, you take offence. Your career is not your life.  “You have half an album filled with songs about cheaters and liars, you can hardly pull off a convincing performance of those when you’re playing wag over on the Jersey Shore.”

“I didn’t even write those, of course I can’t pull them off,” you scoff, still livid at the fact that your label is forcing you down this path when you’d been given such seemingly-free rein, before.

When you’re so abundant with creativity when it comes to writing about realer things - about a boy who helps you overcome your fear of falling again, who brings you back to those nights in your basement, where you’d written that first album that you built your career on. “And I never agreed to making out like he would cheat or lie to me.”

You’d been home for 10 days leading up to Christmas, and you’d written twice as many songs in that time - all on your own, without the help of a camp or anyone else’s input. You’re not even sure you’d written that many verses alone in the past year. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighs, “You both signed the contract. Whether you like it or not, when summer comes around, he’s not gonna have any obligation to you to hang about, and your music will end up speaking for itself whether the breakup is messy or not.”

You feel tense all over, your eyes narrowing as you watch him relax back into the couch like he isn’t being just like all those label suits you’ve both spent the last few years complaining about.

He used to be in your corner, he used to have your back.

“Jack doesn’t hang about out of obligation,” you bite. “He cares about me.”

“He isn’t going to care after those songs come out.” You swallow back the lump in your throat. “I don’t think he’ll even like you that much, either.”

You think of Jack guarding his imaginary castle, warding off all the people who decide for themselves what kind of person is based on songs you sing filled with words you could never write. You think of them crowding along with all the people who already think they have any right to judge him, and how he might struggle to fight past them all on his own. 

“Well maybe I’ll write a different album myself,” you huff, “Something better, something honest, then those songs never have to see the light of day.”

“The guys at the label aren’t gonna like that.”

You bite your tongue from telling him that he’s now one of those guys at the label. The same heartless, money hungry idiots who wouldn’t know real art if it smacked them in the face. 

Instead, very unlike the pristine pop-princess he thinks he's raised you to be, you say, “The guys at the label can kiss my ass.”

“I swear I left you in that exact spot when I went to training hours ago.”

You’re back in New Jersey by the end of January, and Jack starts spending more time in your apartment than he does his own. He comes to spend the night with you to decompress after home games, sets off from your place and picks Luke up on the way to the Prudential Center on nights he stays over, and he drops by so often you even gave him a key.

Even your parents don’t have a key to your place.

You’re loving every second you spend with him, and writing every minute you get alone, and the words are pouring out of you at a pace you’re quite honestly struggling to keep up with.

Even when you were first starting out, you don’t think you were ever this inspired.

When you were aspirational, and determined, and you would do anything to make it, you could never find such a spark like this, and you're honestly a little apprehensive about the drought that might follow.

But if this is the only thing that’s gonna work to make sure you can keep Jack, you’ll burn yourself out a thousand times over. You’ll never make another album again. 

The only problem is, you haven’t shown these songs to anyone.

You haven’t played the demos you’ve made, you haven’t sent the lyrics to any of your songwriting peers, you’ve buried them in locked notes on your phone and journals hidden behind records you haven’t spun in years gathering dust on your shelves.

There’s so much of your heart in them that it makes you nervous for anyone to hear the rhythm in which it beats, as if it could give them the power to break it.

You slam your journal shut when Jack appears in your living room, eyes wide like you’ve been caught committing a crime, and your cheeks flush a little thinking about the state you must be in.

He’s right. You’ve hardly moved. Still in your pyjamas, your hair barely brushed, your whole body slouched and slumped as you’ve written and re-written the lyrics until they’re as perfect as they could possibly be - you probably possess the posture of a paperclip - and your guitar flung off to the side of you, the mark of its strings etched deep into your fingertips.

“I think I got up to pee,” you shrug, “But I’ll be honest with you, I can’t actually remember.”

“I figured as much,” Jack chuckles fondly as he makes his way over, placing two paper bags on your coffee table. “I brought lunch back. Bagels and Boba, just like you like.”

You smile, pushing the journal off your lap and onto the couch, a little less protective and little more trusting of him as the two of you sink down onto the rug together and he unpacks the food before you. 

He tells you about training as you eat, indulging you in stories about his teammates like they’re friends of your own, and you bask in the unfiltered version of himself he awards to you - so lively in comparison to the way he seems to tone himself down in the little bits of his press you catch when you’re watching his away games on the TV.

“What about you, did you write the next Like A Prayer today?”

“I wish,” you snort, leaning back against the couch you’ve spent all morning rotting away on, “I think what I did write is a little more muted.”

“Can I read it?”

You fight the urge to pounce on the book to stop him reaching for it as soon as he casts even the smallest glance that way.

You know he won’t read it without your permission, in the same way that you know he won’t break the heart that sits in there if you trust him with it.

But there’s something that makes you hesitate.

“Can I ask you a question first?”

“Anything.”

He leans back onto his hands and looks you straight in the eye - easygoing in a way that you wish would rub off on you, sometimes, and you stare straight back as you build up the nerve.

“Why did you agree to this whole situation?”

It’s a question you’ve been longing to ask for seven months, always feeling the perfect opportunity slipping away - but if you’re about to trust him with the truth of the song you’ve written today, you need to know his truth, too.

His eyes narrow for a brief moment before he straightens up, pressing his lips together as he takes a second to think. 

You feel your throat go dry.

“If I’m gonna tell you,” he says, “I just need you to promise you’ll hear the whole thing before you make any judgement.”

“I promise,” you blink back at him, amazed at how the words so easily slip past the lump that’s suffocating you beyond the back of your mouth. 

He nods, and it’s another minute of toe-curling silence before he speaks again.

“I thought it might help me get over someone else.”

The heart you had been so ready and willing to hand over to him mere minutes ago seems to plummet out of reach, landing with a painful splat that is so far down, the noise of it echoes.

Someone else.

Just the thought of him with someone else feels like it might kill you.

“I went through a pretty rough breakup at the beginning of last summer,” he explains, “We’d been together a couple of years, I thought we were serious, we were gonna move in with each other when I came back to Jersey after the off-season.”

You blink back your tears, nodding as if you understand, as if you have no choice but to resign yourself to the fact he’s been using you this entire time to get over another girl.

“But she’d applied for this internship overseas without telling me, this thing at a gallery in Paris, she was big about art, and I guess that’s the place to be if you’re into that kind of thing.”

You find your chest clenching around the gap from an organ that’s no longer there, that’s trying its best to beat at the bottom of whatever valley it just dropped to the bottom of, imagining Jack loving a girl who would leave him behind.

“I think it broke me more than I probably cared to admit to anyone else, so when my agent said there was this suggestion of faking a relationship with some singer, I didn’t even really think it through before I said yes. I figured if the relationship itself isn’t real, it can’t really hurt me again.”

You know yourself that isn’t true - but maybe you’ve been falling in love with someone unavailable this whole time. Maybe you’re just like that fresh-faced eighteen year old girl, falling for boys she has no business believing just because they flash her pretty smiles.

“But then that singer was you, and you sort of made me look at things differently.”

"How so?"

"I don't know, you've always been so open with me," he shuffles a little, "You don't hide, you don't run or push me away, and even though this whole thing was put together for us at first, and we were being told left, right and centre how to act, you never pretended."

Your breath stutters and jumps each time you try to catch it, and all you can do to react is to blink back at him, wide eyed and awestruck.

"You made me realise that maybe I was. Pretending. Before this fake relationship." He uses air quotes around the phrase, and the gesture makes your lips quirk up a little. 

“Do you still think that way? That this isn’t real enough to hurt?”

“God, no,” he scoffs, “I think you’re gonna break my heart ten ways to Sunday.”

The laugh that comes out seems to mix itself with some sort of sob, and when your teary eyes meet his, he gives this melting sigh that erases any doubts you’ve just had in the past couple of minutes.

“I think my last relationship was over a lot earlier than it actually ended,” he admits, “I think it’s why it was so easy to tell her to go. ‘Cause I could have put up a fight. I could have told her we’d make the distance work, ‘cause we’d done it before. But I don’t think I loved her the same way I used to, not at that point.”

He seems disappointed in himself to say it, and you watch as his eyes cast downward, watching his fingers run themselves through the low pile of your rug. You want to reach out - want to comfort him in the same way he had comforted you, clutching his fingers between your own and trying to communicate through touch alone that you are there, and that you always will be. You aren’t disappointed in him. You believe in him. You love him. 

“That probably seems really heartless to say, but I think I just would rather her have been happy elsewhere than miserable with me, even if being with her was what felt comfortable at the time.”

“I think you have a bigger heart than you realise,” you tell him, “And I think you’re really brave.”

You think there’s a part of you that knew from the beginning that Jack is a person filled with passion.

It shows in his hockey, it shows in his love for his family, it showed that day in this same apartment after the two of you had visited the record store - as you’d sat just like this on the floor together, and he’d asked you a thousand questions about the songs you played him like he genuinely wanted to learn. Like he cared, even back then - back when he thought you were nothing more than a temporary block he could wedge into the space left by someone else, and he still wanted to understand you on a much deeper level.

“You don’t think I’m an asshole for using you in the beginning?”

“Do you think I’m an asshole, for using you?” The whole point of your arrangement back then had been transactional - and as much as you might have just spiralled inside, you can’t actually hold any of that against him. The Jack who felt that way back then isn’t the Jack that sits in front of you now. He’s changed, and he’s changed you, too. He shakes his head, and you smile softly. “There you go, then.”

You reach behind you, your fingers clutching at the edge of your journal before you throw it over to him. 

“It’s the latest couple of pages, you should be able to figure out where it starts, I’m gonna get rid of all this trash so I don’t have to watch you read it and judge me.”

The smile he gives back is almost like he knows just what this means - like you don’t have to say what you feel, because he understands, and maybe he feels it too. Maybe nothing about this is fake, anymore.

You give him a couple of minutes while you tidy up, busying yourself in the kitchen as he reads the secrets that poured straight out of your heart today, and when you eventually return, he’s smiling that same smile.

“Is this about me?” He asks when you sink back down beside him.

“I don’t know,” you shuffle a little, tucking your feet beneath you, “Maybe. I think it’s mainly about me, for once.” 

“It’s incredible,” he breathes. “You’re incredible.”

Your eyes start to well up a little again, and it’s only a few seconds before he starts to blur with the tears forming over them. 

And once you’ve blinked them away to clear up your vision, you find yourself leaping over to him, taking his smiling face between your hands and pressing your lips straight to his. 

It’s a kiss that’s messy, and perfect, and real, and once his hands plant themselves on your skin, pulling you closer, kissing you deeper, loving you so openly and honestly, there really is no going back. 

“I promise I won’t break your heart, Jack,” you whisper against him, and though deep down you know that’s not a thing you can ever be sure of, it’s something you want to be true.

“I promise I won’t break yours either.”

And God, you hope that’s true, too. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a good singer?”

Jack’s schedule is unrelenting throughout February, and it isn’t until the beginning of March that the two of you are able to spend a little bit of time with one another - time where you can figure out exactly what you are, and what you’re going to do to move forward with your relationship - even if it’s just a couple of days in the middle of an otherwise busy week.

He booked the two of you a little romantic getaway on the one day off he had, driving down to a small coastal town and getting cozy together at an inn that looked straight out of a Hallmark movie in the best possible way. You get so caught up in the fantasy of it all that  the important conversations keep getting pushed back - but it’s hard not to, everything about the trip feels like such a dream, even if it is only one night.

It started with the drive itself, Jack had opted to take responsibility behind the wheel, and he’d even made a playlist of all his favourite songs, and you noticed for the first time they weren’t all country anymore. He took you on the scenic route, sprawling fields that lead toward the coast, and then blue as far as the eye could see. 

When you’d arrived at the Inn, he’d carried your bags inside, had charmed the lady at the desk whose son was apparently a very big fan, and you had taken a picture of the two of them, smiling wide at his blushing cheeks and his pretty smile when she’d fixed one of their merch caps atop his fluffy hair.

You’d taken a walk into the local town, where you had been recognised yourself, and when a couple of younger girls had asked for your picture, you’d caught him smiling just the same. They’d promised not to post anything until the day after, at which point you’d be on your way back home, and had wished you both a happy trip, squealing between themselves over how cute you were together. 

The older couple who owned the place you were staying had set you up a candlelit dinner by the ocean front, and you’d sat across from each other with the gentle evening breeze blowing through your hair, making plans for the future that felt a lot like promises - new dreams that you could share together, that reminded you what it felt like to have hope for what was to come.

And you’d walked along the beach back to the Inn hand in hand, he’d made a show of carrying you across the threshold of your suite - in arms that he was adamant were only shaking from the wine you’d both drank together - and had kissed away eagerly at your giggling lips as you held onto him for dear life. 

He was intent on showing you affection you haven’t felt entitled to in too long of a time, and you were happy to bathe in it.

From deepened kisses once your feet were planted - albeit unsteadily - to the floor, to his hands on your hips so that he could guide you backward in search of the bed, to fingers trailing teasingly under the hem of your clothing, his every move was lively, every touch loving.

For all the times you had pictured intimacy with Jack - for all the times the two of you had been close enough to fake kisses, or the times you’d held hands - it could never compare to the real thing.

He had been tender, and passionate, and he really put those perception skills to their best possible use, gauging your reactions to every minimal touch he could give and amping up the intensity when it suited him.

His name left your lips in whispers, and then whines, sinful moans, and then screams, and you had put your voice to more use between those sheets than you’d done so on stage in recent times.

And now you’re curled up against his side, and you’ve been basking in the afterglow for a while now as you both catch your breath - so long that you don’t even realise you’re humming a little as you trace little unspoken confessions into the skin over his chest, the feeling of bliss gently fading into something you can’t really put your finger on. It’s what makes him ask the initial question, making you glance up at the way his eyes sparkle with mirth. 

“I swear you’ve got the voice of an angel,” he tacks on, “Should make a career out of it.”

“That’s what my dad always used to say,” you sigh, a soft but sad smile forming as you try to remember the days that you really believed that would be all you’d need to make it. 

“I bet he’s really proud of you.”

Jack is yet to meet either of your parents - it’s something you’ve planned, but with his schedule, and your schedule starting to tighten up, it’s just not something you’ve gotten around to sorting. You think they’d all get along - your mom might be cautious at first, especially after all the other guys you’d introduced over the years, but you think she’ll very quickly see the parts of him that you do.

And your dad will probably be easier, if you’re honest - he only ever wants you to be happy.

It’s why you’ve been a little distant for the past year, because if he came out and saw the state your career is in behind the glitzy stage performances and the glamorous photo shoots, he’d probably throw a fit.

You don’t think any of it is what he pictured for you anymore. The management, the label, the creative freedoms you’ve had taken away piece by piece over the years, the way you were blind to all the slimy little hands that forced their way in to take it. None of it would make him proud.  

“I don’t know,” your lips twist in uncertainty, “I don’t even think he’d recognise me anymore.”

You remember being home for Christmas, writing in your basement, plucking away at one of the guitars he’d spent an entire paycheck on before you ever made it, and catching him lurking at the top of the stairs, listening in with this soft smile that you’re not sure has faded since you were a kid.

But those songs he overheard aren’t what the label wants from you.

You’d met them a week before Jack brought you here - had played them a good dozen of the demos you’d made - and they weren’t budging.

You’re running out of options, and if your dad could have seen you in that room at that time, sinking into your chair and choosing not to advocate for yourself, you don’t think pride would be what he would feel. 

You hadn’t told Jack what happened. You still haven’t told him what happened in that meeting with your manager all those weeks ago, as much as you’d tried to stick up for yourself at that point - but maybe you should. 

Even if it makes him mad, or makes him hate you, maybe the two of you can overcome what’s inevitable and figure it out before everything falls apart.

“My next album is gonna be really bad,” you blurt out, and his once relaxed posture stiffens beside you, his neck craning as he frowns down at you, brows furrowed in concern. “He won’t say it, but he won’t be proud of me when he hears it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true-,”

“No, it’s garbage,” you confirm, “It’s angry and it’s brutal and it’s not at all me.”

“Baby, I’ve heard some of those songs, they’re not garbage.”

He straightens up until he’s sat against the headboard, and you sit up too, your legs tucked beneath you as you start to squeeze at your fingertips. 

“The label doesn't want any of those songs,” you can’t even meet his eyes, tears starting to well in your own, stinging and relentless. “Me singing about falling in love and finding myself doesn't fit with the narrative they have in mind for when we break up in a couple of months.”

“Oh.”

You haven’t discussed what the end of your contract might mean for your relationship - you’re not even entirely sure you’ve properly discussed your relationship, itself - but the way his shoulders slump tells you just how much he hasn’t even let himself think about it. 

“I tried talking to my manager about it, but,” you sigh again, heavier, although it doesn’t clear any of the weight from your chest, “Scandal sells, apparently, and that’s all they’re interested in anymore. They said the songs I wrote were too complex for me, and the most they’d consider is selling them to someone with a little more depth about them.”

“Fucking dinosaurs,” he mutters, blinking slowly as his face curls in disgust - and before you can think too hard about where that aversion is aimed, he reaches out to run a comforting hand through your hair, “They don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, they don’t know you, you’re deeper than-,”

You can tell he’s scrambling for some sort of analogy - Jack Hughes, who despite the millions of erms and uhhs he gives everyone else, has never struggled to know what to say when it comes to you. It almost makes you smile.

“Deeper than the freakin’ Titanic wreck, or something.” 

You snort out a laugh, and he frowns even stronger. 

“No, I’m serious, you’re magic,” he tells you, his voice breaking with the sincerity of his words, and he leans over, cupping at your face with the warm palm of his hand and holding you in place to properly take in what he’s saying. “You don’t even know how much you’ve changed me since we met, how different I am because of you. You have this superpower when it comes to feeling things and expressing it in a way that makes me feel, even if it isn’t obvious or in your face, it’s real and it’s incredible, if this is the sort of stuff you’ve been writing about that they don’t trust you to say, we’ve got to figure out some way to make them listen.”

“I’ve tried, Jack,” you sniffle, your own voice breaking too. “They don’t care, not about me, or what I want, or what I have to say. They just want sales, even if what they’re selling isn’t good, they’re not the ones who will get crucified for it. I tried to tell them that I can sell us, that I’ll do more of the coupley stuff for them if it means I don’t have to sing those songs, but they won’t budge. They’ll probably have another contract drafted for the next guy by the end of the year, and the cycle will just repeat itself, and I have no choice but to play along.”

“You always have a choice,” he says, and you swear, even now, all these months down the line - even after what you’ve just told him, and everything of the industry you work in that you’ve shown him in this time - he believes it. 

You shake your head, careful not to lose his grip on your jaw, terrified of the small amount of comfort just his touch alone can bring you going away. 

And just as you’re about to admit defeat, something in his demeanour shifts.

He perks up, and smiles, and raises his other hand to grip at the other side.

“We’re gonna leak it.”

“What?”

“The songs, if they’re as bad as you say they are, they’ll get the same reaction as last time, right?”

The time when people had called you shallow and unimaginative?

It’s not exactly something you want to relive. 

“Probably,” you sigh, “But people were mean about that last song, Jack, if I put these out they’ll tear me to shreds.”

“The songs are getting out either way,” he tells you, brutally honest but caring, nonetheless. “If we leak them now it’s like market research, right? The reviews will be so bad they’ll have no choice but to switch it all up, and you have everything you need to make the album you want, right? The songs you’ve been writing the past couple of months?”

Your heart mapped out in its entirety across pages and pages of notes, across journals and voice memos and random demo apps on your phone.

Yeah, you probably have an entire album by now. 

“Maybe,” you frown, “But there’s probably something that can be traced back to me if it happens, I could get in some serious trouble.”

“You’re the talent, baby,” he smiles, like some corny line out of a movie that you can’t help but smile back at, “They’re not gonna touch you.”

You melt a little further into his touch, almost at the point where you’ll agree - because it honestly isn’t the craziest plan in the world. You’ve heard it happening to other artists with much less notice - where they have to switch up their records with only a couple of weeks before release. You’ve got another couple of months.

But there’s one small problem. 

“Jack, those songs,” you lift your hands to rest over his, “They’re not just bad, they’re mean.” 

Lyrics implying he’s deceitful, that he used you - ripped your heart from your chest and sliced it open with the blade of his skate, pretty much. If those songs went out into the world, it would add to all the noise he already fights so hard to block out. You can’t let that happen.

“What if people believe that they’re about you? What if they think you’re a liar and a cheat? That’s not fair, I don’t want to play any part in doing that to you.”

“I mean you’re not even credited as a writer, right?” You shake your head, even little suggestions for amendments to single lines were vetoed by the producer in the booth when you recorded them. “They can’t call you unimaginative and then get all caught up in the story you’re putting out, it makes them look stupid.” 

God, maybe he’s right.

Maybe you can pull this off.

It’s not like you can think of any other way.

A little pain for a much bigger reward.

Your name dragged through the mud one more time is nothing if it means you get to keep Jack, right?

“Plus,” he smiles, reassuring and confident in a way that instils those qualities in you. “I think I can love you loud enough for everyone to know the truth.”

You smile back, and hopefully he feels the same way when he sees it. 

“I think I can love you louder.”

“If this is the end, at least I had a Grammy nomination along the way.”

You’ve been holed up at your parents house for the last two weeks, binging Gossip Girl and trying to pluck up the courage to take your phone off of Do Not Disturb.

It had taken you a while to figure out an actual plan for leaking the album that was scheduled to release in July, and the longer it took to mitigate all the risks, the closer that deadline loomed.

Jack held your hand through it as much as he could, but March and April were busy months for him. The Devils had made it to the playoffs again, and you’d tried to assure him you didn’t want to take away his focus, but there was nothing you could say that would stop him worrying. 

And when the time finally came - you hate to say you were sort of relieved that his team were knocked out in the first round. You think a part of him might have been, too, playing a good chunk of the end of his season through a pretty gnarly shoulder injury and juggling all this drama on top of that.

But he stayed by your side on the night it happened. He pressed send on the incriminating email that contained those songs you felt so ashamed of, and the two of you sat in silence for a bit, waiting for the criticisms to start rolling in.

And God, it was brutal.

Jack read most of it for you, filtering out the vitriol and trying to pluck out anything constructive that you could actually use to your advantage, but you found solace in the fact that you already knew it wasn’t your best work - it was hardly even your work, at all. And then he’d suggested that maybe the two of you get away - shut your phones off and escape - and all you’d wanted to do was go home.

So that’s what you’d done. You both packed a bag, booked a flight, and within 24 hours, you were back in that basement, showing Jack where everything started. He finally met your parents, who adored him just like you knew they would, and you got to give him a guided tour of your childhood.

The first stage you ever performed on, the community center you’d managed to keep open with the money you made on your first tour, where you’d spent every Wednesday night from the ages 11 to 16 learning to play the piano. You showed him all the spots referenced in your earlier music - and he had been the one to figure out which lyrics had related to which places.

And now you’re sat on the same dusty couch you wrote those songs on, surrounded by shelves of all the records that inspired you, with the boy who brought it all back to you.

“Why didn’t I know you had a grammy nomination?” he asks, eyes glinting in amusement as he watches you toss your phone between your hands, trying to delay the inevitable.

“Pop vocal album doesn’t get the recognition it deserves,” you sigh dramatically, “Also I didn’t even win, so,”

“Nominations are still cool,” he shrugs, “I’ve been put forward for the King Clancy for the past three years in a row.”

And only because you can tell he’s just trying to make you feel better, and he isn’t genuinely upset about never winning whatever trophy that is, you say, “Bet that used to get you all the girls,” with a sarcastic scoff.

“I don’t need a trophy for that,” he winks, and even now, almost one year down the line, the gesture makes you feel a little wobbly. 

“No, just a legally binding document,” you manage to bite back, relishing in the way he barks out an absolute belter of a laugh.

“Stop distracting me, your manager’s gonna start taking another 10% for the stress of you ignoring his emails if you don’t call him in the next ten minutes.”

You really thought turning your phone off might help you escape responsibility for what you did, but he’d managed to find you - sending a strongly worded email with some very imaginative emojis to your childhood hotmail account, and it had unceremoniously pinged through just yesterday when you were looking for some old photos on your family computer.

He’d signed it off with, and if you don’t return one of my 1300 calls in the next 48 hours, you’re going to be responsible for my untimely demise.

Dramatic, much?

“I don’t think my 48 hours are up, yet,” you pout, “Maybe we should make him sweat a little longer.”

“Baby,” Jack chuckles, shuffling along the couch until his knees touch yours, gently tucking your hair behind your ear, “Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

And God, you believe him. 

Jack Hughes’ unwavering optimism is disgustingly infectious, it seems - no matter how strong of a fight you tried to put up in the beginning.

What’s even the worst that could happen?

You did the hard part - sending that email out with the unmarked attachment, reading through all those criticisms that called the songs you made vapid and soulless - and you even managed to avoid that hard part extending onto Jack. 

In fact, people were so sold on the love you two shared, that it played a part in just how unconvincing your music had become.

So we’re expected to believe this girl, a tweet with a picture of you staring adoringly at Jack from across some random restaurant table had read, could possibly ever sing about wrecking someone’s car and throwing their lying, cheating ass to the curb? She looks like her head is filled with hearts and tweety birds!!!

“What if they know it was me?” You ask, “What if they drop me from the label and steal the songs I did write? I’m pretty sure they own them once I submit them, then I have nothing.”

“You have this basement, and a guitar, and a whole lifetime of new memories and experiences to make magic out of. You’ve already done it once.” He says, and then he points between the two of you. “And you’ll have this, too. I’ll even sign another contract if you want.”

“No more contracts,” you snicker, your chest feeling heavy in a way that doesn’t feel constricting anymore - it just feels full. “No more pretending, no more dinosaurs or cages or the idiots who keep trying to put me in one.”

“Atta girl,” he beams, oceanic eyes shimmering back at you with pride as leans over to kiss you, soft and sweet. When he parts, his lips are impossibly pink and curled up in the corners as he watches you pick up the phone and put it on speaker.

It rings just once before there’s a voice on the other end, and just as you manage to stop yourself from saying, I’m sorry, out of instinct - your manager speaks from the other end.

“They’re giving you a month to get this new album together,” he practically shouts, like he’s worried you’re not about to give him the time to speak. Your eyes widen when they meet Jack’s, and his expression mirrors your own. “Whatever producers you want, whatever you need, you’ve just got to come back out to New York and it’s yours, they’ll give you anything.”

And because some warped thrill rushes through you - something you don’t even understand or recognise - you find yourself saying, “I want two months.”

“Deal,” your manager grumbles before he hangs up, and you throw your arms around Jack in elation and victory.

“Don’t you have everything pretty much done,” he chuckles, “What do you need another month for?”

“To spend time out on the lake in the summer with my boyfriend,” you shrug, beaming at him as you meet his eye. He’s given up so much of his free time already for you, broken from his usual routine just to make sure you had someone by your side. 

If you have to go back to New York just to make the album, you don’t want him wasting all his time following you. 

Time is the only luxury neither of you have been truly granted yet throughout this whole situation, and you think spending it together without the pressures of work - whether that’s hockey, or recording, or even faking a relationship - is something you’ve both earned.  

“I think we’re long overdue some privacy.”

Jack smiles, his skin flushed and his cheeks a little puffy - and you’re so in love with him that it consumes you, entirely. You kiss him again. And again and again until you’re just messily giggling into each others open mouths.

He leans back, eyes flickering all over your face as he takes you in - no doubt riding the internal wave of everything you’ve both been through over the past few months.

“I can’t wait to not be seen with you.”

“It feels really weird to stand up here and introduce a song that I never wrote.”

Your album came out in August.

An intimate collection of songs written about your fear of falling, and the boy who helped you get over it, and it had been the most nerve-wracking week of your life leading up to it’s release.

You were sure of what you had written - confident in your abilities, and the heart and soul you put into it - but there was a vulnerability to the whole thing that you’d never really felt before.

Your first album had the encouragement of everyone around you - people who told you that you were going to go far, and that your potential was unlimited. It had been your debut, and there was no pressure for it to be perfect, but you could take pride in the fact that it felt close enough.

Your sophomore album came with a little more pressure, but you’d been inspired enough by the absolute car crash of that first fake relationship that you didn’t really think much when it came to putting it out. You just wanted to speak your mind, wanted to get your side of the story out, and you were much less cautious at the time that there was another person on the other end of that whole ordeal.

The third album came from a place of isolation - at a time where you felt forgotten, and unimportant, and you felt like you had something to prove. That album had a lot of insecurity beneath the surface, but you had done your best to cover it up with pop-punk inspired percussion and a lot less restriction on your vocal.

But when you’d sat in the studio and listened to this fourth album in it’s entirety for the first time, it had felt like listening to an audiobook of your very own diary.

Sure, it was sweet - you’d just fallen in love for what felt like the first time all over again, and you wanted to share a small piece of the man you had fallen for in songs about choosing him and risking it all to be with him.

But there was sourness in there, too. Songs about feeling caged, craving freedom, losing yourself with no one there to help you.

The whole album was far from perfect, but it was about as authentic as you might ever get.

And when those first reviews started to roll in, you felt like you couldn’t read them.

Jack took the reins, though - always there to hold your hand through those harder times.

“The lesson of this album is not to sit back and let others speak for you,” he had read aloud, “But to find your voice and speak for yourself, because that’s the only way anyone will hear you.”

For the first time in a year - or maybe even more - you felt like you could breathe, again.

And now you’re touring again, singing to crowds of people who pay to hear you, and finding time in the cracks of your schedule to dedicate to the guy who made it all possible.

You meet his eyes as he stands beside your parents off to the side of the stage, beaming with pride and exuding adoration as he watches you.

“But this song is really special to me,” you continue, feeling your skin flush as you look back out at the crowd. “The guy who did write it once said that making an album is like falling in love, and that’s what this whole journey was for me.”

You clutch at the guitar strapped around your body, pulling it in front of you and preparing your fingers along the strings, positioning them to the right chords on the right frets.

“I’m gonna tone it down a little, ‘cause the guy I love doesn’t really like pop music,” you laugh, and you glance back over to see him laughing too, despite the chorus of playful boos, “But this is called The Downtown Lights.” 

And as you strum along, you’re no longer stood on a stage in front of thousands - you’re transported back to the floor of your apartment after that first time you’d spent time with him alone.

The Blue Nile’s Hats is spinning on your record player, the synthy beats bouncing off your walls, the layered vocals filling some unknown, lonely void within you, and you’re meeting his eye to gauge his reaction, seeing something in there that you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight down the line.

Something curious, and new, and real.

How do I know you feel it? How do I know it's true? It's alright, it's alright The Downtown Lights

[mingiatz]

No one saw it coming — not the quiet girl in the back of the lecture hall, not the loud boy with the bad reputation, and especially not the people watching from the sidelines. But when Wooyoung sits at her library desk one evening, curiosity blooms into something much deeper. What starts with flustered glances and slow conversations soon grows into a soft, genuine love neither of them expected.

Pairing: Wooyoung x Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s):Bad boy x shy girl, Unexpected romance, Campus gossip & found love, Friends-to-lovers energy (slow progression into couple), Mutual pining, Protective male lead, Emotional vulnerability, First love energy

Genre: University AU, Romance, Soft angst, Slice of life, Smut, Fluff with depth

Featuring: ATEEZ as side characters / Wooyoung’s friend group, OC Best Friend Jisoo (Reader’s childhood bestie)

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Y/N preferred quiet things.

She liked her coffee lukewarm, her playlists instrumental, and her world structured in neat, manageable routines. She didn’t speak much in class unless directly called on, and even then, her voice barely lifted above a whisper. Most people overlooked her—and she preferred it that way.

Crowds made her stomach twist. Eye contact made her skin itch. And guys—especially loud ones—made her want to vanish altogether.

Her friends from high school used to joke that she had “goldfish anxiety.” She startled at everything. A dropped book, someone suddenly calling her name, a stranger brushing her arm by accident. She hated the way her body betrayed her—flinching, retreating, shrinking into herself like she’d trained for it.

But what she lacked in social boldness, she made up for in observation.

She noticed everything.

The way one of her classmates clenched his fist during critiques. The way another always picked at her cuticles when nervous. She read moods, caught subtle glances, and learned to sit in silence while the world revealed itself in body language.

It’s what made her a decent designer. She understood nuance. She caught what most people missed.

That’s probably why she noticed him so quickly.

Jung Wooyoung.

Everyone knew him. Not personally, maybe—but his presence was hard to miss. He always wore black. Chains, rings, heavy boots. Sometimes a beanie pulled low or a leather jacket even when it was warm out. He looked like he belonged in a gritty music video, not a college lecture hall.

People whispered about him constantly.

He’s wild. Unpredictable. Cocky as hell.

Rumor has it he almost got suspended.

Hot, but you’d regret it. That kind of hot.

Y/N never talked to him, never wanted to—but she noticed him anyway. The way he laughed too loudly with his group of equally dramatic friends. The way they moved in a pack, always dressed like they were going to a photoshoot in an alleyway.

Still, she couldn’t help noticing… he didn’t quite match the rumors.

He greeted the cafeteria aunties by name. He once offered his umbrella to a freshman who dropped their sketchpad in the rain. She’d seen him laugh until he bent over double when someone tripped him on accident and apologized like they were about to die.

He was a contradiction. And that unsettled her even more.

So she avoided him—like she avoided most people.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

It was late afternoon when she slipped into her favorite library spot.

Third floor. Back left corner. One large table, always empty. The campus library buzzed with mid-semester energy below, but up here, the silence was perfect. She unpacked her laptop and sketchbook, slid on her noise-canceling headphones (not even connected to anything), and opened her design software.

She had just started adjusting the header text on her zine layout when she heard the sound of boots.

Heavy, confident steps.

Someone was coming up the aisle.

Her breath stilled.

Please just pass by, she thought. Please don’t sit here.

The boots stopped.

Then the chair across from her scraped against the floor.

Y/N’s heart jumped. Her eyes flicked up—

Black hoodie. Black jeans. Silver rings.

Wooyoung.

Of course.

He dropped into the chair across from her like it was the most natural thing in the world and opened a spiral notebook covered in scribbles and highlighter. He didn’t even glance at her.

She immediately looked down again, trying to shrink herself into the glow of her laptop screen.

Of all the tables in the library…

Her fingers hovered uselessly over her trackpad. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. He hadn’t even done anything—but his presence was loud. Confident. Unapologetic.

She felt like a mouse sitting across from a jungle cat.

She peeked up again.

He was leaning back slightly, eyes scanning the page in front of him. His legs were stretched out, one ankle resting over his knee, pen twirling in his fingers. He looked completely at ease.

And nothing like someone dangerous.

Not in the way the rumors said, anyway.

Still, her shoulders stayed tense, heart racing as she tried to work like he wasn’t there—like she wasn’t sharing a table with the most chaotic presence on campus.

She didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of everything.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Y/N didn’t move.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, unmoving, while her screen dimmed slightly from inactivity. But she didn’t dare touch the trackpad. Not while he was still sitting there. Right across from her. Like it was his table.

She tried not to glance up again. Tried to focus on the faded guidelines of her zine layout, on the muted color palette she’d been obsessing over all week. But the weight of his presence pressed in at the edges of her attention like static.

Her thumb rubbed nervously over the side of her stylus. Her knee bounced. She adjusted her hoodie sleeve. Twice.

He didn’t even look at her. Just flipped pages in his notebook with casual rhythm, tapping his pen against his boot now and then, humming under his breath.

Then, suddenly—snap!

He shut his notebook with a sharp, absentminded thud.

Y/N flinched. Hard.

She hadn’t meant to—but her whole body reacted before her brain could stop it. The sound echoed too loudly in the still library corner, bouncing off the shelves like a gunshot.

And that’s when it happened.

She looked up.

And he did too.

Their eyes met.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Huh.

Wooyoung blinked.

He hadn’t realized someone was already sitting at the table.

He’d been too focused on the way his scene breakdown wasn’t flowing, on the caffeine buzz still crawling under his skin, and the quiet up here that made it easier to think.

But now—

There was a girl across from him. Tiny. Frozen. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

He didn’t know how long she’d been there, but clearly long enough to be startled by him. She was practically folded into herself, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, shoulders hunched up like she was bracing for impact.

Shit. He’d scared her.

Wooyoung leaned back slightly, pen still between his fingers, and looked at her properly.

She had ridiculously long hair—falling in soft waves over her shoulders and down past her ribs. Almost like she was hiding behind it. Her skin looked soft and pale under the dim library lighting. Minimal makeup. No visible piercings. No scent of perfume, just that faint paper-and-pencil smell that always clung to design students.

She looked like she’d disappear if he breathed too loud.

Cute.

He didn’t mean it in the flirty, overdone way. Just… softly cute. Quiet cute. Like watching a wild rabbit eat a leaf on a sidewalk.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice lower this time. Gentler.

She gave a jerky nod. Didn’t say a word.

Wooyoung tilted his head, a little intrigued. He could be loud—was loud, especially around his friends—but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He could read the room.

This girl looked like she might bolt if he smirked the wrong way.

So naturally, he smirked.

“You’re, like, the human version of a whisper,” he said casually, tapping his pen against the table. “Have you always been this quiet, or do I just bring it out of people?”

That earned a reaction.

She blinked rapidly. Opened her mouth. Closed it. A flush began to creep up her neck, blooming fast.

And then—

She flinched again.

Just from his smile.

Wooyoung’s amusement flickered into something else.

Damn. She’s not just shy. She’s shy as hell.

He leaned back, gave her space. Slowed down.

And for once, dialed it back—not because he was afraid to be himself, but because… now he was genuinely curious.

What kind of girl tries that hard to be invisible?

And why does it make him want to look even harder?

Wooyoung had seen every reaction to his presence.

Wide eyes. Nervous laughter. A few blatant stares. Some people tried to flirt, others avoided him completely. He was used to the spectrum of responses that came with having a “reputation.”

But this girl—this silent, twitchy, invisible-as-possible girl—was something else entirely.

She didn’t look scared in the he thinks-he’s-so-cool-but-he’s-actually-annoying way.

She looked scared in the I-don’t-know-how-to-exist-right-now way.

And he wasn’t even doing anything.

He glanced at her again. She was still hunched over her laptop, pretending to work—but her hand was shaking slightly as it adjusted her stylus. She looked like she wanted to melt into the table.

Most people would take the hint and leave her alone.

Wooyoung wasn’t most people.

“You always sit up here?” he asked casually, voice soft but teasing.

Her eyes flicked up. Just for a second. Then back down.

So, yes.

“You’re very territorial,” he added. “You’ve got a whole silent aura thing going on. I felt like I was invading a shrine.”

That got the tiniest twitch of her mouth.

He smirked. Progress.

“I bet your zine designs are all moody and painfully aesthetic,” he continued, gesturing to her laptop. “Muted tones. Serif fonts. Meaningful whitespace.”

Still nothing. But her fingers had stopped shaking.

“You know,” he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair, “you’re kinda hard to read.”

That wasn’t true. Not really. She was easy to read—scared, quiet, unsure—but hard to understand. He was good at reading people. It came with the territory of being the kind of guy people assumed things about.

Her silence wasn’t indifference. It was self-preservation. Like she thought if she breathed wrong, he’d pounce.

And maybe that’s what kept him talking.

He was about to say something else—light, non-threatening, probably a little stupid—when the library door creaked open.

Voices drifted in.

Three students—two guys and a girl—walked in laughing too loudly for the third floor. They didn’t notice him at first.

Until one of them glanced over.

“Shit,” one of the guys muttered, elbowing his friend. “That’s Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s ears pricked. He didn’t move.

“Dude, I heard he punched a guy for touching his camera.”

“No, it was for cheating with his ex or something.”

“Nah, you’re thinking of Seonghwa. Wooyoung’s the one who broke a window. Or a nose? One of those.”

They kept walking, their voices fading behind a bookshelf. The girl giggled. “He’s hot, though. Like, dangerous hot.”

The group disappeared, their laughter trailing behind.

Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose.

Right. That again.

He glanced at the girl across from him.

She was staring at her screen, but he could tell she’d heard everything.

“They’re full of shit,” he said, voice quiet now. No teasing. “None of that’s true.”

He expected her usual silence. Maybe a nod. A twitch of acknowledgment at best.

Instead, she spoke.

Just one sentence. Barely louder than the rustle of paper.

But her voice was soft. Clear.

“You don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

Wooyoung blinked.

His head tilted slowly toward her. Her eyes were still on her screen, but her fingers had stilled. Her shoulders hadn’t curled in this time.

He let the words hang there for a second longer than necessary.

Then he smiled.

It wasn’t his usual smirk.

It was slower. Quieter.

“…You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he said quietly.

And something about the way she didn’t look up—but also didn’t take it back—made him want to keep sitting right there.

Just a little longer.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He kept seeing her.

Not just in the library anymore, but everywhere—always alone, always moving like she was trying not to be noticed. Sometimes walking across the quad with her sketchbook clutched to her chest. Sometimes slipping into the café just before the rush, eyes down and hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Other times she was in the design building, sitting on the floor beside a wall outlet with her laptop open and that hyper-focused look on her face like the whole world was made of pixels and code.

She moved like a ghost. But he couldn’t stop noticing her.

And the weirdest part? She never noticed him back.

Not really.

Not when he passed her in the hall. Not when they stood in line at the same café. Not when he waved—just to see what she’d do—and got nothing but the faintest glance and a nervous blink.

The human whisper, he’d called her.

But maybe that wasn’t fair.

Because her silence wasn’t empty. It said things. Said more than most people’s small talk ever did.

And now that he’d heard her voice—once, just once—he wanted to hear it again.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

“You ever notice this girl?” Wooyoung asked casually, slumping into the bench at their usual campus hangout spot with half a kimbap roll hanging out of his mouth. “Long-ass hair. Walks like a shadow. Hoodie’s always like three sizes too big.”

San blinked at him. “That describes half the student body.”

“She’s got this whole silent genius energy,” Wooyoung added, waving a chopstick. “I saw her in the library a few days ago. She flinched when I breathed too loud. But her design stuff looked clean.”

Hongjoong gave him a look. “Since when do you notice anyone else’s design work?”

“Since she looked like she was coding the Matrix in Adobe Illustrator,” Wooyoung shot back.

Yeosang snorted. “Sounds fake.”

“I’m telling you, she’s like… mystically quiet. Like she’ll either build the next Apple or vanish into a cloud of fog.”

“I think I know who you mean,” Mingi said suddenly, pointing his chopsticks in the air like a lightbulb had gone off. “She’s in my interface theory class. Name’s Y/N. Graphic design major. She’s scary good.”

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up. “Y/N, huh.”

“Yeah,” Mingi went on. “She never talks, though. Not even in group projects. I partnered with her once and she just sent everything over Google Drive with no message. But her stuff? Crazy. Like… UX god-tier.”

“That tracks,” Wooyoung muttered, leaning back with a thoughtful smirk.

The others stared at him.

“What?” San asked suspiciously. “Why are you asking about her?”

Wooyoung just shrugged and stood, stretching lazily. “No reason.”

Mingi raised a brow. “Woo.”

He was already walking away, eyes locked on a figure across the grass.

There she was again. Y/N. Heading toward the design building with her backpack low on her shoulders and a thermos tucked under one arm. Her long hair flowed down her back like a curtain, hiding most of her profile.

Wooyoung jogged a few steps to catch up.

The guys watched from a distance.

Yeosang shook his head. “This is either going to be a disaster or his next favorite obsession.”

San grinned. “Oh, definitely both.”

She hadn’t expected the sun to be this warm today.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Y/N hugged her thermos closer as she crossed the lawn toward the design building, her hair sticking slightly to the back of her neck where it met her hoodie. Her backpack straps bit into her shoulders, but she didn’t adjust them. She was too busy trying to get from point A to point B without bumping into anyone or making accidental eye contact.

So when someone jogged up behind her, fast and loud, her heart practically leapt out of her chest.

She flinched hard and turned mid-step, nearly tripping on her own feet.

“Whoa—careful!” a voice said, laughing. “Didn’t mean to scare you again, Whisper.”

Y/N blinked.

And there he was.

Jung Wooyoung.

In full black, again. Ripped jeans. Silver chain. A mischievous glint in his eye like he knew exactly how much space he took up in a person’s brain. His hoodie was slung low over his head, but it didn’t hide the way his smile hit like lightning.

He’d… run after her?

“What are you—?” she started, then immediately regretted opening her mouth.

Wooyoung grinned. “You do talk outside the library.”

She shut her mouth again. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“I was starting to think that place had, like, magical soundproofing for introverts.”

Y/N glanced away, unsure what to say. It wasn’t that she minded his attention—it was just… overwhelming. Loud. Bright. Too much to look at without feeling exposed.

But he wasn’t unkind.

And that made it worse somehow.

“I saw you walking,” he continued, matching her pace without asking. “Figured I’d say hi before you disappeared into the walls again.”

“I… wasn’t disappearing,” she said quietly.

He glanced sideways at her, lips twitching. “Sure you weren’t.”

She pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead. Her heart was still racing, but not entirely from panic this time.

There was something about the way he moved beside her. Confident but unhurried. Like he belonged in motion. Like he didn’t mind walking at her awkward, uneven pace.

“You always this jumpy?” he asked suddenly.

Y/N hesitated. “…Kind of.”

“Cute,” he said.

She blinked at him.

He didn’t elaborate. Just shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and kept walking.

Y/N stared at the ground and tried to figure out how breathing worked again.

He was flirting.

Right?

Maybe?

Oh god.

She didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk.

But when they reached the design building and she glanced back—

He was still looking at her.

Smiling.

Like he’d just found a new favorite thing.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

You talked to Jung Wooyoung?!”

Y/N winced at the pitch of her best friend’s voice as they sat cross-legged on the dorm room floor, surrounded by snacks and half-done sketchbooks.

“I mean… technically, he talked to me,” Y/N mumbled, poking at the edge of a granola bar wrapper. “I mostly just stood there. And blinked.”

Her best friend—Jisoo, bright-eyed and perpetually bouncing—clutched a pillow to her chest like it was keeping her heart inside her body.

“Y/N, that boy has a reputation. Like, capital-R Rumor Mill level. The man literally oozes misunderstood bad boy energy.”

Y/N gave her a sideways look. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“I mean… is it not?” Jisoo said with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.

They’d known each other since kindergarten—since juice boxes and glitter glue. Jisoo was the only person she felt fully safe around. The only one who never pushed her to be louder or more “normal.”

“You know people talk about him all the time,” Jisoo continued. “Fights. Suspensions. The window thing—did you hear about the window thing?”

“I don’t think he actually broke it,” Y/N said quietly.

Jisoo blinked. “You don’t?”

Y/N shook her head. “He doesn’t… feel like those rumors. I don’t know. He sat with me in the library. Spoke to me like I was a person, not a weird project. He teases, but it’s not mean. It’s more like…”

She trailed off, looking at her own hands.

“Gentle?” Jisoo offered, tilting her head.

“…Yeah.”

Jisoo stared at her for a long moment. Then she smiled.

“Well, I trust you,” she said. “Your people radar is freakishly accurate. Remember when I almost dated that guy from the photography club and you told me he gave ‘damp sock energy’? And then he cheated on his girlfriend?”

Y/N snorted. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not when it saved me from heartbreak and an embarrassing Instagram soft launch.”

They both laughed.

Y/N hugged her knees to her chest and stared out the window.

Jisoo’s voice was soft this time. “So… what are you gonna do?”

Y/N hesitated.

“…Nothing. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who talks to quiet girls twice.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

“What’s with you and Quiet Girl?”

Wooyoung didn’t even get a chance to sit down before San asked the question, eyes sparkling like he’d been waiting all day for it.

They were gathered on the quad again, lounging in a loose circle with snacks and unfinished readings scattered between them.

“Who?” Wooyoung asked, even though he knew exactly who.

“You know who,” Seonghwa said, sipping from his iced americano like it was tea. “The one with the hair that goes down to her hips and the energy of a studio cat.”

Wooyoung grinned. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”

“She’s cute,” Mingi added.

“Which is why,” Hongjoong said, squinting at Wooyoung, “we’re asking you why you keep chasing her around like a golden retriever who found a ghost.”

“I don’t chase,” Wooyoung said, offended. “I appear. Casually.”

Yeosang coughed. “You ran across campus.”

Wooyoung just shrugged.

“She’s interesting,” he said simply.

San blinked. “That’s it?”

Wooyoung leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky.

“She flinches when I breathe, but she still listens. She never talks, but when she did? She didn’t sound scared. Just honest. I don’t know. She’s… different.”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Awwww,” Jongho cooed dramatically. “Wooyoung has a cru-ush.”

“I will throw you into the fountain.”

The group dissolved into laughter.

Wooyoung didn’t join in right away.

Because even with all the teasing, all the noise—

His mind was still on her.

Still wondering if he’d get to hear her voice again.

The teasing was loud and obnoxious, just how he liked it.

San was in full dramatic mode, Jongho was cackling, and someone—probably Mingi—had just dubbed him “Loverboy of the Library.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes so hard it hurt

“I swear to god—” he started.

But then he saw her.

Y/N.

Across the courtyard. Her long hair catching in the breeze, sleeves pulled over her hands as always, a sketchbook hugged tightly to her chest. At first, his brain lit up the same way it always did when he spotted her—an automatic tug of curiosity, an ache to go say something dumb just to see if she’d twitch or smile.

But something was different.

Her walk was off. Slower. Her shoulders were higher than usual, tense and pulled inward like she was trying to fold herself smaller than her already small frame. Her eyes kept flicking sideways.

Then he saw him.

Some guy walking beside her. Laughing. Talking with his body angled too close. He matched her step for step, like they were walking together—but Wooyoung knew her well enough by now to know they weren’t.

Y/N wasn’t with him.

She was just trying to get away from him.

The guy stopped her. Reached out. Said something with an overconfident grin.

And then—

He touched her hair.

Not casually. Not kindly. Just grabbed a strand and twirled it between his fingers like it was a joke.

Wooyoung didn’t even hear the conversation around him anymore.

He saw her flinch.

Saw her try to step back but not fast enough.

He stood without thinking.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t hear anyone else call after him.

All he could see was that look on her face.

And the way she didn’t know how to get out of the moment.

But he did.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

She should’ve taken a different path.

She knew better. But she was already halfway across the courtyard when she heard her name and turned out of reflex.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

She recognized him immediately—Jae, from her visual branding class. Always loud, always confident, always taking up more space than necessary.

She offered a polite nod, barely slowing down. “Hi.”

He fell into step beside her. “So I was thinking,” he said, way too casually. “We should get coffee. Talk fonts. Or like, not talk. I just wanna see that cute little mouth say my name.”

Y/N swallowed. Hard.

“I’m busy,” she said softly.

“You said that last week.”

“Because it’s true.”

“But you’re always busy,” he said, laughing like it was charming. “You can’t spare one hour for me?”

“I don’t really—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, stepping in front of her.

She stopped short, pulse racing. Her grip on her sketchbook tightened.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “Just trying to get to know you. You’re always so quiet—it’s hot.”

Then, before she could step away, his hand reached out.

He touched her hair.

Just grabbed it. Twirled it in his fingers like she was a prop.

She flinched so hard she nearly dropped her book.

And that’s when she heard the voice behind her.

“Step. Back.”

Jae looked up—confused, a little annoyed.

Y/N turned—and blinked in surprise.

Wooyoung.

He stood there, dark hoodie and all, his expression cold in a way she’d never seen before. He didn’t look amused. Didn’t look smug. He looked dangerous.

Without a word, he stepped in front of her.

One hand reached behind him and curled around her wrist—gently—but pulled her behind him like it was second nature.

Jae frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

“The guy who’s going to break your fingers if you touch her again.”

The words weren’t loud. But they were enough.

Jae scoffed. “Relax, dude. It’s not like—”

Wooyoung stepped forward. A single step.

And somehow, that was enough.

Jae backed off. Muttered something. Turned. Left.

The moment he was gone, the tension dropped out of the air like a cut wire.

Y/N stood frozen behind Wooyoung, breath shallow.

He turned slowly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Gentle.

She nodded.

But inside, her chest was still spinning.

Because this was the second time he’d shown up.

And this time… he’d pulled her close.

Like she wasn’t supposed to protect herself alone.

Thank you,” Y/N said softly, bowing slightly.

She hadn’t meant to bow. It was automatic—years of awkward habits wrapped in one small, grateful motion. But when she straightened, she saw something unexpected:

Wooyoung looked flustered.

Only for a second. But she caught it.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, ears just a bit pink. “You don’t have to bow,” he muttered, trying to play it off with a grin. “Not unless I start collecting badges for heroic rescues.”

That made her smile. A little. Just enough to ease the pounding in her chest.

He glanced toward the quad. His friends were still sitting there, sprawled on the grass, laughing like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Hey,” he said, tone suddenly more casual. “Wanna come sit with us?”

Y/N blinked. “Us?”

He nodded. “You know. Me. The guys. They’re kind of idiots, but tolerable in small doses. And since we’re friends now…”

Her stomach twisted in the most confusing way.

Friends.

She wasn’t sure what that meant with someone like Wooyoung, but… she nodded.

“Okay.”

The moment they got close, she regretted everything.

“Is this her?!” San shouted, nearly knocking Jongho over to get a better look. “This is the quiet girl?!”

“She’s adorable,” Seonghwa said with a warm smile. “Like a little ghost with great hair.”

“Y/N, right?” Mingi asked, grinning. “We’re in interface theory together!”

Y/N barely managed a tiny wave. “Hi.”

It was too much.

They were all talking at once—so loud, so fast, so bright. She could barely keep up with the questions flying at her: What year are you? What’s your focus? Did Wooyoung really run after you across campus?

She nodded. Smiled weakly. But her throat was tightening, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her hoodie like lifelines. She tried not to look panicked.

And then—

“Guys,” Wooyoung said, suddenly serious.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He noticed it immediately.

The way Y/N had started shrinking into herself again, like someone had turned down her volume and dimmed her brightness all at once. Her smile was too tight, her shoulders too high, and her hands had vanished into the hoodie sleeves like she wanted to crawl inside them.

Crap.

He’d done it again—brought her into his chaos without thinking.

“Guys,” he repeated, sharper this time. “Stop circling her like a bunch of curious pigeons. You’re gonna scare her off.”

They all blinked at him.

“She’s not a museum exhibit,” he added, standing up slightly straighter.

To ease the tension, he threw a casual arm around Y/N’s shoulder and tugged her gently toward him—half-hug, half-shelter.

“See?” he said with a grin. “You freak her out and poof—Whisper disappears.”

The group laughed. The attention shifted. Someone threw a chip at San. Jongho started arguing with Mingi over who was louder.

Crisis averted.

But Wooyoung didn’t immediately let go.

She was standing close—closer than ever. He could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of her hoodie, the way her small frame barely reached his shoulder. And then—

He caught her scent.

Soft. Clean. Something floral.

Daisies.

His heart did an odd little hiccup in his chest.

Oh.

He’d only meant to make her feel safe.

But now he was acutely aware of the fact that her hair brushed his jaw when she shifted. That she hadn’t pulled away. That she smelled like spring and quiet mornings and something that had no business wrapping itself around his ribs like this.

He cleared his throat.

Maybe he needed to disappear for a second.

This was fine.

Totally fine.

Y/N was standing beside him. Right beside him. Close enough that her shoulder occasionally bumped his when she shifted or adjusted her sleeves. Close enough that he could still smell that soft floral scent that had short-circuited his brain five minutes ago.

But he was fine. Totally normal. Not flustered at all.

Except he absolutely was.

He pulled his arm back from around her shoulders as casually as possible and scratched the back of his neck, laughing a little too loud at something San said. His foot started bouncing. Then he caught himself doing it and stopped.

Be cool, he told himself. You’re Wooyoung. Be normal. Be fun. Be–

“Bro,” Jongho said under his breath, leaning in just enough for only the group to hear. “Are you sweating?”

“I’m not sweating,” Wooyoung muttered back.

“You’re blinking like you forgot how,” Yeosang added, biting into a rice cracker without looking up.

Seonghwa smirked from the other side of the circle. “I’ve never seen you struggle this hard to flirt.”

“I’m not struggling,” Wooyoung hissed.

“I mean, you just trailed off mid-sentence and smiled at the air,” Mingi said, barely holding in his laugh.

“Okay, now I’m going to kill you,” Wooyoung replied, glancing around to make sure Y/N hadn’t heard.

She hadn’t. She was sitting cross-legged, a few inches away, nibbling on a cookie someone had offered her earlier. Quiet as ever. But her eyes were watching—taking everything in, like always.

And for some reason, that made his heart stutter even more.

He leaned back on his hands and forced himself to breathe.

He had to get a grip.

Because this whole thing—the teasing, the closeness, the way she didn’t shrink away from him like she used to—felt like something that could unravel him if he let it.

And he wasn’t sure if he minded.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Y/N wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

She sat in a loose circle of boys who looked like they belonged in a biker gang or a fashion editorial—or both. And every single one of them had a reputation on campus.

Too loud. Too wild. Too much.

And yet…

The longer she sat there, the more those labels started to feel paper-thin.

They weren’t scary. They were just guys. Arguing over snacks. Teasing each other relentlessly. Mingi kept trying to stack chips on San’s head while Jongho pretended not to notice. Yeosang was reading something off his phone with a completely blank expression, even as Seonghwa gently swatted his arm to get his attention.

And Wooyoung…

He was still himself. Playful. Sharp. But his energy felt… quieter around her. Not muted, but softened. Like he was trying to keep her from feeling overwhelmed.

Which didn’t really work, because she was overwhelmed.

But not in the bad way.

Just in the I-don’t-know-how-I-ended-up-here-and-they-keep-remembering-my-name kind of way.

She nibbled at her cookie and tried to make herself small. She didn’t want to ruin the dynamic. Didn’t want to attract attention.

And then—

“Y/N-AHHHH!!”

She jumped, heart launching into her throat.

A pair of arms wrapped tightly around her from behind. Warm, familiar, and completely uninvited.

Jisoo.

Her best friend leaned over her shoulder and beamed at the group.

“Hey! Sorry—couldn’t resist. She looked too adorable just sitting here like a lost kitten.”

Y/N was frozen in place, pulse pounding in her ears.

Jisoo turned to the boys. “Hi, I’m Jisoo. I’ve known her since kindergarten. She doesn’t usually hang out with boys—especially not the campus rumors.”

There was a pause.

And then, chaos.

San practically choked on a chip. Jongho gave a loud, dramatic gasp. Mingi fell backward laughing. Seonghwa just smiled like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

And Y/N?

She wished the grass would open up and swallow her whole.

Y/N was still trying to calm her heartbeat when the chaos started to settle.

Jisoo’s sudden hug had triggered a chain reaction: gasps, laughter, wide-eyed stares. She hadn’t expected the boys to be so… loud about it. San nearly rolled off the grass in shock, and Wooyoung looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or throw himself into a bush.

“Wait,” Mingi said dramatically, propping himself up on his elbows. “She has a friend?”

Seonghwa gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, but Yeosang leaned forward curiously. “Like, a real friend? Not a group project partner?”

Jongho squinted. “Are we sure this isn’t just a hologram created by Illustrator?”

Y/N blinked, startled again—but this time not from fear.

From frustration.

“I’m shy,” she said quietly, but clearly. “Not antisocial.”

The entire circle fell silent.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. He turned his head slightly, almost like he needed to confirm that the words had actually come from her.

Y/N stared at the cookie in her hand. She hadn’t meant to say that. It just… slipped out.

But no one laughed. No one mocked her.

San grinned and raised both hands. “Respectfully noted.”

“Sorry,” Mingi said quickly. “We’re just not used to quiet people being around Wooyoung. Usually, they run.”

“I don’t run,” Y/N said. Then paused. “Much.”

That earned a few chuckles.

Jisoo plopped down beside her, completely unfazed by the group’s presence. “Okay, but now I’m curious. What is with your reputations, anyway? Like, how bad are we talking? Because I keep hearing things about fights and parties and… something about a broken window?”

“See?!” San shouted, pointing at Yeosang. “I told you the window story wouldn’t die!”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Yeosang said with a deadpan expression.

“I tripped. There was a soccer ball. It was raining,” Jongho added helpfully.

“And someone slipped into the window,” Seonghwa finished, sipping his drink like it was a fine wine. “Not punched. Slipped.”

Jisoo raised an eyebrow. “So none of you are criminal masterminds, then?”

“Not unless you count Mingi’s snack theft record,” Wooyoung said, finally speaking again. “He once stole my gimbap and tried to blame it on Jongho’s protein bar.”

Y/N glanced at him.

He was smiling again—normal, teasing, relaxed. But his eyes met hers for just a second longer than the joke required. As if checking in. Making sure she was okay.

She didn’t look away this time.

Instead, she offered a quiet, barely-there smile.

Jisoo nudged her. “You’ve been holding out on me. These guys are kind of fun.”

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Yeah.

They kind of were.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

They were mid-laugh about something stupid Mingi had said when Wooyoung saw her.

Y/N. Sitting under the big maple tree near the design building, laptop on her knees, surrounded by a colorful mess of post-ist and highlighters. Her hair fell over her shoulder like a curtain. She was focused—so focused that she didn’t notice anything else around her.

But someone else had.

Voices drifted from the other side of the walkway. Loud. Careless.

“Yo, that quiet girl?” one guy said, leaning on the railing nearby. “The one in graphic design with the long-ass hair?”

Wooyoung slowed his steps.

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Wait, are they talking about—?”

“Yeah,” San said under his breath. “They are.”

Then the second guy chimed in, grinning. “Yeah man. She’s got that soft-spoken freak energy. I’d hit that from behind—bet she wouldn’t even say anything. Might even thank me for it.”

Wooyoung stopped walking entirely.

So did San.

Mingi’s face twisted. “The fuck did he just say?”

Wooyoung didn’t answer. He was already half a step forward, fists curling, fury rising like static behind his eyes.

Then—like a spark before a forest fire—

“You absolute scum-stains.”

All three of them turned.

Jisoo.

She marched up to the two guys like a one-woman army, fury radiating off her in waves.

“Is your skull so empty that the only thing rattling around in there is sexist trash and your tragic little dignity?”

“Whoa, relax—” one of them started, but she wasn’t done.

“No, I won’t relax,” Jisoo snapped. “You want to act like pathetic little roaches in the sun? Fine. But do it far away from actual decent people. That girl you’re talking about? She has more class in her pinky than you’ve ever had in your whole puberty-choked life.”

One guy opened his mouth.

She shut it down instantly. “Speak again and I will report you. With audio. And names. Try me.”

The two guys scrambled to back off, muttering curses as they walked away.

Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose.

San looked murderous.

Mingi muttered, “I swear if she hadn’t gotten there first…”

Wooyoung didn’t answer.

Because now Jisoo was headed toward them.

She stopped in front of their trio, hands on her hips.

“Well,” she said, letting out a breath. “Didn’t expect to handle two rodents before noon, but here we are.”

San was still glaring after the guys. “You went full avenging angel.”

“Thank you,” Mingi said, half in awe.

Wooyoung finally spoke, voice low. “She didn’t hear it?”

“No,” Jisoo said. “She had her music in. Completely zoned. Thank god.”

He nodded once.

“Don’t tell her,” Jisoo added. “Let her keep thinking the world’s decent a little longer.”

“…I won’t,” Wooyoung said.

But he was still looking in Y/N’s direction.

Still thinking about what he would’ve done if Jisoo hadn’t gotten there first.

Still feeling that quiet, steady burn in his chest.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Their study sessions had become a thing.

They never officially planned it—just exchanged a couple texts, agreed on a time, and somehow always found their way to the same table on the quiet third floor of the library. No chaos. No crowds. Just whispered conversation, occasional sarcastic remarks, and the rhythm of keyboards and pens between them.

Wooyoung liked it more than he expected.

But nothing had prepared him for today.

She walked in while he was scrolling through film references on his tablet, hair pulled back loosely, earbuds in, sketchbook under her arm. Same calm entrance. Same soft steps.

But then—

His eyes drifted lower.

She wasn’t wearing her usual oversized hoodie.

Today it was a fitted black top. Simple. Long-sleeved. Nothing flashy—but it hugged her frame just enough to show the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her chest, the soft dip just above her hips.

And Wooyoung’s brain stalled.

She still looked like herself—comfortable, minimal, quiet—but the difference hit him like static.

She sat down without looking at him, unpacking her things like she always did. Calm. Focused. Completely unaware of the way his pulse had suddenly jumped.

He swallowed hard and looked back at his screen. Tried to focus. Failed.

His eyes flicked to her again—her fingers, her neck, the slight way she bit her lip while scrolling.

What would she look like if that lip trembled while whispering his name?

He blinked. Hard.

If she looked up at him from beneath, voice breathy and sweet, telling him she liked him—

Wooyoung dragged a hand over his face and sat back.

Where the hell did that come from?

He’d thought about her before—sure. She was beautiful, in that quiet, unsuspecting kind of way. And yeah, he’d flirted. Teased. Wondered what it might feel like to kiss the thoughts right out of her head.

But now…

Now his chest felt tight. Warm.

Because when that image flashed through his mind—her soft voice, flushed cheeks, whispering I like you with his name on her lips—it didn’t feel like lust.

It felt like something aching.

He didn’t just want her to say she liked him.

He wanted her to mean it.

And that realization hit him harder than any fantasy ever could.

Shit.

He liked her.

Wooyoung had always thought realizations would be cooler.

That there’d be a flash of lightning, a dramatic soundtrack, maybe some slow-motion moment where the world paused while everything clicked into place.

Instead?

He almost walked into a mop bucket in the dorm hallway because he was too busy replaying her voice in his head saying “I like you” in his imagination.

He didn’t even hear her say it—he’d just pictured it during their study session, and now he was unraveling like a romantic disaster.

He sprinted up the dorm stairs, hair a mess, hoodie falling off one shoulder.

“GUYS!” he yelled, bursting into the shared living space like he was on fire.

Yeosang didn’t even flinch. “Living room’s full,” he said, eyes still on his laptop.

San, lying across the entire couch like a Victorian fainting widow, lazily lifted his head. “Unless you’re dying or in love, shut up.”

“I AM BOTH!” Wooyoung shouted, pacing in a tight, frantic circle.

“Jesus,” Mingi muttered from the floor. “He figured it out.”

Jongho peeked out of the kitchen, holding a banana. “Took longer than I thought.”

“Wait—what did he figure out?” Seonghwa asked, walking in with a towel around his neck.

“That he likes Whisper Girl,” San deadpanned, sitting up. “Took him long enough.”

Wooyoung stopped mid-step and threw both hands in the air. “SHE WORE A FITTED TOP, OKAY?!”

Everyone blinked.

Mingi coughed. “Is that a euphemism or…”

“No!” Wooyoung gestured wildly. “She walked in—same quiet steps, same messy hair, same face that makes my brain short-circuit—and then BAM. Fitted shirt. No hoodie. Just—curves. Shadows. And then I thought about her saying my name and calling me oppa and—”

“Okay,” Seonghwa interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let’s not get arrested.”

“I mean,” San added, fanning himself dramatically. “But also, bro, tone it down.”

Wooyoung groaned and dropped to the floor. “I thought it was just physical! Like ‘she’s cute, she’s mysterious, she startles like a bunny’—you know. Normal fascination. But no.”

Jongho tilted his head. “So what changed?”

“I liked the idea of her liking me back,” Wooyoung mumbled, clutching a couch pillow to his face. “Like, actually saying it. Like, meaning it.”

“Wow,” Yeosang said flatly. “Romantic epiphany. So brave.”

Wooyoung sat up again, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Why aren’t any of you surprised?!”

San just blinked. “Because we have eyes?”

“Bro, we watched you try to act chill while she sat beside you and accidentally brushed your knee,” Mingi added. “You looked like you were being electrocuted in slow motion.”

“You’ve been whipped for weeks,” Jongho muttered around a mouthful of banana.

Seonghwa gave him a pat on the shoulder. “We’re proud of you. For finally catching up with the plot.”

Wooyoung covered his face with both hands and flopped backward on the floor. “I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” San sang.

“Not as much as he loves her,” Mingi said.

Wooyoung groaned again.

But under all the dramatics, he was smiling.

Because now he knew.

He really liked her.

And he had no idea what the hell to do about it.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[shuaasumii]

“Girl Dad”

after having 2 (possibly 3) daughters, you can’t help but wonder if your husband will be lonely without a son of his own.

PAIRING: dad!dino x mom!reader

GENRE: fluff ofc

WARNINGS: mentions of pregnancy

TAGS: girl dad!dino, the daughters are just referred to as the youngest and oldest, youngest is abt 2 and oldest is abt 5, reader is pregnant

A/N: proud to say that I wrote this at 1 in the morning :). but I believe that dino is a boy-dad through and through, but this fic made me want to think otherwise! pics above r from pinterest and pink divider made by @icheries

You lie peacefully lounging on your bed, still dressed in your pajamas. You hold your phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly as your youngest daughter continued her nap on top of your body, her tiny head leaned on your chest. Her older sister not far, she however lies next to your figure instead of on top. Her short arms are wrapped around your thigh and her face is snuggled against your hip. Their little bodies move slightly with each breath.

On the other side, Dino (not so) sneakily snaps pictures of this simple but cute moment of his favorite girls.

You notice him holding up his phone suspiciously, making you look up only to find him pointing his camera directly at you.

“Quit taking pictures of me,” you quipped, flashing him a playful look.

Dino grins lowering his phone for a second, “how can I? My four favorite girls are in one frame,” he said referring to the baby still inside of you.

You were about 20 weeks pregnant with what could possibly be your third girl. The second you two found out you were pregnant again, Dino wouldn’t stop talking about how he knew it was gonna be a girl. Either he genuinely has a feeling it’s a girl, or he’s secretly hoping for yet another daughter.

“You don’t even know if it’s a girl yet,” you interjected.

“I do,” he said confidently, “it’s my dad intuition,” he continued as he moved his fingers to his temple.

You smile quietly at him, wondering how you were able to find a man who was so immersed in being a father.

“Won’t you be sad?” You asked suddenly.

Dino quirked a brow at you, beyond confused, “why would I be sad, baby?”

You sighed, “well you’re not gonna have any boys to play with.”

Dino stared at you appalled, “first of all, I don’t care what gender the baby is, as long as I’m raising it with you it doesn’t matter.” He stopped to take a breather before continuing once more, “and second of all, I absolutely love having a bunch of mini versions of you running around the house.”

You blushed slightly, your heart being filled to the brim with love. You wonder again, how could you have possibly pulled someone so loving. You had definitely gotten lucky with your girl-dad of a husband.

Dino threw his phone somewhere on the bed and scooted closer to your side, still leaving space for your oldest in between.

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, your nose, and your lips before moving to whisper in your ear, “plus I already deal with 12 other chaotic boys at work, don’t think I need 13.”

[miya-rin]

2 year blog celebration by dropping hq virgin hcs mayb👀👀👀👀

this has been in my drafts for almost a year now so its basically a 3 year blog celebration oops. anon i am SO sorry it took me so long to post this, i hope it reaches you some how LMAO. obviously nsfw under the cut!! f!reader in kuroo’s

virgin!kuroo is way too cocky for his own good, that mf is NOT as good as he claims to be, do not be deceived. he truly believes that pleasuring a woman is the easiest thing alive and everyone who cant is just too ignorant to learn how to, because of this he does not research anything and goes in completely blind. not to hype him up too much but his foreplay is top tier you have to hand it to him, however that does not make up for the fact that he is just so bad at sex the first time you guys do it.

he misses the hole more often than not. his thrusts are extremely sloppy and he doesnt go deep enough for it to even feel good. he cant find the clit for the life of him even if you point it out to him, his nerves when he realises that sex is actually hard work mess him up and he completely forgets where it is. he asks you “do you like that?” after you finally let out a moan and when you reply with a firm “no” he genuinely looks like he is about to cry.

he does last a lot longer than you expected him to in all fairness, but as soon as he does cum he just pulls out and lays down next to you, completely forgetting that you haven’t came yet and then panics and tries to give you head to make up for it. he gets better eventually but the fact that he was just so confident is the funniest thing ever and he gets so embarrassed when you mention it to him.

virgin!kageyama almost cums instantly the first time he slides into you, like im talking barely a minute. you knew that it was his first time having sex with someone and you were making sure that he was comfortable with the fact that you were about to ride him, but as you started lowering yourself onto him he lets go immediately, only getting the tip inside before you have to get off his dick, shooting white spurts of cum everywhere.

he's literally so flustered with the whole experience, from him losing his virginity (even though he insisted it didnt count until he made you cum first), to you straddling him, and him realising that he just made a fool out of himself in front of you. you give him a few minutes to compose himself but as soon as you start again he cums.

hes so embarrassed about it too its literally the sweetest thing. hes all sensitive from still being inside of you but hes trying his hardest to apologise to you. the most he can get out is a little "sorry...you just feel so good."

virgin!kita unsurprisingly is extremely good for it being his first time. i honestly think that he watched a lot of porn - the homemade kind, definitely not the big corporation ones where everything is fake - in order to make sure that he could please you properly. he was very nervous when he started to realise that you wanted to have sex with him for the first time, his kisses became kinda sloppy and his hands were shaking a little against where he had them on your hips.

when you finally told him what you wanted, he insisted on being on top so he could pull out when needed even though you guys were using condoms hes so responsible. he asks you constantly if you are okay as he slides into you for the first time, he screws his face up really tight as a way to ground himself into not cumming on the spot. after 30 seconds of being inside of you unmoving, he finally starts thrusting and it feels amazing. he places his hand on your lower stomach and presses down so you can feel every inch of him (a trick he learnt from a tiktok).

as soon as he makes you cum a wave of relief washes over him and he feels like he is on top of the world. unfortunately though, he spent so much of his energy trying to make you feel good that he gets too tired and embarrassed to make himself cum. he cleans you up and pulls you into his chest, asking you about 10 different questions, all being the same variation of “did you enjoy it? are you sure it felt good?”

he also whimpers the whole time, like constantly. felt like i had to throw that in there somewhere.

virgin!atsumu cums in his pants while youre making out and then cant get it up again due to embarrassment so you dont even end up fucking. im not even giving him a whole section this is all he deserves.

i hope you guys enjoyed!! here is the link to my virgin!kiyoomi post!!

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Charm Me | Jeon Jungkook | Two Shot | Part Two

Summary: Your best friend's boyfriend's best friend is not someone you had planned on falling for, and honestly you hardly admit it to yourself most days but maybe, just maybe there's something you can do to test those waters… Pairing: f!reader x Jungkook (semi friends to lovers lol) Word Count: 8.4k~ (a little bit longer than the first part lol) Warnings: Smut and explicit language...yep...enjoy~ a/n: So yeah...part one came out came out five and a half months ago so if you want a refresher you can read it here

"Goodnight Jungkook" I say once we've finally settled down, both of us with our backs facing each other and although I've fallen asleep on him before something about this feels different.

The thought of being close to him like this, in a position where we could cross that line, the slightest movement leaving him on top of me makes my clothes feel so much more of a nuisance.

An inconvenience to something that's begging me to give in.

"You're still awake huh?" he asks, somehow sensing my unrest after we've been lying here for who knows how long. I hum as a way to alert to his suspicions, making him turn to face me and encouraging me to do the same, guiding my hips and making it close to impossible to say no.

"Is it the storm?" he asks while studying my features, knowing that if it's not that, there must be something I'm not telling him. I decide to nod my head, knowing that that's part of it, but the thing that's occupied my mind more than anything is him laying next to me.

"Tell me something" he says randomly making me frown. "Like what?" I ask, the question so open ended.

"Something you've never told anyone, or an embarrassing story. I don't know...something" he says, his smile soft making it hard to focus so I lay on my back and look up at the ceiling, genuinely wracking my brain for something that might fit into those categories.

"Um, I like to tell everyone that my favorite color is black when it's actually purple" I say, coming up with something pretty neutral but it's also very true.

"Wait really?" he asks, propping himself up on his elbow now, looking down at me and making it completely defeat the purpose as to why I switched to laying down like this. I nod my head as a way to confirm it.

"Like a really dark shade of purple that's almost black?" he chuckles but I shake my head. "More like lilac" I admit and he smiles. "What?" I chuckle and he shrugs his shoulders, although awkward from this angle is a very endearing reaction. "I never would've guessed you'd like a color like that". 

I echo his response with a shrug before quickly following it up. 

"Don't you dare tell anyone or I'll wring your neck. I don't need Sadie or my mother finding out and trying to make me all girly again" I poke his chest and he smiles, not finding my threat intimidating in the slightest.

"Your secrets safe with me princess" he says, making me clear my throat to break up the tension again because of the even closer proximity.

"What about you?" I ask and he tilts his head as if he didn't know what I was talking about. "What's something you've never told anyone before?" I echo and when he starts to think about it another rumble of thunder makes me scoot closer to him, this time so...much...closer.

After looking back up at him and seeing what I'd done I realize we've ended up in the position I had feared we'd be in, him hovering over me with his legs tangled between mine. We stay there for what feels like hours but is only a few seconds before either of us makes a sound.

"You wanna know my secret?" he asks, his voice huskier than I remember, leaving me nodding, not trusting my voice to answer.

"I've wanted to kiss you all night..." he says, looking down at my lips with me unconsciously wetting them, not daring to look down at his, "and the fact that I've held back this long..." he trails off, letting my mind fill in the blanks.

We stay like that for a while, him studying my features enough to know that I'm not opposed to the idea.

"Tell me to stop" he whispers, making eye contact before looking down at my lips again, leaning in, inch by inch. The chemistry between us visible, suffocating even, stealing my breath away before his lips have a chance to reach mine.

It's starts as a breath of a kiss, my eyes fluttering shut and with seeing my reaction he smiles to himself before pressing his lips against mine in the gentlest kiss I've ever received. One that would be hard to register if all of my senses weren't focused on what he might do next.

My eyes flutter open after he's pulled away, gaging my response leaving me placing my hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him back in, the kiss going from soft and progressing from there. 

We break apart when the thunder resounds again but he cups my cheek keeping me in place.

"Focus on me" he reassures "Just stay here and focus on me".

He rests his head against mine, both of us catching our breath and soon I'm nodding, pulling him back in.

His lips alone become a good distraction, taking away my sense of sight and focusing my sense of touch where our bodies connect and part.

His breathy moans come in next, addictive to say the very least leaving me wanting to chase more, bowing my back up into him. His right hand grabs my waist and pulls me closer, his hips pressed against mine making a small gasp leave my lips when I notice how much this is effecting him.

"Just leave it" he mumbles against my lips, diving back in and increasing the intensity, his kisses bruising, stealing the air from my lungs. When I pull away he doesn't let his lips leave my skin, going from peppering kisses along my jaw to ones that are a bit bolder.

His tongue and teeth work to find that spot on my neck that'll give me goosebumps, chuckling when he hears another gasp from me, my fingers in turn lacing through his locks and keeping him close.

He pulls back the slightest bit, blowing cold air on that spot, his lips having left it damp making me shiver under him.

"Jungkook wait" I mumble when his lips come back up to mine. He hums into the kiss, clearly not interested in pulling away anytime soon, in fact increasing the intensity, making it hard for me to get in a word edgewise.

"Wait" I finally say again, pushing back on his chest, both of us panting in sync, the rhythm of his heart beating strong against my palm.

"What is it?" he asks, studying my expression. "I didn't hurt you did I?" he asks, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip, properly love bitten.

"No, no you didn't hurt me. It's just...what are we doing?" I ask, my brows drawn together, needing to know what he's thinking. "Whatever you want to do" he says, caressing my cheek, reassuring me that he's here to comfort and not push.

"And if I say stop?" I ask, curious as to his reaction. "Then we stop" he says, looking down at my lips again, clearly still begging to taste them.

"And if I don't want to stop?" I ask, with me now shamelessly looking down at his. 

"Then I'm yours" he says simply as if that wasn't meant to make my heart race faster.

"Whatever you want, whenever you want, I'm yours" he finishes, leaving the decision up to me, my inner turmoil that much harder to contain.

Thoughts of what could and couldn't be. What should and shouldn't be. What I crave but deny senselessly.

Those thoughts run through my mind but right here, right now, I couldn't think of any reason why I should say no.

I study his features for a little while longer and when he sees my expression go from worry to curiosity he smiles, a smile that I've seen before that tells me everything's gonna be okay.

And so I kiss him, I kiss him soft and slow, taking in the way our lips push and pull apart, the way we share breath and consume each other, forgetting the world and simply being us.

Jungkook and I, friend and friend, lover and lover, man and woman.

I don't know what comes over me next, I'm not sure who or when it even started but soon kissing isn't enough, it's not enough and both of us knew it would never be enough.

With a want like this so raw, so electric, it would be impossible to stop at a spark.

His hips grind against me, or I grind against him, either one is plausible but once one of us starts, neither of us wants to stop.

"Fuck" Jungkook groans in my ear, his sounds go from that of an animalistic man, to a man with the desperate need to please, everything about it driving me mad.

Our eyes meet and I can't breathe, the vision of him on top of me, hair recklessly strewn about, his pink cheeks rival the color of his soft, swollen lips, his eyes glazed over with desire, pupils blown wide and I know that if we keep going there's no turning back.

His hips however, needfully move in stark contrast to his hands that have stayed on my waist, not going higher and not daring to go lower.

"More" I breathe out, one of the only words left in my coherent vocabulary. "More?" he questions, his lips now drawn into a soft smirk, letting his eyes drag up and down my form, being cut off by the way his hips are still pressed against mine.

"More" I say and pull him closer, his lips returning to mine and his hands now bolder, one slipping under my shirt while the other runs along my thigh, wrapping it around his torso to give him more room to grind into me.

"Are you sure you want this?" he mumbles against my lips through heated kisses in no way giving him the sign to stop. 

"Yes" I sit up, tossing my shirt to the side, his greedy hands immediately going to my chest, having taken my bra off for comfort, not having expected to be here with him right now. 

He leans down and captures one of my nipples into his mouth, his greedy tongue lapping at it as he alternates with the way he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth teasing me with little nips before going over to the other one to give it the same treatment. 

It's been a while since I've done anything like this making me incredibly needy, my sounds hard to keep at bay leaving me placing a hand over my mouth to silence them but that catches his attention making him let go of my swollen bud with a pop. 

"Don't" he says and gently takes my hand off my mouth, kissing my palm. "It's embarrassing" I argue but his expressions tell me that it's anything but. "It's sexy" he smiles against my palm before placing another kiss on it and letting go. 

I nibble on my lip, still hesitant of being so vocal but I can tell this is something he enjoys, something that makes him confident. He pulls my bottom lip out from between my teeth and leans back in to kiss me. 

"Let me hear how good I'm making you feel, yeah?" he says against my lips, breaking the kiss leaving me chasing his but he pulls back. 

So I nod, knowing that this might not continue if I don't give in. 

He smiles and kisses my neck, toying with my nipples again until I'm mewling, making it clear that I need more and so his hands trail down my body. They rest on my bare waist for a while, tracing patterns along my skin, taking his time even though he know's I'm desperate.

"Off" I say simply and tug at his shirt, if I'm not able to get him to go faster the least I could do is enjoy the view a little more, his strong stature being one of the things that I shamelessly enjoy viewing when he's not looking. 

He chuckles and sits back up, letting me take it off of him before I look at his toned torso for the first time in a while, surprised at how defined his muscles have gotten since the last time. 

"You can touch me you know" he says with a taunting tone, leaving me looking away, only looking back when he takes one of my hands and places it on his chest where his heart is. 

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks, the rapid beating of his heart so easily felt through his chest but I shake my head. "Do you now?" he asks and I nod my head, "A little" I reply because I'm really not sure the depths of his feeling or potentially just attraction he feels towards me.

"I won't say anything now but just...just think about it." he says and kisses me before I can start overthinking again. 

His actions escalate from there, toying with the tie on my sweatpants and seeing if there's any protest but when there's none he pulls back. "Can I take these off?" he pants, his eyes full of desire but also vulnerability, unsure if what he said has scared me away but I nod and he smiles. 

"All of it?" he says, a finger just barely slipping past the waistband of my panties, playing with the elastic until I nod. "Words" he says, nudging his nose against mine leaving me breathing out a 'Yes' right away, him placing a quick peck on my lips as a response, getting off the bed so he can slide them off.

He pulls it all off but catches the clear wet spot on my underwear and curses, looking up at the evidence of what this has done to me.

"So wet already" he hums, taking this time to slide off the rest of his clothing, climbing back on top of me so we're now completely laid bare, skin against skin, hearts beating as one.

"Tell me what you want" he says softly, one hand holding my hip, rubbing soothing circles into it while the other rests next to my head, propping himself up. 

"Help me forget about the storm" I flinch again when another thunder clap sounds and he hums, deciding not to tease me too much. He kisses me again, trailing down from my lips to my neck, along my chest, down my torso and settles on kissing along my waistline.

He's been parting my legs further and further apart as he goes down but now he's face to face with my center, his curses coming freely again as he takes in the sight between my legs. 

He blows cool air on me making my hips buck up as a result, the reaction making him chuckle. 

"So sensitive" he taunts but before I can respond he's placing a soft kiss against my clit, the sensation of that gentle touch makes me shudder.

He does it again, clearly enjoying my reaction but he doesn't stop at one, he takes his time kissing, sucking, circling his tongue around my clit, gaining him quiet whimpers, needing more but letting myself get lost in the feeling. 

I asked him to help me forget and he's going to take his time making sure of it. Forget the storm, forget my name, forget where we are and remember him. Only him.

I don't hold back my moans this time, pushing past the embarrassment since I know it gets him off from the reactions he gives me. Every moan gains me one in return, a whine leaves him humming, a scream leaves him trying to burry his face deeper into me even if he knows he as close as he could possibly be.

"Fuck I could do this all day" he murmurs, more to himself than to me, catching his breath before looking back up, seeing the panting mess he's already made.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he crawls back on top of me, resting in between my legs, his fully hard cock rubbing against my thigh. 

He kisses me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue, messy would be putting it lightly the way we share breath and let our tongues wrap around each other. 

"You sure you want this?" he asks, one of his hands trailing down my torso and stopping to toy with my already swollen clit. "Please" I pathetically whimper, my dignity beyond gone as my hips buck up against his hand which he soon pulls away, replacing it with his cock.

He watches as I shudder when he drags his tip through my folds and I can see how much he's enjoying this making me want to beg again but before I can he's pushing inside of me, my voice catching in my throat and my eyes shutting as I try to focus on loosening up for him.

"It's okay" he says, caressing my hip when he feels how tight I am around him. "You're doing so good for me, taking me so well" he says, coaching me into letting him in, his hand now moving to circle my clit which helps, my grip on his loosening slightly letting him push in further. 

"So perfect for me, so wet and tight" he hisses, pushing in a bit further, my face contorting with pain but he knows me well enough to know I would tell him to stop or slow down if I wanted him to.

He bottoms out when he knows I can take it, pressing a kiss to my cheek as I breathe through it. 

"Look at you, so pretty with my cock buried inside you, making me feel so fucking good" he says, his taunting tone driving me into submission, a whimper slipping past my lips.

"You sound so sweet baby. You gonna be good and show me how much you love it when I fuck you like this?" he continues, his words, his scent, his cock are enough to keep me from cowering away when another thunder clap resounds through the room.

"Jungkook" I shudder and it's enough for him to know that I want him to move, starting with shallow grinds, his hips moving at a sensual rhythm that has me pulling him closer. 

His moves get bolder as he pulls back half way before thrusting back into me a little harder, a gasp stollen off my lips as he hits my g spot. 

"There huh?" he hums, pulling out and hitting that same spot my gasp laced with a 'yes', my nails running down his back. 

He chances pulling out until just his tip is inside before he slams back in, watching my reactions while he curses, muttering how insane I feel.

He sets a pace that has me moaning his name, the steady rhythm of his hips driving me mad, his name slipping past my lips while he muffles his moans, burying his face in my neck. 

"So good, so fucking good. Fuck you're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that" he groans, my walls already fluttering around him.

A mess of unintelligible sounds come out of me while he curses and pounds into me harder, the pace at which he's going makes my toes curl. "You're so fucking wet, making a mess" he murmurs, both of us delirious and past the point of communication. 

He feels me getting close and keeps at his pace, putting his fingers in his mouth before pinching my nipple, rolling it between his fingers and hissing when I clench even more, his movements getting sloppy as he's close to tipping over the edge. 

"Please" I sob out, so so close. 

"I know, I know" he mumbles making it a point to make me cum first and it doesn't take much more that that.

"Shit" he groans and bites down on my shoulder, the pleasure it gives me in the heat of the moment tips me over, my release triggering his.

Once we've ridden out our highs he hovers over me, looking down at my freshly fucked state. 

"Wow" he pants out, his gaze glazed over and sleepy, thoroughly satisfied.

"Yeah...wow" I echo, smiling up at him.

"You're so pretty" he compliments leaving me biting my lip.

"You feeling better now?" he asks softly after he slips out, both of us hissing from the hint of overstimulation.

"Mhm" I hum, watching him as he lays on his back and cuddling close on impulse but then second guess myself and try to pull away. 

"Where are you going?" he asks pulling me closer than I was before, tangling our legs together. "I wasn't sure if-" "I earned this" he says with finality making me chuckle. 

"You earned this?" I ask, his reaction puzzling. 

"Yes. I earned sleepy, lazy, post orgasmic cuddles with you" he huffs making me giggle, nuzzling against him and getting even closer if that were possible.

He reaches over to the night stand and pulls out a few tissues, softly asking me to open my legs so he can help me clean up a little. I thank him softly and he hums before tossing it aside, neither of us worried about where it landed in favor of staying close.

No more words are said after that, just the sound of our steady breathing and the soft rumbling of thunder way off in the distance.

~~~~~~

He slips out of bed the next morning soon after we've woken up, hearing my stomach growl making both of us chuckle. 

"We can just eat cereal" I argue, trying to keep him here but he shakes his head. "The bakery is just down the street. I'll be back in a bit" he says and leans down, kissing my pouty lips before heading out.

I sigh happily and go to grab my phone, seeing about a dozen texts from Sadie apologizing for forgetting I needed a ride home.

I let her know Jungkook gave me a ride and she jumps to conclusions to which this time happen to be right but I won't tell her that...not yet.

She calls and tries to FaceTime me but I decline it, getting up and running to the bathroom to see the state of me, my neck and chest littered with hickeys  and I run back to my room and put on some shorts, grabbing one of my big hoodies and slipping it on, throwing the hood up seconds later and tying the strings before calling her back.

"Why'd you decline my call?" she pouts and I chuckle nervously. "Sorry I was naked" I say adjusting the hoodie and I can feel her suspicious glare through the phone.

"Are you cold or something?" she asks, pointing out my bundled up state and I nod. "Yeah it's a little chilly. I turned up my a/c last night and forgot to turn it back down when I went to sleep" I say but my explanations clearly make no sense.

"It was cold and raining last night" she dead pans and I chuckle and get out of bed, walking over to the kitchen to get some water. "Anyways, enough about me. How was your night?" I ask but she shrugs. 

"It was normal. You and Jungkook were still in the living room when we went to bed so we didn't want to get freaky or anything if that's what you're wondering" she blushes, knowing it's happened before, both Jungkook and I quickly seeing ourselves out on those nights...or days honestly.

Although that was a bit earlier in their relationship so they've thankfully toned it down by now.

"How was your night? I saw that Jungkook came over on his motorcycle last night so he gave you a ride huh?" she taunts and I groan. "I'm hanging up now" I say but she quickly apologizes and keeps me from hanging up. 

"I just wanted to let you know that if anything happens..." she says and I hear the passcode on my door being punched in, putting myself on mute so she doesn't hear him come in. "...you have my blessing. Both of ours actually" she giggles and I glance up as Jungkook walks in.

His messy bed head combined with his helmet hair that he's clearly been trying to fix on his way up gives him a soft boyfriend look. The next thing that catches my eye are the fact that some of the marks I left on him last night peak through the collar of his shirt making me gulp.

"Are you even listening to me?" she growls making me look back at the screen. "Y-yeah, yeah sorry. I gotta go S but thank you...I'll uh...keep it in mind" I say, not so subtly glancing between her and Jungkook.

"Is someone there with you?" she asks, my ability to hide things from her are getting worse and worse. "Okay bye!" I say and quickly end the call, placing my phone with the screen facing down and placing it on silent.

"Sadie?" Jungkook nods to the phone and I nod to confirm. "Yeah just Sadie being...Sadie" I say and grab some plates for the pastries he brought.

When I turn around to go back to the table he's right behind me making me bump into his chest.

I look up at him and he slips the plates out of my hands and places them down on the counter before pulling on the drawstrings to untie the knot that's securely tied under my chin. 

He gently takes the hood off my neck and places his hand on the side of it, rubbing his thumb along my pulse point and trailing it along some of the other marks he made.

"Hiding?" he rasps out, his morning voice deep and goes straight to my core but I can tell that in his teasing tone there's some vulnerability behind it. 

"Not really" I say softly but he doesn't buy it, tilting his head at me and I look down at the floor, him tilting my chin up seconds later. 

"If you're not ready I understand...but I can't go back to being in limbo with you" he says, his thumb now caressing my cheek and I nod, leaning into his touch. 

"I'll think about it. I promise" I say, just audible enough for him to hear and he hums, leaning down to kiss me. I accept it right away, running my fingers through his hair and gasping into his mouth but before it's able to go much further he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.

"We can't do this again until you decide...I don't want to torture myself" he admits, his voice cracking with vulnerability and I nod, pulling away from him and he lets his hands fall back at his sides. 

"I got you your favorite" he says, quickly changing the subject making my brows raise. "You know my order?" I ask and he nods, rubbing the back of his neck, his ears turning pink as if he hadn't fucked me into my next life last night. 

"Sadie has had Jayson and I pick up food from there enough that I kind of know it by heart..." he trails off but then quickly clears his throat and turns around. "I got some other stuff too though in case you were in the mood for something different" the words tumbling out of his mouth as he grabs the plates from the counter, opening the pastry box 

He places one of the plates in front of the chair I tend to sit on while he takes the one where Sadie usually sits at right next to me. I smile at his want to stay close to me, his attachment clearly growing since last night and I can't deny that things feel...different.

Not just the sex but the intimacy of how he truly cared for me and wanted to help me through the storm. His warmth and presence, his soft gaze and strong hands on me showing that no matter what he was going to protect me.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asks softly, seeing as though I haven't touched a thing. "Sorry, I was just thinking" I say and hum when the flakey pastry hits my tastebuds, the almond flavor from the croissant dancing along my tongue. He smiles at the sight and starts eating his as well. 

Breakfast includes comfortable silences caused by my day dreaming, little conversations popping up here and there making it feel natural...domestic. 

"So...what are your plans for Va-" his words are cut off by the sound of my phone vibrating and he deflates slightly when I reach for it. "Crap it's my mom. I should take this" I say apologetically to which he smiles sadly leaving me debating on if I should but stand up and go back to my room.

"Mom?" I say softly and she rambles off how it's been way too long since I've called her and that it took me forever to answer my phone. I apologize and tell her that I'm spending time with a friend so now isn't the best time to catch up. 

"A friend?" she asks, her lecturing slowing down, intrigued by the thought of it. "A new friend?" she asks and I hum. "Technically not very new but new...ish" I say and it gets her even more invested. "And is this friend a male or female? Does Sadie know them?" she asks and I sigh.

"I'll tell you later mom, I have to go" I say and quickly hang up, knowing that I'm going to regret doing that but I can't keep him waiting when he was in the middle of asking me what I think he was going to ask. 

I take a deep breath in and out before tossing my phone on my bed, making certain it won't interrupt us again. I shake off the nerves from the call before going back to the kitchen where I find him messing with his phone, his brows bunched together in concentration.

 "Everything okay?" I chuckle when he quickly locks his phone and places it on the table as though he's been caught red handed. "Yep, everything's fine" he says, forcing a smile while his cheeks are blushing from embarrassment for some reason.

"You sure about that?" I give him a lopsided smile and he nods. "Is everything okay with your mom?" he asks and I hum. "I haven't called her in a while so she was just checking in" I shrug and take a sip of my drink to which he nods and does the same.

"Who were you texting?" I ask, prodding since he seemed to have had quite the reaction when I came back. "Oh, um Jayson was just checking in...wanted to know if I got home safe last night" he says and my mind wanders off to everything that happened making me clear my throat to stop my spiral. 

"So...what did you tell him?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I'm freaking out because if Jayson is asking then it probably means that Sadie asked him to ask Jungkook and if Jungkook told him then he probably told Sadie and she's going to kick my ass because I didn't tell her first.

"I said I did" he replies simply and I let out a breath. "They can't know about this" I say and he deflates again but I try to take back the words I regrettably blurted out as a defense mechanism. 

"At least not until we know what this is..." leaving his posture straightening just the slightest. 

"Right" he agrees, knowing the premature reveal could harm not only to us but to them too.

"But sorry what were you saying? You know, before my mom had cut you off" I ask and I can tell he's trying to shake off the slight disappointment from earlier. 

"I was just going to ask what your plans are for tomorrow?" he asks but I know he's more interested in the day after tomorrow.

"Well it's the day before Valentine's Day so Sadie and I usually do a Galantine's Day with just the two of us. Her idea, not mine" I roll my eyes making him laugh, both of us knowing that it's a tradition I look forward to despite my eye roll.

"What do you guys usually do?" he continues, genuinely interested and so I oblige. 

"Well it's the one night a year where she can actually get me into a dress since well..." I motion to myself and he chuckles. "I get it, not the girly type" 

"Exactly. It's the one day where I humor her and get dressed up. She does my hair and makeup too so I tend to finish up looking like a completely different person" I finish and when I look back over at him he has his chin propped up on his fist, just gazing at me. 

"What?" I furrow my brows. 

"Has she ever gotten you in a lilac dress?" he teases and I toss a napkin at him. 

"No! My one condition is that it has to match with my vibe so to say. So no pastels, no bright colors, no patterns and absolutely no bows" I say, the last part being something Sadie and I have fought over for years.

"You guys really compliment each other, don't you?" he teases and I huff, "Opposites attract no? That goes for friendships too" leaving him shrugging in agreement.

A silence settles between us and soon he's glancing at the clock on the wall and cursing.

"What's wrong?" I ask, watching him as he cleans up and grabs his stuff, rushing around as if he couldn't get out fast enough.

"I have a deadline to meet and it completely slipped my mind. I'm so sorry" he says, clearly wanting to stay. 

"It's okay. I can't hold you hostage for the entire day" I chuckle and watch him bounce back and forth, going in to my room to see if he's forgotten anything.

Once he's satisfied with the thought of having everything he walks over to me and I can tell he doesn't really know what to do. In the past we would just nod or wave but after last night...

I push the guessing work aside and decide to give him a hug, my arms wrapping around his torso making him chuckle and pull me closer. 

"We'll see each other again soon yeah?" he asks, breathing in my scent one last time and I hum. 

"Now get going. I don't want to be the reason you get in trouble" I push him away, smiling up at him and the next thing I know his lips are on mine, a stollen kiss leaving me speechless.

"Bye" he grins against my lips, knowing he caught me off guard leaving me glaring, him chuckling in response before stepping out and closing the door behind him, sending me one last wink before he leaves.

I let out a breath and lean against the table next to me.

What am I going to do?

~~~~

Jungkook texts me throughout the rest of the day but I can't bring myself to respond. With him not being here and the fantasy of it all withering away the reality of it all comes back to me.

I slept with him. 

My best friend's boyfriend's best friend.

Just thinking about it is complicated enough.

I have to stop this before it goes too far. 

If not for me then for Sadie's sake.

Sadie really likes Jayson, and I think Jayson really likes Sadie so I don't want to be the one that messes that up. She's had her heart broken one too many times and I'm not going to be the one that stands in the way of her happiness. 

A buzzing sound breaks me out of my depressive train of thought with a FaceTime call from Sadie again.

"Why haven't you been responding to my texts?"

"Well hello to you too" I sigh and settle in for a lecture. 

"What happened between you and Jungkook?"

"What makes you think something happened between us?"

"Because Jungkook is freaking out on Jayson saying that he fucked things up and that you hate him now" she says, no doubt making it sound way more dramatic than it actually is.

"I just need time to cool off. I think I let things go a little too far" I admit, my voice trailing off at the end.

"What did you do?" she drags out the last word but I shake my head.

"It was a mistake anyway" I admit but even I don't believe myself.

Sadie sighs and looks down.

"I know you like keeping people at arm's length but that's no way to live" she says and although simple I know her sentiment is right.

"I don't keep you at arm's length" I say, proving that's not always what I do.

"Yeah but when others get too close you push them away....you're gonna regret it if you do it this time around" she levels with me because we both know she's right.

"I should go. I have to mentally prepare for tomorrow" I joke trying to get her off of this topic but I know she won't go down without a fight.

"But he-"

"No"

"But Jayson said-"

"No Sadie"

"Can't you just listen to me?"

"If it has anything to do with him then no...I'll figure things out on my own"

She sighs again and Jayson calls for her in the background.

"I gotta go" she mumbles and I hum in response.

"You can take it out on me tomorrow with your whole makeover thing" I offer which tugs at the corner of her lips.

"See you" she says as her goodbye and I nod before hanging up.

~~~~

I knock on Sadie's door the next morning and she greets me with a way too bright smile for my taste.

"What are you up to?" I mumble suspiciously, brushing past her before she even opens the door any wider. 

"Why do you always think I'm up to something when I smile at you?" pouting while closing the door.

"Should I read off all of the evidence because we literally have all day" I place my stuff down on the table with a thunk.

"What did you even bring?" she says, already snooping through the bags.

"Wine"

"You hate wine"

"Well now I don't"

She chuckles at that and shakes her head, placing it in the fridge and pulling out the pink lemonade she made for us. 

A yearly tradition we hardly ever skip out on.

"To you" she says, holding up her glass to cheers me which I do with my brows furrowed in suspicion.

"Stop looking at me like that and come see the dress I bought you" she says and I sigh, following her to her room.

When we get to the door she tells me to close my eyes and I humor her, holding out my hand so she can lead me inside, happily tugging me inside.

"Okay open!" she smiles, holding the dress up for me, the little black dress with a square neckline. Simple but sexy.

"Are you trying to seduce me Sadie?" I tease taking the dress from her, a light dusting of pink on her cheeks leaving her huffing. 

"No, I just thought you'd look hot in it okay? Let me have my fun" she says and pulls out a box of red bottoms leaving me shaking my head over and over. 

"I can't accept those" I shake my head but she shoves the box into my hands. "Yes you can and you will" she argues back with a vigor that tells me that she's not backing down on this.

"You know I used my Dad's card to buy it so it's no biggie" she shrugs and when I try to argue she places a hand over my mouth, my hands being full and unable to shrug her off.

"Say 'Thank you Sadie'" she coaches, not planning on removing her hand without it leaving me mumbling against her hands her nodding in approval and finally releasing me.

"I don't understand why I need shoes if we're just staying here?" I say and she shakes her head.

"Just humor me okay? Isn't this the one night of the year where you're supposed to do that anyway?" crossing her arms and cocking a brow at me leaving me sighing in defeat.

"Now come on, I found a new recipe on Pinterest that I wanna try out tonight!" she says, taking the dress and shoes from me and placing them down on her bed, giving me a glimpse now of the black bow on the back.

"Sadie, no bows" I grumble but she scoffs and pulls me out of the room.

"It's a black bow so you'll live" she argues and again I give in, consciously doing it more than usual due to the guilt I feel for keeping this from her.

~~~~

"Don't drink too much" she says, pulling away my second glass of Rosé, the sauce still cooking on the stove, the pasta waiting to be added once emulsified.

"You're being rather controlling tonight...like more than usual" I point out and she shakes her head a little too vehemently to not be concerned.

"I just want you to enjoy your night and not wake up with a hangover tomorrow" she points out and I sigh, deciding to go check myself out for the hundredth time tonight.

"Will you stop fussing? You look hot" she says, glancing over at me turning this way and that, huffing when I see the bow.

"It feels like you put in a whole lot more effort than you usually do into making me look sexy this year that I just don't know how to act" I point out, my boobs pushed up and lips painted a red that I can only imagine being named something to the effect of 'Blow Me'.

"You said I have free reign as long as I stick to the rules and I did so stop complaining" she scolds and I walk away from the mirror fixing a hair that's out of place.

Once she sets the sauce to simmer for a few minutes she convinces me we have to take pictures together which is also a tradition and once we finally finish we're both practically giggling like we used to in the good old days, interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

"Can you get that? I forgot to get some bread to go with the pasta" I hum in response, watching as she goes back to stirring the sauce again so it doesn't boil over.

When I open the door I'm expecting some teenage delivery boy but when I'm met with two very familiar faces dress very well my face falls.

"Good to see you too" Jayson chuckles and I know now that this was all just a set up, leaving me glaring back at Sadie.

"It was both of our idea so if you're going to take it out on anyone take it out on me" he admits, closing his eyes and bracing for impact, waiting for my wrath to rain down on him, only being met with a deep sigh and me stepping to the side.

"That's it?" he opens one eye and I cock a brow at him. "Did you want me to go after you? Because I definetly can" I say and he shakes his head and runs to hide behind Sadie, leaving me facing him...Jungkook.

"Hey" he says softly and I return the sentiment.

"You look amazing" he says, taking a tentative step inside, close enough to make me tilt my head up to meet his gaze.

We stay there for a while, neither of us saying a thing until Sadie curses and turns the heat off, seemingly abandoning ship once I opened the door.

"You too" I say, finally responding after getting lost in his gaze.

"They both told me you guys decided to change it to a dinner with the four of us tonight. I guess we fell right into their trap huh?" he admits, his cheeks now a subtle shade of pink.

"I guess so" I step aside, the lilac tie around his neck not going unnoticed, closing the door soon after he steps in. 

I shake off the nervous feeling and keep reminding myself that everything is fine, I can get through a dinner with them, no problem.

"Oh would you look at the time? We're going to be late if we don't leave for our dinner reservations" Sadie says, quickly putting the finishing touches on the pasta with Jayson soon serving two plates and setting them across from each other.

"Dinner reservations?" I ask, my voice cracking a little at the thought of being alone with him.

"Yeah my parents wanted to have dinner with us tonight and they got us reservations at this really nice place so I couldn't say no" Sadie explains and I know it's a lie but I give in, knowing it's not worth it. 

It's just Jungkook.

One dinner alone with him.

I'll be fine.

"Well you two have fun" Jayson says, quickly helping Sadie put on her jacket and they're practically running out the door.

"But-" I start to put up the slightest fight but the door is practically closed and locked by the time I come to.

We stand there for a second, just us two.

Alone.

Alone again.

"Are you hungry?" I offer, knowing I'm not the only one who got hoodwinked.

There's no reason as to why we shouldn't at least try to enjoy ourselves, right?

"Me?" he quickly asks, whipping around to face me, having been partially turned towards the kitchen, still in shock of the great escape the two of them made, leaving us no time to settle in.

"Who else?" I chuckle softly and walk past him, going into the fridge to grab the half full bottle of Rosé to serve us but he shakes his head. "I've gotta drive home tonight" he says in explanation but I don't push it, offering him the pink lemonade instead, seemingly a shade darker than before.

"Cute" he smiles leaving my heart fluttering. 

Even though I know he's talking about the drink the compliment still goes to my head.

I pour myself some of the pink drink as well, bringing our glasses over to the table and motion for him to sit down but he comes over to my side instead and pulls out the chair for me.

"I thought you said no bows" he chuckles after noticing the simple but prominent bow I swore up and down against but my protests fell on deaf ears.

"It was either this or pink" I explain leaving him chuckling, "Anything would look good on you but I do prefer black" his hand subtly brushing my shoulder when he pulls away, walking back around to take his seat.

I hum in thanks, holding back the shiver my body is begging me to let out, ignoring it in favor of placing my napkin in my lap, goosebumps still rising on my skin.

"Please feel free to say that you hate it. It's a new weird recipe that Sadie wanted to try out" I explain and he chuckles, taking the first bite with me gauging his reaction. 

He chews once, twice, thrice before he grimaces in place of the smile I know he's trying to fake making me stand up and take his plate.

"Wait no I really like it!" he says, trying to take the plate back with shaky hands but I'm faster.

"Pizza or Chinese?" I say while scraping the pasta off the plates and into the trash. 

"Pizza" he sighs, walking over to the sink to start washing the dishes after ordering the food despite my protests, him giving me the task of drying.

~~~~~~

A knock on the door notifies us to the arrival, him going to pay while I finish up drying and putting the rest of the dishes away.

"Don't hate me for this" he mumbles, his cheeks slightly pink as he opens the box, a heart shaped pizza inside with equally as heart shaped pepperonis leaving me covering my mouth with both hands to hold back the snort I was about to let out.

"I thought it was cute" he sighs and places it down on the table.

"It is very cute. I'm sorry I just wasn't expecting that" I chuckle again while grabbing a pair of plates and some napkins, taking up our respective seating arrangements again.

He lights the singular candle between us leaving the corner of my mouth turning up.

"What?" his doe eyes genuinely confused with my reaction.

"We're having pizza, Jungkook" I shake my head.

"And? Pizza can be romantic" he huffs, his mouth opens and closes a few times after, his efforts of adding in romantic elements obvious even without his verbal admission.

"I-"

"It's okay. Just eat" I smile softly but from his view the lipstick alone has his mind wandering, the sight tempting.

"You okay?" I ask, noting his hesitation leaving him clearing his throat and nodding, not so gracefully stuffing his face seconds later.

"Slow down" I laugh and he does so, dropping the slice onto his plate.

"Look-"

"No. I know what you're going to say" he cuts me off before I can even start.

"What was I going to say?"

"That we shouldn't have done what we did last night. That it was a mistake and that it can't happen again" he says, reading me like a book. I guess it's not that hard of a feat now a days.

"Jungkook" I sigh, having lost my appetite, and setting my pizza to the side.

"Don't you 'Jungkook' me. Something happened last night and if you won't admit it then I will"

"Please don't"

"I can't keep pretending like I don't want you" he admits, his words sharper than I've ever heard, flinching with their impact.

The gravity of them float between us, neither of us saying a word for what felt like hours but was only mere seconds by the time I stand up. 

I turn to go back to the kitchen but he catches my wrist, his grip just firm enough to keep me from slipping away.

Both of us freeze again, my eyes locked on his hold and his on my face, reading every micro expression. 

Before I can stop myself I rip my wrist out of his hold and use my hand to pull him closer, pressing his lips against mine in a bruising kiss, different from the ones we shared before.

These ones are more honest, hungry. His impact against my body subsequently pinning my body against the wall behind me, his hand cradling the back of my head to soften the impact.

He breaks away just far enough to keep my lips from easily capturing his again, sharing breath and resting his forehead against mine.

"I can't do this unless it's real" his voice breaking at his confession and I know that I can't keep hurting him, hurting myself just because I'm scared.

"It's real" I breathe out and that's answer enough, stealing my breath away with his lips beats later.

That night our hearts beat as one again, not from lust or from the need to protect but from love.

Pure.

Honest.

Fragile but true love.

If only we knew that the little red bottle tucked under the sink was the reason that our hearts rang true.  

~~~~

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[pastellaspinkparadise]

Call Out my Name

synopsis. No one understands just how powerful the human voice can be, that is until they hear yours. Like an angel that fell from grace, a devil whispering a prayer, your voice alone could mesmerize millions. And it does. Which is why you play an instrument instead of singing. But a certain someone wants to hear your voice, wants to fall under your spell.

pairing. Bottom! Male Character x Top! Siren! Gender Neutral Reader ✧˖° nsfw, shy reader (only at first), voice kink, degradation, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, phone sex, drinking, hypnotism, reader is a siren, voice so strong even just you speaking does enough, reader is basically "mute", until they finally speak, and then it's game over from there.

Imagine your favs!!

The ring in your ears would be like nails on a chalkboard for anyone else but you. You loved this sound caused by the loud rhythms from your bass guitar and other instruments your bandmates played. From the loud cheering and chanting of your fans. You wish you could sing for them, really give them something to go crazy over but there's no fun in that.

No fun in a crowd full of sexually aroused zombies.

Your eyes scan the thousands of people in the small venue. Bodies damn near stacked on top of each other just to see you guys preform. One glance over and you see him. Your friend that comes to every concert and every showing, it's endearing really. He's a day one fan of yours ever since the two of you befriended each other senior year of high school.

Your bandmates noticed the massive crush you had on him and bombarded him with posters and invites to every concert you guys put on. All it took was for him to come to one, and he's been to every one since then. It was awkward at first, considering how you refuse to speak to anyone, due to your power. You wanted a real friend, a real connection not a lie, so you kept your voice a secret. Made everyone think you're just mute. Overtime he learned what every facial expression and hand gesture meant, well almost every one.

With the show now over and the venue winding down you made your way to him to thank him for coming. His eyes light up when they spot you. "Y/N! You guys sounded great!"

You wave and your lips curl into a soft genuine smile as you nod your head. You wish you could just say thank you, but you can't. It tears you apart deep down to lie to him like this, but this is the way it has to be. He talks your ear off about liking the new song you wrote, about how crowded it was, and how one of the fan posters that said "I would sell my family for you."

Your smile widens and you jokingly shake your head. You couldn't blame them, fans will be fans.

"Y/N! We're about to leave are ya coming or not?" One of your bandmates yell. You had almost forgotten about the plans to go drinking after. You said yes, knowing damn well none of your friends could make it back home without you. Not wanting your friend to leave just yet you nod your head in the direction of the exit, pointing to him and you.

He gets the memo, "Taking me out for a couple of drinks eh? Is this what I get for being your #1 fan?" He teases. You playfully shove him and rolls your eyes. You were no stranger to his flirtatious personality, he was like that with everyone. Little did he know the comebacks you had stored in the back of your mind, your flirtatious words die on the tip of your tongue every time.

It was fifteen minutes tops before your friends ended up getting piss drunk yet again. You were drinking a simple mimosa, can never go wrong with mimosas, meanwhile they were taking shots.

"C'mon Y/NNN, just one..." Your drummer's words slurred together.

"If you don't say anything then it's a yes." Your lead singer says.

You shake your head no with your lips in a pout. That's not fair, they can't do that. You turn and look over at your company, hoping he would bail you out, little did you know he had other plans.

"I mean it's just one little shot. Can't do much harm." He says and you fake a gasp, feeling betrayed. "Unless you're a lightweight, then that'd be hilarious."

Everyone laughs and you blush. You know you're not a lightweight, you know your alcohol tolerance. You had nothing to prove. It'd be stupid to fall for their pressure and yet you prove them wrong anyways, taking not only one but two shots back to back.

Amidst the cheers and uproar you internally regretting it. Whatever you just drank was gross.

"You took that like a champ." He says, sly smirk curling onto his lips. "Didn't expect crown apple to be your thing."

You gag, the feeling of needing to scrape your tongue begins to surface. No wonder it was disgusting. Your friends are all occupied with goofing around the bar, you begin to wonder how you found yourself among them until his voice bring you out of your thoughts.

"Y'know sometimes I get really curious..." He slurs his words. "About what you're hiding under that shy exterior of yours." His eyes catch yours and suddenly the noise of the bar slowly disappears.

"I want to see the real you... hear the real you..."

You begin to feel hot, maybe it's from the shots or the heat that's pooling in your stomach. He looks good like this, face a tad bit red, clothes just the tiniest bit disheveled, and his eyes locked onto you. You want to stop hiding, say what you've been wanting to say for years, but you hold back.

"Ah what am I saying... you're mute." He takes another sip from his glass. "But if I could hear your voice, I bet it'd be the prettiest thing I'd ever hear."

You hold onto whatever resolve you had left. You're used to his flirting yes but that was just bold even for him. You start to think if letting him hear your voice would be that bad, it'd be just one time right? The damage couldn't be that bad...

The night ends with you dragging all your bandmates home one by one. Your friend left a bit early, saying he doesn't want to be too hung over for work in the morning. You smiled innocently as he left but you could tell something was up.

Once you got home you immediately plopped onto your bed, The cold sheets soothing your warm skin. You replay the night in your head a million times as you undress and dress into a oversized shirt to sleep in. The second your head hits the pillow you hear your phone buzz.

"Hey" He texts you. You tilt your head confused why he's still awake.

"You're still up? Don't tell me you got a nightmare" You text back.

"As if. I was just up thinkin..."

"Thinking about...?" You question, something tells you that you already know the answer.

"You... and your passion for music."

"You're so good and you write really good songs"

"If you could sing it'd be such a cherry on top. No one could handle it."

You don't know how to respond. You've told him your frustration with singing before, your lead vocalist sounds great but they can't fully grasp the emotion you felt while writing the song.

"Y/N I'm so drunk."

"Yeah no shit" You finally respond.

The texting ends when he suddenly calls you.

Huh?

Why is he calling you when he's knows you can't speak? You pick up anyways.

And you instantly regret it.

"Y/N I need you." He says breathlessly, you can hear the frustration in his voice. The utter need in his voice. That sentence came out like a whine. Like a prayer. "I know you can't talk but I...mnh..."

He sounds distant, as if his hand isn't holding the phone next to his mouth. As if the phone is somewhere else and his hands are touching someplace else. You can hear the rustle of his sheets, his soft breaths and desperate gasps.

"Are you...doing what I think you're doing???" You text, face flushed red from the implications.

"Yes! I- mmn... I'm sorry I can't... I need..." He says.

Arousal begins to stir in the pit of your stomach and everything starts to feel hot. You didn't take him to be this needy, this submissive. He sounds like he's about to burst any second now. And so is that resolve you were holding on to before.

You're not evil, you mean no harm to anyone, but the potential power you could have over him gives you a rush. The confident flirtatious man you once knew turned into a desperate whore with just one word from your lips.

"Y/N...I want you... I need you... I need to...hear you."

Fuck.

"Stop." The word leaves your mouth before you even realize. It's been a while since you've heard your own voice. Only breaths of air could be heard from the other end of the line. "You have no idea... how hard it was to keep this a secret."

"Y/N...you... your voice... is so..-"

"Pretty? Sexy? Intoxicating? Oh trust me I know. It's why I stayed quiet so whores like you can learn to control themselves."

He moans shamelessly at your degrading words. Whatever idea he had of shame dwindles away under the power of your voice. You can practically hear a switch flip in his mind. The switch that gives you full control.

"I want that hand that was on your cock up to your mouth. I want you to suck on two fingers like they're mine."

"F-fuck.." You can tell by the wet sounds he does just that. The rush of power that surges through you sends chills down your spine.

"Get them nice and wet for me." You say so tooth rottingly sweet.

You can hear him moan around his fingers, he's already so far gone. You start to think he might not survive the night.

"Take them out and finger yourself for me baby, don't you dare touch that cock of yours."

"Yes!" You can't see it but the image is clear in your head. His fingers deep in ass and mind completely gone. All it took was a few sentences and he's yours, all yours. You wonder what he's going to be like once he years you sing. You begin to give into your own arousal, a deep sigh leaves your lips the second you make contact with your sex.

"Tell me, were you really drunk? Or was that just your excuse to get me all hot and bothered? Hmm?" You say, voice dipped in the most sinful but sweetest honey.

"I-I wasn't...ahh... I was tipsy! F-fuck...Y/N..."

You loved the way he moans your name, as if it'll make you appear before him.

"Tsk tsk such a naughty boy, seducing me with those pretty sounds. Tell me, did you get home and immediately pull your cock out? Did I get you that aroused baby?"

"Yes god yes, I couldn't help it, I've felt this way for years." He moans.

"You've wanted hear me this bad for years hmm? How did you know?" You ask genuinely curious.

"I didn't..I...mmm... I just imagined what you would s-sound like..." And his imagination could only get him so far. Deep down he wished someday some miracle would happen and he'd get to hear your voice.

His wish got granted.

"Is this what you imagined I'd sound like?"

"No, but this is so much better!"

More moans fall from his lips and you can tell he's getting closer and closer. You wish you were there to see the sight, there to take his fingers out and replace them with your own. There to stimulate his ass, cock, and brain all at the same time. One hand around his length, the other plunging into his hole and lips saying the dirtiest things that could come to your mind to turn his into mush.

"Yeah that's it baby, be loud for me. Call out my name."

"Y/N! Please...please let me cum!" He yells desperately.

"Cum for me." You say and the most high-pitched moan of the night escapes his lips. He takes deep breaths as he comes down from his high.

"Y/N..."

You chuckle, knowing there's nothing else on his mind besides you and only you. It's not permanent, still hot nonetheless. You imagine him laying there boneless and limp with a distant look in his eyes, covered in his own cum. Would be such a beautiful sight.

"Oh baby, we're not done yet."

I imagined Mark Grayson while writing this, he's such a bottom.

Should I make a pt.2?

[woniedarlin]

HI HI HII ! I GENUINELY LOVED YOUR RECENT WORK SM?? You did amazing by the way, it actually gave me whiplash when you said you haven’t been feeling your write like what, there's no way??

I ALSO WANTED TO REQUEST A JUNGWON X READER STORY !!! it’s like.. a marriage of convenience / arranged marriage typa thing, but like reader wants divorce from Jungwon on the same day because she’s in love with someone else?? But then gradually stuff happens idk what but then they become best friends and you can take care of the rest, I'm not really that creative 😭

Oops, I Caught Feelings

Pairing: Husband! Jungwon x fem! reader ft. Sunghoon

Genre: Marriage of Convenience / Arranged Marriage

Synopsis: You love your parents. You do, but when they hand you a marriage contract and a husband you barely know, things get complicated, especially since you’re in love with someone else. So, what’s the first thing you do after the ceremony? Ask for a divorce. Jungwon somewhat agrees, and you strike a deal: three months, then it’s over. But as the weeks go by, you start to wonder…What happens when your temporary husband begins to feel permanent?

Author's Note: Oh myyy!! Thank you so much for your sweet words, anonie! This request was so fun to write. I had such a good time putting it together, and I also apologize because this request was sent 2 months ago. I tried my best with this, took a longg time to write. Happy reading, my darlings. Mwah mwah 💋

Caution: This story includes themes of arranged marriage, emotional conflict, and occasional cursing. Expect tension, stubborn hearts, and arguments. Let me know if there is more!

Permanent taglist: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

“Let’s get a divorce soon.”

You say it as if you’re asking for salt. You were calm and unapologetic. Across the table, Jungwon pauses mid-sip of water. He didn’t choke or flinch at your words but only set the glass down and looked at you with a mild expression, trying to decide if he had misheard. “Well,” he says after a moment, “that was fast.”

You shrug, feeling the zipper of your wedding gown dig into your spine as you moved a little. “I might as well be honest. There’s no point in dragging this out.” It’s late, and the reception ended an hour ago. Your heels are off, and your lipstick has faded into a soft bruise. Jungwon’s tie is loosened and slanted, and his jacket has been discarded behind him. His elbow rests on the armrest and studies you. His eyes weren’t unfriendly but observant, more than anything. You wonder if he’s trying to read you or if he’s just tired like you are. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks, with an almost disarming softness.

“No,” you reply, “You’ve been decent.” The words sound bland, but they’re honest. What more could you even say? It’s not like you knew each other well before this arrangement. “That’s oddly formal,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow. You let out a quiet laugh and said. “That’s me being generous.”

He lets a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth for a second. You vaguely remember him from when you were kids. It was only a few scattered memories from family events or shared acquaintances. He was polite and always slipped away before the adults could rope him into small talk. It’s strange to be married to someone who once existed at the edge of your childhood vision. “I’m in love with someone else,” you say, suddenly. It was silent for a moment after that.

“Ah,” he says at last.

You wet your lips, unsure of what else to add. “That’s not why I said yes to this. I didn’t know we’d go through with it, but I think we should… call it.”

“Do they love you back?” he asks.

Your eyes look to the window before answering. “I don’t know. ”

“Huh.” He taps his fingers against the table, then gives a soft sigh. “That sucks.”

You were caught off guard. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say? Fight for your honor? Burn the marriage certificate?” There’s no heat in his words but dry sarcasm. It’s so casual that you don’t even know how to respond for a moment. “You’re surprisingly chill about all this,” you mutter.

“I just got into a marriage with someone I barely know, who’s already in love with someone else,” he says, standing and stretching a little. “I think I’ve earned the right to be chill.” He looks at you with a half-smile, as if to say, Welcome to the club. You glance at him, this time with curiosity. “I didn’t think you’d be this reasonable.”

Jungwon lets out a soft scoff. “Don’t let it fool you.” You walk beside each other in silence, footsteps against the soft carpet, and for a second, it almost feels like a dream where nothing makes sense but everything feels strangely okay. It’s bizarre: this night, this marriage, this shared nonchalance. You don’t hate him. You don’t like him either, but for some reason, there’s an ease to this you didn’t expect. At the elevator, Jungwon presses the button. “So how long do you want to pretend we’re not planning a divorce?”

“Three months?” you say. “It’s enough to let everyone settle down.” Your voice feels lighter now as the tension begins to thin.

He nods. “Room rules?”

“Don’t touch my coffee.”

“Don’t leave hair in the drain.”

“Don’t talk to me before ten.”

“Deal.”

The elevator doors open, and you both step inside. Two strangers , acquaintances, or perhaps two accidental allies. It’s strange how easily it all clicks and how little effort it takes to reach an understanding. The hotel suite is massive. You step in first, followed by the soft thud of Jungwon dragging both of your bags. For a second, you only stare. You’re unsure if it’s the room or the fact that it’s your honeymoon and no one is smiling. He walks over to the couch, drops the bags with a grunt, and rolls his shoulders back. “Pick your side,” he says, nodding toward the king-sized bed. “Or the couch is mine if you snore.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I don’t snore.”

“That’s what they all say,” he shrugs. You toss your bag onto the left side of the bed and start peeling off your earrings. Jungwon watches you before heading to the minibar. He opens it, reviews the contents, and pulls out a juice bottle. “So,” he says, unscrewing the cap, “what does someone in love do on their fake honeymoon?”

You glance at him. “To answer your question, I think about not being in love.”

He chuckles. “Deep.”

You flop onto the bed and ask. “Do you think they’ll notice?”

“The lack of Instagram posts? PDA? Matching robes?” He raises a brow. “Perhaps, or they won’t care. This isn’t really about us anyway.”

“No,” you murmur, “it never was.” You feel the bed dip as Jungwon sits down, keeping the right amount of space between you two. Not too close and not too far. Enough to remind each other you’re still strangers. Then Jungwon speaks, “You didn’t plan to marry me, hm?”

“No.” You turn your head slightly. “I didn’t plan to marry anyone.”

He nods. “I get that.”

The night moves on like that. Silent but not awkward. You take turns in the bathroom, fold away your clothes into designated drawers without speaking much. He doesn’t try to make conversation, nor do you, but you have a strange, unspoken understanding. Either respect or simple exhaustion. You’re both too tired to pretend to be in love, but not cold enough to be enemies. Later, you lie on opposite sides of the bed with backs turned. Jungwon speaks again. “I’m not gonna ask about him, but don’t break your own heart on my account, alright?”

And with those words, you appreciated what he said.

💍

The next morning is too bright for your mood. Jungwon’s in the living room now, watching some muted news report on the TV. You sit on the bed and think of him.

Sunghoon.

It still stings to say his name even in your head. You’d been in love with him for years. It wasn’t all-consuming, but a love built itself through shared playlists, and all the things left unsaid from you. You didn’t need to confess immediately because there was time, or so you thought. There were plans. You were going to tell him soon. You’d even picked the day at the cafe he always liked, with messy walls and big cakes. You were finally ready but the marriage happened. You never got to tell him.

Now you’re with Jungwon. You’re married and while your heart is somewhere else, your respect is here, in this man who didn’t choose you either, but still meets you halfway. You will choose to do things right, even if they’re not what you wanted.

💍

“You’re not gonna stay cooped up in the room the whole trip, are you?” Jungwon asks, slipping his sunglasses on as the sun peeks from behind the clouds. Your brow raised, and you replied. “You say that as if we’re here for vacation.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem the type who’d hate being stuck inside.”

You sighed. “Fine, but if this becomes a cheesy bonding experience, I’m leaving you at a bus stop.”

Jungwon smirks. “You think I’d wait for you?”

You end up wandering around the area. There weren’t quite tourists and strangers. A while later, you both settle on a beach mat watching the ocean waves. Out of nowhere, you said, “His name is Sunghoon.” Jungwon turns his head but says nothing right away. You add, “I just thought you should know.” He finally speaks. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you cut in gently. “I want to.”

You take a breath. “I’ve known him for years. We weren’t a couple or anything, but we are close friends. I always thought that maybe… one day, I’d tell him how I felt. I even had this dumb plan. There’s this little cafe in town that we always went to. I thought that would be the place.” You paused. “But the moment never came because this marriage happened and now… It’s something I keep in the back of my head.” You glance at him, offering a tired smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve never entertained him, and I've never tried to reach out that way. I’m married now. I take that seriously.” You turned to look at the people passing by. “Anyway, that’s that.” Jungwon doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he speaks, “I meant it, you know… what I said before. Don’t break your own heart on my account.”

“I’m not,” you say softly. “It’s already been agreed, hasn’t it? Three months. We go home, thank our parents for the opportunity, and then part ways. No drama at all.” He nods. You can feel him watching you, even if you’re both facing the sea. “But still,” you continue, “I take this seriously. You are my husband, Jungwon. I won’t pretend it means nothing just because there’s an end date. That’s not who I am.”

“I never told Sunghoon,” you murmur. “I never even hinted. It wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t want him to carry the weight of something that was never his to hold. I buried it the moment our parents showed us the marriage contract.” Jungwon is finally taking off his sunglasses. He sets them down beside him. His eyes meet yours, and they’re impossibly kind. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“I know,” you answer. “But I did because you were standing beside me that day, because our parents were so proud and because… if I had screamed, begged, or run away, I wouldn’t have been me anymore.” Then Jungwon’s voice breaks it, “I think that’s what makes you strong, you know. Not how you hold everything together, but how you do it without making anyone else feel small.”

“I don’t want to make you feel like a placeholder, Jungwon,” you admit. “Even if we both know how this ends. These months, they’re not pretending to me.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no mockery, no distance. “They’re not pretending to me either. Almost as if it needs to be said,”

you add, “I want us to leave this with respect. With good memories. So when we tell them it’s over… it won’t be because we hated it.”

Jungwon smiles faintly. “Then let’s make these three months count.”

You nodded at his response.

💍

The marriage, of course, was never about love. It was about two powerful families, two last names inked on contracts. Your parents, who are ambitious and strategic, saw opportunity. The wedding was just a ceremony, but the alliance? That was the real deal. Your parents told you it can be temporary if you want to, but they wanted you to try it and be with him for a while. A show of unity. A merging of two empires that could dissolve just as easily as it came together, once the timing was right.

If the divorce goes through on time, nothing collapses. No one loses face. Both families can say they tried. It will all be written off as a necessary step in building a stronger future, whatever that means.

But what no one accounted for was what might happen in between. What it means to live beside someone you barely know. To sleep next to someone. To hear their thoughts unfiltered. To witness their habits. Three months sounded easy. But living them? That’s something else entirely.

One Week Later

The honeymoon was alright. Jungwon, to his credit, made it easy. He was thoughtful, not pushy. He was laid-back, which balanced out your guarded nature. He didn’t try to force anything. No tension, no fake affection just for appearances, and in a strange way, that made you respect him more. But after a week, it has now come. A black car waited for you both outside the villa. The engine purring as you stepped out with your luggage, the staff politely bowing one last time. You went into the backseat beside Jungwon to look again at the familiar hotel.

The ride to the new house took hours.

The driver pulled up to the estate gates. It wasn’t just big. It was designed. It was too perfect to feel like home yet. Everything was pristine. You stood in the foyer, your luggage by your side, Jungwon beside you. “Well,” he murmured, looking at you, “we made it. Home sweet… investment.” You smiled and appreciated the dry humor. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s mess it up a little.” He walked ahead, wheeling his luggage toward the upstairs hallway. “You get first pick. Main bedroom or the one with the balcony?”

“You’re not taking the master?” you said, confused.

He shrugged. “I don’t need the biggest room to prove anything. Go where you’ll feel more comfortable.” You ended up choosing the one with the view, not the master, but it overlooked the gardens. He took the other without comment.

💍

You were still technically married, but you had separate rooms and routines.

For days, mornings became alright. He cooked surprisingly well. You helped him clean. He asked you things, not out of obligation, but curiosity. Your favorite music. Whether you like rainy days, nights are more at peace. Sometimes, he came home from a work dinner or family obligation, and the two of you would sit on the floor in the living room, with leftovers in between.

It was… nice

You saw him brushing his teeth. His hair is a little messy. You saw him tired. You saw him annoyed. You saw him with his tie undone, complaining about a phone call. And you realized…This is what it means to live with someone, not just in the same space but in the same life.

Besides that, you never knew if Sunghoon loved you back. That was the part that stung the most. You had loved him for so long, and now, married, the timing was gone. You weren’t sure what you would be waiting for if the three-month agreement expired. Some invisible green light? A chance to pick up where you left off? But even that thought made you feel sick. Was it still respectful? Would it be too soon? Would it be cruel? You didn’t know what Sunghoon felt. Perhaps he had someone else by now. Maybe the version of him you were in love with was just a perfect memory built from the safety of what never was. You had no right to be angry, but you were hurting anyway.

So you made a promise to yourself: You wouldn’t confess. Not unless it still felt right. Not unless your heart didn’t feel like it was cheating on someone who had only ever been kind to you. Jungwon.

But while married, you didn’t let yourself spiral into daydreams anymore. Not about Paris with Sunghoon. Not about mornings, surprise confessions, or the slow realization that he had been in love with you all along. That story belonged to another version of you. One who didn’t get arranged into someone else’s life.

💍

You didn’t plan on getting this comfortable with Jungwon. It started with the afternoons when he knocked twice on your door before walking in as if he lived there. “Your room gets the better light,” he said one day, already settling on your carpet with his laptop and a bowl of cereal. You gave him a look of judgment. “There’s a whole house, Jungwon.”

“But your room smells of human life,” he grinned while gesturing to your candle. “Mine smells like wet paint and depression.” You should’ve kicked him out. You didn’t, sigh. Eventually, your schedules tangled. He worked where you worked. He started leaving socks under your coffee table. You started stealing his oversized hoodies on rainy mornings. One Wednesday, you both called in sick, though neither was ill. You both didn’t feel like facing the world. Instead, you lie in the living room, side by side with snacks between you, watching bad movies and trading horror stories about your high school years. “I had a bad perm in ninth grade,” Jungwon confessed and winced. You turned your head slowly, already grinning. “No way.”

“It’s true,” he groaned. “It was a nightmare.”

You nearly choked on your popcorn. “Please. I need photos for blackmail.”

“That’s classified information,” he said, snatching the bowl away but laughing too.

It wasn’t love, it was nice, whatever this was. This warm, lazy comfort. He started learning your habits. You hated how the faucet dripped at night, so he twisted it tight, and you couldn’t stand shoes on the carpet. You never talked about the divorce again. One night, the power cut out while you were halfway through a shower. You screamed. From outside, Jungwon yelled, “Are you dead?”

“No, but you better light candles before I leave here in the dark.” You found him in the kitchen later with a flashlight under his chin. “I’m the ghost of arranged marriages,” he said spookily. You nearly slipped again from laughing so hard. Later, the two of you sat on the counter eating leftover rice, candlelight between you. “Do you ever think about after?” you asked, picking at your food. “Like… what happens when we divorce?”

He looked at you for a long moment, then looked down. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But I try not to. It feels like ruining something that’s not broken yet.”

You agreed.

By week four, Jungwon insisted on making the other room into a “cringe cinema room.” You let him. “You’re annoying, you know,” you said one evening, watching him struggle to mount a projector on the ceiling. “And you’re bossy, but I put up with you anyway,” he said, dangling from a step ladder. He jumped down with a grin, brushing his hands on his pants. “I’m your husband, after all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Temporary.”

“It still counts,” he smirked, lightly bumping your shoulder. You bumped him back harder. This feels more like friends hanging out with each other than a marriage.

💍

It was around 11 p.m. You were drying the plates. Jungwon was wiping the table. “You didn’t show up to lunch.”

You kept your eyes on the dish in your hand. “I told you I might not make it.”

“You said you’d try.”

“I did try,” you said. “My meeting ran late.”

He muttered. “It felt like I was waiting for nothing.”

You finally looked at him. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

His arms crossed. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one putting effort into this.”

You set the plate down. “What?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “I make time, I show up. You’re always somewhere else.”

“That’s not true.”

“It feels true.”

You stared at him. “You think I want that? You think I always choose between what matters and what also matters?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I wish I didn’t always come second.”

You scoffed. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have married someone like me.”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice, did I?” He didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” So this is what it feels like to argue as a married couple? You swear it was much worse whenever your parents fight. It was terrifying lol.

💍

You weren’t exactly mad at Jungwon. Not anymore, at least, and you were pretty sure he wasn’t angry at you either, but something about the air between you both felt compressed. It was the day after your first proper argument, and it left a weird taste in your mouth. Neither of you had yelled, but you’d both walked away a little bruised.

Now, at the grocery store, he pushed the cart ahead of you. He was focused and was scanning the list with his brows furrowed, checking items off as he placed them neatly into the cart. You, on the other hand, were walking behind while munching on a tiny food sample. You weren’t helping at all, and you knew it.

You even ducked into the seafood aisle to grab another round of free crackers and cheese. Yes, you were being passive-aggressive and maybe a little mean, but when Jungwon glanced behind and didn’t find you, he sighed slightly but loud enough for you to hear from two shelves away. You didn’t say anything when you rejoined him, though you did place a pack of overpriced chocolate cereal into the cart without asking. He glanced at it, then at you. You met his eyes, chewing. “What?” you asked with your mouth full. He shook. “Nothing.”

You strolled on. The whole trip went like that with minimal words, plenty of sighs, and a few eye rolls (from you). It was a sort of stubbornness between two people still figuring out what their closeness was supposed to look like. At checkout, you stood beside him silently as he paid.

The drive back was more of the same. You sat with your legs crossed and head leaned against the window, but then he pulled the car over to a spot by the curb. You looked over, confused. He put the car in park and turned to you. “Look at me.” You hesitated, but then you did. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted softly. “And I’m sorry,” he continued. “I didn’t want to make you feel unheard last night. I didn’t mean to be cold.”

Your heart is pinching a little. “You weren’t cold. I think I took it that way because I was scared of where the conversation might go.” His expression softened. “Yeah?” You nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned back in his seat. “Marriage is weird.” Which made you laugh a little. “Tell me about it.”

He reached into one of the grocery bags in the back seat and pulled something out. He handed you the chocolate cereal. Oh, you thought he put it back on the shelf because it was overpriced. You stared at it. “Really?”

“You’re annoying when you don’t help,” he said. “But you looked like you needed it.” You smiled, holding the box close to your chest. “Thanks,” you muttered. “Also… sorry for disappearing and going on the samples instead.”

He smiled. “You didn’t even get the good ones.”

“I panicked,” you replied. “It’s a very high-pressure situation.”

He shook his head while chuckling, then he looked at you again. “So… are we okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah”

“That’s good.”

With that, he pulled the car back onto the road.

💍

It was past midnight when you knocked on Jungwon’s door. You stood outside his room awkwardly, hugging your arms, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. Jungwon opened the door a second later, obviously having just woken up. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice husky.

You hesitated. “Um. Yeah. I accidentally watched a video.”

“A video,” he repeated, and a smirk appeared on his lips. “Was it a ghost video? Did you get scared?” You were embarrassed to answer, shifting on your feet.

“haha…’’

He raised a brow. You groaned softly, whispering, “Yes.” He chuckled. “You’re such a baby.”

“I didn’t mean to watch it! It popped up, and the thumbnail was like a little cartoon, so I clicked it and then boom! Screaming, a floating girl, creepy stairs! Now I think I’m cursed or something, and every time I close my eyes, I feel like she’s there…..”

He said. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re overreacting.”

“She was floating, Jungwon.”

He sighed, stepping aside. “Come in, you big baby.” You hurried inside, brushing past him and making a beeline for his bed. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, closing the door. “You can’t sleep unless you’re two inches from me, big baby?”

You were already crawling under his blanket. “Two inches is generous.”

He rolled his eyes as he walked over. “I don’t know why I keep letting you in here.”

You looked up at him from under the blanket, eyes wide. “Because you secretly care.” He snorted but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned off the light and went under the covers, settling beside you. You flopped right next to him, practically burrowed into his side. “Seriously?” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. “This close?” You didn’t respond. “You’re pressing into my ribs.” Still nothing. He looked down. “Hey. Are you… scared?” You nodded once, not meeting his eyes.

He stared at you for a second, without another word, lifted his arm, and opened the blanket wider. You didn’t hesitate. You snuggled even closer, your head resting near his chest. “…You’re so warm,” you murmured.

“You’re trembling,” he muttered, a little worried now. He let his arm rest around you, hesitantly at first, then fully wrapping you up. “Geez. How bad was that video?”

“Bad,” you whispered. “I hate mirrors now.”

He couldn’t help it, so he laughed. “Hey,” you said, voice muffled against his shirt. “Stop laughing. You’re supposed to protect me.”

“Right, right,” he said, still smiling. “I forgot that’s in my marriage vows.”

“You didn’t say vows.”

“Okay, then I’m freelancing them.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, eyes fluttering shut. He said softly. “You can sleep here whenever, you know that, right?”

You replied. “Yeah. Thanks.” Then you added, “Don’t float above me when I sleep, okay?”

“Not unless I’m cursed too.”

You cracked a smile. “Deal.” And soon enough, the scary images faded, replaced by warmth and comfort.

💍

You didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. In fact, last night, you had planned to stay on your side of Jungwon’s bed quietly, but sometime between murmured jokes and your hundredth check of the bedroom mirror, you must’ve fully passed out, and now, well…

The sunlight was starting to peek in when Jungwon woke up slowly. He squinted at the light, yawned, then frowned, realizing his arm had gone numb. That was because your entire body was sprawled across him. One leg was tossed over his. Your arm was flung across his chest, your face smushed unflatteringly near his collarbone, and you snored. He stared down at you. “…Seriously?” You didn’t move.

He moved a little to relieve the weight on his arm, but you grunted and pressed your face into his shoulder. He looked at the ceiling in disbelief. “I let you stay one night,” he muttered, deadpan. “One night.” You snored louder. He sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it. In fact, after a few seconds, his lips turned into a tired little smile. Carefully, he reached up with his free hand and lightly poked your cheek. Nothing. He poked again. “Wake up, big baby.”

“Mmmgh,” you groaned into his shirt.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re snoring directly into my soul.”

“Stop…” you were still half-asleep. “You’re so loud…”

“I’m not the one drooling on someone else’s chest right now.”

At that, your eyes finally fluttered open, mortified. You slowly looked up, realizing just how close you were. He looked back at you, face neutral. You smiled sheepishly. “…Good morning?” A tiny, amused smile returned from him. “Morning. You want to get off of me, or are you planning to rent this space monthly?” You made a face, immediately rolling away with a groan, face burning. “I swear I didn’t mean to-”

He sat up, rubbing his arm. “I can’t feel my bicep anymore.”

“I get it! I’m sorry, okay?!” You buried yourself in the blanket, completely humiliated. He chuckled as he stood and stretched. “You’re lucky I like sleepovers,” he added over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. You peeked out from under the covers, watching him go. “I still hate mirrors, though,” you muttered. You heard him call back from the bathroom, “Then stop snoring at them.”

After a while,

You were still on Jungwon’s bed while you were on your phone. The embarrassment from waking up on top of him had faded, replaced by your usual comfort. It was one of those unbothered days where nothing was urgent. You giggled softly at your phone. Jungwon, sitting by the desk, checking emails, turned his gaze to you. “What’s got you smiling?”

You didn’t look up. “I’m texting my friend group.” He hummed, going back to tapping his keyboard. Then, you got another message. Your phone buzzed with a new image. You opened it, and your eyes lit up. “Aww!”

Jungwon peeked again. “Wifey?” he called you casually. “Who’s making you giggle now?” You turned your screen toward him without thinking. “Sunghoon sent me a picture of him and his dog. Look, isn’t his dog so- wait…”You stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing something.

Jungwon asked. “Sunghoon?”

You sat up. “I just realized, I never showed you what he looks like, right?” He raised an eyebrow, slowly walking over. You handed him your phone and watched his face. His face was neutral, though something was a little unreadable in his eyes as he studied the photo: Sunghoon smiling beside a fluffy, seemingly French poodle.

Jungwon nodded once. “So that’s Sunghoon.”

“Mhm,” you said, still not noticing the weird subtle behavior. “He always sends random dog pictures. Honestly, he’s so in love with his dog, it’s insane.” Jungwon handed your phone back with face unchanged. “Cute dog.”

You smiled. “Right?” He nodded and returned to his desk, sliding into his chair smoothly. You were still smiling at the picture, busy typing a reply, when he glanced over again.

💍

You didn’t expect much from the dinner. It was only a formal family gathering with you and Jungwon’s parents. The marriage had always been meant to be temporary, something your parents knew. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that allowed both families to settle business matters and give you “a companion” in the meantime. Your parents had reassured you: “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t have to last.” You were never pushed to fall in love.

After a long while in the marriage, their perspective seemed to change after closeness was shown. “You’re glowing these days,” his mom said to you with a knowing smile. I remember how hesitant you were initially, but look at you now.”

You tried not to stiffen. “Oh- really?”

“She’s right,” your mom joined in, nodding. “We were saying how natural you two seem. It’s so lovely to see.”

Natural? Your dad chuckled. “We always believed that with time, you’d both give this marriage a fair chance, and now look! It looks like it’s going to last forever.” Jungwon gave a polite smile. “We’re… figuring things out.” You nodded, matching his energy. “It’s still early, but we’re doing okay.”

“More than okay,” your mom said cheerily. “You’re so in sync! Honestly, I think you’ve found the one.”You took a sip of your drink, to avoid answering and partly to recover from the statement. You saw Jungwon do the same. Then came the kicker. “Well,” his dad said, pouring himself another drink, “If you’re not planning to end things anytime soon… maybe we’ll meet a grandchild sooner than we thought?”

You choked. Jungwon choked. Everyone else laughed. You leaned toward him, whispering behind your glass, “Tell me you heard that too.”

“I wish I didn’t,” he muttered.

His mom waved her hand. “Don’t look so startled! We’re just happy. The two of you seem so in love these days. It’s not like how it started.”

Your mom nodded in agreement. “It’s like fate, honestly.” You and Jungwon exchanged a glance. You weren’t sure if it was panic or confusion. You plastered on a smile. “That’s very sweet, mom.”Jungwon added, “We’re grateful for everything.” They seemed satisfied with that. The conversation continued, but you could feel Jungwon’s foot bump lightly against yours under the table, like a “what just happened?”. Later, in the kitchen, you were washing dishes beside him, still stunned. “Did they just rewrite our whole backstory?” you asked, handing him a plate.

“Apparently, we’re in love,” he said, drying it. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“I missed it. It must’ve been in the fine print.”

He chuckled. “Well… we didn’t exactly deny it.”

You smirked. “Yeah. You sold it with your half-nod and existential panic.”

He bumped your shoulder with his. “Hey- you’re the one who turned pink.”

You groaned. “I can’t believe we almost got baby-trapped.”

“We survived,” he said.

“Barely.”

💍

It had been a long day because of an accidental detour into a sketchy back alley thanks to Jungwon’s “shortcut,” and a tragically wrong drive-thru order. You were both tired, delirious, and running on caffeine and sarcasm. You were crouched near the car while Jungwon struggled to fit the last bag into the trunk. “Do you think if I die here, the coroner will be like, ‘Cause of death: rice bag to the face’?” he said.

You looked up at him. “I think they’d say natural causes because you’ve always been naturally stupid.”

He turned slowly. “Oh?”

You grinned. He pointed at you. “This from the same person who waved at a mannequin today.”

“IT WAS WEARING A HAT AND HAD POSTURE.”

Jungwon crouched beside you now. “You were like, ‘Hi- oh.’ And then you bowed to it. You bowed.”You smacked his arm. “I was being polite!” That set you both off. You were clutching your stomach, while he wheezed beside you. “I can’t breathe-” you gasped. He wiped his eye. “I heard you say ‘excuse me’ to the clothing rack after bumping into it.”

“I have MANNERS!” You both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter again, collapsing against the car. People passed by, giving you strange looks, but you were too far gone to care.

“HIHAHAHA snortt BWAHA’’

‘’NYAHAHAHAHIHIHI’’

“It’s been a long day,” he said solemnly.

You nodded, then whispered between laughs, “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, but did you hear how ugly your laugh is?”

“BITCH, YOU SOUND LIKE A COUGHING BROOM.”

That was it again. Jungwon collapsed forward, wheezing, as you completely gave up and rolled back onto the pavement. A passing old couple stared at the two of you and walked away scared. Neither of you noticed. You were gripping each other’s arms with bodies shaking with laughter, faces red and aching. “I’m gonna throw up,” you managed.

“Same,” Jungwon said, wiping a tear. “This is how we die.”

ya’ll are weird as fuck.

💍

It had been a week. Nothing big had happened, but it hit you. You hadn’t thought about Sunghoon in a while. Not that you were trying not to. He used to cross your mind so naturally. It was a familiar habit of yours before the marriage began. Before, you would wonder what he’d think of your new shoes, or remember an old joke and smile alone, but this past week? You were laughing too hard with Jungwon, arguing over who left the fridge slightly open and other silly things. You were in this strange, growing space you two had built. And when your phone lit up with a message from Sunghoon that night, which he sent a funny joke, you smiled, but not the one before. Not the smile that stayed. Not the one that used to warm you all over.

You only tapped the screen and locked it again. Jungwon came out of the bathroom, hair damp and in his comfy clothes. “You good?” You nodded. “Yeah.” He sat next to you on the couch, reaching for the chips between you. “What’s with that face?” You tilted your head. “What face?”

“That one,” he pointed, smirking. “You seem like you just had a life crisis.” You snorted. “Maybe I did.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Okay.” He popped a chip in his mouth and stared at the screen. “Wanna watch something stupid?”

“Absolutely.”

💍

It was one of those usual afternoons when everything felt alright as always. You and Jungwon were walking side by side and sipping iced drinks. You two were bumping shoulders every few steps. You had just come out of the bookstore; instead, he dragged you out before you bought another copy of a book you already owned. “You’re insane,” he said, pointing at the bag in your hand. “You already have that book.”

“This one has a different cover,” you argued, “and you wouldn’t get it. It’s for the vibe.” Jungwon groaned mockingly. “You know what? Next time I see that book in your room, I’m stealing it.” You laughed. “Joke’s on you. I’ll buy another.” He rolled his eyes but smiled. It was easy with him: the teasing and the walking. You were halfway through telling him that your teacher mistakenly called you a different name when someone behind you suddenly shouted your name.

“(Name)? OH MY GO-,” came a familiar voice. You barely had time to react before arms wrapped around you and your feet lifted off the ground. “Sunghoon?” you gasped, still mid-air. He twirled you once, laughing, before setting you down. “I knew that was you! You haven’t changed one bit!”

You looked at him, surprised. “It’s not that long-”

“No, it’s too long,” he said, holding onto your shoulders. “Goodness, it’s so good to see you.” His eyes scanned your face. “You look good…suspiciously good. Married life treating you well, huh?” You laughed awkwardly and respond. “I guess so.” He smirked. “I’m still mad I never got to see you in a white dress, by the way. I had tissues ready to cry in the front row and everything.”

You playfully pushed his arm. “Shut up.” Then he glanced to the side, finally noticing the figure standing a few steps back. “Oh,” Sunghoon said. “You’re- Jungwon, right?” Jungwon gave a slight nod, stepping forward. “Yeah. You’re Sunghoon, right?” They hadn’t met before, but they knew of each other well, because of you.

Sunghoon stuck his hand out with a bright smile. “It’s good to meet you finally, man. I’ve heard a lot.” Jungwon shook it. “Same here.” There was something calm and nice with how Jungwon said it, but if you were paying attention, it was kinda odd.

Sunghoon looked between the two of you again. “You two look good together,” he said happily. “Better than I imagined.” You smiled and couldn’t tell if your heart was beating from the compliment or the pressure. Jungwon nodded once, his face unreadable. “Thanks, man.”

“Anyway,” Sunghoon said, stepping back, “it’s crazy bumping into you like this. Are you two heading somewhere?”

“We were just walking,” you said.

“Right, well- guess I’ll let you go,” Sunghoon said, slowly. “It was nice seeing you again, seriously.” He didn’t hug you again this time, but only gave you that soft, warm smile he always had. “Take care, alright? Both of you.”

“You too,” you said.

Then you and Jungwon turned and walked away. You didn’t speak for the first few seconds. Something felt weird with Jungwon. Then Jungwon reached over, grabbed your drink, and took a sip. “Hey!” you said, laughing.

“I needed sugar,” he muttered. “Besides, yours tastes better.” You scoffed at him. “That’s your excuse for everything.”

Though, back at the car, it felt kinda awkward. You glanced at Jungwon. You could see his jaw was tight. He hadn’t said much since you both returned from running into Sunghoon. You turned the music down even more. “What’s up with you?” you asked. Jungwon muttered, “Nothing.” You raised a brow. “Really? You’ve been acting weird since we left.”

“I’m just tired.”

You scoffed. “Tired?” Your entire body turned to him. “Seriously? What is your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal,” he said quickly.

“Okay, then why are you being so quiet?”

“I’m always quiet.”

you shot back. “This isn’t quiet, this is- I don’t know, sulking.” That got a reaction. Jungwon let out a humorless laugh. “So now I’m sulking?”

“I’m saying- if something’s wrong, you can say it. I’m not gonna bite.”

He turned down a side street. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! Did seeing someone from my past make you uncomfortable? Or did you not like how close we used to be? Or that you hated how he hugged me or talked about the marriage?-anything.”

“It’s not my place to hate anything,” Jungwon said.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced at you. “It means I don’t have the right to say anything. We’re not- this isn’t like that.”

You stared at him. “Wow. Okay.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like-”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “No, it’s fine. We’re not anything. Got it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said again, but there was more frustration. “I meant that whatever I’m feeling shouldn’t even matter.”

“It does matter! You’ve been acting off since that run-in. Don’t act like you’re fine.”

Jungwon pulled over near the side of the road and parked the car. “Look,” he started, “it’s not about Sunghoon. When he showed up, it felt as if I was watching someone walk into a memory I wasn’t part of, and it hit me how little time I’ve had to get to know you, even though we’ve been stuck together for a while now.”

you said, “You think I know everything about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“You don’t know a thing about me either,” you snapped. “And you’re the one who barely talks about yourself.”

“Well, I’m trying not to cross a line!”

“What line is that, Jungwon?” your voice rising. “I feel like we’ve already crossed a few, haven’t we?”

“This whole thing is confusing,” he said finally. “I didn’t ask for any of it, and neither did you, and I’m trying, but today, it messed with my head.”

“Well, don’t take that out on me.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are,” you said. “I’m tired of tiptoeing around you. Every time something important comes up, you shut down.”

“Every time I try to say something honest, you twist it!”

You stared at him. “You know what? Just drive.”

He clenched his jaw. “Fine.”

The rest of the ride was quiet again.

When you got home, you didn’t even take off your shoes. Jungwon was already behind you, just as silent as he’d been in the car. You tossed your bag onto the couch, then turned on your heel. “Are you gonna tell me what that was back there?” you snapped. “Or are we just gonna sit silently until it eats us alive?”

Jungwon replied. “What what was?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said sarcastically. “You're going quiet the second Sunghoon showed up. You’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to an old friend.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I was mad about him?”

“Weren’t you?”

“No,” he snapped. “I was mad because you acted as if I wasn’t even there.” to which, you scoffed. Jungwon said. “You laughed, you twirled, you hugged.”

“You’re not my real husband, Jungwon!” you blurted. “We both know this is fake!”

And everything stopped. You regretted them the second they left your mouth, but it was too late. Jungwon’s face became more unreadable. “Right,” he said slowly. “I forgot. Three months, right?”

You stuttered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said bitterly. “You’re just saying what we both agreed on.”

You hated the way your chest ached. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

He looked away. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have been anything at all,” he added, “Sometimes I wonder why I even said yes.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he said. “I should’ve just said no. I should’ve told my mom I wasn’t interested in playing house with a stranger.”

“Wow,” you whispered, holding back the tears. “You know what’s funny? I thought we were starting to get along.”

He shook his head. “That’s the problem. We let it feel genuine for a second, and now we’re here.”

You were stunned, hurt, furious, all at once. “Well, maybe you should start packing,” you said coldly. “There’s no point waiting three months if you regret it.” You walked away after. This time, you shut your bedroom door gently, because slamming it would’ve made it too final, where you meant every word you said. Deep down, you didn’t, but none of that mattered tonight.

💍

He was gone. There was no goodbye. His closet emptied. You were in the doorway for longer than you should’ve, waiting for something to tell you this wasn’t real. Perhaps a leftover jacket, a single shoe, or his scent, but nothing. You walked into the living room, feeling as if it were a foreign ground. The couch sat untouched. The blanket you always fought over is still folded neatly where you left it. You sat down, staring at the wall, wishing it might give you an answer. You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear fell onto your shirt.

He wasn’t supposed to mean anything. That was the deal. Three months. After that, a handshake, a thank you, and you both go back to the lives you were meant to live. This marriage was never real, but somehow, he’d slipped into the cracks of your routine. You loved it when he left his mug near the sink instead of inside it. You loved it when he dried your umbrella, even when you forgot to. You loved it when he waited for you to unlock the door first, even when he had the spare key.

You’d picked up things about him without meaning to, and now you kept walking into rooms, expecting to find him there. You told yourself over and over that this wasn’t love. It was only comfort, but you felt the truth crawling to you in the emptiness.

He was never just a guest in your life. He became part of it. You missed hearing his footsteps. You missed his voice through the bathroom door. You missed the stupid way he argued about where the cereal belonged. You didn’t love him from the start. You weren’t even sure when it began, but he started making your world feel softer one day. He made silence feel safe. He made loneliness feel full. He made you feel seen, even on the days you didn’t want to be.

But he was gone. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not with him leaving before you figured out how much he meant. Not before you could say, “Don’t go,” because you would’ve said it if only he had stayed long enough to hear.

💍

You weren’t expecting her, but she came. It was always what mothers did when everything was already broken beyond repair. You heard the knock on the door, and it felt like she was a stranger asking to be let into your ruin. You should’ve kept it locked, but you opened it anyway. She stepped in without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scanned the place, and she knew. Jungwon wasn’t there. “I’ve been calling,” she said gently.

You didn’t look at her. “I know.”

“I thought I’d come by to check on you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Check if the house you married me into is still standing?”

She winced. “Honey, please.”

“No,” you said, turning to her now, voice rising, “You never meant anything, right? You didn’t mean to marry me off as if I were a pawn. You didn’t mean for it to feel like I was auctioned off to someone you thought could keep me in line. You didn’t mean for me to end up in a house where he’s gone and I’m here swallowing the silence.” She flinched, but you were already spiraling. “You made me believe this would be fine, that I’d grow into it. That I’d learn to like him. That love could come after.” Then you said it with full force,

“But I did love him.”

You kept speaking, “I loved how he brushed his teeth with the door open, how he’d mumble when he was tired. I even loved how he took up too much space in his bed. We agreed to have separate rooms, but despite that, I would end up sleeping beside him. I loved it when it made the house feel less lonely.”

Your voice cracked. “I waited for him to come home every night, even when we were fighting. I kept counting the days to the end of the three months as if it were a joke.” You looked up now, at your mother. “But I wasn’t laughing.” You swallowed hard. “I hate you for putting me in this, but more than that… I hate myself because I walked into this marriage ready to leave, but somewhere along the way, I fell. Slowly and pathetically. I fell.”

Her face had crumpled, but you didn’t stop. “Now he’s gone, just like we had agreed on, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to tell him that I didn’t want it to end.” Tears blurred your eyes. “I didn’t want to be free. Please, not from him.” You collapsed into the heartbreak and loving someone too late. Your mother, who started it all, couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch her daughter mourn a man who was never supposed to matter but did.

Then, her shoulders started to shake. You’d never seen your mother cry before, but now, she was trembling in your living room, hands covering her face, lips quivering around the words she couldn’t seem to find fast enough. “I’m so sorry…” she whispered. “I’m so- so sorry.” She moved closer, unsure, until she gently wrapped her arms around you. She was holding her daughter for the first time in years.

You let yourself lean into her, into the familiarity of her perfume. Letting into the embrace you didn’t realize you still needed. “I didn’t know,” she whispered into your hair. “I thought I was doing what was best. I thought- I didn’t know it would hurt you. I thought you’d walk away untouched.”

You pulled back slightly to look at her tear-stained face. Your voice was hollow. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” She brushed your hair back gently. “Then don’t decide today,” she murmured. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to be okay right now.”

You said. “I miss him and I don’t even know if he wants to return.”

Your mother held your face with both hands. “Then you wait.”

You bit your lip while the tears threatened to spill again. “I don’t want it to be over.”

She nodded. “Don’t let it be.” You let yourself cry into someone’s arms for the first time in days, not because it fixed anything, but because it meant you weren’t alone in it anymore. If only there were still time to rewrite the ending.

💍

You hadn’t meant to go out with hair messy and sweater sleeves stretched from pulling at them. The cafe bell jingled above your head, and you barely looked up as you stepped inside, hoping for something warm. When suddenly- “Hey!” You turned your head slowly. Sunghoon stood a few steps away and was holding his drink. His smile faded the moment his eyes saw you. “Whoa- hey…” he stepped forward instantly. “What’s wrong?” Before you could respond, before you could even lie, he pulled you into a hug. He felt you tremble, but he said nothing. He only held you tighter and murmured, “Let’s go somewhere quiet, yeah?”

You ended up at a place no one looked twice at. It was a lonely time between day and night.

“I don’t know where to start,” you said.

“Anywhere,” Sunghoon replied. “I’ll listen.”

“It was an arranged marriage.”

He widened his eyes. “Wait… what?”

“Me and Jungwon,” you said. “It was never ours. Well, not in the beginning. Our families put it together for status and legacy.” You swallowed. “We agreed to divorce. I was the one who wanted to divorce immediately after we got married. He agreed. Three months of marriage and then divorce.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“I didn’t know how to,” you continued. “Before the marriage even happened… I was going to confess something else.”

His brows furrowed. “Confess?”

“I was in love with you.” The words came out before you could stop them. You felt Sunghoon freeze beside you. “What?” he said softly.

“I was in love with you,” you repeated. “It was back then before everything got so… twisted.” You laughed, but it wasn’t happy. “I wanted to tell you. I planned to, but before I could… the marriage happened.” You hugged yourself tighter, your tears threatening to return. “I didn’t know how to act around you after that. I didn’t want to disrespect him or you. So, I backed away. I started texting you less and more casually than before. I thought it was the right thing.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly. “I noticed.”

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. “Something else happened, too,” you whispered. “Somewhere in all of this, I fell for him.” You closed your eyes. “He has this way of making everything feel like it matters…Like I matter. I don’t even know when it happened. I woke up one day and realized I was different. I’d been slowly filled up with someone else’s presence, and suddenly, it hurt to imagine being without him.”Tears stung again, but you didn’t fight them this time. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We agreed to divorce after three months. That was the deal. That’s all it ever was supposed to be, but now… I don’t know what to do.”

You looked up at Sunghoon then, finally. “I’m sorry. For dragging you into this, being silent, and not telling you sooner.”

Sunghoon slowly reached out and pulled you into his arms. It wasn’t romantic, but it was full of warmth from him. “I’m sorry too for not knowing,” he murmured. You pressed your face into his shoulder. He pulled back to look at you. “You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here,” he said. “That means something.”

You gave a broken laugh. “It doesn’t feel like I’m here.”

“You are.” His eyes were kind. “Even if this isn’t how you imagined things… you’re stronger than you think.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave a smile. “Always here for you, as your friend.”

💍

You told yourself you were ready. You had rehearsed what you would say if he ever walked through that door again a hundred times, how you’d stay composed. How you’d look him in the eye and not flinch, but when he came back, you didn't know what to do when Jungwon appeared past the front door threshold. You had just placed the divorce papers on the console table. Your hand was still resting on top of them. “I didn’t think I’d still be able to open the door,” he said.

Seeing him again, your heart stuttered. For a second, everything you had planned to say disappeared. You were left staring at him, scared that this was it and this would be the last time. What if everything you told them now wouldn’t fix it? What if no matter how much you poured out, he had already closed the door, without slamming it, and you never noticed?

Finally, you took the courage to say what you needed to say. “I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I know that’s too late, but I’m still saying it. I’m sorry for what I said that night and what I didn’t say after. I’m sorry I acted like you didn’t matter to me when all I ever did was care. You’ve been my person for so long that I didn’t know how to be mad at you without breaking my heart.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel alone,” you continued. “I’m sorry for shutting you out when I should’ve let you in, and I’m sorry I ever made you doubt how much I love you.” But you are confused… He was smiling. Your brow furrowed. “Why are you smiling? Are you taking this seriously? Are you… happy that we’re done?” Because you weren’t. You were still in the middle of loving him. Was this too late?

“I’m not smiling because I’m happy,” he replied. “I’m smiling because you’re still here and I still have a chance to see you speak to me instead of walking away.”

You couldn’t speak. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I saw them,” he finally said, eyes toward the papers. “You left them in the mail pile with your signature already there.” You didn’t respond. “I know what that means,” he said. “You were ready to let me go.”

“I read it three times,” he murmured. “I was supposed to sign and send it back.” You turned away. You weren’t ready to hear his voice again, not when you had just begun to believe that maybe you could live without it, until- I couldn’t,” he said, a little more broken this time. “I couldn’t pick up a pen and say goodbye to you. I couldn’t erase you from my life.”

“I thought staying away would help and hurt less for both of us, but it didn’t,” he said. “It made everything worse. It made me realize that I wasn’t waking up missing you. I was waking up and forgetting how to function without you. My mind still expected your voice from the next room. My hands still reached for yours in the dark.”

“I didn’t come here to convince you of anything,” he said softly. “I came here because there’s not a day that’s passed where I haven’t thought about you, about the sound of your voice when you’re talking about something you love, your laugh when you’re half-asleep, how you look at me when you’re proud, or angry, or hurt. I remember all of it.”

The tears welled up again. You turned your head, embarrassed, but he was already there. He crossed the last steps between you and gently touched your face. His thumb wiped at the tear before it fell entirely. “No, don’t,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry.” You couldn’t help it because he still remembered how to be gentle with you even after everything. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, but you shouldn’t have to be strong with me. Not anymore,” he whispered.

He cradled your face in both hands now. “I want everything,” he said. “I want your silence, shouting, worst days, and best. I want your sleepy mornings and your furious nights. I want the parts of you that love without asking, and the parts that get scared and push away. I want to return to every room we left cold and make it warm again.”

Then his eyes looked downward. He reached for something sitting on the table. The ring…your ring. The one you had taken off and left behind without a second thought, thinking it meant something final. He picked it up delicately. “I don’t just love you,” he said. “I need you every day.” And without asking, without waiting, he slid the ring back onto your finger. Then-

He kissed you for the first time since the wedding. This time, it was genuine. This kiss that didn’t chase your lips but waited. It stayed. His hands cupped your jaw. His lips were sure. Everything he had wanted to say, swallowed down, and couldn’t survive without.

You kissed him back. Your hands found his shoulders, his neck, then tangled in his hair. You held him because he was yours, and you’re his, as you always had been. He leaned in again, again, again, not letting go. Letting the silence speak for him and the closeness say everything words couldn’t. His kisses moved down to your cheek and jaw and back to your lips. When you finally broke apart, both of you out of breath and still holding each other, and then he said it,

“You are everything I didn’t know I needed and everything I never stopped wanting.” You let yourself cry into his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around you. He never wanted to let go again, and he wouldn’t.

💍

A New Chapter Began. After that night, after the tears, the confessions, and the kiss. You and Jungwon began again. The marriage had become something else entirely. Something you both chose now, willingly and earnestly. You didn’t tear everything down to start over. You kept going, together, but this time with your hearts in it.

Out of guilt, your parents began doing everything they could to make amends after everything that had happened: lavish dinners and many more apologies. Strangely, you were thankful. Not for the way it had all happened but for the fact that fate, circumstance, or even your parents’ meddling, had brought him into your life because now, you couldn’t imagine it without him.

You and Jungwon eventually moved into the same room. One day, you both stopped closing your doors to each other. His things naturally began appearing beside yours. Everything had changed, and yet… everything was the same. He became your comfort and home.

💍

It was 9 p.m. and Jungwon had just finished a meeting. You finished binge-watching an entire show in one sitting. The living room was a mess of snacks and one sock (his, obviously). When he walked in, you were wrapped in a giant fuzzy blanket, dragging it behind you like a royal cape. He said, surprised. “Your Majesty.”

You looked at him. “You dare speak without kneeling?”

He dropped to one knee without hesitation, bowing deeply with a juice bottle in hand. “Forgive me, my queen. I have brought peace offerings from the sacred land of the refrigerator.”

You snatched the bottle. “You may rise.”

He stood. “Do I get a reward?”

You turned on your heel. “You get my presence.”

He followed you around the apartment as you continued parading. “What kingdom even is this?” he asked, amused.

You stopped by the dining table and pointed at the dishes he hadn’t washed earlier. “A kingdom of betrayal.”

He gasped. “That was not in my royal contract.”

“You swore vows!”

“I thought we skipped that part!”

Then both of you burst out laughing. He walked up to you, grabbed your blanket, and wrapped both of you in it. “Fine. I’ll wash them.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What changed your mind?”

He kissed your forehead. “The queen is scary.”

“And never forget it.”

You high-fived him, both still tangled in the same blanket, heads pressed together, swaying slightly because you two are weirdos who somehow made it through an arranged marriage.

💍

When someone called your name, you and Jungwon walked back to the car, arms full of pastries. You turned- “Sunghoon,” you said, surprised but not startled.

He seems a little more at ease. “Hey. I didn’t expect to run into you two.”

Jungwon nodded, then grinned a little. “What’s up, man?” Sunghoon stepped forward, and they did a quick fist bump without hesitation or awkwardness.

You smiled. “You look like you’re doing good.”

“I am,” he said easily. “My girlfriend’s waiting at the cafe somewhere near, so I’m trying not to get in trouble.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Smart move.”

“She doesn’t like it when I ‘accidentally’ start small talk for thirty minutes,” Sunghoon said, air-quoting with a grin. “Though, it’s nice seeing you both.”

“You too,” you said, smiling.

Sunghoon looked between you and Jungwon. “You guys look solid.”

You glanced at Jungwon. “Yeah,” you said. “We’re good.”

You could see it. Jungwon was ok with all this. He’d moved on from whatever uneasiness he once had about Sunghoon because he trusted you and himself now. Sunghoon nodded, satisfied. “Cool. Well, I’ll head back before she leaves me here.”

“Tell her we said hi,” Jungwon joked.

Sunghoon laughed as he turned. “She’d love that.” Then walked off.

Jungwon opened the car door for you like always. “You’re okay?” he asked.

You looked down the street once more, then back at him. “I’m happy.” Back in the car, Jungwon tossed the pastry bag into the backseat. He buckled in, glanced your way, and smirked. “You know I kinda had a crush on you when we were kids, right?”

You turned to him, brows raised. “What?”

“Don’t act surprised,” he said, starting the engine. “You were the popular one. You always showed up at those family events with that shiny hair and your nose in the air.”

You laughed. “Okay, first of all, what family events? I barely even remember you back then.”

He gave you a playful, offended look. “Tragic. I remember you. You were the girl everyone talked about. I was the only kid in the corner, avoiding the adults’ small talk.”

That part was genuine. You vaguely remembered him from those days. Scattered memories at weddings or someone’s birthday, when kids were shoved into the same room and expected to get along. He was polite and always slipping away before the adults could rope him into conversations. Kinda a blur in the background. It was strange, now that you thought about it. “I had no clue,” you said, glancing at him.

He smirked. “Exactly. Nine years old and hopeless.”

You snorted. “I was ten.”

“Which made you older and cooler.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so silly.”

“Look at where that got me,” he said. “Married and bag secured.”

You tried to play it off, but were smiling the whole way home.

Funny how things turn out

💍

Years Later…

You were rushing again. A bag slung over your shoulder and a sandal clutched in one hand as you tried to get out the door. “Yah,” came Jungwon’s voice from behind you. “Slow down.”

You turned, still walking backward toward the front. “We’re gonna be late!”

He was already walking over with a frown. “Be late then. I’d rather that than see you slip and fall.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s only a quick check-up.”

“You’re pregnant,” he reminded gently, reaching for your free hand. “You can’t dash out the door as if you’re not carrying half our future.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile was already spreading. “I know, Jungwon.”

“Then act like it,” he said, his voice too tender for a simple warning. He bent slightly to press a kiss to your lips. “I want both of you safe.”

“Is it possible you’re even more extra now than when we first got married?” you asked, grinning up at him.

“It’s possible,” he replied, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles. “But my love for you grows daily, so I’ve earned it.”

Before you could answer, a small voice was heard.

“Mummy!”

You turned your head just in time to see your little boy sprinting toward you, barefoot in pajamas, hair sticking up. His voice was full of urgency. “Can I have waffles instead of cereal? Please? Daddy burned them last time.”

You bit back a laugh as Jungwon scoffed in defense behind you.

“You burned waffles?” you asked, teasing.

“It was slightly golden.”

“It was black!”

The little boy tugged on your hand. “Mummy, please make them. You don’t burn things.”

You crouched down slowly and pressed a kiss to your son’s forehead. “Waffles it is.”

Jungwon bent beside you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm resting protectively over your stomach again.

💍

You sat back on the crinkly paper of the exam bed, your fingers holding Jungwon’s. The gel on your belly was cold. The doctor was staring at the screen, angling the probe. Jungwon leaned in. “Why is she not saying anything?” he whispered.

You gave him a flat look. “She’s literally right there.”

The doctor suddenly let out an amused breath through her nose. “Well,” she said, looking between you both. “You two are in for a surprise.”

Jungwon straightened. “Surprise?”

You tilt your head. “Surprise what?”

The doctor tilted the monitor toward you and gently pointed. “There’s not just one baby in there. There are two.”

Your mouth gaped.

Jungwon froze.

“…Two?” you repeated.

The doctor nodded, almost laughing. “Twins.”

For a moment, it was silent. You looked at Jungwon. He looked at you. His mouth opened a little. Then closed. Then opened again. “…Like two actual babies?” he said slowly.

You covered your mouth, half-laughing, half-shocked. “No, Jungwon, she meant like metaphorical twins.”

“I’m serious!” he said, grabbing the side of the bed. “That’s double the diapers. Double the- do we even have double the space?”

“Our home is large enough,” you deadpanned.

“Oh my-,” he stared at the monitor again. “They’re going to gang up on us.”

“They’re not even born yet!”

“They’re already plotting,” he whispered, eyes wide.

You let out a helpless laugh. “You’re overreacting.”

He turned to you, softening all over again. “I… I already love them so much. Both of them. All three of you.”

You rolled your eyes, tears welling up as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, nose, and lips. And just like that, once arranged, once full of confusion, your story had turned into something brighter and far messier than you ever expected, but that was the beauty of it. This wasn’t just the end.

It was a beginning again.

[riotgurlll]

PARKER AND MATEO NSFW HCS!! 🩵♟️

HEYYYY GUYSSS…! So I wanted to make a quick nsfw headcannon thing for two characters I LOVEEEEE the most from date everything 😛😛😛☝️

these will be separate, I just wanted to a little Drabble to feed anyone whose HUNGRYYYYY for Parker or Mateo 😍😍

TW: NSFW CONTENT!!

ׂ╰┈➤MATEO MANTA 🩵

• I feel like Mateo is either a service top or a total subby bottom.

It’s in this sweet boys’ nature to take care of people… and animals! He’s just so caring— always putting others before himself… of course he’ll do that for you! He loves taking care of you! Keeping you warm at night, bringing you some coffee from Kopi while you’re snuggled up on the couch watching one of your shows with one of the inanimals in your lap.. he adores you, and he has no problem with doing whatever it takes to make you feel good! That rule applies in the bedroom too.

he’d press warm and loving kisses all over you— your face, neck, collarbones.. down your chest and to your tummy, he’d kiss your thighs.. dude, Mateo would kiss anywhere and everywhere. No doubt. He’d run his soft, big hands all over your body as he asks you between said kisses what you needed from him.. what you wanted. The moment you tell him, he’s on it. Need head? Done! Need to be fucked slow? He gotchu. Needa be railed?? Say less!!

buutttt… what about when he’s overworked? Ugh, this sweetie pie always puts others before himself— it’s a quality you admire, one you’re grateful for! Is selflessness is what makes him so caring, after all! But, it also pains you to see him get so burnt out and tired..! Seeing Mateo overwhelmed makes your heart sting..

so of course you’ll be of service to him, too! He’s always reluctant.. but even he can’t deny that sometimes… sometimes, he just needs you to take care of him. He needs you. He’ll let you do whatever you want.. He’s always so grateful for whatever you’ll give him— for what you’ll do to him.

• He loves head. He loves giving it, receiving it, watching it— HEAD IS HEAD. He loves to give it to you in your times of need… he’d be good at both eating pussy and sucking dick, he just enjoys it so much that he’s amazing at both!! He revels in the feeling of you squirming against his mouth and tongue as he holds your hips close to him- stopping you from wiggling away. He always seems so hungry when he gives you head… he can be gentle, sure- it’s in his nature to be. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get sloppy with it. and when you give him head??? Good GOD. Mateo is a sucker for getting his dick sucked, I can tell you that right now. He’d be squirming, whimpering and whining as you try and take his girth into your pretty little mouth. He’ll watch you with hooded eyes, head resting on his shoulder as he inevitably slides a hand into your hair, helping you move with soft efforts.

• I just know he likes chubby girls AND boys. Now, of course— he’ll love and cherish you no matter what… but something about being with someone who shares a similar softness that he does? With beautiful curves he can grab onto?? HELLLL YEAHHH!! (He’d genuinely be the pic of vanilla don’t play-)

• calls you mami/papi if ur into it?? G-guys… guys?? Where… WHERE IS THE CROWD GOING??-

•I just KNOW his dick is thick as fuck. I think we all can mutually agree on this. He isn’t very long, probably 5 inches at most when hard, but I swear he is thick from top to bottom.

•very vocal. Like, all the time. He’ll whimper if you touch him romantically pretty much anywhere.. he just can’t help it! He loves you so much..! He lets out sighs whenever you two kiss and make out, becomes a moaning mess whenever you grind against him.. And I think he praises you when he’s fucking you- or when you’re fucking him. He’ll talk to through it, thank you, tell you how pretty/handsome you are- anything, he just talks. He moans too of course— but I honestly think he’s the loudest when you suck his cock… there’s just something about it.. he’ll whine, moan, cry, whimper, shiver, literally anything you can think of. The feeling of your mouth around him mixed with the sight of it all??? How could he not?!

• If you sleep naked and you snuggle into your blankets.. he notices. And he is NAWTTT complaining. He’ll tell you later on in your relationship(dating,fwb,etc) that he actually really, really likes it… he tells you it’s bc he feels so close to you— and that’s true! But also, I mean… c’mon, ur hot and naked, he just gets turned on.

‧₊°🖇️✩₊°🎧⊹♡

ׂ╰┈➤PARKER BRADLEY 🃏

• this boy loves tits you cannot tell me otherwise. If you’re a bigger chested woman?? He’s drooling. smaller chested? Drooling. He doesn’t give a FUCK! A boob is a boob and thank GOD you have two!!

He honestly loves to play with them. Squeezing them, tugging at your nipples with slender fingers as he kisses your neck, complimenting you. He’d love to take one into his mouth while he plays with the other too— probably bite you ever so gently.. he can’t help it!!

•he’s vocal and I’ve mentioned this before, but while Mateo is whiney, Parker is more on the breathy and fucked out side. Just imagine it..

• I like the idea/headcannon that he also has another form when he represents freaky games- kinda like how Dorian has multiple different types as well.

I feel like Sexy game!Parker is more dirty minded, but just as humorous and goofy. He makes dirty jokes, of course!! And you always have to abide by the rules, just like you do with normal board games. He probably wears more revealing clothes too… now papa riot doesn’t know WHAT exactly that would entail, maybe she’ll doodle it, we don’t know. But I def feel like he’d be wearing a cropped top and low rise bottoms of some sort.. I just know his v-line is DELECTABLE.

• Lwk a sucker for competition. Like I feel like you two would come up with little bets and challenges before you fuck- like whoever cums first loses, or whoever can get the other to cum the most wins, I dunno— stuff like that.

•spit in his mouth. Now- I’d cross this out, because it’s unhinged, but ykw?? So is Parker!

he’d be taken aback. Maybe you’re on top of him and suddenly he feels your hand on his jaw, slightly inching up his cheek as you quietly tell him to just.. ‘open..’ it’s such a simple demand— and yet it has his cock twitching like crazy. He listens of course, and swallows what you give him.

he’ll look into your eyes- his own cloudy as you bounce up and down, taking his cock in its entirety. The feeling of your hand firmly holding his mouth open as you spit into it, telling him he’s so good for you.. he could cum right away.

•if you can crush smth with your thighs he’d be all over you. Seriously this man is a DOG. he probably likes strong people too.. did you just crush a melon between ur legs?? HE’S TALMMM BOUTTT INNNITTTT!!!

•I feel like his favorite position is probably the snail.. OKAY THE NAME IS DUMB BUT HEAR ME OUT!! He’s so long.. he can probably reach so deep when he’s fucking you like that, the thought would make him blush! Plus, he’d get a lovely view of your chest!

[yeagersss]

Popular!Sukuna x Quiet!Reader (Part 2)

<- Previous

"Library sciences?"

You watched your father go through the brochure you had handed him. You had interrupted him in the middle of his precious TV time. But... you're glad, he atleast decided to talk to you.

"You're switching from business to... this?"

You nodded, playing with the string of your hoodie.

"...It's not that bad."

"Not to you because you're not the one paying for it."

You pursed your lips at that response. "I'll get a part time job."

But your dad eyed you warily, completely unconvinced. "I doubt that completely." And then he let out a frustrated sigh. "What the hell is even the scope of this degree?"

You could tell him your plans. You had researched and thought it through during summer break. You wanted to be an archivist. And a degree in library sciences with a minor in history was definitely enough to pave your path.

It was so much more interesting than business to you. The thing you chose because your older brother chose it. The thing that screwed you over in the first semester after you had a panic attack during your final presentation. You failed miserably to the point that it affected your performance in every other courses.

But you knew telling your father meant even more criticism—more mockery, more 'you don't know any better' so you just shrugged.

And your father merely sighed, tossing the brochure away and running a hand across his face.

"Whatever, just—" He waved at you, signaling that this conversation was over and for you to leave. He was tired, frustrated... so tired of how much you have done... nothing.

You merely picked up the brochure and left the room quietly.

You adjusted your headphones, letting the music overcome your senses as you walked through the campus. You were trying to stay calm.

Because Monday morning meant that you had Classical Japanese History and Culture Studies.

Which meant... Ryomen Sukuna.

In a way, you convinced yourself that Sukuna has probably forgotten about it. It's not like people really gave you that much thought and knowing the kind of person that man is, you were pretty sure getting slapped by some random girl on a Friday night is like the least of his problems.

You entered the classroom and took your seat. You took off your headphones and gently placed them on your desk before rummaging through your bag for your notebook and pens.

That's when you felt someone stand next to you.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

You flinched and looked up, heart leaping to your throat at the sight of Sukuna standing at your desk, face scrunched up in absolute confusion at your presence.

No way.

He remembers you.

You opened your mouth and closed it before clearing your throat and softly replying. "I, uh... I'm in this class too."

"You sit behind me?"

"... Yes."

He genuinely looked like he had experienced some sort of revelation, gazing at you with an intense look that made you squirm. He didn't reply further and just plopped down on his seat. Like he always did.

The difference this time was that he actually noticed you and spared you a second glance and a few words.

You stared at his back for a while, holding your breath, wondering what he'll do next.

But a few girls walked over to his desk to talk to him. So you decided, this was your cue to calm down. You opened your notebook and quietly went through your notes.

"I heard the professor's assigning us a project this semester. Sukuna, do you want to group with us?" One of the girls asked, excitedly, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Pass."

"Aw! Come on, Ryomen. We worked together in Intro to Literature." She leaned closer, resting her hand on his shoulder, a sultry smile on her face. "We could do it again but this time... It'll be a group of three."

You were really thankful that you didn't have to listen to that further because the professor walked in at that very moment.

The girls pouted and walked away.

Turns out, the girls were right about the project. But the only thing that they weren't right about was the fact that it was a group of two.

"I'm tired of getting complaints of students free-riding. So groups of two it is." The professor said strictly as she handed a paper to the student on the first row. "Now, write down your name, the name of the person you'll work with and your roll numbers. That's all for today."

You sighed softly, quietly packing your stuff. You knew there wasn't anyone you could ask. So you decided to ask the professor to assign you with another unlucky person who doesn't know anyone else in this course.

"Oi, quiet girl. Tch, are you deaf?"

You flinched out of your thoughts and stared wide eyed at Sukuna. When the hell did he turn around?

"Uh..."

"You have anyone to group with?"

Why the hell does he want to know that?

Your eyes darted around nervously and then... You noticed the girls from before.

They were glaring at you.

"No—I, uh—" You stammered out.

Sukuna looked satisfied with your answer. He placed the paper on your table and tapped at the empty space... right below his name.

What.

"You know what to do." He said.

"Y-You want to group together... with me?"

"No, I want your fucking autograph—Obviously." He said in sarcasm. But you were still looking at him in utter disbelief. And he sighed, his gaze softening at you—for some reason.

"You seem sensible enough to not screw me and my scholarship over. Now—" He slid the paper closer to you. "Write."

But you weren't convinced one bit. Because in all your years of living, why would someone want to genuinely pair up with you without a hidden motive? Like the girl you thought was your friend, who used you for a free ride and ditched you at the party.

Why would Ryomen Sukuna be any different? Especially after Friday night? Especially after you literally slapped him.

You pursed your lips and shook your head, sliding the paper back to him quietly.

You gathered your stuff and left the classroom, not daring to look back at him.

"Lemme guess. She didn't budge?" Gojo grinned at Sukuna. Both of them walking through the hallway with their other friend, Nanami.

"No." Sukuna simply said.

"Can't believe you finally found a girl who can resist your bad boy charm." Gojo sighed dramatically. "A miracle! I'd die if someone actually did that to me, honestly."

"I knew her from marketing." Nanami spoke up, ignoring Gojo's antics as usual. "Quiet, studious... Although, she has bad experience with participation and... presentations." Sukuna noticed a hint of pity in his voice at the last word.

"So you weren't wrong to ask her. As a group member, she's quite serious about her studies like you are." Nanami said while adjusting his glasses. "Although, I thought she had left."

Sukuna turned his attention to him. "How so?"

"She never showed up for her final exams and failed all her courses in the last semester." Nanami stated which made Sukuna frown.

"Perhaps she switched to another program. There's no need for a business student to take history and culture." Nanami stated.

"Or maybe she's taking it as a free elective." Gojo spoke up, popping open a cherry soda can. "I mean—I'm doing it. Take an easy course. Get free credits."

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, Gojo. You wouldn't even last a second in my program."

Gojo smirked. "Try taking Experimental Physics and then we'll talk, buddy."

But Nanami interrupted them. "May I ask why you want to work with her, Ryomen?"

Sukuna's response was a smirk. "No reason."

Nanami shook his head. Gojo snorted. They both knew that look.

"You wanna toy with her, don't you?" Gojo stated.

Sukuna grinned. "Why the fuck not?" He hummed. "This place is boring as hell. Finally found something to keep me entertained. Her being a good, little student? A plus point."

Nanami sighed tiredly. "Unbelievable..."

You had emailed your professor, asking her if she could assign you a project partner if you failed to find someone. She agreed and said that she'll announce the groups during the lecture next week.

And when next week came, you were nervous. Not only because of whoever it was you were paired up with but also because of what happened with Sukuna last week.

You almost decided to skip class. Almost.

But you won't do that anymore. You had to push on. You had to change and become a better person. You can't keep running away from every miniscule problem you were faced with.

But then...

"You will work with Ryomen Sukuna."

You stared with wide eyes as Sukuna turned around, smirking arrogantly your way.

"Hey."

You should have skipped the lecture today.