taeeflwrr

[taeeflwrr]

Late to Love you

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: strangers to ??, angst, fluff, she fell first he fell harder (yes that’s a warning), language, hogwarts theme so spells are mentioned, a made up graduation and college sorry yall, weird y/n, lowkey asshole haechan (stupid)

Notes: hiii this is sooo late i was supposed to upload this on Haechan’s bday but uhm..whoops!! Lmk if yall want part 2 and also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHANNIE 🤍

1/?? , Masterlist

Y/N sat cross-legged in her usual seat near the back of the Astronomy Tower, a scuffed leather-bound notebook resting in her lap. Around her, the quiet scratch of quills echoed like rainfall. She had already finished charting Jupiter’s moon cycle twenty minutes ago, but she liked to double-check things. Triple-check, if no one was watching.

Renjun sat beside her — one seat over, of course. He always did. Their desks were angled just far enough apart that she could pretend she was alone if she wanted to, but close enough to trade parchment or steal glances when she didn’t.

He was hunched forward, face shadowed by the edge of his sleeve as he drew. She’d peeked once — it wasn’t notes. It was a sketch of the stars, sprawling and inky, a mess of emotion more than astronomy.

“I like your moons,” she offered quietly, still staring at her own parchment.

Renjun made a quiet sound in the back of his throat — not quite acknowledgment, not quite dismissal.

They were like that. Comfortable, sort of. Silent. Two people who knew how to fill space without talking too much. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, though she wasn’t sure he’d call her the same.

A breeze ghosted through the cracked window beside her, stirring the fringe of her cloak. Y/N tugged her scarf tighter. The Astronomy Tower was always cold, even in early autumn — like it hoarded winter for itself, unwilling to let go

“So…” Renjun began, dragging out the syllable as if the thought was heavy. “Quidditch tonight.”

She looked up from her notes. “Hmm?”

“Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.”

A pause.

“Will you be there?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. “What am I saying — of course you will be.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him add a silver starburst to his sketch.

“…Yeah,” she finally murmured, returning to her own chart. “I’ll be there.”

Another pause. This one longer. Renjun didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. That was how their conversations went — half-sentences, unfinished thoughts, and space for interpretation.

Y/N liked it that way.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, distractedly tapping her quill against the edge of the desk. She didn’t love Quidditch, not the way most students did. She liked the atmosphere more than the sport — the lights, the energy, the flash of house colors weaving through the sky like stitched thread. She liked how people shouted with abandon, faces flushed and paint smeared across cheeks.

It was chaos. Beautiful chaos. Something she never fit into, but always admired from afar.

She supposed there were other reasons she went, too.

But she didn’t think about those.

Instead, she focused on the moon phases again, her parchment now dusted with graphite fingerprints and little doodles along the edges — an owl, a jar of stars, a cat in a wizard hat.

Her drawings always took over when she wasn’t paying attention.

Professor Sinistra called for the class to prepare their scrolls, and Renjun exhaled, folding his sketch with careful fingers.

Y/N didn’t move right away. She glanced out the window — far off, the Quidditch pitch was being charmed into readiness, blue and green banners starting to flutter along the stands.

Somewhere out there, someone she tried not to think about too often was probably already practicing. She ignored that thought.

Y/N liked being quiet.

She didn’t mean in the “shy girl in the corner” kind of way — not really. It wasn’t that she was afraid to speak. She just didn’t feel the need to. And at Hogwarts, not needing attention was practically an art form. Students clawed over each other to be seen — louder spells, brighter robes, drama in every hallway. But Y/N? She preferred the sidelines. The shadows. The fourth row, third desk from the right. The one that didn’t creak. It wasn’t sadness; Not quite. It was just stillness.

Her mum always said she was born that way — with eyes too big for her face and a quiet sort of soul that made animals trust her before people did. “You’ve always seen too much,” her mum would hum, brushing tangles from her hair, “you look right into people. It unnerves them.”

Her father, a Muggle musician who had stumbled heart-first into the magical world by falling for a witch with poetry in her blood, had only ever encouraged her weirdness. He taught her how to play the guitar with fingers too small for chords, how to make mixtapes from the radio, how to paint feelings instead of landscapes.

She never quite knew where she fit — not in his world, not in her mum’s either. But maybe that was the point. Maybe she was meant to drift between them like a ghost with a sketchbook.

At school, she didn’t try to be invisible. She just was. It was easier that way.

Most people didn’t notice her, and those who did — well, they rarely remembered her name. Not that she blamed them. There wasn’t anything remarkable about Y/N. She had plain hair and a plain wand and robes that hung a little too big. She wasn’t charming like the Hufflepuffs or wild like the Gryffindors or even intellectually intimidating like the other Ravenclaws. She was just… odd. Gentle. Too sensitive for her own good, her mum always said with a kiss to her forehead. She kept her heart on her sleeve and her sleeve wrapped in protective charms.

Her best conversations were with the Fat Lady (who often invited her for tea), Nearly Headless Nick (who once offered to teach her ballroom dancing), and the owls in the Owlery (who didn’t need words to understand). She liked her life on the edges. It gave her time to see what others missed — the way the paintings whispered to each other between classes, how Peeves always avoided the Arithmancy corridor during lunch, how certain professors only smiled when they thought no one was looking. Y/n liked seeing what others didn’t. Her only issue? It lead her drifting eyes and wondering mind to places she really wished it didn’t - to the one person who y/n really wished had less of her attention.

—-

By the time night fell and the Quidditch pitch was roaring with color and chants, Y/N was already tucked into her usual spot — top row, far end, sandwiched between two older professors who smelled faintly of peppermint and ink. The crowd was electric. Ravenclaws in bronze and blue shimmered like stars, while Slytherins waved green fire in the air like victory was a foregone conclusion. Y/N watched it all unfold like a painting in motion. She liked the colors most of all — the way the scarves fluttered, the banners danced, the way house pride turned even the quietest students into living, breathing fireworks.

Y/n watched with bated breath, not because she really cared who won; Because there was always a moment — always — when he first appeared.

A flash of green.

Broom in hand.

Goggles pushed into his curls.

Smile sharp and effortless.

Lee Haechan, Slytherin’s golden boy.

He had that energy about him — the kind that didn’t just draw attention, it demanded it. When he walked onto the pitch, even the professors leaned in. He laughed with his teammates, bumped fists with Chenle, and casually winked at a girl in the first row who immediately screamed.

Y/N didn’t scream, She didn’t even move. She just… watched. From this far away, he looked like a storybook character. Fictional. Unreal. A flash of color and charm, untouchable as the stars they studied in Astronomy. And like always, she wondered — just for a moment — what it might feel like to be seen by someone like that.

But only for a moment.

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the world exploded into skyward chaos.

And Y/N, quiet as a breath, watched from the background. Right where she liked it.

—-

The Owlery was empty at this hour — except for the rustling of feathers and the occasional coo of a drowsy barn owl shifting in its nest. The scent of parchment, hay, and old stone mixed with the sharp crisp of night air that always managed to sneak in through the arched windows, no matter how many warming charms she muttered.

Y/N moved quietly between the perches, whispering her hellos. Luna, her snowy owl, blinked at her sleepily, ruffling her feathers with that usual air of mild disapproval. Y/N smiled faintly and reached up to gently clean the edge of her perch with a rag.

No one asked her to come here every night. No one even noticed. But she liked it — the silence, the routine, the way the owls seemed to trust her in the way people rarely did. She liked feeling useful, like someone in this big school would miss her if she left.

Usually, y/n danced through the owlery with a determination that rivaled the athletes on the field. She insisted on being good at this, being good with her animal and all the other ones that needed attention while she was here (as if it even came hard to her). Usually she was careful and attentive, but tonight, her hands moved on their own while her mind ran miles behind.

It wasn’t the game. It wasn’t even the win — though she was sure Slytherin was still celebrating in that loud, dramatic way they always did.

No. It was him again. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her head even if she wanted to, and she hated him for that.

She remembered the first time she saw Lee Haechan.

They were eleven. Small and confused and jittery with nerves. She remembered the chill of the Great Hall floor under her shoes, the way the Sorting Hat loomed like something out of a Grimm fairy tale. And then—

“Donghyuck, Lee.”

He had walked up like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. She remembered his eyes — curious, bright, mischievous — and the way he grinned at something one of the other students whispered to him as he passed. He sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted—

“Slytherin!”

The table erupted in cheers, and he jumped off the stool like he’d been expecting it all along. He didn’t look back. Didn’t notice her.

When her name was called — quiet, hesitant — he was already talking, already making friends, already becoming Haechan.

And yet, something in her shifted. She felt it — the tug in her chest. Like a string tying itself to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

Years passed. He became himself more and more. Loud, effortless, magnetic. And y/n? She stayed her strange little self, tucked away in libraries and forgotten corners of towers.

And of course their paths had crossed — a few fleeting times. After all, the two were in the same year, and how could she forget the most memorable time: fourth year tutoring.

She was top of their year in Herbology, naturally. To y/n, school and studying came easy. It wasn’t like she even really tried, even though that would probably annoy her classmates if she were to say it out loud. The truth is, y/n loved being a witch. Maybe it’s because she saw a different side of it, what with her muggle father. And while she was always raised around magic, she never took it for granted. Not like Haechan - who was raised in a pureblood family - did. And the grades showed it; He was failing it miserably.

She never offered to help. He never asked. But Professor Longbottom paired them together out of what he claimed was “academic balance” - y/n saw it as being held hostage, though she never outwardly complained.

It was two weeks. Just four sessions.

He was frustratingly charming, fidgety, always trying to distract her. He doodled on his notes and spent more time making jokes than listening, but — once or twice — he really listened. Asked thoughtful questions. Caught her off guard. And once, she even thought he looked at her a second too long - But she knew it was nothing. She was delusional, but not that delusional.

By the end of the two weeks, he was passing.

And they never spoke again.

Now, seven years in, she was still fighting it; Still angry with herself for feeling this way. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew her name, maybe. Her face in passing. But he didn’t know her favorite stars or how she talked to ghosts or how she cried the night her father sent her a Muggle mixtape because the songs reminded him of her.

He didn’t know her.

So why — why — did she still look for him?

Why did she still feel like this? Like something inside her was breaking apart every time she caught his laugh echoing down the hall? Like a stupid fairytale still clinging to its ending?

She finished scrubbing the last perch, whispering another goodnight to Luna before turning toward the winding stairs. Her boots scuffed against the stone, loud in the hush of the night. That’s when it hit her — the weight in her chest, like a bruise blooming under skin.

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered aloud, voice bitter.

She was angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid, lingering, fragile hope she hadn’t realized she was still carrying. She was angry that she wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Haechan would notice — loud, flirty, spellbinding. Angry that she even wanted to be. Angry that she let her perfect little detachment crack open like a jar she couldn’t seal again.

Most of all, she was angry that her version of him — the one in her head, gentle and curious and kind — wasn’t real. Or at least, not real to her.

He wasn’t hers.

He never had been.

And she was finally, finally ready to stop pretending.

—-

The music from the Great Hall echoed faintly down the corridor, muffled by stone and the weight of celebration. Laughter spilled through the cracks, bright and careless. Inside, everyone was golden — dipped in glittering enchantments and glowing candlelight. Y/N, however, sat just outside it all, tucked on the edge of the wide marble staircase where shadows stretched long and the world felt quieter.

Her dress shimmered like the surface of a still lake in spring — seafoam green with delicate embroidery that caught the low torchlight with every breath she took. Her hair had been done up loosely, soft curls falling to frame her face in gentle waves, and her skin seemed to glow with the faint sheen of carefully applied highlighter and nerves.

She looked like a painting. Plush. Dreamy. As if youth and longing and softness had taken physical form and settled onto her shoulders. To be frank, y/n felt beautiful, and it made her laugh - after all, she hadn’t even meant to come.

It was her roommates, really — all wide-eyed and buzzing with Yule Ball fever — who had practically dragged her from bed and spun her around until she barely recognized herself in the mirror. And for once, she didn’t hate it. For once, she didn’t feel like a shadow.

When they’d entered the ball, though, it had taken all of fifteen minutes before they vanished — swept away by the arms of dates and friends, or the thrill of the crowd. And, of course, Y/N hadn’t minded. It’s not like they were all friends - just forced acquaintances with nothing in common but last names, gender, and a magical wand.

Besides, like always, she liked sitting in the in-between. Where she could observe and imagine. Where she didn’t have to pretend to be someone bolder than she was.

She watched the doors of the ballroom now, half-lidded and peaceful, letting the sounds melt around her — until the heavy doors slammed open with a crash that startled the silence right out of her.

Two figures stumbled through, giggling, flushed, and tangled in each other’s arms.

Yunjin. And him.

Haechan.

Of course it was Haechan.

He was laughing into the crook of her neck, his hands resting low on her waist, and for a moment — one horrible, disorienting moment — the rest of the world blurred at the edges. Her lungs caught.

He hadn’t seen her. Neither had Yunjin. Not as they stumbled to a halt halfway past the now closed doors, lips finding each other’s in a feverish, hungry kiss that made Y/N shrink instinctively against the wall.

Her throat went dry. She tried to shrink further into the shadows, silently begging the stone to make her invisible.

But the universe had other plans.

Her foot slipped — just slightly — but enough to send her bag tumbling from her lap. It hit the stairs with a loud thud-thump-thud, items spilling like fallen leaves.

Yunjin flinched back with a yelp, whipping around. Haechan blinked rapidly, disoriented, before his gaze finally landed on Y/N.

The air stood still.

No one spoke. Not for a long, aching beat. Y/n couldn’t even bring herself to look up, instead freezing like a turtle who knows a predator is nearby. The three stood like that for a good second, Yunjin and Haechan staring at the small frame of some random girl from their year, who very clearly would rather be anywhere else but here.

And then Haechan moved.

Before his brain even caught up, his body was already reaching — stooping down the steps, collecting her scattered belongings with quick, nimble fingers. He held the bag out to her, eyes wide, lips parted as if he might say something but thought better of it. His cheeks were flushed — not from the cold or kissing, she thought dimly, but from embarrassment.

She could barely meet his eyes. Her fingers trembled as they closed over the strap. “Thanks,” she whispered, voice small and paper-thin.

He offered a single, casual “No problem,” like it hadn’t meant anything, like it hadn’t shattered something fragile and private between them.

Then he turned. One arm wrapped back around Yunjin’s shoulders. No apology - just quiet footsteps fading into the corridor.

But just before they disappeared — just before the shadows fully swallowed them — he glanced back. Quick. Brief. Like he didn’t mean to. Like it was a reflex.

And it wrecked her.

She sat frozen, blinking too hard. Her cheeks still burned, but this time it wasn’t from the dress or the attention. It was humiliation — sharp and painful. The sour sting of reality slipped into the seams of her daydream as she tried, but failed, to keep the hot bite of tears that clouded her eyes at bay.

Because for a moment — just a single moment — she had felt beautiful.

And it hadn’t mattered.

—-

Graduation day at Hogwarts glimmered like something out of a fairy tale.

Above the courtyard, charmed ribbons of house colors danced lazily in the air, shimmering like silk in a breeze that didn’t exist. Floating candles dotted the sky, mimicking stars, while soft orchestral music drifted through the open castle doors. The air smelled of summer grass, old stone, and a touch of magic that clung to your clothes like dew.

Y/N stood quietly near the edge of it all, her parents on either side. Her father looked up at the towers with a dazed sort of awe — the look of a Muggle man who had fallen in love with a witch years ago and was still wrapping his head around how his daughter had grown up inside a castle. Her mother, in contrast, looked wistful, her eyes glossy with memory. She’d been a Gryffindor once — class of the famous Harry Potter — and always said Hogwarts had a funny way of leaving little roots in your heart, no matter how far you went.

Y/N shifted her weight onto her heels, adjusting the tassel of her cap absentmindedly. She loved them, her parents. But something inside her was buzzing, unsettled. Maybe it was the thought of saying goodbye to seven years of walking through talking paintings and dodging Peeves. Maybe it was because the world beyond the castle gates still felt too big and loud and unfamiliar.

“Be right back,” she said softly, brushing a speck of glitter from her sleeve. “Professor Lillith wanted to see me”. She turned, wandering toward the castle one last time, her boots making faint clicks on the stone floor. The halls were quieter than usual, sun pouring in from the stained glass windows in candy-colored rays. She hummed to herself — something off-key and half-invented — the way she always did when no one was listening. And then—

Thunk.

“Ow.”

Her forehead bounced off someone’s shoulder. She blinked, took a step back.

“Oh. Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun looked at her with his usual expression: somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You walk like someone who’s never had a body before,” he said.

“And you stand like someone who’s lost in a dream they don’t like.”

He blinked. “What?”

Y/N smiled, a little lopsided and unreadable. “Nothing. Just something I saw in a book once. Or maybe a puddle.”

Renjun snorted despite himself. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Mm,” she hummed, gently plucking a piece of lint off his robes. “And yet, here we are. Destiny’s favorite joke.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “You heading out?”

“Soon,” she said. “Just tying up loose ends. What about you?”

“Waiting on Jaemin. He lost his wand or his sanity or both, not sure.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Tell him to check his left shoe. Sometimes magic hides there when it’s bored.”

Renjun opened his mouth, paused, and then slowly turned to glance behind him.

Y/N followed his gaze—and promptly froze.

Standing by the archway, in various degrees of lazy slouching, were the rest of his friends. Jeno, hands in pockets, shirt collar slightly wrinkled. Chenle, already halfway through a chocolate frog. Mark and Jisung, laughing at something only Gryffindors would find funny. Jaemin, of course, waving cheerfully like she hadn’t just caught them all staring. And finally, Haechan.

His eyes were already on her.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a curious one. More like he’d been staring before his brain caught up with the fact that someone might notice. The moment she glanced his way, he flinched — like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar — and quickly looked away, feigning interest in whatever Jaemin was saying.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her face neutral. Serene. Unbothered.

Renjun leaned a little closer, smirking. “You’ve got an audience.”

“Oh, I know,” she murmured, still smiling faintly. “I always do. Ghosts, mostly.”

He gave her a look. “You are so weird.”

“It’s my brand,” she sighed out exasperating, making renjun chuckle. “Well. I’ll see you in the next life, Renjun.”

“Unless I die first.”

“Do send a postcard.”

She turned and walked away.

But curiosity, that fickle little thing, tugged at her. Just as she was about to slip around the next corridor, she paused. Let herself listen.

“…wait, how do you know her?”

“She’s in Ravenclaw, right? Since when do you talk to her?”

“That was—kinda cute, though?”

“She’s… odd.”

And then came the one voice she wasn’t prepared for. Softly spoken, casual in a way that screamed ‘I could care less’.

“…what’s her name again?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what she expected — not him remembering her, of course. That would’ve been foolish. She had worn her best dress to a ball and still faded into the background. Why would this be any different?

And still, she felt the smile slide off her face like melting wax. Whatever flicker of something she’d seen in Haechan’s eyes — whatever momentary softness or regret or curiosity — it didn’t matter. He didn’t know her name. Had never cared to learn it. She’d been a footnote, even in the chapters where she was bleeding over him.

She walked faster and didn’t look back.

She left the hallway, the castle, and, quietly — without ceremony — she left her crush on Lee Haechan behind her too.

The Eldhollow University library was quieter than usual that evening. The kind of quiet that came not from silence, but from deep magic, ancient and breathing softly between the stone walls. The lamps flickered with a steady, golden glow, and every now and then, the soft rustle of turning pages echoed through the long halls.

Y/N had found her usual spot near the back—a crooked table beneath an arched window, half-covered in ivy and glowing faintly from the full moon outside. She liked studying here. It was tucked away from the louder corners of the library, where students whispered and snacked and pretended to revise. Here, she could hear her thoughts. Or ignore them, if she preferred.

It had been a good couple months into her first semester, and for the first time in years, she felt like herself. Really herself. She was at the top of her class—again, but this time it didn’t feel so lonely. She had friends now. Real ones. There was Xiaojun, who studied experimental potion theory and talked a mile a minute, wild and witty and weirdly protective of her. He once hexed a guy’s robes inside out for looking at her the wrong way. Yangyang, who was studying magical law enforcement for the Ministry, was a little unhinged but never boring, and always brought her the oddest sweets from the market. Then there were her roommates—Karina, who dreamed of being a reporter and worked for the school’s underground paper, and Giselle, whose magical fashion degree was so specific and bold it made everyone else feel boring by comparison. The four of them had taken Y/N in without hesitation, quirks and all. She laughed more now. She wore what she liked, spoke her mind freely, and hardly thought about the past. Hardly.

There was even a boy who’d been circling lately—handsome, too polite, and clearly enchanted by her. He brought her little things: enchanted perfumes, floral hair clips, bracelets that changed color with her mood. Pretty gifts meant for someone a little softer, maybe, but she didn’t mind. No one had ever tried to impress her before. It was… nice.

Tonight, though, she’d come alone. She had research to do and a lingering curiosity she couldn’t shake. She was halfway through her notes on spell displacement theory when she heard it—footsteps.

Not the light, hurried steps of a student late to return a book. These were slower. Hesitant. Like someone who didn’t know where they were going, or why they were even there.

She paused, fingers stilling over her quill.

And then she heard a voice.

“Where the hell is the bloody index in this thing?”

Her heart stopped.

She looked up, just as a figure came into view at the far end of the aisle. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was tall, built broader than she remembered, with dark curls that flopped over his forehead and an oversized jumper layered over his shirt. He had a book turned sideways in his hands like it personally offended him. There was something familiar about the tilt of his head, the slightly narrowed eyes, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when frustrated.

It was Haechan.

And for a second, all the air left her body.

She hadn’t seen him once since arriving. Eldhollow wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t massive either. And she’d told herself if he were here, she would have known. She’d have spotted him immediately—he’d always had a way of standing out, even when he wasn’t trying. But somehow, they’d gone all this time without crossing paths. Until now.

She could’ve stayed hidden. Could’ve ducked back behind the shelf and slipped out of the library and let the moment pass, let the memory stay dead and buried where it belonged. She knew that’s what high school her would have done - and she could easily do the same. Except - she wasn’t highschool y/n anymore, right?

So she didn’t.

Instead she stepped forward, slowly, and spoke before she could stop herself.

“You’re in the wrong section.”

Haechan startled, nearly dropping the book. He spun to face her, brows raised, eyes scanning her face like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Unless you’re researching magical fertility charms, I’d recommend the aisle two rows down.”

He blinked. “What?”

She pointed to the book he was holding. “That’s for reproductive theory. And you’re holding it upside down.”

A beat passed. His lips parted, like he was about to reply, but nothing came out. Then he looked down at the book and gave a short, disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said slowly, “this is going well.”

She didn’t smile. But something flickered across her face, amused and distant. “I’d say you’ve improved. Last time we spoke in a library, you walked into a wall.”

She giggled, reminiscing on her time tutoring haechan, when he would do stupid things to distract her from actually teaching him; a time so far away, it appeared hazy like a dream. That seemed to click something into place. His eyes sharpened slightly, focus narrowing.

“Wait…” he said. “What’s your name—”

She tilted her head. “You’ve asked that before too.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, books floating after her in a neat, silent trail. She didn’t look back.

Haechan stood frozen for a second, then slowly exhaled. His heart was racing. He wasn’t sure why.

She was familiar. But not in the obvious way. Something about her voice had struck a nerve—soft but certain, like a whisper cutting through fog. And her face… he didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like something he should have remembered. Something he wished he had.

He whispered to himself, almost defensively, “Who the hell was that?”

Haechan didn’t mean to obsess over her.

But of course he did.

He told himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just one of those strange encounters that linger for a few hours, maybe a day or two, before fading into the background noise of memory. He wasn’t the type to dwell. He liked things light, easy, untethered.

Still, that night, lying in the bottom bunk of his shared dorm with his curtains drawn tight and the rain tapping soft against the enchanted windowpane, he couldn’t stop seeing her face.

It wasn’t even just her beauty—though, Merlin, she was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. Not flashy, not loud. Quiet, eerie almost. Soft in a sharp way - Like moonlight cutting through mist. He could still hear her voice, the lilt of it, how her words felt dipped in irony and honey, like she was perpetually a beat ahead of him and enjoying the chase.

But more than that, it was the knowing that rattled him. The familiarity in her eyes. She had looked at him like he was supposed to remember her.

And he didn’t. Not really.

He had turned it over in his head for three days now, trying to pinpoint where that face had come from. Old friend? Hogwarts? A dream? Some former life he’d obliviated to forget? But each time he got close, the thought slipped like water through his fingers.

Eventually, he decided the only winning move was to fold. Plead the fifth. Deny everything and distract himself with Quidditch drills, classwork, and Mark’s truly unhinged musical taste. He didn’t even tell Renjun. That felt like inviting the chaos to stay. Haechan had worked too hard on becoming his best self—had the planner to prove it. He was not about to spiral over a girl who didn’t even give her name.

By the start of the following week, the encounter had settled into a corner of his mind like a strange dream: disorienting, hard to shake, but mostly harmless; until Tuesday.

That day began like any other. He and Renjun skipped the main library in favor of a new café across from the Owl Post, which had been getting buzz around campus for its cozy study corners and butterbeer lattes. Eldhollow, the magical college town surrounding the university, had a habit of reinventing itself overnight—shops appeared where there weren’t any the day before, buildings rearranged their interiors, and streetlamps whispered gossip if you listened closely. It was whimsical, modern, magical—and just the sort of place that Haechan had quickly grown to love.

The café itself was tucked between a talking tailor shop and a hex-removal studio, marked by a crooked wooden sign that read: Witch’s Brew & Co.. It smelled like cinnamon and roasted coffee beans and something faintly floral. Haechan approved immediately.

They were barely through the door when Renjun suddenly stopped mid-step, his face lighting up in a way Haechan rarely saw. His whole body shifted with recognition.

“Y/N?” Renjun called, grinning. “What are you doing here?”

And then Haechan saw her.

Or rather, she appeared—because of course she would materialize right when he’d finally begun to erase her from memory. There she was, standing just to the left of the café counter, the sun catching in her hair through the glass, head tilted up in surprise before her expression broke into a warm smile.

“Renjun!” she said, her voice as familiar as it was foreign. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the room and hugged Renjun.

Hugged him.

The air left Haechan’s lungs in a single, confused huff.

They looked like old friends. No—close friends. Renjun had his arm draped easily over her shoulder, like it wasn’t anything unusual, like he’d done it a thousand times before. And she—she was laughing. He’d never heard her laugh before. It was strange and soft and pretty. It sounded like something private.

Haechan’s stomach twisted.

And then it hit him. Like a weight he should’ve noticed a long time ago.

Her. Her.

Hogwarts. Not in a loud, neon-light memory kind of way—but something subtler. A hallway. A library. A girl who wore her robes slightly crooked, who never spoke unless she had something worth saying. Ravenclaw, he was sure. Always off reading in corners. The girl who never seemed to be part of the noise—but was somehow always watching.

He stared at her now like he was seeing her with new eyes. How had he missed it? She looked so different here—confident, a little brighter. Still odd, but in a way that suited her. Her hair was down, tucked behind one ear with a copper pin shaped like a moth. Her outfit was layered and witchy, rings on every finger. She looked like she belonged here. Like she owned the place.

And Haechan—who hadn’t remembered her name, who had dismissed her as a momentary glitch in the matrix—stood there frozen, the guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

She noticed him. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked to him over Renjun’s shoulder. They paused, unreadable. She didn’t say a word.

Haechan, ever the professional, raised a hand in awkward greeting. “Hey.”

Y/N blinked once. “Oh. Hi.”

Then she turned back to Renjun like he hadn’t been the one to haunt her sleep three nights in a row.

Renjun, oblivious to the tension, gestured toward the empty seats by the window. “We were just gonna study. You wanna join?”

Y/N hesitated. Just a beat. Then she smiled politely. “Raincheck, Jun. I’ve got an essay due in an hour. But I’ll come by later.”

And then, just like that—she was gone. Out the door, the little bell above it chiming faintly in her wake.

Renjun slid into the booth across from Haechan, humming as he pulled out his notes. “She’s great, right? Y/N was in my house back at Hogwarts. Bit odd, but brilliant. Top marks. Can’t believe she ended up here.”

Haechan said nothing. He could still smell her perfume—lavender and something darker.

Renjun glanced up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan said slowly, eyes still fixed on the door. “I just… I think I know where I remember her from now.”

—-

From then on, fate took over. It was like one minute Haechan didn’t even know this girl existed, the next she pops up everywhere, like a new word you just learned that you suddenly start seeing on every page of your favorite book. He doesn’t think he could avoid her, even if he tried. First, there was the potions store:

Y/N was crouched near a low shelf, carefully examining a small vial of Moonshade Elixir—a rare ingredient she needed for her upcoming potion assignment. The shop was warm, cluttered with jars and bottles softly glowing in the dim light. Just as she reached out to grab the vial, another hand brushed hers.

“Ah, sorry,” Haechan said quietly, stepping back with a sheepish smile. “I was just about to grab that.”

Y/N blinked, heart thudding in an oddly hopeful way. “Oh. It’s… okay.” Her voice was softer than usual, surprised to see him here.

He studied her for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, easy way he did when caught off guard. “You always come here for potions stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging the sleeve of her sweater nervously. “It’s kind of my sanctuary. You?”

“Mostly snacks and weird magical gadgets,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the curious collection of enchanted candy behind the counter.

Neither moved for a moment, both feeling the awkward weight of unspoken words. Y/N finally managed a small smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah,” Haechan said, watching her walk away with a new kind of curiosity blooming in his chest. “Maybe.”

And maybe was an understatement, because just two days later, there was the lecture hall incident:

The lecture hall buzzed with students settling into their seats. Y/N scanned the room, hoping to find a spot that wouldn’t put her in the spotlight.

The only empty seat was… right next to Haechan. Y/n sighed in disbelief - had he always been in this class?!

He caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Guess it’s fate,” he said with a wink.

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. She slid into the seat beside him, quietly getting her notes out and keeping her head down as much as she could.

At first, they said nothing.

The only sound was the professor setting up at the front and the shuffling of parchment and books around them. Y/N sat stiffly, her eyes on the front, quill in hand, pretending to copy down the lecture title already written on the board.

Haechan, beside her, tapped his own quill against the desk in slow, deliberate boredom.

Then—

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning slightly toward her. “You got any ink?”

Y/N blinked. “Didn’t you bring your own?”

“I did. It’s dry,” he replied, frowning like this was a personal tragedy. “I think my bottle was cursed. Or I just forgot to screw the lid on. Either way, I’m a victim.”

She sighed, already reaching into her bag. “Here.”

Instead of just taking the bottle, Haechan peered into her bag with dramatic curiosity. “What else you got in here? Anti-anxiety tea? Spare socks? A live owl?”

Y/N stifled a laugh, clutching the ink tightly. “Do you want the ink or not?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, “but I’m also deeply invested in the psychological study of what you carry around.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

He took the ink but kept talking, voice a little too loud for a lecture hall. “I bet you were the kind of student who color-coded everything at Hogwarts. Am I wrong? Let me guess: blue for Charms, green for Herbology, red for anything involving possible death—like Potions or Divination.”

“Divination doesn’t involve death,” she muttered under her breath.

“Tell that to the time my crystal ball showed me drowning in marmalade.”

She bit her lip to stop from laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“You’re laughing,” he whispered triumphantly.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered back, eyes wide and innocent.

“You are. This is a win for me.”

And just like that—somehow, she was laughing. Quietly. Barely audible, but real. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Haechan was watching her like he’d never seen her properly smile before.

And then everything slowed.

The laughter ebbed. Their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke. For one suspended moment, the air between them buzzed—not loud, but intense, humming with something unsaid. His smile faded into something gentler. Her gaze didn’t drop right away.

When it finally did, she turned her face forward again, cheeks burning. Haechan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but her.

Then, trying to salvage the moment, Haechan asked, “So… did you always like magical theory? Or were you just unnaturally good at it back in school?”

She hesitated. “I… yeah. I guess I did.”

“You were kind of… famous, actually,” he said. “I remember that. Always top marks. Everyone used to say you were scary smart.”

Y/N smiled faintly, somewhat surprised to hear this. “I didn’t even have friends. I wasn’t famous….not like some people.”

He turned his head toward her, curious. “What’s that mean?”

Her eyes darted to the front, pretending to listen to the professor. “Nothing. Just—never thought you’d talk to me, is all.”

There was a pause. Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth.

Paused.

And then—

DING.

The class dismissal bell echoed like salvation.

Y/N stood up fast, clutching her notes. “Thanks for the ink,” she said quickly, moving so fast she didn’t even realize her mistake. She didn’t wait for a reply, instead quickly slipping out of the room and into the hallway.

Haechan remained seated, staring after her. He had no idea what had just happened - just that he wanted it to happen again.

And finally - the library. Haechan saw y/n there quite a bit after that first meeting, so he knew to look there first.

The library’s third floor was quiet enough to hear the scratch of quills and the occasional creak of ancient wooden shelves. Dust hung in beams of golden afternoon light, and the entire space felt wrapped in velvet silence.

Haechan found her exactly where he thought she’d be.

Slouched low in one of the deep window alcoves, Y/N was hunched over her parchment, quill gliding furiously across the page. She didn’t even flinch when he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, not even a flicker of recognition. Her brows were drawn tight in concentration, the tip of her tongue barely poking out the side of her mouth. It was… kind of unfair, how cute she looked when she was this focused.

He cleared his throat gently.

Nothing.

He tried again. “Y/N?”

Her whole body jolted. The quill snapped off the parchment. Eyes wide, startled like a deer in wandlight, she gasped—and in her flinch, Haechan instinctively reached forward and placed his hand over hers, steadying her.

They froze.

Her skin was warm. Slightly ink-stained. Delicate in a way that made his own breath hitch.

Y/N looked down at their hands. Then up at him.

He snatched his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just—you jumped, and I—yeah. Sorry.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “You scared the life out of me.”

“I noticed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning pink. “Didn’t mean to. I actually… I was looking for you.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You were?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft now. “Don’t make it a big deal or anything, but I figured I’d use fate to my advantage. Been running into you a lot lately. Figured it was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“To ask you for help,” he said. “With studying. Just—just one night, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “You hate studying.”

“I hate failing more,” he replied dramatically. “And I’ve got a Magical Applications final coming up that might actually kill me.”

She tilted her head. “Why me?”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “You don’t remember? Fourth year. My herbology scores were tanking. You used to help me after dinner in the library. Little study lessons. You even color-coded my notes.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I thought you forgot about that,” she said quietly.

He smiled, a little crooked. “I didn’t.”

That surprised her. It surprised him, too—how vividly he could remember it now. Her voice in his ear, softly quizzing him. The way she always smelled faintly like mint and incense. The way she’d smile when he finally got something right.

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay. Just one night.”

“Deal,” Haechan said quickly, before she could change her mind.

They set up shop right there, books spread between them, notes scribbled, diagrams drawn. For the first hour, it was actually productive. Y/N explained everything with patient clarity, pointing out keywords and breaking down logic with that Ravenclaw precision. Haechan asked questions, nodded along, even took notes.

But then…

Then he noticed the shirt.

It wasn’t intentional. He just happened to glance up, and there it was—one side of her shirt slipped slightly off her shoulder, exposing a long stretch of skin kissed by golden light.

His brain stalled.

Her collarbone was defined, delicate, the kind of shape painters used to worship in oil. The sunlight from the window pooled there like liquid gold, turning her skin warm and soft and impossibly radiant. There was a faint freckle near the dip of her neck. He stared too long, caught between awe and confusion at how something so simple could feel like a revelation.

He tried to focus again. Failed.

She said something about core wand movements. He nodded.

She asked if he was following. He said, “Absolutely,” without knowing what he was agreeing to.

God, she smelled like lavender again. And ink. And something sweet he couldn’t name.

He nearly knocked over his ink bottle when she leaned closer to point something out in his textbook, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking once more—shoulder, collarbone, the elegant slope of her neck.

It was maddening. Gentle. Completely intoxicating.

By the time the sun dipped behind the towers and long shadows stretched across the library floor, they had stopped pretending to study. Their books were open, but their attention wandered. Y/N was mid-sentence when she caught him looking again.

“Is there ink on me?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“You keep staring,” she said, amused.

“Just… lost in thought,” he mumbled.

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

Before she could press further, Haechan slapped his notebook shut and stood. “Dinner.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“You helped me study. Now I owe you food.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” he interrupted, already slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Non-negotiable. It’s the noble thing to do.”

She hesitated.

“C’mon,” he added, giving her a small grin. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but stood anyway, gathering her things.

And as they walked out together—books in hand, shoulders brushing just slightly—Haechan tried not to think too hard about how easy this all felt.

Tried, and failed.

—-

Haechan had never seen Y/N so happy to be sweating.

The tiny Asian restaurant at the corner of town was loud with the sounds of Chris Isaak singing Wicked Game, the blades from the shrill ceiling fans spinning furiously but managing only to circulate the heat. The walls were crammed with mismatched decor—paper lanterns, faded posters, chopsticks glued in artful shapes—and the scent of sesame oil and chili paste clung to the air like a second skin.

They slid into a booth near the window. It was barely sunset, but already the heat was relentless, making the table sticky and their glasses of water sweat harder than they did.

Y/N immediately peeled off her outer top, revealing a fitted white tank top beneath, ribbed and snug to her figure. Her long hair clung to her neck in strands, a few pieces fluttering in the cross-breeze of the old fans. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed as she fanned herself with a menu.

“It’s like being in a greenhouse,” she joked, cheeks flushed from the walk and the heat. “But honestly? Kinda makes it feel more authentic.”

Haechan was silent (a first for him) as he focused his energy into trying not to stare.

He failed miserably.

There was something about her like this—unguarded, glowing with that sun-warmed sweat, eyes bright, talking with her hands. Her collarbones gleamed. Her tank top stuck to her in places that tested the limits of his self-control. He could barely keep his brain functioning, let alone think about what to order.

She went with sushi. “Reminds me of growing up near Muggles,” she said, grinning around a bite of salmon roll. “I used to sneak off with my cousins to this little shop in London. We didn’t even know how to use chopsticks yet—we’d just stab the pieces and laugh until we cried.”

“You grew up in London?” he asked, eyes on her but also vaguely on the rice stuck to her lip.

“For a while,” she nodded. “Moved around a lot. My mum’s a witch, dad’s a muggle. Neither side really… understood the other. And I guess I never really felt like I fit on either end.”

Haechan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, gaze drifting to the window where the sky was turning sherbet pink. “Too magic for the Muggles. Too Muggle for the magic. Even at Hogwarts, I’ve always felt a little…” She shrugged. “Separate.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stared at her. Not in the way he usually did - distracted by beauty, struck dumb by how good she looked in a sunbeam - but like he was memorizing her.

“I get that,” he finally said. “Not in the same way, but I get it.”

She looked up, brows lifted.

“My family’s pureblood. Super traditional,” he explained. “Dad works at the Ministry. Wanted me to do the same since I could hold a wand. Mum’s got four of us to handle— me and three younger ones — so she barely had time to sleep, let alone give us all attention. But still… I was loved. Just not always seen. I felt like I had to be this version of me they pictured. Which… isn’t really me at all.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “So what is the real you?”

Haechan gave a lopsided smile. “Still figuring that out.”

They fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of meaning, heavy with things unsaid. The air between them crackled like fire on damp wood—slow, smoldering, impossible to ignore.

“I don’t think you’re alone,” he added, softer now. “You’re not weird. Or separate. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide and searching.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“Every word,” he said.

And then… the world disappeared.

The clatter of chopsticks. The whir of ceiling fans. The laughter from the kitchen. All of it faded into a warm blur as they looked at each other like they had never really seen before. Neither one blinked. Neither looked away. Something had cracked wide open—between them, within them—and neither was quite sure how to close it again.

He wanted to tell her how good she looked in this light. How he’d never met someone who made him feel like this. How her laugh stuck to his ribs and her voice echoed in his head at night.

But he didn’t.

Because for now, the way they were looking at each other said enough.

—-

The windows were cracked open in Haechan’s flat, letting in a warm breeze that fluttered the corner of an old Quidditch banner tacked lazily to the wall. Four half-full Butterbeers sat sweating on the chipped coffee table, and the place smelled like leftover takeaway and citrus cleaning charms.

“Mate, I forgot how decent your place is,” Jeno said, sprawled across the floor with a pillow under his head and his wand lazily twirling between his fingers.

“That’s because he lets it go to shit until the night before we visit,” Renjun said dryly, flipping through the evening’s game schedule on the small floating screen above the couch. “Guarantee he Febrezed his laundry again instead of actually washing it.”

“I Febrezed and did a Refreshio, thank you very much,” Haechan replied with mock offense, flicking a rolled-up napkin at him. “Besides, I knew you three gremlins were coming. Needed the place to smell like less death.”

Mark chuckled from where he was sitting cross-legged near the window, a Butterbeer balanced on one knee. “Honestly, I missed this.”

They all nodded. It had been a while—too long since they’d had a night like this, no obligations, no loud parties or crowded clubs. Just them.

Renjun was the one who broke the quiet moment first.

“Hey—Hyuck, remember that coffee shop we went to last week? That little place near the botanical greenhouses?”

Haechan glanced over, nodding carefully.

Renjun turned to Jeno and Mark. “You’ll never guess who we saw.”

Mark blinked. “Uh… your ex?”

Renjun snorted. “Worse. Better. Depends who you ask.” Then, dramatically, “Y/N.”

There was a beat of confused silence.

“Who?” Jeno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/N,” Renjun repeated, giving Haechan a knowing look before turning back to the others. “You wouldn’t know her super well. Ravenclaw, same year as us. She was kind of… quiet. Eccentric. But smart as hell.”

Mark squinted, trying to recall. “Oh wait—wasn’t she the one who used to sit on the floor of the common library tower with, like, three books open and a flask of tea?”

“That’s the one,” Renjun said, smirking. “She’s in college with us now. We saw her at the café. Hyuck almost choked when we saw her.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did. You froze up like someone hexed you.”

Jeno leaned up on one elbow, grinning. “Wait—this is the girl? The one you’ve been blowing us off for?”

“Shut up,” Haechan mumbled into his Butterbeer.

Renjun leaned back, arms behind his head, victorious. “Knew it.”

Mark eyed Haechan, amused. “Usually you’re the first one to brag. Last year you told us in detail how you got that girl from the Duelling Club to snog you behind the owlery.”

“This isn’t like that,” Haechan said without thinking—and then froze.

All three of them looked at him. Even the air seemed to pause.

“Oh?” Jeno said quietly.

Mark looked surprised, but not mocking. “So… what’s it like then?”

Haechan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just different. She’s not someone you talk about like that.”

Renjun nodded slowly, looking more curious now than smug. “I kind of got that vibe. She made you nervous, man. I haven’t seen you fumble that hard since second year when Changmin hexed your broom mid-air.”

That pulled a laugh out of Jeno.

“But seriously,” Renjun continued, “she was cool. And honestly? She seemed really comfortable with you.”

“She was being nice,” Haechan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Mark leaned forward. “Do you like her?”

Haechan didn’t answer.

He stared at the bottle in his hands instead, his thumb running around the rim in slow, aimless circles.

That was enough of an answer.

“She’s pretty,” Renjun offered, tone softer now. “And smart. Funny, too. You should talk to her again.”

“I don’t want to weird her out,” Haechan said. “She’s… not like the other girls. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Jeno and Mark exchanged a look—this time serious.

Renjun nodded. “Well, we’re doing that chill thing here Friday night. I know it’s just us and a few friends, but if you wanted to ask her, i’d be cool with it. Just sayin’.”

Haechan hesitated.

The thought of seeing her again sparked something low in his chest, that strange, warm something he hadn’t been able to shake since she laughed at his jokes in the library, since she let her shoulder peek out in the sunlight and made time stand still, since she told him about her lonely childhood with such honesty it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, more to himself than them. “I’ll think about it.”

They didn’t press.

But later, when the boys were gone and the apartment was quiet again, Haechan sat at his desk, trying to distract himself from your smile with his homework. He wasn’t sure if he’d invite you next time he saw you, but knowing him - he probably wouldn’t have a choice.

—-

The hallway outside one of Eldhollow’s lecture rooms smelled faintly of ink, old oak polish, and roasted coffee beans from the café across the quad. The afternoon light stretched through the long windows in gold ribbons, pooling on the floor and dancing lazily along the scuffed stone walls.

Y/N walked slowly, a half-laugh caught between her teeth as she tilted her head toward Xiaojun, who was passionately describing the exact moment a mismeasured Shrinking Solution had turned an entire class rat into a mouse-sized, fire-breathing menace.

“It sneezed flames,” he was saying, wide-eyed, “like a dragon with seasonal allergies.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, the sound airy and content, her arms folded lightly across her stomach, one shoulder brushing against his now and then as they walked. Talking with Xiaojun made y/n feel so much better. She didn’t need to worry about school, money, her future, romance - just her and her best friend (yeah, you heard her - BEST FRIEND. The thought makes her giggle) on a casual day where she had no expectations and no commitments, no ghosts to be her only friends, and no boys to pine over while they barely recognize your face, five months after they last saw it. Y/n smiled to herself, enjoying the moment as she walked along the hallway, watching the doors come and go, her eyes moving on to the next one after one leaves; she repeats this three times before the classroom door just ahead opens.

Mark Lee stepped out first, his voice already mid-sentence as he turned to whoever was behind him. “—just ask Johnny, he’ll know where to—” He stopped abruptly, eyes locking on Y/N and Xiaojun. “Oh.”

Haechan followed a beat later, tugging his hoodie sleeves down to his wrists, his hair a little messier than usual and a golden-tan scarf slung loosely around his neck. His laugh caught in his throat the second his gaze landed on her.

They stopped at the exact same time.

And the hallway, for all its lively magic and afternoon clatter, went quiet in both of their heads.

Y/N blinked. Her breath caught, subtle but noticeable—just enough that Xiaojun’s head tilted in curiosity beside her. She didn’t look away, though. Not this time.

Haechan’s thoughts fumbled immediately. It’s her again. The girl with the voice like starlight and the smile that looked like it was always on the edge of disappearing—unless you caught it fast enough. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since dinner, and yet she’d taken up permanent residence in his brain. And now she’s here—just like that—again.

He took her in. Noticed the way her skirt brushed softly around her boots. The faint shimmer of flower pins tucked along her hairline. The way her hand hovered so close to Xiaojun’s arm. Too close.

Y/N gave him the gentlest smile. Reserved. Polite. Like she hadn’t spent all week wondering if she’d imagined the look in his eyes that day at the café. Like her pulse wasn’t thrumming now just from standing this close to him again.

Mark gave a short, awkward nod to Xiaojun, who returned it just as silently.

Haechan, on the other hand, was spiraling. Why is she here with him? Do they always walk together like that? Why do I even care? Get it together, get it—

And then he heard himself say it, words spilling out like a charm gone rogue:

“Hey. Um. I’m having a small thing this Friday—just a few people, nothing serious, mostly food and studying and… music. You should come.”

He hadn’t planned it. Not even a little. And yet the second it was out there, floating in the open air between them, it felt completely irreversible.

Y/N blinked at him, stunned. Her fingers twitched at her side, then quickly curled around the strap of her bag. “Oh,” she said softly. “That’s… nice of you.”

Her voice was quieter now, just for him. It always felt that way. He’d thought she was some figment before—something unplaceable and strange—but the way she was looking at him now? Shy, yes. But there was a glint of mischief there too. Something warm and hidden just behind her eyes.

Something that made him forget what he’d said.

“I mean,” he added quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies suddenly wreaking havoc in his chest by pulling out a piece of parchment paper and the only pen he owned, scribbling down his address and handing it to her before she had time to reject him, “you don’t have to. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pocketing the piece of paper quickly like it burned her. And though she tried to sound neutral, tried to sound indifferent, Haechan caught the tiny lift of her lips when she turned back toward Xiaojun and they started walking again.

He watched her go, her scent lingering—a light, floral note he couldn’t name, but would know anywhere.

Mark smacked his arm lightly. “You good, man?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on her back as she moved further down the hallway, sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.

“Wha-what? Uh…Yeah,” he said finally, voice dazed. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Because whatever this was, whatever she was—it wasn’t going away.

And now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

—-

Friday evening crept up quietly, hidden beneath a day of cloud cover and soft wind. Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, her blanket twisted around her legs like a safety net she couldn’t quite convince herself to leave. The fairy lights strung along her wall flickered gently, and her teacup — untouched — had gone cold.

She stared at the small piece of parchment on her nightstand - his handwriting was slanted, casual, like he hadn’t thought twice before writing it down. She, on the other hand, had thought about it constantly.

“Are you seriously still in pajamas?” Karina called from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing look. “It starts in less than an hour.”

Y/N blinked down at her old sweater and worn socks. “Technically, I haven’t committed to going.”

“Technically, you’ve been staring at that paper for forty-five minutes and whispering things under your breath like you’re about to hex it.”

Behind Karina, Giselle peeked in. “She’s spiraling, isn’t she?”

“Spiraling,” Karina confirmed.

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows with a dramatic sigh. “What if it’s not even about me? What if he just invited me because of Renjun? They’re friends. Maybe he thinks Renjun and I should get together or something and he’s just—facilitating it.”

“Facilitating it?” Giselle echoed, amused. “Y/N. You’re not a school project.”

“I’m serious!”

“And we are seriously not letting you stay here and mope when the most beautiful boy in Eldhollow invited you to his place.”

Y/N sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You don’t understand. I’ve known of Haechan for a long time, he’s always been the most beautiful boy around me. For years, I used to—” She stopped herself, cheeks flushing.

But her roommates had known her long enough to read the rest between the lines.

“You used to hope he’d notice you,” Karina finished gently, sitting beside her on the bed. “And now he has. So what are you going to do? Pretend it’s not what you always wanted?”

Y/N bit her lip. Her heart felt like it was being wrung out, slowly and carefully. For so long, Haechan had been the boy in the distance. The untouchable. Loud and golden and surrounded by people. He had existed in a world of bright lights and crowds, while she’d lived in the quiet corners, safe in the soft folds of her books and thoughts. And now here he was — really here — handing her an invitation like it was no big deal.

And maybe to him it wasn’t - but to her, it had been everything.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if I go and regret it?”

Giselle plopped a dress onto the bed — simple, soft blue with fluttery sleeves. “Or what if you go and don’t?”

⸻

Twenty minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror while Karina curled a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Giselle fixed the clasp on her necklace. They didn’t try to transform her — they knew better than that — but they helped her feel just enough like magic to remember she had always been made of it.

“Okay,” Karina started quietly, smoothing her skirt before stepping back, “You look like yourself. Just… the version of you who knows she deserves this.”

“Still time to turn around,” Y/N teased nervously, already half-turned toward the door.

Giselle grabbed her coat and handed it over. “And miss the slow-burn of the century? No chance.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying her best to ignore their jokes. As she stepped out into the twilight air, the breeze caught the hem of her coat, lifting it slightly as if nudging her forward. The street lamps glowed golden, leading her down the cobbled paths of Eldhollow like something out of a fairytale. She kept her eyes forward, even though her stomach was doing cartwheels and her brain was running every worst-case scenario.

But underneath it all — buried deep where no one else could see — was the tiniest thrill. That maybe, just maybe, something was beginning.

Not a dream this time.

Something real.

—-

Haechan answered the door himself.

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect — maybe a roommate, or someone she didn’t recognize — but not him. Not Haechan, framed by warm apartment light, wearing a soft honey-colored sweater and casual joggers, hair still damp like he’d only just showered. He smelled like sugar and clean linen and something deeper, almost like warm vanilla dusted with cedarwood. He blinked when he saw her.

Then grinned, just barely. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied, a little too quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were cold.

“You want anything? Food or, uh—drink?”

Y/N glanced over his shoulder and took in the floating charmed candles, the long table lined with snacks and cups, the handful of people already milling about. “It looks like I can help myself,” she said with a polite smile.

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Come in.”

She stepped past him into the warmth, taking off her jacket and clutching it awkwardly to her chest. The buzz of chatter and light clinking filled the air, cozy and intimate — but not in a way that made her feel at home. In a way that made her feel like an outsider peeking in through the window.

Renjun was the first to greet her, looking genuinely surprised but glad to see her. “Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly,” she admitted. “But… Haechan invited me, so.” She shrugged, trying to keep it casual.

Renjun smiled. “Glad you did. Everyone, this is Y/N — from Hogwarts.”

Introductions flowed. She already recognized Mark and Jeno. The two unfamiliar faces were Johnny — all warmth and charm — and Doyoung, quieter but no less kind. Mina, Johnny’s girlfriend, greeted her with the gentle enthusiasm of someone who always remembered birthdays, and Yuna — well, Yuna barely looked her way.

She gave Y/N a glance and a small smile, then immediately leaned toward Haechan to ask him something. Whatever it was, it made him laugh. Really laugh.

Y/N tried not to watch them.

She mingled. She smiled. She stood beside the drinks table with Renjun and Mark, talking about classes. And slowly, something began to shift inside her. That same gnawing feeling she’d buried all through her school years — that sense of being just a step off, like she’d come to a party dressed for the wrong theme — began to creep in.

She tried to ignore it.

Until it happened.

Renjun asked about her studies, and Y/N — desperate to sound casual, clever, normal — launched into an explanation about a theory she’d been writing. “It’s about the shared impulse between ghosts and transfigured objects,” she said brightly, “like — like how you can’t use a ghost as a magical power source, but if you transfigure an object to have soul-like qualities, there’s a chance it might try to haunt you—”

She trailed off when she saw Renjun blink, then laugh.

“Wow,” he said, not unkindly. “Y/N, nothing’s changed about you at all.”

She froze.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she forced a laugh. “Yeah. Still me.”

She could tell he meant it lightly — like a fond observation. But the words wrapped around her ribs like vines, tugging tight.

Nothing’s changed.

But she had changed. Hadn’t she?

She had spent so many of her Hogwarts years in the shadows. Her only real companions had been ghosts, paintings, her owl, and the teachers who didn’t mind her asking a hundred questions. She was odd, yes — painfully shy, always scribbling notes, talking to herself under her breath. But she had tried, since graduation, to grow into someone brighter. Someone who didn’t get flustered at the smallest social interaction. Someone who didn’t feel like she was on the outside of every room.

But tonight… tonight she just felt like that lonely girl again.

And Haechan — who she thought wanted to talk to her, who had looked at her like she was fascinating — was now barely glancing her way.

“I’m gonna get some ice,” she murmured, setting down her drink before anyone could stop her.

⸻

The kitchen was quiet. She let the door close behind her and pressed both hands to the counter. Her chest was tight as her fingers trembled against the woodgrain; She hated how fast this was spiraling.

Why had he invited her?

Why had he looked at her like that in the hallway? Why say anything if he was just going to ignore her now?

The door creaked open behind her - She turned slowly.

Haechan lingered in the doorway, hesitant. “Hey. I… I saw you leave. You okay?”

Y/N blinked. Her throat was dry. “Why are you being so weird?”

Haechan looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You invited me,” she said, softly but firmly. “You — you literally asked me to come. And I thought— I thought we’d talk. I thought maybe you wanted to get to know me. But we haven’t even really spoken.”

“I did want to talk to you,” he said quickly. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t you?” She shook her head, cheeks hot. “You’ve been paying more attention to that girl—Yuna—than you have to me.”

Haechan blinked, stunned silent for a moment.

Then: “I’m nervous, okay?” He looked almost… embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I didn’t even know who you were at school. And now—” he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “—now you’re all I can think about.”

Y/N stared at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter. “I never really… liked someone before. Not really. I mean, I’ve messed around, sure, but it’s never felt like this. And with you, I—I get nervous. I say stupid stuff. I avoid you even though I invited you, because the second you walked in I felt like I couldn’t think straight.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, very quietly, “I used to wish you knew who I was.

“I had no one in school. Just books and ghosts and paintings and—my owl. And I used to wish you’d just look at me. Just once. And now you are. And it’s like—like I’m too late.”

He looked pained. “It’s not too late.”

She gave him a soft, sad smile. “It feels like it is.”

He took a step forward. “Y/N—”

“I think I need some space,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. And thank you, for inviting me. It… meant a lot.”

Then she turned and walked past him, back into the hallway where she could slip out quietly, her chest full of static and her heart both breaking and blooming all at once.

[taeeflwrr]

sunflower vol 6 | l.hc

“i couldn’t want you anymore, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor”

💿now playing: sunflower vol 6 by harry styles

❯ summary: Let’s make dinner together, he said. I’ll behave, he said. Honestly, you should have known that was a lie because when it comes to you, Haechan is never on his best behaviour. That’s why he’s sneaking sly touches every time you complete a step in your recipe.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive content

❯ words: 1.4k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, kissing, pet names, literally just hyuck being so boyfriend and them dancing in the kitchen together.

an: i’m a firm believer that harry styles wrote this song about haechan

Hyuck bursts through the front door with a sense of urgency, unable to contain his excitement. It's been months since he last saw you, his girlfriend whom he's more than just a little obsessed with, and the door feels like just another barrier in his way. He thought his job, which requires him to tour for half the year, was obstacle enough.

"Baby, I'm home!" he calls out eagerly, scanning the apartment for any sign of you. Disappointment flickers across his face when he doesn't immediately spot you waiting for him with open arms.

The honeyed tone of his voice instead echoes from the living room to your bedroom, drawing you to him like a magnet. Without wasting a moment, you rush down the stairs and wrap your arms around his neck.

You melt into each other effortlessly, as you always do. Your bodies seem custom-made for one another, fitting together perfectly. You've missed his touch, his warmth, in a way that FaceTime calls could never fulfil. Nothing compares to the physical presence of your Hyuck.

You plant a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his cheek before pulling back to meet his gaze. "You weren't supposed to be home for another four hours. What's going on?"

"I got an earlier flight because I missed you so much," he replies with a grin. 

You shake your head, but a smile still tugs at your lips. You've never encountered a man more smitten and in love than him. It's endearing, really. It's the kind of love his friends would tease him about if he didn't take so much pride in it.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to process the fact that he's here in your living room. You're happy, of course, but you had hoped to be all dolled up for his arrival, not standing in old pyjamas after months apart

"Well... are you hungry? We could order takeout if you want. You can tell me all about that tour that's kept you away from me for what feels like forever," you suggest with a smile, and his eyes soften at the invitation

"Babyyy," he whines, catching you off guard a little. His hands slide to your back, pulling you in by your waist as he plants a kiss on top of your head. "Can't we make dinner together?"

You raise an eyebrow, pulling away to look up at him, his hands still wrapped around you. "By 'we,' you mean me?"

"Of course not. You know I make an excellent sous chef. Restaurants should be grateful I chose music instead of culinary arts.” 

You shake your head, with a grin. "We never get anything done when we cook together. Remember last time?"

He smirks, recalling the memory. "It's not my fault you asked me to get something out of the fridge, and when I turned around, you were bent over the counter showing your ass to me. I couldn't help myself."

You give him a deadpan look but he only smirks more.

"And if we're being honest, I remember you loving it." His arms cross over his chest, the satisfaction in him beaming from knowing that you know he's right. You did enjoy those steamy cooking sessions, but not right now; you're hungry.

"Please, baby, I missed your cooking. Nothing any restaurant can make compares to your food," he pleads. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

And although you know better, and you know that there’s no such thing as "best behaviour" with Lee Donghyuck, you still can't resist. And so, you give in. 

Surprisingly, everything goes well. Hyuck isn’t too much of a distraction; instead, he follows your instructions without protest. He grabs ingredients, chops vegetables, and even compliments the head chef— and nothing catches fire.

Progress is being made.

That is until your boyfriend finishes the little tasks you assign him and wraps his arms around your waist while you chop ingredients.

“Hyuck… you promised—”

His plush lips melt against your neck so delicately that you nearly chop off your finger—though Hyuck won’t let that happen, gripping your hands to steady them. He chuckles softly, his lips quirking against your skin.

“I know what I said, Y/N,” he teases. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not trying to help; you’re trying to distract.”

He laughs, “You know… I bought a new record while I was on tour. It has that one song you love.”

You pause, setting the knife down and pressing your hands against the counter as you turn to face him.

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, “I think we should play it while you cook.”

“I thought we were supposed to be cooking together?” 

Hyuck simply chuckles as he heads over to the record player in your kitchen and sets the record spinning. Soft guitar notes fill the space, and despite your need to focus, you can’t help but smile.

You watch as he dances across the cool kitchen tiles, a smirk on his lips, until he stands behind you. His hand finds your elbow, gently pulling you backwards.

The laugh that spills from you is warm and Hyuck matches it as his hands drift down your arms to your hands, fingers threading together before he pulls you back into his broad, solid chest. 

Strong arms cross your own chest, and the two of you start to sway against each other. The music is quiet and grainy and mixed with the sound of your feet creaking on the floor. 

The two of you float back and forth—a stream of sunlight streams in through the high window. You close your eyes and let the light shift across your eyelids. Hyuck’s lips find your ear, singing softly. The sound was gentle and sweet and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll never forget the moment I realised I love you.”

You sink further against him, your voice humming as you ask, “Yeah? When was that?”

“The minute I saw you,” he breathes. “You were dancing so carelessly, and I knew then—you were my person. You’ll always be my person.”

You’re grinning like an idiot despite rolling your eyes as you let go of Hyuck’s hands and turn around in his arms. You slide your palms up his chest to wind around the back of his neck, pressing your foreheads together. 

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he responds easily, smiling with his eyes closed as he continues to sway with you in the tiny kitchen of your tiny apartment. You nod, leaning forward to knock your noses together gently with an exaggerated sigh.

“I do. And I love you. I wouldn’t want to spend a minute loving anybody else.”

Hyuck hums, pulling you in closer and starts walking you backwards slowly until your hips rest against the counter. He dips down, curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and effortlessly hoists you up to sit on the edge. You open your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, twisting a perfect little strand around your finger just the way he likes it.

He looks back at you, eyes filled with patience and love. Then he leans in, drawing you into a soft, lazy kiss—because he’s finally home, because he can, because he loves doing it, because it’s all he ever wants to do from now until forever.  You melt against his chest, pressing up into the contact. When you break apart, Hyuck rests his lips against your temple, swaying gently with you in his arms.

“I’m so in love with you,” He says softly.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and brush your nose back and forth against his neck as you close your eyes and smile.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

You linger in the warmth of his touch until the sharp beeping of the oven interrupts the moment. You pull away slightly, frowning at the oven’s display.

“Ugh, I forgot I put that in there!” you exclaim, glancing over your shoulder to see smoke beginning to curl from the edges.

Hyuck chuckles, but there is no concern creeping into his voice. “Can’t believe my first meal home is going to be charcoal.” 

You rush to the oven, Hyuck close behind. As you open the door, a plume of smoke escapes, and you cough. 

“This is totally your fault! What happened to you not being distracting?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, leaning down to plant another soft kiss on your lips. “What can I say? I’m obsessed with you.”

[taeeflwrr]

oh my god was this a rollercoaster of emotions #bringbackangst #imafeministdespiteallthethoughtsthatthisficmademeentertain #forgivemesinceitwashyuck

death by a thousand cuts | l.hc

“but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages?”

💿now playing: death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift

❯ summary: If you get more than one love in a lifetime, why does your heart still beat for the boy who wrecked you completely?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, second chance, cheating trope, smut.

❯ words: 9.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, cheating (booo), exes, toxic relationship, a therapy joke, lots of angst, swearing, heartbreak, a whole lotta hurt, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, arguing, heavy petting, protected sex, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), i can’t lie this is just 9k words of heartache and sex lol.

an: this fic will not be for everyone!! i do not condone cheating in any way, you’re a loser if you cheat. i just felt like writing something heart achey, and this is my favourite taylor swift song that inspires cheating fics whenever i listen to it.

“Give me that!”

Yeji snatches the phone out of your hand with the kind of urgency only a best friend possesses—the kind forged after too many years of watching you do the stupidest things when it comes to boys. Her eyes flare the moment she spots the familiar username. 

@ haechanahceah

“Oh my god. You’re kidding.” Her thumb hovers accusingly over the screen. “Y/N, it’s been a year. A whole year. Why haven’t you blocked Hyuck yet?”

You don’t answer immediately. Just tilt your head back with an exhausted exhale, reaching for the phone. Not because you want it back, but because it feels incriminating in her hands. Like a wound she’s now inspecting. And you don’t need her inspecting it.

“Because we’re okay,” you say, not entirely convincingly. “Mostly.”

It was just a like. On an Instagram post. Of him—with his friends.

(Some of them girls. Most of them girls. All of them tagged. And you definitely weren’t planning on clicking through their profiles in the middle of your best friend coffee date with your screen brightness criminally low. Definitely not.)

“And because we’re friends,” you add breezily. Then you pluck the phone from her hand and tap back into the app, your thumb moving faster than your brain, already leaving a comment beneath his photo.

Something flippant. Something funny. Something that screams: See? I’m a functioning, emotionally stable adult who can totally be friends with the boy who annihilated my heart while he gallivants around Europe on a boat with girls. 

Except probably subtler. 

Yeji stares at you like she’s witnessing a slow-motion car crash. “Oh, absolutely. And when that guy drove me home from the bar last weekend and told me I had pretty eyes, we were just friends too.”

You roll your eyes, swatting the air with your hand. “That’s different. Hyuck’s my childhood best friend. I can’t just cut him off now that we’re not…” you pause, the words catching in your throat like they always do, “you know?”

“No. I don’t know,” she says, arms crossed and chin lifted in that annoyingly perceptive way of hers. “Because you two are in a loop. An exhausting, toxic, ‘I-don’t-know-where-we-stand-with-each-other’ loop. And staying in touch with him is why you can’t move on.”

“We are not toxic.”

You are. 

But you’d already said it out loud like a reflex, before you even had time to make it sound believable. So, you try to fix it. 

“We’re just…”

You trail off, blinking hard like the answer might fall from the ceiling.

 “Co-dependent?” Lia offers helpfully. 

 You sigh. “Yes. That. Thank you, Lia.”

“It’s weird, is what it is,” Yeji says. 

You lean back in your chair, arms folded across your chest like armour. “Ugh. You wouldn’t get it.”

And they wouldn’t. They never have.

Because nobody gets you and Hyuck. Not Yeji, not Lia, not even the therapists you’ve paid a concerning amount of money to explain it all to you. No amount of therapy or psychoanalysis can remove the him-shaped hole inside of you. The way he exists like a second heartbeat.

How many times does a person truly get to fall in love? Not the practical kind. But the kind that rewires you completely. That makes you wonder how you ever existed before this person, and fear who you might become after. 

If love were fair—the answer would be simple. Once. Only ever once.

Because to love someone—truly love someone—is not just to hand over your heart. It’s to fold it delicately, wrap it in every part of your soul, and place it willingly in that person’s pocket. Trusting that they won’t ever give it back frayed or barely beating. 

And if they do (and he definitely did) well, what remains might resemble a heart, but it never beats the same again. You don’t think it ever will.

So yes. One love. One person. One boy—him.

Yeji calls it nostalgia. Says that since he was your first everything, it feels bigger than it was, and that’s why he’s taking up too much space inside your chest. She says you're scared of forgetting. But that’s not it.

You’d give anything to forget. It’s better than remembering everything. Of living in a world where he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. Where songs feel like him. Where movies feel like him. Where your own body sometimes feels like him because he’s marked it so damn much.

But if you did move on, if you could—you’d still have to ask yourself: where does all that breathless, foolish, all-consuming love go? 

The common consensus is that love turns to hate when it stays too long without being fed. But you can’t imagine a universe cruel enough to make you hate the very boy who made you believe in soulmates.

So you don’t hate him. Even though you should.

“Fine,” Yeji slumps back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp with that familiar fury she reserves exclusively for you—when you’re being like this. “You’re right. I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re still in cahoots with the same boy who cheated on you and left you a complete mess.”

Lia gasps. “Yeji!”

But the thing is—Yeji has a point. And you know that. But knowing something and truly understanding it is two different things. 

You don’t understand how he put his hands on someone else. How his mouth touched a body that wasn’t yours. How he delivered that line—“I didn’t mean for it to happen”—with the kind of ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d practised it in the mirror before he had the balls to actually tell you. 

You didn’t understand, yet you knew all the same.

You were wearing his shirt when he told you. Still in his house. Still in the space you thought was yours too. And all you could think was: how many nights did he lie next to you like nothing was wrong? How many times did he touch you with hands that had already betrayed you?

He never told you when, or who. Just a sorry. A soft one. A useless one. And a vague promise that he’d do anything to fix it.

But there are some things sorry can’t fix.

You clear your throat, suddenly too aware of how loud your heartbeat feels in a room full of people who love you enough to hate him.

“Because we’re not in cahoots,” you correct. “We’re friends, Yej. Him and I have always been friends.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. 

You have been friends with Hyuck ever since he moved in next door to your family when you were six. And even then—when you climbed trees and shared crayons—you think your heart was already beating for him. So much you don’t know what life is without that pulse anymore. Without a hint of him running beneath your skin.

It’s why you plaster on a smile and say, “In fact, I even invited him to my birthday party next week.”

They look at you, eyes full of pity and sympathy. And that hurts way more than him breaking you ever did. Because now your friends are staring at you like you’re some sad, shattered, pathetic thing he left behind.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lia asks weakly. 

“You’re seriously a lunatic,” Yeji cuts in before you can respond. “You’re just dragging this out for yourself. Death by a thousand cuts and all that.”

“I am not a lunatic,” you say, shrugging her off. “It’s just... he’s still part of my life. It’s not like I’m inviting a stranger.”

“He fucked up your life,” she huffs, the words stinging. “He hurt you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “But I love him anyway, don’t I?”

And you do. Because some loves don’t end—they just rearrange themselves. 

Yeji yanks her chair back so hard the legs screech against the floor.

“He’s gonna hurt you again,” she spits. “How many times are you gonna let him rip you apart before there’s nothing left? Before you’ve sacrificed yourself and everyone else around you and you’ve got nothing left to give?”

You want to say something, but the words get stuck, because she’s right.

Lia reaches out, “Yeji—”

“If he’s there next week, Y/N,” she says, eyes burning over her shoulder looking from you to Lia, “then I won’t be.”

When Hyuck got a DM from the only girl he’s ever loved—two days ago, now—he sobered.

Which, if you asked Mark, was some kind of divine miracle. Because Mark had been watching his best friend drink himself into oblivion for the better part of a year. A slow, intentional kind of fucked up that was clearly a desperate, pathetic attempt to forget you.

But no shot, no spirit, no stranger’s skin pressed to his could ever do the trick. Not really. Because no matter how hard Hyuck tried, the hangover was always the same: he’d wake up, and you still weren’t his girl.

So when he saw your username light up his phone, he paused. 

Because the preview didn’t give anything away. It did that annoying thing that said “2 new messages.” No hint. No breadcrumb. Just a loaded gun of a notification staring up at him.

And, of course he clicked it. He had to. You knew he would. You’d sent two back-to-back messages on purpose—he’s certain of it. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you were. Always two steps ahead. Always orchestrating even your vulnerability. 

You wanted to see when he’d read it. 

And he did.

At 2:36 a.m. Because you’d definitely be asleep by then. And that meant he had enough time to draft the right response—measured, brisk, detached—like the past year hadn’t cracked him open.

He read it in the half-light of Mark’s living room, surrounded by people he didn’t really like and a bottle of something he couldn’t quite remember picking up.

hey. i’m having a thing next friday for my birthday—just a chill party. nothing major. 

you can come, if you want.

Hyuck stares at the two messages.

It’s not because of the party. He couldn’t care less about the cake or the candles. That’s not what has his heart in his throat. It’s the fact that—for the first time in a year—you actually reached out. None of that accidentally bumping into each other nonsense you two pull. No one buys that it’s an accident. 

At least, it’s not an accident on his behalf.

It’s not an accident when he keeps frequenting the same coffee shop you once claimed made the best lattes in the city—always at the same time. It’s not a coincidence when he drives through your favourite places on rainy days, just in case you need a ride and are too proud to just call him. And it’s definitely not a coincidence that makes him take the long way to your house. He does it deliberately. He selfishly takes more of your time than he deserves.

Because saying goodbye wasn’t an option for him. Not until it had to be. He’d take prolonged suffering. Death by a thousand cuts.

And it’s not his fault. Well. It is. All of the ruin, anyway. But in the twelve months since he blew it all up, you’ve still lingered. You always do. You always will. So he just keeps showing up in your life when he knows you need to move on. Because he doesn’t want you to. 

Because everything in his life is still half-yours. And he won’t board up the windows of that love—not even now. Not when some part of you still flickers inside it, and half of his heart is still in your chest.

Hyuck stares at your message again. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else. Deletes that too.

what kind of thing is it?

Too uninterested.

who’s gonna be there?

Too nosy.

sure, if you want me there.

Too honest. 

Everything felt like a trap—too much, too little, not enough to win you back, but equally too honest and would remind you of his actions that hurt you. 

How was he supposed to respond to the girl who once memorised every mole on his face? Who was the muse of every song he’s written? Who still makes his hands shake on the keyboard? Who he cheated on? Who he destroyed completely? 

Eventually he landed on:

might swing by, angel. happy early birthday, btw.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

11:27PM

Thirty-three minutes left of your birthday, but you’re not celebrating.

Instead, you’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath you, whilst your dress wrinkles and bunches around your thighs because you stopped caring how ruined you looked an hour ago.  

You don’t care that your lipstick is all but gone or that your mascara is smudged under both eyes. You don’t care because he’s not here. 

You were supposed to be smiling by now. 

But he didn’t walk in. 

He still hasn’t.

And you don’t even know why you’re surprised. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your baby. He’s not your Hyuck anymore. He doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing—not a happy birthday, or his time. You gave that privilege up the night you stopped being his. Or maybe the night he stopped being yours. You still haven’t decided which one came first.

Still, you hoped he would come. 

It was the only thing keeping you remotely sane—delusional hope that he might still show up. That maybe he’d walk through the door like he hadn’t betrayed you and still want you. You still wanted him. 

You hated that he broke you and still got to keep the pieces. Hated that even now, on your birthday, all you could think about was him. Hated that you still wanted his birthdays, his weekends, his forever. 

You take another drink. Cheaper vodka this time, and let it burn your throat as it goes down. You want the sting. You deserve the sting. Your eyes drift (again) to the front door.

Still nothing.

“You need to stop doing that,” Lia pads barefoot into the kitchen, coming right behind you to smack both her hands on your shoulders. “Stop watching that door like a hawk. Yeji would kill you if she saw you pining after him on your birthday.”

You press your lips together and glance away like you’ve been caught red-handed. Because, well. You have.

“Yeah, well. Yeji isn’t here,” you mutter, taking another sip—longer this time. 

Lia raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

You drain the last of your drink and look her straight in the eye. “Because I invited him.”

Lia looks at you expectantly. You know she hates being caught between you and Yeji, but it’s clear she thinks you were wrong to invite Hyuck tonight, knowing full well how Yeji would react.

And maybe she’s right.

That’s why you sigh.

“Look, he said he might come,” you say finally. “He didn’t promise anything. Yeji was overreacting.”

“He never promises,” Lia says gently. “And yet, you keep prioritising him like he’s still that sweet boy we both used to love, who used to buy your favourite cookies before class, or pick fights with the boys who made fun of you. But he’s not that boy anymore, Y/N. And he’s not yours anymore either.”

You flinch.

She notices. Regrets it. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t, not really. Because this is the first birthday he’s missed since you were kids. Since you were eleven and he showed up with a homemade card. 

It’s not fine because his absence would say something that the cheating weirdly never quite did—that he’s not the boy you fell in love with. Maybe he hasn’t been for a long time.

Lia leans against the counter beside you. “It’s allowed, you know? Being hurt.”

“I don’t get to be,” you reply, glancing at her. “He doesn’t owe me anything anymore. I was the one who didn’t want to forgive him that night. I said I was done. I don’t expect him to grovel forever.”

“No,” she agrees. “But you deserved something. More than a half-assed apology at least.”

That lands in your chest harshly. You press your tongue to your cheek, the way you do when you’re trying not to cry. You’re not drunk enough to cry yet. Give it another hour.

“Come on,” Lia sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side, “I’m not letting you stay in here staring at that door and giving him the power to ruin the rest of your birthday.” 

But even as she says it, your eyes flicker to that door again—still no him.

Lia doesn’t let go of your hand as she leads you out of the kitchen and into the living room, where people are scattered across the sofas and floors. They all feel like strangers at your own party because you’ve spent the whole night looking for one person who never came. 

“Y/N,” Lia says, squeezing your hand, “this is Hyunjae.”

You blink. The boy in front of you is pretty. Dark eyes, strong jaw softened by the curve of a perfect smile, black hair pushed back sexily. He’s holding a drink loosely in his hand as his eyes sweep over you. 

“Happy birthday,” he says. “You look—”

Please don’t say beautiful. Please don’t say gorgeous. Please don’t say anything he would’ve said.

“—pretty,” Hyunjae finishes. “Really fucking pretty.”

You smile. Or try to. “Thanks.”

And look, it’s not that Hyunjae isn’t nice—he is. You can already hear Yeji telling you to give him a chance. He’s the kind of boy who’d text back, who’s safe, who’d never leave you staring at a door wondering if he’ll show up on your birthday or not. Hyunjae is the kind of boy who wouldn’t cheat on you. 

But the truth is, you don’t know if you can be the girl who lets someone call her pretty and fawn anymore. Not without wondering if they’ll still mean it once they see someone better, shinier, hotter than you. 

Just like he did. 

You nod along when Hyunjae talks. You laugh where you’re supposed to. Play nice. Be sweet. But everything he says sounds like static. Everything he is feels like a placeholder. 

And then, you hear it. That deep, honey-smooth, familiar voice saying: “Happy birthday, angel.”

It slices through the room. Through you.

Because there’s only one person who ever called you that. One boy. Lee Donghyuck.

You didn’t even hear the front door open. Typical. But there he is, leaning in the doorway, all tan skin and messy hair. His hands are buried in his pockets, his jaw set tight—too tight, like he’s seconds from grinding his teeth into dust. 

But it’s not you he’s looking at. It’s Hyunjae. Sitting far too close. Arm tossed lazily behind you on the couch, thigh pointing into yours, almost grazing like he owns your space. 

And Hyuck notices. You know he notices.

His eyes narrow. Lips parting slightly as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. That blend of heat and hurt and possessiveness he has no right to anymore.

It hits your chest all at once—shame, hurt, lust—and you fumble. Your hand twitches with the red plastic cup still clutched tight. The drink tilts before you even realise it’s slipping. Cranberry vodka sloshes, causing sticky, cold liquid to spill down the front of your dress, dripping into the neckline. 

“Fuck—” you hiss, jerking upright as the cup lands onto the coffee table. You paw uselessly at the now soaked fabric, trying to blot it with the hem of your sleeve, but it’s only smearing it worse.

Hyunjae starts to reach for a napkin, concerned. But your eyes have already found Hyuck’s again. And the way he’s looking at you now…

Your throat goes dry. “I—I’m gonna go change.”

You don’t wait for a reply. You’re moving before anyone can stop you, heart hammering against your ribs because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

You barely make it up the stairs, breath coming fast, fingers trembling as you reach for the door to your room. You close it. But you don’t get the chance to lock it. Because the door creaks again behind you. And then it clicks shut. You spin around. And there he is.

You don’t say anything at first. 

Just stalk over to your wardrobe like it’s perfectly sane to have your ex-boyfriend—your ex-best friend, the boy you used to see every single day, the only boy you’ve ever slept with, the only person who knows all the tells on your body, the boy you still love—in your bedroom for the first time in over a year.

You wrench the closet door open. A pair of heels fall out and land with a little thud. You don’t flinch. You pretend to rifle through hangers, but you’re not looking for anything specific. All of it is just something to do with your hands, because looking at him right now would be a sick kind of torture.

“What are you doing here!?”

Hyuck doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you only hear the soft thud of his shoes on your floor, the creak of your floorboard by the dresser. He’s closer than you want him to be.

“You invited me,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You spin around. “I invited you to my birthday party. Which started five hours ago.”

He lifts his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. “As far as I’m aware,” he says, tapping it once, “you’ve still got thirteen minutes left. So again, happy birthday, angel.”

You stiffen. 

There it is. That.

That fucking word. The one that used to make you feel warm and wanted. Now it feels like an insult wrapped in silk.

“Don’t call me that.”

That stops him. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he lowers the phone. Shoves it back into his pocket.

“I thought you liked it when I called you that.”

“I used to like it,” you spit. “Back when it meant something. You know, before you fucked someone else behind my back.”

His jaw tightens. Good, you think. The truth hurts; you hope it hurts. And maybe that makes you cruel. But then again, he was cruel first.

He rubs his jaw, then exhales. “We’re really doing this now?”

You laugh dryly. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer we pencil it in for next week instead? Talk about it over brunch sometime, yeah?”

You turn back to your wardrobe, suddenly too irritated. Your fingers find the old grey hoodie you always loved. It looks soft. Comfortable. Definitely not party appropriate. But you don’t care because you don’t want to go back out there. Not after this.

You peel your dress off in one motion, leaving you in the black lace set you picked out this morning—because it was your birthday. Not for anyone else. Not for a boy. Certainly not for him.

Him. 

You forget for a moment that he’s still behind you.

It’s like your brain short-circuits in his presence. Like it still confuses this boy for the lifeline he used to be. Like your heart can’t shout loud enough to warn you: this boy broke us, this boy hurt us, this boy is bad for us. All it says is: this boy is Hyuck. This boy is sweet. This boy—we love.

You only remember when you hear him inhale—sharply—and turn around. 

He’s looking at you like that again. Like he did back when he loved you, and you loved him, and he hadn’t ruined everything yet. He looks hungry, and like the only thing that might satisfy him is you. 

That thought makes you clutch the hoodie to your chest. “Turn around!”

He does. Obediently. But then: 

"So, did you wear that for me?"

His voice is so annoyingly smug it makes you roll your eyes as you reply. “No.”

But your cheeks betray you. Hot. Guilty. Flushed. Thank god his back is still to you, because if he turned around now and looked at you, he’d know. Because he knows all your tells. Always has.

And from just a simple flush, he’d know that yes, you wore this set for him. That yes, despite pretending you were over him in his Instagram comments, your traitorous heart had hoped that he might come tonight and rip the set off of you.

And just in case he caught your second tell (the tremor in your voice), you twist the knife a little more.

“I wore this set for Hyunjae, actually.”

A silence. Then the fucker starts laughing.

Not a little laugh. A full-bodied, head thrown back, belly laugh. You hate how much you’ve missed that sound, how it still makes your stomach flip. 

“Five minutes ago, I might’ve believed that, angel,” he says, turning slightly. Just enough for you to catch the outline of his grin. “And it would’ve driven me fucking crazy.”

Your heart stutters when he nods toward your chest.

“But I wasn’t talking about your underwear,” he says, eyes dipping lower. 

You follow his gaze down to the delicate gold chain resting just above the swell of your breasts. The one with the tiny heart pendant. The one with the H engraving. 

“I was talking about that necklace. The one I bought you for your sixteenth birthday,” He cocks his head. Smirking now. “Did you wear it for me?”

Your fingers fly to it instinctively. You hadn’t taken it off. Not even after finding out. You always wore it underneath your clothes, tucked away like a secret, because Yeji would have a field day if she knew you still wore his necklace.

But in the heat of the moment, stripping down to your underwear, your brain hadn’t realised that he’d see it again. 

“I thought I told you to turn around,” you snap, furious with yourself.

He lifts his hands defensively. “I am turned around.”

“I meant your head, not just your body, Hyuck.”

And so he does, again. Obediently.

You pull the hoodie on. It swallows you immediately. The sleeves dangle past your hands, the hem skims your thighs, and it smells like dust and weirdly like…the boy behind you.

“I’m decent,” you mutter.

He turns around, eyes flicking down before he smiles. Not smug, this time. Just soft and… a little sad?

“That’s mine.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at the sleeves. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. It’s massive on you. And unless you’ve got a secret stash of men’s hoodies in your closet, that one’s mine.”

You glare. “Oh yeah? And who says I don’t have a collection of men’s hoodies in my closet?”

“I do.”

 So fast. So sure.

You scoff, a single sharp laugh. “God, you think so highly of yourself.”

He crosses his arms—all tensed jaw and too-tight t-shirt—and it’s irritating, how stupidly good he looks whilst being smug.

“Yeah,” he says, deadpan. “I do. Because, despite us being broken up, you still wear my necklace.”  He nods toward your nightstand.  “You still have a photo of us beside your bed.” And then, one step closer. “And you fucking invited me here tonight.”

You lift your chin. “I invited everyone. It was a mass text.”

“Funny,” he says, a fake smile forming, “Mark didn’t get a text.”

“Aww,” you coo, mocking. “You still talk to your friends about me, Hyuck? Christ. Now I’m gonna start thinking highly of myself.”

“You should.”

For some reason, those two simple words hit you like a slap across the face. Because no.

“You don’t get to do that!” you snap at him. “You don’t get to tell me I should think highly of myself when you’re the exact reason I can’t even imagine the top anymore, Hyuck!” You laugh bitterly. “I don’t know my worth because you had me. But you wanted something else.”

And in that moment—maybe it’s your tone, or maybe it’s accountability—a flash of hurt crosses his face, that makes him wince. 

“Y/N, angel…” His voice cracks a little on your name, as he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck! It was one mistake. You don’t understand—”

But you don’t want to hear it. You’ve already heard it.

You hold up a hand, stopping him from wasting his breath. “I don’t want to understand anything about the night you decided to fuck another girl, thank you very much, Hyuck.”

“Of course, I get that but—”

“But?”  you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Yes, but, Y/N,” he fires back. “Because I don’t know what you want from me. You say you don’t want to forgive me—and I get it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He’s pacing now. “But you string me along. You comment on my posts, you let me drive you home, you still have my fucking hoodies—”

His eyes flick down to the one you’re wearing now, oversized and drooping around the neckline to show that gold chain. 

“—you wear my initials around your neck, and you asked me to come tonight—you. And now you’re mad that I’m here?”

His voice rises and you swallow—hard. Like maybe if you keep swallowing, you’ll stop the tears from climbing all the way up your throat. Because it’s all too raw. All of it. Him. You.This.

He’s unraveling in front of you. And even though you know—deep in your bones—that he doesn’t have the right to be this angry, a part of you gets it. Because this awful, splintered, aching love you have for him is confusing. It’s contradictory. It fucks with your brain so much that it doesn’t matter that you’re hurting because he’s hurting too. 

And that’s all you can focus on.

It’s like you said:  nobody gets you and Hyuck. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, angel,” he says again, quieter this time. He takes a slow step forward. Close enough to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, like he used to.

His hand lingers.

“I don’t know what you want,” he breathes, “but if you tell me—I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath stutters. Your throat tightens.

And then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Because. I. Love. You.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to. You don’t even mean to. But those three words wrap around you tight. 

“Don’t,” your voice cracks. “Don’t say that to me, Hyuck. Not after everything.”

When you open your eyes again, they’re full of tears. Angry ones. Bitter ones. Hopeful ones too—because you’re weak, and stupid, and still a little bit in love with a boy who shattered you.

“I mean it,” he says instantly. His hand twitches at his side—you see it. He wants to touch you. Wants to wipe your tears like he used to because he hates them. But he doesn’t know if he has permission anymore. (He does, but he doesn’t know he does.)

“I’ve always meant it.”

“Then why’d you throw it all away?” You spit the words out like poison. “Why did you ruin us for a quick fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, stepping back. “But I do know I hurt you. And I’ll hate myself for that forever. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You laugh. But it sounds more like a sob. “You have a funny way of showing love.”

“I know.”

“You know everything,” you say, “except why you did it.”

A beat passes. Two. Three.

“You should go,” you whisper. “The party’s over. You’ve said what you needed to say. And I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

“No.”

Your eyes fly to his. He’s shaking his head, tongue in his cheek again as he sniffs.

“No,” he says again “I’m not leaving us like this.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Liar.”

“Hyuck—”

“You want me to say it again?” he asks, voice rising just slightly. Not angry. Only desperate. “You want me to beg? Fine. I will. I’ll fucking get on my knees if that’s what it takes.”

And then, to your absolute horror, he does. 

“Hyuck, stop—”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for everything. For all of it. For her. For the lies. For shattering everything good we ever had. But I love you, Y/N. And I’m not sorry for that. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

You’re trying to stay angry. Trying to hold onto the rage but it’s slipping. Because you want him. You love him.

He’s still on his knees. Still looking up at you. Still pleading. You wish he’d just stand up. You wish he didn’t look so much like the boy you fell in love with instead of the man who broke you.

“Please,” he says again.“I know I don’t get to ask. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because I love you. I never stopped. I swear to God, I never—”

“Stop it,” you say, too fast.

It feels like your chest caves in. Because the thing about love is: it’s loud. Louder than hurt. Especially right now. You love him so much you could scream. But instead, you drop down to your knees. Right there in front of him. And before you know it, your hands are reaching for him. Stupid, traitorous things.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because he’s Hyuck. And Hyuck never knows when to shut up.

“I know I ruined it,” he’s saying. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve kissed girls who weren’t you and I’ve gone home wanting to claw off my own skin.”

You suck in a breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me now. Or ever. Just let me prove it. Let me try. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you for fucking ever, I swear—”

You’re kissing him. 

You have no idea why, but it just feels like you have to. Because you physically can’t not. Because the love of your life, him, is bleeding out in front of you and you’re the only one who knows how to stop it.

And when your mouth crahses into his, it tastes like heartbreak and history and every stupid, selfish thing he’s ever done. But you keep kissing him. Because just as much as it hurts—it feels like home. Like you’ve finally been returned to the place you belong. Like his lips have been waiting for yours all this time. 

He’s kissing you back just as fiercely. Like he might die if he doesn’t. And maybe he would. Maybe you would too.

You don’t know who moves first. You think it’s you, but maybe it’s him. You’re both equally desperate—lunging backward until his back knocks against the foot of your bedframe and you’re straddling his hips. 

His hands find your waist, landing heavy and possessive around you. But you don’t mind, because your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth—and God, you missed that sound. Missed him like oxygen.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips skimming every slither of skin he can reach, greedily not wanting to miss a single piece of you since he’s trying to make up for all the parts he used to take for granted. And you tilt your head back, giving him that access, because you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

“Tell me you’re still mine,” he breathes against your skin, half-choked.

You should tell him no. Should tell him he doesn’t get to ask things like that—not when he gave himself away so easily. Not now when he’ll never solely be yours like you’re solely his. 

But your heart is so tired and so in love it’s ridiculous, so instead you whisper: “I never stopped being yours.”

And then he’s kissing you again—deeper, this time. Until he pulls away and his forehead presses to yours, and he pants against your lips. “Let me love you,” he begs. “Please. Let me love you right this time.”

He feels solid beneath you. It’s making your brain fuzzy. It’s making you whimper.

“Okay,” you pant, tugging harder at those soft brown strands, as your hips shift and grind down against him, making him groan lowly. 

His hands clamp tighter around your waist, dragging you down harder, closer, like he’s trying to fuse you to him. And suddenly your skin feels too tight. You’re too aware of the clothes between you—what little there is.

Because you didn’t put on pants. Just that hoodie of his over your pathetic pair of black panties—thin, useless fabric—and now your pussy is rubbing right up against the thick outline of him through his jeans, and it’s overwhelming. You can feel absolutely everything you’ve missed.

Heat blooms in your stomach and you roll your hips again. It’s so shameless. So needy. But you don’t care. Not when it’s been this long. Not when it’s his fault it’s been this long—because you never would’ve let it be anyone else.

And he meets you in it. Each grind matched with one of his own, more harsh than the last. Until his hips are moving on impulse, chasing you like a man starved. His head drops to your shoulder, and his breath stutters. 

“Fuck, angel, slow down,” he chokes, “You’re killing me.”

You press your lips to his temple, to his jaw, anywhere you can reach, and whisper, breathless, “You deserve it.”

He groans—louder this time—like he agrees.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed wide, dragging up the warm skin of your back like he’s relearning it. 

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he breathes into your neck. “You can’t be real.”

But you are. You’re right here. Straddling him. Shaking for him. Letting him touch you like he never stopped having the right to.

He kisses your collarbone. Then lower—your sternum, the tops of your breasts, the edge of lace peeking from beneath his hoodie. His hoodie. That fact alone seems to snap something inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing the fabric up and up and up, until it pools around your ribs and the cold air hits your bare stomach. You shiver. 

“Take it off,” he murmurs. “Please. Want to see you.”

You raise your arms, let him peel it over your head, and suddenly you’re half-naked in his lap—wearing nothing but that black set you wanted him to rip off, then didn’t, then did… and now, he is. Fingers working at the clasp, slipping the straps from your shoulders and tossing the bra aside in your room somewhere.

And then, he takes his time letting his eyes drag over you. Taking a sick pride in seeing his initial rest in the valley of your breast. 

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And something about that word—still—makes your stomach twist.

Your arms fold over your boobs on instinct, shielding yourself from the one person you’ve always felt safest with. Because still means there’s someone else now. Someone he’s looked at. Someone he’s touched. Someone you had to beat—and somehow did.

But you shouldn’t have had to.

He notices the shift immediately—how your arms cross, how your body goes stiff, how the room, warm just a second ago, chills.

“Hey. Hey,” he says, brows furrowing. He cups your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. “Talk to me, angel. What’s wrong? What happened?”

You’re still straddling him, half-naked, kissed raw and dizzy, and yet you feel like you’re a million miles away. You try to speak, to explain, but the words choke you. How do you tell him something he’s never known? How do you make him understand? You’ve never done this to him before—and just knowing how much it hurts—you don’t think you ever could.

“I just—” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He flinches—just enough for you to know it landed. But he doesn’t pull away.

The thing is, he doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t even mention her. Never has. But she’s here. Right here. In this room. Your room. In the silence. In his presence.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wipe the thought away. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t think about her. This—” his hands cup your face tighter, gently desperate, “—this is you and me. Always you.”

Your jaw clenches, your eyes sting. “Then why wasn’t it only me?”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering away. He doesn’t answer—of course he doesn’t. He never does. And that’s been half the war between you. He doesn’t want to tell you the why.

Instead, his hands drift from your face to your waist, pulling you in like proximity might somehow make up for his silence. Like touch could smother your insecurities. 

His breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in.“Forget her. Just for now. Right here, right now, it’s only you. Only us.”

You hate that you melt. Hate that the ache in your chest loosens its grip the second his hands coax your arms from where you’d folded them. Hate that even after everything, he still knows how to make you feel safe inside the wreckage he caused.

He’s infuriating.

“Let me show you,” he whispers. “That it’s always only been you for me.”

His hands skim up your sides, thumbs brushing delicately beneath your tits. His eyes never leave yours—not for a second—as he kneads and explores and feels your body in his palm. And then his mouth follows.

Lips warm, slightly chapped, close around your right nipple. Your breath punches out of you. You can’t help it because his tongue flicks once, then again, then again until your spine arches and pushes the bud further into his mouth.

“Hyuck,” you moan, helpless, feeling the curve of his smirk drag against your skin.

His free hand trails up your other side, rolling the neglected peak between calloused fingers so deliciously because he remembers exactly what used to make you fall apart, and now he’s hell-bent on proving he hasn’t forgotten.

“God, you’re fucking unreal,” he murmurs against your skin, then bites gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

His words make you ache. Everywhere. Especially between your legs, where you’re still pressed tight against the thick, unrelenting shape of him through his jeans. And he hasn’t even touched you there yet, but it’s coming—you know it is. 

His mouth keeps going, warm and wet whilst he stays sucking just hard enough to turn your bones to water. And whenever you whimper he groans. 

“Please, Hyuck,” you plead. “Need more.”

He lifts his head, murmuring, “Yeah? You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You nod, dizzy. 

“Fuck,” he groans and wastes no time lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to your bed. He lays you down gently, spreads you out beneath him like something precious. And then he peels off his t-shirt.

That tan skin—scattered with moles you’ve memorised, counted, traced with your fingers and your mouth—is on full display, just for you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he says, voice low as he drops to his knees, crawling between your legs. “Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”

Your fingers sink into his hair before you can think. “I won’t,” you whisper. “Couldn’t.”

And then he dips down.

His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed kisses dragging tantalisingly up your skin. He’s not rushing. He never does when he gives head. It’s his favourite thing to savour. You. On his tongue.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, nipping at your skin, making you gasp. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself from texting. From begging you to take me back.”

“Who said anything about taking you back?” You say, hips shifting, dying for friction, but he pins them with strong hands, keeping you right where he wants you. 

“I did,” he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Am I wrong, Y/N? Because if I am, we can stop right now?”

“No,” you whine on a trembling breath.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

Then, finally, finally—his mouth finds the place you need him most.

He licks a slow stripe up your center, groaning from the taste of you in his mouth. He does it again, and then again, until your legs are trembling and one of your hands fists the sheets, the other tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, just how he likes. Just how you like.

He flicks his tongue, circles it, moans when you cry out for more.

“God, you taste the same,” he says hoarsely. “Still fucking perfect.”

You try to respond, to say something, but then he sucks again, so hard, you almost shoot clean off the bed.

“Hyuck—please,” it’s half a sob, a half moan, one hundered percent completley ruined.

He growls, arms locking around your thighs to keep you still, mouth relentless as he licks and sucks and worships like this is his penance.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mutters between licks, “I missed how fucking responsive you are. Always so good for me.”

You whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” he promises. “Not until you fall apart for me. Right here. Right now.”

He hums, the vibration making your stomach flutter, and you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

“Let me make you come,” he says, voice completely ruined now too. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my mouth. Please.”

And you do. You let him. Because you want this. Want him. Still. Always.

Your entire body coils, legs shaking, hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you. It’s shattering, making you cry out, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

Hyuck doesn’t stop. Not until your body finally slumps back to the mattress, boneless and trembling. Only then does he lift his head, lips wet and shiny. He crawls up your body, kissing your thigh, your stomach, the underside of your boobs, your jaw. Everywhere. Until he’s hovering over you, and you’re staring up at him, glassy-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair gently back from your face.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I just... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I never really left,” he says. “Even though I know I should have. I’m too damn selfish.”

Your throat tightens. You reach up, tracing his jaw with shaking fingers. “I want you to fuck me, Hyuck.”

He blinks, then his eyes darken. “You’re sure?”

You pull him down until your foreheads press again and then whisper a soft, “Yes.”

Then he kisses you. Slowly. Passionately in a way you know this about to be more than just fucking. It feels like the before. The soft. His hands coming up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. Everything so tender and full of love. 

And somewhere between the kiss and the forgetting, his pants are off. His boxers too. He’s about to fuck you completely raw—like he used to—and for a moment, your body almost lets him. Because it remembers. The blind trust. 

But this isn’t then. And that’s why you reach out, fingers curling gently around his forearm. Stopping him.

“Condom,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you glance toward the nightstand.

Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. Back then, you were on the pill. You were his. He was yours. There was no one else. But now? Now you’ve had to share him—with her. Maybe with others too. 

He freezes. And for a second, you swear he looks gutted. But then he nods.

Wordlessly, he reaches into your nightstand, gets one open and rolls it on his cock. He doesn’t protest. He never would. Because it’s not the condom that guts him—it’s what it means. It’s that reminder that everything’s different now. And why. A barrier he put there himself because he was reckless, drunk, stupid and ungrateful. A consequence he crafted with his own hands.

But he doesn’t let that thought linger too long. The past is the past—he hates thinking about it. It’s what wrecked him. What wrecked this. What wrecked you.

Now, all he wants is the present. Not even the future. Just this. Just you. Because you’re here. Beneath him. Asking him to fuck you. You’re his—if only for now. And that’s enough.

He slides back over you. And for a second—just one—you both just… look.

You’re looking at him like maybe this could fix it. He’s looking at you like he knows it won’t. Sex doesn’t fix anything. It’s what broke you two in the first place if you really think about it . But he’s still doing it. And so are you.

He pushes inside of you slowly and your breath stutters, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice tight and thick. “You feel like—”

“Home,” you whisper, beating him to it.

Because you do. And he does. And it’s pathetic. And perfect. And completely going to destroy you in the morning.

His forehead drops to yours and he lets out a shaky breath, like the kind that comes right before someone starts to cry. But he doesn’t cry—he moves. Gently. Tenderly. 

You cling to him, every nerve alight, oversensitive in that desperate, raw way that makes you breathless beneath him—letting him kiss you through it, through the pain, through the slow, aching stretch of him inside you. 

And in between those kisses and the thrusts and the way your fingers tangle in his hair again, he whispers:

“Missed you.”

“God, I missed you.”

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to put you back together with every snap of his hips. And maybe he is.

So you let him.

You let him fuck you until you’re both a mess of moans and apologies and, fractured I love yous. Until you’re panting in time with each other. Until you’re cumming—together.

After, it’s quiet.

Not awkward or bitter or biting, but comfortable. You’re tangled in each other, limbs overlapping, as Hyuck brushes his nose against your temple. Eventually, he slips out of you, careful to not hurt you, but you flinch at the loss. He presses a kiss to your forehead, one to each cheek, and then he’s moving—disposing of the condom, finding his way back to your side. 

“Let’s shower,” he murmurs, thumb storoking your jaw. “Let me take care of you first. And after… we’ll talk, yeah?”

You don’t say anything—because you can’t. Your throat is raw from all the moaning and the whimpering. And also because you’re scared of the talking. Terrified, really. Of the hurting that’ll come with addressing it. 

So instead, you swallow and say softly, “I’ll be a minute. Just... need a sec before I move.”

He pauses, like he’s checking you over again, brows pinching. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Not in the way he means.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… been out of the game for a while.”

He pauses but doesn’t argue. Just leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll start the shower.”

He slips out quietly, to the bathroom attached to your room. You hear the soft creak of the cabinets. He still remembers where everything is. 

And then—of course—his phone buzzes.

You glance over. You don’t mean to look. You really, really don’t. You know you shouldn’t if you wanna rebuild trust and whatever. It’s just…It’s on the floor, fallen from his jeans with the screen lighting up. 

It was taunting you. 

And anyway, he’s the one that broke your trust first. He’s the one that made you so paranoid. He’s the one who made you like this. 

Yeji

if i find out you went to that party tonight, hyuck, and didn’t tell her the truth, i will.

Your stomach drops straight through the mattress.

Another buzz.

Yeji

i’m serious. how long are you gonna keep it from her that it was lia you cheated on her with?

you’re ruining our friendship!

And suddenly you’re not warm anymore.

Suddenly you’re freezing. And hollow. And very, very awake and out of the afterglow sex haze. 

You can’t breathe.

You feel sick. 

Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you about to have a fucking panic attack?

Because it feels like something has clawed its way into your chest and is now eating you alive from the inside out.

Lia?

It all makes sense. It all echoes.

“That sweet boy we both used to love.”

“He’s not yours anymore.”

The door creaks again. Hyuck walks back in, towel slung low on his hips. Completely clueless. 

“You okay?” he asks, soft and smiling. “Shower’s warm.”

You don’t answer because your heart is hammering against your ribs and because you physically, viscerally, cannot breathe.

His smile falters, just a touch.

And then you say it.

One word. One name.

“Lia?”

You’re not even sure if you want to scream at him, or sob, or laugh—because how dare he. How dare he touch you like that, kiss you like that, look at you like that, when he knew—he fucking knew—he’d fucked your best friend and said nothing.

The same best friend who held you while you cried over him for a year. Who told you it wasn’t your fault. Who had her arms wrapped around you less than an hour ago trying to comfort you about him. 

You hold out his phone, pointing to the screen. “You fucked my best friend, Hyuck?”

He freezes. He lifts an arm reaching out towards you or towards his phone, you can’t tell. Probably the phone to see how much you know so he can spin it. Twist it. Try to manipulate this—manipulate you—again.

“Angel—”

“My name is Y/N.”

The words are a blade. His hand drops.

“Y/N,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “it’s not what it looks like—”

But it is. You both know it. 

“Yeji seems to think it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

And then it hits you. All over again. Yeji knew. Your other best friend. She knew. 

Did everyone know? Everyone you loved? Everyone you trusted? Everyone you thought was safe? 

And suddenly your knees give out. You drop to the floor, spine hitting the edge of the bed on the way down, but you don’t even register the pain. You’re already somewhere else, hands trembling, vision blurry, gasping like there’s no oxygen. 

That fucking necklace around your neck—the one he gave you, the one you swore you'd never take off—isn’t fucking helping. So you rip it off. The chain snapping in your fist and you throw it. It lands at his feet. 

It’s the first time you’ve taken it off since you were sixteen.

“Y/N—”

Hyuck’s voice sounds panicked now. Hurting. He kneels in front of you, eyes wide, reaching for you—

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

You flinch so hard you nearly hit the nightstand. You can’t stand the idea of him touching you now, even though you know there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched.

He freezes. Arm stopping in the air. His face furrowed. And you know that face. The face from the night, the one carved from guilt and horror and regret—but it’s too late.

It’s so late.

You’re sobbing now. And it’s ugly—gasping and choking and curling up on the floor. 

“I—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

You laugh. Actually laugh.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, spit and snot and mascara streaking your face.  “Hyuck, you fucked my best friend. And then you came here, tonight, and touched me like…like I was still yours.”

“You are—”

“No. No, I’m not!” You snap. “I don’t even know who I am right now. But I definitely am not—and never will be—yours again.”

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers. “Let me explain. It wasn’t—”

“You’ve had time to explain.” Your voice trembles, but the words are steel. “I gave you so much of myself. So much trust. So much love.” You swallow hard. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You needed to fuck my best friend. And keep it from me. And somehow rope the other one into it too, so now—”

Your voice cracks.

“So now I can’t trust anyone.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie, maybe to beg. But then he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, regret written in every line of his stupid, beautiful face.

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s the last straw. You fold in on yourself. Arms wrapping tight around your knees as you bury your head and whisper: “I need you to leave.”

He doesn’t move.

You look up—eyes glassy, voice so quiet and weak.

“Get out, Hyuck. Now, please”

And this time, he listens. And you’re glad he listens. Because this time it feels different. This was it. The final fracture. Whatever you had with him? It’s dead now. You just wish you hadn’t kept it on life support for so long—wish you hadn’t clung so tightly to something already bleeding. 

That thousandth cut finally bled dry.

[taeeflwrr]

sam 𓆉 18 𓆉 bts + nct

vmin biased | tae ult

sunflower ❁ valentine

nominhyuck

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝𓇼

love the moon, ocean, baking, and music ☾

current obsession: 'HAECHAN, 2025'

this blog is basically just fic reviews?

let's be friends!! ♡

[taeeflwrr]

god i love hyuck so bad

eight letters !

𝜗𝜚⋆₊ summary ! you have always been the type of person who never let’s anyone actually get too close, that is, until haechan makes you put all your walls down.

pairing ! nonidol!haechan x fem!reader.

genre ! kinda friends to lovers, angst, fluff.

warnings ! mention of alcohol, drunk haechan, reader has avoidant attachment, reader is a bit mean, a little of he fell first and harder, reader is younger for like two years, best friend jisung, description of panic attack, bullying, lmk if i missed smthg.

word count ! 11.8k

𝜗𝜚⋆₊ notes ! well, i used to be a why don't we fan and now that i can't listen to their music anymore,, the title is bc of their song, give my boys the chance of re-recording their music pls. anyway another haechan fic. this is also longer than what i had planned. also let me know what you think i appreciate your feedback !

i.

when you met lee donghyuck, your first thought was ‘can’t believe anyone would be his friend.’

the concept of the word ‘friend’ is simple: a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, for you, the implication of a gentle feeling of liking, was complicated.  

ever since you were a little kid, you would prefer to spend your time alone, the mere implication of having to interact with another human being and define it ‘pleasant’ was a very stressful task. for you, making friends was a waste of time and you couldn’t understand the worried look on older people’s eyes because you had none.

‘ignore them, i want to be alone’ that’s what you though, you remember the first time you tried it out, a four year old with a deer plushie behind her mom as she dropped you in daycare, a bigger kid walking to you as soon as your mom left, calling you her ‘new friend’ receiving a disgusted reaction from you, then she tried sharing her toys but you simply ignored her and sat there holding onto your deer staring at nothing.  

in kindergarten, it was exactly what you would do, and when other kids were crying, being too loud or even just sitting too close to you, you’d get annoyed. there was an exception, a shy crying boy of whom you took a liking, mostly because he would change his strawberry milk with you but also because he was quiet, so he became the only kid you could tolerate. 

living in the same zone and studying at the same school, made you form a friendship with that little boy, and you would say that even years later when you turned into a teenager, nothing really changed. that shy crying boy who doesn’t cry much anymore has become your best friend, you two would spend all your time together, and you would ignore anyone else who tried to talk to you, because you didn’t care about making other friends, and you considered that one real friend was enough. 

so you’d have to thank your best friend, park jisung, he is the reason you met donghyuck in the first place. 

you met him a couple of years ago, on your second week at college to be more exact, you could recall that moment from your memory. it had been quite hard to adapt to the campus life, it was something totally new, far away from everything you used to know but you knew you were going to be okay, as long as jisung was by your side. that day, even though it was nothing special, you’d go to the cafeteria to meet up with your best friend for lunch.

 it had been a long week, so naturally you were happy you could eat together and finally talk about anything. when you entered the cafeteria, it took you around ten seconds to ubicate where jisung was, sitting beside a shorter boy who was laughing at something your best friend had said, his laugh was loud and it seemed to attract everyone’s attention. your first thought was ‘oh, he already made new friends’ and you were good with that but it made you hesitate to approach him for a second, because what you did not like was him trying to make you have new friends.  

after taking a deep breath, you decided to at least try, so you walked to the table and sat there with them, finally getting the chance to see him properly. you weren’t going to lie, he was easy on the eyes, his brown hair gently falling over his forehead above his pretty brown eyes distracted you for a second. cause even though he seemed to be really nice to jisung, god, not even five minutes in and you have already decided he was the living example of the definition of ‘obnoxious’ and as normal, you decided you didn’t like him. 

you loved your best friend, you would say he is the only person that you care for, but no matter how much you love him, there was no way you’d be friends with his new ‘cool’ friend. 

first of all because you couldn’t understand why anybody would want to be friends with someone so loud. 

even though you have always liked to be alone, for some reason, you had no problem with being with jisung, he is very similar to you, quiet, introverted and in his own world. yet, he can make friends easily, you think it is mainly because of his generous nature, people are drawn to him. 

“ji, can you-. . .” before you could even finish your sentence, he was already switching his strawberry milk with your banana one, earning a smile from you.

“why would you even ask,” he rolled his eyes as he sat beside you, “sometimes i think you only like me for the strawberry milk.”

you were about to say something about how that is not even true when a loud ‘dude’ was heard in the whole cafeteria, naturally your eyes searched for the culprit, noticing him sitting a few tables away laughing with his group of friends. ‘that’s the coolest shirt i have ever seen’ as you heard his voice again you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“how can you even like him?” you asked your best friend without taking your eyes off donghyuck, he seemed to attract the attention of everyone. 

“who?” he was not even looking at you but at his banana milk while opening it, “hyuck?” it seems like a coincidence, as soon as he said his name, the boy whose name it was and that you were staring at, locked eyes with you before flashing you a dimple-showing smile.

you immediately shook your head as a barely audible ‘iugh’ left your lips, “yes, he’s so. . .-” you tilted your head as you thought about what word should you say, ‘annoying’? yes he is but that’s not the one, ‘in need of attention’? no, that’s a phrase. . . ‘sung’ oh, his voice again.

he was standing in front of you, smiling at your best friend and before he could say anything, “loud, he’s so loud,” you muttered, standing up as you took your strawberry milk, not even sparing a glance at the older boy before leaving the cafeteria. 

-

something you would never understand is why would anyone try so hard to be liked by someone they don’t even know? 

you wouldn’t say you are a nice person, you tend to ignore everyone unless you actually like them, so it was strange to see donghyuck being nice to you when you were the opposite to him. he was so unlikeable, loud, annoying, talkative, but the worst of all he is incredibly nice. 

every time you saw him around the campus he would smile at you and you, of course, would act like you didn’t even see him. you would blatantly show your disgust when you would be looking around the cafeteria and he would wave his hand trying to get you to sit with him, and you, without blinking, would choose to sit far away from him. you ignore his presence, you would be with jisung and he would appear and talk to the both of you, you would leave not even saying bye to your best friend. 

but a month later, you started to feel bad about your attitude with donghyuck. it was new, every time your best friend tried to introduce someone and you ignored them, they would stop but he didn't. 

so one day when you were walking around the campus looking for a spot to sit and listen to some music, you saw him sitting under a tree with a laptop in his lap, as soon as he saw you, he waved his hand and motioned for you to sit down with him. and you were about to ignore him, why would you even consider another option than walking away? but that’s when you really saw him for the first time, a glimpse of sadness in his face as his smile faltered and brow furrowed.

you stood there, looking at your shoes for a few seconds, starting to wonder if you should go and sit with him, maybe give the loud and talkative boy another chance and have an actual conversation. you shook your head and then, before you would change your mind, you took decisive steps towards him and sat down beside him. 

“hi,” even if you were trying to be friendly, your voice sounded monotonous, you had no idea what you were going to say to him but you were already there.

his face was adorned by a very notorious confused expression, his head was tilted and his eyes were wide open, he looked like a cute deer, “wow, you didn’t ignore me this time,” he mumbled more to himself than to you. 

you looked away for a second, “yea, maybe i should apologise for that,” you nodded a couple of times before continuing, “sorry for ignoring you, that was a bit rude of me-. . .”

“a bit?” he interrupted you, raising an eyebrow while looking directly into your eyes, and even though you admit you feel bad, you still couldn’t find a reason to like him.

you opened your mouth to say it but a quick debate in your own head made you not to, “well, very rude, sorry,” it was awkward, at least for you, who has never apologised to someone for ignoring them, or at least not without being forced by your mom or jisung, “is a honest apology, don’t mean you have to accept it,” as you felt he was going to say something, you motioned your hand before quickly adding, “doesn’t mean i'm going to sit with you or talk to you, you are jisung’s friend, not mine.” 

he seemed a bit taken back with your words, his eyes blinking a couple of times and his mouth opened as a barely audible ‘oh’ slipped from his lips, “can-. . . umm,” he cleared his throat, “can i ask why?” 

“i don’t like you,” you simply said, not feeling the necessity of explaining your reason further, he was just not someone very likeable, even if the whole campus would disagree with you.

“oh-. . . but why? i don’t-. . . haven’t done anything to you,” it was strange, why was he so fixated on this, oh maybe he is one of those who wants everybody to like him, you thought. he was looking at you for some answer you wouldn’t give him.

you sighed, “most people would say you are nice, i don’t exactly disagree,” you shook your head, “but you are too loud,” he was listening to you carefully, “and draw too much attention,” you pointed at him, you decided to talk to him because he was alone, and everybody knows that’s unusual.

he was silent for a couple of seconds, as if he was processing your words, “i can be quiet too, you know,” he said offering you a dimple-showing smile. 

you didn’t expect your reaction to be a silent laugh that escaped your lips, rolling your eyes as the words did from your tongue, “except you can’t,”and then, without waiting for him to say something, you smiled at him for the first time as you left him sitting there alone.

-

you thought that the insignificant conversation would cause him to stop being nice to you, but for some reason it seemed like he really couldn’t bear not being liked by everybody. 

stubborn, that’s what jisung would call you sometimes, ‘cause you refused to give his new best friend a chance. you could name at least two reasons to not like donghyuck, yes, you can think more but he was simply not worth your time, and for you, those two were really valid. 

you knew that there was an external force plotting against you, cause lately you would see donghyuck more than you would like. and of course, you didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to know that the ‘external force’ has a shape and name, the tall couple of months younger boy, you call best friend, park jisung.

for example, for the past two months, your best friend has been inviting you to hang out, without any specific reason, not that you would complain about spending time with him. and you did notice that lately, every time you had ‘plans’ with him, donghyuck would appear out of nowhere. sometimes he would be just on his way to the same place as you, or he would also have plans with your best friend, and casually, decide to walk with you to his dorm. 

that not very strategic plan, was not going to be successful, jisung is not that smart, how could he try to get you like donghyuck? it was not going to happen. 

the small knowledge you had about donghyuck was learned by accident or because jisung slipped it in a conversation, but what you didn’t expect was to have something in common with him, some people would say life is full of surprises.

“jisung, you are no longer my best friend,” you said as you closed the door of his room. finding him sitting on the floor in front of his bed with a very happy donghyuck by his left side playing mario kart.  

without even sparing a glance at you, he said, “oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

ignoring the ‘hi, yn’ from the other presence in the room, you sat down in his bed with a loud sigh.

two minutes later, as you saw that your best friend was winning the game, you quickly took his controller off his hands and ran out the room. a loud ‘i won’ from the older male was heard the minute you stopped at the front door.

“yn, give me back the controller.” he said, reaching at you with his hands. 

you stuck out your tongue at him, hiding the controller behind your back the minute he was getting closer to you, “no, you said you were going to watch the series with me today,” you pointed at him.

“yes, but i also made plans with hyuck an-. . .” you let out a loud gasp, putting one of your hands over your chest, as donghyuck stood by the door watching the two of you. 

you looked at the boy mentioned, he simply shrugged his shoulders as he stared only at you, a small hidden part of you thought that maybe he could watch the series with you two, he has to keep his mouth shut and then you would finally get jisung to watch it after two weeks of begging. “you made plans with me first!” you were about to throw a tantrum, and you would if that unwanted presence weren't there.  

”let me play one last game,” you rolled your eyes, not believing a word he’s saying, “and then we’ll watch building murderers or whatever,” as you were about to make him picky promise you, donghyuck voice caught your attention.

“you want to watch only murders in the building?” he asked you, a tiny drop of genuine curiosity could be heard in his voice. 

you slowly nodded, “i already watched the first season and there’s the new episodes of the second one-. . .” you stopped yourself before getting too excited about the series, “ i just want jisung to watch it an-. . .”

the taller boy interrupted you, “she wants someone to talk about it.” he said, trying, again, to take the controller out of your hands only for you to hit him in his arm before he could do it.

“i didn’t expect jan to be the killer, you know,” that was the last thing you expected the older boy to say but it made you look at him.

blinking a couple of times before turning your whole body around to talk with him, “it was so so obvious! what are you even talking about. . .” 

if someone had told you that some day, you would have an interesting conversation with donghyuck, you would never believe it, but it was indeed a surprise, at least for you, having something in common to talk about with him. 

-

for you, people who would try too hard to be liked by others are mostly fake and shouldn’t be trusted. 

you swear you weren’t planning on eavesdropping, you just happened to be sitting there close to him and his other friends. even though you have never cared about other people’s conversation, damn not even when people talked to you. 

“dude, you have to come tonight,” that characteristic ‘dude’ and the tone of the voice, you could tell it was mark. yes, you didn’t care about meeting other people but you knew all of jisung’s new friends.  

“c’mon, you can watch that series later or something,” this time it was jaemin talking. as you were about to put your headphones on and just ignore the noise, mark’s voice caught your attention. 

“do you really think she is going to like you just cause you watch the same show?” was the ‘she’ he was talking about, you? no, it doesn’t make any sense, why would he try so hard for you to like him? “dude yn probably doesn’t care you watched it just for her.”

you shake your head as you decided to stop listening, “dude, are you like in love?” no, it wasn’t that, it would be ridiculous for him, and honestly you didn’t care about his answer, so you got up and walked to your dorm. 

you couldn’t deny how curious you were after hearing that conversation, if it was true that donghyuck watched the series just so you would stop ignoring him and have something in common, you would feel a bit weird. you really could not understand why he was trying so hard for you. 

- 

you can’t trust in someone who is friends to all, ‘cause that means he is actually friends to none. 

yes, you may have taken the taylor swift lyric as advice, but so many people would agree with her, and you are one of them. the process of making friends involves something called ‘morality values’ and being friendly towards people who don't share the same values as you, it’s clearly someone who doesn’t have integrity. however, you do understand that there are people who are polite to others even when they don’t like them. 

so there you were, narrowing your eyes, staring directly at him, some guy you don’t even know and don’t care to do so, while he was having a friendly conversation with donghyuck. you didn’t like him and in another occasion you wouldn't even acknowledge his presence but he was talking with someone who is supposed to be jisung’s friend. 

you remember that day when you went to look for your best friend at the soccer field, you had plans with him but first you would see him play, he mentioned wanting you to be there supporting him, of course you said ‘no, i don’t even like sports.’ so there you were, outside the lockers waiting for him. 

closing and opening the same apps to try and bare the waiting, some voices could be heard it wasn’t until you recognized jisung’s voice that you paid attention to what they were saying. ‘can you leave me alone, please’ it was your best friend, his voice was not as loud as the others but as soon as you heard it you stepped closer to the door, ‘oh, little boy is scared’ was this some kind of joke? you hoped so, ‘your girlfriend is not here, neither your boyfriend’ as you heard something that sounded like someone being punched, you quickly entered the room.

when you entered, the first thing you eyes searched for was jisung, finding him against the lockers with two boys around him, as you eyes found his, he was pleading you to leave, but that was not going to happen, “jisung,” he was clearly punched in his stomach, “move-. . .”

“yn, it’s oka-. . .” he interrupted you, not finishing his sentence as he saw you pushing the two boys. you stepped on your tiptoes to hold his face, your eyes searching for some bruise or something.

“your girlfriend came this time but-. . .” you rolled your eyes when you heard his voice, turning around to see him standing in front of you, “she won’t always be here.” 

“oh, shut up,” you pushed his shoulder with one hand, as the other went to hold jisung’s hand, pulling him with you, “as if we are scared of a stupid idiot, move.”

as you were walking with jisung towards the door, you saw donghyuck, who seemed to have entered when you did. 

now, you could not understand what he was thinking as he was having a friendly conversation with that boy, when it comes to jisung, everything it’s personal, so you can’t believe anyone would be his friend.

ii.

if someone asked you what is lee donghyuck in your life, you would probably say ‘a really good friend.’

the concept of ‘befriending’ consists of: acting as a friend to someone by offering help or support, for you, accepting help from someone else, is not very easy.

ever since you were a little kid, you would assure adults you could do anything on your own, it didn’t matter if you knew you could not do it, you would try to. sometimes even after you failed, you would refuse to seek help. maybe this was something you learned from your mother, she was always strong, and for you, she would do anything.

‘i am okay, i can do it’ is what you always tell yourself, you remember the first time you repeated that phrase in your head like a mantra, you were around ten years old when you got lost at a school event, your unstable breathing, your heart beating so fast in your chest, and your whole body trembling, it was the first time you had a panic attack, you don’t remember well what happened next, just a very worried teacher and a crying jisung. 

you would say, that made you close yourself even more at the idea of new things, and helped you to be more observant. one perk of being able to sit down, quiet and going unnoticed, was observing other people, and in that way you can learn about them, their mannerisms, likes and dislikes, even notice little things they don’t. 

for sure, you can not exactly pinpoint when you had changed your mind from ‘iugh, how can anyone be his friend’ to ‘hyuck is my friend’ but now, after observing lee donghyuck for around a year, you would say that he genuinely cares, and then acts nonchalant about it.

short version of the things you hate list: noise, people, tomatoes (for some reason) and a sad jisung. you loved your best friend and would do anything for him, even if that meant getting out of your comfort zone, so when he insisted on going to his friend’s party, you said no but when the day came, you dressed up and went to his dorm. 

and he knew you like the back of his hand, parties weren’t your type of thing so he promised he would not dare to leave your side. you felt a little bit bad though, he probably wanted to go and chat with his friends or maybe participate in the games, but he was stuck at your side.

so as the twenty first minutes went by and the precious ning yizhuo came to talk to the both of you, you knew she mostly wanted to talk to jisung. and the minute you saw your best friend blushing, you felt like it was time to leave them to have time together. you may not know where to go but it didn’t matter, you were nineteen years old, you can spend at least five minutes alone at a party, right? 

while they were busy talking about zodiac signs or whatever people your age used to flirt with, you excused yourself from the conversation, and left to go to a less crowded place.

except, you couldn’t find a quieter place, as you walked away from yet another room where strangers were all over each other, you felt your hands tingling and you knew you were starting to feel bad. you blinked a few times, trying to concentrate on leaving the house, but as the time passed it was getting even more difficult to breathe. 

‘i’m okay, keep walking’ was the only thing you kept repeating to yourself in your mind, as you ignored the constricted feeling growing in your chest and walked through a small crowd of sweaty dancing bodies, the sensation of as if you were being choked was unbearable.  

you wondered why you could not be like other people while you were concentrating in taking deep breaths to calm yourself, you don’t like being in crowded places, or being around many people. when you thought you were calming down, a strong feeling of danger clouded your mind and as the touch of something wrapped around your wrist, you became even more anxious, your instinct to hit whoever was touching you was quick. 

when you turned around to hit and run from that person, you saw donghyuck standing in front of you with both hands up, worry took over his facetures. you did notice he was talking as you saw his lips were moving, but you couldn't hear anything. still you forced yourself to say, “i am okay.”

he shook his head, “you are not okay, you're shaking. what can i do? please, just let me help you." the older boy slowly stepped closer and motioned to his hand, and you for some reason you trusted him so you simply let him do whatever he was thinking of doing. 

he used both of his hands to hold your face, looking at your face for a couple of seconds, he knew something was wrong. your whole body language was very clear but he needed to check if you were physically hurt, as he was checking for any wound or something alike, you finally found the strength to talk, “can-. . . i want to leave.”

before he could even react, your hand reached for his, who was still holding your face, so he smiled at you, nodding and as you were passing through a sea of bodies to get to the front door, his hold on your hand was stronger. 

once you were standing outside of the party house, he waited a couple of minutes, giving you time for you to come back to your senses. the first thing you noticed the moment you calmed down, was that both of his hands were caressing yours.

“umm. . . sorry,” you cleared your throat, “thank you, donghyuck,” it was the first time calling him by his name, and it didn’t feel awkward, “you can. . . go back inside, i-. . .” 

he interrupted you ”oh, the party was boring”, shaking his head, “i was on my way home,” you felt a little glad he helped you when he pulled away from you, letting your hands fall by your sides and started walking. 

as he walked you home that night, talking about a new series he started watching just to distract you from your own mind, you thought that maybe his loudness wasn’t that bad. you’d like to think that was the moment you started to grow fond of him, when you started to see him as a friend.

-

since you met him, you never believed the ‘nice act’ he would put on but now, you would say he’s actually nice. 

when you are stressed you tend to not eat, not because you aren’t hungry or something like that, it’s because you don’t find the time. as of now, you were starving, since you woke up this morning, you decided to spend your day studying in the campus library, it was exams week and you have a very important french history test, but you couldn’t get yourself to remember anything of what you were reading. 

while you were reading the same paragraph you have been trying to memorize, someone placed a strawberry milk and a croissant in front of you. 

"did you eat today?" you heard hyuck’s voice as you put the book down, he was sitting at the chair by your side while drinking an iced coffee. 

you blinked a couple of times, your eyes going from him to the things he placed in front of you, “i. . .- thank you,” a grateful smile took over your facetures. 

“it’s just cause jaemin canceled on me, that was for him,” he shrugged his shoulders as he reached to open the milk for you, another ‘thank you’ left your lips before taking a bite of the croissant. 

he took the book you were reading, acting as if it was interesting but as you drank your strawberry milk you saw through his ‘nonchalant act’, no one believes that when he is the most chalant person ever.  

-

even someone who’s used to do everything alone, there were times when you couldn’t like when you are at the supermarket and you want something for the top shelf, when you are peacefully living and out nowhere you see a cockroach or when you are so sick you can’t leave your dorm and buy medicine. at times like these, there was only one person you would ask for help, your best friend. 

you would say there’s a couple of things worse than being sick, that is having a flu when you are on your period and on top of that not having any medicine, so you did the only thing you could, you texted jisung so he could do it for you.

“holy shit,” oh god, there was that loud voice again, “i thought you were dead! never do that to me again!” you heard hyuck’s voice as you opened your dorm door, with a blanket over your shoulders as you hugged yourself. 

“don’t,” you said as you felt like your head was going to explode,  “leave me alone,” you let out a dramatic cry, “i thought you were ji,” as you were to close the door, he gently pushed you away so he could enter the dorm. 

he put his hands over your shoulders, “sung told me to bring you the medicine,” as he made you walk to your bed and lay down, “i. . .- there’s also soup, really efficient my grandma made it,” you looked at him as he was taking the things out of the bag and putting it over your nightstand.

“ji? why did he send you, i asked him to do it,” you said closing your eyes, clearing your sore throat, “also. . . your grandma?” 

he shook his head, handing you the medicine and  a water bottle, “yea, my brother is also sick so. . . just take your medicine, “ he said as he opened the bottle, “i have to go, text me if you need anything else.”

that moment, as he left your dorm, you couldn’t even express how grateful you felt to have him in your life, he was indeed a good friend. you would say, since that day, he became the second person you’d trust the most and would ask him for something if jisung couldn’t do it. 

-

for you, changing your mind about certain things is impossible, so you still couldn’t understand why he was friendly with everybody. while being his friend, you noticed how he always try to evade conflicts with other people and would just let them walk over him sometimes.

the second you found out why he tries so hard to be liked, you knew it was your turn to care about him. 

getting to know lee donghyuck was way different than how you expected, since the minute you met him, you thought he was like an open book and that he was easy to read, but turns out he wasn’t. knowing he was the type of kid who was always left out and hearing him say he never wanted to be alone again, you decided you were always going to be his friend, kind of like you are with jisung. 

“is now a bad time to tell you i’m claustrophobic?” you heard hyuck’s whisper as you were peeking through the closet door, his breathing hitting the back of your head while he was nervously fidgeting with his hands. 

you turned around to look at him, not minding how close you were, “and what-. . . god,” you were never again helping him to prank someone, “just-. . . here, hold my hand,” you didn’t know how to help him, so you extended your hand hoping it would help him somehow, he gently took it and started playing with your fingers. 

oh, to understand how you got into that situation, it was because you received an “i need help, 911, someone help me,” text from him. you should have known better after he told you jisung refused to help, so there you were in mark’s closet hiding from him, because hyuck’s great idea of a prank did not go well.

as you were thinking about a way to distract your friend from panicking, you laughed at your own joke before saying it to him, “are you finally coming out the closet? i knew you liked mark but you didn’t need to make it so literally.” 

“he. . .-” before he could finish saying anything, the closet door was opened, mark staring at both of you with a not surprised expression on his face, “why are you guys in the closet,”

“so. . .- you know i am such a great friend and i was helping him with his claustrophobia,” you said letting hyuck’s hand go and stepping out the closet, “as his roommate you should kno. . .”

“so it has nothing to do with the box of fake snakes that is on my bed,” he interrupted you, pointing out the box.

you closed your mouth, pushing your friend towards mark, “his idea, i have nothing to do with that,” you quickly walked out their shared apartment, as you motioned your hands as goodbye.

-

when you celebrate your birthday it always goes the same way: jisung buys a cake, sings happy birthday, sometimes a gift and that’s it. and to celebrate his birthday, it’s also the same, sometimes a diner with his other friends but nothing too big. now that you have another friend, there’s another type of birthday but there’s a big difference this time, he does like big celebrations. 

so there you were with your best friend, at donghyuck and mark’s shared apartment, many balloons scattered all over the floor as you guys were thinking about how to decorate the living room. you are not used to doing all of this, but here you were going over the top with a birthday party. 

“maybe we should move the table to. . .-” you stopped talking as you heard the front door opening, you saw jisung with a panicked expression over his face before turning around and finding donghyuck’s eyes looking at the balloons and then to the both of you. 

“you guys. . .” his voice full of emotion as he opened his arms waiting for a group hug, you pushed jisung towards him, there was no way you were going to hug hyuck when he was all sentimental. 

“why are you here? jaemin was supposed to keep you busy” you said, walking to sit on the couch, as hyuck squeezed the hell out of your best friend. you were going to kill jaemin, he had one job and it was the easiest! never again including his other friends in a surprise.

even though he was very happy, you were sulking because your surprise had failed, a pout adorning your face as you were sitting there listening to hyuck expressing how grateful he was to have both of you as his friends. 

-

who would have thought that after two years of knowing donghyuck he would became the second person you trust the most, you would still get annoyed by his presence sometimes, but it was normal, it would happen with jisung too, so being friends with him for around a year made you realise how wrong you were when you met him, you would say that now, you can understand why anyone would be his friend. 

the cold breeze made you shiver as you stepped out jisung’s dorm building, hyuck by your side as he was going to walk you back to your dorm, your best friend wanted to ‘celebrate’ your friendship and decided to make a home cooked meal to do that, but after trying his food, you decided you would never let him near a kitchen again. 

“oh god, i could sue him for food poisoning,” you groaned, even though you tried only a bite and then decided to buy some pizza, you could still smell the horrible pasta he had made. 

“how can someone mess up cooking pasta?” he said laughing and it was true, cooking pasta is one of the easiest things ever. 

“it’s jisung we are talking about, hyuck,” his nickname was barely a whisper as you felt his hand gently take around your wrist for a couple of seconds, guiding you to the other side of the sidewalk. you felt your mind going blank for a second, before looking directly at him, “i thought you were mean for a long time, you know,” you confessed, taking him by surprise. 

“mean?” he let out a barely audible laugh, “really?” you could see he was taken aback by your words, but he still looked at you and smiled.

“you were too nice with everyone,” you shrugged your shoulders and rolled your eyes as he whispered ‘most people are nice’, “no, but for me you were so fake, hated that jisung was close to you.”

“oh? that sounds like you were jealous,” he said, getting close to your face to say the last word, “do- you. . .” cleared his throat, hesitated to say what was on his mind, “do you like him?”

“jisung? oh god no,”  you fake vomited as you shook your hands, “he’s like a brother to me, you know. . . and no, i was not jealous,” you were about to hit him in his arm but he was faster than you and moved before you could, “it’s just. . . i remember you were nice to that idiot.”

he stopped walking, staring at you with his head tilted, “who?”

“you know, the one that was bullying jisung,” you said, stopping in front of him, even though you were close friends now,and jisung never cared about that, you did, and it definitely bothered you. 

“oh,” it was barely audible but you were close enough to hear it, “yn, i-. . . i was not being nice with him,” you opened your mouth to say something, he was not going to take you for crazy, but he quickly said, “i told the dean about it, so he was going to be suspended,” oh, so that’s what the conversation was about, “he was trying to convince me to talk with jisung. . . and i was not letting him get close to sung,” you really misjudged him, “sung would probably forgive him or something.”

you definitely knew you should apologize to him, because two years ago you were the rudest person to him, the sweetest person who could ever exist. you were grateful that donghyuck was part of jisung’s life. . . and yours. 

iii.

lately you have been thinking that lee donghyuck may be the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

the concept of ‘best thing’ does not exactly imply someone, is just something that’s amazing, innovative, or extremely useful, also could be say one of the greatest inventions or ideas. for you, hyuck is amazing, and that is no good.

it’s been years, four to be more exact, since you saw donghyuck for the first time in the cafeteria and many things have changed. 

for example, your best friend left the college dorm and moved into hyuck and mark’s apartment, you would describe them as ‘dumb, dumber and even more dumber’ trio, everyone is surprised when you tell ‘em that dumb is hyuck, and the other two are mark and jisung.

them being roommates made you, naturally, interact more with mark and their other friends, they weren’t that bad, except when they are all together because they would be really loud and that’s when you leave, too much noise for you. so, you would say, you are more social now. 

also, you are closer to donghyuck now, sometimes jisung would joke about how you have forgotten about him and often says something like ‘hyuck replaced me’ and has now taken his place as your best friend. it’s not totally a lie, recently you have been spending more time with hyuck and you would say that the dynamic between the both of you has shifted a little ‘cause you have started to pay more attention to him, and you would say there are three things that you have noticed, first of all he knows you better than anyone else, and he would probably say the same to you. 

there are some things you think are never going to change, like how uncomfortable you feel in crowded places, it’s exhausting. still, you would try to have a good time with your friends. it was mark’s 25th birthday and of course your friends wanted to celebrate with more than a dinner, donghyuck did everything to convince you to go, mentioning how you could leave early if you wanted, so there you were at an amusement park, the friend group consisting of mark, jaemin, chenle, hyuck, jisung, ning and, of course, you.

you can’t deny you have had a great time, going from one ride to another, laughing at hyuck for being scared of heights while he pouts over mark calling him ‘a baby’ and you saying ‘i think i’m going to stay here, i’m tired, you guys go’ just to not let hyuck wait for the group alone. around four hours later, it was finally lunch time and not only were most of you starving, you guys were also tired, your feet hurt from the waiting lines and the walking all around the park. so after eating the group decided to separate for an hour to do whatever everyone wanted before sticking to the itinerary chenle had made. 

mark and jaemin wanted to try some food they had seen when they arrived at the park, chenle wanted to buy some things for his partner, jisung and ning wanted to do some couple’s things you don’t even remember. you thought about sitting on a bench and just stare at nothing for an hour, but donghyuck had different plans, he dragged you to a photobooth with the excuse of ‘we have been friends for years and barely any pic together’ then, he bought ice cream and you finally had your ‘staring at nothing’ time. 

it was nice being with hyuck in silence, while you were people watching, he was on his phone doing something you don’t even know what. you would say that it had only passed fifteen minutes when the older boy stood up in front of you and muttered ‘let’s go’. as soon as you stood, donghyuck started walking, not without making sure you were close enough to not get lost in the crowd. when passing a busy crowd, you got closer enough to even touch hyuck’s back, you felt like holding your breath until you saw jisung waving his hand at the both of you.

the group was at the waiting line of the racing cars, as soon as you both joined the group, you heard mark’s voice “yo,” he said, a little too loud, “are you guys, like, finally together?” what is he even talking about, you must have been clearly confused as ning pointed out your hands and said, “you guys are holding hands.”

oh, it must have happened when you were walking past that busy crowd, your hands must have been entwining on their own, how could you not notice that? you stared at your hands for a second before hearing jaemin say, “we have enough with ning and jisung, no more couples,” you quickly let go of his hand, as hyuck cleared his throat, “it’s not like that, she’s so dumb i thought i could lose her in the crowd.”

yeah, sure, “why are you both blushing then,” chenle pointed out making you turn to look at hyuck, his cheeks were indeed covered with a light pink blush, it was new, at least for you, you shook your head ignoring whatever they were saying and walked to jisung who elbowed you while smiling, with a ‘something happened?’ in his eyes, you motioned your hand telling him to ‘stop’ with your eyes.

…

“i told you that you’d have a great time,” hyuck’s voice could be heard over the phone as you were listening to his voice note, while you were talking off your makeup. you were finally at home and even though you’d usually wouldn’t answer the messages after spending the whole day with them, but right now you were more than happy to be talking with him.

“oh, shut up,” you started the voice note playfully, “it was nice tho,” you said as you were fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, “thank u for inviting me.”

you decided to take a quick shower before continuing to talk with hyuck, around ten minutes later you walked out the bathroom and went directly to check your phone, not stopping the smile forming on your face as soon as you saw a message from him. 

he only sends voice notes, he barely texts but when you heard the “always, yn,” you felt nervous, his voice sounded different as he was saying your name. you stared at the screen for a couple of minutes, writing a ‘it’s late, night!” text, and laying on your bed.

not even five seconds later he had already answered you, with another voice note, you took a deep breath before pressing play “good night, angel,”  your mind went blank for a minute, it was the first time he called you like that, what is wrong with this man today? you asked yourself as you put your phone on your nightstand.

you closed your eyes trying to calm yourself and stop the smile that was forming on your face as you realised that suddenly you wanted to fall in love.

 in love with lee donghyuck. 

-

there’s always a time of the year when you would feel bad, not physically, but mentally. you are not very sure what caused it this time, maybe it was that your grades have dropped down and that caused you to be even more stressed. it could also be that you were needing time to understand your feelings, realising that you may like donghyuck was something you were trying to forget, those feelings weren’t necessary, he was your friend, nothing more. 

if you checked your phone you would probably see all the unanswered messages you have, from your mom, jisung and hyuck, who has also tried to call you but you weren’t going to answer. even though you would say you were feeling better than the day before, you still decided to skip the only morning class you had. 

you wish you could skip the rest of the day, but french history is the only one you don’t care about. so for you to say you were surprised to see hyuck passing back and forth in front of your door at noon, was an understatement. 

before you could say anything, he stood in front of you, “please don’t shut me out right now,” you were taken aback, his voice sounded like pleading, you stare at him for a second, noticing a little frown on his face, his dishevelled hair, that you can imagine it’s for passing his hand through it several times. 

“i-. . . what are you talking about?” you asked as you closed the door behind you, nervously playing with your finger avoiding his eyes. 

he got closer to you, making you step back until your back was touching your dorm door, “i was giving you time ‘cause i thought you were avoiding me for. . .” he shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh, “but, jisung is also worried, you don’t answer him either.”

“i’m okay,” you simply said, shaking your head before gently moving past him, trying to go to your class. 

his hand around your wrist made you stop, “don’t lie to me, yn,” he made you turn around, this time your eyes did met, “c’mon, what’s going on,” it took you a few seconds before you actually told him how you were feeling, avoiding the ‘i may like you more than a friend’ part. he listened attentively, not interrupting you once and when you finished talking, his arms quickly surrounded you, hugging you tightly.

and that’s when you thought, hyuck is your friend, and you know that as long as you have him, you will always know what a real friend is. 

and you refused to ruin that.

-

of all the five languages of love, you would say you are good in. . . none, and for you, to be loved and cherished out loud is what donghyuck deserves.

since you met him, you knew he was a loud person and now you can say, he is a loud lover. and not even in terms of romance, he’s always letting his friends know how loved and appreciated they are, celebrating every little thing they archived. as of right now, he was walking you home after a friendly hang out to celebrate ‘jisung’s first time cooking something edible’ it was stupid but he insisted on going to the mall and celebrating.

you felt his hand on yours as you were crossing the street, you ignore it, thinking he would let it go once you reached the other side but he didn’t, “just to clarify,” he cleared his throat making you look at him, “me holding your hand doesn’t mean anything,” he moved your holding hands at your eye level, “not in that way, unless. . . you want it to mean something, i don’t mind, that’s cool” you bite the inside of your cheek to not laugh at him, still you couldn’t stop the giggles that escaped from your lips.

you’d feel totally happy if it weren’t for that small voice inside your head you were trying to block out, but the thought of knowing you weren’t meant to love him, was ringing too loud in your mind. you wish you could be as loud as he is, that you could make him feel loved like he makes you feel. 

you realised you were too deep in your thoughts the second he squeezed your hand, noticing you were right outside your dorm building. you blinked a couple of times before looking at him, who was already smiling at you, a light pink blush adorning his cute cheeks. you stood on your tiptoes to put your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, it was the first time you initiated a hug, he let out a breathy laugh.

“oh, this is new,” he said as his arms went to hold you by your waist, he hid his face on your neck and you could feel his smile. but you couldn't feel as happy as him, you were hoping he wouldn’t notice it, for you, this hug felt like the last one. “i’m not going anywhere,” he joked, you quickly pulled back, he let out a barely audible sound of disappointment but still smiled at you, holding your hand again. 

you reciprocated his smile, how could you not when he looked so happy, and that got you wondering, not only you were loved by donghyuck you also have a really good group of friends, do you really deserve to be treated like that by them? that thought was too loud to ignore.

iv.

lee donghyuck is the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

the concept of ‘worthy of something’ may be complicated, you have to be good enough to deserve something, or that’s what you think. for you, a person worthy of love is hyuck; someone who’s kind, understanding, genuine and caring and you may have ruined it

you were taught that to have something special, you have to deserve it. once, when you were ten years old, you went home with a shiny bracelet some kid had gifted you on the playground, it was your first time playing with that little boy and for some reason he gave you the bracelet, you liked it, how could you say ‘no’? 

but your mom thought differently, when you went to the kitchen and excitedly told her the story, you remember her words very clearly, ‘you don’t deserve to have that’ then she made you go to the park the next day to find that kid and give it back to him.

since then, every time you are buying groceries, clothes or anything, those words repeat in your head. so you avoid expensive or shiny things, because you can’t think of a moment when you have been deserving of something good. you would say that’s your excuse for why you have been donghyuck, he is too good for you and you don’t deserve it.

as the cold of the night made you shiver, you could be found all curled up in your bed staring at your phone screen. it was a friday night and no one was surprised you texted ‘i have the flu’ in the groupchat for the third time in a row, when they were making plans. as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, feeling sad while looking at the few photos you have of him on your phone.

you had a movie playing to make some background noise and you couldn’t believe there was a time you hated his loudness, ‘cause now, you can’t bear this silence.

as you cross upon a video you don’t even remember you had recorded, it was the week jisung had moved into their shared apartment, you were lying by his side on his bed. filming the both of you eating some chocolate cookies he had offer you, when out of nowhere you hear donghyuck’s voice ‘i’m going to kill you’ you turn the camera and a few seconds later, he makes his appearance, he was wearing a cat pyjamas and with his dishevelled hair falling over his eyed made him look so cute, ‘you ate my cookies’ he yelled as he pointed at both of you.

you giggle as you watch the video a couple of times more, pausing the video to stare at him for a minute, how could he be so cute, you wanted to cry. you were resisting the urge to text him, it wouldn’t be fair to him, you were the one who was avoiding him and you knew he was with the boys at some bar, mark had posted a picture with ‘the bros finally together’.

you let your mind wander around the thought of hyuck tonight, with his oversized grey hoodie looking so so handsome, you pouted at the thought of taking care of him tonight, he is a very clingy drunk. but that was destroyed when out of nowhere, your brain decided to include a realistic moment of a girl flirting with your hyuck.  

you shook your head, trying to get that image out of your head, you decided to keep watching the videos you have, this one was one of your favorites, you were filming your friends.

jaemin was trying to drink a beer in one go, mark yelling ‘dude’, jisung and ning clapping while laughing, and chenle rolling his eyes. you turned the camera to film yourself at the same time hyuck gently scooted closer to you and gently rested his head on your shoulder taking a peek at your phone screen, you smiled as you saw him realise you were making a video and he was in it. 

you let out a deep breath as you closed your eyes, you could feel you were about to cry but you don’t deserve to when it was all your fault. ‘you are so stupid’ you told yourself, mentally scolding you for having done what you did. you had convinced yourself that you ran away because you care so much about him.

a gasp escapes your lips the moment your phone vibrates on your hands, seeing ‘mark’ on your screen was. . . weird, he was the last one you thought would call you, like, ever. your mind was filled with one hundred bad things that could’ve happened, picking up the call immediately. 

“mark? is something wrong?” you asked, getting ready to change your pyjamas. 

“yo-. . . yn!” he was sober and didn’t sound like something was wrong, that calmed yourself a little, still you were standing in front of your closet, “chenle stop scaring jaemin!” he yelled, oh, they were really drunk, “can you do me a favor?” you weren’t sure if he was talking to you, “yn, you hear me?” oh, he was, you let out a positive sound, “can you come to our apartment? i know it's late but. . . chenle!” you heard some sobbing in the back, maybe it was jaemin since chenle was scaring him. 

“mark?” you asked as you were putting some hoodie on, “for what?”

“oh, sorry, it’s just, yn, i think,” mark was interrupted by a very drunk hyuck ‘yn? she’s talking to you?’ oh, the sobbing was him not jaemin, ‘i want to talk to her’ you heard what sounded like him trying to snatch the phone from mark’s hand, “dude, wait, yn please, help me.” he immediately hung up.

. . .

you understood why mark needed help, as soon as you arrived to their apartment complex, you weren’t even too close but you could see jaeming running away from chenle who was chasing him with. . . a stick in his hands, jisung was nowhere to be seen so you could assume he was sober and at his girlfriend place, as you were walking towards a very stressed mark trying to calm down a crying hyuck, you felt like crying too.

“yn!” mark yelled in relief as soon as he saw you standing in front of him, you gave him a lip-tight smile, “i have to take those two home,” he pointed out chenle who was now being chased by jaemin, “can you please take care of hyuck?” he didn’t even wait for you to answer him, he immediately went to take the stick from jaemin’s hands.

kneeling down in front of hyuck, who was sitting on the floor staring at nothing, lost in thought, “hey,” you whispered, making him look up, as soon as his eyes met yours, your heart broke. 

his eyes were red, probably because he has been crying, his nose was tinted by a light shade of red was his hands reached to touch you, “yn,” a couple of giggles escaped his lips, “you feel. . . too real this time,” he was talking slowly, a sign he was drunk.

“so-sorry,” he said as his hands were touching your face, “i made you uncomfortable,” you tilted your head to the side, confused by his words, “you don’t- i like you and not you,” oh, he thinks you are avoiding him because you don’t feel the same, “let me be with you,” tears were starting to form in his eyes, “we can be friends,” you quickly holded his face wiping the tears of his face, “we can. . . i get over- over those feelings,” he hiccuped, “i want- just. . . be by your side.”

even though you were trying not to, you ended up crying with his words, “hyuck,” this time, it was him wiping the tears off your face, “let’s go inside, it’s. . . you are shivering,” you say taking his hand to get up and enter the building. 

as soon as you stepped inside the elevator, your breath hitched when you felt his hands around your waist pulling you closer to him, your back hitting his chest and he took the opportunity to hide his face in the crock of your neck. yet, when you hear him sobbing again, you bite the inside of your cheek, were you really that bad to him? 

opening the door of his apartment, he was still back hugging you, muttering some nonsense you couldn’t understand. you sighed as you entered his room, hearing a sound of disappointment when you took his hands off of you, turning around to face him, “let’s get you ready for bed, umm?” you were holding his hands.

he nodded, walking toward his bed and sitting there with you between his legs, “i don’t want to,” he said trying to keep his eyes open, you could tell he was tired, you let go one of his hands to play with his hair.

“aren’t you tired?” you asked, tilting your head with a smile forming on your lips.

he shook his head, putting his arms around your waist, “i just,” he nuzzled his face against your stomach, “know. . . you may not be here when i wake up. . .” he looked up and you could see he finally closed his eyes, “this is a dream. . . a good one,” he looked so cute with a pout adorning his lips. “i get to see u in those now. . .” oh, you were going to cry.

you decided to try to get him to change his clothes, you knew if he continued talking you were going to cry, again. it took you around twenty long minutes to get him to change into his pyjamas and lay in his bed. you thought how ironic it was that earlier that night you were thinking about taking care of his drunk self, and now, that’s what you were doing. 

you couldn’t resist yourself as you kissed his forehead quickly, he looked so cute when he slept, his hair falling above his eyes, a pout on his lips, one of your hands being held by him while the other played with his hair. after everything he told you tonight, it was hard to leave. 

as you pulled your hand away from his gently, getting up to leave the apartment, your eyes started to water, why must you always ruin every good thing that happens to you? 

v.

you have been living under what it seems like a never ending dark shadow but lee donghyuck is the light that fills your word.

the concept of ‘love’ you like the most is the philosophical one, that it is more than a feeling. you agree with plato and aristotle, love it’s a bond between people who admire one another and therefore choose to support one another over time. in that way, you would say love isn’t totally out of your control. for you, it was clear now that donghyuck has chosen to love you.

you started to feel curious about love when you were a teenager, it was mostly because everyone around you was obsessed with it, even jisung. you remember how excited he was when he told you about a girl he liked back then, and you couldn’t understand it at first.

mostly because you only knew what platonic love was, you would say at that moment it was the only one you cared about, because that was what you felt towards jisung. but deep down, you were genuinely curious of how romantic love feels like. 

you have never been good at self expression, you tend to bury your feelings and never act on them, you avoid situations where you have to talk about how you feel, that’s how you have always been. even with jisung, who has been by your side all your life, you would always have a disgusted expression on your face every time he told you how much he appreciates you in his life. 

for you, park jisung, is the only person in the world whom you allow to help you to understand your feelings, and whom you actually listen and do as he says, that’s why when you called him a random midnight ‘just to talk’ he was surprised to say at least. he didn’t even interrupted you once you started to explain everything to him, from when you started to like his best friend and how your mind convinced you that you didn’t deserve him, to how you broke his heart and he probably hates you now. 

even though you knew he wanted to scold you for how stupid you are, his words made you tear up, ‘i’m glad you trust me enough, I've been waiting for you to talk to me ever since that day when we were sixteen, remember? the only time i saw you crying, never knew why. . . yn, yes donghyuck loves loudly, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know how to love, you just do it quietly and that’s okay.’ it was then, the second time jisung ever heard you cry, ‘you think just ‘cause you never say it we don’t know? your action can tell, yn, and also, you do deserve good things, i can repeat that until you forget your mom’s voice. . . now, i can’t tell you what he feels or not, but if you want to apologize you can do it, that’s your choice, it was you who made those bad decisions then and it’s you who is apologising now.” 

your best friend's voice echoed in your head as you were walking through the aisles of the grocery store, waiting for the rain to slow down. you were seriously thinking about going to his apartment, preparing a speech in your head to apologise to him even though you feel it is already late. 

you remember the last text message he sent you, ‘sorry for last night, won’t bother you again, stay safe’ it had already been a week since you last saw him and for you that text was his way of saying goodbye. it took you a couple of deep breaths, as you thought that you should be brave for him this time, cause now, you only want to love and cherish donghyuck for the rest of your life. 

you didn’t care that it was raining, you had to apologize to donghyuck now because maybe you won’t feel as brave later. leaving the grocery store even though you had no umbrella, you decided to go walking to the guy’s shared apartment, it was closer to where you were. 

as soon as the first raindrop touched your skin, you shivered, your bones feeling the cold of the night. 

. . .

you had taken this decision without thinking it too much, you realised when you arrived at their apartment complex, you didn’t have your phone with you so there you were, waiting for someone to appear so you could enter the building. you were standing there, soaked in the rain, with a bag full of snacks, “oh, dear,” you heard a voice behind you making you turn around, “what are you doing here?” you smile when you see the old lady who lives next to the boys, “why didn’t you call your boyfriend?” she asked, opening the door. 

“my boyfriend?” you said a little confused, as you helped the old lady with her own bags.

she nodded while walking with you to the elevator, “yes, donghyuck is your boyfriend or not?” she tilted her head confused as she pressed the bottom of which floor you were going to, “he told me that.”

“oh,” you nodded, “yes, it’s just that i left my phone and. . . that’s why i was waiting there,” you gave her a lip-tight smile, having someone think that he is your boyfriend makes you feel so giggly for some reason.

as you both say your goodbyes, you took a deep breath, knocking on the boys’ apartment. you started to feel nauseous as you were waiting for someone to open the door, your mind racing and making up scenarios in which he lets you know he hates you and never wants to see you again. 

you were so lost in your own thoughts you didn’t notice mark had opened the door, “dude. . . are you ok?” you blinked a couple of times, meeting mark’s confused eyes, “hyuck” he yells as he looks around. 

a couple of seconds later,  you heard his voice, “why are you call-. . .yn,” you were standing there, frozen, not knowing what to say. the moment he realised you were soaking, he rushed to the door, “yn,” he said pushing mark who simply said ‘dude’ and walked away, “you are shivering, here, take. . . this jacket.”

you let out a laugh as you see a big red jacket he gently put around your shoulders, you knew it was jisung’s, “sorry for. . -”

he interrupts you, pulling you inside the apartment, “let’s get you warm first.”

 “no,” you said motioning your hand, “let me talk,” he nodded at you, “i want to apologise. . . i have been horrible to you, can’t understand how you can be nice to me right now,” you felt your eyes watering, “i hurt you, i have been rude to you since the day i met you. . . and shit i don’t deserve to be here talking to you,” a sob escaped between your lips, “but, i want to. . . let you know that even though i’m a hard person to love, you have made me feel loved every day since i met you,” you used the back of your hand to wipe away the tears, “and. . . if you let me, i want to make you feel loved too,” your eyes looked up searching for his, but he was looking at the floor, “cause you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” at this point you knew you had to look pathetic, you were horribly crying, “you have always been nice to me, gentle, caring, understanding and. . .” it was hard to say those eight letters when you felt like he didn’t wanted to hear them, “can i love you?” 

as soon as those words escaped your lips, his eyes met yours and the sight of him crying broke your heart, you stepped closer to him, hesitation in every step you took, “yn,” hearing him saying your name with a smile on his face, made you smile too, throwing your arms around his neck the moment he said those eight letters to you, “i love you,” he said as you felt his hands around your waist pulling your closer to him, not caring about getting his clothes wet, “and is the easiest thing in the word.”

𝜗𝜚⋆₊

[taeeflwrr]

'haechan as the guy you didn't want to fall for'

you finally tell him how you feel, even if it hurts him // inspired by skam couple 'noora and william'

[taeeflwrr]

THE WAY OF THE BAKER | lee haechan ─ part 1

SYNOPSIS: haechan — former gangster, but also.... baker? — really wants to settle down and retire from the criminal world. this is the story of a beloved baker who finds love and, subsequently , manages to settle down, much to his former gangster friend's delight — the one who's now known for being the perfect househusband.

PAIRING: baker!haechan x female!reader

GENRE: fluff, strangers to???

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

CONTAINS: first meeting, meet cute, fluff, brief mentions of haechan's past as a gangster. good uncle haechan </3 jaemin's daughter doesn't have a name but everyone calls her 'angel' <3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i can't wait to drop their lore <//3333 this is just a cutie beginning that starts with a cutie interaction, more will be covered in the future parts. link to the masterlist at the end of this post. not proofread (yet), enjoy! <3

©️ KONGJJEN 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

Haechan chews on his muffin. Sour raspberries melt on his tongue, their seeds crush with a crunch between his teeth, and he sighs. 

This new recipe he tried for his muffins, it definitely needed more sugar. But he took Jaemin’s advice about catering to the needs of all customers — and trying to find healthier sweetening alternatives for children and elderly alike.

He takes out his notebook and pencil, tongue swirling around his mouth to feel every single bit of the taste that’s left. Try maple or rice syrup, he writes down hurriedly, and he’s disgusted by the way his handwriting looks like.

He’s too into his own head to sense someone walking up to him, and he realises someone else’s presence the moment they sit on the bench next to him.

He swallows the remaining of his bite before looking to his left, where the person is sitting quietly, rummaging through a bag.

Haechan sits straighter, looking down at the three muffins sitting in a takeaway box next to his hip.

“Which one is yours?” The person asks, and Haechan is taken by surprise by the sudden question.

No one ever talks to him, especially because his reputation precedes him — that’s why he’s working so hard to show everyone that he’s not that bad of a person, and he goes as far as letting Jaemin guide him though it all like he’s his own personal life coach or something. 

“Mine?” He asks dumbfounded, eyebrows furrowing. What’s supposed to be his, exactly?

“The kid,” there’s a laugh that fills the air, and it rings like an echo inside his ears.

“Oh,” Haechan nods, aware of his surroundings, “None,” he jokes, but a look thrown to the stranger and he’s suddenly aware of how it sounded, plus the fact that he’s a grown man sitting on a bench, looking at a flock of children while they play around, “Wait, that didn’t sound right,” he mumbles, panicking.

“Yeah, that didn’t sound right. At all,” you nod, eyeing him from head to toe.

Oh fuck, he thinks to himself. He also has to remember not to talk like this in front of children.

He clears his throat, pointing at the children, “That one with the pink Hello Kitty t-shirt? That’s my niece,” and like they’re telepathically connected, the kid looks at him, waving his way.

He smiles, waving right back, and sending her some flying kisses the moment she looks back at him to see if he’s still looking at her. Of course he is, his very sharp senses are all focused on her. 

Haechan remembers the call he got earlier in the morning from Jaemin and his wife, asking him if he could watch Angel for the whole afternoon, and because their second child isn’t really a fan of him, they’ll find someone else. Two kids would have been one too many for Haechan to be able to handle. And since Haechan doesn’t really have anything else better to do just yet — and because it was about his favourite, and only niece — it didn’t take him too long to agree.

“I see,” the stranger’s voice snatches him right out of his thoughts, once again. 

Ever since he quit his job, Haechan noticed he’s been in his head more often, very frequently lost daydreaming and spending more time mulling things over. Which he’s never done before, going with the flow was one of his main traits back when he was part of the clan. 

“Which one is yours?” Haechan’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he never thought he’d be making friends with parents at the playground. Because he isn’t one for this type of things, but he loves Angel.

“The little guy in yellow shorts is my friend’s child, I’m only babysitting for a few hours,” the stranger smiles sheepishly at him, and because he’s very hawk-eyed he doesn’t miss the slight blush creeping on her face, 

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you tell him, and he blinks a few times before he snaps out of it.

“Haechan,” he nods your way, but doesn’t add anything else, not knowing what to say next.

Are you aware of who he is? Or to be more precise, of who he used to be? Since moving to Jaemin’s neighbourhood, everyone looks at him in a way he doesn’t really like, yet Jaemin told him to give it some more time so everyone can adjust to the changes.

Of course, there’s Jaemin — and everybody around the neighbourhood knows him and his roots, but somehow they’re very reluctant to accept him. Is it because Jaemin settled down and has his beautiful little family, with two little babies, and he doesn’t just yet?

But that’s really the point, his point. Haechan gave up his old job because he liked the way Jaemin’s life seemed to be milk and honey with the right person by his side, and while Haechan doesn’t necessarily regret changing paths, he doesn’t feel right — or wanted and accepted here — just yet.

“Haechan?” You ask, furrowing your brows while thinking hard for a few seconds, “Think I heard this name before,”

“I bet you did,” he retorts, chuckling. Of course you heard of him, everybody knows of his past, but no one knows how he wants to start afresh and finally open his own bakery.

“Don’t you have a bakery on Second Street?” It may sound like a question, but you’re fairly certain you heard the rumours circulating around town. You know who he is.

His head snaps to look at you, and his eyes are dark yet they hold a sparkle, “I do,” he seems oddly calm, despite the look in his eyes. 

Yet you’re not intimidated by him, you don’t even know if you’re supposed to be. You heard about him, about the countless stories and about one of his friends who’s a total legend around your small town, and you can’t believe you’ve found him, the one no one really knows — or likes, at least yet.

“Why are you not at work?” You ask, because you’ve been really curious about his bakery but every single time you tried dropping by, it was closed. “Are you really a baker? Be honest,” 

“I am!” He defends, touching his chest as if you accused him of the worst crime known to man — which, by the way, you’re sure he committed at some point throughout his career, “I don’t have an opening date yet, just trying recipes right now,” 

“Is this one of the recipes?” You point at the muffins sitting in the takeaway cardboard box between him and you, “Can I try one? You know, just to see if you’re lying or not,” you joke, but he takes it seriously.

“I’m really not lying!” He whines, shaking up and down in his seat like a kid who just got his favourite toy taken away from him. “You know what? I insist!” He points at the muffins, “I’d actually love someone’s unbiased opinion,”

You wait for him to hand you one of the muffins, “These are made with brown sugar, very little brown sugar I should say. Raspberries and yogurt,”

His breath hitches in his throat as he waits for your opinion, looking at the way your mouth chews on the first bite of muffin. 

There’s an explosion of flavours in your mouth, and you can definitely feel the lack of sugar and the natural sweet taste of the raspberries.

You look at him, still chewing, and you see him looking right back at you, waiting with his small notebook in his hand like a puppy waiting to be thrown a ball. 

“I think rice or maple syrup would make it a bit sweeter but still be a good alternative for people who can’t have too much sugar,” he rambles, looking down at his notes.

“Maple,” you mumble after swallowing your bite, “Maple would fit the raspberries best,” 

Haechan beams at you, because this is his second time remaking these muffins and he was really contemplating just dropping the recipe and not adding them to the menu.

“You’re a good baker,” you conclude, nibbling on the huge muffin in your hand, “I’ll definitely come buy these if you’re gonna sell them,”

“Right?” He’s so excited he can’t contain his smirk, “I’m also planning to try puddings with agave syrup, and have already tried some classics like tiramisù or mille-feuille. I just hope people will drop by once I’ll open the bakery,”

You see his shoulders slump — and for some reason, your insides churn seeing him upset. 

“You’ll just need to win the grandmothers over, and I know for a fact they’ll love anything with custard,” you wink at him, nodding slightly. 

He doesn’t have the time to reply back, because someone’s voice calls for his attention. “Uncle Hae! Look!” The little girl calls his name, showing him how she goes down the slide. 

He jumps off the bench seeing the worrying speed of her sliding and consequently of her landing, but she smiles excited, even if his heart is beating out of his chest. Jaemin is going to kill him if his little girl gets hurt. 

And remembering his friend, Haechan looks at the time on his watch, with nap time terribly close, and he knows Jaemin will actually kill him if he messes the child’s routine.

“That’s great, Angel!” Haechan applauds, cheering on the little girl, “We need to go back home, gather your toys and let’s go!” 

He turns around to look at you, “Keep those for your kid,” he points at the muffins still sitting beside you, “I’ll bake you some more,” he adds, and he touches the back of his neck realising what his words might imply, “if you’ll ever come by the bakery, of course,”

You give him a shy smile before the little girl grabs him from behind, and he gives you a little wave before they leave hand in hand.

“Who is she, uncle Hae?” The terrible age of three with incessant questions is here, but thankfully Jaemin warned him about this, “She’s like a princess,”

“Like a princess, you say?” He turns around to look at you, and your gaze meets his as your eyes are glued to his figure, from your spot on the bench. You give him a little wave, and he does too, not even bothering to conceal the foolish smile creeping up his features, “She might just be one, Angel,” he mumbles before he can realise, but thankfully he’s talking to a three year old — and that if it were her father here instead of her, Haechan would have known no peace with all the teasing.

With his stomach fluttering, Haechan leaves you behind, and he’s not sure if his stomach feels funny because he’s excited to start afresh as soon as possible, or if it’s all just because of you. But something tells him the answer is the latter option, and his stomach flutters once again.  

→ masterlist

TAGLIST: @starsungwrld @sunooluver @eliasoir @f6llsun @leleszn @barkbarkseungmin @holyhaech @sapphickenma @nahyuckers @httpsxnox @dinonuguaegi @jisungs-asteroid @haesluvr @nmhzone @zuzuzuzuriririri @gomdoleemyson @haertattack @jaehyunsroses @squeezingmycheese  @inthearcade @balthyss @sunflwrluverr @remtrack @jmjify @prettymoles @olembe @bren00na @cinnayomiroll @luvhaeli @txtsoobean @edrychan @sunshineha3chan @luvvhaechan @hyuckluvr-com @ciscachenh @the3rdwoman @yewshi @yuthabitz @nenie223 @kyungsooislifeu @yuthabitz @hyuckmoon @luvlyjaemin @ikykyuno @frankielou02 @hibernatinghamster @xikskrrrs @sunghoonsgfreal @neojaehours @worldwidecutiemaya

[taeeflwrr]

i need him

hi again this is the hyuck + serenade anon from earlier

how about r.e.m + hyuck?

͙͘͡★ parallel margins

song prompt. “i woke up from a nap on the train, and you were sitting across from me, sketching something—turns out, it was me, and now you look like you want the ground to swallow you whole.”

pairing. stranger!haechan x artist!reader

tags. somewhat of a train meet-cute, they’re a little awkward but i think its cute :0, gn!reader is used, pretty much it

wc. 1.3k words

notes. hii happy hyuckie day everyone <33 also to anonie, i changed the song to daisy by w2e and ik its different from the one requested but the prompt is still the same >< just didn't really want to promote kiof here after what the whole situation with them. still, i hope u enjoy reading this hehe !! 🩷 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

you never really meant to stare.

it just… sort of happens… kinda.

something about public transit makes the world feel muffled—like the space between each person is padded by the hum of the train and the low flicker of station lights outside the window. you’re always tucked in the corner seat, sketchbook open on your lap, pencil smudging your fingertips as you search for something—someone—interesting to draw.

most people are easy to blur into lines and loose shapes. countless of pages in your sketchbook have been filled all kinds of shoes, slouched bags, crumpled up newspapers, but you find there’s something oddly intimate about drawing people specifically.

you’re drawn to the fleeting, the quiet curve of someone’s brow as they scroll through their phone, the weight of exhaustion in the way a student slumps against the window. oddly enough, it soothes you, sketching these stories you’ll never fully know.

people don’t usually notice and that’s part of the appeal.

at least it was… until him.

you notice him first by sound—the shuffle of shoes and the dull thud of a backpack slung down too fast. he slides into the seat across from you like the train belongs to him, like the world does. there’s a practiced ease to it, to him. his uniform matches yours—the same navy blazer, same stitched crest over his chest. 

so he goes to your school, you think.

you’ve never seen him before, but it’s his face that makes your fingers twitch—sharp lines softened by youth, dark hair tousled like he’s just woken up, like sleep still clings to the corners of his lashes, and delicate moles sprinkled on his skin that makes your eyes linger for longer than you’d ever admit—biding the time on the train by connecting them like some constellation in the sky.

you tell yourself you’ll only draw one sketch, but that promise quickly wilts in your throat. 

turns out, you’re a really good liar.

you become familiar with him in pieces—eyelids half-lowered, the crease between his brows when he’s lost in thought, the exact curve of his lower lip when he exhales. and maybe it’s strange, the way you know the dip of his collarbone better than the sound of his voice, but art teaches you how to see things other people miss.

he always sits in the same place and so do you—figures parallel from one another like some unspoken routine. 

you’d always draw him, and he’d always be dozing off in his own world, but for some reason, today, he looks back. it’s not dramatic. no gasp, no double-take. just a quiet locking of eyes—his, round and unreadable. yours, wide and startled mid-sketch like a deer caught in headlights. 

for a second, neither of you move and that’s how you find yourself holding in a breath without even realizing.

his brows raise subtly, but there’s a flicker of something you can’t quite name. you drop your gaze instantly, heart hammering against your ribs like it wants out—fingers fumbling to turn the pages of your sketchbook as you try to close it shut and press your knees together in embarrassment. 

the next day, he doesn’t come.

nor the day after that.

you realize just how much space he occupied in your mornings now, even though his usual seat was currently taken by another person. it felt odd finding another subject to draw after you’ve become used to sketching his face, your hand itching to draw its usual strokes with the vivid memory you have of him, but you suppose it was your fault. 

you got caught after all. it was completely understandable to avoid your presence—you would have done the same after knowing someone was constantly staring at you for the entirety of their train ride.

but then, on a random, soft-lit tuesday, he’s there again and that alone surprises you. he boards like he always does, but this time he doesn’t sit across from you.

no. this time, he sits beside you.

your entire body tenses. his presence is loud, even in the silence. you smell something citrusy, warm—maybe his cologne, maybe his shampoo, maybe both. your eyes dart to the floor before you even register it, suddenly aware of your own heartbeat once more.

“hey.”

you flinch at the sound of his voice—low and a little husky with sleep, but there’s something strangely careful about the way he says it, like he doesn’t want to scare you off.

“you don’t have any beef with me, right?”

you blink, turning to him slowly. “what?”

“you’ve been staring at me all week,” he points out, a lazy grin gracing his lips after gauging your reaction. “thought i did something to piss you off.”

your throat starts drying up the moment you open your mouth to speak. “oh my god, no. i—” an evident crack reaches your voice and you want to melt into the train seat, into the floor, into anywhere but here. “i wasn’t staring like that! i just… i draw people.”

“you draw people?”

you nod, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. “yeah. on the train. usually the quiet ones …pretty ones.”

you regret the words the second they leave your mouth, but he just nods, pondering about it as if your words were something to decipher. “so… you’ve been drawing me?”

there was no point in lying—your silence being enough of a confession. he watches you for a moment, eyes flicking to the sketchbook still clutched in your lap.

“can i see?” he asks, casual, like he’s just asking to borrow a pencil.

“you… want to see the sketches?”

he shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye now, something playful. “i mean, you’ve been staring at me like i’m a museum exhibit. least you could do is show me the art.”

your fingers hover over the cover, hesitant. it feels like too much—like peeling back your ribs and letting him peek at what’s been quietly blooming underneath all this time. still, you nod, slowly.

with an awkward stiffness in your movement, you flip the pages. one. two. then another. he doesn’t say anything for a while, but you can feel his gaze tracing every line, every shadow, every breath of him you’ve breathed into paper, and it feels like standing naked under a spotlight—raw and trembling, afraid of what he’ll say now that he’s seen you in this way. “you’re really good, you know?”

“...thanks, i try!” he chuckles a little—not because your words were genuine, but because they felt like you were reading a textbook on how to respond to him.

he offers you just a final nod, still browsing at your sketchbook and you think that’s the end of this sudden conversation as the train starts to slow to your stop.

you close the sketchbook without a word, pressing it gently shut like it’s something fragile. he stands when you do, stretching a little, like this is just another morning for him. you, on the other hand, feel like you’ve just handed someone your diary.

before you can stand up from your seat, his voice catches you again—low, but smug in a way that’s new to you who’s only ever seen him being solemn in the morning.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “what happens if i sit next to you again tomorrow? do i still get drawn?”

you blink, then scoff under your breath. “that depends. you planning to keep talking through the whole sketch or what?”

“depends,” he shoots back, hands casually in his pockets now. “you planning to keep staring like that?”

your face warms, but you roll your eyes to cover it up. “i wasn’t staring. i was studying.”

“right,” he says, grinning now. “for artistic purposes only.”

you’re about to come up with a snarky reply, but the train doors slide open and he nudges your arm gently before stepping out ahead of you.

“my name’s haechan, by the way!” he calls over his shoulder, turning just enough to flash a wink. “i’ll make sure to sit somewhere flattering tomorrow."

perhaps you’ve misjudged him. 

some quiet, pretty boy on the train? him?

not a chance.

you hover for a second at the thought, caught between wanting to groan and downplaying a smile from your lips, before catching up to him and suggesting to walk to campus together.

[taeeflwrr]

i love this so much oh god i hope there's another part

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 ──── [𝐋.𝐃𝐇] 𓈒  𓈒  𓈒 

( 이동혁 ) ; 𝐟𝐞𝗺!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝗼𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤

──in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.

✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really , lmk if i missed any !

𓂃 w.c [ 7.4k / 22.7k ]

!! not proofread !!

▸ j.note ; woahh i didn’t expect you guys to like this gif so much but im glad you did! i hope this lives up to the rest of the strontium happy reading !! also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.

▸ this is part two and part one can be found here .ᐟ (please read it first)

© kiszjuli 2025 ⟳ likes & reblogs are appreciated

your heart in your throat, your breath shallow as your mom stands in front of the both of you in the living room. ironically, the first time haechan was on there. she was watching you and haechan like she's just discovered the most unforgivable thing. the two of you are frozen, your lips still tingling from the kiss that was abruptly interrupted.

"what the hell was going on here?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, and you can see the flicker of shock and anger in her eyes. her gaze darts between you and haechan, her lips pressed into a thin line. the tension in the air is suffocating.

haechan steps back, but his eyes don't leave you. he looks like he's about to speak but holds back, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

your mom's gaze flicks from him to you. "this is what i've been worried about," she says, her voice sharp. "you're not a child anymore, but you're making reckless decisions. boys like him-they don't care about you."

your chest tightens. "you don't even know him," you reply, though your voice trembles slightly.

she shakes her head, disbelief written across her face. "i know enough." she takes a step into the room, her eyes narrowing. "you can't see it now, but you will. he's trouble, and if you keep going down this path-"

"mom, stop," you cut in, your voice rising before you can stop it. "this is my choice."

the room is thick with tension. haechan stands silently off to the side, still processing what's happening, his hands balled into fists at his sides. he's been silent, waiting for your mom to finish, but you can see the frustration on his face as she continues.

"you need to leave," your mom commands, her voice icy, cutting through the air like a knife.

haechan takes a breath, his chest rising and falling sharply. he's about to turn away, about to leave, when you step forward.

"wait," you whisper, a sharp sting of regret flooding through you. you didn't want this. you didn't want him to leave-not like this.

haechan stops, turning slowly back toward you, confusion written across his face. he doesn't speak, but the look in his eyes is soft, almost too soft for a situation like this. you take a step closer to him, your heart racing, and in a moment of vulnerability, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible, feeling the heat of his skin against your cheek. the words feel heavier than you expected, like a weight you didn't know you'd been carrying.

for a moment, neither of you moves, just standing there in the fragile silence of your embrace. then, he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, "i'm not going anywhere, you know."

his voice is quiet, but there's a certain determination in it that makes your heart skip a beat. you want to say something, anything, but before you can, your mom interrupts.

"you need to go," she insists, her voice breaking through the moment.

reluctantly, you pull away from haechan, your hands lingering on his shoulders for just a second longer than necessary. you glance at your mom, who's watching you with a look of disappointment, and then back at haechan.

he takes a deep breath, eyes meeting yours one last time. "i’m sorry too," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that only you see.

without another word, he turns toward the door. you watch him leave, the weight of your mom's disapproval heavy in the air. but just before he steps out, he pauses and looks back at you once more, his gaze full of quiet determination. it's a look that says, i'm not giving up on us, even if everything else feels like it's falling apart.

the door clicks softly behind him, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, the silence in the room almost deafening. your mom's disappointment lingers, but you can't shake the feeling that whatever this is with haechan is far from over. "what did i tell you?" your mom's voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and furious. "how did he even get in here? you are grounded for... until i say so! now go to bed. your father and i will deal with you in the morning."

well, fuck.

—

after your mother’s furious words, the weight of reality settles over you. your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling from the way haechan had touched you, but now it’s mixed with something colder. hame, fear, the undeniable knowledge that you’ve been caught.

without another word, you turn on your heel and head to your room, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind you. you lean against it, exhaling shakily, trying to process everything. grounded indefinitely. your parents furious. and yet, all you can think about is the look in haechan’s eyes before he left—the quiet promise, the way he lingered just a second longer, like he didn’t want to leave you behind.

you pace the room, hands running through your hair, restless. you’re supposed to feel regret, supposed to feel ashamed, but instead, something else burns in your chest. defiance. yearning. maybe even something close to a thrill. because for the first time in your life, you aren’t just following the rules. you’re chasing something you actually want.

climbing into bed, you grab your phone from under your pillow, half-expecting a message from haechan. nothing. you sigh, staring at the dark ceiling, but just as you’re about to put your phone away, it vibrates in your palm.

[1:42 am] haechan: you still awake sunshine?

despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips. you hesitate, but only for a second before replying.

[1:43 am] you: i hate you.

[1:43 am] haechan: no, you don’t.

[1:44 am] you: i’m grounded until further notice.

[1:44 am] haechan: damn. worth it though, right?

[1:45 am] you: go to sleep.

[1:45 am] haechan: not until you do.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the way your lips curve up, no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. you sigh, setting your phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling. you should be panicking about what’s to come, but instead, all you feel is him.

and maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.

—

you wake to the sound of voices just outside your door—your parents, low but firm, clearly waiting for you to come out and face them. sunlight spills through the blinds, too bright, making your room feel smaller than usual. for a moment, you consider staying in bed, pretending to still be asleep, but you know that won’t work. you’re trapped, and you might as well get it over with.

dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on a hoodie over your sleep shirt and take a deep breath before opening the door. your parents are already at the kitchen table, your mom with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, your dad with a weary look, like he’s already disappointed before you’ve even said a word.

“sit.” your mom’s voice is clipped, no room for argument.

you sit.

the silence is heavy, thick with tension. then she takes a deep breath

“what were you thinking?” your mom demands, shaking her head. “letting that boy into your room, sneaking around behind our backs—do you have any idea how reckless that is?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping the hem of your hoodie. “nothing happened.”

your dad exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. “nothing happened this time, because i walked in. but what about next time? do you even know what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into?”

trouble. the word lingers in the air like smoke. you’ve heard it before, always in the same breath as haechan’s name. boys like him were nothing but trouble. you know that’s what they think. maybe it should be what you think too.

“we’ve warned you about him,” your mom continues, voice softer now, but no less serious. “he’s not—he’s not the kind of boy you should be involved with.”

you flinch, something defensive curling in your chest. “you don’t even know him.”

“we don’t need to know him,” your dad says, exasperated. “his reputation speaks for itself.”

you shake your head, frustration bubbling up. they don’t understand. they never have. if they knew the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

but they won’t listen. they never do.

your mom’s words settle like a weight on your chest. “you’re grounded. no phone, no going out. and we don’t want to hear another word about him.”

you stare at the table, jaw tight. the sessions were already over, but that wasn’t really the point. they wanted him out of your life completely. like he was some kind of bad habit you just needed to quit. like he wasn’t already tangled up in your thoughts, in your pulse, in the way your skin still burned from where he touched you.

“do you understand?” your dad asks, voice even but firm.

you swallow hard and nod, because it’s easier than fighting. because you know they won’t listen.

but as you sit there, hands clenched in your lap, you realize something.

they can take away your phone. they can take away your freedom. they can make rules and set curfews and keep a close eye on you.

but they can’t change what’s already happened.

they can’t change you.

—

monday feels different.

the hallways are the same, the usual chaos of students dragging themselves through the first day back after break, but you feel off. like you’re walking through a version of your life that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

it’s the lack of your phone, mostly. no morning texts, no unread messages waiting for you, no way to check if he even tried to reach out again. your parents had taken it first thing saturday morning, and the silence had settled in fast.

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. that a few missed texts aren’t the end of the world. but as you step into the building, scanning the crowd without meaning to, you already know who you’re looking for.

and then—there he is.

leaning against the lockers like he always does, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he listens to something one of his friends is saying. but his eyes aren’t on them.

they’re on you.

your breath catches, your steps faltering just slightly before you force yourself to keep moving. to act like everything is fine, like your parents didn’t just rip away the one thing tethering you to him over break.

but then he pushes off the lockers, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts toward you, gaze dark and unreadable.

you barely make it to your locker before he’s there, sliding in beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“so,” he drawls, leaning in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “thought you were dead for a second.”

you sigh, spinning your lock with unnecessary force. “my parents took my phone.”

he hums, like that explains everything.

“figured they’d do something like that,” he says, and when you glance at him, there’s something knowing in his expression, something frustrated. “so what, they think ignoring me is gonna make me disappear?”

you exhale sharply, finally yanking your locker open. “i don’t know what they think.”

he watches you for a second, then suddenly reaches out, fingers brushing against your wrist before you can move away. it’s quick, barely even a touch, but it’s enough to make you freeze.

“meet me after school,” he murmurs. it’s not a question.

you hesitate. it’s stupid, reckless. risky. and you should probably say no.

but you don’t.

you just nod.

—

the rest of the day crawls by, every second stretching longer than it should. you go through the motions—taking notes, nodding at the right times, pretending to listen—but your mind is elsewhere. stuck on him. on what you agreed to. on the way his fingers skimmed your wrist like he knew you wouldn’t pull away.

when the final bell rings, your heart stutters.

you could go home. act like today was normal, like nothing is pulling you in the opposite direction. but your feet have already made the choice for you, carrying you through the crowded halls, out the side doors where the air is crisp with early spring.

he’s there, waiting. leaning against the brick wall, one foot propped up behind him, hoodie pulled over his head. but the second you step outside, he straightens, dark eyes locking onto yours.

“thought you might chicken out,” he muses, lips curling at the corners.

you cross your arms, tilting your head. “thought you might get bored and leave.”

he grins, slow and lazy, but there’s something sharper beneath it. “not a chance.”

you exhale, glancing around. “so? where are we going?”

he nods toward the parking lot. “just walk with me.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t want to—because you do, more than you should. but this is dangerous, walking this line when you know exactly where it leads.

then his fingers brush yours again, like earlier, but this time he doesn’t pull away. just hooks his pinky around yours, barely holding on, like he’s leaving the choice up to you.

“come on, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rough at the edges. “just for a little.”

and that’s all it takes.

you don’t say anything, just step forward, closing that last bit of space between you. letting him lead you somewhere you probably shouldn’t go.

—

he leads you deeper into the park, past the usual paths and toward a hidden trail. the air shifts around you, growing quieter as the city noises fade into the distance. soon, you find yourself surrounded by towering trees, their branches swaying gently, the leaves rustling softly as though the earth itself is breathing with you.

you stop at the edge of a small pond, its still surface reflecting the warm, amber glow of the early afternoon sun. everything around it seems to settle into a peaceful hush, as if the world outside this moment has no place here.

he turns to you, and for a second, you’re not sure whether he’s showing you the pond for your sake or his. “this is where i come when i need to clear my head,” he says, his voice lower now, almost reverent. he gestures toward the water, his gaze lingering on the surface. “it’s quiet. no one bothers me here. i can just think.”

you take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh air. it’s hard to reconcile this calm, serene version of him with the boy who’s been impulsive, reckless, and unpredictable. yet, somehow, it feels right. this side of him, this peace.

“i didn’t think you’d have a place like this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he glances at you, a small, almost sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “no one ever does,” he says, a glint of something dark flickering behind his eyes. “that’s kinda the point.”

the way he says it makes your stomach flip, and you can’t quite put your finger on why. maybe it’s the vulnerability that tugs at the edges of his words or the way he’s letting you see a part of him no one else does.

for a moment, you think he might say something more, but he simply steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. the touch is casual, but it sends a spark of warmth shooting through you, a connection that seems to hum between you both.

“do you wanna see something else?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, and there’s a soft challenge in his tone that makes you want to lean in, to see more, to feel more.

you nod, unable to resist. you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can’t explain, your breath catching when he doesn’t pull back. instead, he closes the gap between you, moving closer until the air between you thickens, charged with something unspoken.

his eyes lock with yours, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that sends your heart into a wild, erratic beat. he tilts his head slightly, and before you can think twice, his lips are on yours.

the kiss is soft at first, like he’s hesitant. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, the kiss deepens, the heat between you both growing with every brush of lips, every soft gasp that escapes. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you nearer, and your hands instinctively clutch at his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours.

your heart races, the world around you nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his touch. you break away for a moment, gasping for air, but his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in uneven bursts.

and then, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “i shouldn’t want this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “but i do. i want you.”

his words make your stomach flip, the intensity of them washing over you in waves. something about the rawness in his voice, the honesty, catches you off guard.

you swallow, trying to steady yourself. “i want this too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the moment will shatter if you speak too loudly.

there’s a quiet beat, just the two of you, caught in this fragile space between wanting and hesitation. but then, he presses another kiss to your lips, and you forget everything except the feel of him, the way his touch makes everything else fall away.

when you finally pull apart, breathless, he smiles—a small, almost wistful thing. “i think this place is special for more than one reason now,” he says, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite place.

you smile back, though your heart is still racing. “yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

—

that night, when the house is dark and quiet, you barely hear the sound of him climbing up the tree until there’s a soft thud against your window. your heart stutters in your chest as you rush over, pushing it open just in time to see him balance himself on the ledge.

the moment haechan lands in your room with a quiet thump, you glare at him, arms crossed. “you’re unbelievable,” you whisper harshly. “do you have any idea how much trouble i’d be in if we got caught?”

he grins, completely unfazed. “but we did get caught.”

you smack his arm, making him flinch. “not the point.”

he raises his hands in surrender, but the smirk stays. “yes, ma’am.”

you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his teasing tone. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, you still let me in.”

you don’t have a response to that, so you just sigh, motioning toward your bed. “sit down before you break something.”

he flops onto the mattress with a little too much enthusiasm, making you shake your head as you sit beside him. the room is quiet except for the hum of the night outside, the occasional rustle of leaves from the tree he just climbed. neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can feel the shift in his energy—less playful, more… tired.

“so,” you say softly, “what are you really doing here?”

he exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “couldn’t sleep.”

you glance at him, catching the way his jaw tightens before he looks away. “bad night?”

“something like that.”

his voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual bravado, and it makes your chest ache. you hesitate for a second before shifting slightly closer, your fingers barely grazing his on the comforter.

he notices. you feel it in the way his hand twitches, in the way he inhales just a little sharper. but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his pinky moves just the slightest bit, brushing against yours again.

“you ever feel like you’re running full speed toward a cliff,” he murmurs, “and you can’t stop?”

you swallow. “yeah.”

he huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“there’s nothing wrong with you.”

he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “you’re the only person who thinks that.”

you turn to look at him, really look at him, and for once, he doesn’t hide. his guard is down, his eyes raw with something you can’t quite name. and in that moment, he’s not the reckless boy who teases you endlessly, who smirks like he owns the world. he’s just a boy who’s trying to keep himself together.

you shift your pinky again, letting it hook around his for the briefest second before pulling away. his fingers twitch, like he wants to chase the touch, but he stays still.

“you’re not running off that cliff alone,” you murmur.

his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes flickering to your face. “you make it really hard to stay away, sunshine.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything at all. you just sit there in the dim glow of your room, fingers barely brushing, hearts quietly syncing to the same rhythm.

—

the next school morning felt different.

it’s been just a few nights since you let haechan in through your window, since he talked to you so deeply; revealing himself to you in a way you never thought he would. you felt something deeper than just adrenaline when you whispered that you wanted him there. and now, stepping into school, that night feels fragile, like something you shouldn’t have touched, something that shouldn’t have followed you into the daylight.

because now the whispers have grown louder.

“did you hear? they were together again over the weekend.”

“she sneaks out with him. she’s not as innocent as she acts.”

“it’s cute how she thinks she’s different.”

you keep your head down, fingers curled tightly around the strap of your bag, trying to push past it. but it’s everywhere. in the halls, in the classroom, even when you sit down with your friends at lunch—where, for the first time, the usual chatter dies down when you approach.

“so,” giselle starts carefully, “is it true?”

“what?” your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“you and haechan.”

your stomach twists. you already know there’s no right answer. deny it, and you sound guilty. confirm it, and they’ll pick it apart.

“we just study together, karina, you know that,” you say evenly. “that’s it.”

a look is exchanged, one that makes your skin prickle.

“you don’t have to lie,” winter says. “we’re just… looking out for you.”

“looking out for me?” you let out a sharp laugh. “for what?”

“we’re just saying,” giselle chimes back in, quieter, hesitant. “he has a… reputation. you know that.”

“i know him,” you counter.

“do you?”

you don’t answer. you don’t need to. the air shifts awkwardly, and lunch carries on, but the words stick.

by the time the final bell rings, you feel raw, rubbed down by a day of passing glances and quiet judgments. you don’t know what’s worse—the people who whisper like you can’t hear them, or the ones who make sure you do.

you’re halfway to the front doors when someone else’s words catch your ear.

“he’s just playing with her. like he does with everyone.”

your breath stumbles.

“he gets bored fast. wonder how long she’ll last.”

yourchest tightens. you know you shouldn’t care. you know it’s just talk. but it digs in anyway, settling like lead in your stomach.

then a voice pulls you out of it.

“sunshine.”

you turn. haechan’s waiting near the steps, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking over you like he can tell something’s off.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer. “you good?”

“fine.” it’s automatic, too quick. his brows pinch slightly, but he doesn’t push.

“come with me,” he says instead, nudging his head toward the doors. “let’s get out of here for a bit.”

you hesitate. for the first time, you aren’t sure if you want to go. because you can still hear their words. and worse—you can’t shake the fear that maybe they’re right.

but then you meet his eyes, warm and steady despite everything, and that fear doesn’t seem so loud anymore.

“okay,” you say.

and just like that, you follow him out.

—

he takes you somewhere quiet. away from the school, away from the weight of a thousand glances and whispers pressing down on you.

it’s a small clearing just past the neighborhood, tucked behind a line of trees, where the ground slopes gently toward a creek. the sky is wide here, open, stretching endless above you in soft hues of late afternoon.

“is this where you spend some of your time too?” you ask, looking around.

“one of the places.” haechan drops down onto the grass, leaning back on his palms. “not a bad spot, huh?”

“no,” you admit, sitting beside him. “it’s pretty.”

he grins. “figured you’d like it. you have that whole… poetic, pretty-things type of vibe.”

“oh, do i?” you glance at him.

“mhm.” he shifts closer, voice dropping slightly. “that’s why you like me, right?”

your stomach flips. you don’t answer, but the way you go quiet gives you away. his grin widens.

“i knew it.”

“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his shoulder lightly.

he laughs, but the teasing fades after a moment, leaving something quieter in its place.

“you don’t have to listen to them, you know.”

you tense. you don’t ask who he means—you both know.

“they don’t know me,” he says, eyes still on the sky. “not really. but you do.”

“do i?” the words slip out before you can stop them, laced with something you don’t quite recognize.

it makes him pause.

“do you think they’re right?” he asks after a moment, voice unreadable. “that i’m just messing around?”

you turn toward him. his expression is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something waiting.

you should say no. you should tell him that you trust him, that you don’t care what anyone else says.

but the doubt is still there, tangled up in everything else you feel for him.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

his jaw tightens. he looks away.

the silence stretches, thick and heavy. your heart pounds.

and then, before you can stop yourself, the question leaves your lips.

“what are we, haechan?”

he stills.

for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s searching for something.

then, slowly, he exhales.

“we’re whatever you want us to be.”

you blink. “what?”

he shifts closer, so close that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “if you want this to be nothing, i’ll leave it alone. if you want me to be just some guy you tutored, i’ll deal with it.”

his fingers reach for yours, tentative, brushing against your knuckles.

“but if you want more…” he trails off, voice low, gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

your heart is a drum against your ribs.

“what if i don’t know what i want?” you whisper.

he lets out a quiet laugh, almost breathless. “then tell me what you do know.”

you swallow, pulse thrumming as you feel his fingers slowly interlace with yours.

“i know i don’t want you to be just some guy i tutored.”

his grip on your hand tightens.

“then you’ve already answered your own question, sunshine.”

the nickname is soft, almost reverent. and before you can second-guess it, before you can let the fear creep in, you squeeze his hand back.

he smiles—one of those small, secret ones, like you’ve just given him something he thought he’d never have.

and for now, that’s enough.

—

the evening was calm, the sun dipping lower in the sky as you walk with haechan beside you. the two of you had just finished the day at school, chatting and laughing, not realizing how close you were to your house until you were almost at the front steps. everything felt normal, easy, the way it had been recently, and you couldn’t have imagined what was about to happen.

you notice them—your mom and dad—standing in the doorway, watching. your stomach drops and you instinctively grip haechan’s hand tighter. his smile fades when he feels the change in you, his attention shifting to what you’re looking at.

“shit,” you mutter, but keep walking, praying they won’t notice you until you get inside. but just as you reach the steps, your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet air. “what did i tell you?” it’s sharp and furious, each word heavy with the threat of anger. “what is he doing here?”

you freeze. your dad steps into view beside her, arms crossed. his posture alone is enough to make your heart race.

“mom, i…” you start, but you’re immediately cut off.

“no excuses,” she snaps, voice dripping with disdain. “you think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? sneaking around with him? what do you think you’re doing?”

“mom, i—” you try again, but her dad’s icy glare silences you.

“you’re still grounded,” he says in a low, dangerous tone. “go inside. now.”

you glance at haechan. he’s standing beside you, quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets. he doesn’t know what to do. he probably doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to say anything.

your mom turns to him, her face contorting with barely-contained fury. “you. what are you doing here? you have no business with my daughter.”

“i’m not causing any trouble,” he says quietly, but his words hang in the air, useless against the tension.

“no,” your mother snaps, “you’re not just causing trouble, you’re ruining everything. you don’t belong here.”

you can feel the heat rising inside you, the pressure of everything that’s been building in the last few days, and you can’t hold it in anymore. “stop,” you say, your voice trembling but strong. “i—”

and then, before you can stop it, the words slip out, raw and unfiltered. “i love him.”

the air around you freezes. your mom’s eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. she takes a step back, clearly not understanding what she’s hearing. it was the first time you ever said it, hell even thought it. but it felt right.

“what did you just say?” her voice is cold now, sharp as a knife.

“i said it,” you repeat, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “i love him.”

her mother stares at you, disbelief and disgust flashing across her face. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. you’re just a kid, and you think you love him?” she sneers, voice full of derision. “you don’t know anything about love. this… this is just a phase. and he—he is not good for you.”

your dad doesn’t speak. he just stands there, arms crossed, his silence just as loud as your mom’s words. you feel yourself shrinking under their gaze, as if everything inside you is getting smaller, more insignificant.

“you will not see him again. do you understand me?” your mother’s voice rises now, almost breaking with fury. “you are grounded, and this… whatever you think this is, it ends now.”

“i love him,” you whisper again, more firmly this time, trying to hold onto something—anything—before everything falls apart. “i love him.”

“no,” your mother spits, “you don’t. and you will forget him. you will go to your room. and you will stay there. i won’t have this in my house.”

haechan looks at you, his face unreadable. the words you shared earlier seem to echo in his eyes, but something changes in him. he takes a small step back, like he’s retreating from something, unsure how to fix this.

“i think it’s better if i go,” he mutters, his voice tight, as he begins to pull away. “i don’t want to make things worse for you.”

before you can stop him, he’s turning, walking away. you reach out, your hand grasping for his wrist, but he pulls away gently, avoiding your gaze. “no..haechan,” you say, your voice shaking. “please. don’t leave.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, just looks at you for a long, agonizing moment. then he lets out a shaky sigh and turns to leave, his footsteps growing fainter as he walks away from you.

you stand frozen on the front steps, your heart racing. your mom’s voice cuts through the silence again. “you’ll go to your room. and you’ll stay there. you will not see him again. do you understand me?”

you can’t even answer, your throat tight, your mind spiraling. without saying another word, you walk silently into the house, up to your room, and shut the door behind you. hard

you sit there, the weight of your mother’s words crushing you. her disapproval and disappointment are suffocating, and you can feel the space between you and haechan growing larger with every passing second.

but the hardest part? the hardest part is knowing that you love him, and yet, here you are, too afraid to reach for him because of everything that’s standing in the way.

—

it’s been a few days since the argument with your parents. the silence between you and haechan feels heavy, almost suffocating. you can’t stop thinking about him, but you haven’t been able to reach him either. you’re grounded, no phone, and it’s like a piece of you is missing.

you’re sitting in your room, staring at the wall in front of your bed, when you hear a light tap. your heart races. you hurry over, parting the curtains to find haechan standing there, looking just as conflicted as you feel. he looks tired—like he hasn’t been able to sleep—but his eyes light up when they meet yours.

you open the window quickly, and without a word, he climbs inside. it’s the same familiar move, but there’s something different now. there’s an unspoken tension between you both, a hesitation in the way he moves toward you.

he steps closer but stops when he sees you retreat a little, like you’re unsure whether to welcome him or pull away. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, running a hand through his messy hair. “but i didn’t want to make things worse. i thought… maybe i was doing the right thing.”

you meet his gaze, and for a moment, you both just look at each other. there’s no need for more words. you can tell he’s been thinking about this as much as you have. but there’s still the weight of your parents’ words, their expectations, hanging in the air. and you know they would never approve. you’re supposed to stay away from him.

“i don’t know why i’m even here,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down for a moment. “i knew things were gonna get messy.”

you step forward then, frustration and confusion bubbling inside you. “you left me hanging, haechan. i didn’t hear from you, i didn’t—”

“i know,” he interrupts, his voice laced with guilt. “but i thought maybe you’d be better off without me. i didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

you don’t know how to respond to that. you want to be angry, but the truth is, you feel the same confusion. you wanted to hear from him. you missed him. but it’s hard to ignore the fact that your parents would never understand this. would never approve.

he takes a deep breath and steps closer again, almost as if he’s bracing himself. his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of whether to reach out or not. you know the pull between you is undeniable, but there’s still a wall between you, the one built by fear and responsibility.

“i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i could, but i can’t.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “i can’t ignore everything, haechan. my parents—they won’t let this happen.”

he looks down, disappointment flickering in his eyes. then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to yours again. “i didn’t want to make things harder for you. i didn’t want to be the one who messed up your life.”

you feel a knot in your stomach. his words sting, but it’s clear that he’s not giving up. and neither are you.

“then why are you here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

his answer isn’t one you expect. he steps forward and brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “because even if i shouldn’t, i can’t stay away. i don’t know how to.”

the words hang between you, unsaid but understood. your heart beats faster in your chest, and for the first time since the argument, you feel something other than confusion or anger.

“i can’t either,” you admit, your voice low.

before you can say anything else, haechan closes the distance, pressing his lips gently to yours. it’s tentative, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away at any moment. but you don’t. you kiss him back, softly at first, savoring the moment, the closeness. and for a brief moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

when you pull away, you both stand there, breaths mingling. he looks at you, searching your face, as if trying to make sure he hasn’t crossed a line.

“i’ll make things right,” he says quietly, his voice filled with resolve. “somehow. i don’t want to lose you.”

you take a deep breath, the weight of the situation sinking in. your parents’ disapproval, the complications, the risks—it’s all still there, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

“i don’t know what’s going to happen,” you murmur, your hand brushing lightly against his. “but i can’t stop wanting this. wanting you.”

he gives a small, bittersweet smile. “then we’ll figure it out together. i promise.”

and just like that, you feel the tension between you ease, even if only for a moment. the future is uncertain, but right now, all that matters is the warmth of his touch, the closeness you feel, and the quiet promise of something more between you two.

—

the tension in the living room is suffocating. it’s been a week since the small talk with haechan in your room. you two had been interacting a lot less at school, yet here you both were. your parents sit stiffly on the couch, their eyes locked onto haechan as if he’s something they need to purge from your life. he stands in front of them, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides, but he doesn’t lash out. doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes like they expect him to.

his usual confidence is still there, but tonight, there’s something else underneath it. something raw, something desperate. because this isn’t just about proving himself to your parents. it’s about proving himself to you, too. proving that he’s worth fighting for.

“this needs to stop,” your father says, his voice firm. “you sneaking around with him. whatever this is. it’s done.”

your mother shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “you don’t see it now, but this isn’t love. boys like him don’t stick around.”

boys like him.

haechan’s jaw clenches. he’s heard those words before, from teachers, from people in town, from kids at school who assumed they knew everything about him. reckless. dangerous. a mistake waiting to happen. but it’s different coming from your parents, because this time, it actually matters.

“you don’t know me,” he says, voice steady but edged with frustration. “you only see what you want to see.”

your mom crosses her arms. “oh, so tell us, then. tell us why we should believe you’re any different.” you eye her as she speaks so sharply to him.

please just give him a chance.

haechan hesitates for just a second, and your heart clenches. because you know he hates doing this. hates explaining himself to people who have already made up their minds. but he does it anyway. for you.

“i know i don’t look like the kind of guy you want your daughter with,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “i know i don’t come from some perfect family, and i know i’ve made mistakes. but i swear to you, i—i’m trying.” he swallows hard, his gaze flicking to you before going back to them. “i’m trying to be better. for her.”

your mother’s lips press into a thin line. “people don’t change overnight.”

“i’m not asking you to believe me overnight,” haechan says, his voice stronger now. “i’m just asking you to see me the way she does. not as some lost cause, but as someone who cares about her more than you could ever understand.”

silence stretches between all of you. your father looks away, exhaling through his nose. your mother’s expression is unreadable. you know they don’t fully accept him—not yet. maybe they never will. but there’s something in their faces that wasn’t there before. doubt. hesitation. a crack in the walls they’ve built around the idea of who he is.

your mother sighs, rubbing her temples. “this… this is a lot. i don’t know what to do with this right now.”

your father doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t push the conversation further either.

it’s not approval. not even close. but it’s not outright rejection either.

haechan shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against yours—not holding, just there. grounding.

“can i…talk to her alone?” he asks.

your parents exchange a glance, and for a moment, you think they’ll say no. but then your mom sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “five minutes.”

you don’t wait for them to change their minds, grabbing haechan’s wrist and tugging him down the hall to the guest bedroom. the moment the door clicks shut, you turn to him, taking him in—his disheveled hair, the way his rings catch the dim light, the way his shoulders are still tense.

—

the tension lingers even after your parents leave the room, their quiet murmurs fading down the hall. you stand there with haechan, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours, the weight of everything pressing down on you both.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting out a soft chuckle. “well… that went great, huh?”

you give him a look, half-exasperated, half-affectionate. “you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

he grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “nah, guess not.”

you squeeze his hand, grounding him. “thank you. for standing up for yourself. for… for me.”

his expression shifts, something softer taking over. his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “i meant everything i said,” he murmurs. “every damn word.”

there’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken things. then, without thinking, you step forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders , pressing your face into his neck. he hesitates for half a second before melting into you, his arms coming up to hold you like he’s afraid to let go.

“i don’t know how this is gonna end,” you whisper.

haechan swallows hard, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. “me neither,” he admits. “but i know one thing.”

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “what?”

“that i love you,” his lips quirk into a small, lopsided smile—one that still holds a trace of mischief, but there’s something deeper beneath it. something real. “and i’m not letting you go that easily.”

your heart stumbles over itself, and before you can second-guess it, you surge forward, kissing him with every ounce of feeling you can’t put into words.

he responds instantly, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. the kiss is slow, lingering, like a promise neither of you are willing to break.

when you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, you whisper, “we’re kind of doomed, aren’t we?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “probably. but at least we’re doomed together.”

and somehow, despite everything, that feels like enough.

—

▸ taggies ; @ikykyuno @ashopatata @tynivr @ilujkm @maiyhw @413cl @flaminghotyourmom @yunjinsart @theandypark @nae-vm @czennilove @yutaswh0re — i hope this was everyone <3

▸ big thank you to everyone who left feedback on the first part ily guys :(

[taeeflwrr]

this was so cute and sweet and silly

hostile work environment • lhc smau

humour, college au, coworkers to friends to lovers, haechan is a bit of a creep, miscommunication (HEAVY), reader is jaehyun’s little sister

SYNOPSIS • with student loans and his apartment rent due, psychology major haechan swears he’ll get a job at the record store despite never having worked a day in his life. what happens when he creeps out his workplace mentor, first day on the job? and what happens when she kinda finds him funny?

PAIRING • haechan x fem!reader

STATUS • completed ✔️

WARNINGS • kys/kms jokes, brainrot, mild language, english isn’t my first language so mistakes and typos galore, mature themes

masterlist

profiles: haechan & friends yn & friends

ch1. whats the worse that could happen?

ch2. no resumé?

ch3. candy crush

ch4. cracked phone screen

ch5. locked in

ch6. you think i'm pretty?

ch7. are u flirting rn?

ch8. snoop around

ch9. outlast

ch10. i have other jackets...

ch11. runaway harasser!

ch12. banned from princess tycoon

ch13. the point is…

ch14. worth it?

ch15. babe

ch16. you better watch it

ch17. matcha lovers

[taeeflwrr]

hello i loved this i felt very seen

✧˚.🎀⋆ calling 999 | n.jm .☘︎ ݁˖

pairing. popular!jaemin x gloomy!reader ♡︎.ᐟ

word count. 9.9k

genre. fluff · slow burn · humour · smut

synopsis. she swears he's the most infuriatingly, sparkly person around — too bright and positively suffocating. But for Jaemin? He's intrigued by her; the gloomy princess frog who he wishes to befriend.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, use of pet name (baby, cutie, etc.), unprotected sex, almost getting caught, oral (fem. receiving), fingering, really fluffy.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ A/N: the speed in which I got this out was crazy. I also wanted to thank all of you guys for the love, I'm quite the perfectionist when it comes to my writing, but seeing how well they've been received so far makes me incredibly happy. ily all 💞

Na Jaemin was the heartthrob. If someone plucked him out of a drama, it would be Boys Over Flowers — except he was the flower. Everything about him was charming, endearing, and effervescent. It was almost blinding. Sickening. She'd place bets he threw up rainbows and unicorns, no doubt consuming Lucky Charms sprinkled with stardust for breakfast.

Which is exactly why she avoided him like the plague.

She was an irritable shadow, afraid of being incinerated and consumed by the ebullient sun. Always grumbling and scowling whenever she came into the vicinity of his stupidly wide, toothy grin, paired with that obnoxiously loud laugh.

"You're stabbing at your food," a soft, amused voice cut through the loud chatter of the cafeteria, "Should I be worried that you're also giving me the death glare?"

Y/N doesn't take her eyes off him. She hated how well he held eye-contact, and she wasn't going to lose the little battles before the war. So, she sends him a scowl as a response, her dark, frizzy hair puffing up like a lion's mane.

Jaemin was intrigued by her. She was the only person who would never smile back, never say anything more than a few words to him. As if dealing with him, or people in general, sucked out her limited supply of energy.

Jaemin sits down next to her, his arm brushing against hers with the protection of her thick, knit sweater, "We're supposed to choose our pairs for the science project, wanna work together?"

She let out a scoff, side-eyeing him for the sheer audacity of asking something so absurd, "No," She replies flatly, munching on her cafeteria food that suddenly tasted like slop in his presence.

He raised an amused brow, smile never faltering. Honestly, she would pay good money to see him not smiling for once, "Come on, why not? You're smart and I'm... kinda smart. We'd make a good team! I've even come up with possible names for our duo," he clears his throat as if preparing a proposal for Shark Tank, "sun and moon, yin and yang, Princess and The Frog..."

"Princess?" She scoffs.

"Yeah, I'll be the princess and you can be the fro-," she grumbles under her breath, standing up with her tray and moving to another empty table. Jaemin was unfazed, unfortunately, and followed her casually as if she'd asked to move together.

"Stop following me," Y/N huffed, nestling into her purple sweater as she continued to stab at her food. She could see Jaemin's group of friends watching like vigilant vultures from the corner of her eye.

Haechan, the cocky, intimidating star student — or would be star student if he weren't so lazy. Chenle, the real crazy rich Asian, often coming to school with something designer. And Renjun, the angry artist who she often wondered how he fit in such a group, being as he seemed like the only normal person there.

She could almost hear their judgment, confused on why Jaemin spent almost every lunchtime circling around the grouchy loner.

Jaemin chuckled, slotting into the chair next to her, to which she nudged her chair to the side, trying to get as far away from him as physically possible, even down to the atoms, "it's either I work with you or Jisung... and I don't want to work with him."

Her eyes met his, glaring in a way Jaemin would call cute, strangely, "Not my problem."

Jaemin pokes at her arm, giggling when she jumps, startled, "But whyyy. That guy would be scared at the sight of a bunsen burner, that's not even on, mind you."

"Again, not my problem."

Jaemin pouted, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he let his soft gaze flick over her features. He had a horrible habit of keeping his eyes locked on people's lips, even more so when they spoke. But, from up close, his appearance matched the mix of a doe and a rabbit with his long, fluttering lashes and big, round eyes.

She hated deers and rabbits.

"Would it be your problem if we were friends?" Jaemin asked suddenly. Everything about his voice to his gaze were genuine. He meant every word, and that scared her.

She froze, grip tightening on her cutlery as she slowly met his watching eyes, "Friends?"

"Friends," Jaemin added, "I want us to be friends. You're nice."

She snorted. For the first time, she actually made a sound close enough to be a laugh and Jaemin, startled, looked at her like a deer caught in headlights. As if a UFO had landed right in front of him and aliens stepped out wearing chicken suits, "You're delusional."

"Delusional or not, I made you laugh. Even more of a reason for us to be friends, I'm a good influence on you," Jaemin teased. Immediately, her expression faltered.

The sun was obnoxiously loud, and infuriatingly cocky.

The sun was, indeed, loud.

When she woke up this morning, she never would have guessed how horrible today would be. Not until Jaemin raised his hand incredibly high and chirped to the science teacher, "Y/N and I would like to be partners!"

If looks could kill, Jaemin would be shot dead on Earth, stopped before he got to the pearly white gates; his soul extracted into a minuscule bottle, crushed and thrown into the deepest, tenebrous voids before he even had a chance at getting reincarnated.

She sighed, loudly. She could hear people whispering, their watchful gaze flicking between the pair. Jaemin was as smiley as ever, his eyes little crescents as he skipped over to her, flower petals trailing behind him like some spring-happy leprechaun.

Y/N placed her bag on the one free seat next to her, and Jaemin pouted just as he got to her table, "Hey, is that how you treat your partner?"

She couldn't even spare him a glance, not with her seething, "I told you, I didn't want to be your partner."

Jaemin shrugs, placing his books on the table and pulls out a separate chair to sit in front of her — all without complaint or a twitching smile. He could tell she was mad at him, he wasn't a fool. Usually, she'd be boring burning hot holes into his skin with her piercing glare, though now, she kept her eyes on her science book, not sparing him a glance.

He was cautious with his movements, watching her as he sat right in front, just close enough to smell the soft hint of lavender from her jumper. He didn't want to scare her off or build the tension further so, he did the next best thing he could think of.

Digging into his bag, he pulls out his phone and wired earphones, ones he carried with him for years. It was to anyone's amazement how they lasted so long. He scrolls through his playlist, trying to find anything that was calming enough and, when he does, he grins to himself, leaning over to place one bud into her ear.

Her eyes snapped to his, his finger still pressed to the earbud to stop her from snatching it out so quickly, but that meant he was closer than he had ever been. She couldn't help but to notice those dark eyes that reflected the glittering ceiling lights as his warm, gentle and hesitant breath brushed her dewy skin, "What are you-"

"Just... I know you don't want to talk to me right now so, let's listen to some music together. Just this once," his smile was softer now, eyes trained on her with a hint of nervousness.

When Jaemin realised she wasn't making a move to yank the earphones out, he slowly retracted his hand, letting the music play. Surprisingly, the song was calming and sweet — a stark contrast to the energiser bunny who sat in front of her, grinning like a madman just at her tolerating his presence.

Jaemin confused her. She couldn't understand how someone could be so... sunshine and rainbows. Just looking at him was exhausting, feeling the corners of her lips burn at the simple thought of grinning twenty four hours of every day. He may as well have had more muscles on his lips than she had in her arms.

"You're always smiling," she mutters, scribbling random doodles into her science book, not caring if it affects the presentation. She felt herself calming a little from the music alone.

Jaemin nods slowly, looking through their worksheet for the experiment they had to do over the course of the week, "Is that a bad thing?"

It felt like that question alone stumped her. It wasn't that smiling was a bad thing, but with Jaemin, it always felt forced — maintaining the good boy image. She scoffs lightly, "It's annoying."

He only laughs at that, leaning in closer as his voice turns to a whisper, "So, if I smiled less, you'd tolerate me more?"

Her confused look had Jaemin smiling at her like a fool, trying to see how far he could push as he pulled away, "Tolerate me enough to become friends, I mean. You didn't give me an answer yesterday either."

"Thought it was an obvious no," she takes the spare worksheet and starts filling in the equipment they'd need and the correct order of steps.

Jaemin lets out a sudden, obnoxiously loud "wow" at the sight of the work she had done in a mere five minutes. He snatches it from the desk, his thumbs digging into the edges of the paper as he held it up in amazement, lips puckered in an exaggerated 'O', before his gaze flicked to her, always searching for a hint of a reaction, "I don't think we will need a whole week to get this experiment done. At least, not with you as my partner."

"Don't get used to it. You're pulling your own weight for this project," Y/N mumbles, snatching the worksheet out of his hands, her fingers brushing his in the process. She flinches slightly at the contact, and Jaemin doesn't let it slide, his smile sneakily widening.

"Well too late. I'm already naming my future children after you."

She stares at him with a deadpanned expression, "You're so weird."

"Thank you," he beams.

There's a long silence after that. She quietly observes Jaemin, whose lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, smile softening as he chooses another song on his playlist, humming along to it. Then, her gaze drops to the paper again.

"Are you serious about being friends?" she asks softly, not looking up, voice so low he almost doesn't hear it.

He stops humming, "Yeah, I am."

Y/N finally looks up, and Jaemin's not smiling this time, clearly serious.

She considers it. Actually weighs the pros and cons of being friends with the sun which, if she hadn't known any better, would only repeat Icarus' story, where her wax wings would melt if she got too close, "Don't expect me to tell you my favourite colour or make friendship bracelets out of loom bands with you."

Jaemin's smile slowly returns, as if he's waiting for her to change her mind, "That's okay, you can start by telling me what you hate most about me."

She snorts, "As if there's enough time for that in a day."

"Perfect," he sends her his classic toothy grin, "Guess I have more of an excuse to hang around you for longer, then."

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the multi-coloured shelves filled with snacks and bold coloured stickers with deals peppered along the products. It had smelled faintly of overripe bananas, cheap detergent, and air freshener — the familiar scent of your standard convenience stores. Jaemin had wandered the snack aisle on a lazy evening, indecisively scouring the 2-for-1 promotions. He was low on energy after spending the whole afternoon playing football against his will. Though, he was somewhat grateful it wasn't basketball this time, thanks to Chenle going on some last minute holiday.

All thoughts screeched to a halt while he was scanning for some snacks, seeing her behind the till. She wore the stores' basic, bright blue apron, the collar of the white undershirt slightly crooked, and an upside-down name tag pinned to her chest which gave more than enough away that she was in a rush to get to her shift. But most of all, she was smiling at the elderly woman in front of her, offering a genuine laugh when the lady made a joke he could barely make out.

Her laugh was so pretty to him. Despite it being awkward, tethering on deep yet with a sweet lilt... It was so unique, so adorable and something he wished he could hear over and over again, like a broken record.

He couldn't get over that smile, either. It brightened up her face and made her even more gorgeous than she already was. His eyes were locked on the soft and slightly shy grin, tugging up on one side. He had never seen her like that before, but he was already obsessed, his heart clenching as a sudden cuteness aggression overcame him.

The moment she noticed him walking towards the register with a basket of snacks, however, her expression had snapped back into its usual stormy cloud, the corners of her lips sinking into a scowl. Jaemin stifled a laugh as he set his snacks down on the counter.

"Hey," he whined, yet his voice was as bright and sunny as always, "I'm a customer too, where's my smile?"

"What are you doing here, Jaemin?" she grumbled, already scanning the items with speedy efficiency, clearly wanting to get rid of him.

"I came to see you," He let the sentence hang just long enough between them before correcting himself, "Actually... I just wanted some snacks."

She glanced at the box of Lucky Charms he placed on the counter —bright and completely childlike, just like him. She blinked before letting out a soft giggle, the sound barely audible, but loud enough for Jaemin to catch it. He felt butterflies going haywire in the pits of his stomach.

"You seriously eat this shi- stuff?"

"Religiously," he replied, smirking, "I'm convinced it really is sprinkled with some magical form of luck."

"Oh yeah, and what have you been lucky with?" she muttered, slipping the items into a plastic bag.

"You," he added with a grin. There was no hesitation in the way he had said it, especially with that stupid, shit-eating grin and the mischievous light in his eyes. But she forced her expression to remain neutral, even when a string of curses sat on the tip of her tongue.

The occasional beep of items being scanned and the quiet chatter of the other customers in the back had filled the silence between them. Jaemin leaned back and forth, raising an amused brow at her, cocky from having gotten to her in some way.

"I didn't know you worked here," he said finally, trying to fill in the silence and not wanting this moment with her to end so soon.

Y/N shrugged, adjusting the strap of her apron as she suddenly started to feel awkward, "It's... just part-time. Pays for things like snacks. But I never get to eat them because I have to smile at people like you all day."

He grinned wider, ignoring her slight jab, "So you do smile."

"God, you're annoying," she groans, packing the last of the items and gesturing to the till for him to pay.

Jaemin only smirks wider, tapping his card until a beep resounded in the shop, "And you're blushing."

"I am not-"

"Oh, you definitely are, but this would surely make you blush more...," He leans in, grabbing the plastic bag out of her hands, fingers barely brushing, as he whispered against the shell of her ear, "you're cuter when you smile."

Her hands stilled slightly as she let go of the bag as if they were opposites on either side of a magnet.

He held her gaze for a moment, before pulling away, "Thanks for the snacks."

"Don't come here again," Y/N grumbled.

Jaemin stepped back towards the automatic doors which kept trying to close, blocking the path of some customers as he smiled like a fool at her, as usual. She hated how he made her feel in this moment, and she could swear her heart had beat louder than the generic pop music which played in the shop. Maybe she would blame the fact that he was someone who does eat lucky charms. But his next words cut through her thoughts as he stifled a laugh before leaving, "No promises, cutie."

And, for some strange reason, that word didn't make her internally gag.

The cafeteria was in a state of a mess; chaotic noise and clattering trays, loud, overlapping conversations, and the sharp screeching of metal chairs. The air had smelt faintly of overcooked pasta and whatever they had tried to pass off as food today — what students would call radioactive slop. But not one table was as loud as the one Jaemin was sat on with his friends.

"I'm telling you, she's the cutest girl around. Like- Haechan, stop laughing, I'm being serious!" Jaemin glares daggers at the male who was barely keeping still on his chair.

"Yeah, I bet. I'd also bet she hexed you," Haechan, who sat across from Jaemin, wipes away a stray tear, followed by a sigh as he calmed down from his burst of laughter.

Renjun sat next to Haechan, nudging him with the pristine sleeve of his blazer. He had always kept a clean-cut appearance where not even a tiny drop of paint ever landed on his attire, "If Jaemin likes her, who cares? I will be judging though, but from the sidelines."

Jaemin grumbles, pushing his half-eaten tray away from him as he crossed his arms, "You guys are assholes. What happened to being happy for me?"

Chenle chirps in, glancing at the woman who was the focus of their conversation sat a few tables down on her own. He jabs a finger into the table, a classic Chenle move whenever he had a 'valid' point to make, eyebrows raised with passion, "You guys are like... the complete opposites of each other. She would definitely steal all your light. Well- on second thought, that's probably a good thing, maybe you'd finally be somewhat bearable to be around."

Jaemin rolls his eyes, stuffing a spoonful of rice and munching it in irritation, "Look, if you actually spoke to her, you'd see that there is more to her. She actually smiles too, and it's so adorable, plus-" Haechan side-eyes Jaemin; partly for speaking with a mouthful of food, and the other for simping over her of all people, "Don't tell me you're already pussy-whipped when you've only spoken to her once."

Jaemin's mouth drops in shock, "Once?! I've spoken to her like... three, four times?"

Haechan snorts, resting his hands behind his head, sprawling lazily out on the chair, "Might as well have been once. You can count it on one hand. You barely know her."

"Well, I know her better than you guys do, so why are we judging so hard?" Jaemin snaps, and his friends suddenly grow silent and tense. It was unlike the usually sunny male to get angry or irritated. His jaw was clenched as he dropped his metal chopsticks on the tray, the clatter loud.

Renjun clears his throat awkwardly, looking around the table, his brows furrowed softly as he met Jaemin's gaze, "You... do know why everyone avoids her though, don't you?"

Jaemin pauses, eyes flicking to his friend. Something in Renjun's tone makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, the tension, paired with worry, simmering.

"What do you mean?" he asks suspiciously, his voice quiet and brows furrowing.

Renjun shifts in his seat, shrugging, "Just… she's not exactly friendly. People say she snapped at teachers, ditched group projects, cursed out that senior last year-"

"She cursed at him because he was mocking her in front of everyone," Jaemin cuts in sharply, his leg bouncing under the table in frustration, "And the group projects... Maybe no one ever wanted to work with her. She had always been a target of stupid jokes. Besides, how is any of that a big deal?"

The table falls quiet again and Chenle raises a brow and puts his hands up in surrender, trying to lighten the mood, "Okay, damn. Someone is ready to fight for her honour."

Jaemin huffs, "No- Look I'm just saying... people love to talk. Don't you think she's just tired of all these assholes?"

Haechan whistles lowly, "Okay, our knight in shining armour, should we start planning the wedding?"

"Shut up," Jaemin mutters, his cheeks flushed pink, "I already did."

The lab was meant to be quiet except, Jaemin was being clumsy with the equipment. The glass beakers kept clinking against each other, and it was surprising how they hadn't smashed into pieces with his large hands. It was only them in the lab, away from the bustling lunch hall, and it was supposed to be them finishing off the experiment before they had to type up their conclusions. However, working with Jaemin was proving to be a separate challenge.

Y/N tugged her sleeves up her arms in frustration as she kept glaring at him and giving him orders. But Jaemin found her to appear less reserved when she wasn't surrounded by others — still sharp around the cute edges, but not enough to make a man cower.

"Put the beaker down slowly," she said, eyeing the glass nervously as Jaemin finished pouring the solution into a separate beaker, "I swear to God if you shatter another one-"

"Relax," Jaemin chuckled, mocking offence as he set it down with exaggerated grace, gesturing to it in celebration. She forgot he had arms that could squash a coconut in one go, panicking at the sight of him handling fragile equipment. But his cockiness worried her even further, "I have the hands of a pianist."

She side-eyed him with a slight look of surprise, "You play the piano?"

"No, but I could," he wiggles his fingers, "with these sexy hands."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the subtle twitch of her lips before she turned away to fetch the other materials.

They had been measuring and watching the colours blend in the beaker, creating an... interesting solution. He watched her scribble something in the worksheet, noticing her handwriting was messier than he'd expected. It had kept changing its font, far from the consistent and neat image she had presented as, at least, with her personality. His eyes trailed to her frizzy hair that added an adorable, messy look to her, like his favourite character from UP, Ellie.

"You're staring," she mumbled, her pen tapping the edge of the paper in annoyance.

"Just admiring your handwriting," Jaemin teased, leaning slightly closer, glancing to her writing again, "It looks like five different people wrote that."

"Want to lose the ability to smile?"

He chuckled, watching as she moved to hold a pipette above one of the mixtures, "Are you going to start writing the conclusion, or should I do everything?"

Jaemin snapped back to reality, side stepping to grab the worksheet and immediately tapping the pencil to his cheek in thought, "Right, conclusion," he frowned when nothing came to mind, "Something something… mixture."

Y/N slowly turned to face him, "Very insightful," she deadpanned.

He didn't miss the tiniest curve of her mouth again and, God, even when she stifled a smile, it would still hit like a punch to the gut. He was starting to think maybe she was right to hide it as people would be drawn to her like the North Star. And now, it was starting to feel like it was a sight only he was allowed to see.

"You say that like it's not the best conclusion you have ever heard," Jaemin added, pressing the pencil to his lip smugly.

She sighed, snatching the worksheet from him without a word and scribbling a few lines with a quiet confidence that made him raise a brow. Her writing was still chaotic, unlike her thoughts.

He leaned in slightly to peek over at what she wrote, but she folded the paper away from his view like it was a personal diary.

"Do you mind?" she muttered in exasperation.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation, resting his chin on her shoulder to take a better look at the mysterious writing.

Y/N stiffened, her breath hitched as she stayed frozen. It was insane to her how good he smelt, the way her heart stuttered, and the soft weight of him on her shoulder felt... right. She almost let out a loud scoff at her own thoughts before elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

Jaemin let out a dramatic gasp, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated pout, "Excuse me, assault in a science lab full of lethal equipment is a criminal offence!"

"You were in my space."

"It was our space," he mumbled, still rubbing his side, "I would argue we have dual ownership over this lab."

She tongued the inside of her cheek and shoved the worksheet in his direction, "I don't see your name on this paper, Jaemin."

He smirked, feeling his own heart blush at the way his name sounded on her lips, and grabbed the paper, scribbling Na Jaemin (Princess) in the top corner, and (cute frog) next to her name. When he handed it back to her, she glanced at the names, then at him, and rolled her eyes at his silliness.

"Anyway," his voice filled the quiet room, eyes glancing away to look at the clock, seeing they only had a few minutes till the end of lunch, "I think we did a pretty decent job, we should celebrate getting this project done."

She looked up his taller form in confusion, "Celebrate?"

Jaemin nodded, "Yeah, I'll bring you a snack tomorrow, something sweet, so that you forget about annihilating me for barely carrying this project."

She sent him a scowl in response, "And what makes you think I like sweet things?"

He grinned cheekily, packing away the equipment, "You like me, don't you?"

Y/N was convinced Jaemin had hit his head in the past month, especially with all the shit he was spewing. But she couldn't stop the small smile that lifted the corners of her lips, immediately dropping the second she had realised, and Jaemin's eyes widened at the sight. His heart was going haywire. She had finally smiled in his presence, because of him.

"You really do look cute when you smile," he grinned at her, slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking almost entranced by her, "I'm glad I'm the only one who gets to see it."

She snorts, packing her things away as well, "Well, I'd rather you not smile. It's exhausting."

Jaemin smirks, nodding his head, "Okay, I won't!"

He exaggerates a silly-looking scowl, humming at the same time, "Is that better?"

Y/N lets out a disbelieving scoff, eyeing him in what seemed like amusement, "Somehow... that's much worse."

It had been three days. Three days of Jaemin leaving snacks on her desk like some overly enthusiastic snack fairy with too much free time in the crackhead hours of the morning — throwing coins on snacks she hadn't asked for.

He had brought strawberry pocky the first day (what he would call an abomination in a box), Hello Panda's the next, and today? Banana milk — in this obnoxiously bright yellow carton, with the straw poked in. He called it a "romantic gesture".

Y/N stared at the carton on her desk, the happy face of the banana staring right back into her soul. Her brows had furrowed as Jaemin plopped himself into the seat beside her with his usual beaming aura.

"You're welcome," he said with a grin, chin propped up on his hand as he watched her with hearts in his eyes.

"I don't remember saying thank you," she replied blandly, but her fingers still curled around the carton like a stress ball.

Jaemin tilted his head, nodding in agreement, "I know, but you did drink the last two, so... it seems like you do appreciate the gifts, or me. Or both."

"And it seems like," she echoed with a deadpanned expression, "you're annoying. Unsurprisingly."

"Are you waiting for some kind of an applause?" she continued when he didn't make a move to leave, taking another sip of the banana milk.

Jaemin shrugged, never taking his eyes off of her, even as other students around looked on in confusion, "Yes, actually. I deserve a standing ovation. I had brought you peace offerings three days in a row, that's equivalent to a committed relationship."

"You're clinically insane," she shakes her head, scanning over her notes.

"Clinically sexy, you mean," he corrected, wagging his brows, his voice exaggerated loudly.

She let out a long, exhausted sigh that sounded like it came from the pits of her stomach, the kind of sigh only Jaemin could evoke. However, silence had then settled between them again. This time, it was peaceful.

For once, Jaemin wasn't rambling silly little lines, openly flirting with her, or laughing gratingly loud. Instead, he was sitting there, occasionally stealing glances at her while she pretended not to notice. Then, out of nowhere, the words that had left Jaemin's lips gave her whiplash, paired with how casually he had said them.

"Wanna hang out this weekend?"

Y/N's pen slid across the page in shock, her head turning slowly, and suspiciously, like he had just asked her to help him bury a body, "Hang out?"

Jaemin shrugged, "Just thought we could do something, you know, outside of science experiments and this God-forsaken building."

She stared at him blankly for a moment longer before replying, "I'm busy."

"You don't even know what day I meant," Jaemin pouted, throwing rubber shavings her way, playfully.

"I'm busy that day too."

Jaemin smiled, unfazed, "Just know, I'm persistent."

"You mean annoying," she corrected.

He laughed under his breath, leaning back in his seat. "You'll say yes eventually."

"Not likely."

"We'll see."

She did end up saying yes.

When Friday afternoon came rolling in, and he caught up to her outside the school gates with another (peace offering) drink in hand, a grape-flavoured juice, he sent her a hopeful look with his lashes fluttering like the princess he claimed he was.

The weather carried a gentle breeze as the sun formed a subtle halo over the brunette male, making him appear even more angelic than he already was. His dark eyes were softer under the afternoon glow, and his smile felt like spring. Y/N didn't know why things were suddenly changing. Why her thoughts were becoming brighter and warmer in his presence. It was like he had merged into her life as though he had always belonged there, and she couldn't help but to give in.

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. One hour."

Jaemin blinked, surprise etching into his features, "Wait- what?"

"I'll hang out with you," she clarified, crossing her arms and looking off to the side as if she were an older sibling giving into the younger's request, "For an hour. And I'm not doing anything cheesy. If you take me anywhere with fairy lights or those photo booths, I will walk into on-coming traffic."

Jaemin burst into a fit of laughter, barely containing the smile stretching across his face, "You're the one who said yes."

"God," she grumbled, turning to walk ahead, not even waiting for him, "I'm already regretting this."

"No take backs!" He chirped as he caught up to her, grinning like he had won the lottery, "You'll regret it a lot less once you see what I had planned."

She stopped in her tracks, head snapping to him in shock. Not once had she hinted in agreeing to hang out with him, and yet, he had still put in the effort to plan something that wasn't guaranteed. Just because he wanted to make it something special.

"You planned it already?" She asked, eyeing him suspiciously, "And why does that sound like a threat?"

"It's not! It's a promise," he beamed, "And of course I planned it. I knew you were going to agree. I mean, how could you say no to this face?"

He cupped his cheeks and batted his lashes at her. Usually, this would have been something that would instantly make her cringe yet, this time, it was so... Jaemin. So silly and adorably him. It gave her this sense of ease, as though it was alright for her to be just as silly, just as out there as he was. Despite what others may think.

However, Y/N gave him a long, stern look, unimpressed, "You are dangerously close to being punched in the throat."

Jaemin gasped, holding his arms up in defence, "Violence on our first date?"

"It is not a date," she said instantly, her voice a slight screech, feigning a scowl. Her heart was thumping erratically. A date? It was only a month ago when Jaemin had asked to be friends, but the spring-happy leprechaun wouldn't settle on just friends. Not with her.

"Sure it's not," he replied sarcastically, bumping his shoulder into hers. He watched as her teeth bit into the straw of the grape juice, lips puckering as she took a sip. God, he really was down bad.

"So, where exactly are we going?" she asked, interrupting his far from innocent thoughts.

Jaemin's smile twitched, internally cursing himself for getting carried away like that, "Somewhere where you can't walk into traffic."

She groaned, "Great. I can't escape by death."

Jaemin grinned, tugging at her sleeve lightly, "Nah, you're gonna fall."

"Fall?"

"For me," he replied smugly, wiggling his brows.

She stared at him long enough to make him shift slightly. He should have known corny, cheesy, unoriginal pick-up lines would never work on her, "…I changed my mind. Half an hour."

"I bet you're already falling for me," He continued to tease, gently poking at her sides and snickering at her annoyed expression.

"Keep talking and it'll be ten minutes."

He shut his mouth immediately, but the grin on his face didn't fade for even a second. Of course it wouldn't.

He had led her further down the quiet streets just beyond the school, the buzz of the busy roads echoing behind them. Suddenly, he turned into a narrow, sketchy pathway covered by dark walls and patched up windows.

"Okay, where the hell are we going?"

"You'll see, just trust me," Jaemin chirped, hopping over a puddle with the appearance of someone who probably believed in elves and the tooth fairy.

Y/N eyed the side of his face, as if analysing him, "You're like a golden retriever, and I don't mean that in a good way," she said, her tone dry, "Do you have this much energy even when you're in bed?"

Jaemin didn't miss a second, his lips curling into a smirk, "Depends who's in bed with me."

Y/N blinked, nearly choking on the last bit of juice, "You're disgusting."

"What?" he asked innocently, raising both hands in mock surrender, "You asked."

"And shameless," she muttered.

"And you're blushing," he shot back smugly.

She turned away quickly, muttering curses under her breath. The worst part was that he wasn't wrong… she was blushing.

However, when the path opened up to a skatepark, she was about to turn and walk in the opposite direction, until she saw a building to the right.

It was a planetarium, nestled at the far end of the park, hidden behind torn fences and overgrown trees, clearly abandoned. The soft, spring breeze weaved through the cracked windows and rustling dead leaves across the ground, making her anxious. It was silent, apart from the sharp creak of the iron gate as Jaemin kicked it open dramatically, letting her enter first.

"You're trespassing...," Y/N said nervously, yet still stepped past the gate.

"We are," Jaemin corrected, grinning as he didn't bother to shut the gate behind them, "You agreed to this, remember?"

She rolled her eyes, "I was coerced by grape juice."

Inside the planetarium was dark, where glimpses of sunlight flickered through the cracks of the walls. The air was coated in dust and old wood, the scent sharp in her throat — particles floated just like the glimmer of stars on the ceiling. The projector had sat in the centre, the lens still intact despite it rusting and coated in crumbling leaves and spider webs. But there was something almost... magical about this place, as though it carried many stories — a history.

"I used to come here a lot as a child," Jaemin said, his voice softer now, with a hint of nostalgia, "My dad used to work nearby, and he would take me after school sometimes. I mean... I loved the stars, it always intrigued me. I would just lie down right here and pretend they were real."

He lays down right in the middle of the dome, a softer, more pained smile gracing his lips as he saw the now faded stars that didn't seem to hold the same wonder it used to, "There was something so..."

"Magical," she voiced out her earlier thoughts, hesitantly laying down next to him.

He glanced over to see her looking up at the dimmed ceiling, the setting sun catching across her soft, pretty features, illuminating the curve of her cheekbone and the plushness of her lips. She looked oddly beautiful here, even in this run-down, shabby space. It was like she brought that same wonder back with just her presence alone.

"So this was your idea of a perfect date?" she asked finally, but her voice was gentle, tugging at his heartstrings.

"It's peaceful and there are no fairy lights in sight," he teased, "Besides, you'll ruin my date rating if you start judging my choices."

They lay in silence for a while, staring up at a ceiling that once reflected galaxies. Now, the real stars peeked through the gaps as the sun had finally set, fragmented and imperfect, fitting in like puzzle pieces against the fabricated lights.

"You asked me before if I ever stop smiling," Jaemin says, quietly, his eyes locked on the ceiling. He lies still under the watching gaze of the fading stars, "Just... when no one is around."

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a bitter laugh, not reaching the crinkles of his eyes, "I think somewhere along the line, I decided that being the overly positive guy was who I was meant to be. If I kept people distracted by this- this image, no one would look close enough to see all the fragmented pieces. I wouldn't be a burden to others."

Y/N said nothing, biting her bottom lip.

"Sometimes it feels like… if I were to drop this act, people wouldn't know what to do with me," He turns his head slightly towards her, letting out a dry chuckle, "That I would be a handful. I'd come with all the baggage that overwhelms them."

Y/N felt her eyes glaze with tears, the brittle air pressing against her chest that made it feel almost suffocating. She hated how much she related to those words alone.

She shifts slightly on the cold floor, trying to make her voice sound neutral, "That sounds exhausting."

"I guess it is," Jaemin admits.

"I do understand, though," she responds, glancing at him, "With keeping up that image."

Her voice doesn't waver, but it had always been hard for her to be vulnerable as she never had the chance to with her own family, "It's weird. One day, conversation is easy, people are approachable and..."

He listens, his brows furrowing in focus.

"Being strong for everyone else meant having to lose a part of myself," She exhales shakily, her nails digging crescents into her palms, "And after a while, I stopped feeling like me. Now, it's like I'm just a shell and pushing people away is easier. You don't get hurt again."

Jaemin's fingers inch closer to her, his knuckles brushing along her hand and, when her pinky hooks around his, he can't help but to smile softly.

"Even so... I don't hate being around people," she whispers, "I don't hate being around you."

He feels his heart skip a beat and his eyes widen slightly when her soft gaze meets his. It was like he got a glimpse into the warmth beneath the grumbling girl, the gentle side of her that hid behind the protective wall. Her usual glaring, intense gaze was now soft and sweet, pupils big as they reflected the starry sky in them, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

Jaemin quickly snaps his head away, bringing a hand over his mouth, hiding his flustered smile, "This is dangerous," he mumbles to himself. Every moment he spent with her was making it harder for him to be normal, not with his body getting hot, and her pretty eyes that watched him curiously.

"What's dangerous?" She asks, confused.

"You, Y/N," he breathes, meeting her gaze again, "you don't understand just how gorgeous you are, how you look at me like that and... the fact that you really are someone so warm and funny and smart. And there is so much more to you that I-"

He chuckled nervously, interlocking his hand with hers more boldly, "I love that you're different. That you trusted me enough to share a piece of yourself. I also want to be someone who would take away all the burdens you've been carrying. To help fill your cup with you, because you're perfect to me, and I want you to see that too."

"But why? You barely know me," she asked quietly.

"Because it's you. But also... do we even need a reason? I just want to."

Her heart beats loud in her ears and tears finally fall, startling Jaemin as he began to panic, worried he may have overstepped in some way. However, it felt like those were words she needed to hear, even if it were just scratching the surface of understanding her, and her understanding him. It felt like she had finally met someone who could. Who would try.

"Jaemin," she calls out to him, and he blinks in response just as she leans in before she could think. Before she could stop herself.

Y/N's lips press to his softly. It was hesitant and shy, but it felt right. Slowly, her fingers cup his jaw and Jaemin pauses. He had waited for this moment, waited for when he could finally get through the protective wall she built around herself. She pulls away and he immediately pulls her back in.

When her lips meet his again, it's messier, with her running her fingers through his hair, parting her lips to mould with his. He feels the urgency in her hands, and he lets out a quiet groan when she climbs onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, yet never breaking the kiss.

Jaemin's palms settle at her waist, rubbing slow circles on her skin. He tries to control the pace, kissing her back slower, patiently, as he pulls away to catch his breath, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Let me-" his voice is breathy and hoarse; chest heaving, "Let me take my time with you, Y/N. Please."

When her eyes search his, he continues with a softer tone, "You deserve as much."

She leans forward again, kissing him slow.

His hands curl over the back of her neck, the other still cupping her waist, pulling her in a little closer. It feels different this time, gentle and tender. Their mouths move quietly under the witness of the stars, like they're both trying to memorise what the other feels like.

Jaemin sighs softly against her lips when she subtly grinds against him, and he rests his forehead against hers.

"You don't have to rush anything with me, Y/N," he murmurs, "I'm not going anywhere."

"But I want this," she bites her lip, looking down at him. And that's all it takes for him to want to give in and give her everything she wants.

Jaemin's lips trail to her jaw, then down her neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses that make her heart flutter wildly. She whispers his name and he flips their positions so that she was under him now. His body hovers just above hers, brushing strands of her hair from her face.

He kisses her again, slowly at first, but the kiss deepens with each second. His hands slip beneath her soft jumper, fingers tracing along her waist and brushing just under the curve of her breast.

She arches into his touch when he cups her bra-clad breast, thumb swiping over her nipple. Her skin was warm and soft, paired with her sweet gasps, and he couldn't hold back any longer, pushing the jumper off of her.

"How could someone be so beautiful," he breathes out, his soft eyes delicately tracing over her frame as the subtle light of the moon hugged her skin. Her cheeks were flushed at the way he looked at her and, before she could feel any more shy, he connected his lips with hers again; tongue tracing the seam whilst his hands slipped under the lace, massaging her supple mounds.

Y/N tugged at his own hoodie, whining softly against his lips, to which he chuckled, sitting back to pull it off of him, not forgetting to place the clothing under her when he realised she was laying on the icy marble floor. Her cold, slender fingers cupped his jaw, trailing down his chest. It all felt unreal to the both of them; this moment under the stars. It was as though, under the moonlight, was her world. A glimpse into her inner warmth.

Soon, her jeans followed, his warm breath fanning against her inner thighs as his lips ghosted over the skin. He pressed gentle kisses slowly up, thumb finally grazing over her clothed clit which elicited a quiet moan from her. The moment he tugged her panties to the side, she knew what was coming and immediately gripped onto his hair in anticipation.

Jaemin's tongue licked a thick stripe up her folds and she shuddered. But he didn't stop there, picking up the pace. His humming against her had her cheeks flush. His warm breath and tongue guided her down the path towards ecstasy, hands pinning her thighs against his sprawled out hoodie. Each tug at the locks of his hair and the soft whines that left her lips, had Jaemin's control slip further, subtly grinding against the floor to find some sort of friction.

Y/N couldn't take it any more. Not his wet tongue that elicited lewd sounds from her lips, creating an erotic melody that layered with his eager licks and groans, paired with the squelching sounds as he finally pushed his fingers into her. Her eyes blurred as she stared at the stars, glimmering as he brought her to the edge. His fingers curled perfectly inside her, pressing against a bundle that made the thread snap, finally coming and coating his fingers with her release.

The sound he made when she shuddered beneath him; eyes rolling back, was so pretty, so guttural, she swore she could have come again right there and then.

"You're perfect, baby," he kissed the inside of her thigh before crawling up her writhing body, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, "We don't have to go all the way tonight, if you don't want to."

Immediately, she shook her head, pulling him in for a lazy kiss, "Jaemin... I want to. I'm sure."

He swore he felt his cock twitch at that, but he shook it off, sitting back on the heels of his feet as he unbuttoned his jeans, kicking it off along with his boxers. But he cursed at himself when the realisation dawned on him, "I-I'm sorry, baby. I don't have a condom. I mean... I wasn't really expecting anything to come out of tonight." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, though she almost didn't hear him, too entranced by the size of him, needing to shake herself out of it.

"If you're okay with not using one, I'm okay with it too," she said without hesitation, "I'm on the pill and... Well, I can get the morning after-" His soft chuckle had cut her words short, "You want me that bad, huh? Aren't you the same woman who was so eager to get rid of me earlier?"

Y/N grumbles under her breath, "Just shut up. Are you going to sleep with me or what? It's getting cold."

Jaemin shakes his head in amusement, hovering over her. The way he looks at her has her heart race; the affection that he doesn't bother to hide, the way his eyes are constantly flicking over her features as if etching them into memory, and the way he isn't quick with claiming her, always making sure she's okay and giving her time to back out. Slowly, she reaches up, cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

"Fuck... do you know what you do to me?" He breathes out, nuzzling into her touch and placing a kiss to the inside of her hand.

Then, he slides his member through her folds, pushing into her inch by inch, pausing every time her brows furrow even slightly. Even when it was torturous for him, he put her first, waiting until the corners of her lips relaxed, and the space between her brows didn't crease.

Finally, when he was fully sheathed inside, and she had relaxed around him, he started to move, picking up the pace a little at a time, her sounds playing as the guide. She was perfect, fitting around him like a glove, wrapping her legs over his hips, rocking into him to feel him deeper, as if he wasn't close enough for her.

Jaemin rested his forehead against hers, his groans synchronised with her pretty moans, "God..." he breathed out, letting his hand cup her waist, fingers pressed into her dewy skin as he grinded into her.

Y/N grabbed onto whatever she could, moving to nestle into his neck, her warm breath and plush lips brushing over his pulse point, "Y-yes, Jaemin...," her nails dug into his back, toes curling at every rock of his hips, every push of his dick into her, had the stars on the ceiling feel brighter and all-consuming, "F-fuck."

Jaemin couldn't handle it, couldn't prolong her release any longer. He grabbed onto her thighs, pushing them out and up to angle his thrusts better. Then, he grabbed onto her wrists, pulling them towards him, sitting back on the balls of his feet as he picked up the pace, the sounds of skin slapping against skin was so dirty under the witness of the gleaming moonlight.

Her head rolled back, mouth agape as deep, throaty sounds escaped her. The moment she began to shudder, he knew he had made her come a second time, his own release following right after.

Jaemin collapsed on top of her, his large frame burying her in warmth as she let out a lazy giggle, snuggling into him, "That was..."

"Amazing? I know."

She smacked his shoulder playfully, "You're so cocky. For all you know, I could have been about to say that it was mediocre, or abysmal, or-"

"Or the hottest thing ever," Jaemin pressed a kiss under her jaw, rolling off of her to grab the sleeve of his hoodie that still nestled under her figure, wiping away at the inside of her thighs.

Just then, a flashlight peeked through the hallway just outside the door. Immediately, the pair glanced at each other, Jaemin muttered a loud 'shit', before quickly slipping on his boxers and jeans, and she chucked his hoodie at him, throwing her own clothes back on — barely.

"We gotta go, now," Jaemin grabbed at her wrist before she could put her jeans and shoes on, darting out the back just as the security guard opened the door, yelling a 'who's there?'

As soon as they made it out of the planetarium and into the chilly night air, out of breath and barely able to stand up straight, Jaemin and Y/N let out a chuckle that sounded more like relief, finally bursting into a fit of laughter, barely able to keep their balance. She used that time to slip on her jeans and shoes, elbowing Jaemin, "We almost got arrested. You sure this is still a good date spot?"

Jaemin raised an amused brow at her, catching his breath after laughing, shrugging, "I just bagged the most perfect, smartest, and most unattainable woman in there. I'd say it's the date spot."

Y/N rolled her eyes, interlocking her fingers with his as she led him back onto the main street, "You better not bring anyone but me."

Jaemin stopped in his tracks, turning her around to face him as he held onto both of her hands, his face serious, "Of course. It's only ever been you, Y/N. I know we've only been on just one date and I know I get on your nerves, and that I barely carried any weight on that science project," he let out an embarrassed chuckle, "But I want to be your boyfriend, if you'll let me. Just know that I'll spoil you like crazy, because we both know that I'm the one who is down bad, who is so madly in love I can't think straight in your presence. I know it's only been a short while, but sometimes it just clicks and it clicked with you, Y/N. It clicked perfectly."

She couldn't stifle a wide smile, her eyes glazing over as she nodded eagerly, squeezing his hands tightly, "I can't say it's love just yet I... I need time, but I do like you, a lot and, I want to give us a try. I'll let you be my boyfriend."

Jaemin didn't realise he was holding his breath, letting out a sigh of relief, "I'm not expecting you to feel anything more than that, Y/N. That's more than enough for me, more than I can ask for or feel worthy of."

She tutted at him, sending him a playfully annoyed expression, "You're worthy of a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Jaemin."

6 months later...

"Haechan, don't be a brat, I told you to put the candles on the candle holders before placing them on the cake," Y/N scowled at the male, who only shrugged in response.

"You really don't need candle holders for this, he'll blow the candles out in like... two seconds. No wax will drip on the cake," He swiped his finger over the frosting, licking it off which had her smack his shoulder.

Renjun let out a frustrated sigh at their usual bickering, shoving Haechan to the side and placing the candles on the toppers, "Stop being difficult, Haechan. This isn't your event."

Haechan grumbled, crossing his arms as he leant against the fridge, "You guys need to get a DNA test, it's crazy how similar you both are."

Chenle, who was still wearing sunglasses indoors, peers up from his phone after watching the tracking map, seeing Jaemin's icon pulling up to the apartment, "Guys, he's almost here, stop fighting."

Y/N quickly scrambles to grab the cake, causing Renjun to whine, "Careful, this will all go to waste if you drop it!"

She sticks her tongue out at him, slipping the cake into her hands as she moves to stand in front of the door, "Okay, as soon as you hear the elevator, light the candles. Don't mess this up!"

Haechan grabs the lighter from the counter, standing next to her as he angles it just above the first candle, "Yes, ma'am. Wouldn't want the leader of the underworld to beat my ass."

She sends him a glare, kicking his leg which causes him to yelp, "I am not Hades!"

"Well, Hades would have kicked my leg too!"

"Because you deserved it!"

Chenle, who was now standing in front of the door, jumps in surprise when he hears the elevator ding, "Guys, shut up, he's here!"

Haechan, about to clap back at her, quickly lights the candles, struggling with the last one until it finally burns a flame into the thread just in time for the front door to open. Renjun could have sworn he almost had a heart attack from the way their whole surprise could have gone bust.

As soon as Jaemin steps inside, the quartet broke into song, singing happy birthday to the male who never would have expected a surprise from the people who meant the most to him. A smile tugged at his lips, his toothy grin wide as he finally met the gaze of the most beautiful woman in his eyes. He knew it was her idea, that she brought them here for him, even though it had taken a while for them to all grow close.

When the song ends, Jaemin's eyes flutter closed to make his wish, blowing out the candles, causing everyone to cheer. Haechan ruffles Jaemin's hair, Chenle claps his back, and Renjun gives him a curt nod and birthday wishes, taking the cake from Y/N's hands before the three of them move to the living room, preparing to hand him the presents.

Jaemin doesn't stop smiling at her, pulling her into a tight hug, his nose nestling into her hair, "Thank you for organising all of this, Y/N... It means the world."

She chuckles, "Of course, I knew how much it would mean to you. I'm just surprised I could get everything ready in time, knowing how easily the four of us bicker."

Jaemin chuckled, pulling back to meet her gaze, "Am I the luckiest man ever? I think I am."

She snorts, rolling her eyes, "You're so annoying. This is why I love you."

Jaemin paused, his eyes widening slightly as the words finally registered, "You..."

When she realised why he had been shocked, she shakes her head in amusement, pulling him in for a sweet kiss, nipping at his bottom lip as she pulled back, "I love you, Jaemin. I was just waiting for the right time to say it."

The three men hollered from the living room, but Jaemin let those sounds drown out, cupping her cheeks with the palms of his hands as he pulled her back in for another kiss, parting his lips against hers, tugging at the plush skin as he smiled into her mouth, "I love you too, Y/N."

© hyckstarz

[taeeflwrr]

jenooooo

No Pain, No Gain — ljn

pairing. gym-rat!jeno x aider!reader genre. fluff, (kinda)friends-to-lovers, a dash of hurt/comfort, slice-of-life wc. 4.3k summary. Jeno’s well aware that he looks like an idiot in front of you, but what else could he do when just the sight of you makes him feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush?; or in which, Jeno’s been coming to your office with the tiniest of scratches just so he has an excuse to see you warnings. mentions of minor injuries (fake & real) and some bleeding (nothing super detailed but it’s still there), I sorta wrote this as if it were like a sitcom, cliche scenario an. clearing my wips! yet another fic set in the most random place u can possibly think of and it’s bc I (unhealthily) romanticize everything (×-×)—I started writing this during my gym rat (mouse?) era in 2023 but never finished it til now oops dk if its any good,,, enjoy!!

“I can’t move my thumb.”

You use your finger to smooth down the sports tape over its first layer, gently grabbing the younger boy’s wrist to inspect your work, “That’s the point, Chenle.” 

“How am I supposed to play basketball with this,” Chenle pouts, bringing his taped thumb and wrist to show you as if you weren’t the one who just did it. His posture grows worse at the realization of his small injury and now he’s slumped on the bed. 

You sigh and repeat yourself, “That’s the point. You need to rest it or else you can get an injury worse than this. I recommend maybe a week? But I’m not a doctor.” 

You start cleaning your station up, fully expecting Chenle to understand and leave. But instead, he remains seated on the medical table, pouting. You know he’s trying to get you to change your mind, but seeing that he reported his wrist feeling tight and stiff, you know that it’s sprained and playing with it could make things worse.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority’, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

—

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!” Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can’t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Yeah, yeah… I promise.” 

[taeeflwrr]

when it's jst getting better and then i catch myself listening to child by mark on repeat again

[taeeflwrr]

CREAM PUFFS AND OTHER CONFESSIONS

it starts with a cream puff, a hoodie that isn’t yours, and a silence that feels suspiciously like something unspoken. haechan does everything a boyfriend would do—except ask.

pairing lee haechan x fem!reader genre fluff, friends to lovers au but not really, comedy warnings one death joke, cute miscommunication word count 1.5k notes clearing out my draftsss i think i wrote this in... march? lolz happy reading! ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა

THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF SILENCES BETWEEN YOU AND HAECHAN.

the first kind is easy—almost like second nature. it slips in during walks home after class, when your bodies sway in quiet rhythm and your shoulders brush as if your bones remember each other.

that silence has a soundtrack, soft laughter, the scuff of your sneakers, the muffled hum of the shared earbud he always gives you the left side of. you never have to ask. he just hands it to you like it belongs to you more than it does to him.

the second kind of silence is this one. the kind you’re in now.

it crept in sometime between the walk from your last class and the stoplight near your dorm building. it’s not loud, but it’s sharp. you hear it in the way he talks to you—still sweet, still teasing—but you can’t unhear the question blooming underneath your ribs. you can’t ignore the ache that’s been growing roots inside you for weeks.

you’ve run out of excuses to try and keep it in.

he’s walking beside you, holding a box of cream puffs he insisted on buying, even though he didn’t have enough hands to carry everything else. he gave you his sweater to wear—again—and wordlessly balanced your books in the crook of his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. it always is, with him. that’s the problem.

“haech—,” you stop, clearing your throating before trying again. quieter now. “haechan.”

he glances sideways, a smile already tugging at his mouth like it’s on autopilot. “yeah?”

your fingers twitch inside the sleeves of his sweater. it smells like his cologne—cedarwood and jasmine—with a faint trace of detergent. you don’t want to ask this here, not in the middle of the sidewalk, not with your heart stretched so thin. but it’s been waiting for far too long.

“what are we?”

he slows to a stop, the wind pulling at his hair. his brow furrows slightly—not in confusion, but in a sort of gentle, cautious surprise.

“...what do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head.

you lift your chin, trying to be brave. “i mean… you do all these things. you take care of me. you wait for me after class. you give me your sweaters even when you’re cold too. you tie my shoelaces for me. you—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, heart racing. “you kiss my hands like they’re made of glass, hyuck.”

he’s quiet, eyes searching yours.

you look down. the words are slipping now, loose and frantic. “but you’ve never asked me to be your girlfriend. not even once. so i… i don’t know what this is. i don’t know if i’m just someone you’re being sweet to or if i’ve been reading too much into everything, or—”

“wait.” he steps in, gently but firmly. his voice isn’t shocked—just… surprised. “hold on. you’re not?”

your heart stutters. “not what?”

he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath in a way that makes it clear that he’s just realised something ridiculous and painfully obvious at the same time. “i thought we were already dating.”

the world stills.

your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“i thought we were… together,” he says, wide-eyed and sincere in a way that makes you want to cry. “i mean... i told you i liked you. i thought that counted.”

“that was months ago!” you exclaim, stunned.

“exactly! so haven’t we been dating for months now?”

you gape at him.

“haechan,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to explain algebra to a potted plant, “you never asked.”

he blinks, his expression genuinely, hilariously baffled. “i didn’t think i needed to! i thought we were—i mean—come on.”

he shifts the cream puff box in one arm and gestures between the two of you with the other, like that alone should explain everything. a little blob of custard escapes and lands on his hoodie sleeve. he doesn’t notice.

“what do you mean, come on?” you demand, even though it’s getting harder and harder to stay upset when he’s looking at you like a golden retriever who just realised he’s been sitting on the wrong side of the door this whole time. “you never said anything! no ‘do you wanna be my girlfriend,’ no ‘hey! let’s make this official,’ no nothing! i thought we were in a romantic grey area!”

“grey area?” he repeats, scandalised. “baby, i’ve been carrying your bag, tying your shoelaces, and memorising your coffee order with alarming accuracy. i’ve given you, like, three of my best sweaters. i met your friends—who, by the way, are even louder than i am. does that scream grey area to you?!”

you’re trying to hold onto your indignation. truly, you are. but his voice is climbing in pitch and he’s gesturing with so much intensity that the cream puff box wobbles dangerously again. you eye it nervously.

“you also once gave me a banana peel and said, ‘for composting your feelings.’”

“a romantic gesture!”

“you tripped me with it after.”

“in a flirtatious way!”

you snort. and that’s it. the last of your frustration peels away like old wallpaper. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous. but the thing is—he means it. every chaotic, confused, sugar-coated sentence spilling out of his mouth is the most haechan way of saying—i thought you were mine this whole time.

he exhales, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake the dust off his brain. “i told you i liked you, like, multiple times! remember our dumpling date two months ago? the one where you tried to steal my last piece? i said, ‘you can’t steal my food unless you’re my girlfriend,’ and then you took it anyway, and i thought, ‘wow. she wants me.’ that was, like, the beginning of our love story.”

you gape at him, again. “you thought confessing was the end?”

he frowns, squinting. “isn’t that how everyone does it?”

you give him a look.

haechan scratches the back of his neck, the box of cream puffs still dangling from one arm like it’s an afterthought. “okay, maybe my dating perspective is... flawed. but i really thought it was clear! i mean, i’ve been calling you my girl in my head for months.”

“haechan,” you deadpan, “your head doesn’t count as public record.”

he lets out a dramatic sigh, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide, but it’s a lost cause. the grin’s already blooming, like something inevitable. he’s just too cute.

“you seriously thought we were dating this whole time?”

“yes!” he says, flinging his free hand out so emphatically that the box wobbles again. “i was so sure of it.”

you cross your arms—not because you’re mad or confused anymore, but because it’s fun to watch him squirm. “okay. so what would’ve happened if i started dating someone else during this time?”

he stares at you, horrified, like you just told him gravity is optional now. “i would’ve recorded me killing myself and sent it to that someone else.”

you laugh so hard and suddenly that it startles a pigeon nearby, to which haechan grins, triumphant.

“there she is,” he murmurs. “my girl.”

the words hit you sideways. soft. certain. said like they’ve always been true.

you exhale, watching the mist of your breath curl into the cold air between you.

“okay,” you say quietly. “but… i still would’ve liked if you asked.”

he nods, the weight of that finally settling into his shoulders. “yeah. you’re right. i should’ve made it clear. should’ve done the whole thing. flowers, playlist, dumb question with even dumber handwriting.”

a pause.

“can i ask now?”

you glance at him, feigning skepticism. “you’re going to ask me out officially with custard on your sleeve?”

he looks down and shrugs. “you’ve seen worse.”

you consider this. “yeah, okay.”

he shifts his grip so he’s holding everything in one arm now, freeing up his hand. it’s a little clumsy, the angle’s awkward, but he still reaches for your wrist, gently turning your hand over to press a warm kiss to your palm. the same way he always does. like it’s a promise he doesn’t know how not to keep.

then he looks up at you, gaze steady. “please be my girlfriend.”

the world doesn’t go still—not like in the movies. a dog barks in the distance. someone shouts about being locked out of their dorm. a bike bell rings.

but here, with him, it’s quiet in the good way again.

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin.

then you reach for the box of cream puffs, pluck one out, and hold it up between you. “okay, boyfriend.”

he beams.

you each take a bite from opposite ends of the pastry at the same time, like it’s some sugar-dusted peace treaty. there’s custard on your lip and powdered sugar on his nose—and somehow, that feels exactly right.

and as he threads his fingers through yours—still sticky, still warm—you realise maybe you were never in a grey area to begin with.

just... a really weirdly drawn, very haechan-shaped heart.

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe

[taeeflwrr]

AS IF YOU STILL HOLD ME

there are a thousand quiet ways to hold on to someone. sometimes, it sounds like eggs sizzling in the morning. other times, it’s a ghost brushing their fingers along a jawline just before the tear falls—still loving in all the ways they no longer can.

pairing lee haechan x fem ghost!reader genre angst, fluff if you squint really really hard, hurt/comfort, ghost au!!! warnings grief, mentions of afterlife word count 961 notes this was originally sions fic but i decided to give it to hyuck instead because...... ill be going on a mini hiatus (BOOOOOO) so my goodbye piece Has to be for the loml right... question mark... looks around...

there is a quiet kind of beauty in being unseen. you learn to watch without interrupting, to love without expectation, to linger in moments that would otherwise pass unnoticed.

that is how you remain now—caught somewhere between memory and presence, tracing the outline of a life that used to intertwine with yours. a life you loved more than your own.

haechan still sings when he thinks no one can hear him.

his voice is perfect—soft around the edges, always pitch perfect even when he’s distracted. that morning, like so many others, you watched him shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, hair flattened on one side. he yawned as he reached for the pan, humming a song he must’ve heard on the radio the day before. he sang as he cracked eggs, danced a little in place while the bread toasted, tapping his foot against the cool kitchen tile.

you remembered mornings like these—only then, you’d be there in the doorway, wearing his oversized shirt and watching him fumble around half-asleep. he used to say you made the morning warmer. now you try to believe he doesn’t feel the cold.

he paused mid-song to glance at the clock, eyes widening as he muttered out a small curse. you followed him through the apartment as he darted back and forth, grabbing his glasses, his phone, then discarding his outfit for another.

he held up two jackets in front of the mirror, trying to decide between the casual black leather or the brown blazer he always wore for special occasions.

“you look good in both,” you said, out of habit.

of course, he didn’t hear you.

eventually, he settled on the blazer, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeves. his hand paused at his collar, fingers tracing the moles across his neck up along his face. he frowned.

the constellations scattered across his skin had always fascinated you—tiny stars forming secret shapes you once pretended only you could decipher. you remembered pressing your lips to them like sacred markers, whispering their meanings against his skin.

he tugged the collar higher.

he left the apartment in a rush, nearly tripping over the doormat. you couldn’t help but smile as he glanced around, playing it cool like always. no one saw.

except you.

the girl he met at the cafe was kind. pretty, with an easy smile and the sort of laugh that bubbled up from her chest. she complimented his outfit. he made a joke about mark always setting him up with people who liked coffee. she laughed again.

you hovered nearby, fingers twitching with the urge to fix the flyaway curl on his head, to lean on the table and join the conversation.

instead, you just watched as he tried—tried to be present, tried to enjoy the moment. but his smile never fully settled. he picked at the corner of his napkin, looked past her shoulder once too often. he nodded when she spoke, but his eyes drifted somewhere else.

you knew that look.

he used to wear it when he was lost in thought, usually about music or dinner or whether the cat in the neighbourhood had eaten that day. now it was a mask, barely hiding the ache beneath.

afterward, he walked her to the bus stop, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. he said goodbye with a polite smile, thanked her for her time, and waited until her bus left.

then he turned left instead of right.

you followed him, your heart heavy with familiarity.

he walked slowly, one hand brushing against the leaves as he passed. the sky above had softened into the hues of early evening—pale gold tinged with lavender. the light always looked gentler at this hour, like the world, too, had learned how to grieve quietly.

he reached the hill where the cemetery rested, tucked between old trees and wild grass. he stepped carefully, as if afraid to disturb the silence.

his breath caught when he saw the stone. your chest tightened.

your name. still etched there. still real.

he knelt, setting down a small bundle of tulips. yellow—your favourite. he adjusted them with care, fingers lingering longer than necessary. his eyes were glassy.

“i went on that date today,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “mark kept saying how it’d be good for me. you would’ve teased me for being nervous, though.”

he let out a soft chuckle—one that broke halfway—then clasped his hands together tightly in his lap. the wind rustled through the grass. your presence, quiet as always, moved closer.

“i miss you,” he whispered.

you reached out, trembling, forgetting for a moment that you don’t exist in the same way anymore. your hand hovered near his cheek, and then—maybe it was the wind, maybe it was more—he leaned into it.

just slightly.

he closed his eyes.

a single tear slid down his face. he didn’t wipe it away.

he stayed a while longer, talking to you about nothing and everything, like he used to do on long walks home. you listened, grateful. you’d always listen.

as the sky deepened, and the scent of his cologne lingered far too heavily in the air, he stood. he whispered goodbye, though he didn’t mean it. he never did.

and neither did you.

because love, when true, doesn’t end in silence or shadow. it lingers—in mumbled songs, in eggs and toast, in the yellow tulips left on a grave. in the ache behind a smile. in shared laughter with ghosts.

and when he dreams tonight, maybe—just maybe —you’ll find him there again, in that quiet space between sleep and memory, where time forgets to move and you can finally kiss away the sorrow from his eyes.

perm. taglist ♡ @dreaminabtrj @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun @sunghoonsgfreal @jaemcaffe @xikskrrrs 

[taeeflwrr]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄...𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 ❞

concerned sukuna x reader who doesn't wanna eat. ooc sukuna.

you noticed that you were eating a lot. anytime you felt even a little bit hungry, you ran to your beloved fridge. your time spent in the kitchen was probably more than your screen time.

it didn't really bother you until you stepped on the scale. you had gained a lot more weight than you thought you had. you recalled every single moment you stuffed your face with food, and you heart sank. and you were determined to loose weight.

though, your method was not approved by your boyfriend. you never told him how you felt and he didn't know that you wanted to start a diet. but he did notice that something was going on.

he loves your curves and every part of your body really, and the extra fat was a much appreciated bonus and it just made him go crazy. but your current eating habits were annoying him.

for one, whenever he gets food, he has to ask you twice if you want it. you end up saying no, but once it arrives you're eating his food together. as much as he expresses how much he finds it annoying, he can't bring himself to say no.

but now, you just outright say no and you mean it. he raised a brow at you, confused. "are you sure about that? you really don't wanna try this delicious hotdog, hmmm...", you only stare at him and shake your head no.

this continues on. everytime he offers you his food, you refuse. his heart clenches as he watches you. there's something that's not right. and especially when you barely eat half of your food and offer the rest to him. giving him the excuse "i'm not really that hungry", millions of thoughts are running through his mind. especially since you always finish what's on your plate and he offers more.

the final straw was when you had made dinner for the both of you when he was over at your place. you prepared food on his plate and on yours but your portion looked like the amount a five year old would eat.

"what's going on? are we rationing food now?", he asked not wanting to touch his food.

"no...but this is all i wanna eat now-"

"bullshit! you used to complained about small portions in restaurants and now you're doing this.", his brows furrow in concern and places his rough hand gently on yours. "if there's something wrong you can tell me"

you swallow thickly not wanting to meet his gaze. he only looks at you, waiting patiently for you to tell him what's wrong. you breathe out and open your mouth. "i've just been eating quite a lot lately...and i've gained quite a bit of weight so i'm going on a diet"

he's quiet for a moment and looks down. "starving yourself is not the answer", he responds and you look up. " i don't like seeing you like this. you haven't been yourself and it was killing me on the inside. i thought for a second you didn't love me anymore", he lets out a shaky chuckle and you look at him apologetically.

"i'm sorry i made you feel that way..."

"that's not the point. i will always love you just the way you are, even if you do gain a little weight. i don't love you because i love your body. i like your body because i love you", a wobbly smile is etched on your lips, your eyes getting teary.

he switches his plate with yours and takes a spoonful, placing it infront of your lips. "say ahhh"

you giggle and open your mouth as he feeds you. you're lucky to have such a caring boyfriend.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[taeeflwrr]

favorite toy

summary: you were the queen bee — untouchable, cruel, and stunning. everyone wanted you, but the only one you ever allowed close was jaemin: your most loyal worshipper, your obedient little dog. he wasn’t just obsessed, he was deranged — willing to bleed, kill, and fall to his knees if it meant earning your attention. but when a man dares to touch what’s yours, jaemin snaps, and what follows is blood, devotion, and a night you’ll never forget. because good boys get rewarded. and he’s been so good.

pairing: dom!reader x sub!jaemin

genre: smut, psychological thriller, yandere, dark romance, obsession, toxic relationship dynamics, power play. (MDI!!)

warnings: NSFW / explicit sexual content, dom x sub dynamic, heavy yandere themes (obsession, stalking, possessiveness), knife violence / murder (graphic), blood, gore, and physical assault, toxic & manipulative relationship, degradation, praise kink, pet play, power imbalance, public harassment (attempted assault — noncon implication), crying kink, orgasm control, overstimulation, psychological manipulation / unhinged behavior, mentions of body disposal / crime cover-up, use of slurs in a kink context, intense emotional dependency, minors DNI 🚫

wc: 4,60k

notes: hope you enjoy this one! i’m stepping a little out of my comfort zone with this genre (yandere), so please make sure to read the warnings before diving in 🔞

you were the kind of girl people didn't believe existed outside of teen movies — long legs, glossed lips, sharp eyes and sharper words. you walked through the hallways like you owned the floor beneath your heels, and in many ways, you did. teachers turned a blind eye when it was you. students stepped aside like trained dogs. the girls hated you, the boys obsessed over you, and you? you didn’t give a fuck. why would you? the world bent over backwards for you.

and when it didn’t? you had jaemin.

sweet, beautiful jaemin.

he wasn’t like the rest. he didn’t just want you — he worshipped you. he looked at you like you were hung in the sky by the hands of god himself. he didn’t care that people called you a bitch behind your back —and to your face—. to him, you were a queen, and he’d rather bleed out than let your crown tilt for even a second.

"jaemin!" you’d yell, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, annoyed at the tiniest inconvenience.

and he’d come running. like the loyal little mutt he was. obedient. desperate.

he didn’t just want to be near you. he wanted to be used by you. wanted your voice in his ears, your scent on his skin, your name carved into every part of him. there was no limit to how far he’d go for you. he wasn’t the type to offer his jacket over a puddle — no, jaemin would lay his whole fucking body across it, and smile when you stepped on him.

he loved you. too much. dangerously so.

you knew it. you saw it in the way his eyes followed you like a shadow. you felt it in the way his hands shook when you were too close. you heard it in the way he said your name — like a prayer, like a curse.

and you? you let him. you used him like your personal toy. because that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? he didn’t want your heart. he wanted your attention. your praise. your fingers. your voice. your spit.

so when he got your chemistry notes perfectly recopied and highlighted like you asked, what else could you do but reward him?

"good boy," you purred, pushing him down onto your bed, silk sheets rustling beneath him. you straddled him like a throne, nails dragging down the smooth skin of his chest. "you did exactly what i told you to. i’m almost impressed."

his lips parted, a soft whimper leaving them as he nodded, flushed and dazed. his hands were trembling where they held onto the bedsheets — not even touching you, not unless you let him. you made sure he learned that.

"say it," you demanded, rolling your hips slowly against his. "what are you?"

"y-your good boy," he breathed, eyes wide, glassy. "your toy. your—fuck—yours, y/n. only yours."

your smile was wicked. you leaned down, lips brushing his ear as your hand moved lower, over his stomach, teasing.

"that’s right. you’re nothing without me, jaemin. just a pretty face with no brain unless i tell you what to think." your fingers wrapped around him and he cried out, bucking up into your touch. "but when you’re good like this? when you behave for me? you get to feel good."

he was already close — of course he was. the pathetic way he moaned when you so much as touched him made it obvious. you barely had to try. a few strokes, a few praises, and he was sobbing for you.

"look at you," you cooed, watching his face twist in pleasure. "falling apart just because i said you did a good job. you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?"

"anything," he gasped. "please, please, y/n—"

"shhh," you silenced him with a hand to his throat, tightening just enough to make his eyes roll back. "be a good toy and cum when i say."

his body was trembling beneath you, muscles taut, trying so hard to hold back even when he was right there, teetering on the edge. he didn’t dare cum without your permission — he knew better. he’d learned that lesson already, the hard way. his mind was drowning in you, flooded with your scent, your voice, your touch. nothing else existed. he didn’t even wantanything else.

you were everything. every breath, every heartbeat, every thought. there was no “jaemin” without you.

“you’re so easy to break,” you whispered, dragging your nails down his chest just hard enough to leave little red lines. “so easy to ruin. and yet… so fucking desperate to be mine.”

“i am yours,” he choked, hips twitching. “please—i need—y/n, please.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you need? and what makes you think you’re allowed to need anything?”

his eyes widened, lips parting like he’d just been caught stealing. you leaned closer, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, “you only get what i decide to give you. you only exist because i let you.”

“yes,” he whimpered, tears in his lashes. “yes, fuck—i’m sorry. i’m yours. only yours.”

you tightened your grip around his throat just a little more, watching the way he gasped, pupils blown wide with pleasure and pain. your hand never stopped moving on him, slow, controlled, cruel. you wanted him right there — suffering under your touch, drowning in the pleasure you dangled just out of reach.

"look at you," you murmured, licking a stripe up his neck, "crying just because i won’t let you cum. i should keep you like this all night. shaking and begging like the little mess you are."

“please, i can’t—i’ll die, y/n, i swear—”

“you’d die for me?” you asked, faux sweet, lips curling into a smirk. “mm. of course you would.”

you finally let go of his throat, just so you could slap his face — not too hard, just enough to make his head turn and leave a red mark behind. his mouth fell open with a sharp gasp, and his cock twitched in your hand.

"you liked that?" you taunted, voice low. "you liked being hit? god, you’re such a fucking freak. you’re lucky you’re pretty."

"i'm lucky because i'm yours," he sobbed, "please, please, i’ll be good, i’ll be perfect, just tell me what to do, tell me what you want—"

“cum,” you ordered, voice sharp like a whip. “now.”

and he did.

it was pathetic. the way he cried out your name like a dying man, whole body arching, twitching, lips trembling. he didn’t even care that he was crying. his hands clenched the sheets like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. he came so hard it left him breathless, eyes glassy and unfocused, completely ruined just by your voice and your touch.

you watched him crumble, satisfied.

then you leaned down and kissed his cheek softly, almost mockingly tender.

“good boy.”

he stayed like that, dazed and sticky and aching, while you got up and fixed your hair in the mirror. you didn’t even glance at him when you spoke.

“i want my nails done tomorrow. you’ll book it, pay for it, and pick me up after school.”

“yes,” he croaked, still catching his breath. “anything.”

you looked back at him with a smirk. “and don’t forget who you belong to, jaemin.”

he smiled — actually smiled — like you hadn’t just ripped him to pieces and put him back together with your bare hands.

“i could never forget. you’re the only thing i’ve ever wanted.”

you were fixing your lipstick when jaemin spoke, voice soft but shaking at the edges. “you’re really going?”

you didn’t even turn to look at him. “mm-hm. the girls want a night out. just us.”

he sat on the edge of your bed, hands clenched in his lap. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a jealousy that curled at the edges like smoke.

“and i can’t come?”

you laughed. a pretty, cruel little sound.

“no, baby. girls only.”

he swallowed hard. “but what if—what if some guy tries something? i won’t be there to protect you.”

you finally looked at him, sauntering over with that slow, confident walk that made his heart race and his stomach twist. you cupped his face in your hand, thumb brushing across his cheek.

“i can handle a few drunk losers,” you whispered, smiling sweetly. “besides... why would i want any of them?” your smile widened into something darker, crueler. “i only have eyes for my favorite toy.”

he shivered. you kissed his forehead and walked out the door, heels clicking like gunshots on the floor.

but jaemin didn’t stay behind.

he stood outside the club with his hood pulled low over his face, his messy fringe shadowing his eyes. he watched every man that looked at you. every one of them who dared to laugh too loud, stand too close, glance too long.

his hand was clenched tight in the pocket of his hoodie, fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife he’d taken from his kitchen drawer. just in case.

he hadn’t planned to use it. really. but if someone touched you, if someone hurt you—

he wasn’t going to let that happen. not to you.

you were laughing with your friends, sipping your drink like nothing could touch you. your dress was short, your legs crossed, your lipstick perfect. every man in the room looked at you like you were a prize to win.

but they didn’t understand.

you weren’t a prize.

you were a goddess.

and jaemin? he was the sword at your altar.

your friends had gone to the bathroom in a group, and for once, you let yourself stand alone, basking in the attention like it was sunlight — until he came.

some random guy. drunk. sloppy. bold in all the wrong ways. he reeked of cheap cologne and desperation, stumbling up to you like he thought you’d be impressed.

“you’re too pretty to be alone,” he slurred, grabbing your wrist before you could step back.

you rolled your eyes and yanked your arm away. “i am alone because i want to be. get lost.”

he laughed, low and ugly, and leaned in, trying to whisper something into your ear — and that’s when his hand slid down your back, groping without shame, fingers curling possessively over your ass.

you gasped, shoving him away with your purse. “get your fucking hands off me.”

but he didn’t listen. he grabbed your waist with both hands this time, tighter, trying to pull you toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. “come on, don’t be like that—”

panic bloomed fast in your chest.

you tried to fight — kicked, shoved, cursed — but he was too strong, too fast, too sure of himself. his grip bruised, and your voice caught in your throat when he yanked you again, harder, enough to make you stumble.

“LET GO OF ME!” you screamed.

you screamed, tried to hit the guy with your bag, but he was bigger than you — stronger — and your friends were too far, the music too loud. you twisted in his grip, eyes filling with tears, trying to scream again but the panic was too much.

and that’s when he appeared.

you didn’t see him at first — just felt the sudden weight disappear from your body as the man was ripped away from you.

a blur of black hoodie, messy bangs shadowing furious eyes, and then fists.

jaemin didn’t say a word.

he just launched at the guy, tackling him to the floor in a savage, bone-snapping crash. fists flying, jaw clenched so tight you thought he’d shatter his teeth. the music didn’t drown it out — you heard the first punch land. then the second. then the third.

blood splattered up jaemin’s arm as he kept hitting, again and again, teeth bared like an animal, like he wasn’t even human anymore — just pure rage wrapped in your name.

“don’t. fucking. touch. her.” he shouted with every blow.

your knees buckled, mascara streaking down your cheeks as you watched, frozen, trembling.

security rushed in. people were screaming.

they grabbed jaemin, yanking him off the now-unconscious man, dragging both of them out of the club. but jaemin didn’t struggle. he never took his eyes off you, even while being dragged away. his lip was split. his knuckles raw. his breathing ragged.

you followed.

you had to.

outside, the bouncers shoved them into the street and slammed the door behind them. jaemin barely felt it. his pulse was roaring in his ears, his hands shaking. the man was still coughing, still alive.

jaemin turned slowly, blood on his shirt, his hand clutching something deep in the pocket of his hoodie.

your eyes widened. “jaemin…”

he pulled it out.

a knife.

not huge. not fancy. but sharp, gleaming under the streetlight. his hands trembled as he looked at the man slumped beside him — groaning, half-conscious — and then up at you.

he saw your smeared makeup. the tear on your dress. the faint bruise on your arm where the bastard had grabbed you.

and jaemin snapped.

“he touched you,” he whispered, voice broken. “he hurt you.”

“jaemin—”

"stay back, y/n," he said, not looking at you. "you shouldn't have to see this. i’ll clean up the mess."

but it was too late.

he lunged forward, fast and deliberate. the knife sank deep. once. twice. again. the man choked on blood, coughing and struggling, but jaemin didn’t stop. he stabbed and stabbed, his face twisted in something halfway between agony and bliss.

it was fast. brutal. precise.

“don’t ever fucking touch what’s mine,” he growled.

by the time it was over, the alley was quiet. just the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears, and jaemin panting, covered in blood, shaking like he’d come down from a high.

you were standing there, clutching your wrist, mascara smudged from your tears. when jaemin looked at you, saw your fear, something in him snapped.

his eyes were wild, feral, but when they landed on you… they softened.

“he hurt you. i told you i’d protect you.” you stared at him, trembling.

he took a step forward, still holding the knife. “you’re mine, y/n. no one gets to put their hands on you. no one.”

he dropped the weapon like it burned him, then reached for you — gently, reverently, like you were glass.

"you're safe now," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face with bloodied fingers. "i'll always protect you, no matter what it takes."

your breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling as you stared at him — at the blood dripping from his fingers, the wild look in his eyes, the lifeless body on the ground. the alley smelled like metal and sweat and something sickly sweet, like roses blooming in rot.

and yet…

you weren’t afraid of him.

you should’ve been. anyone else would’ve run. screamed. called the cops.

but not you.

because this was jaemin. your jaemin.

your precious, broken little pet who would’ve let himself burn alive if you asked.

he looked up at you, hands shaking. “i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean to—i just couldn’t let him hurt you, i couldn’t—”

you walked up to him slowly, heels clicking on the pavement, and cupped his bloody face in your hand.

“shhh,” you murmured. “don’t apologize.”

his eyes widened, lips trembling. “you’re not... mad?”

you tilted your head, smiling. “mad? baby, you just killed for me.”

he blinked, stunned silent.

you leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?”

he let out a shaky breath — half a gasp, half a whimper — as you licked the blood off his cheek. his knees buckled. he almost collapsed right there in the alley.

“you’re mine,” you whispered, grabbing him by the jaw. “you don’t belong to the law. you don’t belong to this world. you belong to me. and when someone touches what’s mine…”

you looked down at the body, then back at him.

“…you did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

he moaned — actually moaned — like your words were slicing through him deeper than the knife ever could. his cock was already hard, twitching in his pants, pressed tight against the fabric of his jeans. he was still trembling, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he was in some kind of trance.

“you want your reward now, don’t you?” you teased, nails dragging lightly down his chest.

“please,” he begged. “please, y/n, i—i need—”

“on your knees.”

he dropped instantly.

there, in the alley, with blood on his hands and the weight of his sin still fresh on his skin — he knelt before you like a disciple.

you lifted your dress just enough to expose your thighs, watching the way his eyes locked onto you like he was starving.

“you were so brave, baby,” you purred, running your fingers through his messy hair. “my perfect little killer. my good boy.”

he let out a broken, wrecked sound, mouth already open, tongue out, begging for a taste of you like it was communion.

and you gave it to him.

you tugged him closer by the hair, guiding his face between your thighs, his blood-stained lips kissing the inside of your skin like he was worshipping an altar. he licked you like a man possessed — sloppy, desperate, moaning against your heat as you rocked your hips into his mouth.

“this is what you get,” you hissed, thighs tightening around his head. “for being such a perfect monster.”

he nodded as best he could, unable to stop himself from rutting against nothing, grinding like a dog in heat. he didn’t care. he didn’t need to cum. he just needed to serve.

you came on his tongue, eyes locked on his as you moaned his name, and it hit him harder than anything else ever could. his whole body shook.

when you finally pulled back, your inner thighs glistening with spit and slick and smeared red, you looked down at him with that same icy, dangerous smirk.

“clean up the mess, baby.”

he licked his lips, chin stained, and nodded.

“yes, mistress.”

you didn’t ask what he did with the body.

you didn’t need to.

he came back to you hours later, hands scrubbed raw, face pale, blood washed off but eyes still wild. he knocked on your window, not your front door. of course he did. like a stray cat, dirty and loyal, hoping you’d let him in again.

and you did.

you always did.

“get in,” you said, voice low, silk-soft. “did you clean up?”

he nodded.

“did you leave anything behind?”

“no. not a trace.”

you leaned in close, your perfume wrapping around him like smoke. “good boy.”

he whimpered, eyes rolling back slightly like those two words alone made him dizzy. your praise was his drug — one taste, and he’d bleed himself dry for another.

you pulled him inside, sat him on your bed like he was fragile, precious, something to be handled with care. and then you straddled his lap, your fingers curling around the back of his neck as your lips brushed his ear.

“tell me,” you whispered. “what did you do with him?”

“i dragged him to the back lot,” jaemin muttered, voice thick with adrenaline and need. “there’s a place behind the dumpsters where no one ever goes. used my jacket to wipe the blood. took the knife apart and buried the pieces. burned the clothes. no cameras. no witnesses.”

you smiled.

“look at you,” you purred. “you’d make such a good little hitman. maybe that’s what i’ll use you for next.”

he whined — actually whined — at the idea. “i’ll do anything, y/n. anything. i just want to be yours. please. let me stay yours.”

you grabbed his jaw, hard enough to make him shut up, and stared into his eyes like you could see his soul.

“you’ll always be mine. but only as long as you behave.”

he nodded frantically, breath coming out fast.

two days later, the police showed up at school.

the guy’s friends had reported him missing. the alley was clean, but the club had cameras outside. no clear footage, just shadows and outlines. not enough to make arrests, but enough to raise eyebrows.

you were in the office when they called you in for questioning. not as a suspect. just someone who might’ve seen something. you played it perfectly — innocent, sweet, a little shaken up but not too much.

“i left early,” you said, blinking slowly at the officer. “i wasn’t feeling well. my friends stayed longer. i didn’t see anything weird.”

they let you go. of course they did.

but jaemin?

you found him in the back of the library, curled in on himself, hoodie up, chewing on the skin of his thumb until it bled.

“they’re gonna find out,” he whispered when you sat down beside him. “they’re gonna take me away. i can’t leave you. i can’t—”

“look at me.”

he did. instantly.

“you’re not going anywhere,” you said, voice firm. “you’re mine. and i protect what’s mine.”

he stared at you like you hung the stars.

you leaned in, lips ghosting over his. “tonight. my place. you’re staying the night. i want to play with my toy.”

that night, he arrived exactly on time. showered, dressed in black like always. your parents weren’t home — they rarely were. and your bedroom? your bedroom was your temple. silk sheets. soft lighting. perfume heavy in the air. and in the center of it all, you — wearing his favorite dress, the one that made him want to kneel the second he saw it.

“strip,” you ordered the moment he stepped inside.

he obeyed.

you didn’t even touch him right away. you just circled him like a predator, watching the way his cock twitched with every step, how his breath hitched whenever you got too close.

“you really killed someone for me,” you whispered, dragging a fingernail down his chest. “doesn’t that make you mine forever?”

“yes,” he gasped. “please—claim me. mark me. ruin me.”

“mm,” you smirked. “as you wish.”

you pushed him back on the bed, pulled a collar from your nightstand — red leather, gold buckle, a tag that read “property of y/n.”

his eyes rolled back as you strapped it around his neck.

“now you’re really mine.”

he came untouched.

and you laughed — a dark, delighted sound — as you leaned down to kiss his trembling lips.

the collar clicked into place with a soft metallic snap, and something in jaemin broke.

his chest rose and fell rapidly, throat bobbing as he tried to catch his breath. the red leather sat snug against his skin, and the little gold tag with property of y/n glinted under the warm light of your bedroom.

you sat back on your heels and smiled at the sight of him: flushed, leaking, eyes glassy, lips parted like he couldn’t believe this was real. your pretty killer boy, naked and on his knees at the foot of your bed, dick already hard and dripping against his stomach just from the feeling of belonging to you.

“how does it feel?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you ran your fingers through his hair.

he shuddered. “i… i can’t—” he whimpered, dropping his head. “it’s everything. i feel like—like i’m not even human anymore. just… yours.”

you tugged his hair hard enough to make him gasp and tilt his head back to look at you. “that’s exactly what you are, jaemin. not a person. not a man. just a thing i use.”

his cock twitched violently, and a low, desperate moan escaped his throat.

you shoved him backward onto the mattress with one hand, straddling his hips with slow, commanding ease. he didn’t dare move — not unless you told him to. he just looked up at you like you were holy, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“i’ve been thinking about this since the alley,” you murmured, dragging your nails down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake. “you looked so hot covered in blood. all that violence. all that loyalty.”

he moaned under his breath, trying to buck his hips, but you slapped his thigh — hard — and he immediately stilled, lips wobbling.

“ah-ah,” you tsked. “bad dogs don’t get rewards.”

“i’m sorry,” he breathed. “please, mistress, please—i’ll be good, i’ll be perfect, just… please use me.”

you leaned down until your lips brushed his, but you didn’t kiss him. not yet. you wanted him starving.

“you are perfect,” you whispered. “my perfect little psycho.”

and then you sank down on him.

he screamed.

his back arched off the bed, hands flying to your thighs but freezing midair like he didn’t dare touch you without permission. his whole body shook as you took every inch of him, tight and slow, grinding down until you were seated fully on his cock.

“fuck,” you groaned, tossing your hair back. “you’re so hard for me. so full. you’re gonna make me cum just from the way you’re twitching inside me, baby.”

jaemin sobbed.

his eyes rolled back, tears already slipping down his cheeks from how overwhelming it was — the stretch, the heat, the pleasure, the weight of your power over him. he’d killed for you. he’d die for you. but this?

this was worse. this was better. this was fucking heaven.

you started to move — slow, deliberate rolls of your hips that made him whimper with every pass. his mouth dropped open, tongue lolling slightly, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you leaned forward to spit right on it.

he swallowed it like it was gold.

“filthy fucking dog,” you whispered, voice dark and breathless. “you like when i degrade you, don’t you?”

“yes,” he gasped. “i’m yours — your dog, your toy, your killer — please, please don’t stop—”

you slapped him across the face, just once. sharp enough to make him reel, not enough to hurt.

“shut the fuck up.”

he moaned like he came from that alone.

you rode him harder then — fast, punishing, loud. the bed creaked, the sound of skin against skin filled the room, and jaemin was babbling nonsense now: “so good, so tight, i love you, i’d kill again, i’d do anything, please don’t ever leave me, please—”

you leaned in close and kissed him — hard — your teeth catching his bottom lip as you pulled away just enough to whisper against his mouth:

“if the cops ever come for us, you’re taking the fall.”

“yes,” he gasped. “yes, of course, i’ll take it all, i’ll protect you—”

“and if i want you to kill again?”

“just give me a name.”

you came just from that.

your nails dug into his shoulders, your head falling back as your orgasm crashed through you, but you didn’t stop. you used him, over and over, until you were soaked and shaking, until he was the one crying — tears and drool on his face, cock aching and untouched because he knew he couldn’t cum unless you let him.

“please,” he sobbed, trembling under you. “please let me cum, please—i need it, need you—”

you cupped his cheeks and leaned in close, your voice low and venom-sweet.

“cum for me, you sick little freak.”

he screamed your name as he came, hard and violent, his whole body convulsing beneath you.

and as he lay there, twitching, ruined, panting like an animal at your feet…

you smiled.

because he was yours.

completely.