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forlix · 1 month

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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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strang3lov3 · 10 months

Text

For Science

Soft!Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Summary: Joel’s heart breaks at your misery when you’re on your period, so he does what he can to alleviate your pain.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, blowjobs, fingering, awkward Joel and Reader, period cramps, period sex, unprotected PIV. sweet sweet joel. Mutual pining

W/C: 4k

A/N: For all the menstruating Joel girlies, this one’s for you. And me too, because this shit fucking sucks. Admittedly this is very self indulgent. This isn't my favorite fic, but I hope you guys like it anyway. I feel like it's devoid of a lot of typical period fic tropes so I am unsure if y'all will enjoy. Have a great weekend!

btw, send me an ask or comment if you aren't tagged and would like to be! mwah kisses love you all <3

masterlist

as always, please leave me a comment or reblog if you liked the story! i am desperately in need of validation

Knock knock knock. “You okay in there? Haven’t seen you at all today, honey,” Joel asks as your door swings open slightly. His brows are knit together and his soft eyes are big and worrisome.

Joel hates seeing you like this. You’re huddled with your knees curled into your chest on your bed, trying to will away the pain. Your hands are clutching your stomach, you’re quietly moaning in agony.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you rasp out, your voice weak. It started with a dull ache in the pit of your stomach that didn’t seem to leave. Then came the nausea.

“Sick, hm? Can I come in?” Joel asks you. You nod yes, and the door opens wider. His footsteps are soft towards the bed as he sits next to you. “Let me check you for a fever?”

You nod again, not having much energy to use your voice. Joel places a palm first on your forehead, then your cheek. Not satisfied with the results, he repeats the action with the back of his hand. It’s such an unexpectedly sweet and caring gesture, your eyes prick with tears.

“Not terribly warm,” he mumbles. And then it catches his eye: that rusty bloodstain on your bed, heavy and concentrated to a few square inches. He leans over to check your backside, where he finds the stain mirrored on your pants. “Think you started your period, honey.” he whispers.

The cramps and nausea feel all too familiar now.

You hadn’t had a period since the beginning of your trek across the country with Joel and Ellie. Not that it was a super regular occurrence before that, but you often gave your food to the younger girl. Being so malnourished, your period disappeared. It was a welcome exit, your period was always exceptionally painful and miserable for you.

“Oh,” you move your hand to your ass and press your fingers into where you think the bloodstain should be. And yup, there it is. “Shit.” you grumble, looking at the matching bloodstain on your blanket. The last thing you wanted to do today was laundry.

Your cheeks heat up slightly. Hiking halfway across the country with someone, modesty is usually thrown out the window. You and Joel have seen each other in all sorts of intimate states, too intimate for the type of relationship you share. But still, you can’t help but be slightly embarrassed.

He must see your blush. “Hey, it’s alright,” Joel assures you softly. “I was gonna go over to Tommy and Maria’s anyway to do some laundry. Why don’t you let me wash your blanket and those clothes, hmm?”

“You really don’t have to, Joel,”

He ignores your gentle protesting. “Nonsense. I’m gonna give ya some privacy for a second, leave what you want washed outside your door. I’ll be back in a few hours,”

You smile gently, scolding him in your mind. He doesn’t need to be doing all of this for you. He smiles back, warm and shy, before exiting your room and shutting the door behind him.

You strip, changing into some sweats and fresh panties. In the bathroom are some reusable pads made from old towels that Maria gifted you when you first arrived in Jackson with Joel and Ellie. She gave the last menstrual cup to Ellie, who’s at school today. You put on a pad, toss your soiled clothing outside the door, and curl up with a book on your bed.

Joel lets himself inside Tommy and Maria’s home. Yes, there’s a community laundromat. But those often require socializing, which Joel is not much a fan of. Tommy and Maria generously offered you and Joel their to use washer and dryer instead.

He places the basket of laundry on top of the dryer and begins filling the washer with your clothes and blankets, none of his own, and sprinkles in some detergent.

Joel lied. He did his laundry yesterday. But he knew how ill you were feeling, and Joel, ever the gentleman, decided to take it upon himself to take care of this for you. The grumpy asshole did have a heart after all.

“Back so soon?” A voice interrupts. Joel turns to look, it’s Maria standing in the kitchen with her baby on her hip. “Didn’t you do laundry yesterday?”

“I did, yeah,” Joel responds.

Maria notices your soiled panties sitting on top of the blanket she recognizes as yours in the washer. “She got her period, I’m guessing?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, figured I’d take care of the laundry for her,” “Well aren’t you kind,” Maria says, impressed. Not many guys would take care of washing a woman’s period-bloodied clothing. “I thought she might be starting soon. Noticed yesterday at the dining hall she was complaining of cramps and such. She also seemed a little moodier than usual.”

Joel shuts the lid and turns on the washer. “I thought so too,” he agrees. “She was a little irritable.”

Maria puts on a pot of coffee and offers Joel a cup, to which he accepts. For a while they talk about Tommy, then their new baby. When the washer finishes, Joel moves the clothes and blanket to the dryer.

“I can drop those off for you if you’d like,” Maria offers. “You may wanna get back and make sure your girl’s doing okay.”

“That’d be great, I was actually thinkin’ the same thing,” Joel thanks Maria. “You don’t have any pain meds, do you? Poor thing looks terrible. She’s all curled up into herself, barely speakin’ to me.”

“No, I don’t, unfortunately,”

Joel sighs. “How do you deal with it, then? Cramps and all that,”

“Well, a warm bath always helps. So does a heating pad if she has that,” Maria says.

Joel nods his head. “Is there anything else? Tea? Somethin’, anything. I mean, this girl is absolutely miserable,”

“Well,” Maria starts, unsure if she’s ready to reach this level of personal with her brother-in-law. “Orgasms.”

Joel sputters into his mug as he chokes on the coffee in his mouth. “Pardon?”

“Yeah, orgasms. Have sex with her. It’s what I recommend to all the women here. It does help the cramps subside, at least for a bit,” Maria says. Joel’s face drops, his eyes go wide. “What, are you afraid of blood or something? You’re washing her bloody clothes…”

“No, no. It’s uh, it’s not that. We aren’t…we’ve not…”

Maria stops Joel, understanding. “My apologies. I thought you guys were together like that. Well, God gave women fingers for a reason,” she says, very matter of factly.

Joel blushes, images of you and your wandering fingers flooding his imagination. “Got it,” is all he says. No fucking way in hell he’s going to tell you to masturbate to alleviate your cramps. That can most definitely be a conversation between you and Maria another time, when Joel is far away from you both.

He awkwardly says goodbye then, making his way back to your shared home. Maria sends him home with some potato soup, instructing him to heat it up for you. It’s good comfort food, she says.

In your bedroom, you look to be in about the same position as you were before. Whimpering in pain, rocking your body back and forth in the fetal position. Anything to shake the hurt away.

“Hey darlin’, Maria gave me some potato soup to heat up for you. Can I make you some?” Joel’s back in your doorway, his tall frame leaning across the rickety old wood.

“No, thank you,” you whisper. “Not really hungry.” “Figures. That’s alright. Anything else I can do?”

No, you tell him. Not unless he’s willing to be your human body pillow. This entire time you’ve been bleeding, you’ve been aching for comforting touches. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, warm hands pressing on your lower tummy. The other hand holding your own, thumb tracing back and forth on your skin. Soft kisses on your forehead, your hair. You just want to be loved, gently. The way you so deserve.

Joel turns to leave then, just about shutting the door behind him.

Maybe…

“Joel?” you call out.

“What’s up, honey?”

“I was just wondering if you’d maybe hold my hand. Just for a second,”

Joel smiles sadly through the crack of the door. “Of course,” he says tenderly, like it shouldn’t have even been a question on your mind. Of course he’ll hold your hand. He meets you at the bed, sitting awkwardly next to you. He offers you his hand, which you take in both of yours. It’s dry and calloused, but so warm and comforting. “Squeeze me as hard as you need, alright? I can handle it.” Joel adjusts slightly so he’s laying next to you, his other hand stroking your hair. He smiles to himself, small and genuine.

A wave of ache overtakes your body, beginning in your abdomen and spreading up your chest and down your thighs. Your breasts are heavy and swollen and aching angrily. You groan in agony. “Fuck,” you whimper.

“What hurts? Where?”

“Everywhere,” you cry. Your hands leave his, and they find their way to his torso. You grasp his sides in your fists and squeeze, but he doesn’t complain. It doesn’t hurt, and even if it did, you’re hurting worse. In truth, he’s savoring the warmth your bodies create together. He loves being able to comfort you like this.

Joel wraps his arms around your back, dragging his fingertips up and down your spine. “You’re breakin’ my heart, honey,” he whispers. “Let me help you. What can I do?” he asks, hot breath tickling your ear.

“I don’t think you want to,” you murmur.

“Try me,”

You sigh, sitting up on his chest slightly. “Can you…massage me? My chest?”

Joel’s breath hitches and he shuffles awkwardly. “I suppose,” he starts.

“I’m sorry. I just need your strong hands, I tried doing it myself but–”

“No, yeah. Of course,” Joel interrupts. He’s at a loss for words, more filthy images of you flooding his mind. Just like before, at Maria’s. “It’s what friends are for, right?” He cringes inwardly at the word he uses. Friends.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nonsense, honey,” he hushes you. “Sit up, turn around. I’ve got you.”

You trust Joel completely. He can be rough around the edges, but you know how soft and nurturing he is on the inside. Joel is meant for this, taking care of the people he loves.

He spreads his legs and you lean back into the soft warmth of his torso, holding onto his denim clad thighs. He’s awkward to start, still unsure of how to do this, exactly. You take his hands and drag them up, up your tummy, stopping for a second to savor the heat from his palms radiating through to your abdomen, then continue pushing them up your body. You stop just before your breasts, his thumbs lightly tracing the soft flesh of your tits.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice steady and calm but slightly nervous. He wonders if you can hear the way his voice is wavering slightly.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

And then he gets to work. Gently, timidly, he runs his hands over the soft flesh of your breasts, then your nipples. You groan at the contact on your sensitive buds. He squeezes gently, then increases pressure experimentally. He can feel how swollen you are as he explores every inch of your chest.

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, fingers and thumbs digging deep into your breasts. He massages you intently and with such tenderness, his gentle caretaking instincts taking over.

It hurts so fucking good. The ache is amplified yet dissipates with each motion of his palms. “Yeah, harder. Don’t stop,” you plead desperately.

Joel swallows thickly and increases pressure again. “Like this?”

“Just like that, Joel. So good,”

God, how sinful you sound. Whimpering and moaning for him, begging for more. Shit, not now. Not fucking now, he thinks as his cock begins to harden under you. “Fucking moron,” he whispers.

“What?”

Joel freezes. “Shit. I uh, wasn’t callin’ you a moron. Sorry,” he apologizes gruffly. “It’s me. I’m the moron.”

“Why are you a moron?”

“I’m gettin’ a bit hard. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He feels heat rise up his neck and to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“My tits are in your hands, Joel, I get it. I don’t mind,” you assure him. You feel his cock half hard, pressing into your lower back and you shift a little. You both notice how he grows harder at your adjustment.

Joel chuckles awkwardly, trying to break the tension. “I’m only a man, hon. Can’t help it,”

“You’re okay, Joel. I promise,” You chuckle with him, sighing and resting your head back on his chest again as he starts massaging you once more. The stubble on his jaw tickles your face, his chest rises and falls with every second. You share a moment in the silence, made slightly awkward by Joel’s arousal. You wince as another strong cramp overtakes your body, and you curl up into Joel.

“Cramps?”

“Cramps,” you mumble. “I don’t think you can massage those away, though.”

“No, probably not,” he mumbles. “Not with my hands, at least.”

“With what, then?”

Did he really just say that? You really are a fucking moron, Miller.

“At Maria’s today, she told me a way to alleviate cramps,” he starts, speaking slowly, like he’s whispering a secret that’s not his to tell.

“How?”

“Orgasms,” he whispers stiffly. He presses his lips together in a thin line and looks up towards the ceiling.

“Oh,”

“I could give you some privacy if you wanted to try that out,” he mumbles.

“Why would you do that?” you turn to look at Joel, who is bashful and looking down. He looks at you with an eyebrow raised, and you continue, “Didn’t you just say you could make the cramps go away, just not with your hands?”

“W-well, yeah, but,” he stutters.

“I have been so fucking horny. And you’re hard too, so,”

Joel’s eyebrow is still raised, he’s eyeing you suspiciously. “Are you askin’ what I think you’re askin’?”

“You already washed my bloody panties. I’m guessing blood isn’t an issue for you,”

“No, no. ‘Course not. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah, you know. For science. For the sake of experimentation,”

Joel smirks mischievously. “Nothin’ wrong with a little experimentin’,” he agrees. You smile at the twang of his Texas accent.

You share another awkward moment, both unsure of how to continue this scientific endeavor. Joel makes the first move this time. “Come here,” he breathes, lifting you into his lap. “Kiss me.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, intertwining your fingers in the grey-brown curls at the base of his neck. His hands are on your waist, holding you steady with your thighs straddling his. He leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss, his lips are slightly chapped but so deliciously soft and warm against yours. He tastes like himself and nothing more, but his taste is addictive nonetheless.

You grind your pelvis into his bulge, whimpering at the contact on your sensitive heat. You’re craving more than his kisses, needing to feel all of him. His weight on your body, his skin on yours. His member deep inside you, massaging that spot that makes your head spin. “More,” you whine.

He hums in amusement against your lips, thrusting his hips into yours. Cheeky motherfucker.

You swat his arm lightly. “Don’t tease, Joel. I need you,”

“I know ya do. Let’s get you warmed up then, hm?” you nod hurriedly, leaning back. Joel pulls you back in for a kiss, his hand snaking under both your sweatpants and panties. “This alright?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers dip further, gathering your wetness and circling back up to your clit. He traces slow, steady circles into your bud, taking his time with you. He pushes his middle two fingers deep inside you, fingers curling up and hitting that sweet spot. You gasp and whimper into his mouth.

Joel loves taking his time with you. Playing with your body like a musical instrument, eliciting moans and whimpers from deep inside. Watching you dance for him, falling to pieces under his touch.

“So pretty like this,” he praises you.

You kiss him again and hop off his lap, he pulls his hand away from your core, quickly hiding it from your sight. He doesn’t need you feeling any shame or embarrassment of your body doing what it was meant to do. “Get a towel?” you ask him.

“‘Course, honey,” Joel sits up and grabs a towel from the linen closet, then walks back to your room. He shuts and locks the door behind him before laying the towel down on the bed. You stand up to meet him, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling off his shirt. He does the same to you, helping you out of your sweats and shirt. You quickly sit down on the towel and he stands before you, cock rock hard, admiring all of the curves of your figure. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

You blush and reach forward to pull him to you. “So are you,” you tell him earnestly. He steps toward you and pushes you back, getting ready to enter you. You put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Is everything okay?” his dark brown eyes are big and full of worry.

“Of course,” you say. “I’m not ready yet. I wanted to taste you,” you admit.

Joel smirks. “You’re the one bleedin’ and cryin’ in pain, and you wanna taste me?”

You smile back. “For science, right?”

“Sure, sweetheart. For science,” Joel sits next to the towel, you lean over his lap and get ready to take him into your mouth. “Ah ah ah,” he tuts, “Like this.” Sitting next to him on the towel, he instructs you to face him and spread your legs. This way, he says, he can take care of you too.

You lean over, making sure your heat is still accessible to him. Joel leans back onto the pillows and lets you get to work, his fingers tracing up your thigh before meeting your center once more. Your lips part around his member, tracing the soft and warm skin with your tongue. You moan when his fingers enter you again, voice sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck, honey,” he groans.

You play with each other like that for a while, Joel working you open with his fingers and you taking him further and further down your throat. His cock twitches, engulfed in the wet heat of your mouth.

“Stop, stop,” he begs. “Not gonna last.”

You pull off of him with a pop, and his hands leave your body. You whine at the loss.

“I know,” he soothes. “C’mere.” Once again, you’re in his lap, hovering over his cock. It’s held loosely between his fingers, tip prodding at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks you, his sparkly brown eyes are looking up at you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I need you,” you whisper desperately. And with that, Joel notches the tip at your entrance, carefully studying your features to make sure it’s not too much, not too fast, not painful. You steady yourself on his shoulders, fingernails indenting his skin. He pulls your hips down slowly, letting you savor every inch of him. He bottoms out with a deep sigh, and you lean forward to rest your forehead on his.

“Wait,” he interrupts. You frown with concern, and he bucks his hips up. You let out a yelp, partially in pleasure, partially in surprise. Joel pulls the towel under you both. “There.”

You giggle. “Good idea,” you whisper. You stare down at him, a slight smile on his lips. You start to roll your hips, letting your clit brush the thick tuft of dark hair at the base of his cock. You whimper at the feeling.

“Feel good, baby?” Joel asks expectedly.

“So good, Joel” you assure him. “You feel so good,”

Joel pulls your body down to his, letting you rest on your knees. He thrusts into you rhythmically, letting you relax against him. “Fuck, you feel nice, honey. Knew you would,”

You moan and cry, kissing and whimpering into his neck. Using your sounds and the way your body reacts to his touch, he fucks you hard, intently, but gently at the same time. It’s delicious.

You rock your hips, bouncing on his cock to match each of his thrusts. He hits that sweet spot in you repeatedly, he can feel your walls squeezing him, hear your moans becoming quicker, more frantic. “God, you’re sensitive,” he says. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, yes,” you whimper. “M’close, need t-to come,”

“You can let go,” he speaks softly, voice low and gravelly. “Come for me, baby,”

You lean back, lifting your hips slightly to give his fingers access to your clit. He takes the hint and begins circling your sensitive bud once more. It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart on his cock, your cries and moans muffled as you bite into his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he coos, fucking you through it.

You try to take a second to catch your breath, steady yourself, only Joel has something different in mind. He doesn’t stop fucking your pussy, overworked and overstimulated. Within minutes, you’re coming again, your pussy making a beautiful crimson mess on his pelvis and fingertips. Still fucking you, he watches you come like you’re a work of art in a museum. Taking in every detail, every twitch of your face, the way your mouth drops in pleasure, how your tits bounce with each thrust.

“Too much, Joel,” you cry. “S’too much, please.”

“You give me one more, baby. C’mon now, want you to come with me,”

“I can’t,” you pant. “I can-”

“Yes, you can,” he encourages firmly. His voice is sweet but stern, and it is clear your pleasure is not to be negotiated. You will come again. “One more, one more. S’all you gotta do.”

“Fuck, Joel,”

“I know, you’re doin’ so good f’me,”

It’s almost painful, but you focus on the pleasure building once again deep inside you. You rock your hips, grinding your clit on the pads of Joel’s calloused fingertips. Right there, right there…

“You’re makin’ such a pretty mess of this cock, darlin’. Wanna fill you up, baby,”

His sweet talking sends you reeling, you love the way he praises you. “M’close again,”

“Right there with ya, baby,” he soothes. His thrusts are frenzied, cock throbbing inside you. “Now, baby,” he commands. “Fuck, need you to come now.”

Moans and cries spill out of your mouth like liquid sugar, thick and sweet and slow. You come on Joel’s cock for a third time, your body melting into his own. He comes with you, his own grunts and moans mixing with yours to create the most beautiful sounds to fill the room. His voice is deep and desperate, sounding like pure sex as he paints your insides with rope after rope of his seed.

You slink on top of him, focusing on catching your breath. His skin is sticky and sweaty as he holds you in a tight embrace, his heaving chest lifting you up and down. He pulls out of you, a mess of your fluids dripping onto the towel. You curl up next to him, your head on his chest.

“Cramps?” he asks.

You shake your head. “All better,” you pause, then speak. “But hold me some more? Please?”

“‘Course, honey. For science, right?”

You smirk. “For science,”

You lay like that for what feels like hours, Joel stroking your back tenderly. One of his strong arms wrapped around your body, his warm hand pressing into your back. His other hand is holding your own, fingers squeezing you comfortingly, thumb tracing back and forth. He presses soft kisses to your forehead, your lips. He’s loving you gently, sweetly, the way you so deserve.

tags: @swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers @angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #soft!joel miller #soft!joel miller x reader

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mochinomnoms · 4 months

Note

Oh? Pray tell, what do Jade, Mal and Azul enjoy so much about the period sex?

[cw] - period sex, implications of a breeding kink at the end

Referring to this post

*slams hands on desk*

Okay so they all have their own justifications other than they just think their partner is hot, and they're down bad. I like to think they all have a thing for servicing their partner, so starting from the bottom to the top:

Azul knows that he is needed to give you assistance. It's what he lives for! Anything you might need, it's his job to give, and give he does~ Azul is researching all the ways that can help with your symptoms, particularly cramps as it seems to be the most consistent pain. He finds that heating pads are the best, as well as general pain meds. However, you already have a bunch from Ortho and the nurse has you covered with meds. So what's an octomer to do? It's during his research that he discovers that orgasms can help with the pain. He thinks it's strange, if you're bleeding and shedding your lining, wouldn't having sex make it hurt? Even if he gave you oral, the blood would be everywhere and make a mess. Like him when he inks. He'd have to take you in the water, and probably be in his merform to make sure that any predators that sense your blood. You'd be pretty dependent on him, for protection and to feel good. Your pretty hair, billowing around your face as his arms wrap around your form, one of his tentacles massaging your insides ever so gently. Hmm, actually—From there, he's inviting you over to Octavinelle for the weekend, where he offers to show you a new cramp remedy he's learned about. You're surprised when he takes you to the dorm pool, and looks at you with a smug smile as he drags you in the water, offering his 8 limbs to sooth your cramps with a nice massage. It's a thoroughly enjoyable massage~

Malleus learns of this remedy from Lilia, who heard about it on his travels after a tryst with a cute human. He's so sweet to you (and only you) that he wants to do his best to help his human out. Malleus has no qualms about getting dirty, he can magic himself clean if needed, and he's still concerned about the fact that you're in pain. He's not sure what it is about orgasms that help with pain, but if it helps then he's happy to be of assistance! He doesn't want to stress you out more than necessary, so Malleus decides that eating you out is the best course of action. Malleus won't mention that you being more whiny and needy during your period, making you extra pilable and receptive, struck a particular nerve in him. He works you to your first orgasm, delighted at how extra sensitive you were as you easily fell about to his ministrations. The first time he does this, he pulled away to check on you, blood staining your thighs and his lips. You'd let out a low whine, arching your back as you opened your eyes to look at him, and smiled. A sweet, satisfied smile as you praise him for his gentleness and willingness to take care of you. He was taking care of you, like a mate should, and keeping you satisfied and happy. Malleus was a good mate, so in his mind, he should keep being a good mate so that you'll keep praising him. He dived right back in and left you squealing and shaking for the next few hours.

He likes to be depended on, he likes caring for things that need to depend on him. Jade likes to be in control, a mastermind that pulls the puppet's strings in the background. He likes things that are vulnerable to him and his whims, and this is no different with you and Jade. Granted, you're not a terrarium of his, you're his sweet little human, so he's not going to treat you as such. But, he still likes being a bit in control of your care and being needed by you. Jade loves when you're needy: he can care for you, love you, dazzle you so that he can never compare to any other love you may have. Not that he plans on letting you go anytime soon. Oh no, Jade may say he doesn't understand the appeal of the surface world like other merfolk, but make no mistake. Jade is enchanted by the differences between the human body and his own. Jade had made it his mission to thoroughly “research” human anatomy with you, and is delighted at how strange it is (he gets banned from touching you for a week for that statement). And you bleed roughly once a month? Do you know what that knowledge did to his brain? He's quite interested in learning how your period effects your body: do you get more sensitive, do you get more emotional, what does it do to you? Would you taste different? Feel different when he enters his length into you? Will you be more pliant to him, or more combative? It's just all so fascinating. Upon learning how your period effects your body, the pains you endure, he makes it his mission to make sure he can meet all your needs. Jade came up to you, unusually giddy one night, with a preposition. He takes you to bed, sending a begrudging Grim off to Heartslabyul, laying a towel underneath you, and getting to work to test out his hypothesis. Jade's face is covered in a mix of your juices and blood, both a sweet and metallic taste that is pleasing to his moray tongue, as he finished giving you your third orgasm of the night. Jade is licking his lips clean has he moves to place the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing against it as he leans down to whisper, “Do let me know in detail how this feels, I myself am particularly enjoying delightfully you taste. I imagine you'll feel just as good squeezing around me.” Happy to serve, Jade is concerned that you have to go through such pain once a month. He offers to help you get rid of it for at least 9 months, longer if you don't mind having a set of irish twins*, one after the other.

*irish twins are siblings that are born 12 months or less apart

Hehehe yummy, :p comments and reblogs appreciated!

#mochi asks #!nsfw #!period sex #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #jade leech smut #azul ashengrotto smut #malleus draconia smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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kaivenom · 15 days

Text

Party Animals

Summary: you were drunk on a party and doing crazy things, next morning you think you made a huge mistake, but ends up being that it was the push you needed.

Pairing: Spencer "Spider" White x reader

Warnings: drunk people

A/N: conmemoring the release of season two of this amazing show (Heartbreak High) i have the need of writting about Spider and Ant, so expect about them the next days.

Masterlist

Like always, Spider was being the soul of the party, drinking, dancing, laughing and being an absolutely pain in the ass. He was going around with Ant while you were in your corner drinking. He had been giving you small glances all night, it was frustrating because he will surely get to you and be an absolute asshole.

As if he had read your mind, Spider started to get close to where you are. You can't deny that he looks really hot with the lights of the club and that look on his face. It looked almost like he was possesed while he walks towards you. His eyes didn't leave yours once he notices you watching him.

After what looked like an eternity, he laid himself on the wall next to you, he was probably drunk, just like you... maybe that's why you can't decide if you want to go and ignore him or stay here and see what happens.

"Hi." what a gentlemen you thought.

"Hi, why are you here?"

"Ant is my friend, he throws the party."

"I mean next to me, asshole, you don't quite like me."

"That's not right," he is looking at you so serious that you feel he is looking into your soul, "I may treat you a little bad but i treat everyone like that, the other thing is that you are different."

"Wow, that's your strategy to try to have sex with me?" clearly alcohol is kicking you both.

"Maybe."

"And why do you think i will be with you?"

"Nothing, but trying it's free and i know you wouldn't do it in any other situation."

His face is closer to you every second, looking to your lips with a dreamy glance. For the first time you considered kissing him, you already thought about it but know you were starting to see it as a real posibility. You both were now really close, you can almost feel Spider's heat body, he was radiating an exciting warmth.

You don't know why but started to lift your hand and touch slowly his face, he closed his eyes almost instantly, savoring every second of your touch. Suddently his hand wrapped your waist and push you fully on to his body, now your lips are brushing and your breaths start to mix together.

"Tomorrow we can forget about this," he said before smashing his lips to yours.

His lips were soft and tasted sweet, you didn't spected that at all since you two were drinking for so long. Your hands running all over each other's bodies. Suddently you were trapped between the wall and Spider's embracing body. His lips traveling all the way up and down your neck, you were thankfull that the music was drowning your sounds.

You continued like that for a bit longer, lips pressed and bodies grinding onto each other, you didn't want that to end but suddently Darren appeared on scene.

"(Y/N)!!! we have to go, Amelie got us in problems," both of you were slow at processing what Darren said, "let's go, if you go now i won't say about this."

Darren's face showed their disgust really well, but hearing those words made you restart you breain and realize your actions. You got out of Spider's grip while he was still in shock and runned with Darren. At the end you didn't know if you run because of Amelie or because of your actions.

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

You spent all weekend coping with the embarrasment of what you've done and when the monday came, you decided to avoid Spider. That worked for three hours until he cornered you outside class.

"Hi."

"Hi, i need to go," this time you couldn't get away from him.

"No, we need to talk."

"You said we could forget it and i hope to do that, because we were drunk and we made mistakes."

"I don't consider it a mistake," you couldn't believe him but he was looking at you again, with those glowy eyes, "I know what i said but it was mostly to get you to kiss me but i... i can't forget about it and i don't want to do it because i dream about it a lot."

"You are saying you already thought about it?" his face was really red.

"Ye-Yeah..." he apparently doesn't know how to continue, you kissed his cheek, that was the only thing you thought of doing.

"I dreamed about it too." his face lightened up, before passing to a prideful smirk.

"So we can go out and take it where we left off."

"No, we will take it right and slow, and if we are going to start dating or something, you need to stop being a pain in the ass."

"I will do it if you give me a incentive to do it."

The bell rang and you surely know that your friends will be seeking for you, you kiss his cheek again and give him a little peck on the lips that left him static on place.

#heartbreak high #heartbreak high season 2 #heartbreak high 2022 #heartbreak high imagine #hearbreak high x reader #heartbreak high x you #heartbreak high 2024 #spencer white #spencer white x reader #spencer white imagine #spencer white x you #spider x reader #heartbreak high spider #spider imagine #spider x you #spencer spider white #spencer spider white x reader #spencer spider white imagine #spencer spider white x you

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pia-nor481 · 29 days

Text

Charles Leclerc NSFW alphabet

A-Aftercare (what they're like after sex?)

He's very passionate and so will want to just lay there and cuddle for a while before picking her up and carrying her towards the bath, where they continue to bask in each other.

B-Body part (what is their favourite part of theirs and their partner?)

I'm lead to believe he doesn't have a specific favourite. But he likes ass and tits equally, I think he's one of those men who would slap your ass when you stand up. He also loves to hold her waist, no matter the situation.

On himself he really likes his arms. He loves seeing them around her body.

C-Cum (anything to do with cum)

Charles cums a lot, and pretty often. He definitely likes to cum inside of her, it doesn't matter whether it's a cunt or her mouth. He just loves it.

D-Dirty secret (just a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s not a big fan of deep throating when getting a blow job. He’s not too sure why, but he never understood the appeal. He does however a little bit of pain when getting head.

E- Experience (how experienced are they)

Have you seen him? Very experienced. He's not a big fan of hookups but he doesn't need to be guided too much as he's able to read her body language easily.

F- Favourite position

He actually loves missionary, especially when her legs are wrapped around him. He also loves bath sex so much, it's also so soft and comforting, she's usually on top of him, but he's thrusting up.

G- Goofy (how serious are they in the moment)

from time to time sex can be filled with giggles and jokes. But usually he's pretty serious as his focus is pleasure and how much he loves her.

H- Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes)

He definitely shaves pretty often, or at least in neatly trimmed. It makes the clean up easier, and he thinks it just looks better.

I- Intimacy (how are they during the moment? Romantic? Pleasure driven?)

He's SO intimate, he loves to watch her come undone and just wants to show her all of his love. He's very romantic and he loves to fill the bedroom with candles or take her on a lovely date and once they get home he makes love to her.

J- Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate very often as he like to wait for her. But if that's not possible, she would definitely be receiving a call. He doesn't like to masturbate while just thinking, he wants to hear or see her.

K- Kinks (one or more of their kinks)

Mommy kink- but he is too scared to say so. He wants it's so bad, and he's been planning on how to tell her for months. Maybe it just slips out while she’s on top and he’s very shocked at what he’s said, but it’s very happy when he realised she liked it

Mirrors- he knows he’s hot, let’s be honest Charles is a little vain and wants to watch himself fucking her

Recording- is this a kink? Anyway, he likes to watch so his favourite thing is recording them and watching it a few weeks later on race weekends

Food play- even just the concept of licking syrup off of her body gets him going. That’s not to say he doesn’t like it on himself. Feeling her touch makes him lose his mind.

L- Location (their favourite place)

He likes hotel rooms because it can get pretty mess a lot of the time. He likes his yacht, it can be quite risky, but nothing he'd shy away from.

M- Motivation (what gets them going?)

Post race sex, that high he gets. Her wearing any of his clothes, it turns him on so much that he just can't resist.

N- No (what turns them off)

Anything usually considered gross. Or extreme pain.

O- Oral (preference on giving or receiving. Skill)

He LOVES giving, he could spend hours between her legs, lapping up her cunt. He just loves it so much, so he is very skilled. He does like getting head, but he much prefers to go down on her. He knows all the techniques and is prepared to learn more.

P- Pace (Are they fast or slow? Rough or sensual?)

Definitely more slow and sensual, he is NOT a lazy lover. He wants her to feel his passion and love, and that is the best way to do it. He definitely likes to be rough, but not particularly fast., this is usually after a bad race, or sometimes even after a win.

Q- Quickie (their opinions on them? How often?)

He has a very neutral opinion and so is not opposed, I think if they were short on time he'd prefer to just wait, or if he was that desperate, he'd happily have a blow job. Overall he prefers to take his time.

R- Risk (will they experiment? Do they take risks?)

He probably really dislikes taking risks, but that does not mean he's completely vanilla. He just doesn't want anything to end badly in any way, so this is kind of his way of preventing it. But don't worry he does switch things up quite often.

S- Stamina (how many rounds do they go for?)

He's very fit!!! So can go for quite a few rounds most days. Other days he's cumming almost immediately and has a pretty short refractory period. But that's partly why he's so good at oral, he just doesn't want the sex to end

T-Toys (do they own any? Do they use them? On a partner or themself?)

Mostly likely some form of vibrator, he did use it on himself and few times, then he asked her for some help with it ;) but he does like to use them on her, just no very often, he sees it as a good way to tease or build up an orgasm. He probably owns some form of couples sex toy that he was too scared to talk to her about until she found it. They definitely had a good night.

U-Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He likes to tease a little bit, but he knows eventually he's going to get teased back. He likes teasing physically, using the lightest of touches or suddenly stopping all movement in one area and moving his hand somewhere else.

V-Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

He like to be loud, whether he's a sub or not. Usually groans or even a bit of panting in a hot way. If he's subbing then definitely the most beautiful whines and moans you've ever heard. Don't get me wrong, he loves to hear her voice, it lets him know he's doing a good job

W-Wild card (a random headcanon)

Charles wants a baby so bad, so he's developed a massive breeding kink. He's constantly trying to fill her up, wanting to see her carry his child.

X-X-ray (how big are they?)

Have you seen the images? He's big and he's thick. Based on my terrible estimates probably 7 inches.

Y- Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Not too high that it could be annoying, but still very high, especially if he's not seen her for a while, then they're fucking like rabbits. He just needs her so desperately.

Z-Zzz (how quick do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Very quickly, he loves cuddles and so that can just put him to sleep. Don't worry, he keeps her on his chest while they sleep, big arms wrapped around her.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #charles lechair #charles leclerc x reader smut #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #Ferrari #ferrari f1

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godsfavdarling · 1 month

Text

How could you?

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (established relationship)

words: 2,3k

summary: You go to Spencer's apartment, only to witness a shocking betrayal that shatters your world.

warnings: angst, hurt, spoilers for season 15!

a/n: this was one of the ideas for the later chapters of my full story 'Keep Holding On' (completed and available here), but there wasn't really a place for it. so, I decided to just make it into a one-shot with a gender-neutral reader!

You and Spencer have been together for a few years now, your relationship a patchwork of late-night conversations, lazy weekends spent on a couch with books, and long nights in each other's arms.

Although his job isn't easy and you don't get him to yourself as much as you'd like to, you wouldn't change a thing. He and the love you share mean everything to you.

In the quiet moments when you're alone, you find yourself marveling at how unexpected and yet perfectly fitting your love story is. You never thought this could happen to you.

You never let yourself believe that there would be a man like Spencer loving you and accepting every fiber of your being.

Spencer's presence in your life is like a gentle breeze on a hot summer's day, soothing and comforting. His unwavering support and understanding make even the toughest days bearable. And when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, you feel a sense of belonging that you've never known before.

You cherish the simple moments shared over cups of coffee in the morning or stolen kisses in the middle of the day. In Spencer's eyes, you see a reflection of your own hopes and dreams, and in his laughter, you find the melody of your heart's desires.

As you drift off to sleep each night, nestled in Spencer's embrace, you offer a silent prayer of gratitude for the love that fills your days and the warmth that fills your heart.

In him, you've found not just a partner, but a kindred spirit, a soulmate who completes you in ways you never knew were possible. And for that, you will always be thankful.

There's an unspoken language that exists only between you and Spencer. It's a language of love, trust, and understanding that transcends words.

You marvel at how effortlessly Spencer seems to know what you need, even before you do. His intuition is uncanny, his gestures of affection tender and sincere.

Whether it's a simple touch on the small of your back as he passes by or a reassuring squeeze of your hand when you're feeling uncertain, Spencer has an innate ability to make everything feel right.

You trust him with your deepest fears, your wildest dreams, and every fragile piece of your heart.

In his arms, you find sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world, a safe harbor where you can be your truest self without fear of judgment or rejection.

And as you navigate the challenges of life together, you're constantly reminded of just how perfect Spencer is in your eyes. His kindness knows no bounds, his patience infinite.

But it's not just his virtues that make him perfect; it's the way he loves you, wholly and unconditionally. In Spencer, you've found a partner who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all, and loves you all the more fiercely because of them.

Now as you climb the stairs to Spencer's apartment, your heart flutters. Spencer has just started his 30 days of obligatory sabbatical, and you're looking forward to spending more time together now that his only obligation is his teaching job. You've picked up takeout on the way, eager to share a quiet evening together.

But as you open the door, your excitement turns to shock and disbelief.

There, before you, is Spencer, locked in a passionate embrace with JJ. Her hands are cupping his cheeks, their lips pressed together in a kiss that sends a jolt of pain through your chest.

Time seems to stand still as the bags of food slip from your fingers, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. You can't tear your eyes away from the scene before you, the weight of betrayal crushing down on you like a ton of bricks.

A thousand thoughts race through your mind, each one more painful than the last.

How could Spencer do this to you? How long has this been going on? And most importantly, how could you have been so blind to the truth?

Your heart feels like it's been ripped from your chest, shattered into a million pieces by the revelation before you. The love and trust you once shared with Spencer now lay in ruins at your feet, leaving you feeling empty and alone in a world that suddenly seems cold and indifferent.

As Spencer and JJ finally break apart, their eyes widening in shock at your sudden appearance, you feel a surge of anger rising within you. But beneath the anger lies a deep well of hurt and sadness, a pain that cuts to the very core of your being.

Without a word, you turn on your heel and flee from the apartment, tears streaming down your cheeks as you struggle to make sense of the betrayal that has shattered your world.

Everything spins around you in a blur of tears and confusion, you turn and run down the stairs, desperate to escape the pain and betrayal that threaten to consume you.

Each step feels like a marathon, your legs heavy with the weight of sorrow and disbelief.

But just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, your vision swimming with tears, you stumble, your foot catching on the edge of a step. You plummet forward, the ground rushing up to meet you with terrifying speed.

In that split second before impact, a pair of strong arms wraps around you, pulling you back from the brink of disaster. You gasp in shock and relief as Spencer catches you, his grip firm and steady.

For a moment, you cling to him like a lifeline, your body trembling with the force of your emotions.

You can't breathe, can't think, can't comprehend the enormity of what has just happened.

As you collapse onto the stairs, your sobs echoing in the empty stairwell, Spencer kneels beside you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away, unable to bear the thought of his hands on your skin.

"Please," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't what you think. I didn't...I didn't do anything."

But his words fall on deaf ears as you struggle to make sense of the chaos swirling inside your head.

How could Spencer betray you like this? How could he let someone else touch him in that way?

As the truth begins to dawn on you, a wave of anger washes over you, hot and relentless. You push yourself away from Spencer, your chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

"Don't," you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't touch me."

But Spencer refuses to give up, his eyes burning with determination as he reaches for you once more. "Please," he begs, his voice raw with emotion. "Let me explain. It wasn't me. It was her."

You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to steady your racing heart as you struggle to catch your breath.

"How could you?" you utter, your voice barely above a whisper, the words heavy with accusation and pain.

Spencer's eyes are full of anguish as tears well up in his eyes. He reaches out to you, his hand hovering in the air between you, a silent plea for forgiveness that you're not sure you're ready to grant.

But before you can respond, JJ appears at the top of the stairs, her mouth open as if she's about to say something. But then, with a quick shake of her head, she closes her mouth and walks past the two of you without a word.

You stare after her in disbelief, your mind reeling with confusion and hurt.

You struggle to make sense of the situation. You knew of the hostage situation with JJ and how she had professed her love for Spencer. But you also remember how Spencer immediately came to you, confessing everything and reassuring you of his love for you.

He spent the whole night telling you every detail of what happened, assuring you that his heart belonged to you and you alone. He made it clear that you were the one he loved, not JJ.

So what happened? How could he be kissing her now, after everything he said and everything you've been through together?

With a shaky breath, you push yourself up from the stairs, your muscles tense with the effort to contain the storm raging within you. You want to flee, to distance yourself from him and the shattered remnants of your trust.

But before you can take a single step, Spencer's voice cuts through the tumultuous haze of your thoughts, pleading with you to stay. His words are a desperate plea for understanding, for a chance to explain the inexplicable.

"Please," he implores, his voice cracking with emotion. "Don't leave. I need to explain. I swear, it wasn't what it looked like. You have to believe me."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to escape and the need for answers. Despite the overwhelming pain coursing through your veins, there's a part of you that still craves the truth, no matter how agonizing it may be.

You groan loudly, the weight of the situation bearing down on you like a leaden blanket. Your mind races with a million questions, each one more painful than the last.

But for now, you're too overwhelmed to process anything.

With another loud groan, you turn and begin to make your way back upstairs, your steps heavy with exhaustion and despair.

You can feel Spencer's eyes boring into your back, his silent plea for you to stay echoing in the empty stairwell.

As you reach the top of the stairs, you don't look back, you enter the apartment and your only thought is to find a moment of solace in the solitude of the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you shut the door behind you, the click of the lock a final barrier between you and the chaos that threatens to consume you.

And as you sit there, trembling and broken, you realize that there's something about Spencer, something in the depths of his eyes that compelled you to stay, to hear him out.

It's a trust that runs deeper than words.

As you emerge from the bathroom after a few minutes, the weight of the silence between you and Spencer hangs heavy in the air.

You find him on the couch, his leg shaking uncontrollably, his fingers fidgeting nervously. His face is etched with worry and pain, mirroring the tumult of emotions raging inside you both.

He gave you space, just as he always did. It's one of the things you've always admired about him, his ability to recognize when you needed time to process and heal.

But now, as you sit in the armchair nearby, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, you can't help but feel the need for answers, for some semblance of understanding in the chaos that surrounds you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer speaks. His voice is hoarse with emotion, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he's been holding them back for far too long.

"She just showed up," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "Out of nowhere, she started talking about how she loves me and how she was stupid for ignoring it for so long. She said she couldn't pretend anymore..."

You listen in stunned silence, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. So it wasn't Spencer who initiated the kiss, it was JJ.

But why?

As Spencer continues to speak, his words are a desperate attempt to make sense of the madness that has engulfed your lives, you find yourself drawn to him, to the vulnerability etched into every line of his face.

Despite the pain and betrayal that still lingers between you, there's a part of you that can't help but empathize with his plight.

As Spencer falls silent, his eyes searching yours for some sign of forgiveness or understanding, you find yourself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

Hurt, betrayal, and confusion war with a lingering sense of empathy and love for the man sitting before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and collect your thoughts. "Spencer," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know what to say."

His eyes widen in anticipation, his expression a mixture of hope and fear. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice laced with regret. "I know I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I need time," you finally say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I need time to process everything, to figure out where we go from here."

Spencer nods solemnly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I understand," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting for you."

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself up from the armchair, your limbs feeling like lead. "I'm going to go," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "I just... I need some space."

Spencer nods, his gaze following you as you make your way to the door. "I'll be here," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

You pause in the doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. "I love you too," you murmur, your voice choked with emotion.

And with that, you step out into the cool night air, the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders.

As you make your way home, you can't help but wonder will it ever be the same between the two of you?

432 notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 9 months

Note

hii, can i request an insta au for lando? i don’t have something particular in mind, bit maybe best friends to lovers kinda thing? and their friends teasing them/ being annoyed? <33 love your work!!

best friends 4 ever | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x bff!reader

best friends? lovers? who knows?

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 320,879 others

yourusername: clubbing on a budget 🍒

view all comments

user1: where's lando?

user2: yet another post without lando, have they broken up?

user3: how can they be broken up if they aren't together?

user4: why do you people think lando and y/n doing things separately is illegal?

user5: why weren't you at the race?

yourusername: babes i'm just a bartender i do not have the schedule or the finances to just fuck off to saudi arabia for three days sorry xx

user5: you clearly had the weekend off?

yourusername: please refer to my previous statement on my financial standing

yourbff1: who is that stunning woman?

yourusername: u bestie

landonorris: glad you went with outfit choice number one

yourusername: thank you miranda priestly

oscarpiastri: so that's who i could hear you talking to...

yourusername: clubbing outfits are a serious business oscar

oscarpiastri: serious enough for a three hour call?

yourusername: YES.

landonorris: YES.

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 902,894 others

landonorris: mood before the race v after the race, see you next year jeddah 🇸🇦

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user6: what driving a tractor does to a motherfucker

yourusername: what's a performance where a man is having the worst time of his life but looks sexy doing it?

landonorris: beauty is pain

yourusername: then you must be suffering

user7: mr and miss we're not dating flirting up a storm in the comments as per

carlossainz55: maybe focus less on modelling and more on driving

yourusername: so no more ferrari thirst traps?

carlossainz55: damn i forgot that coming for lando means dealing with you

yourusername: meet me in the parking lot chilli

landonorris: y/n is like my little chihuahua so come for me, watch your ankles

user8: do they think we're dumb?

danielricciardo: ah the classic post mclaren snooze, if only you had your cuddle buddy

landonorris: i know you miss me mate but i'll cuddle you in melbourne

danielricciardo: ok. not what i meant. but i'll take the free cuddles

user9: so he was defo referring to y/n, right?

daniel3.jpeg

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 708,655 others

tagged: yourusername, landonorris, heidiberger

daniel3.jpeg: any wagon need a third wheel, i'm practically a professional now?

view all comments

user12: confirmation? this is confirmation, right? RIGHT?

yourusername: i gave you that banjo in good faith daniel and this is how you repay me?

daniel3.jpeg: i appreciate her !!!! thank you for my lessons, but these are cute so i will not be deleting sorry not sorry

yourusername: ur right we are serving

user13: life is just not fair

user14: official cause of death: the third slide

landonorris: how relegated to just an arm, i see how it is daniel

yourusername: you are literally the definition of pookie bear and cutieful in the first pic

landonorris: i'm going to need you to never say those words ever again

yourusername: that's not what you said last night ...

landonorris: you're right i am pookie bear

user15: actual pics + comments = y'all can no longer say i'm being delusional.

f1wagsupdates

liked by user16, user17 and 3,240 others

tagged: landonorris

f1wagsupdates: lando norris spotted on his boat in monaco with an unknown woman. the pair looked flirty and spent the whole day together alone on the boat. norris' rumoured girlfriend y/n y/ln was back in the u.k. where she works as a bar tender. what do you think?

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user18: i'm so confused rn

user19: i know we never had concrete confirmation but my heart is broken for y/n right now

user20: i don't want to jump to any conclusions, men and women can be friends, there's nothing in these photos that suggest anything more than friendship

user21: they're literally holding hands in the second pic

user20: i hold my friends hands every time i jump in the water doesn't mean i'm with them

user22: but the pic in danny's post .... i don't even know anymore

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 356,823 others

yourusername: food will never leave me

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user25: so like is this a dig after those pics of lando and the random girl?

user26: i know this is sad and all, but that kebab looks banging please tell us where you got it

yourusername: camden market babes

yourbff1: sexy girl, sexy food and sexy photography

yourusername: best photographer i know

user27: SHADE LANDP.JPEG YOU WERE NEVER THAT GIRL

landonorris: camden kebabs without me? offended.

yourusername: doing a lot of things without each other recently.

maxfewtrell: could've at least invited me i love that place

user28: oof. i feel like i shouldn't be watching this

lando.jpeg

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,305,066 others

tagged: yourusername

lando.jpeg: appreciation post for my bestest friend forever and the love of my life. i didn't want to give any attention to the rumours going around so i thought i'd just let you know i'm in love, i've been in love for years and will be in love with her for the rest of my life.

view all comments

user29: okay, now the confirmation is here, idk what to do with myself

user30: i survived the y/n x lando slow burn

yourusername: i love you too bob

lando.jpeg: i love you more, can't wait to see you

yourusername: i'm never letting you leave again

user31: so like you're gonna deny being all up close and personal with a random girl on the boat

landonorris: not that i owe you people anything, that girl is my cousin, she was visiting monaco and i showed her around. but it shouldn't matter, you guys don't know me personally and stop assuming things about athletes' personal lives.

yourusername: what he said.

carlossainz55: FINALLY

danielricciardo: i literally don't know how much longer i could've kept this a secret

oscarpiastri: i think we deserve a reward

charles_leclerc: i second this

maxverstappen1: i third this

maxfewtrell: i fourth this

yourusername: alright, alright we get it

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 607,845 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: i guess we owe our parents £50 xx

view all comments

user32: bro this shit has me straight up crying THIS AINT EVEN MY RELATIONSHIP

oscarpiastri: you guys are cute i'll give you that

yourusername: teammate stamp of approval get it @landonorris

oscarpiastri: i think you guys got that after i walked in on you after silverstone

landonorris: our bad lol

user33: this reads like a fanfic but they're so cute

maxverstappen1: awww lando was so cute in that first pic, what went wrong?

yourusername: u and kelly look like siblings, don't come for us

maxverstappen1: u got it

landonorris: i love you fairy princess

yourusername: i love you racer boy

note: enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy. i originally wrote this a while back but it deleted itself when my laptop had a meltdown. so this is a bit diff but i hope you like it anyway !! xx

#f1 #f1 x you #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 3 months

Text

ceilings pt2 - san (m)

summary: pe teacher!san x not so single mom!reader. now that san knows about his daughter, he's determined to worm his way into her life. and yours. and maybe your home? or, the one where violet's mom and dad fall in love.

word count: 16.3k (i could say i'm sorry but i'm not)

warnings: SMUT! afab reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving). this is unedited and i am sorry about that

masterlist / part one

"mommy, where's daddy?"

"he's at home, sugar," you answer violet. she's been asking about her dad a lot more lately, considering she now knows that san, her pe teacher, is her father. the two of you told violet the same night that you told san, and at first you worried that was the wrong choice. you were worried this would be too much for violet all at once and she wouldn't understand, so you and san came up with a plan.

you still drove violet to school every day, but she'd come home with san. he'd always bring her back to your house and watch her until you got home. every other night, the two of you would make dinner, or san would treat his girls to whatever they wanted if you were too lazy to cook. on the weekends, he and violet had daddy daughter days where he took her to the park, to birthday parties, friend's houses for playdates, the store...they went anywhere and everywhere together. daddy daughter days were always followed by family fun days where san would spend the night and wake up with you in his arms and violet knocking at the door asking to play. these were his favorites (and yours too) because it was just a glimpse of how wonderful your life as a family could be.

it was so hard for san to leave, though. he hated going back to his empty apartment during the week, and family fun days usually carried over into monday morning. the only thing stopping san from coming back and staying that night, and the next, and the next..the only thing stopping him was you.

you claim you were too afraid of changing violet's schedule so quickly, because san was, in a way, still a stranger to your daughter. you were afraid of doing anything that would hurt violet now or later on in life, so you wanted to take things slow with san. in reality, you were afraid of opening your own life to him. you know he's a great dad, you know you can trust him with violet, but you're afraid of trusting him with yourself. honestly, violet has been handling this great. now it's just you that needs to adjust.

you will say, the only growing pain so far is 1) getting violet to refer to san as mr. choi still at school and 2) getting her to not call him mr. dad at home. other than that, she's loving this whole dad thing. she's got another playmate, a new best buddy, a partner in crime. it's so cool seeing violet and san bond finally, and every day you catch yourself loving them both more and more.

"when we finish dinner, can we call him?" she asks. (she saw him less than an hour ago.)

"as soon as you eat your broccoli," you tell her, and you have to stifle a laugh at the way she rolls her eyes. your little drama queen. she listens though, because she's done with her food in record time. you let her take your phone and call her dad, laughing at the way she's speaking a mile a minute as soon as he picks up.

while violet and san talk, you clean up dinner. you don't have to do much, because san did most of your dishes while he waited for you to get home from work today. you're trying to balance the mess in your fridge and find space for the leftovers when you notice something you don't remember buying. you pull it out and see a handwritten note, from san, telling you he bought your favorite dessert "just because." you're pulling it from the fridge to sneak a couple bites without violet knowing when she appears in the doorway, your phone smooshed between her cheek and her shoulder. squeezed in her hands is san's old pillow, shiber, and she plays with it as she asks, "mommy? can daddy spend the night?"

"huh?" you laugh, recognizing how odd that sentence is. it's just another reminder for you that you need to get comfortable with san being here, being with you, because the longer you wait, the less she gets to see of her dad. you can hear san faintly through the phone, and then violet nods, goes, "mhm, she's right here," then passes the phone to you. "daddy said he wants to talk to you."

"is this the handsome man who left a tiramisu in my fridge this afternoon?" you greet him, and you get butterflies in your stomach when you hear his happy laugh.

"and what if it is?"

"thank you, san."

"of course, m'love," he says like it's nothing. "figured you would like it."

"so what's this i hear about you spending the night?" you ask as you try a bite of the tiramisu. it's sweet and comforting, just like san.

"that was violet's idea, i swear-"

"so you won't admit that you miss me?" you tease.

"will you admit that you miss me?" he gives it right back, and you feel your face flush.

"i do," you nod. "i miss you. if you want to spend the night tonight you can. sorry you had to go home-"

"don't say sorry," he cuts you off. "i'll be there in 20."

san is at your house in 15 minutes. he lets himself in, which will never not surprise you, because you're so used to being the only person with a key to your house. while you're recovering from the small heart attack of thinking an intruder was opening the front door, violet comes tearing out of her room screeching for her dad. she's so happy to see him, she jumps into his arms and he has to catch himself on the door to stop from falling. you let them have a moment, content to hang off to the side but san pulls you into his side and places a delicate kiss on your cheek.

"hey," he smiles.

"hello," you squeak, and he squeezes you closer to his side. "you want me to take your stuff to our room?"

"our room?" he asks, his smile growing bigger. "you've never called it that before."

"do you want me to take it or not," you deadpan, trying to will the blush away from your cheeks.

"yeah, you can take my stuff to our room," he emphasizes. "i'll get our daughter ready for bed."

"no!" violet whines. "you just got here!"

"you still have school tomorrow, bug," he tells her, booping her nose. "gotta stick to bedtime, but i'll read you an extra book after your bath. ok?"

"ok," she grumbles, wiggling her way out of his arms so she can stomp off to her room. you and san share a laugh and you turn to take his things, but his firm hand tugging your wrist stops you. he pulls you back to his side, cupping his hand under your chin so he can kiss your lips swiftly.

"you know we can kiss in front of her, right?" you whisper to him, but san shakes his head.

"wanted that one to be just for me and you," he says, his hand slipping from your wrist to playfully pat your ass. "go, i'll get her bath started."

"so pushy," you grumble, but you see san smiling from the corner of your eye as you take his things to your room.

not so long after that, you find your little family cuddled up on violet's bed. you're pushed up against the wall, violet smushed into your side, and san's broad form takes up the rest of the bed. he's reading a book to violet that's putting you and your daughter to sleep, and before you know it you've drifted off. you register a soft kiss to your forehead, the bed shifting a little, and then you fall into the deepest sleep you've had in years.

you wake up the next morning in a similar way, except this time, you feel two pairs of lips kissing you. you open your eyes to violet kissing your cheek and san pulling back from kissing your forehead. they're both dressed for school, and you sit up in a panic, mumbling incoherently.

"shh, baby, go back to sleep," san soothes you. "i'll take violet to school, i reset your alarm so you can rest a little more before you have to leave for work."

"what?" you ask groggily, and san explains that the three of you fell asleep in violet's bed. she woke up before her alarm, which woke san up, and he made their breakfast and packed their lunches while violet got dressed. there was nothing for you to do but sit there confused, a pleasant feeling blossoming in your chest. "i guess i'll see you tonight then?"

"you will," san nods, brushing some hair out of your face. "now please, go back to sleep."

"no," you shake your head, reaching for violet. "goodbye hugs. have a good day at school, sugar."

"i will!" she chirps. "it's a pe day, so i get to eat lunch in daddy's office!"

"ooo, i'm jealous," you say as you let her go. you blow san a kiss as he ushers violet out of her room, and he catches it dramatically and pops it into his pocket. he winks at you before he closes the door, reminding you one last time to rest before he leaves. when you hear the front door close, you let yourself fall back onto violet's pillows, catching the scent of san lingering in the sheets. you could get used to mornings like this.

san and violet have a great day at school. as promised, she got to eat lunch in his office, and she felt like the coolest person in the world getting walked back to class by her dad. hand in hand they go back to miss jen's room, meeting the class outside as they take a potty break. violet runs to join her friends, so san stops to say hi to jen.

"we missed you at lunch today," she says. "wooyoung thought you were having a conjugal visit with your wife."

"shut up."

"his words, not mine," she says, putting her hands up. "but violet told me you brought her to school today? is y/n ok?"

"yeah, she's fine," san shrugs. "i just figured she could use the sleep, so i got violet ready and brought her with me this morning."

"you spent the night?" jen wiggles her eyebrows.

"it's not like that," san laughs. "we all slept in violet's bed, no funny business."

"that's fucking cute," jen whispers, her eyes looking over her class to make sure they didn't hear her use a bad word. "things must be going well then!"

"it was violet's idea, me spending the night," san sighs, "but y/n was fine with it, so i guess, yeah, things are great."

"why don't you ask to move in? i know you want to."

"y/n would say no," san shakes his head. "she's not ready for that."

"then we'll make her ready!" jen decides. "i need you two to be madly in love already. i'm living vicariously through you right now."

"if you would just go on a date with wooyoung-"

"stop," jen points a harsh finger in san's face. "we are friends."

"friends who like each other-"

"come on, class, let's go!" jen calls for her kids, and san sticks his tongue out at her as she hurries off. if jen can play matchmaker with him and y/n, then san has every right to get her to realize wooyoung is obsessed with her. he'll bring it up to y/n tonight, see what else they can do.

seeing as you and san are trying to figure this whole estranged friends turned lovers turned parents thing out, one thing you struggle with is finding moments just to be a couple together. you and san never dated, really. yes, some of your time in college could constitute as the early stages of a relationship, but that doesn't really count. you're not sure you and san have ever been on a date under the premise of it being a date, but you are absolutely dating. he's your boyfriend, and you're his girlfriend. it feels trivial trying to define what you are to each other considering the circumstances, so you and san barely talk about it. it hasn't come up in a while, actually, but one friday while you're picking violet up from school, san approaches your car with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"hey beautiful," he greets you, leaning down to give you a kiss as yeosang (mr. kang, the librarian) helps violet into her carseat. at the sound of your lips popping apart from san's, yeosang gasps dramatically with violet.

"how dare you do that in public," yeosang shakes his head. "there's children present."

"mommy and daddy kiss all the time," violet tells him, and you all stifle laughs at the disgust in her voice.

"thanks for the help, man," san calls to yeosang as he heads off to grab the next carpooler. san ducks his head back into your car to ask, "what are you doing tonight?"

"hmm, nothing really," you think. "somebody has to help me clean the living room," you say with a glance to violet in the rearview, and she looks around like she can't hear you, "but other than that we're not busy. why?"

"let me take you out," san smiles.

"just me?"

"yep."

"what's our kid gonna do?"

"wooyoung can watch her," san shrugs, and you look at him skeptically. "orrr we could bother jen last minute-"

"she's got a date," you inform him, and san looks sad for a moment. "what's wrong with that?"

"that's gonna kill wooyoung," he sighs. "but whatever. he'll be fine with violet, he handles a third grade class on his own and so far he's only killed a fish."

"what?"

"baby, please," san starts to beg, grabbing one of your hands in his bigger ones and squeezing tight. "i would like to go on a date with you tonight. please say yes."

"of course i'll go out with you sannie," you reply, using your free hand to reach out and push some of his hair out of his eyes. "if you trust wooyoung with violet, then sure. just tell me where to be and when."

"be ready at seven," san smiles so big you're afraid it'll split his face. "i'll pick you up. dress sexy."

"san!"

"mommy, what does sexy mean?"

"sorry," san smiles still, leaning in to kiss you one last time. "see you later. bye bug!"

"bye daddy!"

you've always tried to be a good role model for violet, to show her what a strong woman looks like. you're not sure how that's translating tonight though, because you're stressing so much about this date with san that violet, in her little kid ways, is trying to comfort you. first she brought you her favorite stuffie to keep you company while you got ready. while you showered and stressed over your makeup, violet cleaned her toys in the living room without being asked. when she finished that and saw you were still frantic, she just climbed on your bed amidst the piles of clothes and started giving her own advice.

"daddy likes when you have sparkles on your eyes," she suggests, and you know she means glittery eyeshadow. san says it makes your eyes look like the night sky, and it always makes your stomach flip.

"if i wear that eyeshadow, then i need to wear one of these," you say as you hold up your outfit options. "these colors go together best."

"really?" violet scrunches her face up.

"yes? why?"

"that shirt is ugly," she says bluntly, pointing to the hanger in your right hand. "but i don't like that dress either. it's a yucky color."

the "yucky" color was an olive green, which you thought wasn't that bad, but violet had a point. the shirt was ugly now that you looked at it, and if she hated the dress too...

"what do you think i should wear, baby?" you ask as you try to organize the mess on your bed. "you pick."

"mmm, something blue," she says confidently, so you help her look. surprisingly, she puts together an outfit that you really like. violet stands in front of you in the floor length mirror, staring up at you proudly. you lean down to squeeze her into a tight hug, kissing her cheek before telling her this outfit is perfect.

violet looks so pleased with herself as you stand back up and watch her in the reflection. you focus a lot on how violet looks like san, but every once in a while you look at her and get this indescribable feeling of recognition in your chest. she is your daughter through and through, and you love sharing moments like these with her. as you stand there, you quickly notice that same glint of mischief you've seen in san's eyes before as she says, "do you think daddy's gonna call you sexy again?"

san comes over early with wooyoung in tow. the first thing he says when he enters your home isn't a hello, a nice to meet you, or anything remotely polite. he looks you dead in the eyes and asks, "why is jen on a date with seonghwa?!"

"excuse me?" you ask, looking from him to your date. san just shrugs before running off to find violet, leaving you all alone to answer wooyoung's interrogation.

"i mean, i've only been in love with her for years and instead of going out with me she picks this guy just because he's new and shiny and annoying.." wooyoung grumbles.

"you're annoying too, man," san says as he enters the room with violet in his arms.

"hi mr. wooyoung," she chirps, and wooyoung smiles warmly at her.

"hey violet! i'm your dad's best friend, so i think you and i will be best friends, too."

"i thought mommy was his best friend," violet pouts, and that sends wooyoung into another rant.

"you can have more than one best friend," you tell your daughter. "mommy has more than one best friend, and nobody is upset about that," you shoot wooyoung a look, and the mom eyes get him to shut up. "also, if you've been in love with jen for years then you've had plenty of chances to ask her out. sorry that seonghwa manned up and did it before you-"

"wooyoung, let me show you where all of vi's stuff is," san cuts in, afraid that you and wooyoung were about to get into a catty argument. you'd be late for your reservation if san let you keep going, so he runs through all the important things for wooyoung as you finish making violet's dinner. you don't hear san join you in the kitchen, too distracted by the sound of wooyoung and violet pretending to be what sounds like fighter pilots in the living room. you jump when san wraps his hands around your waist, sliding under the apron you tied over your dress to keep it pristine while you cooked.

"hey gorgeous," he whispers into your ear, and you feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as his lips trail from your ear down the column of your neck and to the exposed skin on your shoulder. he turns you around, hands still firmly around your waist, and he kisses you quickly. against your lips, he whispers, "this dress is gonna kill me."

"you'll be fine," you whisper back, hands rubbing over the crisp black fabric struggling to stay buttoned over his broad chest. you take him in then, the all black outfit making him look so handsome it's almost intimidating. the way his shirt is buttoned all the way to his neck, though...

"what's wrong?" san asks, his thumb rubbing at the crease between your eyebrows. "is my shirt wrinkly?"

"no, you just look like a waiter-"

"y/n," san whines, his hands squeezing your waist. "seriously baby?"

"well it's just," you start, your fingers finding their way to the collar of his shirt. "with all the buttons done up, yes, you look like a - very handsome - waiter. i think it'd look better this this," you mumble, undoing the top few buttons. now it's san's turn to get goosebumps, little tingles traveling across his skin as your fingers brush against his neck. you readjust his collar to show a little more skin, and you smile, satisfied with your work when you notice how flushed he is.

"better?" he asks as he clears his throat, and you nod.

"will you get violet in here? her food is ready."

once violet is set up at the kitchen table with her dinner, you and san start to say your goodbyes. you're running through violet's nighttime routine with wooyoung, and the boys assure you that you'll come home to your daughter in one piece.

"i've watched kids before, y/n," wooyoung says. "violet will be fine."

"you know i'll kick your ass if we come home and she's not," san says, and you hit his arm as violet calls out, "swear jar, daddy!"

"ok, we really need to go," you say. "we're gonna be late-"

"wait!" wooyoung shouts, getting up from the kitchen table with his phone out. "baby's first date. i need to get a picture."

"wooyoung," you groan as san says, "let him, baby. it'll be cute."

so you let wooyoung dramatically take pictures of you and san together, treating this more like senior prom than a date with someone you've known for almost ten years. san is eating this up, but you're trying to fight it. he's wrapping you in his arms, trying to kiss you for the photos, and you can't help it, you become a giggly mess. wooyoung is cooing over you two as he snaps the photos, but your eyes find violet watching from the kitchen. she's smiling, and it almost makes you tear up. you hope violet remembers moments like this as she gets old, and remembers how much you love san and how much he loves you. you want this same kind of love for her, something pure, protective, and so caring. you want this girl's standards so high, because she deserves all the love in the world. you wonder for a moment if you've found that kind of love, and when san calls your name to lead you out the door, you know. the look in his eyes tells you just how loved you are.

you and san share a beautiful evening together. san took you into the city to one of your favorite restaurants, and you were spoiled all night. dinner was delicious, the champagne was just strong enough that you're just tipsy but still very aware of how warm san makes you feel, and you share a dessert that you took turns feeding to each other. as far as "first" dates go, this was absolutely perfect.

neither of you wanted to leave, but you knew you had to get home for violet. she's on your mind as you make the short walk back to san's car, and a sign in the distance catches your eye. you turn to san with a twinkle in your eyes and say, "let's get donuts."

"what? baby, aren't you stuffed?" he asks, but you shake your head and grab his hand anyway. you lead the way to the donut shop a few blocks down, san following behind you with a content smile on his face. he'd follow you anywhere, he thinks. hell, if you wanted to run down this street until you ran out of road he'd follow you. he's glad the trek isn't that far though, but he wonders briefly if your shoes will be able to make the walk back to the car.

"violet will be so stoked to have donuts for breakfast tomorrow," you finally explain, and san nods along as you pick out what's left from the day. you're still gripping his hand firmly in yours, so you struggle to reach your purse when it's time to pay. san uses his free hand to take out his wallet, paying before you have a chance.

"still date night, still my treat," he whispers to you before kissing the top of your head. he takes the bag of donuts from the cashier as you both call out your thanks, and san sees you grab a couple napkins before he tugs you out of the store.

"gimme," you reach out for the bag, and san holds it out to you. you search for something, tongue peeking out between your lips in concentration. when you find what you want, you pull it out with one of the napkins, presenting a strawberry frosted donut with sprinkles. you take a bite, humming at the sweetness, and then you hold it up in front of san's face. "take a bite, it's really good."

"i'm full my love," he tells you, but you bump the donut into his mouth anyway. when he laughs, you try it again and aim for his open mouth, but he keeps managing to pull away. laughing softly, you come to a stop at a red light, and you decide to address something.

"san? you know i love you right?" you ask, and san looks at you in confusion. "what? you didn't know?"

"no, i knew," he shakes his head. "but, baby, i don't think we've said that to each other before."

"yes we have," you scoff, but san shakes his head again.

"as friends, yeah. but not seriously."

"oh."

"yeah."

"sorry?"

"sorry?" san chuckles, the light turning so you can cross the street. he watches you carefully try to navigate the bumpy crosswalk, and when you look back up at him he sees that you're blushing.

"yeah, i'm sorry i said it like that for the first time," you shrug. "like it wasn't a big deal."

"it's still a big deal," he assures you.

"but that's not how you're supposed to tell someone you love them!"

"i think we just do things differently, baby."

"whatever," you mumble. you're stopped at another light, so you turn to him fully, eyes holding his gaze, and say, "choi san, i love you."

"y/f/n," he replies, "i love you even more."

"oh really?"

"yeah," he nods. "like, way more."

"hmm."

"and you know what?" he asks. you hum in reply, and he continues. "i think your name would sound a loooot better with my last name."

"what?" you stop in your tracks. "are you-"

"i'm not proposing," he laughs. "just flirting, a little bit."

"oh so we're flirting now?" you ask. "then might i say, your ass looks great in those slacks."

"classy," san squeaks out. you're coming up on the street where you parked, and you stop san before he can turn. he's about to ask why, but you just point up toward the buildings ahead. it's a clear night, so you can almost see the stars in the night sky, but the skyline is glittering in front of you so beautifully it takes your breath away. you stand together admiring it, and only when you turn to find san already looking at you do you pull him in the direction of the car.

he unlocks the car from your side, but you stop him before he can leave. you wrap your arms around his neck, lean your face close to his, and whisper, "i love you so much, san." you kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his lips, and he boxes you in so you're pressed against the cool metal of the car as he deepens the kiss. you make out for what feels like only a few seconds, but when san finally pulls away you notice you're out of breath.

"let's go home," he whispers, a fire in his eyes you've only seen once before. you've got butterflies in your stomach as san drives home, a firm hand on your thigh the whole way. you're watching him the whole drive, and san tries to focus on the road. he steals glances as much as he can, and when you get close to your house you start to get antsy. you place your hand on his, pushing it ever so slightly farther up your leg, and san's other hand is gripping the wheel so hard he's afraid it'll snap. he speeds the final few minutes back to your house, and as soon as the car is off he's grabbing your face and crashing his lips on yours. your hands start at his shoulders and slowly make their way down...and then there's a buzzing sound coming from somewhere. you want to pull away and look for the phone, but san holds you tightly in place. you have to speak directly into his mouth to ask, "who is it?"

"who cares?" san mumbles back into your lips. he keeps kissing you, and the buzzing dies out. but then you feel your purse start to vibrate by your feet, and you push san away with a pop as his lips disconnect from yours, his mouth still pursed and eyes closed like he doesn't believe you actually pushed him away. you reach for your phone, mumbling about how it could be an emergency, and when you show him that it's wooyoung, you think you've been vindicated. you answer and ask quickly, "is violet alright?"

"i'm not getting paid for you two to make out in your driveway," wooyoung replies, and your head falls back with a sigh.

"you're not getting paid at all, wooyoung."

"what?!"

"thanks man!" san shouts into your phone. "totally ruined the moment!"

"good!" wooyoung shouts back. "i'm bitter! and bored! come inside!"

"i'm gonna punch him," san tells you as you collect your things. he's out of the car before you and rushes to open your door.

"you are not," you roll your eyes. "just get him out of the house quickly, please."

"fine," san grumbles as you get your keys out to unlock the door. wooyoung is faster though, tearing the door open with a big smile on his face.

"welcome home lovebirds," he greets you with a sweep of your arms. you almost gasp when you see your house, because it's cleaner than you've maybe ever seen it. you look to wooyoung in shock, and he shrugs. "told you, i was bored. violet's been asleep for about two hours, so i needed something to do."

"you cleaned my house," you say in disbelief, peeking around corners and seeing things neatly put away, blankets folded, dishes washed and dried. you turn to wooyoung and say, "i think i might love you."

"whoa," san jumps in. "let's not say things we don't mean."

"whatever," you say, still looking around in surprise. "wooyoung i take back anything bad i ever said about you."

"you said bad stuff about me?" he pouts, and you remind him, "jen? not asking her out when you're both obviously into each other?"

"you think jen's into me?" wooyoung asks, and it's his turn to be shocked.

"he's never gonna leave now," san sighs as he comes up behind you and tucks his head onto your shoulder. "i've told you that before, man."

"yeah, but you're not a reliable source," wooyoung chides. he's about to say something else, but you cut him off.

"listen, i'd be happy to tell you how in love jen is with you, but maybe another time," you say, trying to use the mom eyes on wooyoung again to get him to leave. it seems to work, because he looks between you and san with a knowing look in his eyes.

"right, right, you two probably wanna get busy," he nods, and you feel san groan rather than hear it. "i'll leave you to it, violet was telling me how she wants a baby brother-"

"alright man, i'll see you later," san says as he detaches from you and pushes wooyoung toward the door. you watch them bicker a little before san shoves his friend outside and closes the door softly after. he leans against it and sighs, eyes reopening to find you watching him. "c'mere."

you saunter over to him, hands cupping his chin as you place a chaste kiss to his lips. you think if you step back and head for your room he'll follow you, but instead he grabs you by the hips and spins you around so you're pressed against the door. he makes sure there's no space between you, your chest pressed to his and his hips slotted over yours as he leans down for another kiss. he slowly trails his lips down your chin, across your neck, and stops right where your collarbone dips down slightly. he sucks a kiss into your skin, relishing in the way your breath catches as you try to stay quiet. he stays there, biting and kissing at your neck, and you reach up with a shaky hand to snake your fingers through his hair. you pull him off of you, a sounds close to a growl coming from deep within san's chest. you stare into his eyes, that flame still flickering from before.

"let's go to our room," you say breathlessly, and san nods. before you can stop him, he's scooping you up in his strong arms and carrying you to the bedroom, a squeal dying on your lips as he kisses you harder. he's able to kick the door closed before he tosses you down on the bed. you watch as he undoes his belt and tosses it to the ground, and you giggle.

"somebody's eager," you tease, and san groans.

"been waiting too long for this, damn right i'm eager," he mumbles as he crawls on top of you. he kisses you again, and this time it's messier, more teasing, and it takes you back to the first time you and san were in this position. you remember how he made you feel like your skin was on fire, and you feel that same way now. he breaks away from you and just stares, which starts to weird you out.

"earth to sannie?" you whisper. "what are you doing?"

"admiring you?" he smiles. "sorry, i got distracted."

"you got distracted staring at me?"

"yeah?"

"you're sickening," you tell him before kissing him again. this time, you wrap your legs around his hips and flip him over so you're straddling his lap. san has that same dopey look on his face from a second ago, so you decide to do something that will break this sappy haze he seems to be in. "so i was going to take my dress off, but i'm not wearing much underneath it..."

"baby," he whines, holding your hips and kind of kicking around like he's having a tantrum. "why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

"we never would've left," you answer, and he shuts up. you lean down to kiss him, and over his lips you tell him, "and if we hadn't gone on our perfect date, i wouldn't have told you i loved you," you kiss him, "and knowing you, if we had stayed home, this would've been faster," kiss, "more frantic," kiss, "and what's the fun in that? we took our time getting here. why don't we enjoy it?"

"exactly," san growls, using his hands on your hips to pull you closer to the tent in his pants. you gasp at the friction, so san moves your hips again, and again, as he says, "we've waited this long. i don't want to wait anymore, just wanna make love to you."

"oh you do?" you ask as your hands find the buttons on his shirt. you trail kisses across his jawline as you undo his shirt, sitting up to admire his broad chest as your hands slide under the fabric and push it away. san refuses to let go of you, so you leave his shirt hanging off his shoulders as you trace over every freckle, every line, every curve of his chest. your hands trail lower, reaching the waistband of his pants, and san grabs both of your hands in one of his to stop you.

"take your dress off," he says lowly, and you feel his words in the pit of your stomach.

"not fair," you pout, but he shakes his head.

"wanna see you," he says, already breathless. his hands find the hem of your dress, fingers tracing along your skin and sending goosebumps across your thighs. he helps you push the skirt of the dress up, and he lets out a hiss of breath when he sees your panties, almost the same shade of blue as the dress. you keep pulling the fabric up and over your body, and san moans softly when he sees you weren't wearing a bra. "baby, you're gonna be the death of me."

"told you there wasn't much underneath," you laugh as you pull his hands from their slow ascent up your legs. you bring them to your chest to cup your boobs, and san sighs at the soft feeling. you lean back down over him, replacing your mouth on his. you make out like that for a while, san getting lost in the feeling of having you this way again. he doesn't know how he went years without this. he curses himself for all the lost time, but he smirks into your mouth as he thinks of all the ways he can make up for it in the future. you feel the shift in his features, so you pull back and ask, "what are you thinkin about?"

"about how much i love you?" he tries, and you don't fall for it. he squeezes your chest as he admits, "thinkin about all the ways i wanna have you this weekend."

"have me?" you tease him, and he nods. "what's the first one?"

"want you to ride me."

"you sure? we made a baby like that the last time," you tell him as you unbutton his slacks anyway. you're both impatient, so you don't even try to get his pants off, just low enough for you to cup the bulge in his boxers before you pull those down too. his cock springs free, and you spit in your hand before wrapping your fist around it. you stroke him a few times, even though it's not necessary. san might be harder than he's ever been right now, but you can't help it. he's moaning beneath you so beautifully, you get lost in the sound until he moans out your name.

"y/n, please," he groans. "just sit on it, please. need to feel you, baby."

"what if i wasn't ready?" you ask, but you pull your panties to the side anyway.

"could feel you soaking my pants," san smirks. "can't be cocky when i know exactly how bad you want me, baby."

"shut up," you mumble, trying to focus on guiding his tip to your entrance. you feel his tip against you and you hiss, you forgot how big he was. you lower yourself on his cock, moaning softly as san holds onto your hips for dear life to keep from bucking up into you. he waits for you to settle in his lap, no space left between you, and then he lets out a deep breath.

"feels so good, y/n," he sighs. "like your pussy was made for me."

"i need a minute," you tell him, and he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

"take your time my love," he says. your eyes are screwed shut, genuinely not used to feeling this full, and san reaches a hand up to your face to soothe the tension away. his other hand travels to your core, swiping through the arousal dripping from you so he can drag his finger up to your clit. he draws lazy circles around it, tapping over the bundle so softly. if you weren't so desperate for his touch, maybe you wouldn't be jerking at each little movement, but it's helping you relax.

you feel ready to move, and you place your hands over san's stomach for leverage as you pull off of him, leaving just the tip in. san's going crazy, he's trying to hard to go at your pace, to let you take your time, but he's losing that battle fast. he watches as you bounce above him, cupping your chest and focusing on your nipples so he doesn't put all his attention on how bad he wants to fuck up into you, to make another baby with you. he wants to enjoy this, like you said, he wants to take it slow if that's what you want, but god, he wants so much more.

"how do you feel baby?" he asks, and you whimper in response. that alone could kill a weaker man, he thinks, but the way you're gripping around his cock, how warm you are, how beautiful you sound, he's not going to last long. you put the final nail in his coffin when you whine out, "you feel so good sannie, missed you, missed your cock..."

san can't take it anymore, he grabs onto your hips again and slams you down onto his cock. he holds you there for a second, letting you feel every inch of him as you squirm in his lap, and just when he thinks you're about to tap out he grinds into you. you didn't think he could get deeper, but you can feel him in your gut. he pulls you up and guides you back down, and he does this a few more times before you finally gasp out, "'m close, sannie, 'm gonna come-"

and that's all he needs to hear. he holds you in place above him, braces himself from below, and starts fucking up into you. he's been waiting for this, god he's waited for this, and he wants to ingrain everything into his memory. the way you look, the way you sound, the way you feel. it's overwhelming, and he can't help it, he starts to come, fucking his load into you as he tries to get you to your own high. he brings his hand back to your clit, and you're gasping above him, coming so hard you think you see stars. san lets you catch your breath above him, his cock still buried deep inside you. he's also afraid that if you move, all his come will leak out, and selfishly, he doesn't want that to happen. he felt his heart skip an excited beat at the idea of having another kid with you, so he's happy to sit and wait until you're ready to move.

"fuck," you whisper as you start to separate from him. "fuck, that felt really good."

"and to think, you deprived yourself of that for so many years," san says with a shit eating grin. you pinch his chest as you get up, but he takes you by surprise and pins you down before you can leave the bed. "where ya goin?"

"to shower?" you reply, and san smirks above you.

"who said i was done lovin you though?"

san wakes up the next morning and immediately puts his arms out to find you. he sighs happily as he pulls you into his chest, nuzzling his head into your hair. he takes a deep breath in, thinking not for the first time that he would be happy staying like this for years. he doesn't know how you expect him to leave once this weekend is over, condemned to come and go just to end up at his lonely apartment each night. he understands why you both decided on this set up, but he hates it. he'll just have to find a way to convince you that you'd be miserable without san here 24/7, and he thinks he's got a good idea to start.

you'd think the three rounds last night would be enough for any regular man, but not san. now that he's had you again he can't help himself. even holding you and feeling your warm breath hit his chest has him shifting to accommodate the growing problem beneath the sheets. he has no idea how he was able to wait years to fuck you, because he can't imagine waiting another second right now. he slowly rolls you back onto your pillow, hoping he won't wake you just yet. he makes sure you're comfortably laid back and then he pushes the sheets away, crawling down until his face is level with your bare stomach.

he leaves light kisses across your skin, starting above your bellybutton and trailing down. he sucks a couple hickeys on the skin of your hips, tracing his thumbs over the reddened marks in satisfaction. you begged him not to leave too many marks last night, but he looks up proudly and sees the result of your lost fight. there's only one or two spots on your neck, but your collarbone and your chest are a different story. san wants you to know you're his, finally his, so if he has to leave daily love bites on your skin to remind you, he will. happily.

he kisses one of the marks on your hips now, licking the skin just to taste you. he feels himself get excited at the thought of really tasting you, and he continues his descent down to your core. he thought about this as you were falling asleep last night, but he's never really seen your pussy. the few times you've had sex, there were just other things on his mind, so now that he can, san takes his time admiring you. he uses his thumbs to pull your lips apart, moaning softly at the sight of his come dripping out of you or dried on your skin. he leans in and places a kiss over your clit, and your legs jerk, but you stay otherwise still. that won't do, san thinks, so he delicately traces your entrance, collecting some of the wetness that's still pouring from you, and strokes your clit. he licks over it carefully, wanting to savor this moment.

his ears perk up as he hears you start to whimper, so he cups his lips around your bundle of nerves and sucks ever so slightly. his fingers trail back to your entrance, dipping in just so, and he sets a steady rhythm of playing with your clit and easing his fingers into your core. he's focused on his work, determined to make you feel good, but he wants more. he switches his fingers up to your clit, your wetness helping them glide over you easily. he kisses down your pussy until he gets to your entrance and dips his tongue in. you stir again, so san repeats his movements, determined to wake you up. he loses himself at the taste of you, and when he thinks about last night, how many times he came inside you, he moans into your core. he's getting impatient, his senses drowning in you. all he can feel is you, all he can taste is you, all he hears is you calling his name...wait-

"sannie, fuck," you gasp above him, your hands pulling at his hair to get him away from your sensitive core, but he holds strong. you try to use your thighs to squeeze his head and push him away, overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips on your pussy, but he reaches up and holds your legs apart so he can eat you like a man starved. now that you're awake, he doesn't have to keep quiet. he's drunk on your pussy, moaning and slurping obscenely, mumbling about how good you feel, how good you taste, how he wants to make you feel good. you can't help it, you start to come, gasping above him trying to take a deep breath. san feels you tighten around his tongue, but he keeps going. he keeps eating your pussy like he'll never get the chance again, and your sleepy haze mixed with the way he's making you feel has your vision spotty and your mind in a haze. he gets you to come again soon after, and you finally whine his name loud enough for him to look up at you, his mouth lazily teasing you as you exhale, "well. good morning."

"morning baby," he smiles, your arousal all over his chin. you whine, and he strokes your thighs comfortingly as he asks, "can you give me another one? still hungry."

"we have donuts."

"they're not as sweet as you," he insists, diving back in. you can't keep up with him, your senses so overloaded with san that you're begging for something but you don't know what. san works you up to another release before giving you a break, crawling up your body and trailing kisses the whole way. you try slapping his chest, but the movement is so weak it only makes him laugh. "what are you doing, love?"

"trying to hit you," you reply. "i'd kick you but i don't think my legs work."

"good, i did my job then," san says happily. he collapses on top of you, and you blush at the feeling of the mess between your legs. with san's chin on your chest, staring at you so content, you flick his nose and he bursts into laughter. "what was that for?!"

"for being perfect. and for turning me into a shell of a woman. i can't move, seriously."

"need me to help you into the shower, doll?"

"no," you shake your head. "i don't trust what you'd do in there."

"nothing out of the ordinary," he smirks, and you flick his nose again. he moves quick, biting your finger before you can move away, and you squeal. with your finger between his teeth he asks, "so? shower?"

"if you can carry me, then yeah," you give in. san pulls himself out of bed, easily lifting you from the bed as you raise your arms to wrap around his neck. he places you delicately on the bathroom counter, laughing with you as you squeal over the cold marble. he runs a bath for you, insisting that if your legs don't work you shouldn't be standing in the shower. he helps you into the warm water once it's ready, and you assume he's going to join you but instead he turns back to your room. "baaabyyy," you whine, and he's in the doorway immediately.

"what's wrong? was it too much? are you sore?" he asks in worry, but you shake your head and make grabby hands for him in response. he smiles as he comes closer, holding your hands in his as he asks, "are you always this needy after sex?"

"yep," you reply. "get used to it. and get in the tub with me."

"can't," san sighs, dipping down to give you a kiss anyway. "i'm getting dressed and then checking on our daughter."

"she's probably still asleep," you say as you lay your head on the cool porcelain edge of the tub.

"then i won't be gone long," san tells you before ducking back out of the bathroom. you keep your head on the tub though, admiring him from afar. you love having him here, you think. you wonder if he'd be ok with staying longer than just a weekend.

while san took care of violet, you got an idea. you enjoyed the rest of your bath, but as soon as you were dressed you got down to business.

you were buried amongst boxes, piles of clothes, and shoes you'd never wear when san and violet come looking for you. you hear violet run into your bedroom calling for you with san right behind her, not sure if you were decent or not. when they don't see you in the bedroom, san peeks into the bathroom as vi goes for your closet, and she giggles when she sees you on the floor.

"mommy, what are you doing?" she asks, kneeling down in the mess anyway.

"i'm cleaning out my closet, bug," you answer. you push a box toward her and say, "call for your dad, i want him to look through those."

"i'm right here," san appears, popping his head through the door. he looks at you quizzically, then decides to go with it and kneel next to violet.

"i'm cleaning out my closet," you repeat. "i want you to go through that box next to vi, that's all of her work from preschool. you can keep any of it that you want."

"really?"

"yeah, we've got plenty of it around the house, and i've basically made wallpaper out of it for my office, so i figured you might like some," you shrug.

"thank you baby," he smiles, dimples on full display. you watch fondly as he settles on the ground, violet climbing into his lap almost as a reflex. they sit together and go through everything, violet giving commentary on what she remembers and calling on you to explain what she doesn't. you're constantly in motion, trying to organize your clothes and make piles of what you can donate. you turn to your family every so often for opinions, violet giving it to you straight when she thinks something is ugly, and san being no help at all. he just says you'll look great in whatever you're holding up, and borders on compliments too vulgar for your daughter to hear. it's a good thing violet knows how to speak her mind, because with her brutal honesty and a good idea of what clothes will drive san insane, you're left with the perfect amount of clothes.

you won't take any outside input on which shoes to donate, though. that's a personal decision for you, and san is smart enough to stay out of it. violet, on the other hand, picks up her favorite shoes and tries them on, laughing with glee when she trips and san has to dive to catch her. she asks if she can keep some of the shoes for herself, but knowing how expensive they are, you try to find nice ways to tell her to back off. san promises to buy her "mommy shoes" and that seems to satisfy her, but now she's bored and wants to go play. you shoot san a sympathetic glance as he's pulled out of the closet by your hyperactive kid, and then you're alone. you step back and look at the space you were able to clear, and you think that should be enough for san's things. you can always use the hall closet if he needs more space, but he's a man, how many clothes does he need?

"hey," he whispers from behind you, making you jump. you would turn around to talk to him, but he wraps his arms around you and sways your bodies from side to side as he informs you, "i got her set up with a movie. i love that girl, but i needed a break."

"thank you for giving me the morning to myself," you tell him, leaning your head back on his shoulder. you turn to place a kiss on his jaw, whispering against his skin, "you're so wonderful to me. and to violet. we're very lucky ladies."

"and i'm a lucky man," he responds. his eyes fall to the pile of violet's work on the floor, and he separates from you to pick it up. he shows you the stack and says, "got enough for my apartment and my office. there's not much left in the box, though."

"that's fine," you brush it off. "i needed the space in here, so."

"hey, did you eat this morning?" san asks while he tucks violet's work into his duffel bag. when he stands up fully he points an accusing finger at you. "i wore you out twice and you haven't eaten, that's not good for your health."

"you're not good for my health," you scoff. "last time i was this sore was after labor."

"sorry," san says sheepishly. he reaches for your hand and tugs you toward the door. "come on, let's get you some food and then hang with violet. i put on one of your favorites."

the rest of the weekend passes by in complete bliss. it's like that night with san bridged any gaps that timing and poor decisions might have created between you, and you've never felt more in love or more like a family than you do right now. but there's a pit in your stomach as you sit with san and violet at the dinner table, knowing that san needs to go back to his apartment tonight. he didn't pack any work clothes, so he really needs to leave, but he so doesn't want to. he wonders how many more weeks he can get by with going to his place just long enough for you to miss him and call him back home. meanwhile, you're wondering how you can inconspicuously get jen and wooyoung to help move san's things to your house on such short notice. san checks the time, and you feel the pit in your stomach tear open as he stands to leave.

"alright girls," he sighs, putting his dishes in the sink. "i guess i gotta go. need to get ready for the week."

"i'll miss you daddy," violet pouts, and san mimics her with a pout of his own.

"i'll miss you even more bug, you have no idea."

you stand and clear your own plate as violet sadly pushes her peas around with her fork, and you catch san staring at her from the doorway. "what's wrong, san?"

"i don't wanna go," he admits. his voice is so quiet you can barely hear him, but he can't say it any louder. it hurts leaving you two, and san isn't sure how many more trips he can take before his heart just kicks it.

"then don't go," you shrug. "move in with us."

"are you serious?" san asks, a smile slowly breaking across his face. he takes two steps and he's in front of you, hands on your waist, asking you again, "are you serious?"

"yeah," you nod. "violet? what do you say? should daddy stay here forever?"

"and ever?!" she adds, making san laugh, a happy squeaky sound that sends your heart soaring.

"i'll stay forever and ever and then some," he agrees. he pulls you into the tightest hug known to man, spinning you around the kitchen as he whispers to you, "this is finally happening."

"it took us long enough, right?" you whisper back, gripping onto his shirt. you squeal as san pushes you off balance, and you realize he's trying to move you toward the kitchen table. he lets go of you long enough to lift violet into his arms and smush her between you both, and then the spinning continues.

"my girls," he smiles proudly. "i love my girls."

that monday at work, san feels like superman. he woke up with your head on his chest, he ate breakfast with his girls, and he had a sing along in the car with violet as he drove her to school. he put works of violet art up in his office (and a couple on the gym bulletin board, she was very embarrassed), and he walked violet to her classroom before carpool started so he could tell jen the good news.

"hey violet!" jen greets her, and violet runs up to give her a hug. "how was your weekend?"

"good!" violet replies. "daddy spent the night, and then mommy told me he was staying forever and ever, and then this morning i saw mommy and daddy naked wrestling-"

"she saw you what?" jen hisses, and san has to look embarrassed.

"um, yeah, i wanted to celebrate my first morning moved in, so...we forgot to lock the door, and...yeah. it's been a long morning at the choi household," san explains, and jen pushes his arm surprisingly hard.

"so you moved in?!"

"kind of?" san rubs the spot jen basically punched. "y/n asked me to move in last night, so we filled our cars with some of my stuff and brought it to the house. i'll really move in this weekend."

"well, if you need me and wooyoung to help, you know where to find us," jen offers.

"you and wooyoung?" san wiggles his eyebrows, and jen nods eagerly.

"yep, we're an item now. you and y/n aren't the only ones who did some naked wrestling this weekend."

"please don't say that," san groans, and thankfully, the bell rings to alert teachers to their stations. san stoops down to kiss violet's forehead as he says goodbye, and he rushes off to his carpool spot. he hears jen say as he leaves, "violet, you need to knock before you go into mommy and daddy's room..."

you have to admit, living with san is bliss. you didn't know how easy it could be having someone else around to take care of violet, and you especially didn't know how nice it would be to have someone around to take care of you. san was quick to show his love with actions and words, and all he asked for in return was your time. if he had his way, he'd spend every second of every day with you and violet. it hurts to watch you leave for work in the mornings, and it hurts him again when he parts from violet at school. at home, he's always attached to one of you. some nights he's lucky, and he gets you both.

tonight, san stopped by the store for you on the way home because you needed some last minute things for dinner. san got what you needed, plus some wine he knew you'd like, and he got violet her favorite ice cream without her even asking. he had everything ready for you when you got home, and since violet helped get the ingredients she wanted to help cook, too. san always stays in the kitchen with you as you fix dinner, because he likes to clean up after you as you go. he claims it's efficient, but it's also a chance for you to catch up on your days. you're happy to have violet with you tonight, but it did ruin one of your mom secrets.

"what can i help with, mommy?" she asks once she's set up next to you, standing on her tippy toes on top of her step stool.

"you can help me tear the spinach to go into the spaghetti," you show her how to do it, and she copies your actions with a frown on her face.

"what's wrong bug?" san asks, given up on the dishes. he just wants to watch you and violet work together.

"where's the 'pinach going?"

"into the sauce, baby," you answer her. "i always put it into the sauce, it's yummy."

"do i like 'pinach?"

"you like it in spaghetti."

eating dinner together is one of san's favorite things, too. he loves the conversations that come out of violet, and he feels so privileged to see her personality growing and maturing before his eyes. she's an incredible kid, and san reminds you constantly that you did a phenomenal job raising her. you insist that his genes made her an angel to begin with, and that makes san blushy and shy enough to change the subject. he starts to ask you about a work thing, so there's no attention on violet for a moment. she starts giggling though, and when you turn back to her you see that she's slurped noodles so quickly that there's sauce all over her face. it reminds you of a similar mess when she was a baby, so you show san pictures and videos of baby vi that have his stomach doing flips. he asks you to send him those, and you do as he says while he and violet start to clear your plates.

you move into the living room to get ready for one of your favorite shows. it's coming back after a hiatus, so you made it clear this morning you didn't care what san and violet did as long as you got to watch. what you didn't expect was for san to come in from the kitchen with violet in his arms, dumping her down on top of you in a giggly pile. san leaves to grab your favorite blanket and takes his time tucking it around you and vi before he slides in next to you, intertwining his legs with yours and pulling you so your head will lay on his chest. he wraps his arms around you and violet, and sighs happily when he's all done.

"whatcha doin?" you turn your head to his as he flips through the channels, looking for your show.

"we're watching this show together?" he says like it's obvious. "violet told me there's cool stunts."

"and the old guy is funny!" she adds.

"see? cool stunts and a comedic grandpa, i'm sold," san says, kissing the top of your head as the show starts.

"ok, but no talking until the commercial breaks," you mumble, pulling san's arm further around your shoulders so you can hold his hand over your chest.

"is that the old guy?" san asks a minute later.

"baby," you whine. "i said no talking!"

"i have to go potty," violet says a few minutes after that, climbing over the pile of her parents. san watches her go then turns to you, calling your name.

"sannie, please, it's almost a commercial-"

"i want another one," he whispers excitedly, and you look confused for a second before it clicks.

"another kid?" you confirm, and he nods eagerly. "right now? i don't think we have time-"

"no baby," he chuckles. "just. whenever. but sooner rather than later, please. i want at least three, so-"

"three?!" you shriek. "that's a lot of kids for me to push out of my-"

"daddy, can i have some ice cream?" violet asks as she returns from the bathroom.

"of course baby," he responds, sliding his limbs from under and around you slowly. he comes back with violet quickly, and she plops down next to you with san on her other side. they eat in silence, which you're thankful for since your show is back on, but san calls your name and you stifle a groan. you look up to find him holding a spoonful of ice cream out for you, and you let him feed it to you with a soft look in his eyes. he wipes a dribble from the side of your mouth, presenting his finger to you. he tells you with his eyes to taste that next, and as you stare up at him and suck on his finger, you feel your skin erupt in goosebumps. you let go of his finger with a pop and then basically hide under the blanket until the show is over.

as the credits roll, you look to san and see violet curled up in his side, the empty ice cream tub long forgotten. san's carefully stroking violet's back, and when he catches you staring he reaches a hand out for you. you grab it, bringing his knuckles to your lips so you can kiss each one before speaking. against his skin, you whisper, "i'm ready to have another kid with you. but let's start with one, ok?"

agreeing to have another kid with san might have been a bad idea. if you thought he was all over you before, now he really can’t keep his hands off you. it's a sisyphean task getting him out of bed in the morning. he grabs onto whenever you pass each other in the house, stealing kisses that he hopes will lead to more. he's rushing through bedtimes with violet so you can have more "mommy daddy time" in violet's words. it's so bad even your kid has noticed! but....you're not complaining. you pretend to hate it, you pretend to resist just to give in later, but really you're eating this up. a match made in heaven, you two!

after a particularly active morning, you decided to work from home for the day. you were feeling under the weather anyway, so it was nice having the option. especially on days like today when san forgets his lunch. he called you about an hour into his day in a panic, already whining that he was going to starve to death. you roll your eyes but listen intently before offering to bring it to him. halfway through the call you found his lunchbox looking lonely in the fridge, so you were happy to spend your lunch break doing something for san. before you head out, you tear off a paper towel and write him a little note like you do when you pack violet's lunch, and then you're out the door.

san said he would be in his office, so you park in the teacher lot and make the short walk to the gym. it's its own building behind the school, so it's quiet as you make your way to san. your footsteps echo on the wooden floor, and an eager san slides out of his office in his desk chair. like an excited puppy, he jogs to meet you halfway and wraps you in a hug, peppering kisses over your face along with whispered thanks.

"what would i do without you, baby?" he asks.

"starve, apparently," you tease, pinching his cheek. "so i guess i'll see you at home?"

"eat lunch with me," he begs, not giving you a chance to answer. he takes the lunchbox in one hand and wraps his other around your waist, leading you to his office. he sits in the rolling chair and walks it back over to his desk while you stand at the door. "you waitin for an invite, doll? get in here."

"where do i sit?" you ask, semi-distracted by the way san has decorated his office. your heart warms seeing so much of violet's work in here, and you blush as you notice the pictures san has printed of you and violet to tack up along with her art. san hasn't replied, so you turn to find him patting his lap with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and you just laugh at him. "i'll stand."

"at least stand closer to me," he whines. "so far away over there."

you sigh, but walk to his desk anyway. you hop up so you're sitting on the one space free of junk, but that puts you directly in front of san. he opens your legs slightly, and you feel your heart rate spike, but he just scoots closer and starts unpacking his lunch. you watch as he focuses on tearing his sandwich equally, his tongue caught between his teeth as he works. you take this time to snatch his chips, feeding one or two to san as he searches for a napkin to wrap your sandwich in. he finds the note you stuffed in there and smiles, a blush creeping over his cheeks as his dimples appear.

"what's this?" he asks in a squeaky voice.

"reminder of how much i love you," you shrug.

"i love you too," san says happily as he straightens the napkin. "thanks for bringing my lunch."

"you said that already."

"well let me thank you another way?" he asks, his hands drifting to your knees and sliding up your thighs. you try to close your legs, pushing him off, but his grip is stronger than yours.

"san, there's kids here."

"so? we're trying to make one-"

"sannie!" you hiss. "no! not at school."

"but no one's gonna be anywhere near the gym for another thirty minutes!"

"what about wooyoung? or jen? don't they come check on you when you don't eat lunch in the teacher's lounge?"

"they can deal," san says, leaning down to trail kisses up your leg. as much as you want to, and god you want to, you can't. not here. so you use your foot to catch the rolling chair and push san back. he thuds into his bulletin board with an "oof!" and you laugh as you hop down. "what are you doing? come back here-"

"ah, i'll see you at home," you tell him. you're almost to the door when he catches up with you, holding onto your waist like his life depends on it.

"just one kiss before you go," he whispers, and you feel yourself nodding before you can say no. he captures your lips in a fierce kiss, moaning as he slides his hands around to grip your ass, but you grab his hands and pull them off of you. you give him one last kiss and then you step back, pointing a finger at him as you say, "you are trouble, mr. choi."

"and you're sexy, mrs. choi," he smirks, watching you leave.

"not your missus!" you shout back, turning to catch him still watching you walk away. he waves teasingly, blowing a kiss that you catch and place over your heart. "i'll see you at home, you crazy man."

san tried using the rest of his lunch to plan, but you were right - jen and wooyoung came to find him before lunch ended, so it's really a good thing you didn't take up his offer to fuck in his office. wooyoung makes himself at home, playing with some of the loose equipment as jen asks why san didn't show for lunch.

"i forgot my lunch, so y/n had to bring it to me," he explains, and wooyoung gasps.

"you had sex in here!" he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at san.

"no, we didn't," san sighs. "but i wanted to."

"y/n said no?" jen asks, and san nods. "of course she was the voice of reason."

"what do you both want?" san asks. "shouldn't you be with your classes right now?"

"there's an assembly after lunch, so they're the vp's responsibility," wooyoung smiles evilly. "so you didn't even get some head while y/n was here?"

"wooyoung!" jen shrieks, and he shuts up. "sorry he's disgusting."

"i'm more sorry for you, you're dating the guy," san teases, and jen blushes. "so you both came here to bother me? no other reason?"

"i suspected you had a visit from the milf, so i came to get the low down on that," wooyoung replies.

"and if y/n was here i wanted to talk to her," jen says. "i need to have one conversation with someone sane today."

"you're talking to me!" san says, and jen laughs. "ouch."

"whatever man," wooyoung says as he walks toward the door. "if you're gonna lie and say nothing happened here, then i'm outie 5000."

"actually, i do want to tell you something," san starts nervously. "it's nothing saucy, but i think i need your help. both of you."

"anything," jen says, and wooyoung nods in agreement.

"great," san smiles. "well, uh, i think i'm going to propose to y/n..."

there's a daddy daughter dance at the end of the week. san, of course, will be taking violet. that means you need to go shopping! violet needs a new dress, and san has to buy a shirt that matches. violet chose a light purple, her favorite, and insisted on you getting something that color, too. since you were just spending the night at home, you tried to buy a light purple pajama set, but san vetoed it. he made you pick out a dress of your own despite you saying you won't wear it but for five minutes.

"but now we have a family outfit," san smiles. "we can wear it all the time."

"violet, your dad is embarrassing," you say to your daughter, and she nods.

"whatever," he sighs, taking the clothes from you and violet anyway. "i'm just excited to do family stuff with you."

"is family stuff like mommy daddy stuff?" violet asks, and you let san handle that one. you've stopped at the jewelry section, wondering if you can find a necklace for violet to wear. you play with the charm around your neck now, the heart necklace violet gave you. as you're spinning the display around, you hear two sets of footsteps come up behind you.

"whatcha doin mommy?" violet asks, tugging on your hand. you pick her up and point to one of the necklaces, answering, "trying to find something that matches your new dress. do you like this?"

"ooo, yes," she nods at the flower charm you're showing her. "can daddy have one too?"

"not sure that's my style, bug," san squints at the necklace.

"and it's a kid size, it wouldn't fit around your beefy neck," you point out. you look around and your eyes light up as they fall on what you're looking for. you grab violet's necklace and head to a display of rings, holding the necklace up to find something that goes with it. "daddy can wear a ring to match with you at the dance. how's that sound vi?"

you get an enthusiastic yes from her, so the three of you look quietly for a moment. san holds something up and asks what you think, but you shake your head.

"that's too dainty for you," you say.

"for you," san corrects. "do you like it for you?"

"hmm," you inspect the ring, and shake your head. "no, i think i prefer gold jewelry."

"what about this?" san holds up another ring, and you like this one. it's a simple gold band with a purple gem set on a raised back, but you nod and offer san your left hand since violet is currently occupying your other arm. san slides the ring onto your ring finger, but it won't get past your knuckle. san tries his best, but it won't budge, and you can't help but laugh. "hmph. you have chubby fingers."

"hey!" you whine, "that's what having a kid does to you. parts of your body are never the same again."

"really?" san asks. "i never knew that."

"yeah, there's a lot of weird stuff that happens with pregnancy," you shrug. "but i got used to it."

"you'll have to tell me everything soon," san says, cupping your head to pull you in for a forehead kiss. he's distracted now, thinking about something else, and starts to turn back in the direction of the registers when violet reminds him, "daddy! the rings!"

"oh right, thanks bug," he winks at her, and you kiss violet's cheek in thanks. san finds a bigger size and tries it for good measure. it's a perfect fit.

"do you still want a ring?" you ask san, and he searches for a moment before holding one out to you.

"what about this?" he passes it to you, and you cock your head in confusion. "what? you don't like it?"

"hm, i like it," you tell him. "it goes with mine."

"even better," san smiles.

the night of the dance can't get here soon enough. violet has been bouncing off the walls excited for it all week, and you know san is looking forward to it too. he told you that he gets stuck overseeing the dance every year because it's in the gym, and he admitted this was the kind of thing he dreamt of taking his own kid to some day. he seems a little nervous though, which you think is sweet.

because he had to plan the dance, the week leading up to it is a busy one at your house. san is constantly stepping outside to take calls, and he's running off to errands throughout the week to make sure everything is perfect. he's taken over the coat closet, claiming there's things in there violet can't see, but he won't let you look in there, either. one afternoon, he catches you peeking and turns a bright red.

"what are you doing!" he squeaks. "you can't see this!"

"why not?" you laugh. "i'm not going to the dance."

"yeah, but if you see it, and then violet asks what you saw, you'll tell her-"

"i'm not a snitch," you scoff.

"well you're usually on her side," san rolls his eyes.

"hey, i'm on your side all the time, babe," you assure him. "but girls gotta stick together, so i guess you have a point."

"exactly," san sighs, checking that the closet is closed before pulling you in for a hug. he inhales deeply and lets out a breath of relief once you're wrapped around him, and you rub his back soothingly.

"you're doing a great job, my love," you tell him. "it's gonna be a great night, everyone will have so much fun, and it'll be all thanks to you."

"i hope you're right," san says, and he hopes you don't catch the quiver of nerves in his voice. he also hopes you can't feel the box of the engagement ring poking out of his pocket. you caught him before he could slip it into the closet, and he's starting to sweat having you so close to it. even though he doesn't want to, he slowly lets you go, stroking your hair as he gets an idea, "hey, can i ask you to do something for me?"

"anything."

"anything?" he smirks, and you smack his arm. "no, i was wondering if you could make pancakes for dinner?"

"really? that's it?" you ask, but he nods like he's completely serious.

"i hear you're better at them now," he teases. "but, i don't know, i've just been so stressed this week, and that's like a comfort meal for me-"

"oh sannie, yes, yes i'll make you pancakes," you promise. "you want chocolate chips?"

"i love you," he says as he nods vehemently. you giggle as you stand on your toes to kiss his cheek.

"dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes then," you tell him. "unless i burn the house down, then we're just going to waffle house."

it's the night of the dance. to anyone walking by, it might sound like your house is having a party, but it's just you blaring music while everyone gets ready. you're already in your dress, so you're helping violet while san showers. he was so jumpy when he got home, you're really worried about him. this dance must have been a lot of work for him, so you're glad he'll get to rest when it's done. once san and violet leave, you've got a riveting night of laundry ahead of you so san can come home to a clean, comfy bed to collapse in. you know he'll need it after the week he's had.

you're mentally trying to organize the loads of laundry you have to do while you work on violet's hair. she's digging through your make up bag because you promised she could use eye shadow and lip gloss tonight, and you're both humming along to the music. you don't hear her stop and say something to you, and you certainly don't hear whoever is knocking at the door. violet twists around to look at you, ruining the heart shape you were trying to pull her hair into.

"aw, vi, now i have to start over-"

"mommy, someone's knocking on the door," she cuts you off. you reach for your phone to turn the music down, and she's right, there's someone frantically knocking at the front door. you walk out warily, unsure of who it could be, but you spot a flash of jen's hair through the window. when you open the door, she looks relieved.

"good, you're dressed," she breathes out. upon further inspection, she frowns and says, "but you haven't done your hair? no make up? y/n we're gonna be late."

"what?" you're confused. late for what?

"san didn't tell you? we need you to chaperone the dance," jen explains as she steps inside. that's when you notice she's dressed up too. "one of the fifth grade teachers was supposed to help me with the photo booth, but she's puking everywhere-"

"ew, gross," you stop her. "i mean, san didn't tell me anything, but i guess i can help? i'm not doing anything tonight." looks like you needed this dress after all!

"great," jen smiles. "now about your hair..."

seconds later, violet is standing in front of you while you sit on a kitchen chair as jen works on your hair for you. you're still trying to finish violet's, and then you need to help her with the make up she picked out. you could care less how you look, you'd rather violet get the pampering she wants, but jen is insisting that you "at least need to look put together tonight."

"hey, is san still here?" you ask suddenly. "i don't hear the shower anymore, but he's being awfully quiet if he's home."

"his car wasn't here when i pulled up," jen shrugs. "ok, hair's done! now where's your make up?"

"in violet's room," you reply. she goes to grab it, and when she returns you're done with violet's hair. "how's our girl look?"

"just as beautiful as her momma," jen replies, and she laughs when you and violet blush the same way.

"careful, i'm a taken woman," you warn.

"i could totally take san in a fight for your hand."

"wooyoung would be pretty upset though," you remind her, and now it's her turn to blush. "is he gonna be there tonight?"

"yeah, he's helping san with some of the set up i think."

"so what time do we need to get there?" you ask as you work on vi's make up. "keep your eyes closed, baby."

"ok mommy."

"um, we might need to leave soon," jen barely answers your question.

"that's vague."

"we should leave in fifteen minutes."

"shit, ok," you mumble, then you catch yourself. "jen, can you find my purse? put a quarter in the jar on the counter please."

"two," violet corrects you. "you said the fuck word when the elastic in my hair snapped."

"violet!" you and jen screech.

"now you need to put a quarter in the swear jar," jen jokes, but you have to lecture violet on not using those words while you finish up her eye shadow. you ask her to purse her lips so you can do the lip gloss, and jen says, "she really looks like san, doesn't she?"

"yeah, she does," you smile proudly. "they're both pretty cute, huh?"

"if you have another kid do you think it'll look like you?"

"we'll have to wait and see i guess," you say as you cap the lip gloss. "vi, go like this," and you show her how to rub the lip gloss in. she gets it all over her lips, so you lick your thumb to wipe it off as she tries to squirm away. "alright, my turn. can you show jen where your shoes are baby? i'll finish getting ready if you can help her with shoes and maybe a jacket."

"on it," jen nods. "we gotta leave in ten!"

as promised, ten minutes later, you and violet are in jen's car. you wanted the fun to continue for violet, so you've got music playing as jen speeds toward the school. she kept saying you weren't late, but the way she's driving you wonder if she's lying.

a few minutes later, you can see the school in the distance. you don't know why, but your stomach starts doing flips at the idea of seeing san. you know he's going to look great, so that's enough to make you all excited, but you're more interested in seeing what he's worked so hard on all week. you're staring at the gym as it gets closer, and then jen drives right past the school entirely.

"um, hello?" you call out. "earth to jen? we just passed the school."

"we're not going to the school," jen says simply. what's going on? you look to violet in the backseat, but she's staring out the window, kicking her feet the way you know she does when she's excited. you sit back with a "humph!" and watch as jen drives you to the park down the street. she pulls into the gravel lot and turns off her car before turning to you. "get out."

"what? jen, what is going on?" you ask, but jen is out of the car and won't respond. you're confused as hell, but you unbuckle your seatbelt anyway as jen gets violet out of her car seat. jen meets you at the back of her car, pointing off to the path in the distance.

"you need to go over there."

"i'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening," you stand firm.

"come on mommy!" violet chirps. she holds her tiny hand out to you, and you look to jen. she just smiles, so you take violet's hand and walk with her to the wooded path.

"baby, where are we going?" you ask, but violet shakes her head and mimes zipping her lips. can't argue with that, so you succumb to the circumstances and follow her lead. you're looking around, trying to catch any kind of clue. as you come over a hill, you see a clearing in the distance, and you gasp when you see what's waiting for you.

underneath an ivy covered arch stands san. he's dressed in his outfit for the dance, dark grey slacks and a vest with the light purple shirt underneath. he left his hair natural, how you like it, so the ends of his bangs just barely brush over his glittering eyes. he's smiling at you so brightly he could be the sun, and you look down to find violet smiling back at him the same way.

as you get closer, you notice the flower bushes are all violets. san must have brought more though, because there's flower pots and bouquets all around. you close your eyes and take a deep breath, admiring the soft scent flooding your senses. when you open your eyes, san is approaching you shyly, and violet squeezes your hand. you squeeze back even tighter.

"hi gorgeous," he greets you, his voice soft and quiet, like he doesn't want to disturb this moment. he leans in to kiss your cheek, then kneels and says to violet, "you look beautiful, my love. thank you for your help."

"you knew about this?" you ask violet, and she looks to san before she responds.

"YES! daddy told me all these secrets and said mommy can't know, and if i pinky promised not to tell then he would get me the princess bed i want," she explains rapidly, and you look to a sheepish san.

"i'm not proud of the bribe, but she did a good job. you had no idea?"

"san, what is this?" you ask in a nervous whisper. he lifts violet into his arms and then offers you a hand. as he walks you over to a bench beneath the ivy arch, he begins.

"this was my favorite park as a kid," he says as he sits you down and carefully places violet between you. he holds onto your hand as he speaks, his thumb stroking over your knuckles softly. "and when i moved back here after college, this was the first place i came. i missed you so much already, and i needed someplace to clear my head. i found myself here a lot, actually. i would walk the entire path just thinking about you, wondering how you were, wondering if i should reach out, try to make things right. it became a habit. i'd come here every time i missed you, and i wouldn't leave until i got you off my mind. then, out of nowhere, you show up at school. i noticed you, that first day. i noticed violet," and as he says her name he boops her nose. over her giggles, he continues.

"i saw her walking in and thought, man, that kid sure looks like me," san smiles sadly, and you squeeze his hand. "so as soon as school ended, i was over here, pacing and wondering again how i could reach out. then i caught you parking in the wrong spot-"

"i didn't know where else to go!" you defend yourself, and san chuckles.

"you not knowing where to go worked in my favor, because it was like someone shouting in my face, hey! here she is! don't lose this chance! so i knew i had to wiggle my way back into your life somehow. it wasn't until you mentioned violet, her name, that i felt something inside me. again, i came back here, to this spot, and thought about what to do. as i sat here, i noticed all the violets around me, and i knew. i've always thought we were meant to be together, but that day i knew for sure. i wanted to be in your life. in violet's life. forever."

"and ever," violet whispers, making you and san both laugh. as you quiet down, you stare at san, and that warm feeling you get in his presence rushes over you. finally, you think. finally finally finally.

it's like san can read your mind, because he nods before tugging you back up to your feet. violet holds onto your hand as you both watch san reach into his pocket, and even though you knew it was coming, it still takes your breath away. san kneels, holding out a velvet box. he takes a deep breath and says, "y/n. my love. my best friend. you're the love of my life, and i can't imagine our story ending any other way. will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? will you marry me, finally?" he opens the box to reveal the perfect ring, and you're nodding before you can even speak.

you look at san's glistening eyes, his happy smile, and you cry out, "yes, san, oh my god, yes, i'll marry you." san pulls you down to smash his lips into yours, but you can barely keep the smile off your face long enough to actually feel his lips against yours. you end up kneeling in front of san, wrapping him in the tightest hug as you start to cry. you feel violet's tiny arms working their way around you both, so you separate and cover her in kisses to her delighted giggles. you hug them both, holding onto your family so tight it almost hurts.

"wait, wait!" san cries out. "the ring! gimme your hand!"

you present your left hand to him as he takes the ring out, and you love the way it glitters in the setting sunlight. he slides it onto your ring finger, interlocking his hand with yours. as you admire your hand in his, you hear cheers off in the distance.

you look around to find jen and wooyoung just outside the clearing. wooyoung is holding a camera, and jen is smiling like she just pulled off the heist of the century. as they get closer, violet runs over to jen and they jump and squeal, something about secrets and another bribe you'll have to learn about later.

"so everyone knew about this but me?" you ask san, and he brushes hair behind your ear as jen and wooyoung join you.

"sorry, but that's the way it had to be," san shrugs.

"you were so surprised," wooyoung says, "i can't wait to edit these pictures, i think i got a really funny one of you when he pulled the ring out."

"i'll make sure he only keeps the good ones," jen cuts in, but you shake your head.

"you send me every single picture you took," you say sternly, and wooyoung salutes you as he says, "aye aye mrs. choi!"

"oh my god," you turn to san then. "i'm gonna be your wife."

"yeah you are," he smiles proudly. "'bout time."

"oh, what time is it?" you ask. "don't we need to go to the dance?"

"baby, there is no dance," san admits. "i made that up so you wouldn't be suspicious of all the calls and errands without you."

"you sneak," you slap his arm. "and involving our daughter!"

"we got you," violet giggles, looking up at you as she wraps her hands around your legs. you pinch her nose and she squeals.

"well, what do we do now?" you ask. "i don't know what engaged people do."

"i've got an idea," wooyoung says suggestively, and jen groans.

"actually, i was going to take us to dinner," san says, reaching for you and violet. "we need to celebrate!"

"that's our cue to leave," jen says to wooyoung, but san stops them.

"nope," he shakes his head. "you helped. i owe you dinner."

"well if you insist," wooyoung smiles, wrapping his arm around jen. you all start walking back to your cars, jen and wooyoung ahead of your family. you and san are walking with violet between you, hands swinging happily.

"hey," san whispers, and you find his handsome face smiling at you. "are you happy?"

"happier than i've ever been, san."

"good," he nods. "sorry for all the secrets, though."

"whatever," you brush it off. "but, uh, i guess i have a secret of my own to share?"

san stops in his tracks, worry in his eyes. jen and wooyoung stop too, hearing the lack of footsteps behind them. everyone is watching you, and you look at each of them with a growing smile on your face. you end with san, and you blush as you say, "my love, my husband to be, i'm pregnant."

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