defmaybe

[defmaybe]

Collateral

Babymonster Asa x m reader a/n: This fic is set in the Mass Effect universe, specifically during the events of the third game. Was done for a prompt hosted by @usedpidemo Word count: 3.2k words

You’re tweaking with the calibrations on your Omni-tool’s bypass module when the door hisses open behind you.

You don’t really need to look at who it is. Only one person walks like that—controlled, fluid, confident she can just smash any obstacle in her path against the nearest wall.

“Asa,” you say without turning.

“So this is it, huh?”

You click your tongue. “You’re too young to be this cynical.”

The air crackles. Her biotics, probably. No doubt she’s on edge too. It dies down as she sits on the bench beside your workstation.

“Just being realistic. Heard they’re calling this a suicide op now,” she says flatly.

You finish your diagnostic. Green across the board. “Always has been, you just weren’t supposed to know.”

She laughs. Dry. Bitter. A little resigned. “So you knew?”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

There’s a beat. You flick your eyes up. She looks like hell. Still beautiful, because biotics just get that kind of unfair glow on their skin or whatever, but there’s a hollowness in her eyes. You’ve seen that look before on people who knew the next breath wasn’t guaranteed. It’s a pretty fucked up look on a nineteen year old. Maybe twenty now. Birthdays tend to go unnoticed during an apocalypse.

“So do you have some kind of pre-mission ritual?” she asks suddenly.

“Make sure all my tech is operational,” you say, then smile faintly before continuing. “I might have a drink before this one though.”

“I’ve never had one at all.”

You respond like any responsible squad leader should, on instinct. “You’re not even legal.”

She just scoffs. “Really? I’m biotic artillery in a skin-tight suit, but I can’t have a drink before I maybe get turned into red mist, or worse, one of those husks?”

You let out a breath that might’ve once been a laugh. “Don’t say things like that.”

Asa shrugs, and you know what she’s actually saying is “Sorry.”

You reach under the bench, pull out the flask someone on your old crew gave you years ago. You still remember their names.

You pour into two dented field cups. She takes hers like she has to move fast before you take it away from her, downs most in one go, coughs so hard you think she might actually vomit, then grins through watering eyes.

“That’s fucking awful,” she croaks.

“You get used to it.”

She doesn’t respond at first. There’s just the hum of distant Reaper ships over the city. The sound thrums in your bones, bringing back the faces of your previous squad. Before and after they turned. You wonder if that’s how you’ll end up tomorrow as well.

“Do you think anyone’ll even remember us if we don’t come back?”

You blink. “I think we’re doing this to make sure there are people left to remember us.”

Her eyes find yours, with a burning intensity. “And what if it’s just me that doesn’t come back? Will you remember me?”

And yeah, okay, maybe you’re a piece of shit, because your brain immediately—immediately—jumps to what she probably means. Or what you want her to mean.

The biotic prodigy over a decade younger than you, sent out to die so she can make sure you survive just long enough to repair the defense systems needed to protect Vancouver for who knows how long.

And you’re thinking about fucking her. If hell wasn’t at your doorstep already, you’d be going there.

She looks at you like she already knows you’re thinking it, too. You set your cup down and rub a hand across your face.

“This is a bad idea,” you say.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re my subordinate. We’ve got like a 30% survival rate tomorrow, max. You’re—”

“Don’t say I’m too young,” she snaps, and there it is. The heat. The fire behind the cool. “I’ve had to kill men older than you since I was sixteen. Don’t you dare treat me like some civilian you’re babysitting.”

“I know, Asa,” you say, rubbing your face, eyes gritty and trying not to look at her because the moment you do, all good sense is lost on you. “I was there for most of those missions. But still—”

“I’m not trying to get some teary goodbye fuck,” she says, and now it’s out there.

You’re about to reprimand her, or maybe you’ll settle for something safe and dismissive. Maybe even something that would give her hope that she makes it out alive tomorrow. But she reaches out and puts her hand on your thigh. Just rests it there. Soft ripples of biotic waves pulsing against your skin. Like it’s nothing.

You tense up. “Don’t. That’s an order.”

Asa doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just says, “You think I haven’t done this before?”

You stare at her, and hope that that’s enough, since using words to tell her off is officially off the table now.

“I’ve had sex before,” she continues, voice calmer now. “Plenty of times. Stress relief, boredom, post-mission celebrations. It never meant anything.”

You want to say something, but you manage to refrain.

“But I don’t want to go out with all of it meaning nothing,” she says, simply vulnerable. “I look up to you. I want it to mean something now.”

That does it. You’re a fucking commander, and you will act like it. You push her hand off, stand up, tower over her and raise your voice just enough that it doesn’t breach the walls of your bunker. “We’re not fucking doing this.”

Her lips form a thin line, white around the edges, and you can feel the rumble in the atmosphere. Her biotics flare—a blue shimmer in the air, aggressive and emotional—and you barely register the field curling around your wrists before you’re pinned back against the bulkhead with a hard clang.

You grunt, struggling instinctively, scowling at the lack of respect for the chain of command. But it’s useless. She’s got you locked, and you’re not going anywhere without her permission.

“Asa,” you growl. “This is a mistake—”

“And? What are you going to do?” she questions, still infuriatingly level. “Not send me out to die tomorrow?"

You open your mouth, but her powers are flaring again, already tugging your pants down with her mind, arms crossed as she’s looking at you. She has this insane precision and control over it. It’s not rough, but with a deliberate and fluid motion that’s almost worse. You buck, trying to twist your exposed body away.

She’s right. You want this. You want her. You’ve wanted her since the second month she transferred into your command, all jawline and attitude and that frantic, biotic-charged hunger for something lasting in a world being systematically razed to ash. You can’t even try to deny it now, not with your cock standing at attention like you’re fresh out of the alliance academy again, not with her eyes fixed on you, devouring the sight like it’s her last meal.

She drifts closer, literally, all contained violence and intent, and for a moment you see the girl that the Reapers never had a chance to break—a person who has only ever known how to fight, and how to take what she wants. She floats your shirt up and over your head without so much as touching you, and the fabric lands in a heap by your boots. The biotic field around your wrists is tight and tingling, pressing your nerves into overdrive. Your heart is hammering out a warning, but your cock is ready to sign a waiver.

You try to say something—something about protocol, or at least how you’re going to get her back for this—but all that comes out is a desperate, breathless groan. She grins, sharp and predatory, and slides her hand up to grip the base of your cock.

“Tell me what you want, Commander,” she says. It’s low and dangerous and enough to unshackle something you kept locked up for way too long. “Be honest. No more bullshit.”

You try to glare, but the truth is you would beg her if that’s what it took. “I want to fuck your brains out,” you manage. “I want to see you lose control for once. I want to see what you look like with my cock in your mouth.”

“Good,“ she says. She tightens her grip, her thumb dragging circles over your cockhead, and you realize she’s using her biotics inside you now, subtle pulses working through the base of your spine, into your brainstem. You’re not in control of your own body anymore—the ache, the heat, the shame and need, all amplified until you’re trembling, fighting back a moan.

“Don’t stop talking,” she orders, peeling the zipper of her suit down, exposing the pale blue glow of her implant along her sternum.

You oblige, because at this point, you’ll give her every last secret you ever had if it means she’ll keep touching you. You tell her about the dreams you’ve had of pinning her to your workbench, about the night you watched her sleep on a medbay cot and almost reached out to trace the line of her collarbone. You tell her about how you’ve memorized the way her lips part when she’s about to unleash hell, and how you want to choke her with your cock, to see her eyes roll back, to feel her biotics flare when she cums.

Every filthy thought, she rewards with a tighter grip, a sharper pulse, a deeper blush rising up her neck. With each confession exposing another inch of skin, until the suit is down past her hips. She steps out, naked and electric, the bio-luminescent lines on her body pulsing in sync with her breathing. You can’t move, can’t touch, just watch as she floats out of her tight suit, radiant and obscene.

She drops to her knees, wraps both hands around your cock, sends pulses into you from both sides and looks up at you with a challenge. “Last chance to order me to stop.”

You look down at the biotic goddess, who is still refusing you any real semblance of control, and say, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to cum all over your face and make you clean it up.”

She smirks, like she saw the future and always knew that this is what you were going to say. “Yes sir,“ she muses, and clamps down with both hands, one at the root and one just below the head, and starts stroking with a practiced, merciless rhythm. The biotic field amplifies every sensation, turns every movement into a bolt of electricity straight through your nerves. You buck against the invisible restraints, groaning, and she grins up at you, her eyes locked on your face, not your cock, as if she’s trying to memorize you in your weakest, most exposed state.

She doesn’t use her mouth, doesn’t even feint toward it. She just keeps pumping, her grip alternately feather-light and then crushing tight, the blue glow leaking from her fingers to your skin. The heat builds faster than you can handle. You try to fight it, try to hold on, hold back, but her biotics are tuned in and locked on to your senses, orchestrating your pulse, pulling you closer to oblivion with each shockwave.

“Look at me,” she demands, and you comply despite you being the one that should be giving orders. She smiles as you do, not high on power, not gloating in the shift of it. Just raw, something to obsess over in the moment in a way that feels almost innocent.

You cum harder than you have in years. It’s so intense your vision whites out. Multiple bursts of cum arc into the air, globs about to descend onto her face, but she doesn’t give you what you want. She catches each and every airborne rope mid-flight with her biotics, little white stars of you orbiting her fingers like a miniature solar system before she floats them into her mouth, one by one, swallowing with smug and satisfied theatrics.

She licks the corners of her lips like a fox just finishing their hunt. She’s still glowing, still wild-eyed and hungry. Your knees are giving in, panting, every nerve on fire, but Asa isn’t done with you. Not even close. She reaches for the medkit on your bench and flips it open, the motion so casual you almost miss what she’s doing—until she slathers a thick smear of medi-gel in her palm and runs it down your hypersensitive shaft.

 “You’re not leaving me without filling me up, Commander.“

You jolt, half-doubled by the shock, but the compound works immediately. This isn’t what medigel was made for, bypassing refractory periods, but I’m sure mission command can look the other way this one time. You're hard again before you finish your next breath.

She licks the last of your cum off her thumb and glances pointedly at your cock, now slick and gleaming blue in the low bunker light. “You tech people make the best stuff,” she murmurs, and deactivates the field pinning you to the wall.

You don’t even have to think about it. You’re on her before gravity’s finished dragging you down. You catch her at the waist, lift her straight off the ground, turn and pin her back to the same bulkhead. Her legs lock around your hips, holding you close, her arms looped around your neck. The taste of her skin is sweat and ozone, electric with the taste of a lightning storm.

She’s already soaked—slick, hot, impossibly tight—her cunt a velvet vice that clamps down with a force you’ve only ever known from combat exosuits. But fuck, there’s no armor here, no biotic field enveloping anyone, no mediating layer between you and her. Just friction and heat and the wild, unfiltered impact of skin on skin.

Her biotics flare up, you can see her eyes veer for the upper hand, the light in her implants strobing wild, but you shake your head, pin her arms against the cold steel. You want to feel Asa, not some ghostly energy field again. You want her human and flawed and desperate, not a war machine.

She tries to fight it, you feel the muscles in her arms tense, the urge to light up the whole damn bunker with biotic fireworks, but you keep her pinned and thrust harder, deeper, until her entire body locks up around you and she’s making these little strangled noises that you’ve never heard from her before. She’s so tight, trying so hard to not do what she’s been trained to do and just feel good with you.

You’re close to losing it already again, so you slow it down, just a little, just enough that you know you can last a fraction of a second longer. Make her feel as good as she made you feel. You lean in, bite her neck, just below her pulse and she shudders into it, her nails dragging red marks into your shoulders. You can feel the minor tickling of a biotic field at your spine, an instinctive response from her to what you’re putting her through, so you let up, kiss her on the mouth and grind into her hips until she’s gasping again, helpless and harmless.

The whole bunker seems to vibrate in time with your motions as you fuck her against the wall. The relentless slapping of skin on skin, her back being pushed into the wall, and her boots occasionally knocking against the workbench behind. The blue fire in her eyes is starting to flicker, making way for something softer, something needy and pleading.

It brings up the same fucked up side of you that wants to do this in the first place, and you bury your cock as deep as her body will take it.

She cums first, a full-body convulsion that nearly breaks your grip on her arms, a choked cry muffled by your shoulder. You pull her close into your body, muscle a good alternative to biotics for keeping her from collapsing, then give a few last pumps upwards as your own climax rips through you and her. Your seed filling her with every regret you’ve ever had, and leaving them behind there, buried inside her for both of you to forget about.

You stay like that for a long moment, her pressed between your slumping body and the wall, you debating another shot of medigel, until the post-fuck tremors wash away and you can feel your heartbeats start to slow in tandem.

“You can put me down, now,” she says, relaxing her legs around your waist, letting you lower her to the ground, and you can’t take your eyes off of her as she slides down against the wall, legs splayed, knees trembling still. There’s cum leaking out of her, thick and white globs pooling in between her legs, and when she sees you looking she just smirks.

“What, expect me to eat from the floor now?”

It’s a good look on her, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or apologize. You want to pull her into your lap tell her it’s all going to be okay, lie for morale. But you can’t. You settle for collapsing against the wall next to her, and giving a snarky comment back.

“Was that not on the list of things I still want to do to you? I should add it.”

After a while, she tilts her head to the side and looks at you, hair stuck to her cheek, a faint bruise blooming on the column of her neck where you bit her. “You’re a sick fuck, Commander.”

You grin. “No point in pretending otherwise, now.”

She leans in, kisses you, slow and hard, and you let her. She tastes like despair and battery acid and the future you might never see. 

There’s a beat, then she stands, biotics her suit back up, zips it in one fluid motion. The glow of her powers fade to a smolder, but her eyes are still wild, still hungry. “We should get some sleep,” she says, almost gentle. “Big day tomorrow.”

You nod, and for a moment you wonder if she’s going to leave, to walk out of your bunker compartment and let the night swallow the moment whole like it never happened.

But she doesn’t. She steps back down, presses her body into you again like she belongs there. She’s earned the right to.

You pull her fully into your lap this time and carry her with you into your bed. You just lie there, her heartbeat syncing up with yours like two systems calibrating under pressure. Her breath evens out before yours does. 

And for a few precious minutes, you’re too absorbed with her to hear the distant, echoing thrums of impending doom for the first time in forever. It feels artificial. Like the world paused just long enough for this to matter.

And then she whispers it. You can barely hear it. Maybe it wasn’t even meant for you, but for herself.

“I could get used to this.”

You don’t answer.

You just hold her a little tighter and attempt to doze off to sleep, trying not to imagine her name on tomorrow’s casualty list.

[defmaybe]

You Don't Know Me

"Why can't it be me?"

Pairing: Sullyoon x Male!Reader

Synopsis: Just because you need something doesn't mean that they'll need you back.

Word Count: 1.6K

Tags: Angst, Yearning

A/N: Double upload with it

♡♡♡

"The one's who yearn are the one's who earn."

You've yearned, but you haven't earned anything.

How much can someone yearn until they go insane? It feels like a social experiment, your situation. Someone so deeply in love with someone else, so convinced that who they're pining for is the one, that all abject reasoning is thrown out the window.

She needs someone at 2 AM to cry about a test? You're there. You cook for her, always making sure she's never hungry. You let her cry on your shoulder every time she has a problem. To be hers is all you can dream of. Her lips on yours, her arms around you, her head on your chest.

But love really does make you stupid.

She's at your apartment, after another long day of classes and conversations. It's your favorite time of day, and you hope hers too. Sullyoon watches you as you dance around in the kitchen, trying to work as quick as you can to please her.

Sometimes she hates that you're so concerned in making sure she's comfortable. It makes you forget yourself. One time, you were too focused on being as quick as possible that you cut yourself while cutting onions.

Some screams, a few drops of blood, a verbal scolding from Sullyoon, and a band aid around your finger later, you finally served her food. She ate it, she always loved your cooking.

You know she loves you, but how deep her love goes is something you'll always wonder.

Sometimes you fear that it's not as deep as yours.

You knew she was at least comfortable around you, she said it herself.

You were your apartment building's rooftop, the bright city lights glimmer below the both of you. She said she loved this view, made her feel more powerful than she really is. You always chuckled at that. To you, she was more powerful than she could ever realize.

As you watched her eat the tonkatsu you made for her, she said something you'd never expect.

"I think I'm the most comfortable around you."

You felt your heart jumping up and down, rattling your ribcage. You could barely contain yourself after you processed what she said. "What do you mean?"

She smiled, the smile you always wanted to be yours, and then said. "I don't know… everything just feels so natural. The way we talk, the way you know everything about me, and vice versa. It feels… comfortable."

That might've been the most teeth you've ever shown in a smile. You looked stupid, and you were thankful to God that she didn't she your blushing face. It was fully red, looking more like a tomato with hair than an actual human face.

That was your favorite memory of the both of you, but every moment with her was a special memory.

You don't know if she does it on purpose, but whenever you have long study sessions that last up to 6-9 hours, she finds a way to rest her head on your shoulder.

It was probably the closest you have been to her.

Straight out of a rom-com movie, she always falls asleep as soon as she rests her head on you. You didn't know whether to jump and celebrate, to carry her to your bed and sleep on the couch, or just not move and let her sleep there until she wakes up again.

Most of the time you end up choosing the last option. And it doesn't last very long, 10 minutes later she's woken up and apologizing for drooling on your t-shirt.

You didn't mind, as always.

However, one time you decided to carry her to bed.

You princess carried Sullyoon from her living room, up the stairs of her house, and all the way to her bedroom. It wasn't the first time you were in her room, you've been there countless times. her parents know you and love you like a son.

This time felt different, you didn't know why.

As you placed her gently on her bed, you fixed your sweater before turning to the door. Not before you felt something grab your hand however. Scared shitless, you look back to see Sullyoon grabbing your arm.

"Stay. For me, please."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Sitting down beside her, you let go of her hand and adjusted her blanket. "Are you okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "Just stay until I fall asleep, please."

How could you say no?

You watched her drift slowly to sleep, her eyes closed as she holds your hand.

Your heart wasn't racing unlike that one moment on the rooftop. It felt right, like you were born to do this for her. You were still blushing, but not more than her. Sullyoon's cheeks were pink like yours, you didn't know if that was because she was tired or because she was holding your hand, but you'd like to think it was the latter.

That was when you realized that you loved her.

Not just some silly collage crush anymore, a real love. One that people get only a few times in life. Some don't even get to experience love like this. This is the type of shit Shakespeare would write about. To yearn. To need.

But does she yearn for you like you do? Does she need you like you need her? It's a scary question to ask, and an even scarier one to answer.

Maybe it was best one left unanswered.

Now you're staring at her.

You're always staring at her.

She sits across you, the kitchen island separating the both of you. She's tasting the egg fried rice you always make her, just with a different twist.

"So?" You ask.

"I like this one better." She concedes. "What did you add?"

"Secret." You say, packing the rest of the rice into a plastic container.

Sullyoon rolls her eyes at your answer, always so secretive about your recipes. Sometimes she thinks it's because you don't want anyone else to make them for her, and she'd be right. She hops off her chair, crashing on the couch.

You turn to the sound of the thud the couch makes. "You good? Something bothering you?"

She shakes her head. "I'm tired and I don't want to go to school tomorrow."

"I mean, don't we all?"

She sighs before rolling over, standing up again to look over your shoulder as you wash the dishes on her sink. Sullyoon's house is just for the two of you this week, her parents are out of town. It's quiet, peaceful, you love it like this.

As you scrub the insides of the pot, she asks a question that you don't know how to answer.

"Do you… like anyone right now?"

What a complicated question, and an even more complicated answer. You don't know how to respond, do you tell her how much you love her? Do you say yes but don't specify who? Do you choose to lie?

You choose to lie.

"No." You claim. A claim so fake that almost anyone can see through it, except her.

She nods her head slowly.

"I think I do."

Time stops around you, you don't know how to respond. You don't know if you're dreaming or in a nightmare. She might be talking about you, but there's also a very big chance that it's someone else.

So you ask who it is.

"It's… that guy from two classes over."

That's your queue to cry. You don't, even though you really want to. You don't know what to say, what to do.

"He likes me too." Who the fuck doesn't?

"I think he wants to go on a date." Who the fuck wouldn't?

You wanna scream that you're right there, that there's no need to go with someone else because you'll be better than them. That she'll be happier with you. You need to say it.

But you can't.

Still, you smile through the daggers in your heart. "Do you want me to do a backround search on him or something?" It's so clearly fake, it's so clearly forced. The fake laugh, the fake smile, the fake everything, but she still doesn't see it.

She really didn't love you like you did.

She doesn't need you like you do.

The question if she loves you as much as you do is answered. The answer's no. It's so bitter, the truth. So hard to swallow what should've been clear.

She laughs. "No, it's okay. I just wanted you to know, because you know, we're best friends."

Best friends.

You've been strangers, classmates, roomates, friends, best friends.

But never lovers.

Never even considered to be anywhere close to being a lover.

What a strange way for the universe to tell you to go fuck yourself.

She stands up, as if she hasn't beat you to a pulp. "I'm gonna go take a bath."

You nod your head, that's all you can do. Your head slams onto the couch cushions, trying to suppress the noise of your cries. Why couldn't she notice? Why couldn't you just tell her? Why do you have to be so slow with telling her that she's the one you think about at night?

She's no longer your girl. In fact she never was.

Why should you be angry at her? You're not, but you want to be. She didn't know. You never confessed, what right do you have?

She always said that she knew the best out of everyone in the entire world.

But she didn't know that you loved her.

Did she truly know you?

[defmaybe]

What's happening lol. The images you attach are damn funny though. Cheers to more reader being spit roasted

They were trying to bait me out with weird questions also lol. Glad you love my weird memes derek! I'll do more reader spitroast in the future!

[defmaybe]

At last, we are

Yunjin x Reader | Fluff | 9k words

Synopsis: You meet Yunjin busking on the streets, before her idol career, and become her supporter.

Written for @usedpidemo's prompt: 'Where did the time go?'

The university classes had just ended, and you found yourself once again at the station near your university campus, waiting.

The train arrived with its familiar metallic and the doors slid open. People spilled out like marbles dropped from a jar. You stepped in, slower than the rest, and by the time you looked around, all the seats were gone. You held the pole, indifferent now to the way the carriage swayed. 

A man in a business suit sat with his head tilted against the window. His face had the pallor of someone who had long since forgotten how to sleep. You saw others who resembled him: students with weary eyes buried under makeup, men and women all doing quiet impressions of functioning people. You recognized that look. You’d worn it yourself.

When the train reached your station, the doors groaned open again. You waited for the tide to pass before stepping off. The underground hall looked the same as always: gray, square, sterile. But there had been something odd about the light. A little too clear, maybe. A little too still.

Then you heard it, a faint melody, suspended in the air. Someone was playing a guitar.

You followed the sound almost instinctively, passing under flickering fluorescent lights and scuffed tile walls. At the bottom of the stairs, you found her. A busker.

She was slouched against the station wall, cap pulled low, guitar balanced in her lap. She was singing. Her voice wasn’t loud or showy. It didn’t call attention to itself. There was something intimate about it.

You stopped and listened. You didn’t know the song at first. It stirred something, though—some faint recollection you couldn’t quite place. When it ended, you reached into your pocket and pulled out two five-thousand-won notes, folded and soft at the edges. You placed them gently into the open guitar case. There weren’t many others there. She looked up, surprised, and met your gaze.

“Thanks,” she said. Her voice in conversation was the same as in song: subtle, fragile.

You nodded. “Mind if I sit for a bit?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

So you slid down the opposite wall, sat with your back to the cold brick. She played another song. This one had a trace of brightness to it. You watched her fingers move across the strings. The guitar was old, but it sounded clear. You stayed through the whole song. A few commuters passed between you, but no one else stopped.

Afterward, she asked, “What brings you here?”

“Just passing through,” you said. “Thought I’d stop. Your voice—it's… nice. Familiar.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling faintly.

“What was the first song you played?” you asked.

She thought for a moment. “Dayfly, by Dean.”

“That’s it,” you said. “I recognized it, but couldn’t name it.”

��It’s a good one. Not trendy anymore, though.”

“And Dean’s gone.”

She laughed, her shoulders rising slightly. “He’ll be back. Artists like him can’t stop creating. They might disappear, but they’re always writing in the background. They don’t really quit.”

“Maybe,” you said. “Maybe you’re right.”

She started playing again. The next song was War, by Colde. But you didn’t remember.

“I’m terrible with names,” you admitted. “But I always know the tune.”

“Happens to a lot of people.”

A pause followed, long but not uncomfortable. You sat in the quiet. She tuned her guitar slowly, fingers adjusting pegs without looking. You didn’t feel the need to say more.

Eventually, you stood.

“Thanks for the music,” you said.

“Thanks for listening,” she replied.

You nodded. “How long will you stay out here?”

“Another hour or so.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’s shorter when I’m singing.”

You left with a small wave, and she answered it with a tilt of her head.

The next morning, the alarm had gone off again—sharp, shrill, and too soon. The beep felt like a nail driven into your temple. You woke up in your studio apartment, every bone in your back aching. You sat up slowly. You skipped breakfast, like always. Food was expensive. Hunger was manageable.

The train ride back to campus passed in a kind of blur. You recognized the faces. You didn’t remember their names. The classes were predictable. You took notes. You didn’t absorb much.

In the evening, you headed to work. A fast-food restaurant. You flipped patties in the back kitchen. It smelled like oil and boredom. You didn’t hate it. You didn’t love it either. Most of your coworkers never lasted long. The ones who dealt with customers left first.

But that evening, your boss let you go early.

“Not many people today,” he said. “You look like you need some rest.”

You nodded. That was all there was to say.

On your way home, you passed through the station again. And once more, you heard it—her voice.

You found her exactly as before. She wore a hoodie this time. The guitar case was still mostly empty. Her head was bowed again. 

You leaned against the same wall. You didn’t say anything, not until her fourth song ended and she looked up and saw you. She seemed surprised.

“You again,” she said. “How long were you standing there?”

“Since Spring Day,” you replied.

“That was four songs ago.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look up much.”

“I try not to,” she said. “It gets kind of discouraging, seeing no one there. So I stare at the floor and sing.”

Her voice trailed off at the end. You didn’t look directly at her. She didn’t look directly at you. 

“You look like a student,” she said after a moment.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Five stops from here.”

She nodded. “I figured.”

“What about you?”

She hesitated. Bit her lip, gently peeled the edge of dead skin. “No… I’m working.”

The way she said it, you didn’t ask for more. She kept looking down. You kept looking down, too. The floor was speckled with old gum and cracks.  

“I see you have a ukulele too,” you said, trying to forget the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah, I do.”

“Could you play something with it?”

“Sure,” she said and picked up the tiny wooden instrument. She scratched her head a couple of times and started to sing straight away. This time, you recognized the song: Double Take.

After that day, you started seeing her more often.

It wasn’t exactly intentional. You didn’t plan your days around her. But there she was, always in that same spot beneath the stairs at the station, playing her guitar with the same quiet conviction, the same bowed head. 

She never asked why you came. You never told her. The truth was, you didn’t really know either.

The conversations between you were always light. Sparse.

Some evenings, you would sit across from her with a vending machine coffee in hand. You would listen as she cycled through her set—Colde, BOL4, Taylor Swift, a few English covers. 

“I learned this one yesterday,” she would say.

Or: “I messed that up.”

You never minded. Other times, you would talk more.

One night she asked, “Do you like your job?”

You shrugged. “It’s quiet in the back. And no one yells. That’s enough for now.”

“Fair,” she said. Then she nodded toward your backpack. “And the uni?”

“It’s fine. Competitive, expensive, a little pointless. But fine.”

She didn’t laugh. Just said, “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I guess I’m not.”

She nodded like she understood. And maybe she did.

You learned things about her in pieces, like pulling old postcards out of a drawer. Her name was Yunjin. She told you once, while stringing her guitar, “I used to think I’d make music my job. Like, real job. Now I’m just hoping it keeps me sane.”

“That’s still something,” you said.

She smiled. “Some days, yeah.”

And in return, you gave her fragments of yourself. You told her about your studio apartment, your failed driving test, and how your parents stopped calling as often. 

She didn’t try to fix anything. She just listened.

Once, after she’d finished a song, you told her quietly, “You’re the only person I talk to these days.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Then she said, “Same.”

The routine held for a few weeks.

You would pass through the station after work or class, and if she was there, you would stay. Sometimes you brought her hot canned coffee. Sometimes she brought you tangerines from her landlord’s tree. Other times, you said nothing at all. And that was fine.

One afternoon, the station was colder than usual. Her fingers trembled slightly as she strummed.

“You should wear gloves,” you said.

She kept playing. “Can’t. The strings need skin.”

You reached into your pocket and handed her the hand warmers you’d bought that morning, on a whim. You walked into a shop on your commute, knowing you really didn’t need anything, just to distract your mind a bit. 

Then you saw fingerless gloves. ‘Who even needs these gloves?’ you thought, but then you remembered about the movie The Pianist and how he used those kinds of gloves to play. Yunjin could probably use them.

She blinked. “Really?”

You nodded. “They’re yours.”

She pressed them to her palms and smiled without showing her teeth. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me this month.”

“I have to take care of my radio,” you said without thinking, and Yunjin burst out laughing. Her laugh cracked the quiet of the station. You didn’t mean to say it—not like that. It sounded a little weird.

She shook her head, still grinning. “Your radio?”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah… I mean, not mine, exactly. Just—what I call you. In my head.”

She blinked. “Me?” 

What were you even saying? It was a joke. You should have committed to it. Who even calls a person a radio? It’s too late to turn back now; you have to commit to the bullshit you just said. 

You nodded, half-embarrassed. “I walk by every day, and you’re always here playing and singing. It’s like tuning in to a radio. Or more like a TV, I guess. You know those movies where the kids stand outside a shop that sells televisions and they look at it?”

Yunjin nodded quickly. “So you think I’m a radio, a television.”

“Yeeeeah? The radio that you listen to calm you down. So I have to take care of it.”

She stared at you, like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again or look away. In the end, she did neither. She just stood there, hands wrapped in warmth, still as her guitar waited in her lap.

Yunjin smiled. “I thought no one was listening to me… not like that.”

“I’ve been listening,” you said. “Long enough to know when your fingers start to hurt or when you start to hum because your voice is cold and you have to warm up.”

Yunjin looked down at the gloves, then back at you. “That’s... weirdly sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“I know.” She slid the gloves on, flexed her fingers. “They’re good. I’ll be able to play longer.”

You smiled. “Good.” 

Later that same night, you met her again near a convenience store. It was purely a coincidence, but it was a perfect one. Yunjin still had her bag on, meaning she just stopped playing. 

“Hey,” you called her. She turned around and couldn’t help but smile. 

“What are you doing here?” she said after walking to you.

“Oh, I finished my shift.”

“At the burger joint?”

“Yeah,” you said. “So I went to a convenience store to grab a drink or something. You… just finished playing?”

“Oh, right, yes,” Yunjin said, adjusting the guitar on her shoulder. “I usually continue until this time during the weekends because there are more people around. I go out to the city center where more people are flowing.”

“Did you get a good crowd tonight?” 

“Yes, it was good, a lot of people, more tips than usual.”

You smiled. You hesitated for a second and then asked her, “Want to go with me? At the convenience store, grab something to celebrate your successful night.”

“Successful night?” she laughed, not mockingly but in amusement. “It was just a bit more people around.”

“Well, we have to celebrate the small achievements too, right?” you continued. The truth was, you just wanted to talk to her and didn’t know how to ask her. This seemed like the most reasonable thing to say. “I’ll pay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course, my boss gave me a bonus at work, and you have to keep those tips.”

“You know if I accept, then you can’t back down, right?”

“Yep, of course, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Yunjin said and flicked her head towards the closest shop. “Let’s go.”

You pushed open the door to the convenience store, and the familiar chime echoed as you stepped into the fluorescent warmth. The heater near the entrance blew weakly, but after the cold outside, it still felt like summer. Yunjin followed behind. 

“What do you want?” you asked, heading for the food aisle.

She paused by the instant noodles, scanning the rows with practiced ease. “Ramyeon. Something spicy.”

You grabbed a can of beer from the fridge. “Let me guess. Shin?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do I look basic to you?”

You grinned. “A little.”

She grabbed a packet of Buldak ramyeon, the one with flames and angry chickens. “This one,” she said, holding it up like a prize.

Soon, the sound of boiling water and the hum of the beer fridge filled the silence between you. You found two plastic stools at one of the tiny tables shoved against the window. Outside, the street was mostly empty.

Yunjin set her hot cup down carefully, pulling off the lid and letting steam rise in twisting ribbons. You cracked open your beer and took a sip, the bitterness biting your tongue.

“So,” she said between cautious bites, “what’s your story?”

You glanced at her. “My story?”

“Yeah. You know mine now. Busker by night, occasionally eats fire noodles in convenience stores with strange boys.”

You chuckled. “Burger joint worker by evening, occasional listener of street musicians. Sometimes gives away gloves and overpays for convenience store noodles.”

She laughed. “Alright, alright. What’s the real version?”

You leaned back slightly. “I went into computer science at Uni because I saw that it paid well, and that’s what my parents wanted. I come from a small town quite far away, so I’m working as well to stay here. I don’t really enjoy it, but I’m good at it, so I can’t complain.”

She nodded, slurping a strand of noodles. “You sound like someone figuring it out.”

“What about you?” you asked. “I mean, I know you busk. But what’s... beyond that?”

She stirred her noodles a little before answering. “I used to want to be an opera singer. Classical, orchestras, the whole thing. Then I started writing songs. And I realized I didn’t want to be in those… settings. They just felt very strict, you know? I wanted my own freedom and light.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t seem like someone who likes spotlights.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I like being heard. Even if it’s just by one person standing in the cold on their way to a shift.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” you told her. “You’re the best part of my days.”

She looked at you, eyes soft but unreadable. “You don’t need to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I need to,” you said. “I’m saying it because I want to.”

There was a long pause as she took another bite of noodles, slower this time.

Then she looked at you and said, “Thanks. For listening.”

You raised your beer. She clinked her chopsticks gently against the can.

You took a long sip while she continued to eat. You both looked outside the windows at a group of students walking down the street. They looked happy, jumping around, probably drunk, enjoying life, enjoying their youth. You thought for a long time. You and Yunjin were very similar in the way you lived life. 

She already found something to live for, and you were more drifting by, but you were determined to make it.

“You’re easy to be quiet with,” Yunjin said suddenly, drinking the sweet tea you bought her earlier.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing. A moment passed. Then she added, “It’s rare.” And she was right.

The days continued, and so did the conversations.

Then one day, an idea struck you.

It started with a poster. A cheap, neon-colored one, plastered haphazardly on the glass wall outside your lecture hall: "SPRING SEMESTER PARTY — Live Music, Free Snacks, Open bar." Someone had scrawled a half-faded smiley face at the bottom. You didn’t normally go to those things. You didn’t dance. You didn’t drink much. You didn’t like crowds. But the word music stuck in your mind like a splinter.

That night, you found her again in the station.

She was playing Dance with me by Beabadoobee. You weren’t really familiar with her, but Yunjin introduced you to some of her songs. You stayed through the whole thing, not even pretending to check your phone. When she finished, you handed her a hot paper cup of coffee you had grabbed before going to her.

She smiled. “You’re consistent.”

You shrugged. “One of my only skills.”

She cracked the can open, took a sip, and exhaled. Then looked at you, as if she sensed something was on your mind.

“What is it?” she asked.

You hesitated.

“There’s a party,” you said. “At my uni. They’re having student bands. Music and stuff.”

“Okay…” she said, drawing the word out, unsure where it was leading.

“I thought… maybe you could perform there.”

You hadn’t expected her to go still, but she did. Her hands gripped the warm can tightly. You couldn’t read her expression.

“You want me to play at a school party?” she asked.

“It’s a university and… Only if you want to,” you said quickly. “I just thought—people should hear you. Really hear you. There will be other bands or groups and stuff, so don’t worry about it. Think of it like a normal gig.”

She looked down. One of her shoes tapped lightly against the tile. The station was quiet again. Even the announcements had stopped.

“I don’t know…” she murmured. “I’m not really good at… stages.”

“It’s not a stage,” you said. “It’s just a corner of the quad with fairy lights and borrowed speakers. You’d be better than anyone else there.”

She glanced up at you. Her eyes were dark, unreadable under the cap. Then, she gave a small nod.

“Okay,” she said. “One or two songs.”

You talked to the student council member the next day.

A guy in your literature seminar, who always wore socks with cartoon cats on them. He barely listened, just scribbled her name—“Yunjin?”—into his phone and said, “Cool. She’s up third.”

That Friday, you waited for her at the university gate. She wore the same flannel as usual, but her guitar case was freshly cleaned, like she’d wiped away the layers of station dust just for tonight. She looked around as you guided her through campus—eyes flitting over the crowds of students in oversized hoodies, beer cans, bluetooth speakers, and cigarette smoke.

“This feels weird,” she whispered.

You nodded. “It is.”

The “stage” was really a small wooden platform near the wall. There were some old speakers, some banners, and some balloons. Some junior was messing with the amp levels. The first performer—a nervous guy with a ukulele—was already mid-song.

She stood off to the side, clutching her guitar. You could see her scanning the crowd. Looking for exits, maybe. You touched her shoulder gently.

“You’ll be fine,” you said.

She gave a half-laugh. “No one’s listening anyway.”

And maybe she was right. But you stayed close by.

When her turn came, she walked forward slowly. She didn’t say her name. She just sat, adjusted the strap, and started playing. She sang Your Dog Loves You by Colde. Then 200% by AKMU. And then a song of her own. One you hadn’t heard before.

It was soft and bittersweet. Her voice, even through the crackling amp, sounded incredible. She started a bit uncertain, but the crowd did cheer her up when she started using her high notes. Then she got more confident and sang better. Yunjin tried to stare at one spot on the ground during the first half of the song, like she always did. During the second part, her eyes started darting around, noting other eyes on her. And eventually, she finished the song, looking at you.

When she finished, people clapped. You watched her eyes flick across the crowd, surprised. Maybe a little overwhelmed.

Afterward, she found you near the drink table.

“They clapped,” she said, like it was the most unbelievable part.

You smiled. “Told you.”

She shook her head slowly, then took a sip of water. Her hands were still trembling a little.

“Thank you,” she said. “For… whatever this was.”

You wanted to say something back. Something meaningful. But all you managed was:

“You looked like yourself up there.”

She stared at you, quiet. Then smiled, just a little. The cap shadowed most of her face, but you could see her eyes now. They were tired, but not weighed down. For the first time, they looked alive.

“Make sure they pay you, alright? They won’t give you a whole lot, but… at least 50 thousand won? I think you can get it,” you said. “And if they low-ball you, I’ll talk to them.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “But at least I got the chance to tell them my name, you know? So that has to be worth more than what they’ll pay me.”

“That’s true, you’re right… But you should at least be able to get yourself a cheeseburger after the gig, right?”

Yunjin laughed again, “Right.”

The night continued. Yunjin was able to meet a lot of new people, tell people about her dreams, share her Instagram, and she felt truly appreciated. You stood back, letting her enjoy the moment; it was what you truly wanted after all. 

Also, because the open bar was still open and you had to gain back the price of the ticket.

After the gig, most people filtered away into smaller groups—heading to pubs, convenience stores, or rooftops. The party thinned into something less coherent. You and Yunjin stood together near a dim corner of the quad, the last bit of her music still echoing in your ears.

“You want to go get something to eat?” you asked, your voice casual, like you might’ve asked anyone.

She tilted her head. “Isn’t it kind of late?”

You shrugged. “You played three songs in front of strangers. Feels like you deserve tteokbokki or something.”

She smiled, slow and crooked. “Only if you’re buying.”

You ended up at a stall near the back gate of campus. The kind of place that stays open late enough to feed drunk students and lonely night owls. The woman running it wore a giant padded coat and didn’t ask questions. You sat side by side on cracked plastic stools. The soup was scalding hot. She blew on hers too long before taking a bite.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she said quietly, staring at the cloudy broth. “My hands were shaking the whole time.”

“No one noticed,” you said.

She made a soft, doubting sound. “Still felt like my chest would burst open.”

The night got colder. You offered to walk her back. She didn’t refuse. You stopped by a small shop to get something for her to eat first. You talked about the party again, about celebrating the small accomplishments, and about her original song. 

“Yeah, it’s me about admiring another person who grows up to shine and live the life I wanted,” she said. “A better version of me.”

“Well, I think she’s boring; you’re far more interesting.”

Yunjin laughed. “Thank you.” She took a bite from her burger. “Do you not have an idol you aspire to? Someone you want to be?”

“My mom. She does things because they’re right, because they need to be done, and doesn’t complain,” you answered. “You know, I don’t have someone I want to become, as in an ideal job, but I do want to become a reliable person.”

“Well, to me, you already became one.”

“How so?” you said and smiled.

“You’re always there for me. Where would I be without you?” Yunjin replied and shoved your shoulder. 

Yunjin had finished eating now, holding the paper wrap in her hand. Your beer was half-warm. Neither of you seemed in a rush to leave. Then she asked, “Do you live alone?”

You glanced over, a little surprised. “Yeah. One-room apartment, ten minutes from here by train. It’s small, but... decent. I pay rent with my wages and sometimes my soul, depending on the bills.”

That made her laugh. “I get that,” she said. “My place is tiny, too. Like... I can cook eggs and brush my teeth without moving.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s efficient.”

“Exactly,” she nodded, stretching her legs a little under the table.

“I used to live with roommates, but I couldn’t handle the noise. And the sharing. And the smells.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought being alone would be easier. Sometimes it is.”

You nodded. “Sometimes it’s just... quieter.”

“Yeah.” Her voice softened. “Too quiet, maybe.”

“It helps with creativity, doesn’t it?” you said. “Like that essay or story by, uhm, Virginia Woolf.”

“A room of one’s own?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I studied that too. Yeah, having a small room helps me because I don’t have anyone nearby listening to me. You can express yourself without the fear of being judged. Though it’s a bit cramped.” 

You understood that more than you expected. “Maybe that’s why I like hearing you out here. In the open. You sound a lot more free.”

She looked at you then, eyes lingering. “You say things like that without even thinking, don’t you?”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

“It’s both.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Me? No, I don’t.”

“Well, the way you talk, it won’t be difficult getting one.”

“What do you mean?” you laughed. “I sound like a player?”

“No, no, you just say things that a girl likes hearing. You’re more emotional than the other guys I’ve met.”

“I see.”

You found yourselves riding the near-empty train toward your neighborhood. Both of you lived in the same city. Neither of you talked much. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t require performance. She rested her cheek lightly against the cold glass window, her breath making small clouds.

When you stepped out into the night air, she looked around.

“Is this your stop?”

You nodded. “I live close.” You happened to live closer than you thought. “Wanna see it?” you asked her, and she replied, “Sure.”

Your studio apartment was the same as it always was—small, dim, stale with damp air. But when you opened the door and let her step inside, it suddenly felt… exposed. Like someone had turned on a light you didn’t know was there.

She paused in the doorway, guitar case still strapped to her back.

“Wow,” she said. 

You watched her take it in: the too-narrow bed, the stained tiles, the sagging chair. The stacked notebooks, the toothpaste cap you forgot to close, the instant ramen wrappers folded into themselves on the desk.

“You weren’t joking about it being small,” she murmured.

“Nope.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and you sat across from her on the floor.

“I live in a space like this,” she said. “When I first moved out. For a while, I didn’t mind it. Felt kind of like camping.”

You looked around. “A very sad kind of camping.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Mold and ramen.”

The laughter drifted off, and the room fell quiet again. The only sound was the occasional groan of pipes from the wall.

She put her guitar case down gently, unzipping it. Her fingers brushed the strings, almost without thinking. A single chord bloomed in the air.

“I can play something,” she offered quietly.

You nodded. Singing was everything Yunjin did. She talked to you about it. If she wasn’t working, she was singing or writing. All day long. It was an obsession, but that was what made her a great singer. So you let her sing; it was her way of talking to you.

You listened to her quietly, and when she was done, you broke the silence. “That was beautiful. What is its name?”

“Raise your glass”

“Mmh. What’s it about?”

She looked at you for a moment, then down at the guitar in her hands. “It may sound like a party song,” she said, her voice low, steady. “Like, ‘Let’s raise a toast, let’s be wild, let’s celebrate.’ And yeah, maybe on the surface, it is. But that’s not really what I meant.”

You waited, watching her face.

“It’s not a party anthem,” she said. “It’s about struggles and the journey and the people that support you.”

Her gaze was far away now, not on you. “It’s for the people that work silently and never get celebrated.”

You swallowed. “So you wrote it for them.”

She nodded. “I wrote it for me, too.”

You let that sit between you for a second, then said quietly, “I think that’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”

She glanced at you, unsure. “You’re not just saying that?”

You shook your head. “Not even a little. You know, I think even if you make a song sound good, it’s not great if it’s not honest. And you did, it feels like it comes from your heart.”

She smiled softly. “That’s all I wanted it to be.”

“Love you twice is good, but it sounded like you were just talking shit about yourself, so I prefer this one.”

Yunjin laughed again and slapped your arm.

When you laid down beside her, the mattress dipped. You expected it to be awkward—elbows and knees and limbs with nowhere to go—but somehow it wasn’t. She didn’t move away, and neither did you.

You didn’t touch her, not at first.

You just… listened. To the subtle, rhythmic sound of her breathing. Then she turned. Slowly. Without opening her eyes, she moved closer, her forehead brushing your shoulder, and one of her hands reached for yours. Her fingers curled around two of yours—barely a grip at all. Just contact. 

You didn't pull away.

Her voice came again, even softer now:

“Is this okay?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

At some point, she rested her head against your chest and whispered, “I don’t know why, but this feels like the safest place I’ve been in a long time.”

You didn’t know what to say. But you wrapped your arm around her shoulder and let your chin rest lightly against her hair. It was soft, almost too soft for the world she seemed to walk through every day.

Eventually, her breathing slowed again.

You stayed awake longer than her, but eventually you found the courage to fall asleep next to Yunjin.

After that night, something changed. You began to see her differently, and she began to see you, not as a stranger passing through the station. Not as a listener. But as someone who stayed.

You started meeting more often, though neither of you ever called it “plans.” She’d text you something vague like, “I’ll be playing late today,” and you’d show up, your breath visible in the cold air, hands buried in your pockets, pretending it wasn’t because you’d been waiting for her message all day.

Sometimes after she played, she’d walk home with you. Or you with her. Your apartments were both small, cold, and full of each other’s presence now. She left her flannel draped over your desk chair once and didn’t take it back. You started keeping her favorite tea in your cupboard. She began to show up without knocking.

You’d started talking to her about things you hadn’t said aloud in years. About how tired you were of pretending you were okay all the time. About how scared you were of failing—at school, at life, at everything. She listened without interrupting. She had this way of folding your words gently, as if they were fragile and worth keeping.

She told you things, too. Like how music was the only place she didn’t feel wrong. Like how she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be truly good at anything, but singing made the ache go quiet for a while.

She’d lie beside you sometimes, head on your chest, tracing absentminded shapes on your arm with her fingertip. She’d ask strange questions at midnight, like, “Do you think people have more than one chance in life?” or “What do you think we’d be like if we met when we were older?”

One morning, you woke up and realized her hair was on your pillow. That it smelled like the strawberry shampoo she always denied using. That her toothbrush was next to yours. That your phone had more photos of her smile than anything else. None posed. All in-between moments: half-laughs, tired yawns, the curve of her shoulder beneath the streetlight.

You didn’t know when she became a part of your life.

But she had.

You figured that you had to ask her out properly. There was a movie that was premiering next week. You bought two tickets, right in the middle of the theater, so you had the best view. It was also one of those nicer theaters with a higher resolution and better audio quality. 

You weren’t nervous. You and her have been talking for so long that it was just another hangout at this point.

You didn’t know, but she bought tickets as well. 

Just not the same as yours.

You were both sitting on the floor of your apartment, backs against the bed, knees pulled close, sharing a cheap convenience store sandwich. She was wearing your gray hoodie again, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her guitar rested in the corner, untouched. The winter sunlight came in pale and weak through the window.

“Seoul,” she murmured. “I got a call from a producer. Someone saw a video from that uni gig you got me. They want me to come. It’s just a trial, but... I should go.”

You didn’t say anything right away.  And then, “That’s amazing,” you said, finally.

She looked down. “Yeah.”

You reached over, brushed a crumb from her lip, and smiled, even though it cracked at the edges. “When?”

“Next week.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugged, unsure. “I think if I don’t go now, I’ll regret it.”

You nodded again. Of course she would. Of course, she should go.

That night, she stayed with you, curled close under your blanket, your arms wrapped around each other, neither of you talking much. Her breath on your neck was slow and steady. You traced invisible lines on her back, thinking about her and your future.

She packed in silence the day she left. A small suitcase. Her guitar. A tote bag with her lyrics, notebook, charger, lip balm, and that weird peach-scented hand cream she always forgot she had.

You walked her to the train station. The same station where you first heard her. Where her voice had cut through the noise of tired commuters and tired lives and found you. Where she stayed, even if the world didn’t.

Now she was leaving.

She kept looking at the platform screen, though the train wasn’t due for another ten minutes. Her hands were stuffed in her coat pockets. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other..

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“I should ask you that.”

You chuckled quietly. “I’m fine. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes shimmered for a second, but she blinked quickly and swallowed it down.

You hugged before the train arrived. The kind of hug where you don’t know how long is enough, so you just keep holding on. You could feel her heartbeat in her chest, rapid and real.

“I’ll message you,” she said against your shoulder.

“You better.”

She pulled back and smiled. It was wobbly, imperfect, and so, so her.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

The train was due in two minutes. The sky was gray. Everything was always gray when it mattered most. 

“I’ll miss this,” she said softly.

You swallowed. Your hands were in your pockets. You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

She stepped closer, close enough for you to see the shimmer of tears she didn’t want to shed. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath even in the wind.

Then she looked up and said it: “Don’t forget me, okay?”

You were both quiet. The kind of quiet that stretches between people who don’t know how to say goodbye.

It was the first time you said I love you—and the last time you meant it.

You didn’t plan to say it. It wasn’t a grand moment. No sweeping strings or sunsets. Just her, standing there with her suitcase in one hand and her guitar slung across her back.

That’s when it slipped out, completely unceremoniously.

“I love you.”

She blinked.

Then smiled, softly. Not surprised. Not startled. Like she had heard it all her life. “I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

And that was it.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside.

You texted for the first weeks. Yunjin’s audition was successful, and she got busier. At first, they took her phone and she’d be able to text only a couple of times a day. Then she got busy herself and could text you only while you were at work. Eventually, you stopped texting each other. That’s how it goes.

It was involuntary. You didn’t have time and didn’t have anything to talk about, with everything you two had on your minds.

Yunjin hadn’t written a single song. Not a word. Not a line. She couldn’t. There was something about this city that was taking away her breath, and each time she sat down to write a word or two, your name always came up.

And you, your face kept surfacing like a faded photograph she wanted to hold but couldn’t. She wanted to write you a letter, send you a message, but every time she picked up her phone, the words tangled and slipped away. So she stayed silent, telling herself she had to focus, that this was the only way to make the dream real.

But late at night, when the city’s noise softened to a murmur, she found herself staring at the ceiling, her heart a quiet ache in her chest.

She missed you.

Time had slipped by: weeks, months, years. You saw her face on the internet. Her dream finally came true, and you couldn’t be happier. You bought albums to support her and hear her voice again. You never forgot about her. 

It was a couple of years later that you were finally in Seoul after climbing the career ladder and landing a good job. The higher you went, the less you had to work and the less competent you became. You continued to practice, and the coworkers who were under you appreciated your ability. The boss noticed and sent you to the location in Seoul.

While you were there, you saw the announcements of Yunjin’s group fanmeet. You had to go. You kinda felt like a fish out of a pond going alone, but it was something you couldn’t share.

There, you saw Yunjin shine on stage. You weren’t familiar with her dancing as you never saw her perform that way. She did some silly dances when you were alone together, but not with that type of energy. The crowd was incredible. It was loud, passionate, and exciting. Finally, it was her song. 

The lights dimmed, and she stepped forward, guitar slung over her shoulder. Now that she had a moment to properly sit down, her eyes swept the room, searching, scanning, and then they found you.

Her mouth remained slightly agape, and she focused her eyes. Was she seeing things, or was it really you? After a couple of seconds, she was certain. Those eyes couldn’t belong to anyone but you. A smile slowly crept up from the corner of her lips, and her heart started beating again, but she kept it to herself. She was a professional after all.

You knew this song. She sang it to you before in your tiny room, and you remembered. Raise your glass was the name. This time, she was singing with her member Chaewon, but it was definitely her song. She looked at the crowd, at all the cameras pointed at her, the eyes staring, the mouths singing; she wasn’t scared anymore.

You did it, Yunjin. The people are listening.

The fan meet came to an end. The room drifted into silence, and the crowd began to shift, folding chairs scraping, murmurs of thanks and applause trailing off. You were about to leave as well, but as you exited from behind the building, Yunjin reached you. She continued to stare at you since the end of the song, and when there was no one else, she ran to you.

Before you could find the right words, before you could even catch your breath, she reached you and wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I fucking missed you,” she said.

“I never forgot you,” you said, while returning her hug.

She didn’t have much time to say anything, as her managers were hurrying her to leave. “I still have my number,” she simply said and left.

The next day, in the evening, your phone buzzed beside you, and when you looked, her name blinked on the screen. It was a simple message, just three words: “Meet me soon.” 

You stared at it for a moment, heart racing and hesitation crowding your mind, then typed back, “Where?” The reply came almost immediately: “Here.” With an attached location link.

You slipped on your coat and made your way to the park. The streets seemed quieter than usual, the hum of traffic distant and hollow, as though the city was holding its breath.

She was already there, her cap pulled low, dark clothes. She tried not to be recognizable by tucking her hair under her hood, but the way she sat gave it away. She heard your steps and turned around. There it was, that familiar smile. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down beside her, feeling the cold seep through your jacket but barely noticing.

There was a long pause. Neither of you came prepared. You simply wanted to meet her and didn’t think about what to ask her. Both of you stared into the distance, looking at the leaves on the grass. It wasn’t awkward, it was just like the old times.

“Do you remember,” she began, “the first time I played for you at the station?”

You nodded, the image flooding back: the cold concrete beneath you, her voice peaking from behind the corner.

“I was so scared nobody would listen,” she said. “But you did. You actually stopped.”

“You made it impossible not to,” you said, smiling. 

She laughed softly. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she admitted. “Especially here.”

“Me neither,” you replied. “But I’m glad.”

The conversation unfolded slowly, like a stream finding its way through stones. You talked about everything and nothing: the late nights studying, the strange rhythm of Seoul, the music she was trying to write but couldn’t quite finish. 

There was a lot to catch up on. 

She reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled photo: the two of you at the university party, her hair messy from laughter, your eyes bright in the dim light.

“I kept this,” she said, voice soft. “It was a very important moment, maybe the most important one. Do you remember?”

You took the photo carefully, tracing the edges with your finger.

“Of course I do. I kept it too, but it’s in my apartment right now. Last time, I dropped my wallet into a fountain, so after I dried it, I made sure to keep it somewhere safer.”

Yunjin chuckled. “It sounds just like you.”

The evening faded into night, the park slowly emptying as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. You agreed to walk with her back to her place, which was now a dorm that she shared with her members. 

“I missed this,” she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

“Me too,” you answered honestly.

And then, “I have a question,” she said while looking at the street in front of her. You hummed. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, it might be a sudden question, I—”

“No, I don’t,” you answered, truthfully. “Didn’t really date anyone. I was focused on my studies. I actually got a pretty high position: senior manager of my section.”

“Wow, you like it?”

“Well, it pays well,” you said, and she laughed with you. “What about you? Have any of the idols hit on you? It must be weird seeing such good-looking people every time.”

“I also see normal people working with them, so it’s kinda balanced. Uhm, actually, there were a couple,” she said. “But I didn’t really accept them.”

Silence poured over them. Both of you wanted to ask that simple question: “Why?” More than asking, you wanted the other to pose the question. And both of you wanted to answer the same way: “Because of you.” 

But you were afraid to say it. It had been such a long time after all.

She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her keys, not quite meeting your gaze. “I, um... I guess I used to wonder if we’d run into each other again.”

You blinked. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. I mean—not like in a creepy way or anything,” she rushed out, then winced. “Just... I don’t know. Random thoughts.”

You gave a small nod. “I think I had those, too. Like—sometimes. In between meetings or at, uh, traffic lights.”

She smiled a little at that, biting her lip. “Weird how life just... keeps going, huh?”

“Yeah. Stupid, unstoppable thing.”

There was a pause. 

“I used to rehearse what I’d say,” you muttered, half-laughing into your sleeve. “If I ever saw you again.”

She looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? What’d you come up with?”

“Hey.”

Yunjin laughed. There you were, saying awkward stuff again. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you asked.

“Take the weight out of things. When you know I can’t do it.”

You shrugged, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Old habits.”

Another pause settled, more comfortable this time. You watched her eyes flicker.

“I wanted to ask that question,” you said. “Back then. But I never had the guts.”

“Which one?”

“The one we’re both still avoiding.”

Her expression shifted. “Then ask it now.”

You took a breath. “Why didn’t we try?”

She was quiet for a beat, then: “Because I thought I had time. I thought you'd be there after everything else had settled. But then life happened... and I guess I was scared you'd moved on.”

“Yeah, I guess it was the same with me…,” you said. “I knew you were busy.”

You looked at the place ahead of you. You already lived that many years without her, and she had become so distant from you. Whatever you said next didn’t really matter. What were the chances that you’d meet her on the streets again? You had to say it.

“Is it too late?” you asked.

Yunjin looked at you with a brief shock. “No,” she said.

You took a deep breath. “I never stopped loving you, Yunjin,” you said. To your surprise, Yunjin put her hand on yours and intertwined your fingers.

“I love you,” she said. “Right now.”

She took a deep breath but didn’t look away; she was looking right into your eyes. “If I didn’t love you back then, I learnt to love you while you were away,” Yunjin confessed. Her eyes didn’t meet yours at first. They lingered in the space between you. “Missing you,” she continued, “was more painful than the sores from dancing for hours. It was more painful than anything I had to endure during the training.” 

You listened quietly. Your heart was racing, trying not to leap too far ahead, not to assume too much—wondering if her words were truly meant for you. But they were. Yunjin meant every word.

“You cared,” she said. “And sometimes… that’s all that mattered.”

Your chest tightened, the way it always did when something inside you softened. “Who wouldn’t, Yunjin?”

She smiled at that, but it wasn’t a smile of comfort—it was one tinged with quiet ache. “A lot of people, apparently,” she replied with a short chuckle. “Now that I’m on stage, yeah, people see me. They cheer, they cry, they call me talented. But back then? I was just a girl who doubted herself. Who wasn’t sure she deserved anything. And still… you were there.”

She held back her tears, her voice breaking around the edges. “I was nothing in front of you. Not an idol, not a singer—just me. And you… you still chose to believe I was something.”

“Thank you,” she said, like it wasn’t enough, but it was all she could manage.

You stepped closer, feeling something catch in your throat. “I should be the one thanking you, Yunjin.” She looked confused at that—almost hurt—until you explained.

“Your art… healed me in ways I didn’t expect. Every song, every performance, every little piece of you that you shared with the world—I held onto it. You were the only constant that didn’t feel like a burden on my shoulders. Just… warmth. Hope.” You paused, trying to find the proper words in your head.

“I know you see me as someone who gave a lot. But you have no idea what you’ve given me.”

Yunjin’s smile was quiet, almost trembling, nothing like the ones she wore on stage. It bloomed slowly as she realized the meaning behind your words. Her eyes shimmered, full of relief. She had been lost for so long, but she finally found you again.

“There was a point where I really hated my voice…” Yunjin began softly, eyes fixed on the pavement. “And I felt really insecure and I felt like—you know—I wasn’t really worthy of much.” Her fingers fidgeted nervously as her words spilled out faster, breath catching. “But! You have found my voice and given meaning to my voice.”

She finally glanced up, just for a second, then looked away, cheeks flushed.  “And you know, that’s really special and… so to make somebody like their own voice, it’s a really powerful thing.”

Her voice cracked slightly as she pushed the last of it out. Then, suddenly overwhelmed by her own confession, she panicked.

“Anyways!” she blurted, too loud. “I love you! And goodnight!”

Without giving you a chance to respond, she surged forward, pressed a quick, flustered kiss to your cheek, and bolted inside the dorm, heart racing, terrified that staying even one second longer might cause her to fall apart completely.

You waited for many years, but for Yunjin, it was all worth it.

[defmaybe]

thoughts on idols who date?

Are you that same anon kek, but to answer the question: none. I have no thoughts lol. I'm too concerned with my life to care.

[defmaybe]

new :writt:

Restaurant Confessions

An Yujin x Male Reader

Tags: Fluff

Synopsis: In a late night adventure to find something to eat, you stumble upon a restaurant that caught your eye. Great food, great atmosphere, and a great server.

Word Count: 2,779

♡♡♡

Some say that the way into a man’s heart is through his stomach.

If that’s so, no one is trying to get into your heart.

Your stomach feels empty, which shouldn’t be the case, as you just ate that sad excuse for a grilled cheese sandwich. Too engrossed in the stack of paper in front of you, you let the sandwich you made marinate in the cold air of your room. When you took the first bite, it summarized your evening so far. Cold, bland, disappointing. The cheese was solid. The bread was dry yet soggy at the same time. Forcing yourself to finish it was the hardest part of the night. The studying part of the night went better than expected. Of course, the bar is in hell at this point because it’s biology after all, but it could have gone a lot worse.

Still, you were hungry as hell. The type of hunger that only good food can heal. Since you have decided to accept that you will never be a great cook, this is the time to start looking outside. You were practically done studying, and the rest can be trusted to the powerful beings of the universe. So you stood up, grabbed your hoodie, and went out.

Probably should have planned where to go before heading out, but what’s the fun in that?

The regular places are now closed, and you aren’t going to some fast food place to fill this void. That chicken wings place? Closed 2 hours ago. The sushi place around the corner? The lights were out already. Your favorite burger place? Closed 2 months ago, you still haven’t recovered from that. Good for your health, not so much your mind.

The streets are almost a ghost town except for the occasional drunkard slurring their words as they wobble past you. You’d think no one lived near you because there were no good food stops open. If they were open, it was either a health hazard or just a safety hazard. Maybe you were paranoid, but at the dead of night, you’d want to eat somewhere where it looks the police could reach it in a few minutes.

You’ve been walking for hours (20 minutes), and you don’t even know how to get back to your apartment (You’re only about 10 blocks away). The only thing you’ve gotten is even more hunger. Your stomach is punching you at this point, demanding more food. You’re close to giving up and eating another sad home-cooked meal. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you would rather die at this point than eat your cooking.

And then you see it.

Small, cozy, colorful, impossible to miss, even though you’ve missed it a thousand times. It’s tucked away in the corner of a rundown street, one you always pass by but barely notice. It looked simple, a bit of a homey feeling from the outside. You can barely contain yourself as you push through the doors. It’s not every day you strike gold.

The second you enter the doors, you’re hit with an aroma of everything savoury in the world. However, the smell of vanilla overpowers everything else. It was almost like the shop was wearing perfume with how powerful it was. You approach the counter, but no one's there. You were the only person in the room. No other customers, no other employees, just you and what is a very cozy little shop. You didn’t even know what they were selling.

You look at the counter, searching for a menu. You pick up the clipboard and peruse through the options.

Oh.

Breakfast food.

Pancakes, waffles, all with a healthy side of bacon and eggs.

Rice meals to your heart's content.

It may be a little backwards to eat breakfast as your dinner, but at this point, you really couldn’t give a fuck. You were already eyeing up your options.

Blueberry pancakes…

Buttermilk waffles…

French toa-

“Hello! Welcome to IVE, may I take your order?”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin and back in again. In front of you is a girl, fairly tall, with beautiful skin and a smile that can light up the entire room. She looks about your age, maybe a year or two older.

Your type.

She’s wearing what you assume to be the restaurant uniform. It was a simple, whitish polo top, almost a cream color. Black pants complemented the cream top, and a brown apron finished the look. Her name was Yujin, at least that was what was on her nametag. It took you almost 5 seconds to register what just happened, who was in front of you, and what to say next. In the meantime, her smile was unwavering.

“Um, one French toast with scrambled eggs.” You told her unconfidently, clueless about whether what you were picking was good.

“Okay, is that all, sir? Drinks?” She replies.

“Orange juice is fine.” You look down, almost shy in meeting her eyes. You hand her the money, before sitting down at the table. There were only like 4 tables, maximum capacity maybe 12 people if they were all squeezed in. She went inside the kitchen, maybe she was the cook and the cashier at the same time. Kind of inefficient but admirable.

Leaning back on what seemed to be the most comfortable chair in the world, you took in the surroundings even more. It had a cabin feeling, wood supports, lampshades with a warmer tone, and the slight use of orange as an accent around the shop in the chair cushions and placemats, all made for a cozy environment.

You were the only one there, maybe because it was just the time, but it seemed like there weren’t that many customers who popped by often. However, you assumed the ones who did try it out stayed loyal.

The train of thought in your head snap as a plate with a stack of maple syrup-covered French toasts was placed in front of you, and on the other plate was perfectly cooked scrambled eggs, with chives on top. All can be washed down with iced orange juice.

“Order complete sir?” The Yujin girl says, wiping her hands clean on her apron.

“Yes, thank you.” You say, almost drooling at the sight of what was in front of you.

“No problem, call if you need anything.” She went back to her station, washed her hands, and when she looked back at you, almost half of the food was gone. You were inhaling everything; the 2 slices of French bread were already halved, and the eggs were not far behind. All of the orange juice was already in your stomach. She didn’t know how someone could eat that fast, but she’s happy she did well.

You realized she was looking at you. Not staring in a bad way, just looking at you, the way you ate, how fast you ate. It made you a little self-conscious that you were resembling a pig in how you ate.

Both of your eyes met before she let out a laugh.

“I take it that it’s good?” She barely controls her laugh while saying that.

You nod vigorously, like a kid being asked if they wanted candy. You swallow the French toast in your mouth before responding.

“Sorry if I looked stupid while eating.”

She shook her head, saying no. “It’s okay, it looked funny.”

Your ears turn red as you blush in embarrassment.

“Wow, you’re already fumbling, Y/N. She just said you looked stupid.”

“At least you made her laugh.”

Another customer came in, ruining the moment. You went back to your food, and she went back to doing her job. That didn’t mean you didn’t glance at her when she wasn’t looking, and the same with her. Passing glances at each other, you looked at her for a split second while she was packaging an order, and she looked at you when you were busy stuffing scrambled eggs in your face.

The food was already long gone when the other customer left, bag of takeout in tow. The door closed as they left, Yujin saying, “Thank you for coming”.

Another silence.

“Are you done inhaling the food?”

You looked back at her, and she was smiling tiredly now. The customer’s order was heavy, twice, even thrice more loaded than your order. A small bead of sweat dripped down from her forehead before she wiped it with the bottom of her apron.

“Yeah, I guess.” You respond, with the idea of it being nonchalant, but it comes out of your mouth as just pure cringe.

She laughs, bringing a tray to your table. She picks up your dishes and brings them back to the kitchen. You let yourself stew in the silence. Some dings of the plates in the background fill up what came to be a very strong silence. She came back out hands wet, wiping them against her apron.

“You’re still here?”

You turn to her, smiling before saying, “I don’t think I can walk after that.”

She laughs, like fully laughs, as if she hasn’t heard of a joke before.

“You’re welcome to stay here, don’t worry. There won’t be too many customers coming around at this point based on my experience.” She grabs the chair next to you.

Your shoulders are now touching, the strong silence mentioned before became comfortable. Her chin on her knees, scrolling on her phone. You, head on the window, looking outside. You’ve just met, she doesn’t know your name, you don’t know her other than the fact that she works here. But it’s seamless, the comfort.

You broke the silence. “How long have you been working here?”

“Not long.” She sighed. “A week, part-time.”

“You study?”

“Yeah.” Yujin nodded. “Entrepreneurship & Business Ownership. It’s fun but tiring.”

“Isn’t that all courses?”

“Some are just tiring, no fun.”

You chuckle, eyes still looking outside the window, but mentally, all the attention is on her.

She points her head to the ground. “You? What do you study?”

Now you look at her. “Medtech.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It is, just more tiring than fun.”

She nods as another silence falls upon you. You notice her features and ticks even more up close. Her dimples when she smiles, her nose glistening under the warm light, the way she licks her lips almost every minute.

She’s unethically beautiful. Unethical in a way that she had to be made in a lab before she was born. Unfair to other people. Her face is unforgettable; you’ll look at thousands of other people, and her smile will be the one you’ll remember the most. Her eyes will be the one you remember the most. Her everything.

And you think you have a chance?

Maybe you do.

Even if you don’t, her presence is enough.

It became a habit. Visiting her in the dead of night.

And you talked about everything. From telling stories about your courses and classes to your interests to debates about which menu item is the best. You said it was the French toast, she believed it was the honey bacon.

It was more chaotic than peaceful.

You found out she loved building LEGO sets. An expensive hobby, she said, but one she grew up with. There was a full album on her phone with Yujin posing next to whatever she completed. Her leaning on the Eiffel Tower, her smile reaching cheek to cheek as she holds the titanic. She dropped it not long after the photo was taken.

Sometimes you just needed company while studying, and you came in with a huge stack of papers and reviewers and plopped all of it down on the table you always eat at. She came up to you with French toast and company. It was all you needed.

The late-night meetups at the restaurant became a retreat to comfort for both of you.

Your friends noticed too.

The bags under your eyes, but your smile was wider. Eyes brighter. You were not smiling at your phone not frowning at it. You weren’t responding to them late at night even though you were online.

Every time they would ask, though, you would dismiss it.

The classic “It’s nothing.” or “I just woke up in a good mood, I guess.”

They could see through the bullshit.

You couldn’t care less.

Later that night, you were arguing who was the GOAT transformer.

“YUJIN, IT’S BUMBLEBEE.”

“NUH UH, HAVE YOU SEEN OPTIMUS PRIME’S SPEECHES?”

You both decided that this debate would lead to more serious consequences, so you both decided to stop. You loved these debates. They’re stupid, but not to you or her.

Because you were talking with the one you loved.

Quickly you were falling, you knew it.

You wanted to stop it, didn’t want to ruin what you built.

It’s the normal gripe with falling in love with your friend. What if you ruin everything? So afraid to take that leap that in the end, you live in a compromise that ends with tears. So afraid to be wrong that you don’t make a choice at all. Comfortable in living in the maybe. Possibly due to being a coward, or maybe because society romanticizes loving from afar. But just because society does, you should too?

Because when she spoke, nothing else moved.

When she smiled, nothing else was as bright.

When she touched you, nothing else felt as warm.

As they say, love is a choice.

You choose to love others. You want to have control over who you love.

You want to choose to love her only as a friend.

But there are times in life where you have no choice. Where something else chooses us. Love is choosing you. You hate it and you love it.

It was a different kind of night. This time, she was the one studying. Which is the complete opposite of what she said she does, proclaiming she was a “natural business woman” and doesn’t need studying.

Well, here she was, head buried in a notebook.

Your head was on her shoulder.

You didn’t try to mention it, but you’ve never felt safer whenever your head was on her shoulder.

She didn’t try to mention it, but it felt right when you hugged her.

Neither of you didn’t mention it, but there was a sense of belonging to each other there.

Yujin was reading something about the supply-and-demand thingy, you don’t know, that’s all you know from entrepreneurship. You were too busy looking at her face. The way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration when she didn’t get something. The way her eyes lit up when she read something she understood. The way she turned smug when she read something she already knew.

It was the most beautiful process in the world.

You were looking at your phone now, trying to distract yourself from the epitome of beauty next to you. Your head was still on her shoulder, your hand now around her body. It was starting to get dangerously close. Something felt inevitable. What it was, you didn’t know.

And then leaned back on the chair. Then, she turned to her face to you. You don’t know when you started to get those thoughts. But a look at her lips was just enough.

Your lips were on hers. Her lips were on yours.

It was sweet. Intoxicating. Addicting. Quick.

You both pulled away a second later. Eyes still wide. Both still looking at each other. You don’t know what you were feeling. Scared? Excitement? Relief? Maybe a mixture of all 3. And then you said it.

“I like you.”

Boom. Like a bomb. No buildup. She went from reading whatever she was reading to now being faced with her friend confessing. She must have been shocked. She was stressed from reviewing, and then you confessed.

You kind of felt bad, but you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“Do you like me too?” What a stupid fucking question.

“I think so.” What a stupid fucking answer.

“You think so?” Another stupid question.

“Yeah, I think so.” Another stupid answer.

And then she looked at your lips. You looked at hers too. Both of you were slowly but surely closing the gap.

And then you stopped.

“Say it.” You whisper to her face.

She looks confused. “Say what?”

“Say you like me. I can’t kiss someone again who only thinks they like me. I want you to be sure, because I’m never letting you go again if I kiss you.”

5 seconds of just staring into each other's eyes. It shouldn’t have taken this long, but it did.

“I love you.”

♡♡♡

[defmaybe]

Lucky Spotted

Seo Dahyun x Male Reader

counts: ~840 words

"Hey, cutie... got lost?"

You turn to see Dahyun approaching.

"No... I missed the bus," you mutter, your grip on the bag tightening.

She steps closer, her eyes scanning you. "You shouldn't be on this road, y'know? There's some... girls like me."

She nods toward the street, where a few women linger under a lamppost, watching passersby.

"L-like you?" you stammer, your voice betraying nerves.

Dahyun chuckles, "If you wanna dodge them, you better stick with me. Unless you want them creeping up on you. What'd you think?"

"Stay with you?" you ask uncertain.

Without waiting for an answer, Dahyun grabs your wrist, her touch firm but not forceful, and pulls you into a narrow, quiet alley.

She pushes you gently against the brick wall, her body close, warm. "Relax," she says softly, almost like she's trying to calm you. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

She leans back a bit, crossing her arms under her short jacket, showing a bit of her stomach. "What's your name, cutie?"

You mumble your name, she says your name back, like she's trying it out, smiling bigger. "Cute. You're lucky I saw you first. Those girls out there? They'd have you cornered by now, maybe take your stuff or worse."

"What do you mean, girls like you?" you ask wanting to know more.

Dahyun steps closer, her lips near yours, her breath warm. "Girls who run these streets. We see what we want and take it." Her fingers touch your jaw, turning your face toward hers.

"Right now, I want some fun with you, cutie," her voice is soft

"Fun?" you say again.

"Yeah, fun," she whispers, her hand sliding to your side, fingers brushing under your shirt.

Before you can say anything, she kisses you, her lips soft but firm, tasting like cherry.

You freeze for a second, then kiss her back, your bag dropping to the ground. Her tongue touches yours, slow and teasing, making your whole-body warm.

She pulls back, smiling, her eyes checking your red face. "Not bad," she says quietly, her fingers moving to your pants, undoing the button fast.

"Let's make this quick. Stay quiet, okay?"

She kneels on the rough ground, not caring about the dirt, and pulls your pants down, freeing your hardening cock.

You gasp as the cool air hits you, but her warm breath takes over. She looks up, her eyes naughty. "Shh, don't let anyone hear."

Her lips wrap around you, warm and tight, her tongue moving fast, making you feel weak.

You grab the brick wall, keeping you steady as she moves, taking you deeper, her pace steady and sure.

The alley's dark, hiding you both, but the thought of someone walking by makes it more intense.

Her hand works with her mouth, and you try to keep your groans quiet, your head leaning back against the wall.

"Oh fuck..." you whisper, and she pulls off, standing up, her lips shiny.

She turns, lifting her skirt, showing she's not wearing anything underneath, just her wet pussy.

She leans against the wall, looking back at you. "Fuck me. Hurry."

You step forward, hands on her hips, and slide into her, her tight warmth pulling you in. She moans quietly, her pussy gripping you as you thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing softly in the alley.

"Harder," she says, pushing back against you. You thrust deeper, faster, her moans getting louder, her body shaking. Her wetness drips down, and you feel her tighten, her breath fast as she comes, her nails scratching the wall.

You're close, the heat too much, but she knows it and pulls away, kneeling again. "On my face," she says low.

Her tongue flicks over your tip, and you stroke yourself, her hands helping, her eyes locked on yours. Seeing her like that, lips ready, face flushed, skirt still up, pushes you over.

You groan, "I'm cumming!" your cum splashing across her face, on her lips and cheeks.

She moans a little, licking her lips, tasting you, then wipes her face with a finger and sucks it clean, smiling.

Dahyun stands, fixing her skirt, her face still a bit shiny. She picks up your bag and hands it to you, grinning. "Pretty good, cutie," she says, her voice warm now.

"Come on, I'll walk you to the next bus stop. Gotta keep you safe," she winks, stepping out of the alley, her boots clicking on the pavement.

You follow, legs shaky, the night air cool on your hot skin. The street doesn't feel as scary now, though those women under the streetlight still watch from far away. Dahyun's hand brushes yours as you walk, making you feel oddly safe.

The bus stop appears ahead, its sign hard to read in the dark. Dahyun stops, turning to you, her smile softer.

"If you miss another bus, you know where to find me," she says, leaning in to kiss your cheek, her lips warm.

She pulls back, waving as she walks off into the night, leaving you with a thought of seeing her again in this wild city.

a/n: just have a thought after dahyun uploaded these pics, she's so on. should i make more of this kinda genre (quickie)?

[defmaybe]

Anyways, totally unrelated to the asks before this, but I do actually have a fem reader bfh fic in the works kek

[defmaybe]

you're precisely the type of faggot who'd spam his fav with misogynistic comments the moment she gets a boyfriend

[defmaybe]

faggot-ass incel, you'd call your favs sluts if they had boyfriends lmao

[defmaybe]

Why female readers mad at reader x idol? 😭

As much as I’m amused with the other asks, let’s not bunch them up in to a single group of bad people lol. Still, to answer your question: idk lmao.

Here’s my god-split Peach Momoko’s Misery from Marvel Snap

[defmaybe]

why are female writers so much more friendlier and approachable than male writers? a lot of male writers I see are full of themselves and very standoffish

There are parts of the male reader community that’s pretty toxic and, worse, pedophilic. Sorry about your experience with other male reader writers. I can assure you that there’s a better side of us on here lol.

[defmaybe]

you don't see the appeal of 2 hot girls fucking?

Not as much as me doing it with them kek

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you don't see the appeal of say, chaehyun and dayeon fucking so you gotta self insert, kinda wierd ngl. personally I can't stand reader x idol cos it comes across as incel bullshit :/

To each their own! (Idk what to add lol bear with me)

[defmaybe]

why do male writers never write member x member?

:tink:

I mean … Sins did a few iirc. But for me, I just don’t see the appeal for it lol.

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the kpopped trailer had dayeon and vanilla ice on a rollercoaster. lowkey hot to think of them fucking in his hotel room after filming the variety portions of the show

What🥀🥀🥀

[defmaybe]

MASTERLIST

SERIES

Love In a Winter Wonderland

Dinner In a Winter Wonderland - aespa Winter fluff

Secret In a Winter Wonderland - Part One - aespa Winter fluff

(COMING SOON) Secret In a Winter Wonderland Part Two - aespa Winter fluff

WHAT ARE YOU PREPARED TO LOSE TODAY?

CHANCES ARE YOU'RE ABOUT TO LOSE. - idle's Miyeon smut

(COMING SOON) YOU WIN SOME, YOU LOSE MORE. - idle's Miyeon smut

ONE-SHOTS

The Final Mix - aespa Karina & ex-Girl's Day Hyeri smut