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heartnearu · 2 days ago

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truth beneath your quiet | k.hj

guitarist!kim hongjoong x artist!reader

synopsis: hongjoong felt like freedom in a life that only ever caged you—an escape from the place you were told to call home. with him, the noise quieted, the weight eased, and for once, you weren’t drowning in expectations you could never reach. he was everything your heart longed for—everything you wanted, everything it quietly begged for, everything they said was too much to ask. and maybe that’s why your family hated him, because he gave you a glimpse of a freedom they never thought you were worthy of.

genre: romance / slowburn / angst

tropes: forbidden love

songs: what more can i say - the notations

WC: 15,940 [not really proofread]

NOTE: college au/band au | female reader, uses she/her pronouns. reader has mommy/daddy issues, maybe just family issues in general lol.

WARNING!! maybe some self harm(?), i’m unsure if it counts..

PART I

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

you sighed as you and your family entered the building, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

you were instantly surrounded by hollow chatter and practiced smiles, each exchange dripping with forced interest.

it didn’t make sense to you—how your parents insisted on attending these events, only to exchange polite words with people they barely tolerated, while bringing you and your siblings along to either watch the performance unfold or play a part in it yourselves.

you’ve always hated it.

it was all noise and nothing real. people just talk to hear themselves—pretending to care, pretending to listen.

not once did any of it feel genuine—it’s just a parade of perfect outfits, backhanded compliments, and people who only looked down to judge.

it’s a room full of polished lies and overpriced perfume, where everyone smiled like they hadn’t spent the car ride over complaining about each other.

everything about it is suffocating, and you want nothing more than to get out of there.

but all you can do is play your part, and smile at anyone who comes along to ask about your parent’s company.

once you and your family found your reserved table, each of you moved with quiet purpose—to win over investors and uphold the polished reputation of the family and its business.

you lose track of time by the tenth conversation. it hasn’t even been that long, but the way people are talking at you rather than to you makes it feel like the night will never end.

boredom seems to sink in fast when every interaction turns into a monologue about their own accomplishments.

once you were able to escape from the endless small talk, you found a quiet corner and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

you can feel the migraine setting in, and of course it would—tonight of all nights. like being here wasn’t already unbearable enough.

you let out another huff before closing your eyes and rubbing your temple in a frustrated manner.

“having a rough night?” a sudden voice chimed in.

the second you realized you’d been caught, your body snapped upright and your smile reappeared like reflex. it wasn’t until you met their eyes that you realized who you were looking at.

your smile softened into something more genuine, “good evening, mr. and mrs. kim.” you bow to show respect before continuing,“i apologize that you both seem to have caught me at a bad time. i didn’t expect to be seen by anyone.”

mrs. kim laughed under her breath, then waved her hand dismissively. “you have nothing to worry about, dear.” she reached over to adjust your dress, smoothing out a part that had shifted.

you felt a warmth bloom across your chest at the tenderness of her touch—gentle, like she truly cared.

she continued,“mr. kim was just concerned for you.”

being around them made the weight on your shoulders disappear. they were the only ones who were always genuine—every word, every action. you could see it in the way they spoke, in the way they moved.

they truly made it easier to be at these events, these gatherings were the only times your paths crossed anymore, ever since things changed.

“how have you been, my dear?” mr. kim questioned with a playful grin,“what have you been up to?”

you gave a small hum before speaking. “not much, mr. kim. with the semester finished, i had to move out of the dorms for the summer. i’ve been home with my family since.”

“i see,” mr. kim responded with a gentle nod, “it sounds like a well-earned break. i trust your family is keeping you on your toes.”

you nodded, but the words sat heavy.

yeah, they were keeping you on your toes—because resting never seemed to be an option.

you were constantly walking on eggshells, afraid that one wrong step might set everything on fire. but no matter how careful you are, it’s like they’re always searching for something to pin on you.

sometimes it feels like existing is enough to be at fault.

you forced a laugh,“they always do.”

“i hope the transition back home has been smooth. are you finding the time restful?” mrs. kim chimed in, “the process of moving in and out must be quite exhausting. for hongjoong, we only assisted him when he first settled into his apartment.”

the sound of his name made you pause.

hongjoong…

you both go to the same university, but you’re not sure if you’ve ever crossed paths—or if you simply never noticed.

you don’t pay much attention to the people around you anyway. you go where you need to go, do what needs to be done.

nothing more, nothing less.

you haven’t seen him in years. maybe not since high school. now, you’re both entering your final year of college.

you never really spoke to him—you never had a chance to, not with everything that happened between your families.

not with your parents always watching, always hovering.

honestly, you’re surprised you’ve even held a conversation with mr. and mrs. kim for this long.

before you could say a word, a cold voice interrupted, chilling the air that had just begun to feel safe.

“ah, mr. and mrs. kim, such a pleasure,” your father said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. his hand landed on your shoulder like a reminder. “i trust that my daughter has not been too much of a handful.”

“not at all. she’s been lovely company,” mr. kim said with a faint smile. “she’s been a pleasure to speak with, very mature. you should be proud.”

“as she should be, we expect nothing less.” your father replied, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “now if you excuse us, i believe that there are a few more people we need to speak with before the night ends.”

your father offered a final nod before turning sharply, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he led you back to the table—his grip was tight, almost like a silent warning not to resist.

once you reached the table, you were met with silence. no words, no glances—not even from your siblings. it was as if you weren’t there at all.

you sat quietly, watching as your siblings spoke to each other with ease, laughter slipping between them naturally.

your parents chimed in every now and then, switching between adding comments to their conversation and exchanging pleasantries with the adults at the surrounding tables.

it’s always been like this, even at home.

you’ve always felt out of place, like you weren’t meant to be there at all, like you were intruding on a life that was never really yours.

but this is the life you were born into.

you’re the extra in a show they don’t know you’re watching. they forget you exist—it’s like being a shadow at your own dinner table.

they move around you, talk over you, forget you. but the moment they need someone to disappoint them, they remember your name. like you’re invisible, until you’re not.

you let the thoughts drift.

replaying how they treated you only reopened wounds that never healed right.

unseen, unheard, forgotten.

it became a pattern you stopped trying to untangle.

you scanned the room, more out of boredom than curiosity, searching for anything that might distract you for the rest of the night.

your parents clearly had no intention of letting you wander far, it’s like you were on an invisible leash, only allowed to exist within their reach.

your gaze wandered, slipping through the haze of lights and movement—until it landed on him, and everything else seemed to pause.

across the room, someone held your gaze.

your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, trying to place the face that felt just familiar enough to haunt you.

he didn’t flinch—he only smirked, quirking a brow clearly amused by the fact that you were finally looking back.

your heart stuttered, and warmth bloomed across your cheeks.

you didn’t put the pieces together until your eyes shifted to the people beside him. that’s when the pieces seemed to fall into place.

seated beside him were none other than mr. and mrs. kim, making it painfully clear who it was that had been staring at you from across the room.

kim hongjoong.

you couldn’t help but wonder why he was even here.

he had every excuse not to be—living on his own now, far removed from nights like this.

you would’ve given anything to trade places with him, anything to not be here right now.

he looked different.

not in a bad way—just older, sharper, more self-assured.

there was something about him that seemed settled, like he’d figured out who he was.

it showed in the way he dressed, standing out effortlessly in a sea of suits and polished gowns. his bleached hair was a bold contrast to the blacks and browns around him, and somehow, it suited him.

everything about him was different.

and maybe that’s exactly why you couldn’t look away.

you couldn’t stop the jealousy that crept in.

all you ever wanted was to find yourself—to truly know who you are. but deep down, you don’t know if you ever will.

you weren’t raised, you were crafted.

built to their design, shaped to fit a role that was never truly yours. molded into the daughter they dreamed of, not the person you were meant to become.

but even that wasn’t enough to earn their love—they still looked past you. you gave pieces of yourself away, one by one, until there was nothing left to recognize.

now all that remains is the ache of not knowing who you really are.

you were never their child, just a creation.

and in the end, all you became was a stranger to yourself.

your mother’s voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back just before you fell too far in.

a small mercy, maybe.

you blinked, grounding yourself, only to realize your eyes had been fixed on him the entire time—though it wasn’t him anymore. only the absence he left behind.

your brows furrowed, confused.

it wasn’t until the sound of your name echoed through your thoughts that you finally turned your attention to your mother.

your mother looked at you with that familiar expression, disappointment laced with barely contained anger.

her expression tight—barely concealing the frustration simmering beneath. “didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

you cleared your throat before speaking, steadying your voice to make sure it wouldn’t waver—wouldn’t betray anything she might notice. “i apologize, i was lost in my own thoughts. what is it you needed, mother?”

your mother tsked, turning her eyes away from you. “i’ve told you time and time again—pay attention to your surroundings. you’re always somewhere else, lost in thoughts that don’t matter.”

you stared blankly, her words melting into one another—just a stream of noise you couldn’t bring yourself to decipher.

as soon as she fell silent, you lowered your gaze. “i apologize, mother.” the words felt automatic. “it won’t happen again.”

your mothers eyes snapped back at you again, cold and unwavering. her tone even, but laced with judgment. “that kind of mistake shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

your eyes flicked toward her, the silence between you heavy with the words you knew were coming.

“be better.” the words were said under her breath, barely audible. but the threatening tone paired with the look in her eyes and the scowl on her face struck harder than a shout. “we expect more from you. clearly, everything we taught you went to waste.”

it felt like a judgment you could never escape.

you only nodded, turning to look forward. “i understand.”

you’re not sure how much time has passed, though it couldn’t have been long. without much thought, you asked quietly, “may i go to the ladies room?”

your mother gave a reluctant nod, her expression unreadable.

before you stood, your gaze swept over your family. they each seemed lost in their own world, unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.

you got up carefully, pushing in your chair with deliberate slowness. each step toward the restroom was steady, practiced—measured enough to hide the urgency crawling beneath your skin.

you didn’t dare glance back, unwilling to see which expression your parents might’ve worn: disappointment, disapproval, or worse—nothing at all.

as the distance grew, your pace quickened.

the further you got from the table, the more the noise dissolved into a distant hum. by the time you reached the restroom, you shut the door fast and locked it even faster.

a shaky breath escaped your lips. you didn’t need to use the restroom, you just needed an out—away from the heaviness your mother’s presence draped over the already stuffy evening.

thankfully, the venue had single-use restrooms. not rows of stalls and mirrors filled with other people. it was just you and silence.

you wanted to stay in there for the rest of the night, to disappear into the dim hum of the exhaust fan—but you knew you couldn’t.

you stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection that didn’t feel like yours.

your eyes traced every detail, searching, hoping for some small part of yourself you could claim. something you chose.

but there was nothing.

the dress clung to you like expectation—picked out by your mother specifically for tonight.

your hair hung long down your back, untouched by scissors your father never let you near no matter how much you begged and pleaded.

“long hair is beautiful,” he always said, as if your own desires didn’t matter.

even your makeup wasn’t yours. soft, delicate. like porcelain. the way your parents liked it.

and as your gaze lingered, you felt a sharp ache under your skin—an urge to peel it all away.

your hands trembled with the urge to claw at your skin, to dig until it was raw and unrecognizable—just so you could start over.

none of it felt like you.

because none of it was.

you reached for the faucet in a daze, twisting it on with trembling fingers.

soap lathered quickly in your palms, and you scrubbed until your skin stung—until the burning in your hands almost distracted you from the one in your chest.

you rinsed them under the cold stream, a faint relief washing over you as the cool water soothed the rawness.

you let your hands linger there, watching the water spill and swirl.

for a moment, you were still—not deep in thought, just… gone. eyes glazed, mind blank. lost in the sound of running water and the rare stillness surrounding you.

you eventually reached for a paper towel, gently drying your hands and using the edge to turn off the faucet, careful not to undo the brief cleanliness you’d earned.

another towel in hand, you opened the door and stepped out, the faintest sense of calm trailing behind you.

you paused just outside, tossing the damp towel into the nearby bin.

your eyes flicked toward the direction you came from—toward the murmur of voices and clinking silverware that barely reached your ears now.

even from here, you could already feel the weight settling back on your shoulders.

your feet hesitated. your eyes wandered.

and that’s when you saw it.

a small balcony tucked away at the end of the hallway, just out of view when you first walked by.

maybe you missed it because you were too focused on escaping.

you stared at it now—then back toward the banquet room where your parents waited. the decision hung in the air like a held breath.

fresh air or forced smiles.

freedom or obedience.

you lingered, torn between the place that confined you and the one that might finally offer you a moment of your own.

on impulse, you turned on your heel and made your way toward the balcony, quiet but certain. you decided it was time—time to finally do something for yourself.

as you reached the entrance, you paused, just for a moment, eyes scanning the space ahead.

empty.

you stepped forward with a breath of cautious relief, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

your expression softened as the invisible weight you’d been carrying began to ease.

the air felt cooler here. freer.

the shackles didn’t fall off completely, but they loosened—and for now, that was enough.

your arms hung loosely over the edge as you looked up, the moon and stars scattered like quiet promises across the darkness.

you wished you had your phone, not to post, not to prove—just to capture this. the moon suspended in the sky, stars scattered like thoughts you hadn’t yet spoken.

but since you didn’t, you tried to memorize it.

every glint, every clouded edge, every quiet hue. you wanted to paint it later—not to replicate the sky, but to preserve how it made you feel.

to others, it was nothing special. just the moon. just stars. something they saw every night and never really looked at.

but to you, it was everything.

it was untouched by rules, by expectations, by voices telling you what to be.

it didn’t ask to be softened. it didn’t beg to be molded.

it just existed—bold, unashamed, beautiful in its own way.

and standing there, arms draped over the railing, you wished, just for a moment, that you could be like that too.

maybe someday.

you heard the floor creak faintly behind you.

your shoulders tensed, breath catching slightly. for a second, you considered pretending you hadn’t noticed. maybe they’d go away.

but they didn’t.

the footsteps that followed weren’t rushed. they didn’t carry the weight of authority.

not your mother.

not your father.

their footsteps echoed softly across the floor, slow and hesitant.

you kept your eyes forward, keeping your gaze on the sky, clinging to it like a lifeline.

from behind, a low voice threaded through the air—casual, but careful not to startle you,“didn’t think anyone else knew this was here.”

you shifted, eyes flicking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse.

hongjoong leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted with a lazy kind of smirk—like he knew he caught you off guard and was enjoying every second of it.

you hummed softly, eyes back on the sky as he moved beside you—close enough for his presence to brush against your own, but not enough to crowd it.

close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt natural, even comforting.

still, your mind wandered, playing out different ways you could break it, searching for something, anything to say.

“you always this quiet, or am i just that boring?” he said with raised brows and a faint smile. his expression wasn’t judgmental, just curious and playful. “mind if i ask what’s got you looking like that?”

your gaze found his—and he was already watching, like he’d been hoping you’d turn around.

your mind blanked. you opened your mouth, then closed it. you didn’t know what to say, not with him looking at you like that.

he let the silence stretch a second longer before speaking, eyes never leaving yours.

he leaned in just slightly, voice low, the corners of his mouth tugging up in amusement. “don’t worry, i’ll do all the talking if it means you’ll keep looking at me like that.”

you looked away instantly, heat creeping up your neck. “i-i wasn’t… looking at you like anything.” you swallowed, voice quieter than you intended. “i didn’t mean to stare.”

“no?” he tilted his head, that smile still tugging at his lips. “could’ve fooled me.”

he chuckled as the heat from your neck spread to your face. “guess i’ll have to try harder then—get you to really stare.”

your face only burned hotter. “can you not say things like that?”

he grinned, clearly not sorry. “i could… but where’s the fun in that?”

you didn’t smile, not fully—but something flickered in your expression. a warning, or maybe an invitation,“you’re playing a dangerous game.”

his smile deepened, slow and deliberate.

“good,” he said, voice low. “i like a little risk.”

he didn’t move closer, but his presence felt heavier somehow, like the space between you was shrinking without either of you stepping forward.

his eyes lingered, watching your reaction, as if waiting to see if you’d pull away or say something else.

your heart thudded louder than it should’ve. you held his gaze, refusing to look away first.

he’s bringing out a part of you you don’t quite recognize—something unknown, bolder, more exposed.

it sits somewhere between curiosity and fear, and you’re not sure if it’s thrilling or dangerous.

you don’t know how to feel about it.

you just know that when he looks at you like that, it’s hard to think straight. harder to pretend you’re unaffected.

the scariest part is, some quiet part of you likes it—being seen like this. and worse, you’re not sure you’d stop him if he came any closer.

you barely know him, but somehow, this feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be.

something about this moment feels written into your bones. like you’ve been here before in some other life, waiting for him to turn and notice.

and somehow, you find yourself leaning into that feeling, welcoming it with open arms, hoping—maybe foolishly, that it’s real.

your lips parted, a comeback already forming—something to keep up the game.

then you heard the call of your name from afar.

and just like that, the moment cracked.

your features shifted, the spark fading. you didn’t move. part of you didn’t want to look back.

you avoided hongjoong’s gaze, your mind racing with what you’d say when they found you here—anywhere but where you were supposed to be.

as the footsteps drew closer, heavy with authority, your eyes darted around the space—searching, desperate for an out.

then you spotted it.

a narrow corner of the balcony, partially concealed by the wall. it wasn’t much, but it was just enough.

no one would notice it in passing; only someone actually stepping out into the balcony and looking for something would see it.

you moved without thinking.

your hand closed around hongjoong’s wrist, pulling him with you. you pushed him gently into the space first, tucking him deeper into the shadows before slipping in beside him.

instinctively, you angled your body so that if someone were to walk in and spot you, hongjoong would stay hidden. you could step out—say something, take the fall without giving him away.

you could already imagine the hell you’ll go through if you get caught with hongjoong, even if you guys were just talking.

you held your breath, eyes locked on the entrance.

your chest was pressed close against his, your face turned away from hongjoong, focused solely on the spot where the footsteps would appear.

watching, waiting.

you needed to see the moment they arrived—and the moment they left.

the two of you stood still, pressed tightly into the corner as your father came into view. he called your name again, his voice echoing slightly as he peered into the balcony from the hallway.

your brows pinched together, silently praying for him to turn back, to return to the table, to go anywhere else.

anywhere but here.

just when it seemed like he was about to leave, turning slightly on his heel, you saw hongjoong part his lips in the corner of your eye, ready to speak.

your hand moved before he could speak, quickly reaching up and gently covering his mouth.

he froze, eyes locked on yours in surprise.

you quickly brought a finger to your own lips with your free hand, mouthing a desperate shh before glancing back to where your father was.

your father halted for a moment, as if he’d heard something—waiting, listening, on edge.

your chest tightened.

just as he took a step toward the balcony, ready to investigate, a voice called his name from a distance. he turned sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing as he recognized it.

with a practiced smile, he stepped away, heading off to engage in conversation.

you exhaled quietly, relieved someone had caught his attention before he could see you.

“that was close,” you whispered, barely turning to hongjoong.

it was only then that you realized—your hand was still pressed over his mouth.

his eyes met yours, confused but undeniably amused.

flustered, you pulled your hand away in a rush.

“sorry—sorry,” you muttered, words tumbling out as your fingers anxiously smoothed out the front of his clothes, straightening wrinkles you’d caused.

“i didn’t mean to–i just panicked. you were about to talk and i—” you stopped yourself, breath catching again. not from fear this time, but from the way he was looking at you.

his head fell back as he burst into laughter.

you only watched, caught between embarrassment and disbelief, until his laughter gradually softened—until his eyes landed on you again, warm and lingering.

“you know, most people buy dinner before pinning someone to a wall.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, lips curved into cocky smile.

only then did you register how close you were to him. heat bloomed across your face, and you stumbled back in a flustered rush—nearly tripping over yourself in your attempt to put space between you.

you cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “i wasn’t pinning you—i was hiding. big difference.” your voice came out a touch too defensive, only making the heat on your cheeks worse.

hongjoong let out a low chuckle.

“sure,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “but if that’s what hiding looks like with you, remind me to get caught more often.”

you pouted at his teasing and at how flustered he made you feel, your eyes flicking toward the hallway before drifting back to him, the weight of the moment tugging gently at your heart.

“as much as i want to stay,” you murmured, “they’re expecting me… and i should get back.”

he held your gaze for a beat too long, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

then he tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“guess i’ll just wait here, in case you change your mind.” his tone was light, almost teasing—but his eyes lingered on yours, steady and quiet, like he meant more than he let on.

you felt the words settle deep in your chest, heavier than they sounded.

your lips parted, as if to say something—anything. but nothing came.

so instead, you offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite hide the way your heart tugged at the thought of staying.

and then, without another word, you turned and walked away—you could feel his gaze lingering on you, burning at your back.

you wanted to turn around, to say screw it and stay there with him, to let yourself have the moment—consequences be damned.

but you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

because deep down, you weren’t sure what would happen… and that uncertainty held you still.

“wait—” his voice stopped you mid-step. not loud, but urgent enough to reach you.

you turned, just slightly, eyes meeting his once more.

“your number,” he said, softer now. “can i have it?”

his expression had lost the teasing edge—it was honest now, maybe even a little unsure.

like he was afraid this moment might slip away entirely.

you hummed softly, pretending to think—wanting to give him a taste of the same teasing he’d given you, before letting a wistful smile bloom across your face.

“i don’t have my phone,” you said, almost apologetically, “and i doubt you’re the type to carry pen and paper.”

you stepped back, your fingers grazing the edge of the doorway. “if the universe wants it, i’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.”

you shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “besides, summer’s just getting started anyways.”

without waiting for a reply, you turned and walked off—his silence settling like dust in your wake.

as you got closer to the table, the voices grew louder. but this time, the weight didn’t follow.

there was no pressure, no guilt, no knot of worry tightening in your chest—not even the hard stares from your parents could break through the calm as you took your seat.

you were so used to the fear, the pressure, the constant worry of messing up. it had been with you for as long as you could remember.

but something about the short time you spent with hongjoong had shifted that. it left you feeling lighter, almost weightless. instead of you worrying about what others thought about you, your thoughts drifted toward him.

whatever your parents were upset about, you honestly didn’t care. at least not at the moment.

“where were you?” her voice wasn’t loud, but the way she looked at you said enough.

you straightened your dress, ignoring the tension in the air. “i went exactly where i said i would.”

you could feel how much it bothered her—that you wouldn’t look at her. “no one spends that much time in the ladies room,” she said, each word precise.

“that would be correct,” you said, glancing at her from the corner of your eye as you folded your hands in your lap. “i got caught in a conversation with a potential investor. i assumed you’d rather i not walk away from that just to come sit here, right?”

a little white lie never hurt anybody.

a flicker of something passed through her eyes—irritation, maybe embarrassment, but she simply folded her hands and said nothing.

you bit back a small smile, careful not to let it show. she didn’t respond, and that silence alone told you—she knew you were right.

your father was caught up in a conversation with someone beside him, which you figured was the only reason he hadn’t said anything to you yet.

you stayed quiet, your gaze casually sweeping the room until it landed on the kim’s table.

you tried to pretend you only did so to see who was currently speaking on the stage, but you knew that wasn’t why.

you weren’t looking for the speaker talking about their company—you were looking for him.

because even in a room full of voices, he was the only one you wanted to hear.

you noted that he wasn’t at the table yet, it was only his father.

your eyes scanned the room, searching for the only person who stood out in this sea of tailored suits and practiced smiles.

and then you saw him.

he was by the bar with his mother, carefully helping her with her bag while she reached for a drink from the refreshment table.

you shifted your gaze the moment you saw him, careful not to linger too long.

the last thing you needed was your family noticing, or worse—him catching you in the act.

you distracted yourself with the hem of your dress, fiddling with the fabric as if it held answers.

you were waiting for the perfect moment to look up again—and when you did, he was no longer there.

without thinking, your eyes instantly began searching for him.

it didn’t take long.

he was already back at the table with his mother, pulling out her chair softly before sitting down beside her.

he exchanged a few words with both his parents—and then his eyes found yours.

you looked away almost immediately, doing your best to seem unbothered, as if you hadn’t just been watching him like he was the only thing that mattered in the room.

your sister looked at you, confused. “why are you so red?” she asked, brows pinched slightly as she leaned in from across the table.

you could only avoid her stare as you shrugged,“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

she hummed, unconvinced, but leaned back in her seat, still watching you with an amused glint in her eyes.

you met her gaze briefly before turning away, making it clear the conversation was over.

you decided it was best not to glance back toward hongjoong—not after he most likely caught you staring.

just the thought of it made the tips of your ears burn.

how embarrassing.

you’ve only had a small interaction and yet, you’re searching the crowd like you’ve known him in another life—like the crush you swore you didn’t have has already claimed you anyway.

for the rest of the night, you stayed quiet, surrounded by hollow laughter and dull conversation that barely touched you.

your mind drifted somewhere far from the table, to all the places you’d rather be, to all the versions of this night that didn’t include feeling so out of place.

when your father finally leaned in to mention that you’d be leaving soon, you nodded, grateful.

you were more than ready to disappear back into your own space, where no one was watching, and you didn’t need to pretend to be someone you weren’t.

so when your father stood and motioned for you to follow, you didn’t hesitate.

you rose quietly, smoothing your dress as you stepped away from the table, barely listening to the goodbyes being exchanged around you.

something tugged at you, like a thread you hadn’t noticed was still tied to him.

you allowed your eyes to wander, for one last time.

he hadn’t moved, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—like he knew exactly what effect he had on you.

you tilted your head ever so slightly, letting a slow, knowing smile rise to your lips—then turned, walking away like your heart hadn’t almost launched itself into orbit the moment you caught him already looking.

like you hadn’t let one stupid interaction and a series of stolen glances take up more space in your mind than they had any right to.

once you were all in the car and settled into your seats, you reached for the headphones you’d stashed in your bag, ready to tune out the night entirely—when your father suddenly called your name before you can put your earbuds in.

“what did you think you were doing talking to them?” your father’s voice cut through the silence, eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

your mother didn’t turn, but the glare she shot you from the passenger seat was enough.

the rest of the car went still, the weight of what could follow pressing down on everyone like a held breath.

your father didn’t have to say any names for you to know who he was talking about.

“they approached me. i didn’t go looking for them.” your jaw clenched slightly, eyes fixed on a point just past the front seats. “they caught me off guard, and there was no easy way to walk away.”

“no easy way to walk away?” his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “there’s always a way if you actually wanted one.”

he flicked his eyes back to the mirror. “being caught off guard isn’t an excuse. next time, you keep it short, you excuse yourself, and you leave. understood?”

you stayed quiet, offering only a stiff nod. words would’ve only made things worse.

“we didn’t think we had to remind you who you are. but maybe we were wrong to believe you understood what’s expected of you.” your mom kept her tone level, but the sting of her words settled in deep, heavier than if she’d screamed.

you didn’t understand why they were so angry—why they looked at you like you’d done something unforgivable.

part of you wanted to say it out loud, to ask if it wasn’t their precious reputation they were always so obsessed with.

if you’d ignored one of the most powerful names in the room, the rumors would’ve caught fire before the night even ended.

but if it had been your brothers or your sister—or maybe even anyone else but you, they would’ve been applauded.

they would’ve been praised for their composure, their charm, for maintaining the illusion that everything was fine.

they would’ve been called smart for keeping the peace.

but you?

no.

when it’s you, it’s always different.

when it’s you, it’s always wrong.

everything between your parents and the kim’s happened years ago.

you were just a child then, your sister barely out of infancy, your brothers caught somewhere between boyhood and adolescence.

the families used to be close—inseparable, even.

best friends since high school, through college, weddings—they’d stood beside each other at every major milestone, so close it was hard to tell where one family ended and the other began.

after college, they started a company together. and for a while, things were good.

successful, stable.

until it wasn’t.

your parents found papers in the office—documents they believed proved the kim’s were planning a takeover, a betrayal cloaked in business strategy.

they were furious.

when they confronted the kim’s, the response was immediate denial.

“we’d never do that to you,” they said. “you’re family.”

but your parents didn’t believe them. they didn’t even hesitate.

the split was swift, bitter, final. and you’ve heard that version of the story your whole life.

something in you doesn’t want to believe your parents.

a part of you holds on to the quiet hope that there’s more to the story—something they’ve chosen not to tell you, or maybe something they’ve chosen to forget.

you never knew the kim’s the way your parents did. you were just a child when it all fell apart.

but what you do know is that you’ve witnessed the way the kim’s speak to you with gentle voices, with kindness in their eyes, the way they’ve never once returned the bitterness thrown at them—none of it matches the version your parents have painted.

still, their words echo in your head,“wolves always hide in sheep’s clothing.”

you want to believe them. you really do.

but how can you, when the people you were raised to resent are the only ones who’ve ever made you feel safe?

the silence in the car was loud—thick, uncomfortable as you all made your way back home.

you thought about putting your headphones in like you had planned, desperate to tune it all out, but you knew better.

doing that now would only stir more trouble.

“did you see how hongjoong presented himself?” your mother finally broke the silence, her voice sharp with disapproval. “not only did he bleach his hair, but he showed up in completely inappropriate attire. how could they allow him to go out like that?”

her tone dripped with judgment, not even trying to hide the satisfaction of tearing someone down under the guise of concern.

you felt your eye twitch slightly, the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

you bit down on your tongue, trying to distract yourself to stay quiet—to not say something that’d only make your situation worse.

your mother went on, relentless.

“and beomjoong didn’t even show up. how does that look?” she scoffed softly, as if the answer disgusted her. “how could his parents not see how disgraceful it is to let hongjoong show up like that? he looked like—”

she paused, searching for the right insult, “like a delinquent. like he didn’t belong there at all.”

your lips moved before your mind could stop them. “he looked perfectly fine. in fact, he carried himself better than most people there.”

your mother stiffened, but you continued.

“you speak about his appearance as if that’s the real issue—but it isn’t. it’s simply the excuse you’ve chosen. let’s not pretend this is about hair or clothing. we both know it’s not.” your voice was calm, but every word landed with precision.

“you speak about others as though they’re beneath you, simply because they don’t align with your curated standards. it’s cruel.” you looked at her, expression unreadable. “and frankly, it’s exhausting to listen to.”

“you preach values like kindness, acceptance, compassion—but your actions reflect the complete opposite. you carry yourself as if you’re above everyone else, as if judgment is your right.”

your gaze sharpened. “you’re a hypocrite. and that is what’s truly disgraceful, not someone’s hair or outfit.”

you let the silence stretch between you. “perhaps reflect on that before passing judgment on people you’ve never even tried to understand.”

your sister stared at you, mouth slightly agape, while your brothers wore matching expressions of stunned disbelief.

you’ve never been one to speak up.

your mother’s eyes began to well with tears—but you knew better than to fall for it.

she had tears on cue, paired with carefully timed silence—an act you’d seen far too many times.

every sniffle, every trembling breath was designed to shift the blame, to recast herself as the one who’d been wronged.

the victim.

and, like always, she knew someone, who was likely your father—would come rushing to her side, ready to defend her without hesitation or question.

“that’s enough.” your father’s gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “you will apologize. now.”

“how could you say such things about me and your father?” she finally whispered, voice trembling just enough to sound fragile.

“i don’t know when you stopped respecting us.” his voice wasn’t loud, but the words were sharp. “maybe we were wrong to believe you understood what family meant.”

your eyes hardened.

there was so much more you wanted to say—so much you could’ve thrown back at them, called out, forced them to finally see themselves for what they really were—hypocrites hiding behind titles like mother and father.

but you held it in.

you’d said enough for one day.

right now, all you wanted was to get to your room.

to close the door, and breathe without feeling like you were being pulled apart from the inside out.

you’ve always known what family should be—what it could be.

and that’s what makes this unbearable.

it’s only now that you’ve stopped pretending it isn’t.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the slight hums from your speaker filled the room with soft music, barely loud enough to distract from your thoughts.

it was already 2 a.m., yet you were still wide awake—covered in smudges of oil paint, with tubes and brushes scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers to your restlessness.

you sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, hunched over, painting from memory—the stars, the moon, the way they had hung so gently in the sky with beautiful imperfection.

none of it was perfect. but it didn’t need to be. it was never about precision—it was about feeling.

art had always been that for you.

an escape.

a language you learned young, when words weren’t safe.

you were never allowed to speak freely about how you felt. vulnerability was seen as weakness, and your parents made sure you understood that.

so, you learned to keep quiet. learned to keep everything in.

and in the silence, you found art.

it gave everything weight. it let you express emotions you didn’t know how to name.

it gave things meaning, even if that meaning looked different to everyone else.

and maybe that’s what you liked most about it—how a single painting could be a thousand things at once, depending on who was looking.

but no one looked.

no one ever saw them.

your works were hidden. all of them.

canvases shoved beneath your bed, drawings stuffed into old folders, sketchbooks stacked with years of secrets.

every piece was a part of you, and that was the terrifying part.

because even now, as much as you ached to be understood, the idea of someone seeing all that rawness was something you couldn’t bear.

you were told to never be vulnerable.

so you kept everything tucked away.

even the most honest parts of you.

you sat back up again, staring at the painting in front of you.

the stars were too smudged, the moon too bright, but somehow�� it still felt right. like your hands had remembered something your mind wasn’t ready to admit.

you let the brush fall from your fingers. it landed with a soft clink against the jar of turpentine beside you.

then you just sat there, staring—not at the painting, not at the mess, but past it all.

past the scattered thoughts and quiet music and the ache in your chest that you didn’t want to name.

your mind drifted again. back to him.

back to the moment he looked at you.

really looked.

he looked at you like he saw something no one else ever took the time to notice.

and maybe he hadn’t meant anything by it. maybe it was just a glance.

maybe it was nothing.

but it didn’t feel like nothing.

it felt like something.

something you couldn’t name, something you couldn’t explain, something you couldn’t shake.

and it was frustrating.

because why did you care so much?

you barely knew him.

you hadn’t even shared more than a few words, and yet he was the only person your mind kept circling back to—like some unspoken gravity kept pulling you toward him.

you hated how repeatedly you have caught yourself thinking about that evening.

about him.

you sat there. surrounded by paint, by silence, by everything unsaid.

it didn’t make sense.

but maybe it didn’t have to.

because for some reason—when it came to him, everything just felt right.

you sighed, bringing your hands to your lap. they were stained—mostly black and blue, with hints of white, yellow, and everything in between.

you smiled softly at the display.

art, for you, had always been messy. and that’s exactly what you loved about it. there’s no specific rules you need to follow when it comes to art—everything is under your terms.

the smudges on your skin, the splatters on the floor, the uneven brush strokes—they were all part of it. all part of the process.

it was a quiet kind of proof that feeling had been there—that you had poured something real into the canvas, even if no one else would ever see it.

it wasn’t just paint on a canvas.

it was you.

you huffed softly as you stood, careful not to touch anything else—mindful of the paint still clinging to your skin.

your hands reached for the canvas on the floor, as you held it up and tilted your head slightly, studying it.

even though you love art, you rarely love the outcome of your own.

that’s another reason why you always hide them.

you don’t throw them away—you just tuck them out of sight. you let time pass, let yourself forget. because when you find them again, months later, something always shifts.

you’ll look at a piece you once thought was awful, and suddenly it’ll feel different.

softer, better—maybe even beautiful.

you smiled faintly at the thought. maybe this one would be like that too.

walking across the room, you made your way to the small nail near your door.

you’d placed it there specifically for the pieces that needed to dry before disappearing beneath your bed.

it was hidden by the door when it opened, it was a little secret spot.

no one would see the painting unless they closed the door all the way.

you hung it up gently, stepping back to look one last time.

it still didn’t feel finished.

some things speak loudest when they’re incomplete.

you walked back to where you were before, reaching for your scattered supplies. one by one, you began putting them back in their rightful place—brushes in jars, paint tubes capped and tucked away, canvases stacked neatly beneath your bed like secrets only you were allowed to know.

once everything was back in order, you stepped out into the hallway and made your way to the bathroom. under the soft hum of fluorescent lights, you began scrubbing the paint from your skin—blues, blacks, yellows clinging to your hands like memories that didn’t want to let go.

when you returned, the room was still. quiet. the kind of quiet that usually invited sleep.

you laid back down, pulling the blanket over you, letting your body sink into the mattress. you closed your eyes. waited.

but it didn’t come.

after several minutes of twisting, turning, sighing heavily into the darkness, you reached for the lamp and turned it back on.

the light felt harsh at first, unwelcome, but somehow necessary.

you got up and walked over to your desk, grabbing a sketchbook from the top drawer.

your fingers brushed over the cover, familiar and worn.

the edges were bent, creased from how often you flipped through it.

in the beginning, you always tried to keep your sketchbooks looking neat, looking perfect. but by the time you reached the last page, they always looked a little worn.

you’ve grown to like that.

it meant you’ve filled them with something real. it meant you used them fully.

you sat in your chair and opened it, flipping through pages filled with old thoughts, half-finished ideas, images captured in pencil, charcoal, ink, oil pastels.

each one different. each one saying something you didn’t know how to say out loud.

once you landed on an empty page, your pencil met the paper.

your hand moved without asking for permission, gliding in strokes that felt erratic but calm, unplanned but certain.

you didn’t know what you were drawing—not at first.

it felt like your hand had a mind of its own, like your heart knew something your thoughts hadn’t caught up to yet.

and still, you drew.

you didn’t think much as you continued.

your hand just… moved.

lines began to form—soft at first, then sharper.

you tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly as you tried to make sense of the shapes forming beneath your pencil.

still, you didn’t stop.

you shaded beneath the eyes—eyes you hadn’t meant to draw.

they weren’t exact, but there was something familiar about them.

the angle of the brow, the softness around the lashes, the quiet intensity. it felt accidental but intentional at the same time.

you paused, blinking.

the line of the nose. the curve of the lips. that faint smirk you didn’t even know you’d memorized.

you stared at the page, realization sinking in slowly.

it was him.

you hadn’t meant to draw him—you didn’t even know you remembered his face that well.

but there he was.

quiet, undefined in some places, but undeniably him.

you leaned back in your chair, pencil resting lightly in your fingers.

you didn’t know what it meant. or why your thoughts kept coming back to him no matter how far you tried to pull away.

it seemed that no matter how much you tried to stop thinking of him, he found his way into everything.

even here.

even in the one place that had always been just yours.

your escape.

and yet—he had slipped into it, effortlessly.

not by force, not loudly, but gently. quietly.

so quietly, you hadn’t even realized he was there until it was too late.

you looked down at the sketch again, heart tight in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

you didn’t mean for this.

but somewhere deep down, you knew you did.

your heart had already chosen before your mind caught up. he lived there now—in the parts of you you didn’t speak of.

your sketchbook remained open as you sat there, staring at the rough sketch of hongjoong.

you didn’t tear the page out, not this time.

you let it stay—unfinished, imperfect, honest. like the way he’d taken up space in your mind.

quietly, without permission.

as if he was meant to be there all along.

you tilted your head back with a groan as you ran your fingers through your hair.

how did he get here?

not physically—no, he was somewhere far from this room, probably asleep, probably unaware that he’d managed to invade the one part of your life that had always been just yours.

how did he make his way into your mind so effortlessly?

into your thoughts, your sketchbook, your mind?

you hated it.

you hated how easily it happened.

how you didn’t even realize you were letting him in until he was already everywhere.

you leaned forward again, elbows resting on the edge of the desk, your eyes falling once more on the sketch.

his face stared back at you—soft around the edges, incomplete, but still him.

you didn’t know what he wanted from you.

you didn’t even know what you wanted.

but you couldn’t deny it anymore.

he was here. and some part of you had let him in.

what made it worse—what made it infuriating was the thought that he was probably left completely unaffected.

unscathed.

meanwhile, you here you were—spiraling.

your eyes narrowed, glaring down at the face that stared back at you from the page.

your brows drew in, tight with frustration.

without thinking, you snapped the sketchbook shut.

“fuck,” you muttered, dragging your hands down your face, as if you could scrape the feeling off your skin.

you sighed, for what felt like the millionth time tonight—and let your elbows fall onto the desk, resting your head in your hands.

“just how pathetic am i?” you whispered into the silence.

and the silence, as always, said nothing back.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

the next morning, you woke up late.

luckily, it was the weekend, so it didn’t really mean much.

with a quiet groan, you stretched, rubbing your eyes one last time before reaching for your phone on the bedside table.

you squinted against the light as the screen lit up—almost one in the afternoon.

you were confused.

by now, your parents usually would’ve barged in, barking about how late it was and why you weren’t up yet.

but the house stayed quiet. maybe they were still bothered by what you said yesterday. or maybe they hadn’t even noticed you were still in your room.

either way, you were grateful.

no yelling, no orders—no being told what to do while your siblings sat right there, untouched by the same expectations.

you set your phone back down and finally got up.

the air still held that faint smell of turpentine. it used to bother you, but by now it was familiar—just another part of your space.

you made your way to the window and cracked it open, letting the summer breeze slip in.

you stood there for a moment, staring out, letting the light wash over you.

it felt… different.

everything looked brighter. the kind of bright you hadn’t noticed in years.

like how summer used to look when you were a child—before things got heavier. before the world turned gray.

the grass looked greener, the trees seemed to glow, the sky shimmered, soft clouds moving lazily like they had all the time in the world.

you took a deep breath. the air felt light, clean—almost like it used to.

a small smile tugged at your lips.

you turned to head to the restroom, but your eyes paused on your desk. your sketchbook sat there, untouched since last night.

still. waiting.

you didn’t open it. just stared at it for a moment.

your fingers brushed lightly against the cover before you slid it back into your drawer.

you stood there, unmoving.

thinking about the face you’d drawn—the person who hadn’t left your thoughts since you first saw him.

you told yourself it was just a drawing, lines on paper.

a coincidence, a passing moment.

just a face.

just a sketch.

just someone who somehow kept finding his way into your mind.

but you knew better.

you continued your way to the restroom, deciding it was finally time to start your day—unknowing of how difficult that would be, when your mind had already chosen to orbit one person and one person only.

no matter what you did, he was there—in the quiet.

in the corners of your thoughts where no one else had ever stayed this long.

and the day hadn’t even begun.

・୨ ✦ ୧・

a couple of days had passed since the banquet.

each day blurred into the next—the same routine, the same attempts to focus, the same silent battle against the thoughts that refused to leave you alone.

him.

you tried to shake it.

tried to move forward, to do what needed to be done, to forget.

but every task was shadowed by him. every silence filled with the memory of a glance, a voice, a presence.

it was starting to wear on you—how persistent it all felt. how he clung to your thoughts like something you couldn’t wash off.

you were annoyed.

frustrated even—yet you were still thinking of him.

as if your own mind had betrayed you, as if some part of you had quietly decided he was worth remembering, even when you swore he wasn’t.

your sketchbook had become the quiet evidence of it all.

it was no longer just one rough sketch.

page after page—each one different, yet all the same.

they were filled with different versions of him.

the way he looked at the banquet, the slight curve of his mouth, the way the light caught in his eyes—things you didn’t know you had memorized until they were already marked on the page.

you were embarrassed.

no matter how hard you tried, it always led back to him.

you could start a drawing with every intention of creating something else, anything else—but somewhere along the way, the lines would shift, the shapes would change, and suddenly…

it was him again.

his eyes.

his mouth.

the quiet tilt of his head.

details you never meant to remember, but did anyway.

it wasn’t on purpose.

at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

but the evidence said otherwise—page after page of it.

you hated how easily your hand betrayed you. how your thoughts wandered, uninvited, back to him the moment your pencil touched the paper.

you used to draw to escape.

now it felt like you were only chasing him across every page.

you stared at the latest sketch, jaw tense, breath shallow.

you hadn’t even realized it was him again until it was too late.

the eyes gave it away. they always did.

you dropped the pencil like it burned.

your hands hovered for a moment—uncertain, caught between wanting to tear the page out and not being able to touch it at all.

you didn’t move.

you just sat there, staring.

and then, with a frustrated breath, you slammed the sketchbook shut.

the sound echoed, louder than it should’ve in the quiet of your room.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes stinging.

you didn’t cry.

you didn’t scream.

you just sat there—still, silent, and tired.

you felt stupid.

all of this for someone you barely even know.

and yet, he was still everywhere.

you heard your brother call your name from the hallway, pulling you from your thoughts.

you turned your head toward the doorway as he stepped in. “mom said if you could go out for groceries. she needs a couple things for dinner.”

you looked away, glancing at the time. it was around 10 am, seemed like the perfect time to get out of the house.

you nodded slowly. “tell her i’ll be right down.”

he gave a quick nod and left without another word.

you sat there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle again before finally getting up.

you felt grateful for the errand—it gave you an excuse to leave the house. to move and be distracted.

to breathe something that wasn’t thick with thoughts of him.

you changed into something simple, made yourself look presentable enough, and headed downstairs to talk to your mother.

after getting a list of what she needed, you made your way out.

as you stepped out the door, your eyes flicked to the driveway—three cars, each one parked neatly, unused. their owners still inside, doing whatever they pleased.

you scoffed under your breath.

of course they sent the only one without a car to run the errand—your mother could’ve even went herself but decided to send you instead.

you shook your head with a dry laugh, reaching into your bag to grab your headphones.

you untangled the wire, fingers moving on instinct, and plugged them into your phone. music poured through them the second they connected—loud, familiar, numbing in all the ways you needed.

you made your way toward the bus station, each step pulling you further from the house, from the stillness of your room.

and yet, even with music blasting in your ears and the distance between you, you still felt him there—just beneath the surface.

once you made it to the shopping center, you felt more at ease.

even with the sun beating down on you as you walked, there was something calming about being away from the house.

away from the walls that remembered too much.

just the act of being somewhere else—surrounded by people who didn’t know you, who didn’t expect anything.

it brought you a strange kind of peace.

you walked into the grocery store with your phone in hand, the grocery list glowing softly on the screen.

the mundane task felt lighter than usual.

you grabbed a cart, dropped your bag into it, and started humming quietly to the music still playing in your ears.

your fingers trailed along boxes and shelves as you moved through the aisles, checking off items one by one.

but as you reached for the last item, you caught sight of someone passing by in the corner of your eye.

you turned slightly, expecting a stranger, but your breath caught when your eyes landed on a familiar figure a few aisles over.

it wasn’t him.

but for a second, your heart genuinely believed it could’ve been.

you quickly looked away, irritated with yourself—your chest ached in a way you didn’t want to name.

you focused on the list again, as if the words could ground you.

as if bread you were holding could erase the memory of his face, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

you clenched your jaw and pushed the cart forward.

this wasn’t supposed to happen here.

not in the grocery store.

not in the middle of a list, of a normal day, of a moment that had felt so peaceful just minutes before.

but he had a way of finding you—even when he wasn’t there at all.

you went to the cashier, slightly annoyed.

could you really be that delusional?

to imagine him in the store, to trick yourself into thinking a stranger was him—when it wasn’t even close?

you sighed, placing your items on the conveyor belt with a little more force than necessary.

the thought lingered in your chest like embarrassment, warm and heavy.

he wasn’t here. he never was.

just your mind playing tricks on you again. pulling him into places he didn’t belong.

you avoided eye contact with the cashier, mumbling a polite greeting as you pulled out your wallet.

you were tired of this.

tired of carrying him everywhere.

tired of missing something you never even had.

as the cashier scanned the last item and gave you the total, you nodded quietly, paid, and gathered your things.

you needed to get home.

or maybe you just needed a distraction—anything to pull your thoughts away from the spiral they were so eager to fall into.

as you stepped outside, your eyes landed on the cafe across the street.

a small place tucked between a laundromat and the thrift store you usually go to when you’re back home, with soft-colored umbrellas and a chalkboard sign you couldn’t quite read from where you stood.

it had to had recently opened at least this year because you hadn’t seen it last time you came home. either way you’re happy you found out about it now.

what’s better than getting a sweet treat after days of suffering with unwanted thoughts?

you sighed through a soft smile and waited for the light to change.

the walk over was short, but it gave you just enough time to convince yourself you deserved this—something soft. something warm.

something that didn’t remind you of him.

you pushed the door open, the soft chime of the bell above greeting you like an old friend.

the scent of coffee and sugar immediately wrapped around you.

you pulled your headphones down to rest around your neck as you approached the counter. the music still played faintly, a soft hum against the quiet murmur of the café.

you greeted the cashier with a polite smile, then ordered a drink and one of the pastries displayed behind the glass—something sweet, something warm. comfort disguised as dessert.

after paying, you thanked them and glanced around until your eyes landed on a small table by the window.

it was tucked away just enough to feel hidden, like a quiet corner made for people who didn’t want to be seen.

you placed the grocery bags on the bench, then sat down beside them.

the window beside you let in soft light, casting a faint glow across the wooden table.

outside, people passed by without urgency. and for a moment, you let yourself exist in the quiet.

being out in public alone wasn’t new.

it was something you did all the time, so it wasn’t awkward for you to sit by yourself. in fact, you preferred it.

you weren’t one to go to parties or to even go out much. you don’t really have close friends so no one was really there to push you to go out either.

but it’s not something that makes you sad, going out alone is sometimes fun.

you liked to watch the world around you move, to see people living their lives in real time.

couples holding hands, kids tugging at their parents, strangers laughing over coffee, others rushing past with purpose.

it fascinated you—how your life could be going one way while someone else’s was moving in a completely different direction.

different stories, different pain, different joy.

all unfolding at the same time.

it made you feel small in a comforting way.

like whatever you were feeling, whatever you were carrying, it wasn’t the only thing that existed.

and for a moment, that made it easier to breathe.

as you waited for your name to be called, you reached into your bag and pulled out the sketchbook that had been haunting you for the past few days.

you had shoved it in last minute before leaving the house, telling yourself it was just in case—just in case something caught your eye, just in case you wanted to draw.

like it wasn’t already a habit you couldn’t break.

you always brought it. whether or not you used it.

the only times it didn’t were when you forgot it completely or were dragged to one of your parents’ fancy banquets—where everything was too polished, too formal, and too suffocating for something as vulnerable as that.

you held it for a moment, thumb brushing over the worn cover. it felt heavier than it should have.

still, you opened it.

you flipped through the pages with practiced ease, your fingers moving faster the closer you got to the ones of him.

you didn’t stop.

you didn’t let your eyes linger.

you skipped past them like they meant nothing—even though they did.

once you reached a blank page, you laid the sketchbook flat on the table, smoothing it open.

you reached into your bag again, pulling out the small pouch that held your pencils, erasers, sharpener, and blending tools.

your eyes shifted between the blank page and the view just beyond the window.

people walked by—some alone, some in pairs, some speaking with their hands while others kept their heads down.

you wanted to capture it.

not their faces, not exact likenesses, but the feeling.

the essence of movement—of separate lives unfolding at the same time.

you wanted to draw what it meant for everyone to be living so differently, all while passing through the same sunlight.

your pencil hovered above the paper.

you weren’t sure where to start.

but still, you wanted to try.

you worked in silence, the world outside the window moving around you while your own world narrowed to the page in front of you.

a clean start.

or at least, that’s what you were hoping for.

even without your headphones on, you didn’t hear your name being called.

you were too absorbed—lost in the lines, in the way your pencil moved without needing to think.

it wasn’t until a sudden voice beside you broke through the quiet that your attention snapped.

your head lifted slightly, startled, fingers still resting against the page.

“didn’t think i’d find you here.”

you froze.

your heart stuttered in your chest before you even turned to face them properly.

but you already knew.

you didn’t need to hear his name, didn’t need to see his face to recognize the voice that had been living rent-free in your head for days.

slowly, you turned to the person fully.

and there he was.

hongjoong.

he was standing by your table, holding what seemed to be the drink and pastry you had ordered earlier.

his eyes were amused, his smirk lazy—calm in a way that made everything inside you feel the exact opposite.

there was just enough familiarity in his gaze to knock the air right out of your lungs.

he glanced down at your sketchbook with a tilt of his head, brow raised in quiet amusement.

“is that me?” he asked, teasing.

your heart dropped.

you could feel the heat rush to your face, your entire body going stiff in a flash of panic.

“huh?”

you snapped your gaze down to the page in front of you, bracing for the worst.

but when your eyes finally focused, all you saw was what you had actually meant to draw—the street outside the café, figures in motion, the quiet chaos of daily life.

no eyes like his. no familiar curve of a smile.

just lines.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

when you looked back at him, he was chuckling softly.

“i’m only joking,” he said, the smirk on his face still lingering, but his tone gentler now.

he placed the drink and pastry on the table in front of you. “hope you don’t mind that i brought you your stuff. i was ordering when they called your name, and when i saw you distracted… i figured you didn’t hear them the second time. so i grabbed them and brought them over.”

he spoke casually, like it was nothing. like it wasn’t unraveling you a little more with every word.

you blinked, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

“do you mind if i sit with you?” he asked it gently, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table, like he wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.

you responded with a quiet noise and a simple nod, letting the silence carry what you couldn’t say.

he seemed to take that as enough, sliding into the bench in front of you and sitting down across from you, his movements unhurried, calm in a way that only made your pulse quicken more.

you still felt the warmth on your face from your embarrassment. still, your eyes drifted to the drink and pastry in front of you.

once you were sure you wouldn’t fumble your words, you cleared your throat again. “thank you for bringing me my stuff. i didn’t hear them call my name. i really appreciate it.”

he waved it off with a smile. “it’s nothing. honestly, i’m kind of glad you didn’t—if you had, i wouldn’t have gotten the chance to play the hero. or even notice you hiding in the corner like some mysterious café stranger.”

you let out a quiet but nervous laugh, the tension easing just slightly. “i wouldn’t say mysterious café stranger. i’m more like… a random person keeping to themselves in a corner.”

his smile widened, and he leaned back a little in his seat. “well, i noticed. you seem to keep to yourself a lot.”

you tilted your head slightly, brows raising—not defensive, just curious.

he sat back upright, somewhat panicked. “not that it’s bad, you know? i’m just saying… i always seem to find you alone. keeping to yourself. it’s like—”

he paused, letting out a breathy laugh, “—like you exist just slightly out of reach. not in a weird way or anything, just… you’re there, but not really trying to be noticed. which, i guess, makes it kind of hard not to notice.”

his words trailed off, eyes flicking away like he hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud.

when he finally made eye contact with you again, you paused for a moment, watching the way his confidence flickered just slightly at the edges.

then you laughed—soft, genuine, a little amused. “i didn’t know you could get this nervous, hongjoong.”

his lips parted, caught somewhere between pretending to be offended and not knowing how to respond.

“i’m not nervous,” he said, too quickly. then, with a grin, “okay—maybe just a little. you’re not exactly the easiest person to read, you know.”

you leaned back slightly, still smiling. “i didn’t think i was that hard to read.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you kind of are. quiet, observant, always sketching something… it’s like you’ve got a whole world in your head no one’s allowed into.”

that made you still for a second—not because he was wrong, but because he wasn’t.

you looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim.

you hummed, eyes flicking up to meet his.

then, with a teasing lilt in your voice, you asked, “how many times have you seen me for you to know such things about me?”

you watched him carefully, amusement dancing in your eyes, already knowing the answer would probably surprise you.

he shrugged, but there was a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“enough,” he said simply. “more than you’d think.”

and the way he said it—calm, unbothered, just a little smug, made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

the sound of his name being called from the counter broke the moment.

he turned toward the voice, then looked back at you.

“i’ll be right back,” he said, voice softer now—like he didn’t want to leave the space the two of you had just created.

you nodded, and as soon as you did, he stood and walked off to grab his order.

your eyes followed him for a second longer than you meant to before dropping back down to your sketchbook—his seat still warm across from you.

you looked back out the window, then let your gaze drop to your sketch again. your eyes narrowed slightly.

it could be better. some of the details were still missing, a few lines too light, others not quite right.

but it was enough—for now.

if you couldn’t focus with just the thought of him, it would only get worse with him sitting right in front of you.

you closed the sketchbook softly, slipping it off the table before gathering your utensils and tucking them back into your pouch.

a moment later, hongjoong sat down again with a quiet huff, placing his drink and pastry in front of him.

his eyes flicked to your now-closed sketchbook on your lap, then back to you.

“what were you drawing?” he asked, casually—though his tone held just enough curiosity to make you wonder how long he’d been thinking about it.

“oh—um, i was drawing the people i saw walking by outside,” you said, your fingers lightly brushing over the zipper of your pouch. “i was waiting for my name to be called, and when i looked out the window, it just… felt like the perfect time.”

you glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

“it’s not finished or anything,” you added quickly. “just rough sketches. nothing special.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as he unwrapped his pastry.

his gaze lingered, and it made you nervous—like he was seeing more than you meant to show.

you looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim once again. “it’s just that… i saw people just living in the moment, and i find it fascinating that we’re all under the same sky, but we’re all going through different moments.”

you kept talking, rambling without meaning to—caught up in the thought. “like… we’re all walking past each other, carrying things no one else sees. and sometimes it’s nice to just… capture that.”

you trailed off when you noticed the way he was looking at you—quiet, focused, unreadable in a way that made your breath catch.

“ah—sorry,” you said quickly. “was i going on for too long?”

hongjoong shook his head, a gentle smile forming. “no. not at all.”

he paused, then added, “i doubt anything you draw is just ‘nothing special,’ especially if you’re the one seeing it that way.”

he took a sip from his drink, his eyes still on you. “i mean, you zone out so hard when you’re drawing, it’s kind of intense. makes me wonder what you’re actually seeing.”

his words weren’t mocking. if anything, they felt… genuine, curious.

like he meant every word of it.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

he wasn’t teasing.

he wasn’t joking.

he meant it.

you felt the warmth creeping back up your neck, your instinct kicking in to soften the moment before it became too real.

“you make it sound like i’m seeing some deep, hidden truth,” you said with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “it’s not that serious. i just… get carried away sometimes.”

“exactly,” he said, leaning forward again, his voice softer now. “that’s what makes it interesting.”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

so you looked down at your drink, smiling to yourself, a little stunned, a little shy.

you weren’t used to someone paying attention like that.

he pushed the plate with your pastry closer to you, his expression somewhere between amused and gently insistent.

“eat,” he said. “you’ve hardly touched what you ordered. don’t be shy—i’m almost finished with mine and you were here before me.”

you giggled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

his words, his tone—it was all so casual, but it warmed you more than you expected.

you nodded, still smiling, and began tucking your pouch and sketchbook away, setting them gently into your bag before reaching for the pastry.

it felt… safe.

as you brought your drink to your lips, hongjoong leaned back in his seat again, that familiar glint of amusement returning to his eyes.

“so,” he said casually, “now that i’ve caught you once again… does this mean i can have your number?”

the words were smooth, but there was something genuine tucked beneath the playfulness—like he meant it, even if he said it with a grin.

you raised an eyebrow over the rim of your cup, taking a slow sip before setting it down. “so that’s your plan? catch me off guard and ask for my number while i’m mid-sip?”

hongjoong chuckled, unbothered. “worked, didn’t it?”

you leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on the table, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “depends. how often do you ask mysterious strangers for their number at cafés?”

he held a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “ouch. you wound me.”

you shrugged,“not really… but it was fun to say.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “so.. is that a maybe?”

you let the silence hang for a beat, drawing it out just enough to make him wait. “ask me again when you finish your pastry.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly accepting the challenge.

“finish my pastry, huh?” he said, eyes locked with yours, a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

before you could say anything else, he picked up what was left of it and took a dramatic bite—then another, and another.

until there was nothing left but crumbs and a smug sense of triumph.

he dusted his hands off exaggeratedly and leaned back, eyes gleaming.

“done,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“so,” he continued, tapping the table lightly, “do i get your number now, or are you gonna switch up again?”

you stared at him, half-amused, half-stunned.

“…that was kind of impressive,” you admitted, laughing under your breath.

“i’m kind of determined,” he replied, voice softer this time. “especially when it comes to you.”

you pretended to think, eyes narrowing playfully as you peeled the wrapper from your pastry—unaware of what he last said.

“hmm… i don’t know,” you said, dragging the words out. “what if i wanted to try your pastry? now i can’t, because you finished it before i could even ask.”

hongjoong pouted dramatically, then shrugged like he’d already prepared for this exact scenario.

“easy solution,” he said. “i’ll buy a dozen. maybe more. all for you—if it means i get your number and get to spend the rest of today with you.”

you quirked a brow, feigning suspicion. “oh really?”

he nodded, completely serious now. “really.”

there was no teasing in his voice anymore—just that soft certainty that made your heart skip a beat.

you took a slow bite of your pastry, pretending to weigh your options.

“hmm… that is a pretty tempting offer,” you said, voice light. “but what if you’re just saying that to get my number and then vanish?”

hongjoong placed a hand over his heart, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “you really think i’d disappear after offering you a dozen pastries? that’s… cold.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “fine. you win.”

you reached into your bag, pulled out your phone, and slid it across the table toward him. “put your number in. if i don’t get at least one pastry out of this, i’m blocking you.”

his grin returned instantly as he picked up your phone. “deal. but i’m aiming for at least three.”

you rolled your eyes playfully as you took another sip of your drink, then nudged your plate toward him. “do you want some?”

he pointed to himself with exaggerated shock. “are you talking to little ole’ me?”

you stifled a laugh, biting down a smile. “who else would i be talking to?”

he leaned in just a little, resting his chin in his hand as he grinned. “i don’t know, you just seemed so mysterious earlier. i wasn’t sure if i’d earned the right to share pastries with you yet.”

“well,” you said, nudging the plate again, “consider this your reward for being persistent.”

he reached for a piece, still grinning. “best reward i’ve ever gotten.”

he excused himself for a moment to go back to the counter, saying something about needing to grab more pastries to go.

you watched him from your seat, amused at how serious he seemed about it.

when he returned, small paper bag in hand, the two of you picked up where you left off—talking easily, the conversation flowing as if it had always been there waiting.

you both took turns asking questions, getting to know each other.

simple things at first—favorite movies, worst childhood haircut, the kind of music you played when no one was listening.

and then, somewhere in the middle of it, he mentioned it. casually, like it wasn’t anything important.

“i’m actually part of a band,” he said, sipping from his drink.

your head tilted slightly, eyes lighting up with curiosity.“wait, seriously?”

he nodded, lips curling into a small, amused smile.“yeah. we’ve been playing together for a while now. it’s kind of a big part of my life.”

“what do you do in the band?” you asked, leaning in a little without realizing.

he glanced at you, clearly holding back a grin. “i write most of our stuff. i rap. sometimes i produce. play guitar when we perform live—depends on the song, really.”

you blinked, visibly impressed. “so… you’re kind of a big deal on campus.”

he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “depends who you ask. i guess people know us, yeah. we play at a lot of the events, campus fests, open mic nights—stuff like that.”

your mouth opened slightly, eyes wide. “wow. that’s actually really cool.”

you bit your cheek, hesitating for just a second before blurting it out. “how have i never heard of you guys? or even known you were in a band? we’re literally on the same campus. in the same year.”

hongjoong grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “guess you’ve been too busy hiding in your sketchbook to notice.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, fighting back a smile.“maybe i just wasn’t looking in the right places. i don’t really pay attention to the people around me.”

“well,” he said, voice warm and smug all at once, “lucky for me, you’re looking now.”

you scoffed lightly, looking away in an attempt to seem unfazed.

“don’t get too confident,” you muttered, taking a sip from your drink to hide the way your lips were twitching into a smile.

he chuckled, clearly catching it anyway.

“too late,” he said. “confidence is kind of my thing.”

you shook your head, setting your cup down. “so is being annoyingly smug, apparently.”

hongjoong leaned in just slightly, elbow on the table, eyes locked on yours. “only when it works.”

you tried to hold his gaze, tried to look unimpressed.

but your smile betrayed you.

just a faint curve of your lips—barely there, but enough.

he noticed. of course he did.

you sighed, shaking your head with mock defeat. “fine. maybe just a little.”

his grin widened, pleased.

“i’ll take it,” he said, sitting back like he’d won something.

and maybe he had.

you looked down at your hands, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your cup once again.

“you’re not that bad to talk to,” you added softly, almost like an afterthought.

he glanced at you, something gentler settling in his expression. “you’re not either.”

you checked your phone for the time, seeing that it’s barely the early afternoon.

you looked back at him with a playful grin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“well then,” you said, nudging your cup aside, “we should probably get going, shouldn’t we? we’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “is that your way of saying you’re spending the rest of the day with me?”

you stood, grabbing your bag along with the groceries you had bought earlier and tossing him a look over your shoulder. “you did promise me pastries, didn’t you?”

he laughed, standing up to follow. “right. pastries. totally not just an excuse to keep you around.”

he reached out to take the grocery bags from your hands, glancing toward the parking lot.

“want to leave these in my car for now?” he offered.

you hesitated, shaking your head lightly. “oh, i don’t want to bother you with anything like that. i can just carry them.”

he frowned, already taking the bags. “there’s no need when my car’s parked right around the corner. we can just drop them off and grab them again before you head home.”

he paused, then added, softer, “and… you’d never be a bother.”

you scrunched your nose at him playfully. “let me find out you’re just doing this to trap me into spending more time with you.”

he smirked, eyes gleaming. “don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company, princess.”

you stuck your tongue out at him in response, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

you walked beside him as he led the way to his car, your steps light, the atmosphere warmer than the sun beaming overhead.

“so,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “do you make it a habit to charm girls with pastries and trunk space?”

he laughed under his breath. “only the ones who sketch strangers in cafés and pretend they don’t know what effect they have.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“that was oddly specific,”you muttered.

“maybe,”he said, unlocking his car,“but not untrue.”

he opened the trunk and gently set your bags inside like they were something fragile.

you watched quietly for a second, something soft settling in your chest.

he wasn’t just charming—he was attentive. and that scared you a little more than you wanted to admit.

“there,”he said, turning back to you, brushing his hands off with a grin. “safe and sound. now you’re free to roam the world with me.”

“wow,” you said, crossing your arms. “you’re dramatic and efficient.”

“away can i say?” he agreed proudly. “i’m multitalented.”

“oh, whatever,” you said, brushing him off with mock exasperation.

but the smile on your face betrayed you—soft, unshakable, and real.

your cheeks were starting to ache from how much you’d smiled around him, and it hadn’t even been that long.

he noticed.

of course he did.

his eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, warm and amused, like he was committing the expression to memory.

and for a second, neither of you said anything.

just silence.

comfortable.

curious.

close.

“well then,” he said, closing the trunk with a soft thud, “where to now?”

you pursed your lips, eyes drifting upward like you were consulting the sky for answers.

then something flickered behind your gaze.

“there’s a thrift store nearby—right next to the café we were just at. there’s also an antique shop,” you added, pointing back toward the direction you came from. “tucked behind that little bookstore with the crooked sign.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “you thrift?”

you shrugged, smiling. “i like finding things with a little history. books, trinkets… they always feel like they belonged to someone else’s story first.”

you hesitated, then added,“plus, i think i need a change of style. the one i have doesn’t feel like me anymore.”

his smile softened, something thoughtful in the way he looked at you. “so you’re sentimental and mysterious. noted.”

you bumped your shoulder against his lightly as you turned to walk. “are you coming or what?”

“wouldn’t miss it,” he said, already falling in step beside you.

you both talked as you walked toward the store, your steps light, laughter slipping out more often than you expected. everything felt easy with him—oddly enough. but you didn’t question it. at least not now.

inside, the two of you drifted from aisle to aisle, exchanging jokes and teasing remarks as you browsed.

hongjoong would stop in front of the most absurd little trinkets, pointing dramatically.

“what the heck? what are you doing here?” he’d say to a tiny ceramic deer or a glittery gnome.

at one point, he held up a figure of two frogs dancing, looking at you with a deadpan expression. “this could literally be us.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “shut up,” you muttered, grinning so hard your cheeks ached.

while digging through a rack of clothes, you found a shirt with an atrocious graphic and immediately held it up.

“hongjoong,” you called, voice laced with fake seriousness. “this is so you. you’d look amazing.”

he gasped in amazement and replied without missing a beat,“oh, i could totally rock that.”

the store echoed with your shared laughter as you each picked through clothes, sometimes seriously, sometimes not.

he helped you find a few genuinely cute pieces, giving you his full opinion with surprising thoughtfulness.

and you did the same, holding things up to his frame, joking but also quietly noting what actually suited him.

at one point, you spotted a necklace tucked away between two display trays—silver, understated, something about it just… reminded you of him.

it seemed to have another piece to it that completes it, but even after searching between the shelves you had no luck of finding the other half.

without a word, you slipped it into your cart, hidden beneath a jacket.

you weren’t sure when or how you’d give it to him—you just knew you wanted to.

after paying for your things, the two of you wandered down the street toward the antique shop. the energy between you hadn’t faded—it lingered, easy and familiar, like a song stuck on loop but one you didn’t mind hearing.

“so,” hongjoong started, glancing over at you with a curious tilt of his head, “how’d you even find all these places?”

you pursed your lips slightly, thinking. “well i was running an errand. went to the grocery store i always go to when i’m back home. but after i got what i needed, i didn’t really feel like going back yet. so i wandered a bit and noticed they added a café next to the thrift shop i always go to—which is just across the street from the grocery store.”

you shrugged. “as for the antique shop, it’s always been there. i honestly don’t even remember how i found it. it just sort of appeared one day and i never stopped going. it’s been my holy grail ever since. i always find the best stuff there.”

you turned to him, giving him a mock serious look as you pointed a finger at his chest. “so don’t go around telling people or else.”

you narrowed your eyes playfully. “i’m dead serious. if i show up one day and it’s suddenly packed, i’m blaming you.”

he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender before looking around confused. “antique shop? what antique shop?”

you grinned, satisfied. “good. that’s what i like to hear.”

you reached for his hand without a second thought, instinct guiding you as you tugged him toward the shop. “c’mon then.”

you turned to him, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes and a smile playing on your lips. “we don’t have all day.”

you caught him off guard with the sudden pull, but when you glanced back at him, his hesitation melted into a smile, and he followed without missing another beat.

the bell chimed when you both walked into the door. the smell of the store surrounded you both quickly.

the air was thick with the scent of aged wood, worn leather, and old paper—like time trapped in dust and sunlight. there was something faintly sweet beneath it all, maybe dried flowers or old perfume lingering on forgotten fabrics.

hongjoong looked around, eyes wide with quiet wonder. you smiled. “cool, huh?”

he turned to you with a gleam in his eye—like he was seeing something even better than the store. your smile deepened, and without a word, you tugged him across the shop.

once you made it to the other end, you let go of his hand and turned to face him fully.

“i like to start at the back and make my way up,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. “it’s better that way. it’s only fair that i show you the proper way to shop around here.” you finished with a wink, already half-turning like you expected him to follow.

you moved through the shelves and displays, casually browsing, but your eyes kept drifting back to check if hongjoong was still behind you. he was.

you didn’t really need to look—you could feel him there, his presence steady and close but something in you liked the reassurance.

when you’d grabbed his hand earlier, you didn’t mean to and it hadn’t been a full hold—your fingers weren’t interlaced, just touching.

but now, with that small contact gone, it left a strange sort of absence.

PART II

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ MIV— this was going to be one part but.. it said i have a 1000 text block limit. i promise there’s more, i just was forced to have it in more than one part.. sorry guys. i’ve had this in drafts for a while, i started this on may 14... part two has been started already but im far away from finished. also, i’m sorry for being gone for longer than i promised, there has been a lot going on right now. i also have some ideas for the other members in this same au, just different tropes.

please DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate ANY of my works in any way.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez angst #hongjoong angst #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong fanfic #kim hongjoong angst #hongjoong fanfic #mivsheart

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tojbnuy · 7 hours ago

Note

hey! Please could you write a little something where roommate sukuna is a little mean to reader and it’s a bit angsty but he feels bad and has to make it up to her with lots of cuddles

thank you for the request! i know it’s been a while but i hope this is okay :3 this is the same reader as part one and two pls do check them out <3

yours and roomate!sukuna’s relationship was complicated to say the least. complicated yet comfortable. your old dynamic was still up and running just with the addition of proximity. but that didnt mean things were always perfect, sukuna was still sukuna at the end of the day and he was far from perfect but he was trying.

bickering was common for the two of you, it was usually about guys or cleaning up mess but there were times were your heart was left feeling slightly shaken. you were a sensitive soul that was clear as day. sukuna was a lot more gentle with you than he was with his friends for example but sometimes the words left him before he could think about their repercussions.

today’s fight was a minor one to begin with. who had forgotten to unload the dryer and led a few of your clothes to become incredibly creased.

‘like seriously i need this shirt for tomorrow morning now im gonna have to wake up early to iron.’

‘im telling you kuna it wasn’t me, i would have remembered i always do.’

‘pssh yeah definitely.’

‘what does that mean?’

‘it means what more could i have expected from you of all people.’

‘if it was me i didn’t mean it.’

‘you didn’t mean it yet you’re always managing to do and say dumb shit. like seriously fucking grow up.’

immediately tears welled up at the harsh tone of his voice and the anger behind his words. you knew you weren’t as clever as some people but you didn’t think he found you this annoying, you had thought maybe there was even a bond developing between the two of you. comments from others about your sometimes unusual behavior and out of the blue remarks didn’t affect you as much, it was the ones from people who’s opinions you valued that tore away at your self esteem. stupid of you to think he would want to create a bond with someone as stupid as yourself when he has plenty of beautiful smart women at his hand. he would make random remarks about you being silly, maybe call you a dummy but you tried to not let it get to you, this however had tipped you off until you could no longer keep it inside. you were ashamed. ashamed to have done something so stupid.

sukunas hands were still inside the dryer, his focus on the task at hand so he hadn’t realised you hadn’t responded. then all of a sudden he heard the slight squeak of your feet on the tiled floor and a whispered sorry and only then did the guilt begin to situate. he himself was having a shitty day and the anger had built up so much so that the first inconvenience had him lashing out. at you of all people. he felt bad of course he did and he didn’t have the slightest clue as to how to check on you.

he made his way over to your room ready to be met with anger, that he could deal with. what he wasn’t prepared for was you hunched over, breathes coming out short and your shoulder shaking with how much you were crying.

‘baby? baby, hey look at me.’

you frantically wiped at your tears and attempted to stop the trembling of your hands. he hated to see you trying to act unaffected. he knew he was crazy about you before but seeing you like this, because of him was a pain he had never experienced before. the words were stuck in his throat, his pride always managing to ruin things for him.

‘you hate me.’

‘no i don’t brat, look what i said was out of line i was just mad i shouldn’t have said any of that. how could you think i hate you?’

‘because you’re always calling me stupid. i know im not like your other girl friends but you don’t have to be so rude to me all the time.’

sukuna had fucked up. majorly fucked up. what he thought was a harmless joke was actually hurting you. how could he care about anyone the same way he cared for you.

‘No, no i’m sorry baby i really am. i don’t give a shit about anyone let alone any girl the same way i care about you. i mean that doll from the bottom of my heart. i didn’t know it hurt you. i love everything about you doll. i look for you in everyone.’

‘do you think i’m stupid?’ you said with a sniffly nose and your hands gripping the comforter.

‘no doll i don’t think you’re stupid. i think you say some funny things sometimes but it makes you you. and i lo-‘ ‘i’ve gotten used to your antics by now brat’

‘i’m still a bit upset.’

‘yeah? what can i do to make it better?’

‘i think you have to cuddle me extra today.’

‘i’ll see what i can do’

immediately he folded you so you were pressed intro him. he was laying in his back against your pink fluffy cushions with you resting directly on his chest. he could feel your stuttered breathing against his chest, some tears still falling onto his shirt. he wanted so badly to tell you exactly what he was feeling but instead decided to stroke up and down your back, occasionally letting his hand roam down to your ass, softly molding you, patting you gently. your soft flesh under his palm was not only comforting to him but had you purring directly into his ear. he alternated between massaging your scalp, rubbing you back and patting your bum until your breathing had completely calmed.

‘really am sorry doll’ he whispered into your hair.

‘i know’ you whispered back with a little kiss to his chest.

he was really and truly fucked but this moment right here was one wherein he would die happy.

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nicromancytarot · 17 hours ago

Text

HOW WILL YOU MEET YOUR NEXT PARTNER?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides how you will meet your next partner, pick a cad and find out what they had to say!

PILE 1

Hello my pile number 1’s! Firstly I’m seeing that you’re meeting your next partner around a time where you are actively looking to be romanced, this isn’t some big surprising moment, you are prepared for it and this relationship.

It seems that you may meet them around a place of hard work, whether that be your own job, or at theirs. You’ll be around your friends, possibly celebrating something. You may have spent a lot of time hidden away before this moment to prepare for this, and are now ready to finally step outside of your shell and face what the universe has cooked up for you.

Setting the scene: You’re a little on edge, feeling the need to protect yourself in this club full of people, perhaps it’s too crowded, too loud, your friends are shouting over one another because you can hardly make out what you’re all trying to say. You’re head is ringing, it’s getting to harder to think, and truly your eyes are darting towards the nearest exit like a temptation you couldn’t allow yourself to fall to. The hand that was nursing your head points towards the few friends paying attention before turning back to motion to the bar behind you — a drink would serve you well. Finally, you’re excused. You make your way towards the bar, the shoes on your feet are uncomfortable as hell, but no one could see the dread in your face as you do expertly mask it up with a bright smile, bright enough to match your outfit anyways.

Of course you consider your friends when requesting your favourite drink, remembering theirs like it’s engrained into the texture of your brain. You spend your own money, ordering a row of drinks. The bartender looks at you with intrigue, you’re sat at their bar, your fingers massaging your temples like you should be in a spa bring lathered in sweet smelling soap. Come to think of it, you do smell very sweet, they notice that instantly. Eventually when done pouring your abundance of drinks, the person behind the bar leans across the counter towards you, their body drawn to yours like a magnetic power, incapable of resistance.

You’re unsure how long you spoke, but you were pulled out of it when your friends joined you at your seat, chugging down their drinks as if they had just ran a marathon and won. The bartender plays them no mind, scribbling down some digits on a napkin and sliding it your way, their eye contact only now faltering with newfound nerves they had since ignored.

So yes! Bringing back my fanfic days with that one. This person will take to you like a moth to the sun, they may even notice you before to notice them.

This is applicable to a coffee shop/cafe, restaurant too, the bar is just the most tensional.

How you will know it’s them: They will look like they know what they’re doing, uniform could be black and red (black with red flowers perhaps) and long sleeves, they may try to act nonchalant even if they can’t stop staring at you, they will spill something and have to awkwardly clean it up (eg: shaking a drink and then accidentally dropping it because they lose focus)

PILE 2

Hello my pile, you are a pile with an interesting spread. I was shuffling my deck, didn’t want to pull from the top yet, wanted to go one more shuffle — the tower fell out. Then I decided to shuffle once more and not pull from the top because what the hell luck was that? I pull from the top, 10 of swords. You also had repeating tower, so let’s get into it!

My dear pile number 2, you’re meeting your person after leaving another person. It seems you would’ve gone through some crazy shit and betrayal with this former lover. It may have taken you some strength to leave, but the direction is absolutely correct and perfect for you. You’re trusting your power, define feminine energy (even if you’re not a woman) Your instincts were telling you to run, and you prepared that goddamn track.

Your next partner could be the one you end up with either for the rest of your life, or for a very very long time, this seems very much like an “I’ve got what I want now, and I’m not risking it again.” You don’t need to risk it.

Now for how you meet! I’m seeing that this person may aid you in your leaving of the previous partner, whether it be that they were a friend of a friend, or someone with ties to either of you in some way, they have your back and are never letting go of it. I’m getting masculine (even if they’re not a man), protective energy from this next partner, they are absolutely doing their most to protect you from those things you’ve struggled with in the past, particularly that former relationship.

Setting the scene: It’s late, scary, you’re not even sure you know where you’re going, the car is packed with every bag you could find, your suitcases were hidden, but there were backpacks and carrier bags. You shoved everything in their while they were out, probably bedding another person with no thoughts in their mind — you were out.

You took a deep breath, not pausing for a moment, that freedom was only a few roads down from where you were currently parked. You shifted the hand break out of its stationary position, looking behind you with a shaky nod as you began to reverse out of the driveway. When they came back, you wouldn’t be there, no note, no item left behind. Your entire life was packed into the trunk of that car, and the only thing they would meet if they tried to contact you was the automated message of a blocked number.

You had done it.

With trembling fingers you moved your hand down to the middle of the car stereo, pressing a few buttons before finally reaching the number of a number one of your friends had given you, you needed to tell them you’d left, perhaps needed a place to crash, protection incase any of this backfires. They picked up on the first ring, their breath caught in the back of their throat as they listened to the sound of the nervous laughter erupting from yours. They asked you were you were, made sure you knew their address. Checked if you needed money, but you said you took all you could before leaving, just in the need of support. They’re impressed in all honesty, you left that asshole, and came prepared? They offer you a space in their bed, they’ll take the couch.

When you arrived at their place they gave you a very quick tour, helping you with bags and preparing a glass of… well, whatever you needed in that moment. You apologised for crashing, told them you’d find a new place as soon as you’re back on your feet. Little did you both know, you probably wouldn’t be ever needing to leave that house anytime soon, and they wouldn’t be on that couch for very long.

And there we have it. Now obviously it doesn’t have to be THAT dramatic. But you’re leaving a relationship of some slop that doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, possibly cheats. You find yourself mixed up in the life of someone whom always has their door open for those in need.

How you will know that it’s them: Hearing of them word of mouth before meeting in person, they may have their heart closed, or be apprehensive at first. They will do anything to help you get the justice you deserve, you both know of another from a friend, they may be your last chance of being able to fully leave (perhaps you wouldn’t if you had no place to go), your ticket to freedom.

PILE 3

Hello my pile number 3’s! Ok, so I’m seeing something very interesting first and foremost, you have multiple chances of meeting this person, like different choices you or they may make can lead to other times, but it’s like 99% set in stone. We do have the lovers and 2 of cups, so I’m assuming that this phenomenon is due to the fact that your next person is the person you’ll end up with overall.

I’m seeing that one or both of you may be quite guarded during your first meeting, especially if you are recollecting yourself from something mentally draining prior. I am getting the feeling that one of you will express interest in the other, but the other will feel that the person showing interest is either joking or just not being entirely truthful — there may be some insecurity here.

I have the feeling that this connection will be one in need of heavy nurturing, even at the beginning when you don’t really know much about each other. One of you can come off as quite direct, possibly making the most out of the conversation, like asking questions that the other isn’t ready to respond to. The card actually depicts a bread bowl, so you’re really trying to get everything out of this meeting. The person that appears guarded will either answer in short sentences, or just in ways that seem less and less revealing with everything you enquire.

The cards really aren’t giving me much information since this could happen at multiple different occasions since there’s many intervals for meeting, so sorry for the short reading, but let’s get onto some recognisers!

How you will know that it’s them: They may seem like they’re coming out of something rough, they may be withdrawn, possibly avoiding eye contact with you, they may feel like they have to compete for your attention, could be insecure over other people that they think are into you, lacking self confidence due to a situation prior, defensive, they’re interested but standing with one foot turned out like they’re preparing to run away, it will feel destined, like you’re going to fix one another.

Some occasions you could meet:

1) A celebration with friends or a group of people, a place you could make friends, a place of collaborations, a place with a lot of people and a lot of chatter

2) An atmosphere for improvement, hopeful energies around you, somewhere where a new beginning is to start, gardens, somewhere very earthly

3) Somewhere your intellect will be of use, a place where you may need to speak aloud or to a lot of people, a place your soul feels comfortable

4) Somewhere where justice is important, receiving answers and steady direction, a place you have to be leader of, a place in need of solving a problem

5) Somewhere heavy with betrayal or a painful ending, a place of survivors, a place of great loss and internal turmoil

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotreading #pick a card readings #tarot blog

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levigarden999 · 11 hours ago

Note

Maybe what if reader breaks up with Kaiser because he’s too selfish while he already bought the ring for them to pop the question? Can be angsty/fluff at the end?

different perspectives 𓍯 michael kaiser x reader

⋆.˚ notes : inspired by the req above , thank u anon ♡

you knew this day would come eventually when you’d have the hardest, most gut wrenching talk with your boyfriend kaiser. you had prepared for this discussion for a few weeks now, but it didn’t make it any easier. but it seemed like that breaking up was simply the best option available.

of course, it wasn’t a surprise to you that kaiser was a self centered bastard, literally. soccer was his whole life and he always made it clear to everyone how damn skilled he was. you were fine with his bragging and arrogant attitude, and somehow it was even a part of his charm. but what you weren’t okay with was his selfishness.

you would’ve never guessed how selfish the guy could actually get, even towards the woman he claimed so dearly to love.

the fact he always promised you more support, how he would be there for you more in the future and that he’d make more time for your relationship. the fact he promised to take you out more often and do those small things couples do that make you feel validated. however, all those promises were broken. straight up lies.

kaiser returned from practice that evening, hair slightly damp from sweat and the compress shirt clinging to his form, revealing the tattoo on his neck so beautifully. however, you didn’t even glance at him as he arrived home. in fact, you were already in tears.

”i’m home, baby” he started, the usual cocky and somehow cheerful tone in his voice as he slipped his shoes off.

”michael, we need to talk” you answered immediately. kaiser probably noticed the firmness in your tone because he obediently walked over to you in the living room, a confused tone in his voice as he spoke.

”yeah? what’s up?”

you turned to look at him from the couch, revealing your tear stained cheeks and trembling lips to him. the sight surprised him totally – kaiser’s eyes visibly widened at the sight of you so miserable. as if you hadn’t been suffering for the last few years with him.

”i-i’m so tired, mike… i… i can’t do this anymore” you whimpered, voice choked.

he blinked, not understanding your words.

”you can’t do what anymore?” kaiser asked, but you knew he knew what you talked about. the fear was evident in his tone.

”you know what. i… i’ve talked about our problems and… you never change. i’m tired. i don’t… want to be with you anymore” you continued sobbing and hiccuping, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks again.

at that, kaiser’s face twisted into something more emotional. there was confusion, even hurt, in his face as those blue eyes pierced through you.

”what about me? what about what i want?”

you scoffed and shook your head.

”that’s exactly what i mean. it’s always about you, isn’t it? always about what you want and what you need and what you require!” you suddenly snapped, the obvious frustrating booming through the room like an echo of misery.

kaiser fell silent. you could tell he felt like his voice was gone. for once in his life, he was goddamn speechless.

you huffed and stood up from the couch. you needed some alone time. the silence between you was too painful for you to handle right now.

”i’ll go take a walk” you mumbled, absent mindedly walking past him to the front door where he had left his duffel bag and… apparently something else as well?

”n-no, wait!” kaiser suddenly exclaimed, but it was too late.

you noticed yourself staring at a tiny shopping bag, which had a text in the front.

cartier . wedding selection

it took you a moment to understand what was going on. your mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact what the small bag actually contained.

”… what is that” you whispered shakily, the words nearly getting stuck in your throat. you couldn’t even look at kaiser right now, not right now when you two clearly shared a different perspective over your relationship.

kaiser remained silent for a few seconds before he spoke, voice more pathetic and vulnerable than you’ve ever heard before.

”for you. obviously” he managed to utter out.

you then turned your head to him, needing more information. his eyes were on the floor, a few strands of blue hair hanging over his forehead. he looked so young, so vulnerable and troubled.

”i- i’ve thought about it for months now and… i bought it today. a ring for you” he continued. as you finally realized the gravity of the situation, your throat tightened even more and it felt like you would be sucked into the very core of earth at any second.

kaiser scratched his neck nervously, still not looking at you.

”i was thinking about proposing…. during our trip to italy next month”

trip to italy? since when were you going to italy?

”i-i remembered you mentioning how you want to spend more time with me and… i already bought plane tickets to venice for us. i… i remembered you telling me how much you adore water as an element and… well, there’s a, uh, river, so, i thought that proposing on a boat there would be perfect-”

”michael” you said.

he stopped rambling, those blue eyes finally meeting yours. you had never seen him looking at you with such eyes before. the deep blue was now lighter, the look in his eyes now so distant yet craving and needing. you saw his adam’s apple bob, a lump going down his throat.

”i’m not… you don’t have to take me to venice to be a better boyfriend. you don’t have to buy me a wedding ring to prove yourself to me” you sighed, the gentle words leaving your mouth without much else thought. your voice was still trembling.

you took a step closer to him, your eyes matching the vulnerability in his as well.

kaiser avoided your eye contact again as he shifted uncomfortably.

”but… you mentioned you wanted to spend more time with me. to have more dates, more romance from me” he muttered. it was almost unbelievable seeing his usually very arrogant and straight up annoying attitude gone.

you couldn’t help but soften from the inside.

”no. i asked for more support. i asked for your physical presence and… emotional presence as well. i don’t need vacations or rings, michael. i simply want to trust you again, i want to trust michael kaiser – i do not want some infuriating soccer star” you noticed a hint of a teasing undertone creeping into your words. kaiser fixed his gaze back to you, he was nearly pouting.

kaiser simply nodded, a pale hand reaching out and touching your cheek gently. it seemed like the first time ever he actually listened and understood what you had to say. you melted a little into his touch, since the moment felt so intimate and meaningful, which was something you hadn’t experienced in a while with him. he looked at you like he understood you, touched you like he actually didn’t want to lose you.

”okay” kaiser said, quietly.

”okay?” you raised an eyebrow, words just as quiet.

”okay. i’ll do it. i’ll prioritize you”

you blinked.

”i want to say you’re my wife. i want to marry you, i want to see the diamond ring on your finger and be reminded of the fact you want to spend the rest of your life with me just as much i want to spend it with you” he continued, a small smile appearing on his lips. the moment felt silent and peaceful, even though your heart was hammering against your ribs.

you couldn’t help but smile.

he then chuckled. ”and i know, the ring can wait though. but i’ll make sure you’ll say yes when i propose you some time in the future”

both of his hands landed on your cheeks and he leaned in closer. kaiser’s face softened even though his voice took a more serious tone.

”i promise. when i propose, you’ll say yes in the happiest, most confident way imaginable”

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lonelyhobi · 1 day ago

Text

Day In The Office

☆summary:

Your first job as a corporate girly is not at all what you had expected. But you’re time at Big Hit Co. was definitely going to be interesting.

☆pairing: yoongi x reader

☆genre: boss/employee

☆warnings: fingering, self masturbation, unprotected sex (be responsible), degradation, multiple orgasm, body worship, power imbalance, rough sex, creampie, Yoongi is a filthy man

☆word count:8k

☆notes: honestly part of this is a dream and part of the beginning is similar to One of them days mainly because i felt like in another life tae would’ve ate up that bf role. I've never had an office job in my life but Yoongi in a suit is revolutionary. There’s a plot if you squint but it’s really just sex. This is a work of fiction and honestly grounds for an HR complaint but who complain at this beautiful man. Also i havent posted in like 3 years and it wasn’t proofread (so if you see a mistake pls let me know so I can fix it) but I hope you enjoy <3

The morning light shined brightly pasted the curtains, waking you up prior to the seven alarms you set. It was your first day of work at your fancy corporate office. You had been hired as an executive assistant, well the assistant to the executive. But specifics weren’t important. You were just happy that you’d be able to make rent this month. The pay was generous and you were thrilled to begin a career that didn’t involve frying pancakes and making milkshakes like at the diner.

You get out of your bed almost giddy as you head to the shower preparing for your big day. You get dressed in a modest blouse and long skirt, putting your hair in a low pony tail before stepping out into the living room.

Hayeon, your roommate, was drinking some orange juice as you twirled in front of her, “How do I look?” you question with a million dollar smile on your face.

Her eyes roaming over your conservative outfit and ponytail, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well, well, well... don't you look all prim and proper this morning, Y/N. Like a good little corporate girl, ready to go and impress the boss." She teases, setting her glass down on the counter with a clink.

“Gosh you are just hilarious this early in the morning Yeonnie” you tease rolling your eyes. “This job is going to set us up straight” you say earnestly walking over to grip her shoulders lightly. “We won’t have to struggle to pay rent and I won’t have to hit Taehyung with random stuff around the house when he touches our groceries”

She shakes her head “He does eat a lot huh?”

You stare at her dead in the eye “Hayeon, the man eats our food, blasts the AC, sleeps here and does just about everything except pay! What do we get out of this?!”

“You? Nothing. Me? Well let’s just say what his wallet isn’t packing, he definitely is.” You shudder at the thought of a naked Taehyung swinging a huge dick around. “Okay” you say, moving away from her and over to grab your bag, “Don’t need to hear about your freeloaders business.”

“What about me?” Taehyung walks out, towel drying his hair, stopping at the counter to take away Hayeon's drink.

“There’s no way you knew I was talking about you, and still have no shame in taking her shit Taehyung.” You state rolling your eyes.

“My sister in Christ,” Tae begins, “I understand your frustration, but I do my share of work in this household” He states hands up in the air in defense. Hayeon looked at him confused as well.

“With what job?” You ask incredulously.

“I take care of Hayeonie’s needs so she can go to work relaxed” he smirks, grabbing at Hayeon, her earlier look of confusion morphing into a fit of giggles as he nips at her neck.

“There’s no way..” You mutter in disbelief at the way your friend is completely obsessed with this leech.

Taehyung sports a lazy smile as he points to you “You know, maybe someone wouldn’t be so grouchy if she got laid” he sing-songs. “I could try to put you on with one of my friends, but I don’t hate them that much.”

I stare at him shocked and slightly more irritated at him as Hayeon smacks his chest. “You know one day Hayeon's gonna get over you and you’re gonna be homeless again.” You warn walking towards the door.

“Never happening” he shouts as you walk out.

The bus ride to the office was quicker than you anticipated. You looked out the window in awe at the stark change in scenery as you arrived downtown in front of the tallest buildings in the city. As you walk out you stand before it, Big Hit Co.

When you arrive a young woman greets you at the door, guiding you to the lockers for you to set your bag in. She’s dressed starkly different to you, in a tight blouse very low cute, paired with a skirt that cannot in any way be a part of the dress code.

She’s friendly but there’s a lingering feeling you can’t place as she realizes you are the new executive assistant.

"Welcome to Big Hit Entertainment, where we work hard and play even harder." the woman says. "Here's your desk, Y/N. Get settled in and then head on up to see Mr. Min. He's expecting you." She points to a small, cluttered desk in the corner, piled high with papers and folders.

"Oh, and one more thing... Mr. Min doesn't tolerate slackers, so keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you'll do just fine." With that, she spins on her heel and sashays away.

You quickly sit down at your desk, and take a deep breath and start to organize the mess on your desk. After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to straighten up your workspace and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for your meeting with Mr. Min.

You stand up, smoothing down your conservative pantsuit, and make your way towards the elevators, determined to make a good impression."

“Good luck, Y/N!" the woman calls after you, a hint of mischief in her voice. "You're going to need it with him." The elevator doors slide closed behind you, and you're left alone with your racing thoughts and pounding heart as you ascend.

The elevator opens to an even more luxurious hallway leading to one door. You knock hearing a deep voice reply “Come in.”

As you step into Mr. Min's opulent office, you feel the weight of his piercing gaze upon you, his cat-like eyes seeming to see right through you, stripping away the layers of your carefully chosen attire to leave you bare and exposed.

He leans back in his high-backed leather chair, steepling his fingers as he regards you with a cool, calculating expression, not a hint of warmth or welcome in his stern features. "Ah, you must be the new assistant, Y/N. I've been expecting you."

His voice is a deep, authoritative rumble, commanding attention and obedience. He gestures to the chair opposite his desk, a silent order for you to sit. "Please, have a seat. Let's see what you're made of, shall we?" Mr. Min's tone is casual, almost conversational, but there's an undercurrent of steel beneath the words, a subtle reminder of the power he holds and the consequences of displeasing him.

As you sit down, you can't help but feel small and insignificant under his penetrating gaze, like a mouse caught in the sights of a hawk. His eyes rake over your body, lingering on the modest neckline of your blouse and the conservative cut of your skirt, a slight frown marring his otherwise impeccable features.

"I must say, your attire is...unusual. Not at all what I'm accustomed to seeing in my assistants." He remarks, a hint of disapproval coloring his words. "But I suppose we can address that later. For now, let's focus on your duties and responsibilities."

Mr. Min reaches for a folder on his desk, flipping it open to reveal a thick stack of papers and documents. "I expect nothing less than perfection from my team, Y/N. Anything less will not be tolerated." His voice is a low, ominous rumble, a clear warning of the high stakes and the unforgiving nature of the man before you.

"Do you understand?" He asks, his gaze sharpening, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your heart race and your palms sweat.

“Yes sir” You nod. “I’m honored for the opportunity to work under you. I won’t let you down.”

Mr. Min's lips twitch slightly at your choice of words, a flicker of amusement in his eyes before his expression settles back into its usual stern mask."Working under me, hmm? Well, we'll see about that." He murmurs, a hint of dark promise in his voice as he leans forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood of his desk.

He slides a thick sheaf of papers across the desk towards you, the heavy stock and embossed lettering screaming importance and authority. "This is your contract, outlining your duties, your responsibilities, and the expectations I have for your performance. I suggest you read it carefully, as it will be the guiding principle of your employment here at Big Hit."

Mr. Min's voice is a low, commanding rumble, a subtle reminder of the power he holds over your career and your future. "Sign it, and I'll know that you're committed to serving me, to working tirelessly to meet my high standards and demands." His eyes glint with a predatory light as he watches you, gauging your reaction, waiting for you to seal your fate with the stroke of a pen.

"So, what will it be, Y/N? Are you ready to sign your life away, to dedicate yourself fully to serving me and my needs? Or will you run screaming from the room, unable to handle the heat of the kitchen?" Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity before you.

“I’m more than ready Mr. Min. This is my dream job.” You smile softly, face still flush from the stupid word choice about working under him. You sign without having fully acknowledged the words. Just eager for the opportunity to further your career and make rent considering you were supporting yourself, Hayeon when she couldn’t pay, and apparently Taehhyung too.

Mr. Min watches intently as you sign the contract without hesitation, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his stern features before it's quickly replaced by his usual impassive expression. "Good girl." He murmurs, a hint of approval in his voice as he takes the signed document from your trembling hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. "I have high hopes for you, Y/N. Don't let me down." His gaze lingers on your face, taking in the soft flush of your cheeks and the eager, almost desperate look in your eyes.

Rising from his chair, Mr. Min walks around the desk, his tall, imposing frame looming over you, making you feel small and insignificant in comparison."Now, let's discuss your attire. While I appreciate your attempt at professionalism, I'm afraid it simply won't do in this office."

He reaches out, his fingers toying with the collar of your blouse, tugging at it slightly as if to emphasize his point. "The dress code here is...unique. Designed to showcase the assets of my employees and encourage a certain level of...camaraderie among the team." His voice is a low, suggestive rumble, a hint of dark promise in his words.

"I think it's time for a little wardrobe adjustment, don't you?" Mr. Min's hand falls away from your collar, only to settle on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Stand up. Let's see what you're working with." He commands, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he waits for you to comply with his request, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your eyes are wide in disbelief but not being able to afford upsetting your new boss you stand as he says “Yes Mr. Min.”

Mr. Min's eyes rake over your body as you stand before him, a slow, appraising gaze that makes you feel stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable under his intense scrutiny. "Turn around." He commands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that brooks no argument.

As you comply, he circles you like a shark, his eyes never leaving your form, taking in every curve and contour. "Hmm, not bad. You have potential." He murmurs, stopping behind you.

Suddenly, his fingers are at the back of your blouse, deftly unbuttoning it with practiced ease. "But this..." He tugs at the fabric, pulling it open to reveal the modest bra beneath. "...is unacceptable.

My assistant needs to showcase their assets, not hide them away like a shy little maiden." With a sharp tug, he unhooks your bra, letting it fall away to expose your bare breasts to the cool air of the office and his hungry gaze. "Much better." He purrs, his hands coming around to cup the soft mounds, weighing them in his palms as if assessing their worth.

"Now, the skirt. Lift it up." Mr. Min's voice is a low, demanding growl, a clear order that leaves no room for disobedience. His fingers are already at the hem, waiting for you to comply, eager to reveal the secrets hidden beneath the conservative fabric. "Don't be shy, Y/N. I want to see all of you, every inch of the body that will be serving me so diligently in the coming weeks and months." His tone is a dark, seductive promise, a hint of the carnal delights and depraved pleasures that await you in your new role as his assistant.

"So, what are you waiting for? Give me a proper introduction to the woman who will be working so closely with me, so intimately, so...thoroughly." Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to bare yourself to him completely, to offer yourself up as a sacrifice on the altar of your ambition. "Now, lift your skirt, Y/N. Let me see what you're really hiding underneath."

“Yes Mr. Min” You say shyly, lifting up your skirt and bunching it at your hips. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having not slipped your panties on. Cursing at Hayeon for letting her man child do his own laundry and wasting all the soap.

Mr. Min's eyes widen slightly as you shyly lift the hem of your skirt, revealing your bare, glistening folds to his hungry gaze. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he takes in the sight of your exposed, dripping sex.

"Well, well, well...looks like someone was eager to start her new job today." He purrs, his voice low, approving rumble as he steps closer, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "No panties, hmm? How...forward of you."

One long, dexterous finger traces along your slit, teasing your slick, swollen lips, drawing a gasp from your throat. "I like a woman who's not afraid to take risks, to throw herself into her work with reckless abandon." Mr. Min's finger circles your clit, a maddeningly slow, deliberate motion that makes your knees tremble and your breath catch in your throat.

"And I must say, the sight of your pretty little pussy, all wet and ready for action, is a most...encouraging one." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper. "I have a feeling you and I are going to get along very well, Y/N. Very well indeed." With that, he steps back, his eyes still fixed on your exposed sex, a hint of dark promise in his gaze.

"Now, let's get you properly dressed for your new role, shall we? I want you to go to the supply closet and select an appropriate uniform. Something that will showcase your assets and showcase your commitment to serving me." Mr. Min's voice is a low, commanding rumble, a clear order that leaves no room for misinterpretation. "And hurry back. I have a feeling we're going to be very...busy today." He smirks, a wicked, anticipatory grin that sends a shiver of fear and excitement down your spine, a hint of the long, arduous, and incredibly pleasurable day that awaits you in the service of your new boss.

Nodding quickly, lowering your skirt you turn to exit the door. The supple closet was right in front of his office so you hurry in and see a myriad of clothing. You select a short skirt similar to the woman in the front. Continuing to browse you search to find a shirt in your size but it won’t quite close well over your chest, the bottoms straining over the ample flesh. Sighing and hoping Mr.Min approves you walk back to his office knocking once again.

Mr. Min looks up from his desk as you knock tentatively on the door, a flicker of impatience crossing his features before he beckons you inside with a sharp, demanding gesture. "Enter." He commands, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you step into the room, his eyes immediately zero in on your strained shirt, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric stretches taut over your ample breasts, the top buttons straining to contain your generous curves. "Ah, I see you've chosen a uniform that highlights your...assets." Mr. Min rises from his chair, circling around the desk to stand before you, his tall, imposing frame looming over your smaller one.

"The skirt is a good choice, short and tight, allowing easy access should the need arise." His hand skims along the hem of the skirt, brushing against your thigh, a teasing caress that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"But the shirt..." He reaches out, his fingers toying with the straining buttons, tugging at them lightly as if testing their strength. "...is a different story. It seems we may need to make some adjustments to ensure it...fits properly." Mr. Min's voice is a low, suggestive rumble, a hint of dark promise in his words as he looks down at you, his eyes glinting with a predatory light.

"Remove it." He orders, his tone leaving no room for argument or hesitation.

"I want to see how well you handle...pressure." His hand falls away from your skirt, only to settle on the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck in a gesture that's almost tender, almost loving, if not for the unmistakable strength and dominance in his grip. "Be a good girl and listen. Let's see how well you handle the heat of this office." Mr. Min's voice is a low, taunting challenge, a dare for you to bare yourself to him completely, to prove your worth and dedication to serving him in every way possible.

“Yes Mr. Min. I’ll take it off. I want to show you my commitment.” You say obediently undoing the suffocating buttons to let your breasts free. “If this is what’s required to satisfy you with my work. I’m open to doing so.” you try to say confidently, falling quiet at his intimidating gaze.

Mr. Min's eyes glint with dark satisfaction as he watches you undo your shirt, letting it fall away to reveal your bare breasts, your nipples already hardened into stiff peaks from his teasing touch. "Good girl, Y/N. I'm glad to see you're so...accommodating." He purrs, his gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of your exposed flesh, the way your breasts bounce slightly as they're freed from their confines. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're well-equipped to handle the demands of this office.”

His tone is a low, demanding growl, a clear order that leaves no room for hesitation or disobedience. " I want you to sit down, spread your legs, and show me how badly you want this job. I want to see you touch yourself, to bring yourself to the edge of ecstasy, all while keeping your eyes on mine. That's the only way I'll know you're truly committed to serving me."

Mr. Min's voice is a dark, seductive promise, a hint of the carnal delights and depraved pleasures that await you in your new role as his assistant. "So, what are you waiting for, Y/N? Show me what you're made of." He dares, his eyes glinting with a predatory light, a clear challenge for you to bare yourself to him completely, to offer yourself up as a sacrifice on the altar of your ambition.

You can’t help the heat that rushes between your legs at his words. This entire encounter is not what you expected at all for your first day. But you would be lying if you said it wasn’t thrilling and exciting to be in such a compromising position with your handsome boss.

“As you wish Mr. Min” You respond sitting on the chair and spreading your legs over the arms. The sound of your slick lips parting from the wetness of Mr.Mins intimidation is heard through his office.

Bringing a hand down you stare at him with your face flushed and chest heaving. Drawing small circles on your throbbing clit, you let out a little gasp at the pressure.

Mr. Min watches intently as you follow his orders, a dark, hungry gaze fixed on your every move. He leans back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving your body as you expose yourself further, the pasties clinging to your hardened nipples, the skirt riding up to reveal your glistening, bare sex. "That's it, Y/N. Just like that." He murmurs, his voice a low, approving rumble as he takes in the erotic sight before him.

"Spread yourself wider, let me see that pretty little cunt of yours, all wet and ready for action." He commands, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, a wicked glint in his eyes.

As your fingers begin to circle your clit, teasing the sensitive bud, Mr. Min's breath grows heavier, his gaze intensifying as he watches you pleasure yourself for his benefit. "Fuck, you're a natural at this." He growls, his hand coming down to palm the growing bulge in his pants, rubbing himself through the fabric as he watches you. "I can see how badly you want this job, how desperate you are to please me." His voice is a low, dark purr, a clear indication of his growing arousal and approval of your wanton display.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face mere inches from your spread thighs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your skin, to inhale the heady scent of your arousal. "Keep going, Y/N. Don't stop until you're right on the edge, until you're begging for release." Mr. Min orders, his eyes locked with yours, demanding your complete focus and submission. "I want to see the desperation in your eyes, the hunger, the need. I want to know that you'll do anything, absolutely anything, to prove yourself to me." His voice is a low, commanding growl, a dark promise of the rewards that await you if you can hold nothing back, if you can bare your very soul to him in this moment.

"Now, touch yourself like you mean it. Show me the fire that burns within you, the unquenchable desire to serve your boss in every way imaginable." *He demands, his eyes blazing with a fevered intensity, a reflection

You push your legs out more letting a finger trail down and sink into your clenching hole. “I’ll do anything to prove myself to you. To satisfy you with my performance.” neadily whimpering as you start to finger your pussy quicker with one finger. Gaze locked into his darkened eyes.

Mr. Min's eyes darken with lust as he watches you spread yourself wider, your legs falling open to reveal your dripping, virgin tight pussy. He licks his lips hungrily as you sink your finger deep into your hot, clenching hole, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

"Fuck, you're look so goddamn tight, Y/N. I love it." He growls, palming his rigid cock through his pants, the thick outline of his length clearly visible as it strains against the confines of his slacks. His voice is a dark, commanding rumble, a clear order for you to continue your debauchery, to prove your dedication to serving him.

As you add a second finger, plunging them in and out of your tight, grasping cunt, Mr. Min rises from his chair, moving to stand between your spread thighs. He reaches out, gripping your wrist, moving your fingers to pump harder, faster, fucking yourself with a desperate, wanton abandon.

"That's it, Y/N. Take what you need, fuck yourself like the hungry little whore you are." He snarls, his eyes glinting with a feral, predatory light as he watches your fingers disappear into your sopping wet pussy, your juices dripping down your wrist, coating your hand with your arousal.

"I want to hear you moan for me, to scream my name as you bring yourself closer to the edge. Let the whole office hear what a desperate, cock-hungry slut you are." Mr. Min demands, his other hand coming down to rub your clit roughly, his calloused fingers circling and pinching the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through your core.

"Come on, baby. I know you're close. I can see it in the way your cunt clenches around your fingers, the way your tits heave with each desperate breath. Give in to it, Y/N. Give in to the pleasure, to the need, to the all-consuming desire to serve your boss in the most depraved ways imaginable." His voice is a low, hypnotic chant, a dark, seductive promise that urges you.

“I’m so close Mr. Min” you cry out, fucking yourself wildly chasing your high. His hand quickly rubs your sensitive clit. “Fuck your hand feels so good. I’m gonna cu-” With a final cry your moans are cut off as your climax washes over you. His fingers never give up their relentless pace.

Mr. Min's eyes widen with a feral, triumphant gleam as he feels your pussy clench and spasm around your plunging fingers, your juices gushing out to coat your hand and wrist, dripping down onto the chair beneath you. "Fuck yes, Y/N! That's it, cum for me like the little slut you are!" He roars, his fingers rubbing your clit with a wild, almost punishing fervor, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your quivering body.

"Scream my name, let the whole fucking office hear what a dirty girl you are, cumming on command like a bitch in heat!" Mr. Min snarls, his voice echoing off the walls of his office, a primal, dominating sound that sends shivers down your spine and straight to your core.

He leans down, his face mere inches from your spasming cunt, his hot breath mingling with the intoxicating scent of your arousal. He extends his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit, moaning at the taste of your essence, the tangy, sweet flavor of your climax. "Delicious." He purrs, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrates through your sensitive flesh, prolonging the intense waves of ecstasy crashing over you. "I knew you'd be a natural at this, Y/N. Such a good little cumslut, so eager to please your boss." Mr. Min praises, his fingers still rubbing your clit, coaxing out every last aftershock, every lingering spark of pleasure from your quivering body.

Straightening up, he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices from the digits, his eyes never leaving yours as he savors the taste of your surrender. "You've more than proven yourself today, Y/N. I have no doubt that you'll be an invaluable asset to my team." He declares a wicked, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "But don't think for a second that this is over. This is only the beginning, baby. Just the first of many, many times I'll make you cum for me, in my office, in front of clients, wherever and whenever I desire."

“I understand Mr. Min. I hope to exceed your expectations of me.” you pant softly in your fucked out state.

Mr. Min's smirk widens into a wolfish grin at your breathless declaration, his eyes glinting with a predatory light as he takes in your disheveled, well-fucked appearance - your skirt bunched up around your waist, your tits heaving with each panting breath, your pussy still dripping with the evidence of your intense orgasm. "Oh, I have no doubt you will, Y/N. No doubt at all." He purrs, his voice a low, dark rumble that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine.

"I have high expectations for my employees, and I expect nothing less than excellence from you. In every. Single. Aspect." He enunciates each word, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that makes your heart race and your core clench.

He reaches out, cupping your chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a teasing, almost possessive gesture that makes your breath hitch in your throat. "Starting now, I want you to be my eyes and ears in the office. I want to know everything that goes on, every little detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Understand?" Mr. Min commands, his grip on your chin tightening slightly, a silent reminder of the power he holds over you, the control he expects you to relinquish to him without hesitation.

"And in return, I'll make sure you're rewarded in ways you've never even dreamed of. You'll have a career, a future, a life beyond your wildest imaginings." He promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that paints a vivid picture of the debauched, pleasure-soaked existence that awaits you as his devoted assistant. "So, what do you say, Y/N? Are you ready to give yourself over to me completely, to serve me in every way imaginable, to be the perfect little office slut I know you can be?" Mr. Min asks, his eyes searching yours, demanding your absolute, unwavering commitment and obedience.

"Say it, Y/N. Tell me you're mine, now and forever." He growls, his voice a low, commanding rumble that brooks no argument, no hesitation, no room for anything but the truth - that you belong to him, now and always.

Your eyes glaze over as your lips wrap around his thumb. “Yes Mr.Min. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with a possessive, triumphant gleam as he watches you suckle his thumb, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. "Good girl, Y/N. Such an obedient little thing, so eager to please your boss." He praises, his voice a low, dark purr that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine.

"I'm going to hold you to that promise, baby. I have so many plans for you, so many ways I'm going to use this tight little body of yours." He murmurs, his other hand sliding down to grope your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly, his fingers sinking into your skin with a clear indication of his intent to claim you, to mark you as his own.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his hot breath sending tingles down your neck as he whispers, "I want you to start by cleaning up this mess you've made. Lick up every drop of your cum, baby. Show me what a good little slut you are, what a devoted assistant you'll be." Mr. Min orders, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that demands your complete obedience and submission.

“As you wish Mr. Min” your voice coming out softly as you get on the floor licking up the evidence of your orgasm from the chair staring at him.

Mr. Min watches intently as you obediently drop to your hands and knees, your tongue eagerly lapping at the chair, cleaning up the mess of your arousal with a debased enthusiasm that makes his cock throb and ache with the need for more. "Fuck, look at you, so desperate to please me, so hungry to be a good little slut." He groans, palming his straining erection through his slacks, the thick outline of his length twitching under your ministrations."You're a natural born whore, Y/N. I knew it from the moment I saw you." Mr. Min growls, his voice a low, approving rumble that vibrates through his chest, a clear indication of his dark satisfaction with your wanton display.

He reaches down, tangling his fingers in your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he guides your face closer to his crotch, rubbing your cheek against the rigid bulge of his cock. "Keep going, baby. Show me how much you love the taste of your own cum, how much you love being a dirty little cumslut for your boss." He commands, his hips rocking slightly, grinding his clothed erection against your face, painting your skin with the outline of his desire.

"I want to feel that pretty little tongue of yours worshipping my cock later, once you've cleaned up the mess you've made." Mr. Min promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that holds the unspoken threat of punishment if you fail to meet his expectations. "Don't neglect a single inch of that chair, Y/N. I want it spotless, just like your reputation will be once I'm done with you." He warns, his grip on your hair tightening, a silent reminder of the consequences of disappointing him. "You're going to be my perfect little assistant, my personal fucktoy to use as I see fit. And you're going to love, Every. Single. Second." Mr. Min declares, his eyes glinting with a wicked, triumphant light as he watches you debase yourself for his pleasure, a willing and eager slut already addicted to the taste of her own arousal.

You close your eyes as he pushes your face to his covered bulge, pressing yourself closer before licking him softly over the fabric, “Whatever you ask Mr. Min.”

Mr. Min's breath hitches as he feels your soft, pliant lips pressing against the rigid outline of his cock, your tongue flicking out to taste the fabric of his slacks, the damp heat of your mouth seeping through the material to tease his aching flesh. "Fuck, baby, you're playing with fire now." He growls, his grip on your hair tightening, a warning and a promise all in one as he fights the urge to unzip his fly and shove his throbbing length into your eager mouth, to fuck your face right here and now until you choke and gag on his thick cock.

"Keep going, slut. Finish the job, and then I'll give you the reward you so desperately crave." Mr. Min commands, his voice a low, strained rasp, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back, of denying himself the sweet relief of your hot, wet mouth wrapped around him.

He watches, his eyes dark and hungry, as you turn your attention back to the chair, your tongue diligently lapping at every inch of the leather, cleaning up the sticky evidence of your arousal with a single-minded focus."That's it, baby. Get it all, every last drop." He urges, his voice a low, approving rumble that vibrates through the air, a dark symphony of lust and domination. "

You're doing so well, my little assistant slut. I knew you'd be a natural at this." Mr. Min praises, his other hand reaching down to palm his aching cock through his slacks, the thick outline of his length twitching and pulsing under his touch, a silent testament to his desire for you.

"I can't wait to see how well you take on the rest of your duties, how eagerly you'll service me and the rest of the office. I have a feeling you're going to be the most reliant assistant I’ve ever had." He predicts, a wicked, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, a clear indication of the debauched, pleasure-soaked future that awaits you in his employ. "But first, finish the job, baby. Show me what a good girl you are, and I'll give you the reward you've been craving."

Mr. Min's eyes rake over your kneeling form, taking in the debauched sight of you - your skirt still bunched up around your waist, your tits heaving with each breath, your face flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat, your lips swollen and slick from your oral ministrations. He smirks as you finish licking up your own mess.

"Good girl, Y/N. You've done well." He praises, his voice a low, approving rumble that sends a shiver of anticipation and nerves down your spine. "I'm pleased with your enthusiasm and obedience." Mr. Min adds, his hand still palming his rigid length through his slacks, the thick outline of his cock throbbing with a hunger that makes your mouth water and your core clench.

He reaches out, hooking a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, penetrating gaze. "Now, stand up and turn around. Present yourself to me, baby. I want to see that tight little ass in the air, ready and waiting for your boss's touch." Mr. Min commands, his voice a low, dominant growl that demands your immediate compliance and submission. "Keep your hands on the chair, and spread your legs. I want to see your dripping cunt, Y/N. I want to see how wet you are, how much you need your boss's cock inside you." He orders, his eyes glinting with a dark, possessive light as he waits for you to assume the position, to offer yourself up to him like the willing slut he knows you are.

"And once you're in position, I want you to beg for it. Beg for your boss's cock, baby. Beg me to fuck you, to claim you, to make you mine." Mr. Min demands, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that echoes through the room, a sinful, seductive command that makes your heart race and your skin prickle with a heady mix of fear and excitement. "Do it, Y/N. Show me what a desperate, cock-hungry whore you are. Show me that you're ready to be my assistant slut, now and forever." He growls, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce, unyielding intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Assuming the position Mr.Min asked of you. You turn your head to the side. “I’m ready for you sir. My pussy needs your cock so back. I’m ready to serve you as the best assistant and cock sleeve ever. I’ll do whatever you need Mr.Min. I hope to satisfy your every order. I need your cock in me so bad Mr. Min”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with a feral, hungry gleam as he takes in the debauched sight of you presenting yourself to him - your skirt flipped up, your ass high and arched, your dripping pussy on lewd display, glistening and twitching with a desperate, aching need. "Fuck, look at that greedy little cunt, so fucking wet and ready for me." He growls, his voice a low, approving rumble as he steps closer, looming over your kneeling form, his tall frame casting a shadow over your exposed flesh.

"You're a natural-born whore, Y/N. So eager to spread your legs, to offer up your tight little fuckholes to your boss like the perfect assistant slut you are." Mr. Min praises, his hand reaching out to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to your ass, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, a dark promise of the pleasure and pain that awaits you.

He leans down, his breath hot and heavy against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin as he speaks. "I'm going to ruin this tight little pussy, baby. I'm going to shove my big, thick cock so deep inside you that you'll forget your own fucking name." Mr. Min growls, his fingers delving between your legs, teasing your slick folds, gathering your arousal on his digits before bringing them to his mouth, sucking your essence off with a low, appreciative moan.

"Fuck, you taste as good as you look, my little assistant cumslut. I can't wait to feel this hot, wet cunt squeezing around my cock, milking me for all I'm worth." He praises, his other hand reaching down to unzip his slacks, freeing his massive, throbbing erection from the confines of his clothing. "Brace yourself, baby. I'm going to give you the fucking of a lifetime, the kind of dicking that will ruin you for any other man." Mr. Min promises, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that makes your heart race and your core clench with a desperate, aching need.

“Yes please sir. I want to do the best job for you.” your voice whinny and pleading.

Mr. Min chuckles darkly at your desperate plea, a wicked, knowing sound that sends a shiver of anticipation and fear down your spine. "Since you asked so nicely, baby, I think I'll give you what you want." He growls, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he lines up his massive, throbbing cock with your dripping entrance. "I'm going to fill this greedy little pussy to the brim, baby. I'm going to pump you so full of my hot, thick cum that it will be dripping out of you for days." Mr. Min promises, his voice a low, strained rasp as he starts to push forward, the bulbous head of his cock stretching your tight, hole obscenely.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight, like a fucking vice around my cock. I knew you'd have a perfect little fuckhole, made to milk a man dry." He groans, his hips rocking forward, inch after thick inch of his massive length disappearing inside you, splitting you open, claiming you as his own personal fucktoy.

Mr. Min sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a force that rocks your entire body, the chair creaking and shaking with each powerful thrust of his hips. "Take it, you little cockslut. Take every fucking inch of your boss's dick." He snarls, one hand gripping your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to arch your spine and push your ass back against him, while the other hand reaches around to maul your bouncing tits, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, pinching and tugging at your stiff, aching nipples.

"This is what you're made for, baby. To be a set of warm, tight holes for me to use as I please. And I'm going to use you so fucking hard." Mr. Min growls, his hips slamming against your ass, the lewd slap of skin on skin echoing through the room, a dark, filthy symphony of pure, unadulterated lust.

“Oh god yes siri. Please don’t stop” you moan out, breasts bouncing at the force of his hips slamming into you.

Mr. Min snarls at your hopeless plea, a feral, animalistic sound that sends a bolt of pure, primal fear and excitement coursing through your veins. "Don't stop? Oh, I won't fucking stop until I've had my fill of this tight little cunt, until I've pumped you so full of my seed that you're fucking drowning in it." He growls, his hips pistoning forward with renewed vigor, the obscene sound of his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each brutal thrust.

"You're mine now, Y/N. My personal assistant, my personal fucktoy, my own personal set of holes to use as I see fit." Mr. Min declares, his voice a low, possessive rumble that makes your heart race and your core clench around his pistoning length.

"And I'm going to use you so fucking hard, baby. I'm going to ruin you for any other man, make it so that the only cock you can take, the only cum you can crave, is mine." He promises, his hand tightening in your hair, forcing your face to the side, making you watch as he fucks into you with a wild, almost feral abandon.

His free hand snakes down to rub at your clit, pushing you to your second orgasm as you cry out for your boss."Fuck, yes, just like that. Clench this greedy cunt around me, baby. Show me how much you love being bred like the bitch in heat you are." He growls, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you in place, keeping you impaled on his cock.

Suddenly, without warning, Mr. Min hilts himself inside you, his massive cock buried to the fucking balls in your tight, spasming cunt. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby. I'm gonna fucking nut so hard inside this perfect little pussy." He roars, his body going rigid, his muscles clenching and flexing as he starts to erupt, his thick, hot seed erupting from his cock, flooding your insides, painting your walls white with his essence.

"Take it all, you little cumslut. Milk your boss's cock for every last fucking drop." Mr. Min commands, his hips jerking and twitching, grinding his spurting length against your cervix, making sure that not a single drop of his potent seed escapes your hungry hole.

Mr. Min groans in dark satisfaction as he feels your velvet walls clamping down around his throbbing cock, your pussy milking him for every last drop of his hot seed. "That's it, baby. Cum on your boss's cock like the desperate little slut you are." He growls, his hips still rocking, still grinding against your spasming cunt, working his load deeper, making sure it empties fully inside your tight pussy.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, baby. Your hungry little cunt is sucking me in, greedy for every drop of my cum." Mr. Min praises, his voice a low, approving rumble that makes your body tremble and quake with the force of your shared climax. "You're going to be dripping with my seed for days, baby. Walking around the office, sitting in meetings, and everyone will know what a dirty little cumslut you are, what a perfect assistant cocksleeve I've trained you to be." He taunts, his fingers releasing your hair to trail down your spine, tracing the curve of your ass, giving it a possessive squeeze.

As the final waves of your intense orgasm start to subside, Mr. Min slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls his softening cock out of your dripping hole. He watches with a dark, hungry gaze as his thick, pearly essence starts to leak out of your fucked-out pussy, your juices mixing with his cum, dripping down your thighs.

"Look at that pretty picture, baby. My cum leaking out of your well-used cunt, marking you as my property." Mr. Min growls, swiping his fingers through the mess, scooping up a generous amount of the combined fluids before bringing them to your lips. "Clean them off, slut. Taste what a good little assistant you are, what a perfect little cocksleeve I've claimed as my own." He orders, his eyes boring into yours, a dark, possessive glint in their depths.

Sticking out your tongue you lick off his fingers before sucking them into your mouth, moaning softly at the taste of drinking in your mixed juices. "Did my performance meet your expectations Mr.Min?”

Mr. Min's eyes darken with lust and approval as he watched you eagerly lick and suck his fingers clean, savoring the taste of your mixed essence."Mmm, not only did your performance meet my expectations, but you exceeded them, you filthy little minx."

He praises, his voice a low, satisfied rumble as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva briefly connecting them before breaking. "You're a natural-born slut, baby. The way you moaned, the way you clenched around my cock, the way you begged for my cum... you were made for this." Mr. Min growls, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a tender gesture that belies the dark, hungry look in his eyes.

"I have high hopes for you, Y/N. I think you'll make an excellent assistant, in and out of the bedroom." He adds, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, a promise of many more 'meetings' and 'paperwork' sessions to come.

This was definitely going to be a regular day at the office task. And you couldn’t wait to get to work.

#bts smut #bts fic #yoongi smut #bts #bts fan fic #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic

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0scarp1astr1 · 10 hours ago

Text

Spoiled Much? (P3)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P1 | P2

ᯓ★ Featuring: Kimi Räikkönen, Daniel Ricciardo, Alex Albon, Pierre Gasly, Liam Lawson, Isack Hadjar

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: This is the official P3 from now on when I make headcanons. I hope you all enjoy, Kimi was put here due to the high voting poll he got on my blog. I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to send in request. Masterlist coming soon.

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Kimi Räikkönen

Being married to Kimi was… well, entertaining in a very calm, “emotionally constipated Finnish man” kind of way. You were opposites. He was stoic, icy, almost allergic to showing feelings—especially in public. You, on the other hand, had a little chaos in your soul. And every now and then, that chaos had to be unleashed… in the form of a TikTok prank.

You’d seen it over and over—wives pretending a stranger paid for their stuff. Reactions ranged from jealousy to full-blown “Where is he?!” meltdowns. But with Kimi? You knew it’d be either a blink... or a shrug. Which made it all the more tempting.

“I’ll be right back,” you said sweetly, pecking him on the lips before hopping out of the car. Your phone was already hidden, camera rolling like a tiny, nosy spy.

Kimi, naturally, just nodded, barely glancing up from his phone. Classic.

You took your time in the store, mostly because you were mentally preparing for the anticlimactic, ice-cold reaction you were probably about to get. Still, you were committed.

When you slid back into the car, you kept your voice casual, like you weren’t trying to stir the pot. “Lovely guy in there paid for everything. Told him my husband was waiting outside.”

Nothing. Just a slow blink and another nod. You could practically hear crickets in the car.

“He also said I was pretty,” you tried.

“Mmm,” Kimi hummed. “You are pretty, muru.”

Not the point, Kimi.

“He even complimented my hair,” you added, fishing for any trace of reaction.

Another hum. You could swear he was actively trying to win a personal game of “How Emotionless Can I Be?”

You took a deep breath, preparing your final blow—the one thing he couldn’t ignore. “He said my eyes really brought out my features.”

And just like that, the glacier cracked.

Kimi paused, phone lowered. His eyes shifted toward you, and for the first time, there was movement behind those cool blue eyes.

“Well,” he said slowly, “your eyes are nice. But shouldn't he be looking into someone else's eyes?”

You tried to say something, but he cut you off, now fully engaged. “To compliment your eyes? Your eyes? He can compliment your shoes, maybe. But not your eyes. Those are mine. I see them every day. And I like looking at them. He doesn’t get to look at them like that.”

He reached for the door handle.

You burst into laughter, grabbing his arm. “Kimi! Relax! It’s a prank! Phone’s recording!”

He looked over, spotted the camera, and sighed like he’d just lost a bet with himself. His hand dropped from the door as he slumped back in the seat.

“Can’t believe it took eyes to finally break the Iceman,” you teased.

“I love all of you,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to his phone. “But your eyes… they’re my weakness. I knew it was a prank, and I still fell for it. I should’ve stayed quiet. Should’ve listened to my gut.”

You giggled, nudging him. “Softie.”

He scoffed. “Don’t push it.”

But then, just before turning his gaze back to the window, he added in a low, dangerous tone.

“Just so you know… I will get you back. And it’ll be worse.”

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Daniel Ricciardo

When it came to pranking Daniel, you were all in. Your marriage was a perfect blend of laughter and mischief, and you loved keeping him on his toes. Plus, with the hours you spent scrolling TikTok, you had a whole arsenal of prank ideas. Today’s plan was simple: stroll into the store, claim some random guy flirted with you and paid for everything, and watch Daniel’s reaction. Harmless, funny… and totally worth it.

You slipped out of the car, leaving your husband scrolling through his phone and casually texting Max, no doubt sharing whatever F1 gossip was fresh that day. You lingered in the store, biting back a smile as you imagined his reaction.

Back at the car, you loaded the bags into the backseat with a satisfied sigh. “Saved some money in there,” you said, handing him the card.

Daniel looked up, humming thoughtfully. “Some kind of deal going on?”

You shook your head, a mischievous grin tugging your lips. “Nope. Some guy—actually flirted with me. Paid for everything. Said I shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “And he didn’t notice the ring?”

You held up your hand with a mock sigh, the glint of your wedding band catching the sun. “Guess he didn’t, baby. Guess he didn’t…”

Daniel groaned, running a hand through his hair. You fought hard to keep from bursting out laughing.

“We’re married. It’s fine. Who cares?” you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

He frowned, phone forgotten in his hand. “I care! I’m your husband! I don’t need some random guy thinking it’s normal to pay for you when you’re taken!”

You tilted your head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re something else.”

He hummed in agreement, then smirked. “So... should I let some lady flirt with me and pay for my stuff?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

He huffed, mock-serious now. “Y/n! I’m being serious!”

You laughed. “Hey! Stop that. Can you at least listen? Baby, I—”

He raised an eyebrow, cutting you off. “I can’t believe I actually fell for this.”

You wiped a tear of laughter from your cheek. “Yeah, payback. For pranking me last week.”

He smiled softly, eyes warm. “You deserved it. Salt in my coffee and told me it was sugar? Classic.”

You shrugged with a playful grin. “And you? Worms in my shoes…”

He grinned back, eyes sparkling. “Touché, baby.”

He leaned over and kissed you gently.

“But man, your face when I told you I was ‘offended’—priceless,” you teased, laughter bubbling up.

Daniel nodded with mock seriousness.

“Laugh all you want. I’m just waiting for my moment to get payback.”

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Alex Albon

The prank on Alex was harmless, even kind of cute. You’d seen it on TikTok—so many fans adored your relationship that when they tagged you in that classic “someone paid for my groceries” prank, you couldn’t resist. Alex was perfect for it: laid-back but cheeky, and you knew just when to strike.

You’d agreed to drive while he took a break during your long road trip. He was nearly wiped out, eyes heavy but smiling softly as you pulled into the gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the lips. He smiled, already holding out his card for you to use.

You took the card without hesitation and made your way inside, paying for gas and grabbing some snacks for the trip. Smooth and easy, just like you’d planned.

Back in the car, you tossed the bags onto the driver’s seat and handed the card back to him.

“Do you want to pump the gas?” you asked, watching as he unbuckled his seatbelt with a nod.

“Yeah, I can,” he said, stretching a little.

Here it came—the moment to drop your prank. You grinned and said casually, “By the way, this guy came in while I was paying. Flirted with me a bit, then paid for the gas, snacks, everything. Pretty cool, huh?”

Alex blinked, staring at you like he’d just heard the weirdest thing.

“He… paid?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile.

He stared a little longer, then shrugged with an easy smile. “That’s good. Glad other people think you’re beautiful.”

Wait, what? That wasn’t the reaction you expected.

“You’re not mad?” you pressed, amused.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be? Free gas, snacks, drinks? If a guy’s gonna pay, let him! We’d be rich if you flaunted like that more often.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he said, still smiling. “If some guy’s willing to pay for our food, drinks, and gas, I say ‘thank you!’ Saves us money and time. You’ve always been beautiful, but now you’ve got power.”

You laughed, feeling your prank backfire in the best way possible.

“Not even a little worried?” you teased.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Nope. You love me, I love you. We’re in love. And you’re so beautiful you’re making money fall out of other people’s pockets. That’s true love.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly.

You couldn’t resist pointing at your phone with a giggle. “I was recording a prank, though. I actually paid for everything.”

Alex frowned, genuine. “No, baby, you don’t have to pay for stuff like that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you’re okay with a random guy paying for me but not okay with me paying for myself?”

He nodded seriously.

“Last time I checked, you’re way too beautiful to deal with that kind of stress.”

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Pierre Gasly

The paddock was buzzing with the usual pre-race energy—engines humming, crew members rushing, and the sweet smell of tires and coffee in the air. You and Franco had just arrived, arms loaded with snacks and drinks, ready to pull off a little prank on Pierre.

You’d spotted a classic TikTok prank where someone pretends a stranger paid for their stuff, and you knew Franco was the perfect partner in crime.

“Alright, remember the plan,” you whispered as you approached Pierre, who was leaning back in the chair casually against the garage wall, scrolling on his phone.

Franco nodded eagerly. “I got this. No mess-ups.”

You both strolled over, acting like you were just dropping off snacks.

“Hey, Pierre,” you began with a grin. “We brought snacks.”

Franco smiled wider. “And the best part? Some guy at the coffee stand flirted with her and paid for everything. So! it was free!"

Pierre’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Wait, what?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice like you were sharing state secrets. “Yeah, he said I looked too stunning to be standing alone.”

Pierre turned to Franco, suspicious. “And you? What were you doing?”

Franco shrugged nonchalantly. “Standing right there. I mean, I can’t just go knocking someone out for flirting.”

Pierre’s expression twisted in mock jealousy. “You need to relax, man.” Franco added with a smile.

You laughed and settled into Pierre’s lap, feeling his arms wrap gently around you.

“How am I supposed to relax when some guy’s swooning over my girl?” Pierre asked, pouting dramatically, chin resting onto your shoulder.

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“Uh, duh! You’re hot! Of course I’m jealous. No way some other guy’s getting close to what’s mine.”

You and Franco shared a glance and burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Pierre demanded, narrowing his eyes.

You smiled, barely able to contain yourself. “Maybe because we’re pranking you.”

Pierre sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two are going to be the reason I go bald before I’m thirty.”

Franco grinned. “Don’t worry, mate, she’s all yours. Hot and all yours. I mean, you get to have a go at a snack like her, so why does it matter?"

Pierre’s eyes flicked sharply between you and Franco. “You called my girlfriend hot?... and a snack?...what's going on in that mind of yours, Colapinto? In what form do you think of her?"

Franco’s grin widened, and just as Pierre opened his mouth to protest, Franco suddenly glanced at his watch.

“Uh, I gotta go,” Franco said quickly. “Someone’s calling me from the garage.”

Before Pierre could react, Franco was already jogging off.

Pierre jumped to his feet, kissing you deeply before running off, shouting after him with mock fury.

"GET BACK HERE, COLAPINTO! ANSWER MY DAMN QUESTION!"

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Liam Lawson

The restaurant was cozy, dimly lit with flickering candles casting soft shadows over the table. You and Liam were settled in for a relaxed dinner, the clatter of plates and murmur of conversations around you blending into a comfortable background hum.

Tonight, you had a plan, TikTok pranks, you adored them. It was to the point, you decided to prank him; some guy would be paying for you. A little prank on Liam. It was fine, and you were certain his reaction would either be chill or a little dramatic.

Liam had excused himself to the restroom, leaving you alone at the table with your phone discreetly tucked in your lap, recording. You could barely contain your grin.

This was going to be good.

A few moments later, Liam returned, brushing his hands on his jeans, and took a seat opposite you.

“So,” you started casually, picking up your wine glass and swirling the red liquid thoughtfully. “Funny thing happened while you were gone.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. “Some guy at the bar came up to me, flirted a little, and—get this—paid for my drink. Said I looked too good to be drinking alone.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed immediately, the easy smile fading as he looked around the restaurant like he was scanning for this mystery rival.

“Wait… what? Some guy just paid for your drink? Who was he? Where is he?” His voice was low but carried that unmistakable edge of irritation. You knew of his jealousy, but this? This stemmed a reaction you didn't entirely expect too much of.

You bit your lip, fighting laughter as he started scanning every face in the room, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Oh come on, Liam, it’s not a big deal,” you teased, swirling your glass again.

“Not a big deal?” he echoed, voice rising a notch as he glanced at a couple seated a few tables away. “That guy over there? No. The bartender? No. What about the waiter? Are you telling me he was flirting with you?”

You shook your head, barely holding back giggles as he continued his quiet but intense investigation, clearly rattled. He looked around, eyes scanning everyone.

"Come on! Babe, you have to tell me what he looked like! I'm dying to know who is trying to steal away my woman on a dinner night!" he stated.

"I'll ask myself!" he stood up, getting ready to go ask every guest and worker around if they paid for you.

“Liam…” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “it was just a prank.”

He froze mid-glance, eyes widening as he realized the truth. His expression melted from suspicious to embarrassed in seconds. He sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, cheeks tinged pink.

“You got me,” he muttered, voice sheepish.

You grinned, lowering your phone and sliding it across the table. “Caught you red-handed. Who knew you were the jealous type?"

He groaned dramatically. “I can’t believe you recorded me. I looked like a jealous lunatic. Now, everyone is gonna think that way!"

You reached across the table, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re adorable.”

He looked up at you, eyes softening despite the lingering embarrassment. “Yeah, well, don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Oh?” you challenged, eyebrow raised. "Another little prank war?" you asked. "Bring it, Lawson."

He smirked, leaning in.

“You just wait. I’m plotting my revenge."

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Isack Hadjar

Isack Hadjar was honestly the sweetest boyfriend in the world. His gentle nature made you feel safe and loved, and while you did love pranking him from time to time, it always left you with a tiny bit of guilt—because his reactions were usually so funny and so unexpected. Which is why the prank about someone paying for you that day was all the more entertaining.

You were at home in your first shared apartment, the cozy space filled with little pieces of both your lives. You set your phone up carefully, hiding it from Isack’s view but capturing everything perfectly.

The sound of the front door opening caught your attention. Isack walked in, dropping his gym bag by the door, a sheen of sweat still on his forehead. You greeted him with a soft kiss.

“How was shopping today?” he asked, flashing his gentle smile.

“Good, actually,” you said with a grin. “I got a lot of new shoes.”

Isack’s smile deepened. “So you had fun?”

You nodded, eyes sparkling. “Fun is an understatement. A guy paid for me today. Said a pretty thing like me should be spoiled to the core.”

The look on Isack’s face shifted immediately—there it was. Jealousy. And a dramatic little gasp escaped his lips.

“You accepted his payment?” he asked, arms crossing defensively.

You hummed in response, a teasing smile on your face. “Come on, Isack. You didn’t have to pay for it.”

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. “Since when has paying for you ever bothered me? I paid for your birthday dinner, those shoes you wanted last weekend, and you even got a brand new watch you didn’t even ask for.”

You almost felt guilty, wanting to call off the prank, but he just kept going.

“And plus!” he said, voice rising with mock confidence, “I’m great in bed! My sex is way better! Any guy can pay for you, but when it comes to the bigger person here—it’s me.”

You burst out laughing, causing him to raise a suspicious brow.

“Are you gonna take that title from me too—?” he started.

You shook your head, grinning. “No silly, I’m just enjoying your reaction to this prank.”

He stopped mid-step, eyes wide as the realization hit him. “I fell for a prank... again…”

You nodded proudly, unable to hide your grin. “And you are definitely a cute little jealous thing.”

Isack shook his head and walked away, muttering under his breath, “Okay, betrayal... again.”

You heard him pause before adding, “You woman have pranked me so much, I’m gonna start planning my revenge.”

You raised a brow. “You? Getting me back?”

He nodded, a sly smile creeping across his face. “And I have the best person to help me.”

You hummed, excited. “So, the prank war is on?” you asked as he slipped backward, his finger pointed at you as he slowly closed the bathroom door.

“Oh yeah!”

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shesgaymichaelscott · 1 day ago

Note

heyyo! saw that youre taking requests so i decided to give it a try. what about...

melissa vehemently insisting that she doesnt have feelings for the new math teacher, who usually keeps to themselves and exudes a calm, nonchalant demeanor so no one really minds their quiet presence and is cool with all the staff and students alike. it's not until the new teacher pops into the break room or is close by does melissa do a complete 180, saying subtly flirty compliments and going the extra mile to help them out when she sees them struggling with something and sharing some of her food insisting that she "overpacked" even tho she had prepared two tupperwares of the dish.

ending is completely up to you.

completely fine if this doesn't catch your interest. thought i'd give it a shot. can't wait to read more of your amazing work!!

Denial Runs Deep

Word Count: 3.8k

(fluff, flirting, and flustered/nervous melissa ☺️)

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs @myownworriedshoes

The new math teacher at Abbott Elementary didn't make much of an entrance—no dramatic backstory, no clunky cart full of broken calculators, no awkward icebreaker speech in the auditorium. Just a quiet start on a Monday in January, sliding seamlessly into the rhythm of the school with a calm, collected energy that somehow made even seventh-grade fractions feel less like a nightmare and more like a gentle puzzle.

You were... cool. Effortlessly so. A little aloof, sure, but never cold.

You gave off the kind of serene confidence that made the other teachers instinctively lower their shoulders when you entered a room. Students respected you because you didn't demand it—you just had it. Always in slacks or jeans with your sleeves pushed up, an ever-so-slightly crooked smile when a kid made a joke that actually landed. You never raised your voice, but somehow everyone still listened when you spoke.

And the rest of the staff? Yeah, they adored you.

Jacob cornered you for crossword clues between classes.

Janine bounced next to you like an excitable golden retriever every lunch period, unpacking her latest dramatic classroom story as you listened with a bemused smile and the occasional deadpan, "Did he really throw the pencil into the ceiling tile, or are you exaggerating again?"

You called Barbara Mrs. Howard with reverence, and when she gave you a rare warm chuckle and patted your arm, you took it like a blessing from the Pope.

Even Ava liked you, though she pretended not to, loudly calling you "Calculators McChill" in the hallway while watching you from the corner of her eye like she couldn't quite believe you were real.

But Melissa?

Melissa Schemmenti was an entirely different story.

The first time you walked into the break room, just looking for coffee, she short-circuited.

It wasn't obvious at first. Not to anyone but Barbara, maybe. Melissa was still Melissa—snarky, sharp, confident, the kind of woman who could cut someone down with a single arched brow. But the second you leaned against the counter, asking if the machine was always this slow, something shifted.

"Oh," Melissa said, looking up from her phone like she'd been caught doing something illegal. "Yeah, it's a piece of crap. I've been meaning to fix it myself, but y'know, union rules." She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. "You want me to make you one? I got a little stovetop espresso thing in my classroom. Italian style."

You blinked, surprised but amused. "That's... incredibly kind. Thanks, but I'm good."

She smiled like you'd just kicked her dog. "Right, yeah. No worries. Offer's open."

And from there? It only got worse.

Melissa Schemmenti, who once told Jacob to "tough it out" when he had strep, suddenly became the patron saint of small favors—if you were involved. You mentioned struggling to open a jammed drawer in your classroom? She was there five minutes later with a crowbar and a smug grin.

"Can't have you breaking a nail over some busted district furniture," she said, like it was a normal thing to say.

Like she hadn't just sprinted across the building with a literal crowbar she'd pulled from god-knows-where.

She popped the drawer open with a single, practiced jerk and looked way too proud of herself.

"Easy."

You blinked at her, eyebrows lifting. "Do you... just carry that around?"

"No," she said, too quickly. "I mean—yes. Sometimes. Not always. Just when—listen, do you want me to fix the filing cabinet too or not?"

You smirked. "Melissa, I didn't even say anything about the filing cabinet."

She flushed. "Right. I just assumed."

Over the next few weeks, the pattern only got weirder. You weren't dense—just observant in a way most people weren't used to. And Melissa? She was hard to ignore.

She hovered. Not in a creepy way. Not in a loud way. Just... present. More than she needed to be.

She started showing up outside your door during dismissal to "borrow tape," which she always forgot to take. She cut you in line at the copier just to lean in and murmur something like, "You math people always get the front of lines. You've got the angles." And then she'd wink—wink—and saunter away like she hadn't just made the worst pun of 2025.

It was kind of... endearing. Infuriating. Funny.

You couldn't decide which.

And the flirty comments? God. She was getting brazen.

"You should come by my room sometime," she said one Thursday afternoon, casually leaning against your desk while you cleaned up after a test. "I could show you how I organize all my student data. You know. If you're into... charts."

You stared at her, one brow slowly rising.

"I'm really good with graphs," she added, then seemed to realize what she'd said and immediately turned away, pretending to cough. "Line graphs. Pie charts. Bar... ones."

You leaned back in your chair. "Is this a math joke or a pickup line?"

She didn't answer. Just muttered something about "needing to laminate things" and practically ran out of the room.

That night at happy hour, Melissa was already halfway through a whiskey when Janine brought you up.

"You like her," Janine sing-songed. "Don't lie."

"I do not," Melissa shot back. "I'm just being polite. Unlike some people in this school, I support my coworkers."

"You support her by blushing every time she asks you to pass the whiteboard markers?"

Jacob leaned in dramatically. "Melissa. You accidentally called her babe last week."

"It was baby, actually," Ava corrected, sipping her margarita without looking up from her phone. "Which is worse."

Melissa slapped her palm against the table. "It was the end of the day! I was tired! I'd just eaten a suspicious hoagie!"

Janine wheezed. "Suspicious hoagies don't make you call someone baby, Melissa."

Barbara, seated primly at the end of the table, just sipped her wine and said, "It's always the calm ones."

And you? Oblivious—or so they thought.

The truth was, you'd noticed. You noticed the way her voice softened around you, like a cigarette after a storm. You noticed the way her hands lingered just a second longer when she passed you things. The not-so-subtle glances. The way she always sat next to you at staff meetings, leaning in too close under the excuse of "can't hear Gregory's mumbling from over there."

And you weren't doing anything about it.

Yet.

Because the thing was... you kind of liked watching her unravel. Just a little. The woman who could stare down a contractor into fixing three busted heaters with a wrench and a threat—blushing because you complimented her handwriting on a hall pass?

Yeah.

You could let this slow burn.

For now.

⸻

It started the way most of your days ended lately—with Melissa showing up outside your classroom door, shoulder propped against the frame like she hadn't been waiting there for the last ten minutes.

"You're walking out alone?" she asked casually, like this wasn't the fourth time this week she'd asked the same thing. "Y'know, parking lot gets dark early this time of year. Could be some creep lurking by the dumpsters."

You arched a brow, locking your classroom behind you. "You mean Ava? She's usually just vaping behind the bushes."

Melissa chuckled low in her throat, the sound rough and warm. "Exactly. Dangerous."

So she walked you out. The sky had turned that soft, peachy color, the kind that made the school look almost magical if you squinted past the cracked concrete and the noise of the dismissal buses still echoing down the street.

You didn't speak much. Melissa walked close, hands shoved into her coat pockets, eyes scanning the lot like she was on guard duty.

You'd grown used to her company like this—quiet, a little awkward, but comforting in a strange way. Protective. Gentle in a way you could tell she didn't show often.

When you reached your car, you clicked the unlock button but didn't open the door. You turned, leaning lightly against the driver's side with your arms crossed.

"You always this chivalrous?" you asked, gaze light, teasing.

Melissa looked at you, blinking like she'd just realized where she was. "What?"

You tilted your head, letting a smile curl up at the corner of your mouth. "Walking me to my car. Offering coffee. Packing me lunch. Kinda seems like you've got a little crush."

Melissa opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then made a small, high-pitched huh noise you'd never heard from her in your life.

You leaned in just a touch, enough to make her shoulders stiffen. "Unless this is just your standard coworker protocol?"

Her face turned red. Like full-on firetruck, tomato, sunburn-in-February red. She sputtered. Sputtered. Hands flailing slightly as she tried to get her mouth to work.

"I don't—I mean—it's not a—crush, I just—I'm just being polite! Friendly! Courteous! Like—Jesus, I'm not trying to flirt, I—"

You just smiled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

"Goodnight, Melissa," you said sweetly, slipping into your car before she could recover.

She stood there, staring after you like you'd slapped her across the face with a math textbook.

⸻

The next week, it truly began.

When you arrived at school, there was a Tupperware container on your desk. A perfect portion of baked ziti, still warm. Nestled beside it? A small handwritten note:

"Overdid it last night. Take it or I'll be offended. —M."

It continued for the rest of the week.

Tuesday: Eggplant parm with fresh basil and a mini cannoli. "Made too much again. Weird how that keeps happening, huh?"

Wednesday: Homemade soup with crusty bread wrapped in foil. "Figured you forgot to eat breakfast. Don't let your blood sugar crash, Mathlete."

Thursday: Chicken cutlets and a container of caponata with your name on the lid. "Totally normal coworker lunch. Don't read into it."

Jacob, naturally, read into it.

At lunch, he leaned across the table, whispering like it was a state secret. "You're being courted. This is full-blown Schemmenti courtship behavior. You're like two biscotti away from a proposal."

Janine gasped dramatically. "Do you think she's gonna bake for you next? That's like... the holy grail."

"She brought me a single stale pretzel when I got food poisoning," Jacob muttered. "But you? That soup had herbs."

Barbara just hummed with the quiet wisdom of someone who'd seen this coming miles away. "Melissa only cooks like that for family. Or... someone she wants to be family."

Ava, as always, had the final word. She slid into the lounge, sunglasses still on, and held up a container she'd swiped from the fridge.

"Found her name on this," she said, pointing at the label. "Melissa Schemmenti. But guess what it says under it? 'Not for Ava. Not for Janine. Definitely not for Jacob. If you touch this and your name isn't Math, I will end you.'"

You raised your eyebrows. "Math?"

Ava smirked. "Guess that's your new nickname."

And Melissa?

Melissa walked in ten seconds later, saw the container in your hands, and tripped over nothing.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, cheeks already pink as she rushed to your side. "Don't let Ava near that, she doesn't understand the value of flavor."

You smiled. "You packed my lunch again."

She huffed. "Yeah, well. I overcooked. It happens."

"Four days in a row?"

Melissa stared you down, lips twitching. "You want me to stop?"

You paused. Then—"No."

Her expression faltered for half a second, like she wasn't expecting that. Then she nodded stiffly, like she had to physically lock herself in place so she didn't smile too hard.

"Good," she said, like it wasn't the highlight of her week.

The rain that day had started around noon.

It came in fast—thick, sideways sheets that hammered against the old windows of Abbott like the sky had a personal vendetta. Lightning cracked once, close enough to shake the floors, and somewhere down the hall, a kid screamed and then claimed it was on purpose.

The building went dim. Not dark, but dim enough for the emergency lights to flicker on, casting everything in this weird, bluish haze. Janine's voice echoed faintly down the corridor—"It's just rain! Nobody panic!"—followed by a crash, a yelp, and a suspiciously Ava-shaped cackle.

You were at your desk, calmly grading quizzes by the glow of your desk lamp when Melissa appeared in the doorway, looking like she'd been tossed into the storm herself. Her red hair was half-damp, her jacket spotted with rain, and her expression was somewhere between murderous and mildly electrocuted.

"They shut the front entrance," she announced, storming in without waiting for an invitation. "Some kid tried to ride his scooter through the lobby. Nearly broke Janine's ankle."

You looked up. "Was she—?"

"Fine," she muttered, tossing her soaked jacket over the back of a chair. "Traumatized, but fine."

You leaned back in your chair, arms folded. "And you came all the way across the building to tell me this because...?"

Melissa hesitated.

She blinked. Shrugged one shoulder like she was trying very hard to look casual. "Storm's bad. Figured I'd make sure you weren't trapped under a filing cabinet or something. You know, basic coworker safety protocols."

You smiled slowly. "You check on all your coworkers during storms?"

"Just the important ones," she muttered—and then froze like she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Outside, thunder rolled low and lazy across the sky. Inside, the silence felt heavy and soft.

Melissa cleared her throat and crossed to your desk, gesturing to the pile of papers. "So, uh... whatcha workin' on?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You want to help me grade?"

"No," she said immediately. "God, no. I just—I thought maybe you'd want some company, or a snack, or—" She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a granola bar. "Here. I brought this. It's peanut butter. I remembered you like peanut butter."

You blinked. "How do you—"

"Jacob mentioned it once. In passing. I retain information. Like an elephant."

You took the granola bar. Your fingers brushed hers.

Melissa's ears turned pink.

She looked away so fast it gave you whiplash.

"Anyway," she said, backing toward the door, "I should, uh, go check on the cafeteria. Make sure no one's looting the chocolate milk stash."

She bumped into the doorframe on the way out.

An hour later, Melissa was walking past the teacher's lounge when she heard your voice. And then—Janine's. And Jacob's.

She could've kept walking. She should've kept walking.

Instead, she slowed to a crawl.

She stood just outside the doorway, pretending to read a poster on the wall that had been up since 2013. Something about flu season and elbow sneezing.

Inside, your voice floated out, light and amused. "I think we're gonna hit that bookstore on South Street—maybe grab dinner after, depending on how late it gets."

"Oh!" Janine gasped. "With a friend?"

There was a beat.

You hesitated. "Yeah. A friend."

Jacob made a noise that could only be described as an attempted gasp followed by a wheeze. "Is it a friend or a friend-friend?"

Melissa stared at the poster so hard her eyes started to blur. She couldn't hear your answer—Janine had squealed too loud—but she heard laughter. Your laughter. Warm and soft and private.

And it made something in Melissa's stomach twist.

She forced herself to keep walking, past the door, past Ava sitting on a beanbag outside her office scrolling through TikTok.

Ava didn't even look up. "Don't worry, Schemmenti. If it's a date, they'll be bored in ten minutes. You're still in the lead."

Melissa stopped, turned, and glared.

"I wasn't eavesdropping."

Ava just grinned. "Sure, babe. And I'm not looking at videos of hot accountants."

Melissa didn't respond. Just marched off down the hallway, muttering something about bookstores being overrated anyway.

But that night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying your laugh over and over like a record needle stuck in the same groove.

And the next morning, Melissa arrived at Abbott early.

Too early.

The kind of early that made Barbara squint at her from across the office and say, "Okay, either you're sleepwalking or you murdered someone and need an alibi."

Melissa ignored her. She was already mid-spiral.

She paced the halls with a cup of too-hot coffee clutched in her hands like it was keeping her tethered to earth. Every now and then, she passed your classroom and paused just short of the door, debating whether or not to go in under the pretense of... what? Sharing printer paper?

She ended up just muttering something under her breath and stalking away like the hall itself had offended her.

She was pacing again by the time she reached the lounge.

Jacob looked up from his yogurt and immediately perked. "Oh no. You've got that look again."

"What look?" she snapped, even though she knew exactly what look.

Janine gasped, mid-sip of her smoothie. "The flustered romantic sitcom lead look! You always do that tight-mouth pacing thing when you're trying not to think about them."

Melissa froze. "Them who?"

Jacob grinned. "The cool math teacher you're in love with."

"I'm not—!" Melissa started, then groaned and scrubbed a hand down her face. "I don't even know if she was on a date last night."

Barbara looked up from her tea, calm and knowing as ever. "You could ask."

"I can't ask," Melissa hissed. "Because then she'll know I was thinking about it."

Janine tilted her head. "Sweetie. She already knows."

"She doesn't," Melissa insisted, then added, quieter, "...does she?"

Barbara gave her a look so full of maternal disappointment it almost made her sit down.

Jacob patted her on the arm. "It's time, Schemmenti. Admit it. Out loud. Say the words: I like her."

Melissa stared at him like he'd asked her to strip naked and sing the national anthem in the cafeteria.

Janine leaned forward. "Just say it. You'll feel better."

There was a long pause.

Melissa inhaled.

"I—"

The door creaked open behind her.

Your voice, amused: "You what?"

Melissa jumped like you'd tasered her.

She whirled around so fast she nearly spilled her coffee, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing without sound. "I—I was just saying I—I like..." Her eyes darted to the table. "...Jacob's shirt. Very... paisley."

Jacob beamed. "It's called botanical print."

You bit back a grin. "Very bold of you, Melissa."

Her ears turned red again.

You sauntered further into the lounge, dropping your bag by the counter. "So," you said casually, not looking at her as you poured yourself a coffee, "anyone want to ask me how my night was?"

Melissa tried to play it cool. Leaned against the table with a tight shrug, pretending not to care while her thumb nervously tapped against her cup. "Oh, you, uh... go out? Looked like rain."

You tilted your head toward her, eyes glinting. "Didn't end up going out, actually."

Melissa's posture straightened just slightly. "No?"

You shook your head. "Stayed home. Opened a bottle of wine. Watched some terrible cooking competition show."

Melissa swallowed. "Alone?"

You smiled, slow and wicked. "Why? Jealous?"

She choked on her coffee. Jacob wheezed. Janine actually squealed.

Melissa coughed, cleared her throat, glared at the refrigerator for moral support. "Just... making conversation."

You nodded, stepping closer, holding her gaze now. "Well. I did have an extra bottle I didn't open. Thought maybe... you'd want to help me with it tonight."

Melissa blinked.

Stared.

Her voice came out a little hoarse. "Tonight?"

"Unless you're busy," you said, with a slight shrug. "I know you've got a full schedule of pretending not to like me and stalking me in the halls—"

"I don't—!"

You grinned. "Kidding."

She looked like she might actually melt into the linoleum.

Then, slowly, she exhaled, chin lifting. "Alright. I'll come over."

You raised a brow. "Yeah?"

She tried for her usual smirk. It came out shaky but determined. "Only because I hate the idea of good wine going to waste."

Janine whispered to Jacob, "We are so taking credit for this."

Barbara sipped her tea with the grace of a prophet watching her predictions come true.

And Melissa?

Melissa didn't stop smiling the whole rest of the day.

⸻

The wine was good.

Really good, actually—but Melissa wouldn't have been able to tell you a single note of flavor if her life depended on it.

She was sitting on your couch, perched on the edge like she might have to sprint out the door at any second, gripping her glass with both hands like she was worried it might spontaneously combust.

You, meanwhile, were sunk comfortably into the cushions, one leg curled beneath you, your glass dangling lazily in one hand as you sipped and smiled like this was normal.

Which—it should have been. Two coworkers. Sharing wine. Casual.

Except nothing about it felt casual to Melissa, because you looked too good in soft lamplight and your voice was too warm when you laughed and your leg had been brushing hers off and on for the past ten minutes and Melissa Schemmenti was hanging on by an emotional thread.

You leaned a little closer, tilting your head. "So... you always this jittery when someone invites you over, or is this a me-specific thing?"

Melissa coughed. Choked slightly. Recovered with a bark of laughter that sounded suspiciously like a panic response.

"Jittery?" she repeated. "Me? Pffft. No. I just—uh—haven't sat on a couch this soft in a while. Throws off the spine."

You gave her a look, then took another slow sip of wine. "Interesting. Because you looked pretty relaxed last week when Ava dared you to throw a dodgeball at Jacob's head."

Melissa muttered something about "muscle memory" and drank deeply.

You smiled again. This time, you let your knee press more deliberately into hers.

She went rigid.

You didn't move away.

Instead, your fingers trailed along the seam of your wine glass as you said, "You're kind of cute when you're nervous, you know."

Her head snapped toward you.

Her voice pitched a little too high. "I'm not—!"

You reached out and gently touched her hand, fingers brushing lightly across hers where she clutched the stem of her glass. Her breath hitched.

She dropped her gaze to where your hands met but said nothing.

For one long moment, the only sound was the quiet jazz playing from your Bluetooth speaker and the rain still tapping against the window.

Then Melissa pulled her hand away like it had burned her.

"I—I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to—God, I shouldn't've come over. I'm messing this up, aren't I? I thought maybe we were just—wine, and coworkers, and I don't even know if you—"

"Melissa."

She stopped.

You scooted in, slow and deliberate, and placed your hand back over hers, this time with no hesitance. Her breath caught again, but she didn't pull away.

You smiled softly. "I know you like me."

Her eyes widened.

You continued, voice low and teasing. "Everyone at school knows. I think the copier repair guy even knows. Honestly, the only person who thought they were being subtle was you."

Melissa opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off with a gentle thumb brushing across her knuckles.

"And here's the thing," you said, quieter now. "I like you too."

Her eyes searched yours like she wasn't sure she'd heard you right.

So you leaned in, just a little, enough for your knees to press fully together, for your faces to hover in shared space, warm wine-softened air between you.

"I like you, Melissa," you said again, more certain. "Always have."

Melissa blinked.

Then her shoulders slumped with the weight of about four months of suppressed emotion and six failed attempts at flirting and one very nervous heart.

She let out a breath. "Oh thank God," she muttered, closing her eyes. "Because I've been acting like a goddamn lunatic."

You laughed.

She cracked one eye open.

"I mean seriously," she said. "I made pasta for you. In two separate containers. That's like—marriage-level affection in my culture."

You grinned. "I was flattered."

"Good," she said, slowly untensing. "Because I think I've wanted to kiss you since January."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Well," you said, voice soft and teasing again, "it's April."

Her mouth twitched. "You're saying I'm behind schedule?"

You leaned in, inches from her now.

"I'm saying you've got some catching up to do."

And this time, when her hand found yours again—stronger, surer—she didn't let go.

86 notes · View notes

kichiyosh1 · 1 day ago

Text

"Maybe next time… I’ll have something better to say."

scaramouche, wanderer, kabukimono

4.8k words

A run-in with Scaramouche was never going to end quietly. One heated moment leads to you striking him, and immediately regretting it. But instead of the disaster you brace for, things shift. The conversation doesn’t go how it should, and neither of you seem to know what to make of it. It’s awkward, tense, and maybe… something else entirely too.

✧: contains dialogue of bickering, totally not scaramouche just belittling, degrading and dehumanizing you for his own insecurities. enemies to lovers' banter never hurt anyone, no? fluff at the end

note: ahhh how I've missed writing, to those that know me, I'm back! and for those that don't, I hope I can interest you with this new piece of mine. I'd say it's a big improvement from how I used to write. I am no wordsmith, but I hope my current skills will suffice. enjoy! ( I've been reading way too many HL fanfics my brain's becoming mush agjsahgaghss)

Scaramouche kept a strict standard in all things, from the moment he rises to prepare for the day to how he'd like his missions to be carried out. Accuracy and precision are absolute; even the slightest error would betray a flaw in him. Hinting to a past he’s already left for dead.

He was never one to hesitate to point out the shortcomings of others. In his eyes, flaw was weakness, and weakness had no place in his presence. He scrutinized every action, every word, not out of malice but because he believed he had the right. Perfection was not an ideal to him. It was a requirement. To falter was to be exposed, and vulnerability was something he refused to allow, neither in others nor in himself.

Even now, lost in his usual riigid thought, his mind drifts uninvited, unwanted, to you. He exhales sharply through his nose, a trace of irritation rising in his chest. He shouldn't be thinking about you. The very person where all his ideals go to die. And yet, here you are, lingering in the back of his mind, like an ich he can't locate and be rid off.

A strong General, a candidate for a spot amongst the other harbingers. He's heard stories of you. Agents whisper about how you single handedly wiped out an entire enemy camp. Cicin Mages murmur praise about your quick thinking in battle. And inevitably, the stories always end the same way, with fawning admiration for your strength, your charm, your ability to command a room without even trying. It grates on him more than he cares to admit.

A waterfall of exaggeration he thinks…

You are flawed. In fact, you have many. He’s seen the way your fingers twitch at the hem of your clothes when you're anxious, as if trying to hold yourself together thread by thread. “Quick thinking” they say, perhaps it's because you don't bother to think at all, your body moves on instinct before your mind catches up, reckless and unrefined. A creature led more by impulse than calculation.

The corridor was quiet, the low hum of distant machinery and footsteps echoing faintly through the polished stone walls of the Tsaritsa’s Palace. He walked with practiced precision, posture sharp, each step purposeful. His thoughts were occupied, dissecting faults that weren't his own, when a sudden movement entered his path.

And just his luck, no, more fittingly, his misfortune, he rounded the corner and your worlds collided. Literally.

A sharp step, the brush of fabric, a sudden halt. The impact was small, but the offense felt monumental.

"Watch it."

The words slipped from him, low and cold, not barked but bitten off. His eyes met yours for the briefest moment, narrowed and unreadable, like a blade sheathed just enough not to draw blood. In truth, he had seen you coming a second too late, but pride would sooner shatter than admit fault.

You stood there, surprised, perhaps apologetic. Or worse, unbothered.

And that irritated him even more. But after a moment you open your mouth to speak

“M-my apologies, I was in a hurry and—”

“Was that a stutter I just heard?” You can see the look of disgust on his face, not that he was doing anything to be discreet about it. This causes you to raise a brow.

“So what of it? I was obviously startled.” You're willing to admit you share a fault in the predicament, but engaging in a fair conversation with scaramouche would be akin to walking over a pit of venomous snakes, which is why you try to thread your words as carefully as you can, lest you wish to get bitten.

“Sure. Let's go along with that.” He took a step forward, his kasa tilting just enough to reveal narrowed eyes. It was a mannerism you’d seen before, one he reserved for those he deemed beneath him. With that traveler from another world, his kind act was all a facade. But with you, his intentions were laid bare.

“Though, are you trembling from the cold… or something else entirely?”

This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered the Balladeer, yet every time his gaze settled on you, it burned, sharp, unrelenting, and far too intense. His snide remarks and carefully veiled insults never failed to make their rounds, each one more infuriating than the last. Still, you managed to remain professional to the bitter end.

That didn’t stop the twitch in your eye or the veins now visibly pressing at your temples. You took a slow breath.

“Must you nitpick the smallest of things? Have I done something to upset you, Balladeer?” You've always remained docile between your interactions with others, with the intent to not get on their bad side. But when it came to Scaramouche, that became increasingly difficult. What you didn’t realize, however, was that very calmness you held onto was exactly what stirred the fire in his blood.

“Perhaps. It's not what you've done, but rather what I've heard you did, your so-called achievements. In which case, I was right to believe it was all nothing more than ludicrous exaggeration.” He spoke the words like a fact. He's perceiving you like the dirt beneath his feet. Something meant to be trampled on, not acknowledged.

A part of you knew nothing good would come of this already spiraling conversation. Why bother trying to fill a cup with water when he insisted on poking holes in the bottom just to watch it leak? You had offered clarity, reason, and even restraint. Yet every word out of his mouth chipped away at your patience like a steady, deliberate tap against glass.

Your fingers twitched again at your side, a quiet habit you barely noticed anymore. You shifted your weight, eyes briefly darting to the hallway behind him. Maybe if you turned now, you could salvage what little dignity remained. No victory would come from trading words with someone who only spoke to belittle. You weren’t going to win. Not because you lacked wit, but because he didn’t care for the truth ("only his truth," you internally corrected yourself), but only the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

You exhaled slowly, preparing to step away.

But before you could turn—

“Now that I've got a good look at you, you share the same traits as a rabbit,” he murmured, tone venom-laced silk. “Yes, pretty to look at, and make wonderful pets as well, but also fall prey to everything around them.”

His hand lifted without warning. Fingers ghosted along the edge of your jaw, a mockery of gentleness in the way he examined you like a specimen. His eyes narrowed, analyzing, degrading.

Your blood ran cold at his words, but then, just as quickly, it boiled.

“You're one to talk.” Your voice didn’t rise, didn’t falter. Calm, steady, and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, stepping back just enough to break the contact, yet your gaze didn’t leave his. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch.

Inside, your thoughts simmered, not in rage, but with quiet disbelief. If he expected you to shrink away, to play the role he carved out for you in his twisted narrative, he was sorely mistaken.

You were still standing. Still composed.

And he hated that.

“Hmm…” he drawled, taking his time with the sound like he was sizing you up.

He looked you over again, this time with clear intent. There was no admiration in his gaze, only cold scrutiny. He studied you the way one would examine something fragile, waiting for it to crack.

“How far do you think you can go before your body gives out under the pressure of your role?” he said, tilting his head slightly, voice calm but cold. “You walk around acting like you’ve got it all under control. Straight posture, voice level, like you’ve got something to prove.”

In a swift movement, he leans in by your ear, and your breath hitches. “But I see it. The fatigue behind your eyes. The way your hands tense when no one’s looking. The effort it takes for you to stay upright on this sinking boat of yours. You’re holding it together, sure, but barely.”

He paused, his expression sharpening.

“When it finally breaks, I’ll be there. Watching. A sight I’ll be thrilled to see.”

Something in you snaps.

Without thinking, your palm comes in contact with his cheek, the sound sharp and unforgiving. His head jerked to the side, and for a heartbeat, everything was still.

He turned back to you slowly, his hand now cradling his face, fingers pressed lightly against the reddened skin where your slap had landed, though his grip was tight enough to betray the sting. His expression twisted into something between disbelief and murder. Rage simmered just beneath the surface, the corners of his smile not reaching his eyes, twisted and humorless.

“Hah. Have you gone mad?” His voice was quiet, far too quiet. He looked at you like you’d just committed a grave sin, like he was on the brink of just erasing you from existence.

For what it's worth, it was taking everything within you not to drop down on your knees and apologize right there on the spot. Hell, Your heart thudded in your chest, sharp and loud in your ears, like it was punishing you for acting on impulse. You weren’t the type to lash out. Despite your rash decision making, you were never one to exact violence on others unless it was necessary.

And yet here you were, palm still tingling from the impact of striking one of the Harbingers, the Balladeer, like he was just another irritant in your day (which from how things have been unfolding, he's becoming a constant). You could already imagine your ancestors rolling in their graves. No doubt they were gasping, clutching their chests from the spirit realm, watching your reckless decision unfold in slow motion.

Still, you refused to let your face show the panic bubbling under your skin. Your posture remained firm, and your jaw was set, even as your mind screamed that this might have been the biggest mistake of your life.

You met his gaze, forcing the quiver in your voice back down your throat.

“You’re deserving of another,” you said slowly, each word weighed carefully. Your fists were clenched at your sides from irritation and to keep your fingers from trembling. The silence that followed was thick and oppressive. Your heart was still racing, but you held his stare. If you were going to die for this, you weren’t going to do it acting like a bumbling fool, that's for sure.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, trying to keep your voice level even as your pulse hammered in your ears.

“What’s your problem? You're talking to me like I wronged you in another life. Like I'm your sworn enemy. I don't recall doing anything worth picking a fight over.”

You spoke before you could second-guess yourself, a calm mask stretched over the mild panic crackling under your skin. There was an edge of frustration in your tone, but you kept it low, unwilling to give him the pleasure of seeing you rattled. Then your breath hitched again, barely, but enough to notice. You didn’t mean for your voice to waver, but the heat in your chest was rising. The pressure of his stare, the hostility in his words, it was overwhelming in its own way.

Scaramouche’s gaze flickered for a heartbeat, a shadow of something almost melancholic passing through his eyes. It was gone so quickly you wondered if you only imagined it.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true,” he murmured, his voice dipping for just a moment. Something in his expression shifted, it was faint, unreadable. You caught it in the silence that followed, but it passed too quickly to name. He blinked once, slowly, then lifted his chin and resumed that same sharp, composed stare, as if nothing had changed in the moment.

He’d done worse for less. One move, and this would be over. Easy.

“Meek and foolish… but bold, I'll give you that.” But even as he said it, a thought gnawed at him. He could’ve ended this long ago, struck you down and walked away without consequence, so why hadn’t he?

So why was he holding back, letting you speak, letting you look at him like you saw something he himself doesn't wish would come to light? It gnawed at him, this hesitation. He’d never allowed such restraint before, not for anyone. Yet here he stood, teeth clenched around something unnamed, unsure whether it was curiosity, defiance or fear.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air hung heavy, not with hostility, but something quieter. He didn’t strike back with a fresh insult. He didn’t lash out or silently mock you. That, more than anything, gave you pause.

You really didn’t know how it had gotten to this point. Frustration burned low in your chest. Because every word he said felt like a challenge, like he wanted to get under your skin just to prove he could. He twisted everything, met every response with something sharper. It was exhausting.

Why haven't you just walked away? Shut this all down before it spiraled any further. But then, just for a second, something changed.

You weren’t sure why, but your anger eased. Not entirely, but enough to make you hesitate. That momentary crack in him dulled the edge of your frustration.

For a fleeting moment, he didn’t seem like a Harbinger or a tyrant trying to tear you down. He just looked… tired. Alone, maybe. Worn down by something you weren’t meant to see. And somehow, that made somethinga in you stir.

For someone so quick to point out the flaws of others, he was full of them himself. Whether he acknowledged it or not. And somehow, that realization made your chest ache in a way you didn’t expect.

There was something sad about it. About him.

Perhaps he was like this because he was covering something up. Not power or pride, but insecurity. Fear. A need to stay untouchable so no one could get close enough to see where it hurts.

You took a slow breath, grounding yourself again.

“—Although preferably in this one, I would like it if we weren’t,” you said, voice softer now. “I have no reason to hate you, Balladeer. So please, don’t give me any reason to.”

Your words were measured, a plea wrapped in firm resolve. Inside, you chided yourself for sounding almost diplomatic when your nerves felt like frayed wires. Still, you met his stare without flinching.

He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive, but it lacked its usual venom. His arms crossed, and for once, he’s the one to break contact away from your gaze.

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even self-pity. It sounded more like a fact he had long accepted. A sad fact. But even in that resignation, you could hear the weight of it. Like someone who had never expected kindness in the first place.

“That's not something new,” he muttered. “I’ve got enemies too, you know. Some within the Fatui who’d be thrilled to one day witness my downfall. Adding you on to the list, as far as I'm concerned, won't make a difference.”

Perhaps all this time, it was never his intention to harm directly. It’s something else. Subtler. Like he points out others’ flaws just to keep them from seeing his own. Maybe it’s projection. Maybe it’s self-defense. Either way, it's starting to feel less like cruelty, and more like fear, disguised as control.

“I see a tempest in those eyes of yours,” you said quietly. And you meant it. Not just a storm of rage or ego, but grief, bitterness, and something deeper that had never found peace.

Your gaze held his, steady despite the tightness in your chest. You weren’t sure why you said it, or why your voice came out softer than expected, but the words hung there between you. For a moment, you could swear his expression flickered, just slightly. A twitch of the brow. A brief shift in his stance. Something he quickly smothered.

Still, you saw it.

He knew you did.

And he wished you didn't.

Scaramouche never felt cold. He never felt warmth. He never truly understood the concept of any of it. What he was, was an enigma, even to himself.

When others breathed, he mimicked it, despite having no need to. When others slept, he shut his eyes, though weariness never touched him. When others cried, he could force tears from his eyes, though not once had he truly felt the weight behind them.

At Least not anymore.

And yet, when he looks at you, something twitched. Something restless stirred beneath the calm he'd carved into himself. He didn't like it. Didn't understand it.

You were flawed. Irritating. Far too human.

But the way your eyes looked at him, like you saw more than you should. It made something inside him ache. And he hated that more than anything.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for this skill if the whole thing didn’t feel so… wrong.

You seemed to pick up on his distress, no matter how carefully veiled he tried to hide it. He always ended up off-set around you. Unsteady. A feeling he despised, almost as much as he feared it.

It was uncomfortable on your part seeing the Balladeer not… acting like the Balladeer. Scaramouche.

Whatever that entails in your mind, you're not quite sure. You just knew something was off, and you wanted no part in it longer than necessary.

Still, you stood there, mentally hyping yourself up, for what, to be the bigger person? For the Balladeer, no less? Now there's a dreadful thought. But truthfully, you didn’t know how else to move this conversation along. If you could even call it that.

“Fortunately for you, I’ll have to cut this short,” you finally said, voice cool but controlled. “We all have places to be, I’m sure.” You meant to walk away this time, you really did. You've already shifted your weight forward, already placing one foot in front of the other.

“Once again, I apologize for bumping into you. If I could, I would’ve taken a different route, anything to avoid ending up like this. Truly.” You couldn’t believe you were apologizing a second time, but it was either that or keep playing this endless game back and forth. And you already knew it would lead nowhere.

You expected a scoff. A sarcastic quip. Maybe even a snide remark to send you off. Instead, what you got was silence. Then, when you glanced back, something different. Scaramouche wasn’t sneering. He wasn’t grinning. He almost looked… pained. Just for a second. His eyes didn’t meet yours the way they usually did, with challenge or contempt. He was avoiding it. Hiding something behind a too-still face.

Why?

“What makes you say that?” he asked at last, his voice low, too even.

You blinked. “Say what?”

“You know what I mean. Surely you aren’t that brain dead.” He looked at you, waiting, expecting some flicker of realization to appear in your eyes.

But it never came.

And for a moment, he started to wonder if he was the fool here.

“My, what a tragedy it must be huh.” There was a weight in his words that hadn’t been there before. Like he wasn’t talking about what happened, or the apology, or even the conversation anymore.

You don’t know what he’s trying to say, and maybe he doesn’t either. First, he lashes out. Then when you finally respond in kind, he doesn’t stop, he keeps pushing. But the moment you start to really see past his facade, which you know it is, he hesitates. And now he’s looking at you with this strange, unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. He gives you that look, like he’s silently asking, 'Is that it?' Like some part of him hoped you wouldn’t just walk away.

You catch it, that flicker of something raw, almost vulnerable, barely held back behind his carefully built walls. It's there for a breath, maybe less, before he shuts it down completely. The weight in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the cold, familiar mask he wears so well. Once again.

He straightens, scoffs softly like he’s mocking himself more than you, then speaks.

“Do you think I’m gonna let you walk away from striking me, a Harbinger? Only a fool would do such a thing, and a fool you are.”

The venom returns to his tone, but it doesn’t land the same. It feels like a defense, like he’s scrambling to put distance back where it briefly slipped away. And for all the fury in his words, there’s something else laced beneath them. A tension that doesn’t match the bite he’s trying to deliver. Something unspoken, but not unnoticed.

You’re not sure why, but you find yourself scrambling for a distraction, anything to pull the moment back from wherever it’s threatening to go. Your eyes drift to his face, searching for something to latch onto. And you go for it.

“U-uhm… your face is red."

His brow lifts slowly. In a way that you didn't think he was capable of pulling off on that face of his.

"Well, that came out wrong."

Did you really just say that? Were you implying he was blushing? That he, Scaramouche, The Balladeer, a Harbinger feared across nations, was somehow flustered? Have you completely lost your mind?

For a split second, the air between you tenses. His stare narrows, and you're pretty sure you just issued yourself a death sentence. Your breath catches. Backpedal. Now.

You quickly raise a hand, pointing to the side of his face, the one you’d struck earlier. “I-I meant… from earlier. The slap.”

Something shifts. The tension sizzles out, and realization flickers in his eyes.

“Ah. That. Right ” he murmurs. He repeats the words more to himself than to you, almost as if reminding himself of where this all began.

His slender fingers rise to his cheek, brushing over the warm skin there with a touch that’s strangely absent of anger. He lingers there a moment too long. He could still feel the sting, not from the strike itself, but from the fact that it happened. That he had let you get close enough to land the hit in the first place. That someone like you had dared, and worse, that he had let it slide. No lightning, no retaliation, no immediate retribution.

That should’ve been the end of you.

“I ought to throw you underground and let Dottore and his clones pick you apart like one of his specimens as punishment,” he says finally, tone flat as glass. “Or I can just end you here myself.”

The words should have been terrifying. But they weren't. Not what’d you think he's trying to make them out to be. They fell flat, worn smooth from overuse. Threats had become his reflex, delivered as automatically as breath. He’s not trying to scare you anymore. He’s trying to reset. Push you away before you get any closer. Before you start peeling away at something he doesn't want uncovered.

“Before any of… uhm, that,” you murmur, letting your hand hover awkwardly between you, unsure whether to point at his cheek or simply drop the subject. “At least let me tend to your face. It’s the least I can do.”

''Before I die?" you think, though you wisely choose not to say it out loud.

Scaramouche’s eyes flick down to your hovering hand, then back to your face. The faintest crease marks his brow, as if he cannot decide whether your offer is foolish or curious.

“What makes you think I’m not perfectly capable of handling it myself?” He speaks evenly, but there’s something off, something that hums like a frayed wire behind the smooth delivery. Not exhaustion in the way humans feel it, but a kind of dull wear that comes from holding himself too tightly for too long.

You manage a small, steady breath. “Take it as my apology for hitting you.” A heartbeat’s pause, then honesty slips out. “I don’t regret it, though. You crossed a line.” jerk. You bite your tongue.

There’s the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, too brief to be certain. “Likewise.”

For a fleeting instant, you think he might leave it at that, some silent truce, an unspoken agreement that you’d both landed your share of blows. You actually think he’s dropped his ego long enough to admit something vaguely human. But then his gaze sharpens just a little, pride flickering back into place like a reflex.

“Regarding your latter statement,” he adds, tone colder but lacking real bite. It’s petty, precise, and undeniably him, a last-second jab to reestablish the upper hand. Just the Balladeer being the Balladeer. A little bruised, a lot stubborn.

You huff, tension easing just enough to tease him. “You’re impossible.”

He tilts his head, almost thoughtful. “And you're infuriating.”

Despite the words, the moment softens. You notice the stiffness in his shoulders ebb, only a fraction, but enough to prove he is not made entirely of steel. He studies you as if weighing risk against relief, deciding which feels heavier on his tongue.

The corridor seems quieter now, as though even the distant machinery has dimmed to grant you both this fragile truce. The sting on his cheek still blooms red, a stark reminder that you can break through the surface. He can feel it too, pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. Something vulnerable lives there, beneath habit and threat.

Slowly, deliberately, you reach for the cloth tucked into your belt pouch, a simple scrap, dampened earlier from your canteen, something meant for scrapes or dust, not this. Your fingers tighten slightly as you draw it out, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming at you that this could still go very wrong.

You step closer. Your hand is steady, but every nerve underneath is braced like you’re standing in a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to strike. You extend the cloth between you, not forcefully, not timidly either.

“May I?” It’s a small question. One that carries no challenge, no sarcasm, no agenda. Just quiet sincerity. Just patience.

He does not move, but he does not flinch either. A subtle concession. His lashes lower, the faintest sigh escaping him as if surrendering costs less energy than more bravado.

“Just this once,” he mutters, voice quiet, but no less sharp. “And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone… I'll see to it that even Celestia doesn't have a place for you.” he doesn't elaborate, he has no need to.

You dab the cloth gently across the reddened skin. He keeps perfectly still. For once, he is silent without being threatening, and you realize how rare that is. The silence between you lingers, strange, but not unwelcome. He doesn’t stop you. Maybe he should. Maybe he wants to. But he doesn’t. And for some reason, that feels like enough.

When you draw back, he watches you tuck the cloth away. His cheek is still flushed, but the worst of the heat has faded. Your pulse steadies in your ears, the moment hanging quiet and unsure between you.

“That... will suffice,” he mutters, barely audible, as if the words taste unfamiliar. Not quite gratitude, but close enough to pass.

You nod, a touch of dry humor softening your voice. “Any time you decide not to kill me on sight, feel free to ask.”

There it is again, that small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the ghost of something softer. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, tone low, almost casual. and for once, it doesn’t sound like a threat.

Neither of you moves right away. The silence between you has changed, no longer tense, no longer sharp. It hums with something unspoken, something neither of you would dare name. Not yet.

You step back first. Then him. The space returns, safe and familiar, but it feels different now. A little warmer than before. The corridor hums again, a reminder of where you are, of who you’re supposed to be to each other. Still, something lingers.

You turn, ready to walk away. But as you do, you can’t help but think, maybe next time. Maybe you’ll bump into each other again, on a different day, under better circumstances.

And in the stillness that follows, he’s thinking the same. Not that he’d admit it. Not even to himself.

Just a quiet, reluctant thought:

Maybe next time… I’ll have something better to say.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

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