#do these two songs feel like a conversation between past lovers or is it just me

[punkchihuahua]

When I Was Your Man - Bruno Mars

Flowers - Miley Cyrus

[eraserbread]

nanami trusts his underling, satoru a little too much :o

happy 1k :)) just porn, no plot. not canon bc nanami would never share you

featuring your older boyfriend, nanami <3

cw: anal and dp

how you got here... well, it's only for you and god to know.

and you feel him looking down at you as you dance for a richer man, peeling off your clothes sensually and letting them drop to the floor in a heap.

your favorite slow-building song is playing from the speaker, a glass of dark sits in your lovers hands, and the room is dim. he's the only person you see -- the only person you'd shed your skin for. your older, successful boyfriend, your boss, nanami.

you're not in his home, he has you booked up in an egregiously expensive luxury hotel, just because. his office is in walking distance, and sometimes after a long day he doesn't want to drive home. its the luxury of money, he sees that, and you're elated to tag along with him.

"hurry on. satoru's supposed to be here with that file any minute, now." his tone is laced with a hint of distaste, and you know its because he doesn't like his underling, satoru. he can see it as plain as day, the kid has a crush on you.

it's one of those stupid, childish crushes. satoru wants to fuck you —he wants to take you out on shitty dates and suck your face off and not even tell you he loves you. nanami needs you, he's more equipped for you.

and you, stupid, silly, you. you just giggle and blush at his juvenile jokes and passing glances. a little office attention couldn't hurt. I mean, look where it's got you—a full bank account, a rich cfo, everything you want.

"let 'm watch," you whisper, fingers tangling in your front-clasped bra. the only thing still hanging from your hot skin are your undergarments. nanami wants them off. "I know you're into that, showin' me off and pretending like you don't take me home every night."

he opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as he takes a breath, a knock falls onto the door. he shakes his head and stands with a grunt. "put it on." he mentions you hardly, reaching and tossing a thick, white robe in your direction.

you pout as you push it over your shoulders, tying the downy strap around your waist so nanami can open the door. he's extremely thorough, waiting until you're completely decent before letting the outside in.

this time, the outside is that familiar lanky, 28-year-old manager. he's the buffer between nanami's financial plans and your section's action. he's actually extremely helpful and understanding, far gentler to the brash CFO and all of his nonchalant tendencies. he fucks them into you every night, but that wasn't for satoru to know.

you're left standing alone, biting your lip as you watch the two of them converse quietly through the cracked door. vaguely, you can make out satoru's ruffled hair — his dark glasses and loose-shouldered, casual shirt. they're well past work hours now, but nanami still has his suit on, tie off, and blazer tossed over the couch.

they're chatting about the clients nanami will have to report all these findings to tomorrow, so you accidentally stumble close enough to the door so satoru can see you—exactly what nanami didn't want.

"...what do we have here?" satoru steers out of conversation, pulling down his glasses to sneak a glance at your figure. nanami blinks at him, then glances over his shoulder to scowl at you.

"didn't realize I was interrupting."

"you're not-"

"it's okay!" yours and nanami's opposite tones melt into one contradictory statement. disregarding your boyfriend's feelings, satoru is a good person to have around—he's charming, smart, strong, and thoughtful.

you're blushing against their dark stares, oblivious and standing with your loose robe falling off your shoulder. smiling so sweetly, satoru fights off cuteness aggression, nanami just wants you to walk away.

except, he doesn't, and ten minutes later, you're being pushed onto the grand hotel bed with your robe hanging on by a thread and unfamiliar lips all over your skin.

now, satoru is a menace, and nanami doesn't respect him, but he does trust him. he trusts him enough to hand you off like a shiny coin, finding his way back to his drink as satoru climbs on top of you, pinning you to the mattress with a hand pressed to your outstretched arm.

you're unsure, but excited nonetheless. hands touch everywhere, lips following their ghost as satoru touches the body he's wanted forever. he's kissing you, whispering under his breath how naughty you are, how young you are, and how innocent you aren't. it's filthy pillow talk laced with an edge of care and grace, and you're flushed to the core.

nanami's eyes are like laser beams as they stare over your moving figures. just... standing and waiting to see what satoru will do next.

satoru stands over you, red lips pulsating and hot from his mean kisses. he licks over them a few times, letting you sit up on your elbows as he pulls his shirt off with a single hand. he knows what he's doing, but doesn't know what will come of it, so he makes the most of the situation.

nanami's eyes don't phase him, they fuel him, and now his lips are back over yours, kissing and biting away nothing but tongue.

satoru doesn't waste time, he wants you on top of him, bare back pressed to his chest as his legs hang off the side of the bed. in this position, he can still whisper those phrases in your ear and drink up your overwhelmed little whines.

"you never had anyone back here before, hm?" he whispers, licking over your ear as his long fingers crane against your anxious, fluttering ass. he's applying enough pressure to make your face turn up in unknowing, but you shake your head nonetheless.

you wish you can see nanami, you need his strict gaze telling you what to do.

"no? ohh," satoru pulls his hand away, pressing two insanely long digits between your lips. "get'em wet, darling. so wet. you're gonna need it."

and who are you if you didn't follow your superiors instructions to a T — you suck them between your lips, tongue swirling and coating them in as much spit as you can gather. satoru pulls them away, and they're coated — dripping down your exposed sternum as he goes back to play with your sensitive, little hole.

"didn't remember saying you could have her from behind." nanami's slow, deep voice rains a blanket of comfort and reassurance against your shivering frame. he comes back into view, plucking his shirt open and letting it hang on his shoulders. he was back there watching the entire time, just listening to your little noises and satoru's horny endearances.

but, he knows you need him. knows you can take more than what's normal for a little thing your age, so he doesn't intervene.

except for when his erection gets too painful to persist. he could only cum inside of you, now. so spoiled.

"but 's so tight..." satoru trills, gasping like he's the one being penetrated as a single finger sinks inside of you. "ahhh, yes. you've taken this before."

"mmh, n-no," you whine, reaching back to dig your fingers in the muscle of satoru's arm.

"no? yes..."

"well, don't do it if she's scared." nanami -- your sacred voice of reason. he's unzipping his pants and rolling his neck, still a few steps away from the sinful ordeal. he's staring down at you with ruffled, golden hair and an unreadable glare. you swallow under the pressure.

"she's not scared." satoru whispers in your ear and sinks his finger deeper, wiggling it inside of you once it's to the hilt. "so hot... yes, baby."

nanami steps up, taking your air-dangled leg and wrapping it tight in his strong grip. he watches satoru's finger pump deep inside of you before he adds another. you whine so high in your throat, squeezing your pretty eyes shut.

"look at me. you asked for this." nanami's voice is so deep, deeper than normal, and laced with so much authority and sin that it devastates your self-control. so, you look at him, sticky lips parted as you breathe through your mouth. "beautiful girl."

"oooh, you two are in love." satoru's talking to you but staring straight at his boss, eyebrows turned up in anticipation. "it's fucking obvious now that I'm seeing it."

"would you just focus?" nanami's hands are lost in his belt buckle, undoing it blindly. "you're lucky I'm not making you wear a condom."

"please, have mercy sir."

"shut up."

they're talking over you, drowning out all of your little whines and dejected pleas. satoru is two fingers deep inside of your ass, and nanami's pulling his zipper down to free the harshness of his touch-starved cock. you know he has plans to fuck you red and sensitive, taking the entirety of your sweet cunt as his. it's what you want — he's embedded the need for him so deep inside of your soul that it's debilitating. you're staring up at him with wide eyes, begging and spent.

"stretch her out a little more. make it comfortable." nanami's words sloppily fall into each other, and you love when that happens. means he's flustered just like you, watching you fall apart on satoru's fingers. though flustered, he wants to fuck you more, so he steps forward, sliding a strong hand through the dampness of your familiar, sweet pussy. his fingers ghost against your clit, and the tiny sensation has you tossing a head back on satoru's shoulder.

he's easing another finger inside of you, half wet and supremely uncomfortable. you know if you say something they'll give something, so you piece yourself together enough to whisper.

"more... m-more lube, please,"

"wish i had some — here." nanami pulls satoru's hand by the wrist, leaning down to close his lips over three of them. he wets them just like you did, and it's a fucking sin to lay your eyes upon. it's so lewd, you genuinely cry - tears leak from the corners, your cunt flutters around nothing.

it's so perfect seeing him so in control. he helps satoru push his pants down, fisting the length of satoru's cock and leaning down to drop a glob of spit against the long, flushed length.

"you speak a whisper of this to anyone, and I'll make sure you're never hired anywhere else in this country." it's a threat lost on satoru, because he laughs. it's booming and unfamiliar against your sensitive ears and it feels like they're paying more attention to each other than to you.

you whine. "please sir... satoru... want it..."

"you heard the girl." satoru kissing your ear for the nth time tonight, releasing his fingers and craning his long arm against the base of his cock. nanami watches as he blindly leads the tip against your loosened hole, raising a brow when your hungry body sucks him in immediately.

an unsure, broken moan falls from your lips as you get used to the insane stretch. three fingers is nothing in comparison to the thickness of satoru. only halfway seated and there's still four inches left to take. you blink open your eyes, and nanami's watching instead of doing.

you toss your head and cry out a plea. "s-sir! please..."

"he's not the one stretching you out, is he?" satoru pouts behind you, reaching to close his hand around the top of your neck. "say m'name, darling girl."

"satoru! hmm- satoruuuu..." you whine, nails digging in his pale skin. you're crying his name, but nanami's the one providing the new, familiar stretch. he's pushing inside of your impossibly tight cunt, brows furrowed in concentration.

he's never done this before — has never been inside of a woman with another man just a sliver of skin away, but it's tight... impossibly tight. his poor girl, he can only imagine the stretch. instead of taking his immense pleasure for what it is, he leans down and distracts you with a kiss until he's fully seated inside of you.

satoru watches the entire exchange with lonely lips, holding onto your thighs like a vice. he waits for nanami to pull out, taking the opportunity to bury the rest of his inches in your ass. against your boyfriends lips, you're breathing out huffed little pants, face all screwed up and flushed. satoru wishes he can see you better, so when nanami's lips pull away, satoru's taking the grip he has on your neck and pulls you back into his.

you're overwhelmed to the core, stomach full and tight. the sensation is hard to describe, but it feels like you're torn in two -- in the best way.

trading off kisses and touches, both men set a gentle pace, blanketing you with reassurance and kisses until you're relaxed and pliable under them.

then, they fuck you.

hair-pulling, spit-swapping fucking. your knees are to your ears, you can't tell whose arms belong to whom, but they're pinning you in ungodly positions. you're cumming immediately, mouth hung open and body tensed bone-stiff. it's a silent orgasm, because you body just doesn't have a mind to make further noise.

nanami, in front of you, is beaded in dew, shirt falling from his shoulders as his hands pin the back of your knees until you're folded in two. he's the one that watches you unravel with a glint in his eye, groaning when your body goes so tight, it cuts off the circulation in his dick.

satoru makes a noise, turning his head into the sheets at the strangulation. he's still got his hand on your neck, but the other one claws and scratches at your fleshy thigh, making more marks there for you to find in the morning.

when you start to come down, you're convulsing, a thick, long mmh falling from your throat as your eyes stare ahead. nanami's never seen you this crazy during sex that once you come down, your body is completely limp.

he says your name in a tone that means he's serious. satoru stills.

"open those eyes, let me see."

"n-no."

"if you can talk, you can be fucked."

"stop and give her a second." nanami's taking that control again, steering the situation by the neck. he's genuine in the fact that he's never seen you so overcome after just two minutes of sex.

"keep... g-goi-

so, satoru starts again. he's dragging his cock out of you slowly, much to nanami's distaste.

"i said, sto-

"please..." you interrupt him innocently, eyes fluttering open now and more relaxed from the eruption of your first orgasm. nanami looks at you and sees stars. he can't say no, even when he shakes his head.

then, he leans down and kisses you, letting his lips linger. he only pulls away enough for satoru to push you into his, needy fucking tongue marking your chin and lips his before kissing you holy.

they spend that night tangled in your very seams, bouncing filthy words off of each other and you. they don't stop until their balls are drained and all over you, sticking to your skin from the inside out. they watch your real-time collapse, smirking and shaking their heads before doting on you with aftercare until the sun starts to peek over the clouds.

[randomshyperson]

Hesitating Hearts - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Between you and Wanda, love has been kept a secret for too long. It's time for one of you to be brave. | This brief story is based on the Brazilian song "Medo Bobo".

Warnings: mild angst of mutual pining, drunk confessions, very fluff, friends to lovers, some kissing | words: 2.572k

A/N-> Hey, there’s a line here from Anne with an E. Also, I wrote this because I’ve been a Marvel fan for years, and it was only after WandaVision that I actually saw Wanda. I need this angst.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

For the first time since she met you, Wanda was being selfish. Not only that, but she was truly determined to be selfish. And to be honest.

And to be heard.

Yet, seeing you cry change her words or tone to something less of a statement and more of a question. An hypothesis. To picture you both in a world where there was time and courage, instead of fear and missed opportunities.

“What if…” She started that from the kitchen counter where she was sitting. Unlike yours - which also happens to be the reason you're standing at the open fridge - her glass was full. 

You hum out of curiosity, wishing for her to continue and hoping she would choose a lighter subject now that you were done pouring your heart out in that old compound kitchen. But Wanda takes a shaky breath, and you nearly miss her hesitation while you're leaning down to grab more wine from the bottom drawer. “What if I tell you that I have feelings for you.”

You chuckle. Naturally and immediately, because it's certainly a joke. To ease your nerves and soon to turn your sad tears into laughing ones. A talent that Wanda always seemed to have.

But you turn to your friend - Is that what she is now? Colleague. Work partner, drinking buddy maybe. The girl next door. The temperamental witch you share training schedules with. The strongest Avenger.

Wanda is looking at you, expectantly. Vulnerable.

You frown.

“What?”

You don't mean to sound so surprised, not really because mainly, you're sure she's joking. You're also drunk, the wine making it a little harder to put the thoughts in order. And Wanda is giving you this kicked puppy eyes and you're not understanding anything.

She swallows hard, but her gaze doesn't flinch.

“What would you say to that?”

You laugh again, dryer than before, somehow hurting your throat a little. The wine bottle stared at you from the counter but you don't feel like drinking anymore.

“Wanda, what are you…” you stop mid-sentence, reaching for your face to rub your eyes. You really shouldn't be drunk for this conversation. But then again, why is this conversation happening in the first place? “Why are you saying this?”

Wanda knows you're drunk, knows you're hurt. So she doesn't mind you're not taking this seriously. She gets up but doesn't move closer.

“Maybe I'm just tired of listening to your whining about your terrible partners.”

You cross your arms, pouting as soon as you mutter “I don't whine”. But Wanda is moving closer now, slowly walking past the counter and towards you.

“Or maybe I just meant it.” She whispers, green eyes nearly hypnotizing. “I am right here. I've always been. Why can't you see me?”

The question is too close to your lips, suddenly it's too real. 

This is Wanda fucking Maximoff. The most incredible, world-changing amazing person you know. 

Her cheeks grow a little pink and it's her time to giggle.

“I'm flattered.”

You huff, looking away. “Don't read my thoughts.”

She doesn't pull back, gaze searching yours even though you don't look up. “How else would I know what you think if you never tell me?” She challenges, but your head is spinning, and Wanda's perfume is not helping. You step away, putting more distance and a counter between the two of you again, and it works a little.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.” You declare, suddenly serious. You sound hurt and Wanda hesitates immediately once she catches the tears forming in your eyes. “I know it is not fun, having to endure my drunk nights. But you're the only person that stays so I thought…” You take a deep breath, Wanda shakes her head. She's gonna clarify that she didn't mean it that way - she was not complaining about your company at all - but your rambling shuts her out. “I know I'm not an easy friend. I can be self-centered and absent. And I'm so terrible at feelings. But we have known each other for so long, and it took us years to get here. Just to have comfortable silence. I don't have this with anybody. So, I'm sorry if I'm being too much but please, this kind of teasing… I really don't like it. You're… not the type of friend I can have this kind of joke with.”

Some part of her is hurt by that: She recalls how often you would flirt and joke with your other friends, most of them to be honest. Sometimes, even playful touches, that would make Wanda's blood boil. 

Hearing this kind of joke is not for her hurts. But Wanda is not sure if it is a bad thing.

“I wasn't joking.” She insists, but you chuckle before stealing her full glass and the wine bottle.

You change your tactic because Wanda changed hers. It has always been this way between the two of you, a never-ending push and pull with a never giving up side.

“So you're obviously drunk. I'll take this.” That is what you say before grabbing the items and moving to the living room.

When the compound is empty and quiet like this, it's almost like a normal residence. The way things are arranged now, one could be fooled into thinking that was a normal living room in an old house instead of a high-tech secretive environment for superheroes.

Wanda takes a deep courage gathering kind of breath once she's alone in the kitchen.

Those feelings have been asleep, pushed back for way too long. Now that she said them, she's simply incapable of numbing it again.

“Why is it that the idea of me liking you sounds so absurd?”

She's not being sweet anymore - just like her feelings, she's demanding. Craving for validation and correspondence.

You chuckle during a gup and there's wine falling down your chin. Wanda let out a shaky breath at seeing the drops across your chest, exposed by the poorly bottom-up shirt, and you chuckle again when you catch her staring.

“Don't give me those eyes.” You sneer, as hurt as before but somehow, angry. The bottle is tightly grabbed in your left hand, but you finish Wanda's glass before speaking again. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You are drunk.”

“I'm not drunk.” She retorts, arms crossed when she stands in front of the couch you're sitting. You smile but it doesn't meet your eyes. “How could I be drunk if you have my glass?”

You grimace, putting the item away on the small table. Your head is hurting and Wanda gives up trying to read your messy thoughts.

“If you're not drunk, you're mourning.”

She raises her eyebrow at your audacity, but then, she catches the near despair in your eyes and takes a deep breath again.

Instead of cursing you, she uncrossed her arms and knelt down on the carpet to have your eyes at the same height as hers.

“I'm not running away from any of my feelings. It's quite the opposite.” She starts softly, hands moving on your things to take the bottle away and find your fingers. “You said yourself. We have known each other for so long. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?”

You let her hold your hands but only for a second. Then, you take your bottle back.

“Of course you love me, Wanda, I'm your only friend.” It's not meant to be hurtful, not the way she thinks so. Yet, there's a form of venom in your words that leaves her speechless. You pull back to rest completely against the couch but Wanda doesn't move an inch. You try to laugh but it's almost a sob. After another long sip, you point at her. “I'm the only one who really understands you. And your silly jokes and your questionable morals. And because of that, you think you have to thank me somehow. That's why you're saying all of this love bullshit. You don't really mean it.”

She takes a peak, deeper this time, at this painful life-changing memory that you have of a first relationship. Hurtful and toxic behavior that traumatized you for life and would never stop coming back whenever you found yourself a good partner.

Wanda doesn't say anything at first. She gets up and decides that maybe you really are too drunk for this conversation.

There's a glass filling itself with water when she offers her hands for you. This time, to help you to your feet.

But you hug the bottle and give her a sad look.

“Just leave me here. I'm not being a good friend right now.”

“You're an amazing friend, sweetheart.” She retorts immediately, a sincere smile on her lips. “You're snarky and clever and loyal. And you're so fun. You're my favorite person. I wish you could believe me when I said it.”

You hide your tears from her, there were too many tonight. Wanda grabs the water floating in her direction and waits for you to look up again to give you the item.

The wine bottle flies away in colorful red sprinklers when you make the exchange.

“Can I take you to bed?” Her question is innocent in every aspect, but you grin and her cheeks warm up.

“One love confession doesn't make me that easy, Maximoff.” You retort playfully and she smiles while this time, you accept the help to get up. The wine glass is forgotten because Wanda's powers do the job of taking everything to the right place in the kitchen, perfectly washed if needed.

The walk to your bedroom is silent, excluding familiar guidance of “watch your step” or “let me help you with the zipper” when Wanda helps you off your work clothes to pajamas.

Those are things you have done together a dozen times now, but not quite like tonight. Wanda never took off your shirt after saying she had feelings for you. She was never in your bed after you didn't believe her words.

There's a tense silence now, while you're lying next to each other.

She tussles around before suggesting “Maybe I shouldn't sleep here tonight.”

You sigh deeply before it's your turn to tussle around and look at her.

“You never sleep away when we are drunk.”

She turns her body in your direction, using her hand as a support for her face.

“Well, I am not drunk. And it's different now, darling. Tonight is different.”

You hide your grimace against your pillow. Wanda smiles. 

Her fingers move up, to play with your hair and she takes some pride in how she can catch some of your reactions: the blush, the shudder, or the hard shallow.

“What's in your head?” She risks it very quietly.

You look up just a little from the pillow and almost lose the ability to form a coherent thought with such pretty eyes looking back at you.

“As if you can't tell.”

She smiles at the impolite answer, never moving her fingers away from your hair. It's such a lovely and comfortable gesture that you're struggling not to fall asleep.

“Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not willing to read every mind I come across. It's often overwhelming and also disappointing.”

You smile at her, pulling the comforter up a little, nearly enough to cover your face. Wanda wishes you wouldn't do it, if there's something she likes to do is to look at you.

“You gotta admit there's fun in knowing what everybody thinks. What keeps them up at night, what's stealing their attention, and who they are thinking about. How they feel, what they fear.”

She gets a little closer, to count your freckles. To see your honesty.

“Is that what you want me to do with you? Read your every thought, know your fears, know your feelings?”

You swallow, look down at her lips but then pull back, gazing at the ceiling. Wanda just keeps looking at you.

“I don't understand why you're doing this.”

She's ready to start another argument, maybe even tell you to go to sleep so that you can talk in the morning, but you keep talking and she decides to keep listening.

“We were never like this. I'm a fucking mess and you're a fucking mess too, and I had James, and we both know how shit that went.” You continue with a tearful voice. “Then I had Natasha and fuck me, that was even worse. And you had Vision and Simon, and that is probably a lifetime of bullshit. So I don't….” You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You end up giving a sad chuckle. “What I think I mean is that we have been around each other from the start. And I never saw you. Not like this. And it sounds fucking ridiculous that I just stand there, next to you for years, wasting my time with everything else instead of looking at you. And seeing how perfect for me you always have been.” There's this crack in your voice and Wanda really wants to kiss you but you don't look at her, not even when your tears start to fall on the sides of your face. “Now I'm so scared. It's like you put on the lights on this thing that was going on in the dark, this precious and special thing we have. And I am terrified that it could end as bad as any other relationship I had, because you're not like any other relationship I had, Wanda. You're… fuck, I can't even-”

She gets closer, enough to touch and to take your face into her hand to make you look at her.

“I wish I knew sooner too. We would have saved us so much time and heartache. But you can only know something when you know it. And I know this now, I'm certainly of it. How much I care for you, how important you are. And I think we have wasted too long being scared.” Her forehead falls to yours. “Maybe it is time we are brave together.”

You kiss her first. Wanda has this memory of your eighteen-year-old versions hiding from Avengers training with cigarettes and shared headphones, making stupid jokes that were ridiculously funny. She recalls the teenage hormonal urgency she used to push down right at this moment, how your breathy sighs cause her head to spin, or how every little sound sends a straight wave of heat towards her body.

But she also tastes the wine and pulls away with the same accelerated breathing and dark eyes as you have.

“You shouldn't have drunk that much.” She whispers against your lips, ignoring your attempt to chase her mouth as she gets up. She knows her willpower wouldn't survive another round. “See you tomorrow, dekta.”

Just like this, she's out of the room. 

You pull back at the bed with a huff and a silly smile on your lips. Every bit of skin Wanda touched, especially your lips, tingled. Your chest was as warm as your heart, and you were sure it had nothing to do with alcohol.

You may be just as drunk as you were the countless times your past relationships started and ended. But this time you are sure it will be different, the person means too much to you not to be. You will make sure it is better.

[discodinosaur]

➳ homegrown

↳ the last of us | explicit | joel/reader | 7.2k | AO3 | complete

Summary: It takes three games of darts for you to win your bet against Joel. After much grumbling and cursing you out he agrees to play at the open-mic night. Perhaps this might be the right time to act on your feelings.

Tags: unprotected piv sex | pulling out | oral (f receiving) | no use of y/n | no outbreak | fluff | happy ending | reader is a year or so younger than tommy and tommy's best friend | friends to lovers | oblivious idiots

Note: I've had this idea for months and finally had some time to get it written. I've checked this over so many times but I'm bound to have missed something. - Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡ - link to the song Joel sings. I love this song and just thought it kinda fit.

You didn’t expect the bar to be this packed. 

But in hindsight – yeah, you should have. Not only is it open mic night at the bar but it’s also a Friday, meaning traffic had be awful. So yeah, you should’ve been more prepared. 

You had promised Joel ages ago that you would be here for this. ‘I always thought about singin’’, he’d told you one night. An idea, a bet and three darts games later you turn to him with a glint in your eye, asking for your win to be see him play at the open mic night. He’d griped about it, cursed you out multiple times under his breath while Tommy had laughed, and then, with some reluctance, agreed. But only if you were there to watch. 

Like you’d say not to that. You two of you had been dancing on the ‘will they, won’t they’ iceberg for months. You weren’t even sure if Joel felt that way about you. Even with the lingering touches, the flirtations between the two of you, you didn’t know if it was all just in your own head. 

So here you are. If only you could see or find your friends. Being a head shorter than most people in front of you isn’t helping, you can barely see the stage let alone the table where your friends are. The woman behind the bar you can barely hear over the group of raucous men next to you, repeating yourself four times before she hears you, giving the men a sidelong look as she gets you a lemonade.

Just as you grab your glass there’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn, ready to tell the next guy to at least wait a second. But the words die on your tongue and you let out a relieved sigh at Tommy’s familiar face. You squeeze through the gap, the loud group of men guffawing again and you wince as the sound goes right through you. 

“There y’are!” he exclaims, his hand grabbing yours to guide you through the crowd. You sidle past more groups of people, the crowd thinning the further away from the bar you get. Lemonade spills over the top of your glass, pooling in the gaps of your fingers as you get led over to a small corner booth. 

You greet Maria who gives you a half hug and you raise your glass over to Tess and Frank, the two deep in conversation. You slide into the seat that’s been saved for you between Joel and Tommy, your eyes falling on Bill, who even with his eyes closed looks like he’s ready to leave this place already. 

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you and you turn, your eyes raking over him. Well-worn jeans and a green shirt. Classic Joel. His hair sticking up in different directions from where he’s ran his hand through it one too many times and his eyes burn into yours as you meet his gaze. 

You can’t help it, your eyes drop to his lips and then back to his face. His hand wrapped around his beer, bringing it to his lips, seemingly having missed your fleeting look. 

You okay? He mouths around the bottle and you nod quickly, the knuckle of your thumb coming to your mouth to lick off the remaining lemonade. You turn your head to Tommy, missing the way Joel’s throat bobs as he watches your lips.

“I can’t believe you got him to do this,” Tommy says to you, knocking his knee with yours, a glance in his brother’s direction. 

You smile, watching for a moment as he takes a sip of his scotch, ice-clinking gently together. 

“Beginner’s luck. I’m terrible at darts but somehow beat him three times,” you shrug, hiding your grin with your hand. 

Tommy laughs, his head tilting back as his shoulders shake. It’s infectious and you find yourself smiling, leaning into him for a moment, a quiet laugh escaping you. As you look up, you catch Joel’s expression – a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. This time you ignore it as Tommy erupts into another round of laughter at an offhand comment from Maria you don’t quite hear. 

Instead, you watch Joel even after he’s turned away, arm slung over the back of his chair, body twisting in his seat as one of the employees approaches him, gesturing to the stage. Joel points down to the floor and your eyes follow, your heart fluttering when you see his guitar case.

You chance another look at him, the overhead lighting catching on the silver in his hair, shadowing his face. He’s not looking towards you, engrossed in something with Tess and Bill so you take the opportunity to just look. 

You start to think. Think about how close you two have been to a ‘moment’ only for it to be shattered seconds later. How Joel knows you inside out, back to front, better than you know yourself, like a missing limb. 

You’ve never confessed out loud to anyone, not even Tommy. God, even just thinking about his teasing is enough to put you off. He would never let you live it down. It’s enough that he has this weird look on his face whenever you and Joel get a little too close like he knows he’s interrupted something. 

You take a sip of your lemonade, blinking away from Joel only to catch Frank’s eye. You might not have told Tommy but Frank doesn’t miss a thing. He definitely knows, even if he’s never explicitly told you, you just know that he knows. He looks between you and Joel and raises an eyebrow at you as if asking ‘will you finally tell him?’

You shake your head the tiniest amount and glance at Joel again, finding him already watching you. His eyes flash with something. Nerves, probably, you think. It’s almost showtime. 

The lights dim, dousing the room in an intimate shadowy light again and Frank stands moving around the table, a warm hand on your shoulder, a murmur of ‘what drink?’ but you lift your still-full glass and he nods, squeezing your shoulder before leaning down in your peripheral to ask Maria the same question. 

Joel also gets to feet with a loud, exaggerated sigh in your direction and you don’t even hide the smile that creeps onto your face. He picks up his guitar case and spares you one last glance. “Guess that’s m’cue,” he mutters. 

Tommy raises his glass, toasting his retreating back you huff with a laugh, raising yours as the rest of the table follows suit. You clink your glass with Tommy’s and take a long drink, doing anything but looking at Joel preparing himself. 

The same guy from earlier steps onto the little makeshift stage, tapping the microphone already to get everyone’s attention and introduces Joel. You don’t hide the soft smile on your face as Joel dithers in the background, guitar strap over his shoulder as he leans in to hear whatever he’s strumming. 

The guy gestures to the seat for Joel, adjusting the microphone for him. Joel looks over at your table, meeting your eyes for the briefest of seconds and then he’s clasping the fretboard, closing his eyes. 

“Would you calm ya leg? Tommy whispers in your ear, hand on knee where you’ve been subconsciously jiggling your leg in anticipation. 

“No,” you reply, batting his hand away and clutching your glass tight in your hands, the condensation cooling your clammy palms. 

Joel gives a quick hello, tells everyone else why he’s up there, nods over to your table and then his fingers find their chord and he starts with a slow gentle melody. 

“I got a piece of land out in the countryside

Lay back and smell the sun, warm up the Georgia pine

Been so good to me, takin' it easy…”

From the first lyrics, you shake your head in disbelief. Fucker. Of course he plays this one. Whenever Joel plays for you, you always request it but this time it’s slower, like every word is being carved just for you. This time, his voice goes right through you, a juxtaposition of mellow and rough around the edges. 

His eyes find you as he sings the chorus and your breathing hitches. You find that you can’t look away from him – illuminated by the orangey light they have on the stage like a halo. 

“I got some good friends that live down the street

Got a good lookin’ woman with her arms ‘round me

Live in a small town where it feels like home

I got everything I need, and nothin’ that I don’t….” 

Fuck. 

His voice has always made you weak, but now, amplified by the mic and the intensity of his stare, you are just about putty. Strands of his wavy hair fall into his face when he finally looks away from you down at the guitar and you shift in your seat. 

You really need to do something about this crush of yours. 

He sings the last part of the chorus for the final time and your eyes drop to his hands – those fucking hands on his guitar, fingering the fretboard and you look up. You can’t look away until the lights go down around him. 

Everyone around you erupts into applause and you blink away, coming back to your surroundings, joining in and clearing your throat, lost in the noise of appreciation for Joel. 

“Felt like I was intrudin’ on somethin’ towards the end there,” Tommy murmurs in your ear and nudges your knee with his again. You tense your shoulders, heart lurching in your chest, a twist in your stomach. 

“Not that I know what you’re talking about but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” 

He scoffs quietly and shakes his head, “C’mon, the way you were lookin’ at each other,” he mutters, catching your questioning expression and smirks, “Christ, you didn’t even know I caught you lookin’.”

A reply is on your tongue but luckily for Tommy, Maria pulls him along with her towards the bar and you watch them leave, stewing on your thoughts because he was right. You had been completely unaware of anything going on around you while Joel had sung.

You glance around your table. Bill’s eyes are closed, leaning back against the seat, head lolling onto Frank’s shoulder while his other half is in a heated debate with Tess. You could get involved but you take the moment to try and gather your racing thoughts.  

Until – 

“Jesus, I ain’t ever doin’ that again,” Joel sighs as he slides into the chair beside you, guitar propped against the table next to him. Even with your stomach in knots and a hummingbird in your chest, Joel’s presence is something you need to calm you. 

“Best you don’t lose a bet to me again,” you tease, plastering a smile on your face and he groans, pulling his chair in. You reach out to his arm, your smile becoming genuine, “You were good, Joel. Really good.” 

“Yeah, well. You’re welcome,” he murmurs, leaning in close to you. His hand reaches out for your glass, fingers smearing the condensation. You meet his eyes as he brings the glass to his lips, taking a long sip of your lemonade, his eyes never leaving yours. 

You shiver, a wave of desire coursing through you. And for the second time tonight, you’re transfixed by his eyes. But this is just another dance you two do around each other. He then tilts his head back, downing the rest of your drink, his throat bobbing obscenely and you stand, suddenly too hot. 

“I need another drink,” you say quickly, swallowing hard and brushing past Joel as quickly as you can. The crowd has thinned out a little by now but the bar is still crowded with the regulars and you squeeze into a gap, nodding to a couple of the older guys you recognise. 

The barman holds his fingers up, silently asking you to give him a minute and you nod, grateful for the reprieve. You let out a much-needed sigh, closing your eyes for a moment and composing yourself – Or at least trying to. The barman comes up and you lean on the sticky counter, asking for another lemonade with extra ice. You fumble your phone out of your pocket, getting ready to pay when you freeze in place at the sound of a very familiar voice. 

“Have you actually told her yet?” Frank’s soft voice says to your left, the other side of the older guys and you swallow hard. “Or are you still beating around the bush about it?” 

“It’s hard, Frank,” you hear the sigh in Joel’s voice. “Her and Tommy are fuckin’ inseparable, you know how they are.” 

You strain to try and hear the rest of it – your heart fluttering in your chest, a knot forming in your stomach. 

“Thick as thieves, yeah. But you could argue you and her are close, just in a different way. You know her, Joel. But you’ve gotta tell her soon. You know what Tommy’s like, loves to play matchmaker.” 

You’ve heard enough and quickly pay, thanking the barman before scurrying back to your table. You squeeze between Bill and Tess, the former grunting at you before closing his eyes again.

It takes you a moment in your seat before you’re internally freaking out because Joel seemingly has a thing for you too – what the fuck? 

You pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s glaring headlights flashing at you twice before he turns off down the road. You shut the radio off and cut the engine, turning in your seat to look at Joel. 

“Want to come in for some cards? Maybe a coffee? Night’s still young after all.” 

It manages to pull a laugh from you and you duck your head with a fond smile. It’s an easy question, even if the overheard conversation between him and Frank has been on your mind since you heard them. 

“Sure.” 

Even in the shadowy light of your car, you can still make out that grin of his and he nods once, getting out of the car without another word. You mirror him and smile to yourself before giving yourself a little shake and following him inside. 

Joel’s home always feels warm. 

Helped by the yellow glow of the lamps and the olive green walls reflecting on the warm wood flooring. You kick off your shoes, following Joel through to the kitchen where he’s already got the coffee going. You lean against the counter, watching the muscles in his shoulders ripple under his shirt as he leans up for some mugs. 

“What?” he asks, catching your look with a grin. 

You shake your head, “Nothing, just thinking about my next winning bet.” 

Joel’s chuckle goes right through you, his expression soft as he looks over at you, “Nuh-uh, darlin’. You ain’t doin’ that to me again.” 

He continues to look at you for a moment and squints at you, “And why you standing so far away from me, c’mere.” 

You feel the blush rise on your cheeks and you scoot closer to him. Close enough that you can smell his aftershave. Close enough that you could easily lean your head on his shoulder like he could put an arm around your waist, kiss the side of your head –

“Better?” You ask dryly, pulling yourself out of your own wishful thoughts. 

“Much.” 

The hummingbird rears its head in full force once again. 

“And that’s that,” Joel murmurs, slapping his hand of cards on the table. You kiss your teeth and sigh, showing him your cards left – two threes, a four and a seven. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Which leaves me to believe that you owe me a bet.” 

You take a sip of your now lukewarm coffee, suddenly feeling a wave of trepidation and nerves come over you. “Oh really? And what do you want to win?” 

Joel runs his tongue over his top lip, leaning in on his elbows with the ghost of a smirk. “Y’know, I think I want a kiss.” 

You baulk, gripping your coffee mug tight between your clammy palms. Surely you had misheard, right? Joel didn’t say kiss. You clear your throat, opening and closing your mouth before you answer. “You… what? You want a kiss from me?” 

“No, a kiss from fuckin’ Santa.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and instead mirror his movements, leaning on the table, keeping your voice steady. As much as you’re in shock, you can’t not tease him a little bit. 

“And what if I don’t want to?” 

It’s Joel’s turn to clear his throat, meeting your eyes, “Then we pretend this didn’t happen and I ask you instead to buy dinner next time we’re out.” 

You laugh, a breathy sound coming out of your mouth and blink slowly, “Right, right. Which means I’ll also have to pay for Tommy too.” 

Joel groans, leaning back in his hair, and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, you’re so invested in fuckin’ Tommy that you can’t see that there’s plenty of other people that wanna spend time with ya.” 

You frown, also leaning back in your chair. “Hey, I spend plenty with you,” you say with a small shrug of your shoulders. 

Joel sighs again and rolls his eyes, “You know that ain’t what I meant.” 

You grin, folding your arms across your chest as you lean back further on the chair, pushing it up onto two legs. “Yeah? I think I know what you meant. I heard Frank at the bat.” 

Joel narrows his eyes and you applaud yourself for the bravery, unsure of where it’s coming from so quickly. You can see the wheels turn in his mind.

“Frank? What the fuck has Frank got–” his eyes widen as it clicks. “Oh. You heard that, huh?” 

You wet your lips and nod slowly, putting on your best Frank voice, “Have you actually told her yet?” Tommy loves to play matchmaker.” 

Joel just stares at you, one eyebrow slightly raised and you carry on back in your normal voice, fit to burst: 

“Well, Tommy has tried to set me up on dates and guess what? Every time I told him no. Call it stupid but all I wanted to do is go on a proper date. With you.” 

You admit the last part quietly and the confession hangs heavy and thick in the air. 

Joel is quiet for a moment, his expression the same as it was. But then he exhales slowly. Panic fills you, wondering if you’ve overstepped, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter – 

“Say it again,” he says quietly, he breathes, fingers on the back of your hand. “That last part.” 

Your chair falls forward onto all four legs, the sound too loud in the silent kitchen and you take a breath, “All I’ve wanted is to go on a proper date with you.” 

Joel’s on you in a flash, lips meeting yours, one hand cradling your cheek. But one kiss isn’t enough for either of you, as soon as he parts from you to breathe, he steals another and another and another from you. 

“Joel,” you murmur and he grunts, moving your lips to trail a hot line of fire down over your jaw and down your neck.

“Yeah, baby? Do you want this?” 

You nod against his shoulder, breathily heavily against his neck, your fingers finding purchase in his belt loops. “You know I do.” 

“Need t’hear you say it proper,” he croaks, pulling back to look at your face, drawing a quiet whine from you. 

“I want you, Joel.” 

“Let’s go upstairs, baby. I ain’t having my first time with you on the fucking dining table.” 

Joel stands, his knees clicking as he does and you fight back the jab on your tongue but of course, he notices it anyway and kisses you to silence it. 

“Up,” he breathes against your lips and you stand, following him up to his room. 

His room is the same as it always is, cluttered and just that little bit messy. He keeps the door open and follows you back towards the bed, your hand reaching out for him and then he’s kneeling over you, lips finding yours again. 

“Fuckin’ months I’ve been wanting this,” he rasps, “Daren’t do a fuckin’ thing about it.” 

“Why? You should’ve.” 

He huffs a laugh and noses at your cheek, “Yeah. I know that now. But because of my fuckin’ brother. Wasn’t sure how you felt but knew that he would find the whole thing hilarious. Couldn’t humiliate myself in front o’him again.”

You rear back, carding your fingers in his messy hair, twisting it between your fingers. “Funny thing is, I couldn’t talk to Tommy about anything either. I think he knew I was crushin’ on you but I could never outright tell him. Frank knew though. But it looks like we were just oblivious to each other.” 

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” 

You smile softly at him, your hands moving from his hair down his back, feeling the muscle there, to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He reads you like a book and pulls it off, leaning over you to click the bedside lamp and you rake your eyes over him. 

Even in the lamplight, he’s so fucking hot. 

He cradles your cheek in his large hand and leans closer, pressing his soft lips to yours. You respond instantly and his hand moves lower, thick fingers flexing on your neck and you gasp, lifting your hips at the touch. He’s not even choking you properly and you’re reactive to every single touch. 

“Fuck,” he swears gruffly, “You like that, don’t you?”

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice soft and breathy. You lift your hips towards him against his already hard cock trapped in his jeans, desperate for some kind of friction against you. You want to feel him in your hands, want to watch how he reacts to your touch. 

“I know, baby, I know. Let me take care of you.” 

You swallow thickly and you sit up properly, pulling your shirt off your head and throwing it to the side. You can feel Joel’s eyes raking over you and you don’t hide yourself away. Your hands cover his as he places his palms on your stomach dragging them up over to cup your breasts through your bra, eliciting a shiver from you. 

He leans in, his beard scratching over your delicate skin as he peppers more kisses over your shoulder while his hands reach around you, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. It takes him a moment – his lips pausing on your collarbone in concentration. 

“Hate these things, how can you even take ‘em off smoothly,” he mutters as you feel it come undone. You hear it hit the floor and then feel his fingers tracing idle patterns over the swell of your breast. 

“Try wearing it every day, you’ll get there then,” you reply in a hushed tone, nudging his cheek with your nose, finding his lips and sliding your tongue along his lips. 

He moans into the kiss, hands palming properly over your breasts, thumbs circling your erect nipples, stealing another breathy whine from you, your back arching into his hands and you’re gone, completely putty in his hands. 

“Fuck,” you grunt as he tugs on a nipple. Joel smirks, wetting his lips and taking the hard bud into his mouth. You squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, fingers tangling in the back of his hair, twisting the strands at the nape of his neck.“Joel.” 

He nips his teeth on your nipple and you gasp, eyes closing as his tongue swirls a hot, wet circle and pulls away, moving to your other nipple while the cool air on your sensitive bud sends a ripple of desire through you. 

But Joel doesn’t stop. 

Once he’s finished giving the other nipple some attention, he presses you down onto the mattress and continues to kiss open-mouthed over your ribcage, over your stomach down to between your thighs. 

His hands grasp the backs of your legs, dragging you down the bed so he can kneel on the floor. One hand moves to undo the button of your jeans, the drag of the zip and you lift your hips as he pulls them off you one leg at a time. 

“Will you let me taste you, baby? It’s all I can think about,” he says, hands coming to hold your ankles and you find yourself digging your fingers into the mattress, needing something to ground you. 

“Please. I’m yours, Joel.” 

“Fuckin’ right you are,” he growls, a burning hot kiss just above the waistband of your panties. He takes his time, kissing up each of your legs and your heart leaps in your chest. God, this man will ruin you. 

He keeps your legs apart as he drags his lips up your inner thighs, nosing against your damp panties and your fingers tighten on the sheet, a gasp leaving you at the tiniest amount of friction. 

“Christ, you’re soaked. This is what you’ve been keeping from me?” 

“Joel,” you splutter, craving the sweet friction against your clit. 

“How long you been this wet for?” he asks, slowly peeling your panties from you, tossing them to join your other clothes. “Since the bar?” 

“Since… since –fuck – since you were singing.” 

Joel smiles against you, the tips of his fingers trailing feather light over your seam, gathering the wetness there. 

“Like the song, did ya?” 

Another whine leaves you as the heat from his hand is back on your thigh and finally, finally, he gives you something. His nose parts your folds, tongue flattening as he gets his first taste of you and a low moan rumbles through him. 

Your head falls back against the pillow, one hand finding his hair, fingers curling into his soft strands. Struggling to keep your eyes open as the pleasure melts through you because holy fuck this man is good at eating you out. 

Joel isn’t exactly quiet – he doesn’t hide the sound of his grunts or the sloppy licks and sucks as he eats you out. You tilt your head down, watching him as he presses himself closer, opening your thighs wider, burying his face there. 

He picks up on what makes you moan or whimper. He likes to alternate, going back to the broad long licks over your clit that have you writhing beneath him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, an obscene wet sound as he laps over your clit, “Can’t believe I’ve let it go on this long without tasting ya.” 

You chance down another look at him, the glow from the lamp catching on his grey strands that are scrunched in your fist and you give an experimental tug, making him moan louder – the vibrations going through you. 

There’s a warm pooling in your stomach as your orgasm fast approaches. Between the obscene sound of Joel devouring you and the way his tongue flicks over you just right you know it won’t be long. You slowly start to rock your hips in time with his tongue, grinding against him. 

Your back arches as you try and hold onto that feeling, not wanting this to be over but you know you won’t win, not this time. 

“Joel,” you gasp, tightening your hold in his hair as you feel the white-hot pleasure flooding through you. 

“That’s it, I’ve got you, atta girl,” he grunts against you, holding your thighs tightly as you wriggle in his grasp. 

“Fuck–Joel.” 

You writhe under him, your thighs clenching around his head as you come. Your head hits the pillow with soft cries, your hand tugging at the threads of his hair as you ride out the high of your climax. Joel works you through it, groaning into your cunt as he laps at the mess you make. 

He rests his head on your thigh and once you’ve caught your breath you lean up on your elbow to get a look at him, shiny lips and chin, dark eyes blown wide with lust and you flop down onto the bed again. 

Then you feel his fingers caressing over you, thumb on your clit massaging small circles and you moan breathlessly as he opens you up. One thick finger sliding in your wetness and stretching you open. 

“Joel,” you breathe, letting out a sigh. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Too much?” he murmurs against your skin, resting his head on your thigh. 

“No, no, not enough–” 

Your eyes roll back as his finger curls and you jolt, gasping for breath. “Fuck!” 

You’ve just come and this man is unrelenting, taking his time to tear you apart piece by piece. 

“Loved seeing you come for me,” he murmurs, pressing small kisses to wherever his lips reach. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

He adds a second, stretching you open and you whimper as he deliciously rubs against your soft walls. You rut against his hand, pushing his fingers deeper and deeper – 

“Right there.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Is that it?” 

You nod desperately and he encourages you to keep rutting against him, working up your second orgasm. You feel it, wanting more and more of him. Whatever he’ll give you, you’ll eagerly take. 

“Fuckin’ love lookin’ at ya,” he mutters, his eyes droopy and half-lidded. Your lips are slick with saliva and parted, chest heaving and another warm heat coiling in the pit of your stomach again. 

“You gonna come again for me?” 

His thumb flicks over your clit, smearing the slick of your arousal and paying attention to the bundle of nerves. You nod, another whimper catching in your throat as you feel it crescendo over you. 

“Oh fuck!” 

Your second orgasm of the night rips through you. This time, Joel kisses you through it and you can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s overwhelming and as his hand slows, pulling out of you carefully. 

“Christ,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to look you over. “Think you have one more in you for me?” 

You nod, raking a hand through your hair. “I just need a second,” you laugh breathlessly. 

Joel hovers over you, hands running up and down your sides as you catch your breath and then you slowly lean up on an elbow, your other hand cupping his cheek. 

“C’mere, Texas. You have too many clothes on.” 

You kneel next to him. Now it’s your turn to take your time with him, take him apart piece by piece. Joel’s throat bobs and he lays down beside you and you sit over his thigh. You push your hair that’s falling into your face behind your ear and press a kiss to his pulse point on his neck, testing the waters. 

He sighs, turning his head to the side and you take the invitation to suckle a sweet pink mark onto the hollow of his throat. Your tongue darts out to soothe the mark as you work down. You reach his collarbones, your fingertips dancing over the smattering of dark hair on his chest. 

Joel’s breathing is shaky and you trace over his body until you get to the waistband of his boxers and look up at him. 

He’s already watching you, eyes fixed on yours and he nods once. You shift between his thighs to pull them off and he kicks them off impatiently. For a moment you just gaze at him, taking in the size of his hard, leaking cock already beading with pre-cum.

The sound Joel makes when you wrap your hand around him will stick with you on your lonely nights at home. His eyelids flutter, slick lips parting in a wanton sound between a moan and a sigh as you slowly stroke him. 

You take your time, feeling the heavy weight of him in your hand as he gather the pre-come, using your thumb to coat the tip. You want him in your mouth, your mouth already watering just at the thought. 

Joel’s sounds are enticing, pulling you in. You shift again, tilting your head to take just the tip into your mouth, unable to resist. 

You can’t help but moan around him, your lips stretching around the swollen head of his cock. You hand stroking over the rest of his length – 

“Baby,” he murmurs, tugging at your hair.. “Don’t. I’ll come before we even start.” 

Your eyes flick over his face bathed in the lamplight and he looks wrecked. Kiss-bitten lips parted, his chest heaving and strands of curling hair falling into his face. You pull off him, moving to lay beside him, waiting for his next move. 

He reaches over you, going towards the nightstand and you can’t help yourself. You cup his cheek, titling his head towards you, kissing him again. 

When you part from your kiss, he has one knee on either side of your thighs to find a condom in the drawer. He flips the box over and his head falls back with a sigh. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, closing the drawer with some force, “fucking expired. The fuck does that tell you?” 

You laugh quietly, shaking your head at his apparent distress and reach for his wrist, gently tugging him towards you. “Joel. Come here.” 

“I can run to the gas station,” he tries, evidently not listening to you and you tug his wrist again, kissing along the thin skin over his veins and over your pulse point. 

“Joel,” you say again, sharper than before and he finally looks over at you, his eyes soft and sorrowful but you lean close, kissing his cheek. “Joel,” you whisper in his ear, “I’m on birth control.” 

“I haven’t been with anyone since I last tested. Obviously,” he says, gesturing wildly towards the drawer and you laugh again, louder and kiss him, pulling him close. 

“I haven’t been with anyone either. Kinda had my eyes on you for a while.” 

“Oh yeah? Wanna tell me more about that, sweetheart?” he asks quietly in your ear, making you shiver. “Because I could tell you some things if we’re sharin’. 

“Hmm. I used to think about you,” you tell him as you take hold of his wrist again, guiding him to your leaking slit, moaning quietly as he doesn’t hesitate to find your clit again. “Used to fuck myself, used to wish it was you. I had it bad.” 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that.”`

“Sure I can if it gets you over here,” you say, a content smile on your face as he starts to kiss up your neck. You just know you’re going to have a mark tomorrow – people will see that Joel Miller has marked you. 

He smiles down at you, lifting your leg as he settles between your thigh, one hand wrapped around his cock as he lines himself up with you. He leans in to murmur in your ear. 

“If it hurts, you tell me and we slow down, yeah?” 

You swallow hard and nod, “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” 

Joel hooks two fingers under your chin, looking at you as he pushes into you, just the tip and your eyes widen, mouth parting and one hand clutching his shoulder. 

The times you had thought about this, imagined it in your head all those times you needed to make yourself come, it doesn’t hold a candle to how he really feels in the flesh. And as he slowly bottoms out inside you, there’s only one word to describe how you feel is full. You feel so full and –

“Stop that,” he croaks desperately, forehead falling onto yours. “Jesus.” 

“What?” 

“You—you keep clenchin’, gonna fucking make me come before I even get started.” 

Oh.

He presses you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as his hips roll at a tortuously slow pace. Joel’s thick and each thrust is dizzying, soft grunts leaving you as he kisses over the marks on your neck. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel better than I imagined,” he says against your neck, tilting his head to capture your lips again. 

Together your movements become rougher, the way you wrap your legs around his waist, crossed at the ankles as he thrusts deeper into you. The sounds of the headboard thumping against the wall, the mattress creaking and both your heavy breaths and soft sounds fill the room. 

You want more of him, want to feel him come apart so you slowly start to meet his thrusts, raising your hips and he notices, of course he notices. 

“Up,” he grunts and you obediently lift your hips again. Joel balances on one hand, grabbing a pillow with the other and moving it under your hips. “How’s that?” 

He times a perfectly deep thrust with his question and the answer is ripped from you. You moan, low and raspy at the added sensation and your thighs tighten around his waist. 

“Please,” you whine quietly, teeth finding his shoulder as he fucks you hard and slow into the mattress.

He noses at your neck, your walls fluttering around him on every thrust. After two orgasms already, you won’t last much longer – as much as you don’t want this to end. 

“You're close, ain’t ya?” 

With your nod, he slides a hand down between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb, massaging fast and hard circles over it, bringing you closer and closer. Satisfied with your reaction, he fucks you faster, his hips slamming against yours, puffs of breath against your neck. 

“Joel, Joel,” you gasp. It’s all too much as you writhe below him and he presses gentle kisses to your neck. “I’m gonna come.” 

“I gotcha, come on, baby. Let go.” 

Your orgasm wracks through you. It tears through you with some force, his name uttered in breathless gasps, your whole body spent. Your tingly with overstimulation, muscles in your legs twitching. Joel’s thrusts are erratic now, his cock pounding into you and then he swiftly pulls out with a grunt, fisting his cock twice, the hot spill of his come splattering your stomach, a moan right into your ear. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, panting hard in your ear and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, his damp forehead against yours. “You’re a marvel, you know that?” 

Even though this man has given you three of your best orgasms, you feel your cheeks heat up at his words and hide your face in his shoulder. He laughs, pressing small, innocent kisses to your temple. 

“What? I’m just telling ya the truth.” 

His weight moves off you, falling beside you onto the pillow and he grunts, finding his breath again. You turn your head onto the pillow, your eyes are heavy as you hear Joel move around in his room, the sound of a tap running and then the mattress dips beside you again. . 

“Stay?” Joel asks you quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed to wipe your thighs and stomach with a warm cloth and you trail your fingers over his arm, nodding gently. 

“Like I’d rather be anywhere else,” you murmur, a small smile pulling at your lips. Your three orgasms start to catch with you and you let him clean you up. 

He gives you an almost shy smile and you look at him in the lamplight. He moves, tossing the cloth into the laundry basket and digs around in his drawer, pressing a soft shirt into your hands and blinking at him tiredly, a frown forming on your face in confusion. 

“To sleep in,” he says, kissing the crease in your forehead. 

You nod, pulling it on and it pools around your waist from where you’re sat. It smells like Joel, the cotton soft and well-worn. He slides into bed next to you, clicks off the light and you shuffle back against his chest - something that he easily adapts to by rubbing his hand over your thigh in a gentle caress. 

When you wake, the first thing you feel is warmth. Joel’s face tucked into your neck, his beard bristling against you, almost tickling you and his snores are oddly comforting. You managed to move your arm without waking him, curling around his neck to play with the strands of hair as the sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains. 

You know the moment Joel wakes up: his hands gently squeeze you, his breathing heavier, and he mumbles against your shoulder, slowly joining the waking world. 

“Did I wake you?” you ask him softly. Your fingers curl in his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“No,” he mumbles, “C’mere.” 

He gently tugs you closer, a warm hand sliding up your side as you settle against him, a small sigh leaving your lips. 

His lips find your shoulder, a small kiss planted and another as he trails them up your collarbones, over your throat and finally settles against your lips. 

“What a way to wake up. You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice sleep thick and rough. His lips find yours again and again. “Let me make you breakfast.” 

“I’d rather you stay right here,” you mumble, basking in his embrace. “At least for another five minutes.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, honey,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear and your eyes close, a soft smile on your lips. 

Warmth blooms in your chest at the term of endearment and you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Joel tilts his head down and captures yours in a tender, soft kiss. When you part, he’s got a look in his eye that has you tilting your head and you brush your fingertips through his messy, bed-ridden hair. 

“I like this,” you comment, smiling as his hair flops back onto his forehead.

“My hair or this?” he asks sleepily, closing his eyes and you can’t help but kiss him again. 

“Both.” 

Joel’s laugh vibrates against you from where his head is tucked into your shoulder – a low, rough rumble that’s thick with the dregs of sleep. His thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles on your waist and his breathing soon evens out as he falls back asleep. 

When you do eventually make it downstairs, Joel goes straight for his coffee machine, leaning up to grab two mugs from the cupboard and you don’t stop yourself from staring at the rippling muscles in his back. You lean against the counter, arms folded across your chest as you just take him in. 

He’s gone shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep and from your hands. He doesn’t catch you staring just yet, muttering to himself as the machine beeps at him for water. You could picture this happening more often, and while that thought should terrify you, it’s Joel. 

It’s always been Joel. 

You wouldn’t dance around anyone like this. 

“Here,” he says, eyes glittering with a soft smile and you match his smile, brought out of your thoughts by the smell of fresh coffee. 

Joel’s fingers linger on your as he passes you the mug of coffee and you can’t help but notice it’s in his owl mug, the one you’ve seen him use so many times before. You don’t know why but it warms your heart that he’s sharing this with you. You smile at him, the morning breeze floating in through the open window. 

Yeah, you could get used to this. 

[shenachigans]

LITTLE ONES | Ningguang

PAIRING: Transfem!Ningguang x Fem/Afab!Reader

CW: smut, angst, fluff, unintentional baby-making (or breeding) at first, unprotected sex, readers is ill but illness is unspecified only that pregnancy is a risk, a lot of pet names ig

SUMMARY: Ningguang has been wanting children of her own, but she must hold her desires back during a night of pleasure, or does she?

A/N: I cringed and almost got sappy writing the fluff part but whatever, I barely do fluff for a reason. Also, this is my first post of the year :> I wrote and posted this past my bedtime, excuse my mistakes…

WORDS: 1,928

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

There are rumors that Lady Ningguang had a soft spot for children. You can confirm that. The children of Liyue Harbor adore her just as she adores them. She had a motherly side, giving the kids irresistible sweets to see them smile. Of course, Ningguang gains something in return, but being around the little ones relieves her from her duties and the harsh business world. 

Ningguang isn’t the Tianquan of Liyue nor a ruthless businesswoman. She was merely a friendly elder sister who mingled with the common folk, and the children were the only ones who could give her that satisfaction without calculating moves — unless creating schemes to get the most sweets from her counted.

You can see joy in your lover’s eyes when she sees the children light up whenever they see her and receive delicacies. You remember the kids almost fighting each other for Ningguang’s head pats and praises for doing well in their missions (informing her about the latest news in the Harbor). 

There was a time when one of the children accidentally called her ‘mom’ instead of ‘big sister.’ Ningguang wasn’t fazed and instead responded as if she were their mother. It was such a wholesome sight that it brought you to your countless dreams of having her own flesh and blood where you lived as a happy family. 

The conversation of having children has yet to be brought up, but Ningguang’s eyes say more than her lips can. Even if she mastered the art of putting on a perfect facade, you can see through her. There is a visible glimmer of longing whenever she’s with the kids; it makes your chest ache.

Ningguang wants to have children with you. She does. She wants little versions of yourselves running around the floating palace and experiencing what it’s like to become a mother. But she holds back. She stops herself from painting your womb white, risking getting you pregnant. She doesn’t want you to carry her child, even if a baby bump on your tummy would make her heart swell from joy. 

You always blame yourself for preventing your lover from getting what she desires, for your weak disposition makes it a risk of surviving childbirth. You were already struggling with your illness. It was a gamble she didn’t want to take. But she doesn’t know you would gladly give your life to your little one because you have been wanting children with her as well.

It was a night of pleasure. Ningguang’s hips thrust into yours, her girthy cock stimulating your slick walls. Manicured nails created light crescents on your thighs as she gripped them for leverage, slowly losing herself in the song of your moans and whimpers harmonizing with the squelching created where you two are connected. 

You were ravishing in her hooded eyes, clawing onto the sheets below you, and tears rolling down your cheeks as pleasure coursed through your veins. Only Ningguang can see you like this. But her eyes subconsciously dart to your belly, imagining something she mustn’t. She longs to touch your empty womb — feel your skin on the pads of her fingers — but it will only indicate her want, and she doesn’t wish to make you solemn in the midst of pleasure. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything a long, long time ago.

“I want to embrace you,” you say, albeit interrupted by grunts from the ecstasy between your legs and your lover’s pleasured disposition. Ningguang slowed her ruts, complying with your request and letting go of your plush thighs, opting to grip the soiled bed sheets as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her free hand holding your waist. 

Your lover was a sight to see. Tinted cheeks and hooded eyes — a woman lost in pleasure — which juxtaposed her usual professional disposition. Ragged breaths and relentless pounding made her seem desperate to bring you to your peak as if she were a servant pleasuring her master — and she was because everything she did was for you, all for you, even if it meant denying herself something she wanted all her life.

Ningguang could feel herself at the edge of the newfound angle as she resumed her previous pace, ensuring you were comfortable. Her body tensed and shivered at how you moaned in her ear, bringing her senses into overdrive. But she must contain herself. There have been many times when her reasonings almost slipped between her fingers, but she always triumphed in gaining control.

Your bodies hugged every part of each other’s skin, her chest against yours, erect nipples rubbing against each other. She held you close, kissing your forehead, down along your jaw, until they settled on leaving bruises on the crook of your neck as a form of gratitude for taking her so well. 

Nails clawed against Ningguang’s back as you bucked your hips to meet her thrusts, back arching, and your throat now sore from your sinful noises. You were beginning to writhe under her, subconsciously wrapping your legs around her waist, your walls fluttering against her cock.

“I’m close,” you moan, your body trembling as if preparing for your upcoming orgasm. Fingers clutched into Ningguang’s hair, pulling her into a passionate kiss where your tongues languidly danced against each other. Her lips swallowed your sinful noises until a string of saliva stretched between you two as your lips reluctantly parted to heave for fresh air.

“Me too, my love,” she huffs, hips stuttering, her tip on the verge of spilling her load. Her open-mouthed kisses littered your neck and shoulders once more. A sultry, airy chuckle left her lips as she maintained her pace, guiding you to your climax. She dared not change her pace and edge you, not tonight. 

The deep, moderate thrusts of her girth drove you insane as the veins of her cock pulsated against your walls. You felt so full. Ningguang's praises and constant rutting brought you to your peak with a high-pitched moan of her name. Her back would be displayed like a canvas the next morning from her dress, showing your love hold with scratches and brushed crescents.

Her free hand slithered from the soiled sheets to your sore clit, rubbing it with her thumb to elongate your orgasm. A flash of white clouded your vision as a white ring coated the base of her cock as you came, further lubricating your walls. You became a huffing mess as you recovered from your high, but Ningguang has yet to cum, and you’re overstimulated. 

Ningguang became rather impatient now, she could feel her release edge on the tip of her cock. But she has to cum on your stomach. She tapped your thigh once — an indication for you to let go so she could pull out — but you refused. Another gentle tap soon turned into a slightly painful grip as she tried to unwrap your legs forcefully.

“Release your legs, now, dear…” she whines, grunting and fingers twitching from being denied of her high as she slows her thrusts. “I can’t cum like this,” she says, but her heart says otherwise. The tone of her voice shows how much she’s holding back. 

“Yes, you can.” You counter with a smile, arms unwrapping around her neck to cup her face, and soothingly rub her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her porcelain skin under the pads of your fingers. A hearty, tired chuckle left your lips when she leaned into your touch. “Why don’t you indulge yourself just once, hm? Doing it once doesn’t guarantee anything, Ningguang. Please?”

Ningguang’s thrusts slowly halted as she felt a change in the lustful atmosphere. She presses your foreheads together and closes her eyes. “I can’t take that risk, we both know that…” she sighed and suddenly you see a pair of scarlet eyes pleading at you. 

“But you want to — to take that risk — and there’s nothing wrong with that, my love.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as Ningguang avoided your gaze, eyes now looking elsewhere. “Hey, look at me,” you urge and gently tilt her face toward you. “It pains me to see you like this, dearest. I…I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially right now. I’m sorry.” 

Guilt washed her features as you spoke. Was her longing so obvious? It didn’t mean you needed to give her a child. But your face expressed genuine want, no fear or hesitation in your eyes. However, you were frail, and she didn’t want to risk losing you and the baby. Ningguang can live without children of her own but she can’t live without you. 

If only she had an option to have both.

“No, don’t I apologize, my love. If anything, I should apologize for making you feel like you needed to give me children to make me happy,” Ningguang starts, giving you a sad smile, eyes downcast as she still ignores yours. “You make me the happiest person in the world, and having a family is only a bonus. I can’t force you to make any sacrifices. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You weren’t forcing me to do anything, love, and I appreciate that. I want to start a family with you, dearest. I’ve always had. You would make the best mother in the world,” you hum, pecking her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, happens in the future and we will tackle them together, alright?” 

“How did I deserve you?” Ningguang says with a smile, her heart leaping from your words, still, her stomach churned from the unknown future. It was a bittersweet feeling. Scarlet eyes observed your tired face. You see hesitance in them, but they expressed want. 

“You deserve everything in the world, my love.”

Her smile widens and gently kisses you before holding your hips for leverage as she starts to pump her hips in and out slowly. “Push me away if you change your mind,” Ningguang starts, pushing the damp, stray hair from your face. “I don't wish to force you.”

“I won’t. I want all of you.” 

“Mama! Mommy is being mean to me!” a child whined, pouting as tears of frustration were apparent in their scarlet eyes as they ran toward the bedroom. “She doesn’t wanna share Mama with me!”

Ningguang follows them, hiding an amused smirk with her hand. It was fun to tease them, even more now that they’re in the ‘possessive of mama’ stage.

“Now, now, little one, your Mama might be asleep,” Ningguang said, but it was too late. The door slid open with so much force that you woke up. She grimaced, giving you an apologetic glance.

“Teasing them again?” You say groggily but flash a small smile as you lie on the bed’s headrest. The little one immediately clinging to your side with a smirk. “This teasing is all too frequent…” You pretend to ponder before your eyes light up. “Are you perhaps envious, dear?”

“I am not envious,” Ningguang said almost too quickly, but she narrowed her eyes at the cheeky child before her, clearly showing off by scrunching their nose and sticking their tongue out. 

The audacity for them to mock her.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you chuckle before patting the spot beside you on the bed and cradling your belly. “Why don’t you two come here? I could use some cuddles.”

The child beams at your words. Nothing can be greater than cuddles. “Mommy, can I be in the middle?” They say, looking at Ningguang for permission.

Ningguang’s heart swells and she smiles. 

“Of course, my little dove.”

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[gdinthehouseee]

Stars Rewritten: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after he left you, you never heard from ji-yong again. or, that was the case, until you finally saw him again at a fashion show---where the walls you had spent so long building up around your heart finally crumbled down.

word count: 5062

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, arguments, dramatic asf, you have a slight panic attack so please click off if you feel it's too much, hurt/comfort

ao3 link -- smau bonus

The air inside the Chanel afterparty was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and fine champagne, a blur of murmured conversations and polite laughter. Paris had a way of making everything feel ethereal—timeless—but the moment you locked eyes with Kwon Ji-yong, time felt like it had stopped altogether.

He stood near the bar, one hand lazily wrapped around a crystal glass, the other tucked effortlessly into his pocket. Even in a room full of icons draped in couture, he stood out. Always had. And yet, it wasn’t the sharp lines of his suit or the effortless way he carried himself that held your attention. It was his eyes. Dark, searching, and unreadable. They traced over you like a memory long buried, one he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to unearth.

Your chest tightened. You should’ve known he’d be here. Fashion and Ji-yong went hand in hand—just like you and him once did. Still, nothing could’ve prepared you for the way seeing him again would make your pulse stutter, for the way his presence still felt like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew the lyrics to.

He didn’t look away. Neither did you. So, you did the only thing you could—you closed the distance.

Ji-yong watched as you approached, his lips curving slightly—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. "Didn’t think I’d see you here," he murmured, voice smooth as ever.

"Paris is big enough for the both of us," you replied, tone casual, though your heartbeat told a different story.

"Is it?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Funny. I feel like I see you everywhere."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

You refused to be the first to break. A quiet pause. He probably didn’t mean it literally, but the weight of his words settled between you. Did he mean in headlines? In music? In memories?

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Still quick with the comebacks, I see."

You shrugged. "Some things never change."

His expression flickered—just for a second. Barely noticeable, but you caught it. A shadow of something deeper, something raw. "Some things do," he said quietly.

That—that was the first real crack in his composure.

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable. "Well," you exhaled, glancing around, "it’s good to see you’re still doing well."

"Are you?" His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

"Of course," you answered, maybe too quickly. Too smoothly. Because what else were you supposed to say? That seeing him still made your heart ache? That Paris, no matter how romantic, still felt empty without him?

Ji-yong hummed, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Good." But he didn’t sound convinced.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve let the moment pass, let him become just another face in the crowd, another ghost of your past that didn’t deserve to be resurrected. That would’ve been the smart thing to do—the safe thing. Just two people who used to know each other, exchanging polite words in a city meant for strangers and lovers alike. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ji-yong had never been just someone you used to know. He had been your beginning and your ending, the song that played in the quiet corners of your mind long after the music had stopped. And now, standing in front of him again, feeling the weight of his gaze, hearing the softness in his voice that made old wounds ache—you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to pretend he was just another person in the room.

"Did you ever miss me?"

His voice—so much quieter, so much heavier—cut through the space between you.

"Did you?" You shot back immediately.

Ji-yong didn’t answer right away. He just stared, gaze unreadable, jaw tightening slightly like he was debating whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to turn things around on me."

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Guess some things really don’t change after all."

A flicker of something crossed his face—something almost nostalgic. Almost sad.

Before either of you could say anything else, someone called his name. His momentary distraction gave you the chance to take a step back, breathe, and remind yourself that you weren’t that person anymore—the one who used to fall so easily into his orbit.

His gaze flickered back to yours, as if considering whether to pull you back in or let you go. And then, with one last lingering look, he gave you a slow, almost reluctant nod.

"Enjoy your night," he murmured before turning away.

Ji-yong didn’t look back as he disappeared into the crowd, but he felt you lingering—like a song stuck in his head, like the one thing he thought he’d buried but never really could. His grip on his drink tightened, his pulse a little too quick, his thoughts a little too loud. He had spent so long convincing himself that time had dulled the edges of what you once were, that he had moved past the ache of losing you. But seeing you tonight? Hearing your voice, sharp as ever, watching the way your lips curled into that familiar smirk—it unraveled something in him. You still got under his skin. And maybe the worst part? Some small, stupid, hopeless part of him wanted to believe that he still got under yours, too.

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of Paris beneath it—the soft wail of a saxophone from a street musician, the muffled laughter of strangers, the city breathing all around you. The elegant wrap draped over your shoulders did little against the chill, but you weren’t sure if it was the cold or the lingering weight of Ji-yong’s presence that sent a shiver through you. The party inside carried on without you—glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling, conversations blending into a meaningless hum. But out here, on the secluded balcony overlooking the city skyline, everything was still.

The cigarette between your fingers burned slowly, thin wisps of smoke curling into the night air. You took a slow drag, letting the warmth settle in your lungs, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. You exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the sky, your thoughts spiraling. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You knew there was a chance he’d be here. A part of you had even tried to prepare for it—but how do you prepare for seeing someone who once made you feel like your entire world revolved around them?

"You never used to smoke."

Ji-yong.

Your fingers twitched around the cigarette. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Not everything stays the same, y’know.” You mutter before taking another slow drag.

His gaze flickered, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before he stepped forward, resting his forearms against the railing beside you. Close, but not close enough. He let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Didn’t think I’d ever see the day."

You arched a brow, finally looking at him fully. "What, me smoking?"

He tilted his head, studying you the way he always used to—like he was peeling back layers, searching for something just beneath the surface. "You hated it. You used to steal my cigarettes just to throw them away."

You exhaled a humorless chuckle. "Maybe I just wanted to piss you off."

"Is that what this is, then? Still trying to piss me off?"

"Not everything is about you, Ji-yong."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached over—slow, deliberate—and plucked the cigarette from your hand. You let him. He studied it for a second, rolling it between his fingers like he was trying to understand something unspoken. Then, just as slowly, he lifted it to his lips, taking a drag. Your stomach twisted. The sight was familiar and foreign all at once.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night, before finally speaking—softer this time.

"You used to say my name differently," he said quietly, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

Your breath hitched. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk like—like we’re still the same people we were back then."

A humorless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter. "We’re not. That’s the problem, isn’t it?"

You didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

He took another slow drag, his shoulders rising and falling with the inhale before he turned to fully face you. "You never answered me earlier," he murmured.

"About what?"

"If you ever missed me."

Your stomach twisted. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t the very question that had kept you up on too many nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had ever done the same.

You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him no. That you had moved on, that the years apart had erased him, that the sight of him standing in front of you now didn’t make old scars ache.

But your silence said more than words ever could.

Ji-yong’s lips pressed together as he studied your expression, as if searching for something—an answer, a confession, proof that he wasn’t the only one who had spent all this time wondering what if.

And then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"I missed you."

It shouldn’t have mattered—it shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the chest, like something raw and aching unraveling inside of you. But it did. You tore your gaze away, focusing on the city lights in the distance, anywhere but him. 

"Don’t do that, Ji-yong." You repeated.

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Say things like that," you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Like it changes anything."

"You think it doesn’t?"

It was your turn to huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It’s been years."

"And?" His voice had an edge now, something frustrated, something almost desperate.

"And we ruined each other," you shot back, finally meeting his gaze again.

Ji-yong flinched, just barely—but you caught it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, stretched tight between you like a thread on the verge of snapping. The air felt heavier out here, thick with the past, with every unspoken word, every unsent message, every lingering memory that neither of you had truly let go of. It was in the way Ji-yong’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something—a sign that you still felt it too, that he wasn’t alone in this quiet ache. It was in the way your fingers curled against the railing, gripping it as if it could steady you against the pull of him. So much had been left unsaid between you, but standing here, so close yet so impossibly far, you realized something terrifying. Maybe the past had never really let go of either of you.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "I have to."

Ji-yong inhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep himself together. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer. Too close. Close enough that you could smell his cologne, something familiar, something that shouldn’t still feel like home. Close enough that the warmth of his body seeped into yours, despite the cold air.

"Then tell me to walk away.”

Your pulse jumped. "What?"

"If you really believe that—if you really think we ruined each other—" he tilted his head, voice low, challenging, "then tell me to walk away."

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

He searched your face, something vulnerable breaking through his mask. "See?" His voice softened, barely more than a breath. "You can’t."

"That doesn’t mean—"

"It means everything," he interrupted, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. "We don’t end like this."

Your throat felt tight, emotions clawing their way up. "Ji-yong—"

He leaned in just a fraction more, voice barely above a whisper.

"Say it," he murmured. "Say you don’t miss me, and I’ll leave. Right now."

Your heart pounded. Because he was calling your bluff. Because you couldn’t say it. Because, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much had broken between you—he was still the one person who could undo you completely.

And he knew it.

"You think this is fair?" You shot back, voice sharper than you intended. “Showing up after all this time like it means something. Like you didn’t—" You stopped yourself just in time, but it was too late. He caught it.

His jaw clenched. "Like I didn’t what?"

You swallowed, pulse hammering against your ribs. Walk away? Give up? Break me? The words were right there, but you couldn’t say them, because then he’d know. Then he’d see just how much of you was still tangled up in him.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m not playing games, if that’s what you think."

"That’s funny, coming from you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this is what you do," you snapped. "You disappear. You come back when it’s convenient. You say just enough to make me wonder, just enough to make me—" You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Ji-yong took a step closer. "Make you what?"

You clenched your jaw. "I don’t owe you an answer."

His expression flickered, something breaking through his mask for just a second before his voice dropped lower, rougher. "And who do you think lost?"

You huffed a bitter laugh, voice rising. "I don’t know, Ji-yong! You tell me! Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell wasn’t you."

His eyes flashed. "You think I walked away easily?" His voice was sharp, almost disbelieving. "You think I just—what? Moved on? Forgot about you?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You have no fucking idea."

"Then why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Leave!"

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The word rang out between you, cutting through the tension like a blade. Ji-yong’s breath hitched, his entire body going still.

"You think I wanted to?" He finally said, voice low, hoarse.

You scoffed. "I don’t know what you wanted!" You were almost yelling now, hands shaking. "Because if you wanted me, you should have fucking stayed!"

"You think I didn’t try?"

"You didn’t try hard enough!"

The words came out louder than you intended, your chest heaving with the weight of them. And for the first time tonight, Ji-yong flinched. The silence that followed was suffocating. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you, like he had to physically stop himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "I still love you."

Your breath caught.

Ji-yong swallowed hard, his gaze burning into yours. "Not past tense. Not something I got over. I still fucking love you, and I think you know that."

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. "I—"

He took another step forward, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly in his direction. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me to let you go, and I will."

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You should say it. You should end this now before you drowned in him all over again. But the words wouldn’t come, and he saw it. His lips parted slightly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he was holding himself back from touching you. And then—

"I can’t do this," you whispered, stepping back.

"Why?"

"Because," you breathed, voice breaking now. "Because if I let myself believe you, if I let myself want this again—" You exhaled shakily, blinking up at him, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. "I don’t think I’d survive losing you twice."

Ji-yong’s expression crumbled. His mouth opened, but for the first time tonight, he had nothing to say. And neither did you. The silence between you wasn’t thick with anger anymore: it was replaced with heartbreak.

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"What else do you want from me!?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," he shot back. "I want you to stop acting like you don’t feel this."

"Feel what?" Your voice was sharp, a desperate edge creeping into your tone. "Whatever this was, it ended. You made sure of that."

His jaw tensed. "You think I had a choice?"

"You always had a choice!" You snapped, stepping forward, your anger swallowing the hurt. "You could have fought for me, for us. But you didn’t. You left, and you—" Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to keep going, keep pressing where it hurt. "You let me think I wasn’t enough for you."

Ji-yong's eyes flashed with something unreadable, something raw. "That’s not fair."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, and what part of this is fair?"

He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. "You think I wanted to leave? You think I just walked away without looking back?" His voice was rising now, matching yours, the heat between you bordering on explosive. "You have no idea how much I wanted to stay. How many nights I lay awake wishing things were different. Wishing I could be selfish enough to keep you—"

"Then why wasn’t I worth it?"

The words came out before you could stop them, loud and broken, filling the space between you like a gunshot.

Ji-yong inhaled sharply yet again, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, then closed, his expression crumbling for a split second before he masked it again.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don’t say that."

You let out a shaky breath, your throat burning. "Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me that when you left, it wasn’t because you decided I wasn’t worth the effort."

He stepped even closer, his voice low and urgent. "I never stopped loving you."

"Then why did you break my heart?"

The question shattered between you, both of you breathing hard, chests rising and falling as the weight of everything you’d buried finally cracked open.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice almost desperate. "I don’t fucking know. All I know is that being without you felt like hell."

Your breath stuttered, the world tilting beneath your feet, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a tidal wave. Too much. Too much. Too much. It clawed at your chest, curling tight around your ribs, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. The way his voice softened when he said your name, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers all over again. The way your body still knew him, still ached for him, even after all this time.

And it terrified you.

Because if you stayed, if you let him keep talking, keep looking at you like that, keep picking apart the walls you spent so long building—you knew you’d crumble. You’d let him in again. You’d let yourself hope. And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding yourself in the sharp sting of it. You had to get out of here. Now. Before your heart could trick you into believing this could end any differently than it did before. Before you drowned in him all over again.

You took a shaky step back. Ji-yong’s eyes tracked the movement instantly, his entire body tensing like he knew exactly what you were about to do.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but it might as well have been a plea.

Your throat burned. Don’t what? Run? Leave? Break his heart the way he broke yours?

"I can’t do this," you breathed, shaking your head as you took another step back. Then another.

Ji-yong moved instinctively, reaching for you, his fingers just barely brushing your wrist before you yanked away.

"Wait—"

But you were already turning, pushing past him, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you shoved open the balcony door and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. You didn’t stop. Didn’t let yourself look back, didn’t let yourself hear the way his breath hitched when you slipped through his fingers.

You wove through the crowd in the main room, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. The air inside was suffocating, thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and everything you needed to escape. You barely registered the curious glances thrown your way as you reached the entrance, shoving the door open and stepping into the cool night air. Only then did you finally exhale, your breath shaky as it left your lips in a sharp rush.

But it wasn’t enough.

The city lights blurred as you stumbled forward, needing distance, needing space, needing to outrun the ghosts of his words—I never stopped loving you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe, to push him out of your head, out of your heart, out of your bones.

But even as you walked away, every step putting more distance between you and the only man you’d ever truly loved—you knew it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You pushed yourself harder, each step taking you farther away from the noise of the venue, from him. The streets blurred around you as you walked, each step fueled by the need to get away, the need to breathe air that wasn’t saturated with him. You didn’t want to be there anymore.

Eventually, you found a quiet alley, tucked away between two tall buildings, far enough from the crowd to feel safe, but not too far that you’d lose yourself completely. You sank down to the cold concrete, pulling your knees to your chest, desperately trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. You tried to force your breathing into something steady, something normal. You were fine. You had to be fine.

You were fine.

But then the panic started to creep in. That tightening feeling in your chest, the same feeling that had gripped you all those months ago. The fear, the helplessness, the suffocating weight of the past, of the break-up, of everything you hadn’t been able to say or let go of. The walls you’d built around yourself trembled. You weren’t fine.

The panic slammed into you full-force, and for a second, it felt like you were falling apart all over again.

This was dangerous.

Just like before. Just like the night he left.

You gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. Your chest constricted, your vision blurred, and you swore you could hear your pulse pounding in your ears. You weren’t going to make it. You weren’t going to survive this. You needed to breathe, you needed to stop thinking about how close you were to that awful, broken place you’d sworn you’d never return to.

And then, you heard it—footsteps.

No.

You jerked your head up, eyes wide with panic, just in time to see him standing there—Ji-yong, standing in the dim light of the alley, his gaze locked onto you like he’d been tracking your every movement.

You tried to push yourself up, to move, to run. But your legs were weak, too weak, your knees buckling as your breath came in jagged gasps. You couldn’t escape this, couldn’t escape him.

“Stop.”

His voice was firm, but not harsh. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your wrist before grabbing your arm. Not painfully, but just enough to hold you still, enough to make you realize you couldn’t keep going.

You froze. The panic still gripped you, tightening your chest with every labored breath, but when his touch grounded you, something about the way he held you still made it worse. You hadn’t expected him to follow you. And now, here he was, like he’d found you in your most vulnerable moment.

He didn’t say anything else at first, just stood there, his grip on your arm gentle but firm, as if he was waiting for you to speak, to explain why you were falling apart, why you couldn’t keep it together. And then he spoke again, softer this time, with that quiet urgency that made your insides twist.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

The words hit you like a wave.

You didn’t have to pretend. And that was all it took.

The tears you’d been holding back came crashing forward, hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks as your body started to shake. You tried to stand, tried to push through it, but the moment your legs gave out, Ji-yong’s arm shot around you, pulling you into his chest, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice full of surprise, full of something else you couldn’t quite name. His arms tightened around you as you gasped for air, your whole body shaking from the intensity of it. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head against his chest, unable to stop the tears, unable to stop the sobs that tore their way out of you. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be here, hadn’t expected to break down in his arms again. But somehow, despite everything, despite how much you tried to push him away, you felt something in you soften, a part of you finally willing to let go.

He didn’t say anything more. He just held you, letting you cry against him, his grip never tightening, never too forceful, just enough to remind you that he was there.

Ji-yong's chest tightened as he held you close, his heart breaking into pieces with each sob that wracked your body. The way you trembled in his arms, the rawness of your pain—it was all too much. His mind replayed every moment, every misstep, every word he’d said or hadn’t said, and it all came crashing down on him. He had been the one to walk away. He had been the one to push you out of his life, to let pride and fear dictate his actions. And now, seeing you broken in his arms, it felt like he had destroyed something precious. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving. He was the reason you were hurting, the reason you’d built walls around your heart. His choices, his mistakes—he had caused this. The weight of it threatened to crush him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had broken something that could never be fixed.

"I—" You choked on the air, the pain in your chest too much. Your heart ached, and you thought you might break again. But you couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. "I still love you, Ji-yong… I—I never stopped. But I’m so… so scared."

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to pull away or give you a soft smile to ease your discomfort. Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as though he wanted to absorb your pain, to make it his own.

“I can’t open up and have you leave all over again.” 

His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m so sorry… for everything. I—God, I was stupid. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you, how much I was pushing you away. I thought I could handle it, thought I could fix everything, but I only made it worse.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me most, sorry for all the things I didn’t say, all the things I didn’t do. I’m sorry for every mistake, every time I made you feel less than—less than everything you deserve.”

His hands, which had once been so sure, trembled as they cupped your face, lifting your gaze to meet his. He could barely hold himself together, his own tears falling freely now. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I—I swear I won’t mess it up this time. I can’t lose you again. I love you. I never stopped. Please, just—please don’t give up on us.”

The raw desperation in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made your heart ache all over again. He wasn’t just apologizing; he was pleading, his voice breaking with the weight of everything he had failed to say before. And even though every part of you screamed in hesitation, you couldn’t help but feel the tiny spark of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could be the moment everything shifted.

“I’ll never give up on us,” he continued, his voice steady now, full of resolve. “I swear.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, despite the tears that still clung to your lashes. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

And with that, Ji-yong’s lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening into a kiss that spoke of all the things you’d both been too afraid to say. It was gentle, full of longing and the sweet promise of healing. The kiss was the beginning of something new, a new chapter where the mistakes of the past could be forgiven and the love between you could bloom once more.

When he pulled away, his thumb gently stroked your cheek, and he smiled—a smile that was as soft and loving as the words he had just spoken. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “I love you, too.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[earlysunshines]

secret rhymes - 53. just the two of us (written)

a/n: i have not written in ten years oh my

aside from being lost on the last song of your album, your life has been pretty great.

you and hanni have been talking more. it started with a few calls after the night you both cleared the air, soft check-ins that slowly turned into long conversations stretching past midnight about anything, everything, and nothing. sometimes you'd be fine just listening to the occasional hum or breath that gets caught on facetime, and that's enough for both of you.

occasionally you'd regret staying up past midnight—the groans in the morning and the slight headache always make you second-guess calling so late. but you like exchanging small updates on what's new; you tell her about a song you've been stuck on, and she tells you about an embarassing trainee moment she still hasn't lived down.

(you nearly snort, "you cursed at the evaluator?"

"i wasn't trying to! i just- ugh! i saw her for the next monthly evaluation and it was so... grueling..."

hanni catches your toothy cackle and the way you fall on your bed from how hilarious her story is, which makes her eyes soften. she falters for a moment, not that you notice, but it's a tidal wave in crashing in her heart.

"you're so cute, it's crazy. i'd kill to go back in time and witness you do that again."

"you're the worst person i know."

"sure, pham." you snicker. there it is, that shake of your head through the screen that leaves hanni a little weak. something churns in her stomach and it has her hoping you feel the same way she does.)

you don't even realize how often you've been seeing hanni until yunjin teases you for showing up to hybe under the pretense of "visiting her," when it's obvious your feet are already turning toward newjeans' practice room.

it's become kind of a joke—"how's my name still the excuse when i'm the one getting ten-minute visits?" yunjin grins. you roll your eyes but don't deny it.

you and hanni have a rhythm now. sometimes, she's still in rehearsal when you arrive—her schedule has been quite packed with her upcoming comeback—and you'll wait outside her room with her favorite tea, leaning against the wall while listening to the muffled beat thumping from inside. she'll spot you through the mirror and beam mid-dance, cheeks flushed, waving with one hand while mouthing something like "wait a bit!"

other times, she's already waiting for you after you've blessed yunjin with your ten-minute-long visits. she's usually perched on a bench in the hall with a sly smile, saying, "took you long enough," even though you're the one who texted on my way minutes prior.

once, she grabbed the end of your hoodie as you passed by just to say, "you look really good today," before flashing a smile that takes your breath away momentarily and disappearing around the corner like nothing had happened. it's not difficult for her to leave you standing alone in the halls with your heart skipping a beat and a grin on your face.

it's been a few months, but little moments make it seem like you've known hanni much longer. a brush of her fingers against yours when she hands you her phone. her shoulders bumping into yours as you walk down the corridor, neither of you bothering to move away. a laugh too soft, a glance that lingers a second longer than it should. you haven't labeled anything, not like you would dare to, but the air between you thickens with the tension from what you two are way too scared to admit.

more than friends, less than lovers, and together two people who are too scared to do anything about it.

you're finished with all the communication that was needed to organize a music video shooting, and only one song is left to finish up your album. there's a lot of stress from all the preparation and technical stuff, but it would've been way worse without the daily texts and calls from hanni.

the past month after settling things, you've filmed music videos, tweaked a few songs here and there, and of course tried your best to finish your last track.

hanni has also let you know that she's been pretty stressed herself with preparing for her own comeback. she rambles on about how she's iffy on one song's choreo because it's far from her style, but you make sure to let her know she's going to do great. you two are each other's rock.

after the last day of shooting your title track, you barely make it to your bed before collapsing face-first into the comforter, limbs heavy and sore from the music video shoot (which required much more physical activity than you thought it would).

it's quiet—yujin's been staying with her girlfriend every other day, so it leaves you alone some nights—but the sound of your phone buzzing somewhere in your jacket sleeve breaks the silence. you fish it out, sighing tiredly before you light up at the sight of hanni's name glowing on the screen with a simple: home yet?

you text back a lazy "yeah, just got here," and almost instantly, she calls. you flip the phone on, speaking and drop it beside your head, setting the back of one hand on your forehead as you stare up at the ceiling. you're tired, tired enough to where you can't really budge, but not too (or ever) tired to hear her voice.

she asks how you are, you do the same with all your energy, and there it goes—the conversation flows easily.

"minji knocked off danielle's claw clip by accident during practice today," hanni says, tone warm and amused. "it like, flew across the room! danielle looked so betrayed, she was soooo dramatic, i love her so bad. we laughed for like five minutes straight, i swear my abs were forming."

a tired laugh escaped your lips. "i'm glad you guys had fun."

there's a littel pause, and then hanni's voice softens. "you sound tired."

"yeah... physically," you murmur. your gaze blurs over the ceiling as your mind wanders. "but other than that i'm just..." you train off for a second before adding, "i've been wanting to see you more. not in hallways or between practices when i visit. just—like, you and i. no one else. i think i miss that."

the line goes quiet and you think for a second the call might've dropped. have you said too much? you must be way too tired—

hanni's soft inhale interrupts your spiral. "you can't just say that out of nowhere," hanni says, her voice quieter than usual, laced with surprise.

a sleepy smile tugs at your lips. "sorry, but i do mean it." you exhale slowly, smiling to yourself. "do you think you can sneak out? we don't even have to do anything. i just want to be somewhere else, together."

there's silence again, but not the bad kind. you swear you can hear a smile in her voice when she responds, "if you're asking then... yeah."

it's just five minutes past eleven when you find yourself jogging down the dim sidewalk toward hanni's dorm, hoodie flapping behind you while you hold onto your cap. there wasn't a clear plan, just that you'd be at her place, and here you are.

waiting by her building at this hour felt more peaceful than anything else had in weeks.

she slips out minutes later in a hoodie and slides, the soft sound of her laugh cutting through the silence when she sees you. "you look like you just ran here."

"maybe because i did, idiot." you say, out of breath, matching her smile as you both start to walk down the street side by side.

the convenience store is still open, a small space of flickering fluorescent lights and soft american pop on the radio. you wander in, grabbing a bag of coffee and a cup of ice to put it in, then pay quickly.

"seriously?" hanni raises a brow. "you're gonna dose yourself with caffeine at this hour?"

you shrug, pouring it into the cup without a care. "grandma, it's the only thing keeping me up."

she snorts. "grandma? i'm the one keeping you alive."

"caffeine at night won't kill me, loser."

"maybe i will before it does." she says, earning a snicker from you in response.

eventually, the two of you stumble upon a little playground tucked between apartment buildings, empty except for the creak of the swings and the rustle of tree leaves planted nearby. both of you climb up the platform of the jungle gym, legs dangling, shoulders brushing. it's quiet there, peaceful, with only the slight hum from the city around you.

for a while, you just talk about whatever. work. music. hanni tells you about a weird dream she had the night before about a haunted sink. you tell her about the time you accidentally went live with toothpaste on your chin. you guys both giggle, and it's light, easy. but then the conversation dips to romance in regards to the album you've been working on.

"do you think you'll ever fall in love?" she asks, her voice soft now.

the question hits you like a bullet train. you exhale through your nose, looking up at the sky. "after lauren... i kind of gave up on it for a while, but it was easy to romanticize stuff, especially as an artist." you begin, leaning back more comfortably as you sip on your coffee. "i got tired of believing in it the more that relationship went on, i think."

she hums, barely nodding, but you can feel her listening.

"but..." you tilt your head to look at her. she's already looking at you and the moon casts a slight glow in her eyes. "then this girl came into my life out of nowhere, literally. she's annoyingly good at everything, pretty, genuine, and i think of her all the time now. i don't know... it's hard not to be in love with someone like her." your eyes flicker toward her, catching the soft surprise written across her face. "really hard, actually."

there's a stillness between you and hanni now—not awkward, but delicate.

"what about you?" you ask quietly, eyes on hers as you swallow lightly. "have you ever been in love or anything like that...?"

hanni hums, thoughtful. "i don't think so," she says after a moment. "i never had time to htink about stuff like that. crushes came and went, and they were... nice, i guess. fleeting. but nothing like this." her voice dips softer at the end, barely legible.

you make sure you're not making things up in your head. "nothing like what?"

now you two are staring at each other—your eyes are slightly widened from surprise and hanni's can't decide whether they should stay on your lips or eyes. she turns her head slightly, meeting your gaze in the dim glow of a streetlamp filtered through the trees.

"nothing like how i feel right now," she confesses, "with you."

there's a pause. like the wind holds its breath and the world freezes completely.

"i think about you all the time, even when i try not to. when i'm busy, tired, or when i'm supposed to be focused on something else—you're still there in my mind. and that's never happened before."

you stare at her, heart loud in your chest, loud enough that you swear she must hear it.

"hanni," you shift a little closer, shoulder pushing into hers ever so slightly. "i really like you."

you two gulp simultaneously as your bodies shift to face each other a bit more.

with more certainty, you continue, "i've tried to talk myself out of it a hundred times. told myself it wasn't a good idea, or that you wouldn't feel the same, but..." you exhale, a small laugh escaping in an attempt to calm your pounding heart. "for the past month's there's been nothing on my mind but you. just you. always you."

stillness settles in the gap between you two, the gap that decreases with each second as your faces inch closer.

and then she leans in—slow, hesitant, but sure—and you meet her halfway. the kiss is gentle and cautious as you two test the waters. her lips are warm, soft, and they taste like the strawberry tea she had earlier.

you deepen the kiss and it feels like exhaling after holding your breath too long. it's less careful now, something familiar like you were meant to kiss her like this. her hand settles on your neck just under your jawline and you swear you melt.

she pulls back, but not far. her nose brushes against yours as she settles her other hand on your jawline, her thumb just by your ear. her touch is warm, you'd let her hold you like that for as long as she'd like.

"i've wanted to do that for a while," she whispers.

"me too," you smile, a little dazed. "i like this a lot."

your hand snakes to the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. you feel her smile into you, and you do the exact same.

masterlist ; previous - next

taglist ! @namojoon @ly-gushka @layonaiguess @artrizzler19 @yerimbrit @sixflame438 @nwjnsloona @saysirhc @nimnia @somedaydream @trovao-penguins @modanisgf @c-yerim @starstruckgoateepuppy @tzuyusdoughnut @kaypanaq @peranoo @haerinkisser @electronicluminarycoffee @yoohtonyy @secretcessy @keiji-jin @awkwardtoafault @syronns @linnnsworld @inybits @ynwrites @wonyoungssi

[cloudyluun]

Indigo

Summary: Famous singers Y/N and Harry Styles were once inseparable—until they weren’t. Their love was a wildfire: beautiful, reckless, impossible to contain. But when the flames died down, all that was left was ashes and silence.

A year later, they find themselves on the same stage, under the same lights, in front of the entire world. Y/N has a song to sing—a song about him. A song about what could have been, what wasn’t, and what will never be.

And for the first time since she walked away, Harry has no choice but to listen. Based on this request.

A/N: Oh, you wanted pain? You wanted heartbreak, regret, emotional devastation? Say. Less. 😈

This is for the angst lovers. The ones who thrive off right person/wrong time. The ones who scream “JUST COMMUNICATE” at fictional characters but also eat up every miscommunication trope like it’s their last meal.

You must listen to Indigo while reading. Like, I’m not even kidding. Play it, stare at the ceiling dramatically, and let the suffering consume you. 💔✨

Also, if you’re mad at me after this… fair. But don’t act like you didn’t ask for it. 😘

Word Count: 4,4k

Warnings:

Angst. Like, an unbearable amount.

Famous exes who never got closure.

Emotional damage. (Both theirs and yours.)

Regret, heartbreak, longing.

No happy ending. (Yes, I’m serious. No last-minute fix. Just vibes and suffering.)

Mentions of fame, media speculation, public scrutiny.

Lyrics used as emotional weapons.

Read at your own risk. Prepare to feel things. 😈

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The air was thick with the scent of hairspray, expensive perfume, and anticipation. That electric kind, the kind that settled heavy in your chest, thick in your throat, pressing into the spaces between your ribs.

The kind you had no choice but to swallow down.

A makeup artist dabbed concealer under your eyes, but it wouldn’t do much. Not really. The exhaustion wasn’t just skin deep, it had settled in your bones, wrapped itself around your body like a second skin. You weren’t sure if it was from the jet lag, the rehearsals, the weight of tonight, or a combination of all three.

Maybe you should have said no.

But how could you? This was the biggest night in music, and turning it down would have been like signing a confession letter that you weren’t over it, over him.

No. You weren’t giving them that narrative.

Even if every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

You were perched in a chair in the backstage dressing area, surrounded by the hum of the industry’s elite—stylists, managers, artists, publicists all fluttering around like moths to a flame. Everyone had a role to play, a script to follow. Yours was simple.

Smile. Walk the carpet. Perform. Leave.

And, most importantly, ignore Harry Styles.

Which, under normal circumstances, was easy.

But tonight? Tonight, it was impossible.

Because he was here.

And he was everywhere.

He was on the giant posters lining the walls of the venue. He was in the conversations drifting past you in hushed excitement. He was in the setlist, just two performances after yours.

And now—now, he was right there.

You felt him before you saw him.

A shift in the air. A current of static crawling across your skin.

And then, as if the universe had no regard for your well-being, someone moved just enough to give you a clear view across the dressing area, and there he was.

Harry.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

He looked different. Not in the obvious ways, he was still devastatingly Harry. Same green eyes, same sharp jawline, same damn hands in his pockets stance that had driven you insane for years.

But he wasn’t the same.

Maybe it was the way his mouth was set, not quite a frown but far from a smile. Maybe it was the way his curls were shorter than the last time you saw him. Maybe it was in his posture—tense, coiled like a wire stretched too thin.

Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you.

Because he did look at you.

Not long, not obviously, not in a way anyone else would catch.

But enough.

Enough for a flicker of something unreadable to pass through his expression. Enough for a memory—a thousand memories—to spark between you in the space of a heartbeat.

And then just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

You exhaled. Slowly. Carefully. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

"Are you nervous?"

You blinked, the voice pulling you back to reality. Your stylist, pinning the final touch to your outfit, watching you with knowing eyes.

You forced a small, practiced smile. The kind you’d perfected in interviews. "No."

The lie tasted like metal on your tongue.

She smirked, but didn’t push.

"Your set is after intermission," she reminded you, standing back to check her work. "Then Harry’s is right after yours. So don’t disappear, okay? No sneaking off."

You hummed noncommittally, but you weren’t sure you believed yourself.

"By the way"—she glanced at the seating chart displayed on her phone—"looks like he’s sitting frontrow."

A knot formed in your stomach.

Front row. Direct line of sight.

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away.

You shouldn’t care. You should be indifferent, aloof, unbothered.

But you weren’t.

And you knew why.

You knew what was coming.

Because tonight—tonight, he was going to hear it.

Your song.

Your confession.

Your heartbreak, wrapped in melody and laid bare for the world.

And for the first time since you walked away from him, Harry Styles was going to know exactly what he did to you. 

But would he?

Would he truly understand?

Or would he just sit there, front row, watching you like you were nothing more than another performance—another artist on the lineup, another song that would trend for a week before fading into the noise of everything else?

Would he even realize that every note, every lyric, was a wound you never let heal?

You didn’t know.

But you knew this: once upon a time, you were everything.

It had started the way most things in the industry did—slowly, then all at once.

Banter in interviews. Side glances during afterparties. His name appearing in your text messages more often than it should.

Harry was easy to be around. He made you laugh in moments that didn’t call for it, made you feel weightless in a world that was always trying to pull you under.

The first time you met, you had rolled your eyes at something he said—something cocky, something ridiculous.

"You always this charming?" you had quipped.

He had grinned. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You were magnetic, drawn together in ways that felt too good, too right, too fucking inevitable.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Because love with him? Love with him was never quiet.

God, the highs were blinding.

Late-night studio sessions that bled into sunrise, your laughter echoing through dimly lit recording booths. Harry sprawled out on the couch, guitar resting on his chest, humming unfinished melodies between sips of whiskey.

"Sing it again," he would say, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep.

And you would.

Because you’d sing anything for him.

The first time he kissed you, it was backstage at an award show. He had just won Album of the Year, and you had thrown your arms around his neck, whispering something against his skin that neither of you would remember.

He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it.

And from that moment on, you were his.

But Harry was never just yours.

And maybe that was the problem.

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t coming apart.

Even when the fights started. Even when the space between you stretched too thin, pulled too tight, ready to snap.

It started with late nights that turned into early mornings alone.

It started with unanswered texts, with Harry missing dinner plans, with half-assed apologies that never quite felt whole.

"You can’t keep doing this," you had said one night, exhaustion weighing down every word.

He had sighed, running a hand through his curls. "I know, love. Just—just one more session. I’ll be home soon."

He never was.

The tabloids didn’t help. The endless speculation, the headlines dissecting your every move, turning your love into a spectacle.

Some nights, you would see a photo of him leaving a club, laughing with someone who wasn’t you and you would wonder if he ever felt as alone as you did.

But the worst part?

The worst part was that he never noticed.

He never saw that you were slipping through his fingers, little by little, night after night, until there was barely anything left to hold onto.

You had asked him to fight for you.

You had stood in the doorway of the home you were supposed to share, your suitcase half-zipped, your heart half-broken.

"Tell me I’m wrong," you had whispered. "Tell me I’m overreacting."

Harry had stood there, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"You’re not wrong," he had admitted.

It was the first time in your entire relationship that he hadn’t tried to charm his way out of an argument. That he hadn’t begged you to stay.

And somehow, that was worse.

"Then fight for me," you had pleaded, voice shaking. "Tell me to stay, Harry."

His throat bobbed. His fingers twitched.

But he didn’t say it.

Not in the way you needed.

Not in the way that mattered.

"If you walk away now," you had told him, heart pounding, voice breaking, eyes burning, "I won’t wait for you."

Silence.

Long. Painful.

And then, the worst fucking words you had ever heard.

"Maybe you shouldn’t."

And just like that, you were done.

For the first time, he didn’t stop you.

The weight of the memory settled heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that leaving had been the right choice. That it had been necessary.

And maybe it had.

But tonight you were about to rip that wound open all over again.

Because the truth was, Harry might not have fought for you then.

But tonight, when the stage lights flickered to life and the first chords of Indigo filled the arena—

He would have no choice but to listen.

--

The air in the venue shifted the second the first note rang out.

A single piano chord, haunting and slow, echoed through the arena, the kind of sound that curled around the ribcage and settled deep. The kind of sound that made everything else go quiet.

You stepped forward.

The crowd roared, thousands of voices screaming your name, but it all felt distant like white noise beneath the weight pressing against your chest.

Because none of them knew.

None of them understood what this song really was.

But he did.

The camera cut to the front row, where Harry Styles sat frozen.

For the first time that night, his expression wasn’t carefully curated charm. It wasn’t polite, or unreadable, or distant.

It was wrecked.

Jaw tight. Knuckles white where his hands gripped his thighs.

His lips barely parted, as if he had just remembered how to breathe.

He knew.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before you parted your lips—

And you sang.

"And I know you're worried at night / I won't find my way..."

The words fell from your mouth like something fragile, something breaking apart mid-air.

The audience sighed in unison, as if they could feel it, too.

But Harry—Harry looked like the breath had been punched from his lungs.

Because he knew exactly where those lines had come from.

You had always been terrified of being alone.

The kind of alone that didn’t just mean an empty house or a quiet room. The kind that crept into your bones even when you were surrounded by people.

He had known that.

And for a while, he had promised—sworn—that you’d never have to feel that way again.

"You’re alright, love," he had murmured once, voice thick with sleep, his arm draped over your waist. "You’ll always be alright. I’ve got you."

You had believed him.

Maybe that was the cruelest part.

Because when you needed him most, he hadn’t been there.

Your voice didn’t waver.

Not yet.

You kept singing, pushing through, letting the melody wrap around the memories like silk.

"My head says I should've never left / And then my feet will soon lead to my death..."

Harry’s throat bobbed.

His fingers twitched against his knee, like he was fighting the urge to move, to do something.

But he didn’t.

Because that was the thing about Harry, he was always just a second too late.

You had waited.

You had stood in that doorway, your suitcase by your side, waiting for him to tell you not to go.

You had needed him to give you something— anything.

But he had just stared at you, eyes stormy, fists clenched at his sides.

"I can’t—" he had started, voice thick, torn between emotion and exhaustion.

"You won’t," you had corrected.

And he hadn’t argued.

That had been the worst part.

The chorus climbed higher, each note sharper than the last.

"I used to shine bright like gold / Now I'm all indigo."

It echoed. Reverberated.

The crowd swayed, entranced by the weight of it.

But Harry looked like he was drowning.

His lips pressed together, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break his teeth.

Because he understood it now.

You hadn’t just left.

You had lost yourself.

And he had been the one to turn you blue.

"You don’t get it," you had whispered one night, voice raw, your hands balled into fists at your sides.

Harry had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Then tell me, love. Tell me what you need."

You had swallowed down the lump in your throat.

"I need you to choose me."

Something flickered across his expression. Something sharp.

"That's not fair," he had murmured.

Your breath had caught.

And maybe that was when you knew.

Maybe that was when you realized you would never come first.

The song swelled.

Your voice cracked on the next lyric, but you pushed through, letting the tremor in your voice become part of the story.

"I think it’s time that I went home."

The moment shattered something.

A slow, invisible break, one only the two of you could feel.

Because this was it.

This was your closure.

Your goodbye.

And Harry knew it.

His hand finally moved—just barely—fingers twitching, shifting toward where his ring should have been.

But it wasn’t there.

Because he had taken it off.

Because he had let you slip through his fingers.

And now—now, all he could do was watch.

The last chord faded, soft, lingering.

The arena was silent. For just a moment.

Then the crowd erupted.

A standing ovation. Cheers. Flashes of camera lights.

And through it all, you lifted your eyes toward the front row.

Your gaze locked onto Harry’s.

He was still staring.

Still frozen.

Still reeling.

And for the first time in years, he looked at you the way he had always meant to.

Like he finally understood.

Like he finally saw you.

Your chest ached.

Because you should have felt victorious. Powerful.

But all you felt was tired.

So you looked away first.

And then, without another glance, you walked off the stage.

The applause followed you down the hall, echoing off the walls, loud, deafening, hollow.

Your breath was uneven. Your fingers trembled. The adrenaline still buzzed beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the high people always talked about. It wasn’t the euphoric rush of a perfect performance.

It was exhaustion.

It was the weight of him still pressing against your ribs, suffocating, drowning you in a sea of memories you had spent so long trying to escape.

You kept walking. Past the stagehands, the producers, the people offering breathless congratulations you barely registered.

All you wanted was to get to your dressing room. To lock the door. To close your eyes.

To forget how he looked at you.

But of course, the universe didn’t believe in mercy.

Because the second you turned the corner—

Harry was there.

He was waiting.

Leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, hands still shoved into his pockets like he hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes coming undone.

Like he hadn’t just sat there, front row, watching you bleed your heartbreak into a song.

But you knew better.

You saw it in the way his chest rose and fell a little too quickly. In the way his jaw was still tight, his fingers flexing at his sides like he had no idea what to do with them.

In the way his eyes found yours immediately, unflinching, unreadable.

You exhaled slowly. Braced yourself.

Then—silence.

The kind that was too heavy. The kind that made your throat tighten, your pulse hammer against your ribs.

Because what was there left to say?

You almost turned away. Almost walked past him, because this wasn’t a conversation you needed to have.

But before you could take a single step, his voice—hoarse, quiet—stopped you in your tracks.

"Was that song for me?"

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t know the answer.

But because the answer wouldn’t change anything.

And still you looked at him.

Met his gaze, even as something sharp twisted in your stomach, even as his green eyes flickered with something dangerously close to regret.

"It was for me," you said finally, your voice even. Careful. True.

A flicker of something crossed his face.

Something that almost looked like pain.

Another silence.

Thick. Suffocating. Unforgiving.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you broke.

And maybe that was the problem—you had always been two people too stubborn to bend, too proud to reach for each other first.

Harry swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You knew what was coming before he said it.

"I should have stopped you."

It wasn’t an apology.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was just the truth.

Your chest ached. A deep, familiar ache.

One you had buried. One you had ignored. One that had been waiting for the moment to resurface.

"Yeah."

Your lips tilted, just slightly. A sad, barely-there smile. The kind people gave when they already knew how the story ended.

"But you didn’t."

The words hung between you, suspended in time.

His shoulders tensed. His fingers twitched.

But he didn’t argue.

Because he couldn’t.

Because this was where you had always been leading.

Not to some grand reconciliation.

Not to some last-minute, dramatic love confession that would undo all the damage, erase all the nights spent apart, rewrite the ending to something less tragic.

No.

This was closure.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

You stepped back first.

A breath. A beat. A quiet kind of surrender.

Then, softly—"Goodbye, Harry."

His lips parted. His chest rose, fell. Like he wanted to stop you.

Like he wanted to change his mind.

Like he wanted to say all the things he never did.

But he didn’t.

And you—you didn’t wait.

You turned.

And this time, he let you go.

The door closed behind you with a quiet click.

That was it.

No last-minute chase. No fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you back. No whispered stay.

Just silence.

Harry stood there for a long time, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You were gone.

And this time, you weren’t coming back.

--

The performance was already going viral before you even made it back to your hotel room.

Within minutes, Twitter had been set on fire.

#Y/NIndigoLive was trending worldwide.

“Indigo isn’t just a song. It’s a confession.”

“Y/N’s voice breaking on ‘I think it’s time that I went home’ absolutely ruined me.”

“Harry’s face during the performance… yeah, that man is NOT okay.”

The side-by-side clips were everywhere.

Your voice, raw and aching.

Harry, sitting in the front row, completely still.

One video had racked up a million views in less than an hour. A slow-motion zoom-in of his fingers twitching against his knee, his jaw tightening when you sang:

"I used to shine bright like gold / Now I’m all indigo."

"Is he crying???" one tweet read.

Another: “No but the way his throat bobbed like he was trying not to break down???? HELP????”

Even worse—someone had caught the backstage moment.

The footage was shaky, taken from down the hall, but it was clear enough.

The way he stood there, waiting for you. The way you faced him, expression unreadable. The way he stepped forward, hesitated—like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

And then—the way you walked away.

"The way she says goodbye but never looks back… they’re actually killing me."

"I feel SICK watching this. He just LET HER GO???"

Somewhere, someone had already slowed it down. Had already looped the footage to overlap with the most devastating part of your song.

"I should have stopped you." "Yeah." "But you didn’t."

And in the final frame—Harry still standing there. Frozen.

Watching you leave.

--

He saw the clips. The headlines. The frantic speculation.

He saw his own face in the screenshots—the way he had looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers all over again.

His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Jeff: Are you okay? Call me.

Mitch: You good, mate?

His sister. His mum. His friends.

Everyone had something to say.

But Harry had nothing.

He sat in the dim glow of his hotel room, his phone heavy in his palm, the screen reflecting back everything he already knew.

He had spent a year trying to move forward, trying to not think about it. Trying to convince himself that what happened had been inevitable.

That he had made peace with it.

But watching you on that stage—watching you sing the words you never got to say—it was like watching a mirror shatter, every carefully placed piece falling apart in real time.

His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts.

He could call.

He could text.

He could type something—anything.

But what would he even say?

That he was sorry? That he had been wrong?

That he should have fought for you, should have chased after you, should have never let you leave in the first place?

Would it even matter now?

Or was he too late?

The cursor blinked in the empty message box.

He exhaled.

And then—slowly, painfully, deliberately—he locked his phone and set it face-down on the nightstand.

He didn’t type the message.

He didn’t send it.

Because the truth was—

He could have stopped you.

But he didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

--

The next morning, the tabloids were relentless.

Every article dissected the performance, the song, the moment.

“Indigo: A Song of Regret, or a Final Goodbye?”

“Harry Styles Watches Y/N’s Performance Like a Man Who Knows He Messed Up.”

“A Love Story Left Unfinished.”

But you didn’t read them.

You didn’t check Twitter.

You didn’t answer your phone.

You just packed your bags, slipped on your sunglasses, and left the hotel without looking back.

Harry was somewhere in that same building.

Maybe he was awake, scrolling through the same headlines. Maybe he was still in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying your voice in his head.

Maybe he was standing at his window, watching the city move below him.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t going to see him again.

You stepped into the car, pulling the door shut behind you.

And as the driver pulled away, you let your head fall back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut, the last line of the song still ringing in your ears.

"I used to shine bright like gold. Now I’m all indigo."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

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@panini

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@dipmeinhoneyh

[thedensworld]

Fortune Teller Confession | C.HS

Pairing: BandMemberHansol! x reader (ft. Best friend Soonyoung)

Genre: fluff, angst, friend to lover au!

Summary: No confession—no gig success. His logic-driven mind convinces him that it’s a harmless choice to make a confession over a fortune teller words, not realizing the emotional weight it carries.

Hansol watched as you walked out of the classroom, a little too quickly for his liking. You didn’t glance back, didn’t slow down, and didn’t even pause when Soonyoung called your name with a hopeful grin. Next to him, Soonyoung's face twisted into a pout.

“Again?” Soonyoung muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “She didn’t even look at me.” He sighed like it was a personal betrayal.

Hansol frowned, his gaze lingering on the door you’d just left through. It wasn’t like you to avoid them — at least, not for this long. He tried to think back to the last time he’d had a proper conversation with you.

Five days ago?

A week?

It felt longer. Your schedule had been packed lately, full of classes, projects, and other commitments. But even when you were busy, you'd at least send a nod or a small wave. Lately, though, it felt like you were actively avoiding them.

Soonyoung tilted his head toward Hansol as they started walking down the corridor toward the campus cafeteria. “Tell me honestly,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did you do something to her?”

Hansol shot him a confused look. “Why do you think it was me?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Soonyoung shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because it’s definitely not me. I would never make her mad.”

“Oh, right, because you’re a saint,” Hansol muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Not a saint, but I know how to keep my friends happy,” Soonyoung quipped, tapping his temple like he had it all figured out. “You, on the other hand, are... well…” He paused for dramatic effect, giving Hansol a once-over. “...an obnoxious person. So you wouldn’t even realize if you hurt somebody’s feelings.”

Hansol stopped walking. “That’s way too much to say to a friend,” he said, his brows pulling together in disbelief.

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” Soonyoung raised his hands in surrender, clearly not looking for a fight. He patted Hansol on the back. “But, you know, I’m just saying — think about it.”

Hansol didn’t respond, but the words lingered like an itch in the back of his mind. Had he done something? If he had, wouldn’t you have told him?

They reached the cafeteria and got in line to order food. As they waited, the familiar noise of clattering trays, snippets of conversations, and the faint hum of a pop song filled the air.

Soonyoung glanced at Hansol while tapping his fingers against the counter. “How’s the gig prep going?” he asked. “You nervous?”

Hansol glanced up at him. “of course,” he admitted. “I feel like if I’m nervous, it means I’m doing something right.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Soonyoung said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Sometimes, being a little nervous is good. Like when I apologized to my sister.”

Hansol raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “You actually apologized to her? You?” he asked, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Soonyoung said, waving him off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He grabbed his food tray from the counter. “It was tough, but I’m glad I did it.”

Hansol tilted his head, still grinning. “Did something change between you two?”

Soonyoung nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of rice before answering. “Yeah, things are better now. I stopped getting ‘the glare’ every time I walked past her room.” He swallowed, then leaned in slightly, as if letting Hansol in on a secret. “I’m telling you, it’s because I listened to the fortune teller.”

Two weeks ago, Soonyoung had dragged Hansol to the hottest fortune teller near the campus gate. It wasn’t entirely random — their friend Jun had given the place a glowing five-star review, swearing that he got a girlfriend after following every bit of advice the fortune teller had given him.

“Bro, five stars,” Jun had said, eyes wide with conviction. “I did exactly what she said, and boom — I’m dating Yejin now.”

That was all the motivation Soonyoung needed. As the self-proclaimed “saddest single person in the world,” he decided it was finally time to seek help from the mystical forces of fate. Whether it was for entertainment or genuine desperation, Hansol wasn’t sure. But somehow, Soonyoung managed to drag him along.

The fortune teller’s place was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of incense. Strings of beads framed the doorway, and the glow of warm, golden light made everything feel surreal. The fortune teller, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a silk scarf tied around her head, welcomed them like she had been expecting them all day.

Soonyoung, full of energy, sat forward like a student ready to ace an exam. Hansol, on the other hand, leaned back, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with mild amusement.

After a short reading, the fortune teller told Soonyoung, “Your relationship with your sister is the mirror of your relationship with women.”

That got Soonyoung’s attention. He sat up straighter, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

“You must mend that relationship,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “If you do, the reflection will change, and so will your luck.”

She handed him three steps to repair the bond with his sister, each one oddly specific. Hansol didn’t remember all of them, but one was definitely “buy her something without expecting anything in return.”

Now, two weeks later, Soonyoung was beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“As you know,” Soonyoung said, eyes glinting with excitement as he jabbed his chopsticks toward Hansol, “Mina from the Broadcasting major actually replied to my DM. No one ever does that.”

Hansol glanced up from his tray, raising a brow in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes way!” Soonyoung grinned, pointing at himself. “I’m telling you, man, the fortune teller knows her stuff.”

Hansol couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head as a small chuckle slipped out. “That’s actually amazing, bro. I’m happy for you.”

“Right? Right?” Soonyoung beamed, clearly riding the high of his "success." But then his eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on Hansol. “Wait. What about you?”

Hansol blinked, confused. “What about me?”

“You,” Soonyoung said, eyes sharp with suspicion. “Have you done that yet?”

Right after Soonyoung’s session ended, the fortune teller had stopped them just as they were about to leave. Her gaze had locked on Hansol like she could see straight through him.

“Wait,” she had said, tilting her head as if something invisible had just come into focus. “You have something unresolved too.”

Hansol had paused mid-step, frowning as he glanced at her. “Me?”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “There’s a blockage in your energy,” she said, her voice calm but certain. “It’s tied to your music career.”

That had caught his attention.

“Soon, you will stand in front of a large crowd of people,” she continued, her hands hovering over her cards. “But something will go wrong — a technical malfunction, perhaps.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “If you want to avoid it, you must remove the blockage.”

Hansol raised an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

The fortune teller’s lips curled into a small smile. “Confess,” she said simply. “You must confess your feelings to the person you like.”

Soonyoung’s gasp was so loud it could have shattered glass. His head whipped toward Hansol, eyes wide with unfiltered shock and excitement. “YOU LIKE SOMEONE?!” he whisper-shouted, like it was the biggest secret in the world.

Hansol shot him a glare, his face twisting in disbelief. “I don’t.”

“Then why is she telling you to confess?” Soonyoung said, practically bouncing in place. He squinted at Hansol, leaning in with all the intensity of a detective interrogating a suspect. “Who is it? Who do you like?”

Hansol waved him off, already walking toward the door. “I don’t like anyone,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “She’s just making stuff up.”

“Pffft,” Soonyoung scoffed, trotting after him. “Fortune tellers don’t just ‘make stuff up.'" He jabbed at Hansol’s side with his elbow. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve been holding out on me this whole time, huh? I told you everything, Hansol. My crushes, my heartbreaks, the time I accidentally liked my crush’s old selfie from 2018 at 3 a.m. — I shared it all.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to forget that story,” Hansol shot back, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Don’t deflect,” Soonyoung said, eyes narrowing in fake seriousness. “If you like someone, you have to tell me. That’s the bro code.”

“I. Don’t. Like. Anyone,” Hansol said, emphasizing every word with a jab of his finger. “The fortune teller’s wrong.”

“Mm-hmm,” Soonyoung hummed, still unconvinced. He tilted his head, giving Hansol a knowing look. “You’re being awfully defensive for someone with nothing to hide.”

Hansol clicked his tongue, exasperated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial.” Soonyoung smirked, stuffing a spoonful of rice into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Hansol.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clatter of trays and the murmur of students around them. Hansol chewed slowly, gaze fixed on the table. His mind wandered back to the fortune teller’s words.

"Confess if you want to open the blockage."

It was silly. Ridiculous, even. He didn’t like anyone. There was no one in his life that made his heart race or made him feel unsteady. No one.

“But she did say your performance would be affected,” Soonyoung pointed out, his voice serious for once.

Hansol let out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers drumming against the table. His logical mind told him the fortune teller’s words were nonsense — just vague predictions designed to mess with people’s heads. But somewhere, tucked in a quiet corner of his mind, a small voice whispered that maybe he shouldn’t ignore it. Not when the band had poured weeks of effort into preparing for the gig.

“Do you really think my energy is that important to the band?” Hansol muttered, tilting his head back against the chair. “There’s five of us. It’s not like I’m carrying the whole thing on my back.”

Soonyoung squinted, deep in thought. “That’s an interesting point,” he admitted. “But you’re the leader.” He stabbed his spoon into his rice like it emphasized his point. “That’s probably why.”

Hansol groaned, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want the performance to be disappointing,” he muttered, his fingers gripping at the strands like he could pull the stress right out of his head.

“Then just do what she said,” Soonyoung said with a shrug, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I told you, I don’t like anyone,” Hansol shot back, voice firm but tinged with doubt.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a slow, knowing pout. He leaned forward, squinting at Hansol like he was inspecting him under a microscope. “You’re getting way too worked up for someone who doesn’t like anyone,” he said, pointing at Hansol with his chopsticks.

“I don’t,” Hansol repeated, but the way his eyes darted away made Soonyoung's grin grow wider.

“Uh-huh.” Soonyoung dragged out the sound, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hansol rubbed his temples, clearly done with the conversation. He’d argue, but he knew Soonyoung had a way of turning everything into a game he couldn’t win.

“Then just confess to anyone,” Soonyoung suggested, half-joking. “Boom, problem solved. No blockage, no bad energy, just vibes.” He snorted at his own ridiculous idea. “Actually, wait, that’s a terrible idea. Don’t do that.”

But Hansol froze. His eyes widened, and his hands slowly lowered from his hair. He stared at Soonyoung like he’d just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“That’s…” Hansol said, eyes narrowing as his face shifted from confusion to excitement. He pointed both hands at Soonyoung, grinning like a kid who just figured out how to cheat a board game. “That’s actually a fantastic idea!”

Soonyoung’s whole face scrunched in horror. “No, it’s not, bro!” He shoved his tray to the side, waving his hands like he could physically erase the idea from existence. “Take it back! Forget I said it!”

But it was too late. Hansol's mind was already racing, the gears turning at lightning speed. “All I have to do is confess to someone,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table with renewed energy. “It doesn’t matter who, right? I just have to confess and the performance will go smoothly.” His eyes gleamed with confidence. “That’s it. Easy.”

Soonyoung's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. “No, no, no! I shouldn’t have said that.” He shook his head, panic growing in his voice. “You’re taking it too literally, man.”

But Hansol wasn’t listening anymore. He was already planning. His foot tapped against the floor, and he rubbed his hands together like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Okay, okay. Casual confession,” he muttered to himself, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “No pressure, no drama, just simple and clean. I can do that.”

Soonyoung watched in pure disbelief, his jaw hanging open. “This… this is not how logic works, Hansol.” He pointed both hands at him, eyes wide with warning. “This is going to backfire so badly, I can feel it.”

“Doubt me all you want,” Hansol said, grinning like a man on a mission. “But when that gig goes off without a hitch, you’ll be thanking me.”

Soonyoung dropped his head into his hands with a groan, his voice muffled by his palms. “I can already hear the disaster coming.”

*

“Hey, can we talk tomorrow?”

Hansol sat on one of the benches, his gaze fixed on his phone, scrolling mindlessly as he waited. The faint rustle of leaves above him was the only sound until he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

Lifting his head, he spotted you walking toward him, a smile already tugging at your lips despite the obvious weight of the stack of books in your arms. His eyes softened at the sight of you.

He stood up quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket, and walked over to meet you halfway. Without a word, he reached for the books, carefully taking the stack from your arms. His fingers brushed against yours for a second, a brief, unspoken connection neither of you acknowledged aloud.

"Where are you heading with all these books?” he asked, glancing down at the pile in his hands. “Planning to build a personal library or something?”

You sighed, stretching your now-free arms. “Just finished a group project, and somehow I got stuck being the one to return all the books. Alone.”

Hansol snorted, a low, amused sound as he glanced at you. “Classic group project logic,” he said, shifting the books in his grip to hold them more comfortably. “Here, I’ll help you return these, and then we can talk.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You sure? I can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, already walking ahead. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a casual grin. “I’m not about to let you haul a whole library on your own.”

You followed him, your pace matching his, and together you made your way toward the campus library. The sun filtered through the trees, casting patches of golden light onto the path. The air was warm but breezy, carrying with it the distant hum of student chatter.

At the entrance of the library, Hansol paused, holding the door open for you with his shoulder as he balanced the books. You slipped past him with a quiet "thanks" before he followed you inside. The familiar scent of old paper and clean air-conditioning greeted you both.

Hansol stayed by your side as you approached the return desk, placing the stack of books on the counter with a relieved sigh, as if he’d carried them across continents. He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes following you as you handled the administration process.

“So,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “what did you want to talk about?”

His posture straightened, his fingers tapping idly against the countertop. “I’ll tell you once we’re done here,” he said, offering you a small, unreadable smile.

But his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

He knew he had to do it soon.

The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind, as stupid as they were. “There’s a blockage in your energy. To clear it, you must confess to the one you like.” He could still hear Soonyoung’s gasp of betrayal beside him. “You like someone?” he'd whispered like it was the juiciest secret of the year.

Hansol shook his head, shoving the memory aside. He didn’t like anyone, but he did care about his band. If there was even a 1% chance that this superstition had some truth to it, he couldn’t risk it. They’d been working too hard for this gig to flop.

You returned from the counter, brushing off your hands. “All done.”

Hansol nodded, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. The two of you walked out of the library, sunlight filtering in through the tall glass windows of the campus hallway. Students passed by, some in pairs, others in groups, all caught up in their own conversations.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

It’s just Y/n.

No big deal.

He knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t make this complicated. You wouldn’t take it seriously. You were too practical for that.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady but a little quieter.

You glanced up at him. “Hm?”

He stopped walking. You took two steps ahead before noticing, turning to face him with a curious look.

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, fingers fidgeting with loose threads. His heart wasn’t racing, but his mind was unusually loud. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But still, he felt his throat go dry.

“I like you,” he said.

It came out fast. Too fast. Not smooth at all. His eyes flicked up to you, watching for your reaction.

Your face froze. Wide eyes. Lips parted slightly, like you’d misheard him.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hansol cleared his throat, shifting his weight to one leg. “I like you,” he said again, slower, more controlled this time.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled in. You didn’t speak, and that silence was heavier than anything he’d prepared for. Why aren’t you saying anything?

“Okay,” he said quickly, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “So, before you freak out, it’s not, like… real.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing to the side. “It’s for the performance.”

Your eyes stayed on him, unblinking.

He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to explain. “Soonyoung and I went to see this fortune teller a couple weeks ago. She told me there’s this… ‘blockage’ or something that’ll mess up our gig unless I confess to the person I like.” He raised his eyebrows like it should be obvious. “But I don’t like anyone. So, I figured—” He tilted his head toward you, lips curling into a grin. “—I’ll just confess to you.”

You didn’t move.

“You’re my friend,” he added with a casual shrug, trying to sound as natural as possible. “I knew you’d get it. It’s not a big deal. Just, like, a technicality.”

More silence.

Hansol felt something twist in his chest, like the air pressure had shifted around him. He didn’t know why it felt weird, but it did. He’d expected a laugh from you, maybe a playful shove or a snarky comment. Something normal.

“Okay,” you said, your voice quieter than he’d ever heard it.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded once, eyes flicking to the side like you didn’t want to look at him. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over him so fast it almost felt dizzying. His grin returned, this time more genuine. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

He glanced at his phone, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got practice soon.” He took a step back, his mind already shifting to his next priority. “Thanks for this, Y/n. You’re a real one.”

He raised a hand in a wave as he turned to leave. “See you later!”

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t think to.

Why would he?

It had gone exactly as he’d expected — smooth, simple, and free of any awkwardness. You’d understood. You always understood him. It’s why he’d picked you in the first place.

As he walked, he felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His band would be fine. The gig would be a success. The "blockage" was gone, whatever that meant.

The sound of students chatting around him faded into background noise. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the upcoming setlist, the soundchecks, and which songs they should open with.

Should they start with something upbeat or something more atmospheric?

He scratched the side of his head, lips curling into a grin at the thought. They’d kill it. He knew they would.

But as he reached the next hallway, something tugged at him. Not physically, but like a small, sharp pull on his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see nothing at all.

But his eyes lingered on the empty hallway behind him.

You weren’t there.

You’d probably gone in the opposite direction, maybe heading to class or meeting up with friends. That was normal. Totally normal.

He turned forward again, walking faster this time.

So why did it feel like he’d forgotten something?

Why did it feel like he’d missed something important?

Hansol shook his head, hands stuffed back into his hoodie pocket. You’re overthinking it.

But his fingers fidgeted with the loose thread again, and his mind couldn’t seem to settle.

*

"Hey, you’re daydreaming."

Joshua’s voice snapped you back to reality, a light jab landing on your side. Your eyes flickered to him, your closest friend in the photography club, and then to the rest of the room. Everyone was staring at you.

Oh no.

The club leader tilted her head, clearly waiting for a response. "I asked if you’d be willing to report on The Gigs next week."

Heat rushed to your face. You nodded quickly, forcing a polite smile. "Ah, yeah, sure. I can do it."

Her eyes lingered on you for a second longer before she moved on, resuming the discussion. You sank lower in your chair, feeling Joshua stifle a laugh beside you. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes said it all.

When the meeting finally wrapped up, you were already halfway out the door when Joshua caught up to you. He grinned, pulling a small candy from his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing you his favorite coffee-flavored treat.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unwrapping it immediately and popping it into your mouth.

“You good?” he asked as you both stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting your face. "You were totally out of it back there."

You glanced at him, shrugging. "Just… had a lot on my mind."

Joshua nodded knowingly. "Don’t tell me it’s about that draft. Mine’s still stuck, too."

The two of you wandered down the pathway toward the nearby campus cafe. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, his breath forming little clouds of fog in the air.

The draft. Right.

The club had tasked every member with coming up with a new program idea to boost engagement and attract more students to join. Your idea was Cupid Pic — a playful service where students could request anonymous photos of their crushes, which would then be posted on the Student Daily Web. The twist? If two people happened to request photos of each other without knowing, they'd be notified of the "cupid match." It was fun, cheeky, and surprisingly wholesome.

You'd been so excited about it at first. So much so that you'd shared the idea with Soonyoung and Hansol one evening at Soonyoung’s apartment studio. The three of you had spent hours brainstorming catchy slogans and working out the logistics of how to involve the Broadcasting students for video teasers. You remembered how Hansol had thrown out ridiculous ideas like, “Make them wear angel wings while taking the photos,” which Soonyoung fully supported for the chaos alone.

Soonyoung had tapped out early, collapsing on the couch after too many shots of soju, muttering something about "the stars aligning." But you and Hansol had stayed up. Just the two of you. The warmth of the room, the faint hum of music, and the quiet conversation felt… different. Intimate, even.

Maybe that’s why it all spilled out of you.

You didn’t mean to dump your worries on him. But with Soonyoung snoring in the background and the soft glow of the desk lamp hitting Hansol’s face just right, you felt something unspoken loosen in your chest.

“I feel like I’m barely holding everything together,” you’d admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “Class, part-time shifts, the club, this stupid project… and now one of my friends reported me to the professor for missing too many classes. I mean, yeah, I missed a few, but I had valid reasons. She didn’t even ask me. She just… reported me.”

Your throat had felt tight saying it all out loud. You didn’t expect Hansol to say anything — maybe a simple, “That sucks, Y/n.” But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes soft with a kind of patience you’d never really seen from him before. Hansol, the logical one. Hansol, the sharp-tongued realist. But that night, he was… gentle.

“Sounds like you’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, steady, like every word was placed carefully so it wouldn’t crack you open any further.

Your eyes stung a little, and you hated it. You hated how one kind sentence had more impact than all the self-reassurances you’d told yourself in the mirror.

“You’re doing fine,” he added. “Actually, you’re doing more than fine. You're managing all this at once — that's impressive. People don't get how hard that is.”

It wasn’t much. Just a few words. But in that moment, it felt like he’d seen you — really seen you — in a way no one else had.

He didn’t tell you to “just work harder” or “push through.” He didn’t tell you that you were overreacting. He just listened.

Somewhere between his words and the soft glow of that lamp, you felt something shift.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long.

Maybe it was the warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

Or maybe it was just you, feeling too vulnerable, too raw, too desperate for someone to tell you it was okay to slow down.

But you knew it, clear as day.

That was the moment you realized — I think I like him.

It wasn’t immediate, like some storybook cliché where your heart suddenly skips and angels start singing. No, it was quiet, slow, like the weight of realization settling over your shoulders. Your chest felt heavier, and your head felt lighter, like you’d been dropped into unfamiliar territory.

You'd stayed up with him a little longer, letting the conversation drift to other things, but that moment stayed with you. Even when you went home that night, it replayed in your head over and over. His voice. His gaze. His words.

By the next day, you realized it was easier to avoid him than to face what you’d discovered.

If you didn’t see him, you wouldn’t have to deal with the way your heart sped up around him.

If you didn’t talk to him, you wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to be seen so clearly.

If you didn’t stand too close, you wouldn’t have to hear the echo of his voice telling you that you were doing fine.

So, you avoided him. Not in any obvious way. Just small things. Picking a seat on the opposite side of the room. Leaving class a little earlier. Responding later to group chats. It was stupid. Childish, even. But it was safer.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he likes me anyway.

But then, yesterday happened.

“I like you,” he’d said, just like that.

His words echoed in your mind like an annoying replay button that wouldn't turn off.

“I like you.”

At first, you’d frozen, your brain struggling to process it. And then, like a fool, you’d let yourself hope. Your heart had done that stupid leap it always did when you thought maybe, just maybe…

But it only lasted a second.

“But it’s not real. It’s for the band.”

He’d smiled, so casual, so unbothered, as if it was all part of some inside joke.

“You’re my friend. I knew you’d get it.”

You had nodded. Of course you nodded. What else were you supposed to do?

He’d walked away smiling. Light. Unburdened.

You stood there, your chest still heavy, like you'd swallowed all the words you wanted to say.

Stupid.

Idiot.

Asshole.

“Y/n?”

Joshua's voice cut through the spiral, and you blinked, realizing you’d been chewing on the coffee candy too hard. The bitterness had turned sharp in your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, his brow raised in concern.

You uncurled your fingers from the crumpled candy wrapper in your pocket, feeling the imprint of it against your palm. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just thinking too much.”

Joshua gave you a long look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you. But in the end, he shrugged it off. "Alright. Just don't overdo it. We still have drafts to finish, yeah?"

“Yeah,” you said, stuffing the wrapper into your pocket. "I’ll finish it.”

But as you walked with him toward the cafe, the taste of coffee lingered on your tongue, sharp and bitter.

Just like the feeling you’d been trying to forget.

*

The smell of grilled meat wafted through the apartment as Soonyoung shouted from the kitchen, "Open the door for me!" His voice was strained, probably from the concentration it took to flip the meat perfectly.

You had just finished changing into the borrowed sweater and sweatpants Soonyoung had tossed your way. It was one of his newer pieces — oversized, soft, and surprisingly comfortable. After folding your work clothes neatly on the chair, you headed to the front door, tugging the sleeves over your fingers.

When you pulled the door open, your heart did a sudden flip. Hansol stood there, framed by the dim hallway light. Black T-shirt snug on his frame, denim jacket casually draped over his shoulders, and those stupid cargo pants with "chill guy" printed boldly on the thigh. You'd teased him about them before.

His eyes scanned you briefly before his lips curled into a familiar, lopsided grin. "That sweater looks better on you than it does on him." His gaze lingered for a beat longer, and you recognized it — the sweater he'd given Soonyoung for his birthday this year.

"Everything looks good on me lately," you shot back, flipping your hair with mock confidence as you stepped aside to let him in.

Hansol let out a quiet snort, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Alright, superstar," he muttered, carrying in the bags of groceries Soonyoung had texted him to bring.

You followed him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Soonyoung waved his tongs in your direction. "Look who decided to show up after three weeks of radio silence!" He held up three fingers in front of your face like it was a major scandal.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm to move him aside. "I've been working, Soonyoung. Not everyone can live a life of leisure like you."

"Leisure?" He scoffed, flipping the meat with unnecessary force. "You act like I’m not hosting this Michelin-star-level barbecue for you guys. You should be grateful, Y/n."

You snorted but didn’t respond, letting the familiar warmth of their banter settle over you. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Hansol was sorting through the bags, pulling out soda cans and snacks like it was just another casual night. Soonyoung was fussing over his grill with too much enthusiasm, and the smell of searing meat filled the air.

But that “three weeks” comment echoed louder than you wanted it to. Three weeks since you’d hung out properly. Three weeks since Soonyoung had badgered you into late-night ramen runs. Three weeks since you’d willingly stayed in a room with Hansol for longer than ten minutes.

The realization must have hit him too because Hansol glanced at you from over his shoulder, eyes flickering with something like curiosity. His hands slowed as he set down a bottle of soda. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter this time. “We haven’t hung out in a while, huh?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Guess not.”

Soonyoung glanced between the two of you like he was watching the first act of a drama. He wiggled his eyebrows, lips pursed in exaggerated interest. "Oooh, tension."

"Shut up," you and Hansol said at the same time.

"Okay, okay, geez." Soonyoung threw his hands up, grinning like a troublemaker who just set off a firecracker. "I’m just saying, tonight is reunion night for our little trio. So no work talk, no avoidance, no mysterious disappearances. We’re all staying until dawn."

"Bold of you to assume I’m not sneaking out at 2 a.m.," you muttered, grabbing a soda from the pile Hansol had unpacked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes at you. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

Soonyoung wasn't exactly the sharpest in the group, but he had an annoying knack for reading the room. That was why you’d been trying so hard to act normal around Hansol tonight. Every glance Soonyoung threw your way felt like a spotlight, and you hated it. You shouldn’t have come. Stupid decision.

But after an hour, the unease started to wear off. The alcohol certainly helped with that. You’d had more drinks than usual — more than even Soonyoung, the self-proclaimed "party endurance king." At one point, he actually tried to stop you, waving his hands in front of your face like you were about to push a red button.

“Hey, hey, easy there, Y/n. That’s your third drink in, like, ten minutes,” he said, eyes squinting in concern. "Bad day or something?"

You only hummed in response, lifting the cup to your lips again.

“Desperation. I get it,” Soonyoung sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you. He tilted his head back dramatically. “We’ve all been there. Even Hansol and I went to a fortune teller.”

Hansol, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t lump me in with you like I went there on purpose.”

“Okay, but you got a reading too, didn’t you?” Soonyoung shot back, jabbing his thumb in Hansol's direction. His grin was all teeth, clearly proud of his "gotcha" moment.

Hansol rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Soonyoung wasn’t done, though. He turned his attention to you, gesturing wildly like he was narrating a grand tale. “Yes, so we went to a fortune teller,” he repeated, leaning toward you like he was about to reveal a state secret.

“I know,” you muttered, taking another sip.

Soonyoung blinked, his head tilting to the side. “Huh? I never told you that. How do you know?”

Your eyes flickered toward Hansol, who had suddenly gone very still. You pointed at him, arm a little wobbly from the drinks. “He told me.”

The room went quiet for half a beat.

Soonyoung’s eyes darted between the two of you like he was watching a live plot twist unfold. His mouth parted in shock. “You guys… talked? Without me?”

He sounded more offended than curious, like you’d committed some great betrayal.

Hansol groaned, his head falling into his hands. "Oh my God, Soonyoung, it’s not that deep."

“It is that deep!” Soonyoung gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “How could you, Y/n? I thought I was the main character of your friendship arc!”

"You're the comic relief, Soonyoung," you deadpanned, reaching for the half-empty drink in front of you.

"Comic relief?!" He clutched his heart again, this time with more flair, like he'd been hit with a spear. "I am the glue that holds this trio together."

You snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and for a moment, it actually felt normal again. Except for the weight pressing down on your chest every time Hansol glanced your way.

"Want to hear something funny?" Soonyoung grinned mischievously. "This guy has to make a confession if he wants his gig to succeed, and he says he doesn’t like anyone!"

He burst into laughter, clearly enjoying Hansol’s discomfort. Hansol groaned, slouching in his chair. "Go ahead, laugh. My life is a comedy," he retorted sarcastically.

"So, Romeo," Soonyoung teased, raising his eyebrows, "your gig is in three days. Have you done it yet?"

Hansol stayed silent, his eyes wandering to you. You were busy pouring yourself another shot of soju, trying to drown out the chaos around you. The weight in your chest was growing heavier with every passing minute, but you tried to focus on anything other than the situation at hand.

"So, Y/n," Soonyoung continued, turning his attention to you, "what do you think? Should he just confess to anyone to make his performance successful, or should he ignore the fortune teller's advice?"

The question hit you like a brick, and a lump immediately formed in your throat. You didn’t know how to answer.

"But I think he won’t do it," Soonyoung added with a sly smile. "Why? Because this guy is all logic. He’s a T," Soonyoung said, referencing Hansol’s MBTI type — Thinking, not Feeling.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the mounting frustration in your chest, but you found yourself muttering under your breath, "Confession is not a game. You shouldn’t play with it."

Soonyoung, to his credit, nodded in agreement. "Yes, exactly. Here here!"

You continued, your voice quieter now, a little heavier. "You think it’s easy to just confess to someone for the sake of success? That’s selfish." You could feel the anger simmering beneath your words. "But I guess, people can be like that. They don’t think about others' feelings."

The moment your words left your mouth, you glanced up at Hansol, only to find his gaze fixed on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain tension in the air now, thick and uncomfortable. For the first time, you realized he was actually paying attention to what you were saying.

In that moment, everything felt overwhelming. You had spent the evening carefully balancing your emotions, trying not to let the bitterness and disappointment leak out, but it was becoming impossible. Soonyoung's teasing and Hansol's casual confession — the one that had hurt more than you wanted to admit — were circling in your mind, making it harder to breathe.

Soonyoung froze mid-action, his hand suspended in the air with the shot glass still waiting to meet his lips. The atmosphere shifted, and he squinted at you, his tone playful but with a hint of confusion. "What's up with you tonight? You're a bit... deep?"

You sighed, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You quickly gathered your things, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I think I should go. I’ll pick up my clothes tomorrow morning, is that okay?" you asked Soonyoung, your voice quieter than usual as you stood up from your seat.

Soonyoung blinked, looking at you with a mix of surprise and concern. "What? What's wrong with you?"

But you didn’t answer. You had already made up your mind to leave. The weight of the evening, mixed with the alcohol, had created a fog in your thoughts, and you just wanted to escape. You needed space to sort through your feelings, to put some distance between you and Hansol, who had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart even though you tried so hard to keep it at bay. The fact that he still had this effect on you, that you were still torn between anger and something softer, was suffocating.

You could feel your emotions stirring as you moved toward the door, the anger bubbling under the surface. How could he say all those things and then act like it didn’t matter? How could he confess without meaning it and expect everything to be fine? You had convinced yourself that leaving was the only way to avoid losing control of your feelings, to protect yourself from further hurt.

You closed the door. But then Hansol's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks. His grip was gentle, but firm. His touch, so simple and yet so familiar, sent a jolt of something through you. You weren’t sure if it was anger or longing, or a dangerous mix of both. You wanted to pull away, to push him out of your thoughts for good, but somehow, standing there with him felt like an emotional standoff. You could feel your heart racing, unsure of whether you should let the tears you were holding back spill or just walk away from it all.

"What do you mean?" Hansol asked, confusion and frustration lacing his voice.

"Let me go, I'm tired," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to pull away.

But Hansol wasn't having it. He turned your body to face him, his grip firm yet gentle. "Not until you explain. Were you referring to me?"

You stared at him, exasperated, as the words tumbled out, "What do you want to hear? That I wasn't?"

Hansol's gaze softened, but his frustration was palpable. "Yes, I was referring to you because I think Soonyoung's right. If you're as logical as you say you are, you shouldn't be doing whatever the fortune teller told you."

You scoffed, your voice bitter, "And you really think that confessing to your friend is going to fix everything?"

Hansol ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "Y/n, I was desperate. You heard him — the fortune teller said my performance would flop if I didn't confess. I had no choice!"

"By confessing to your friend?" You spat, the hurt in your voice evident.

Hansol's eyes widened, his voice rising as the emotion spilled over. "Because you're my friend! I thought you'd understand! You always have!"

There was a tense silence between you both, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping under the burden of it all.

"So, it was easier for you to confess to your friend? To use them for your own benefit?" you asked, your tone sharp and cutting.

Hansol closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to turn out like this. I thought you'd understand, Y/n. You're my friend."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Because I'm your friend, you thought it would be easier to confess to me? Don't you think about the consequences, Hansol? Or is it all about your performance?"

His face twisted with frustration as he stepped closer. "It’s important to me, Y/n!"

You took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. "I never said your performance wasn’t important, but have you ever thought about the consequences? When you decided to confess to me, did you even consider my feelings?"

Before Hansol could respond, Soonyoung’s voice interrupted the charged silence. "You confessed to Y/n?" He stood in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and disbelief at the revelation.

The tension in the room hung thick, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. This was not how you imagined things would play out.

*

When Soonyoung heard you sob, his heart sank. He knew it then—he knew both he and Hansol had messed up. Without a word, he let you go, his hand stopping Hansol from following.

"Let her go," Soonyoung said, his voice unusually calm, but there was an underlying firmness. "She needs time."

"But—" Hansol protested, his voice full of urgency.

"No buts, man. You hurt her. Don’t you get it?" Soonyoung’s voice, surprisingly soft for someone who had just witnessed a betrayal, cut through the air. It was like the weight of everything had finally hit him—Hansol had confessed to you because of some ridiculous fortune teller's prediction, without considering the consequences.

Both of them sat in silence, the remnants of the food and drinks ignored, their minds consumed by your face—the betrayal in your eyes, the way your mouth gaped for breath, and the tears that welled up in your eyes.

Soonyoung broke the silence first. "You did it, huh?" His tone was more of a statement than a question. Hansol shook his head, clearly not ready to confront the reality of what he had done.

"You're the most oblivious guy I've ever known," Soonyoung continued, his frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? She likes you, Hansol."

Hansol turned his head toward Soonyoung, still confused. "What are you talking about?"

Soonyoung sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "See? You don't even understand." He stood up, his movements mechanical as he began cleaning his apartment, as if the action would help him clear his mind.

"I'm going to sleep. Feel free to stay," he said quietly, before turning off the light and retreating to his room.

Hansol remained on the couch, the weight of Soonyoung's words sinking in, but his mind still swirling with disbelief. He had made a mistake—one that could cost him everything.

Hansol sat motionless on the couch, his eyes staring blankly at the empty room around him. Soonyoung's words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain—She likes you. The weight of it crushed him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sharp, raw vulnerability that he wasn’t used to.

He had always seen you as someone amazing—smart, driven, with a kindness that radiated in everything you did. You were the kind of person who had everything going for her, someone who seemed untouchable, like she existed in a world beyond his reach. He had always admired you from afar, but he never allowed himself to consider that you could have feelings for him.

You were... too good for him.

He had been convinced that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. He was logical, maybe a little too blunt, a little too wrapped up in his own world. He couldn’t imagine you, with your warmth and grace, ever wanting to be with someone like him. So, he built up this wall in his mind, telling himself that he was better off staying in his lane, quietly admiring you from the sidelines. He didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by thinking he could ever be more than a friend to you.

But now, in the aftermath of his reckless confession, Hansol couldn't help but wonder—did you actually like him?

His chest tightened at the thought. The way you had reacted earlier—the way you had looked at him—did it mean something? Had you been feeling something for him this whole time? Or had he just completely misread everything, making a mess of it all with his desperate attempt to follow the fortune teller's advice?

He felt like an idiot. An utter fool. He had used you. He had confessed to you without considering your feelings, without thinking about the consequences. All because he was scared of failing in front of his band, of letting everyone down. But now, all he could think about was how much he had hurt you. How much he had probably ruined any chance of you ever seeing him as more than just a friend.

It was painful, this realization. He had always thought you were out of his league, that you would never be interested in someone like him, but now that the possibility had opened up, it felt like he had taken it and crushed it under his own foolishness.

He wanted to fix it, to undo everything he had done. But he wasn’t sure where to start. The damage felt irreparable. He had hurt you, and no matter how much he regretted it now, it didn’t change the fact that he had crossed a line.

"We can take a rest," Seungkwan, the vocalist, suggested, noticing Hansol had been staring at the wall for a little too long.

Hansol nodded absently, "Yeah. Sure..." He realized he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind since last night. His thoughts kept circling back to you, replaying the conversation, the hurt in your eyes, the words that had escaped his lips in a moment of desperation. How could he have been so careless? He had to stop thinking about it, but it was impossible.

"The broadcasting students called—they wanted an interview tomorrow. Is that okay?" Mingyu, the bassist, asked as he walked over after picking up a phone call.

Hansol blinked, momentarily distracted. "Why didn’t they call me?" he muttered, then it hit him. He had been offline all day, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't reach you since this morning," Jihoon, the drummer, added. "You're usually glued to your phone."

Not since last night.

"Are you saying he’s addicted?" Jeonghan, the keyboardist, teased, throwing a playful jab at Jihoon. The drummer shot back with a grin, threatening to throw his stick at him, but Hansol wasn’t paying attention.

All he could hear was the ringing silence in his head, and all he could see was your face—hurt, confused, disappointed.

Everything felt distant, like he was trapped inside his own mind, while the world continued on around him. They were talking, joking, but Hansol couldn’t focus on anything except the ache in his chest, the question that loomed over him—How had things gotten so messed up?

"Hi, I'm Joshua," a photographer introduced himself before the interview began. He snapped photos of the group throughout the session, the pictures set to be featured on the university’s social media and in the monthly magazine.

Once the interview wrapped up, Joshua approached Hansol with a small smile.

"Hansol, right? Y/n's friend," he said, casually mentioning you.

Hansol raised an eyebrow. "Y/n’s friend?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, we’re in the same club. She was supposed to be the one in charge today, but she’s sick."

Hansol's concern deepened. "She’s sick?"

Joshua gave a shrug. "She mentioned something about going out in the rain, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’m just filling in for her."

Hansol’s mind raced as he processed the information. He headed straight to your apartment. When he arrived, your older brother, Seungcheol, answered the door.

"Seungcheol hyung, I heard Y/n is sick, so I brought porridge," Hansol said, holding up the warm container. Seungcheol stepped aside to let him in.

"She’s sick? She hasn’t come out of her room all day," Seungcheol said with a frown. "I need to head out for work. Can you make sure she’s alright while I’m gone?"

"Of course," Hansol replied, his tone filled with concern.

Seungcheol gave a small nod and left, trusting Hansol with the responsibility. Hansol walked down the hallway toward your room and gently knocked on the door. "Y/n?" he called softly, his heart beating faster than usual.

He turned the doorknob gently as he heard you humming softly from inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d stepped into your room, but something about being here now, knowing you might have feelings for him, made his heart race and his stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

"It’s me... I heard you’re sick," he said quietly, stepping inside. He watched as you tossed and turned on your bed, your face scrunched in discomfort.

"My head hurts," you muttered, sounding exhausted.

"You drank too much last night," Hansol remarked softly, his voice full of concern.

You let out a soft sigh before slowly sitting up on your bed. You blinked up at him, clearly still groggy. "What are you doing here?"

Hansol hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the coolness in your voice. Wasn’t this the same person he had been trying to make things right with?

"Did I do something stupid last night?" you continued, your voice tinged with confusion. "I don’t remember anything. I was too drunk."

What? Hansol’s heart sank. You didn’t remember? He could feel his stomach twist in unease. The whole night had been real for him. But you didn’t even recall it?

His words caught in his throat, his mind racing. He had to find a way to explain everything, but for now, all he could do was stand there, speechless.

*

You pushed him toward the door, your hands firm against his chest. It was too much — too much to be in the same room with him after everything that happened last night. Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a painful reminder of the weight of it all.

"Y/n, wait—" Hansol tried, his voice laced with confusion, but you shook your head firmly.

"Just go, Hansol," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

Damn your lying. There was no way you could forget what had happened last night. The alcohol might have given you the courage to say everything that had been festering in your heart, but it didn’t steal your memory. No, you remembered every single detail — from the heat of your words to the stunned look on his face.

You remembered it all. The sharp ache in your chest. The way your voice trembled as you laid it all bare. The way he stood there, silent, unable to say a word in return.

And now, you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Stupid for drinking too much. Stupid for letting it all out. Stupid for hoping, even for a second, that he’d understand.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You leaned your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Stupid,” you muttered under your breath, wiping at your face harshly. “So, so stupid.”

But no matter how many times you cursed yourself, it didn’t stop the hurt from settling deeper into your chest.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of your room just a few minutes later. You clenched your jaw, already feeling the annoyance bubble up in your chest.

Hansol, seriously?

You stomped toward the door, ready to tell him off. Your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary, and you yanked it open with a glare.

"I told you to le—"

But it wasn’t Hansol.

It was Soonyoung. His eyes widened for a second, clearly taken aback by your sharp tone. He tilted his head, a lopsided grin slowly forming on his face.

"Wow, rough welcome," he teased, holding up a plastic bag in one hand. "This how you treat visitors now?"

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat. Guilt prickled at the back of your mind as you stepped aside to let him in. "Sorry... I thought you were someone else."

"Clearly," he muttered, walking in like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the room before settling on you. "Your brother told me you were sick when I called to check in. Figured I’d drop by and see if you’re still alive."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "I'm fine. Just a little headache."

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow as he set the bag on your desk, pulling out a small container of soup and a bottle of sports drink. "Doesn't sound 'fine' to me. And you look worse than you sound."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you grumbled, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Hey, honesty is love," he said with a wink, cracking open the soup container. "Eat this before you start spiraling about whatever it is you're thinking too hard about."

Your eyes flicked to him, your walls momentarily crumbling under his casual warmth. He knows. Soonyoung wasn’t the most perceptive person, but when it came to his friends, he could read you like an open book.

"Not thinking about anything," you muttered, picking at the hem of your sweater.

He shot you a look as he handed you the soup. "You don't fool me, Y/n. You forget, I know you too well."

You hesitated for a second, your fingers curling around the warm container. The scent of the soup was comforting, but the knot in your chest was too tight to untangle just yet.

"You wanna tell me what happened, or should I guess?" he asked, leaning against your desk, arms crossed and eyes watching you with quiet patience.

Your fingers tightened around the container, the warmth seeping into your skin. Tell him? You could. You should. But the words felt heavy, and your throat burned from all the words you’d swallowed the night before.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened when you didn’t respond. "I heard about Hansol."

Your eyes snapped up to him. He didn’t look smug or teasing. He just... knew.

"Seungcheol hyung told me he was here earlier," he continued, eyes steady on you. "I figured something went down."

"Something always goes down," you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice cracked at the end. You sucked in a sharp breath, looking away. Not now. Don't fall apart now.

Soonyoung let out a quiet sigh and crouched in front of you, resting his hands on his knees. "Y/n."

The weight of his gaze pulled you in.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

And just like that, the dam broke. Your face crumpled, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Tears you thought you’d buried came spilling out, and you hated it — hated how easy it was for Soonyoung to crack you open.

"I hate him," you choked out, shoulders trembling. "I hate how he made me feel. I hate that he doesn't even know."

Soonyoung sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms draped lazily over his knees as he watched you wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence stretch long enough for your breathing to even out. You hated how vulnerable you felt, but with Soonyoung, it somehow felt okay.

"You know," he started, his voice light but steady, "Hansol’s always been like that. Head up in the clouds, heart locked up in a safe somewhere only he can find."

You sniffled, eyes still downcast, but you listened.

"He’s not a bad guy," Soonyoung continued, resting his chin on his hand, "but he’s stupid sometimes. No, scratch that. He’s logical to a fault — one of those people who overthinks everything and somehow ends up making the dumbest decision possible."

You glanced up at him, eyes red-rimmed but curious. "Sounds like you’re defending him."

"I’m not," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I’m just telling it how it is." He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Hansol's the type to approach life like a math problem — one solution, one outcome, no room for feelings. He’s good with logic, terrible with emotions. If it doesn’t fit his formula, he just ignores it."

"Sounds pretty annoying," you muttered, folding your arms over your knees.

Soonyoung let out a short laugh. "Oh, you have no idea. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him 'debate' with Mingyu about how ‘romantic gestures are pointless unless they serve a purpose’?" He shook his head like it physically pained him to remember it. "Like, bro, sometimes you just give people flowers because it’s nice! Not everything needs a reason."

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile. You could picture it perfectly — Hansol arguing with that deadpan logic of his, Mingyu gesturing wildly, both of them convinced they were right.

"But," Soonyoung leaned forward, his tone softening, "he’s not heartless, Y/n. He’s just... slow. The type of guy who doesn’t notice his own feelings until they’re too loud to ignore. He doesn’t realize he’s hurt someone until it’s staring him in the face. And honestly, I think last night was the first time he really saw it."

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flickering toward the window. "It’s not like I needed him to see it. I just... I just wanted him to think of me. Not as some safe option, not as a convenience, but as someone who—"

You stopped yourself, lips pressing into a thin line. Your eyes burned again, and you hated it. Soonyoung watched you for a moment before he spoke.

"He does think of you, Y/n," he said firmly. "But like I said, he’s stupid. He’s probably been thinking of you this whole time and didn’t even realize it. You know how he is."

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of waiting for him to figure it out," you muttered, fingers tugging at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I'm not a puzzle to be solved."

Soonyoung smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. "Good. You shouldn't be." He sighed, glancing at the ceiling like he was remembering something. "But if I know Hansol, he’s probably kicking himself right now. You know how he gets when he messes up — goes all quiet, stops talking to anyone, starts staring at walls like the answers will magically appear."

You blinked, remembering how distant he seemed when he visited earlier. His awkwardness hadn’t been new, but it felt... different. Guilt, maybe?

"Do you think he regrets it?" you asked quietly.

Soonyoung tilted his head, his eyes kind but sharp. "I think he’s finally realizing that you’re not as 'out of reach' as he made himself believe."

Your head snapped toward him, heart stuttering. "Out of reach? What does that mean?"

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "You really don't see it, huh? This whole time, he’s been looking at you like you’re untouchable. Like you’re this smart, ambitious, 'got-everything-together' kind of person that’s too good for some guy like him."

You frowned, disbelief creeping into your voice. "That's ridiculous. Hansol's not like that."

"Yeah, well, people get real stupid when they like someone." Soonyoung stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. "You think you’re the only one overthinking? Hansol’s been overthinking since the day he met you." He glanced down at you, eyes twinkling with something playful but sincere. "But like I said, he’s slow. And if you’re tired of waiting, I get it. Just don’t pretend you don’t care when we both know you do."

Your throat felt tight, and you stayed quiet as Soonyoung headed for the door.

"Rest up, alright? I’ll check in on you later," he said, tossing you a grin before stepping out. "And if Hansol shows up again, try not to kick him out too fast. He might actually say something smart for once."

The door clicked shut, and silence filled the room.

You stared at your hands, the weight of Soonyoung's words settling deep in your chest.

Out of reach.

You never thought of yourself that way. But... was that really how Hansol saw you? All this time, did he think he never had a chance?

Your heart ached, and for the first time, it wasn’t from anger.

The door suddenly opened again, and Soonyoung peeked his head back in. His face was serious this time, his brows drawn together like he was thinking carefully about what to say.

"Hey, Y/n," he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't get too caught up in him, alright? I mean it." His eyes were steady as he spoke. "Focus on yourself for a while. You’re allowed to do that, you know. Let him figure himself out while you do the same."

You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Focus on yourself. When was the last time you did that? When was the last time you prioritized your own peace instead of waiting for Hansol to notice something?

"Yeah," you murmured, your gaze turning thoughtful. "Yeah, I’ll do that."

Soonyoung grinned. "Good. You deserve it."

This time, when the door clicked shut, it didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like a quiet kind of relief.

*

The band had just wrapped up their third song, the crowd’s energy growing wilder with every beat. Anticipation hung in the air as Seungkwan stepped up to the mic, his grin sharp and infectious.

"And now, for our last song — an original!" he announced, voice booming over the crowd's cheers. "This one’s for everyone who denies something because they’ve never felt complete."

A ripple of excitement passed through the audience, a sea of nodding heads and raised phones ready to capture every second. Hansol’s fingers hovered over the strings of his guitar, heart pounding in time with the thumping bass.

This was it. Their first original song. The song they’d poured their hearts into.

Hansol could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, but it wasn’t suffocating — it was exhilarating. The fortune teller's words from before felt laughable now. What a load of crap. He’d been so caught up in her prediction, but here he was, on stage, living proof that none of it mattered.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and then he spotted you. Right in front, camera in hand, snapping pictures with that same focus you always had. You weren’t just an onlooker — you were part of it. You bopped to the beat, your grin wide as you caught every moment on film.

He couldn’t look away. Not when you gave him that playful high-five before he went on stage. Not when you danced along like you’d been cheering him on from the start. And definitely not when you smiled like that — so bright, so natural, as if none of the things between you two had ever happened.

How are you acting so normal?

He strummed the opening chord, pulling himself back into focus. Jihoon’s sharp drumming set the pace, and the song began. Everything fell into place, the rhythm steady, the notes clean.

Then, during the second verse, something went wrong.

The speakers cracked. The bass fizzled. The sudden static made a few people in the crowd wince, and then — silence.

Everything stopped.

The instruments, the vocals, the energy. All of it.

Mingyu shot a glance at Hansol, his eyes sharp with confusion. What’s going on? his look asked. Hansol didn’t know. He glanced back at Woozi, who had put down his sticks, his face a rare mask of concern. Seungkwan was already at the side of the stage, talking to a frantic staff member waving their hands in panic.

The whole venue was too quiet, the only sound the low murmur of confused voices from the crowd.

Hansol felt his chest tighten. His pulse quickened, not with the thrill of the stage, but with panic. His fingers hovered uselessly over the guitar strings.

Not like this. Not now.

He scanned the crowd again, and then he saw you. You were mouthing something at him, your eyebrows raised in concern.

"What's wrong?"

Hansol swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced back at his bandmates, at the staff, at the broken audio equipment. Everything around him felt like a blur.

But you weren’t a blur.

You were right there, your eyes on him, steady and sure.

He crouched at the edge of the stage, motioning for you to come closer. Without hesitation, you moved through the crowd to stand right in front of him.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the low hum of the venue.

Hansol didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked at you like he’d been holding something in for too long. His eyes darted to the crowd behind you, the sea of strangers with phones pointed at him, waiting for something to happen. The weight of all of it pressed on him again, but this time it didn’t feel like too much.

It felt like a push.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted,

“I like you!”

Your eyes went wide. The whole crowd gasped in unison, but Hansol didn’t care.

“What?” You blinked up at him, too stunned to move.

“I like you!” he shouted again, louder this time. “I really like you! Since… I don’t even know when!”

His voice rang out, clear and sharp, like it had been waiting to be said for too long.

“What are you talking about?” you said, taking a small step back, but your eyes never left his.

“I like you, Y/n!” he yelled, his voice cracking, but it didn’t matter. “Let’s go on a date after this!”

A split second later, the audio kicked back on.

The speakers popped, and suddenly, the music came blaring back with Woozi’s drumbeat leading the charge. The bass reverberated through the venue, and Seungkwan’s voice returned right on cue.

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, whistles, and shouts of surprise roared through the space. Phones pointed at Hansol, recording every second of his impromptu confession.

Mingyu’s jaw hung open, his eyes darting between Hansol and you like he’d just witnessed something unbelievable. Woozi’s drumming faltered for just a second before he locked back into rhythm. Seungkwan stumbled on his words, glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes before grinning like a man who knew he’d be talking about this for weeks.

But Hansol didn’t care about any of that.

His eyes stayed on you.

You looked at him like you couldn’t believe it. Your fingers hovered over your camera, your body tense as if you were about to bolt. But then, slowly, you lowered your camera to your side.

Your lips parted, and he thought you were about to say something, but you didn’t.

Instead, you smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a confused, nervous smile.

A real smile.

Hansol let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. His heart was still pounding, but this time, it wasn’t from panic.

He pushed himself up to his feet, letting the weight fall off his back. He threw his guitar strap back over his shoulder, fingers gripping the neck of his guitar as he glanced at you one last time.

See you after the show, he mouthed with a grin.

Your face flushed, and you covered your mouth with your hand, eyes squinting with a mix of disbelief and something else. Something soft.

With that, Hansol turned around and rejoined the band.

His heart was still racing, and his hands were still shaking, but none of that mattered anymore.

He’d been so sure he’d ruined things with you two days ago. He thought he’d wrecked something that couldn’t be fixed. But now, under the blinding lights of the stage, with the crowd still screaming, he finally felt something shift.

For the first time in a long time, Hansol felt complete.

*

The cozy hum of the café blended with the quiet chatter of other patrons. The smell of fresh coffee beans and sweet pastries filled the air, but none of that could drown out the sound of Soonyoung’s obnoxious laughter. He sat across from you, phone in hand, replaying that moment for the fifth time.

"Here it comes, here it comes," he said with the excitement of someone watching a blockbuster plot twist. His grin stretched wide as Hansol's voice blared from the tiny phone speaker.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

The crowd's eruption played out again, and Soonyoung slapped the table, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. His shoulders shook with every cackle.

“Can you stop already?” you muttered, fingers tapping away at your laptop as you edited the batch of photos from last night’s gig. Your latte sat next to you, half-finished, its warmth barely noticeable anymore. "I heard it live, Soonyoung. I don’t need a replay."

"But I do," Soonyoung grinned, wiping at the corner of his eye. "This is gold, Y/n. Absolute, once-in-a-lifetime gold. Do you realize how many people would pay for a confession like that? In front of a whole crowd? On stage? With working audio as the grand finale?" He pressed play again.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

Your face burned as you ducked behind your laptop, ears heating with the memory of the moment. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“I like you, Y/n!” Soonyoung mimicked, his voice high-pitched and theatrical, throwing his head back as if he were the one on stage. “Let's go on a date after this!”

You shot him a glare. “Keep it up, Soonyoung. See what happens.”

“Oooh, scary,” he teased, grinning even wider. "Don't be shy, Y/n. You looked like you were about to cry." He sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Oh, Hansol, I’ve been waiting for you to say it all my life—"

“Do you have a death wish, Kwon Soonyoung?” you deadpanned, voice dangerously calm.

Hansol, sitting right next to you, snickered behind his hand. He leaned back in his chair, hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you with the laziest grin imaginable. He hadn't said much since you sat down, but the look on his face said he was thoroughly entertained.

"You're both impossible," you muttered, eyes flicking back to your laptop. You clicked through your photos, adjusting brightness and contrast, but the warmth in your chest refused to fade. Your lips twitched despite yourself. "This was supposed to be our first date, you know," you muttered into your latte, barely loud enough for them to hear.

But of course, they heard.

“Ohhh?” Soonyoung's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. "Is that regret I hear, Y/n? Did you want something more romantic?”

“Romantic?” you scoffed, glancing at him briefly. “Yeah, I definitely dreamed of being confessed to in front of 200 strangers while the sound system crashed.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in your voice.

Hansol leaned in, his elbow resting on the table, his gaze steady on you. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost fond.

"Would you have preferred something more low-key?" he asked, voice low but curious. He tilted his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. "I can do it again if you want."

Your heart skipped once, just once, and you had to look back at your screen before your face gave you away. "Don't be ridiculous, Hansol."

"Noted," he said simply, still grinning.

“Don’t let her fool you, man,” Soonyoung butted in, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching his favorite TV drama. “She loved every second of it. I saw that little smile. Oh, wait, should I replay it for reference?” His finger hovered over the screen.

You snatched a napkin off the table and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Shut up, Kwon Soonyoung.”

He howled with laughter, catching the napkin and tossing it back at you. “You’ll thank me later! I’m basically the biggest investor in your relationship!” he declared, puffing out his chest like he deserved a trophy. “Without me, none of this would have happened.”

“Investor?” you shot back, eyebrows raised. “Investor in what? Chaos?”

“Love,” he corrected, tapping his chest with mock sincerity. “I invest in love.”

Hansol laughed quietly at that, his shoulders shaking just a little. His eyes stayed on you, warm and steady, like he'd finally stopped second-guessing everything.

And for a moment, you forgot about Soonyoung's antics, the video, the embarrassment of it all. You only noticed Hansol, his gaze on you like it had been for weeks — no, maybe longer.

I like you, Y/n. Let's go on a date after this.

You didn’t need a replay for that.

It was already stuck in your head.

*

Late at night, the faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the background as Soonyoung paced back and forth outside his apartment building, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was casual, but his words carried a hint of mischief.

“Hey… yeah, it’s me — The Reckyz’s manager,” he said with a grin, glancing around as if someone might overhear him. “Mm-hm, that’s right. I wanted to talk about our performance tomorrow. Got a minute?”

He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing with focus as he listened to the response on the other end. His grin widened. “Perfect. Here’s the thing — I was wondering if you could help us out a bit during the gig tomorrow.” He leaned his back against the wall, his fingers drumming against his thigh like he was cooking up a master plan.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing too crazy,” he reassured. “I was thinking… maybe some technical issues on stage during the last song. Not a full shutdown, just enough to get people on edge for a second. It’s for promotional purposes, you know?” He laughed lightly, the kind that only comes from someone far too pleased with their own scheme.

“Don’t worry, the members will be aware of it,” he added, his voice smooth as if he’d done this a hundred times. “They’ll play along. Trust me, it'll be unforgettable.”

His eyes flickered with satisfaction as the person on the other end agreed.

"Perfect. I'll owe you one," he said, his grin sharp now, like a cat who’d just caught a mouse. "Just make sure it happens right before the second verse. Timing is everything."

He hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket, eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

"Operation Unforgettable Moment is a go," he muttered to himself, pushing off the wall and strolling down the street, hands in his pockets, a spring in his step. “Biggest investor in love, huh? Yeah, that’s me.”

[flemingology]

christmas request! a day out with alessia at winter wonderland. super fluffy. you go ice skating, go on the ferris wheel, get hot chocolates, even win her a bear at a fairground booth!

winter wonderland ─ alessia russo x reader

in which: you and alessia have a christmas-themed date night

warnings: none

wc: 1.6k

a/n: changed the request up a little bit (basically just who receives the bear lol.), hope you still like it!

You'd been looking forward to this night for the whole week. Your hectic schedule had meant you and Alessia hadn't gone out for a proper date in weeks, but the second you realized that you'd have the 22nd of December off, you circled it with red on the calendar in your home office. Date night. And nothing would come between it.

As a heart surgeon, your working hours were very irregular. Your girlfriend and you had managed to work around your respectively busy schedules, always making sure that you made time for one another wherever you could, but some periods were worse than others. You'd been working non-stop for the past three weeks, up before dawn and not home before sunset. It was starting to take its toll on you, and Alessia didn't fail to notice either.

She was usually quite busy herself, but with the winter break in full flow, she had more time to think about things. More time to notice things. She saw how your shoulders slagged when you came home from work past 9pm again, how getting out of bed became more and more of a struggle with each passing day, how you started needing two coffees instead of one to wake yourself up. She noticed how tired you were.

The two of you sat down on the couch one night, and she brought it up. She tentatively brushed the topic, unsure whether this was something you wanted to talk about, but soon enough you let your emotions flow and Alessia held you until you had calmed down enough to have a conversation about. You felt drained, really, and you wanted nothing more than to recharge in the arms of your lover. That night, Alessia promised you that she'd set up a date night for the two of you in the near future. And when the opportunity came around to do it on Sunday the 22nd, neither of you were even thinking about anything else but a night out.

You got ready in the bedroom, humming along to a song Alessia was playing on her speaker in the bathroom. Your girlfriend emerged a couple minutes later, and crossed the bedroom in a quick few strides. "You ready?" Alessia's eyes lit up and you felt a warm feeling of gratitude well up for the woman in front of you. No matter how busy it got, how rocky life would be, she was always there. Like a rock. Alessia always knew exactly what you needed, and you were so excited for your night out together. "Yeah, let's go." You grabbed her hand in yours and you made your way downstairs, locking up your apartment behind you and getting in the car.

Alessia expertly navigated the streets of London towards the Christmas fair. You parked the car up a couple blocks away, not wanting to deal with the struggle of trying to find parking closer by. You hooked your arm through your girlfriends, talking about everything and nothing as you strolled through the streets of London, making your way over to the fair.

The streets were busy, bustling with people wanting to soak up the Christmas atmosphere in the British capitol. It made you feel warm inside, a stark contrast to the icy temperatures outside. "God, it's cold." Alessia seemed to read your mind. "Yeah, I'm grateful for my hat and gloves." You chuckled, before an idea came to mind as you saw a hot drinks stall. "You wanna get a hot chocolate?" Alessia's eyes lit up as she met yours. "You know just how to make a girl happy."

Alessia and you walked around the fair for what felt like ages. You could feel the stress of the past couple weeks falling from your shoulders with each passing minute. This had been exactly what you needed, and you were so grateful to your girlfriend for organizing this for the both of you.

"Oh my God, babe," Alessia's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, her finger pointing to a small rifle range. "Look at their prizes." You looked up and saw a couple big teddy bears hanging from the roof of the stall. "You wanna go play?" You asked your girlfriend, giving her hand a little squeeze as she nodded eagerly.

Of course she won you the bear. In typical Alessia fashion, stealing the show as she hit every single one of the 40 bullets she had bought. "Here, for you." Alessia beamed as she took the bear from the man behind the counter and stretched it out towards you. "Thank you, my love." You took the bear from her and pressed a sweet kiss against her lips, placing your unoccupied hand on the back of her neck as she tried to pull away. You pulled her back into you and kissed her again, trying to pour all the love you had for her into the kiss. "Thank you for this. For tonight. I needed this," you whispered as you pressed your forehead against hers. "Anything for you." The teddy was almost as tall as you, and you were slightly struggling to carry it with you. Alessia picked up on it and took it from you, putting it on her shoulders, holding the bear up with one hand and holding yours with the other.

The next thing you found yourself wanting to try was the ferris wheel, although you had a slight feeling that your girlfriend would be wary of getting on. "Less," you started, drawing out her name a little as she cocked an eyebrow at you. "You wanna go on the ferris wheel?" You tried, a slight smile tugging at your lips, one you knew she'd find hard to resist. You didn't miss the groan that escaped her lips upon your question. She cocked an eyebrow at you. "Do we have to?" You chuckled and squeezed her hand that was holding yours.

"Please? For me?" "Ugh. Fine." "You're too easy, Russo." "Shut it or I'm throwing you off when we reach the top." "Empty threats, love. We all know that."

Alessia clung to your side the entire ride, clutching your hand in hers as your carriage started to reach the top. "I genuinely don't understand why people willingly go on things like this. What if something goes wrong and you just... fall?" You didn't want to ridicule your girlfriend, but you couldn't hold back the scoff that escaped your lips, to which you received a glare in response. "The odds for that happening are ridiculously low, love. It's not an irrational fear, but it's not gonna happen. Look, we're almost back down." Alessia felt a little guilty that her apprehension stopped you from enjoying the ride, but a quick few pecks and reassuring whispers meant for her and her only got her back feeling okay.

You strolled a little further, and as much as you were bundled up, the cold icy night was finding its way through your layers of clothes and started crawling across your body. Alessia noticed you were shivering and pulled you closer into her, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and clutching you tight against her body. You wrapped your arm around her midsection and were grateful for the warmth that still seemed to come from her body, the striker never having a cold bone in her body meaning you could always warm yourself up on her.

"You wanna get a hot chocolate? Maybe it'll help with the cold." You and Alessia had arrived at a hot drinks stall and she couldn't resist the smell of the fresh hot chocolate. You agreed, and soon you were both walking hand in hand, the two of you holding a hot chocolate in your unoccupied hand. It was glorious, really, a nice big steaming cup of hot chocolate with little marhsmallows on top. It warmed you up a little, easing the nagging feeling of the cold wind that still nipped at every sliver of skin it came across.

Your fingers and nose were red from the cold and your teeth were slightly chattering, but you wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else right now. Your girlfriend's hand clutched tight in yours, talking about everything and nothing as you strolled to London's Christmas fair. The Christmas joy cheered you up and helped ease away the last of your worries of how busy work had been the past couple weeks. You needed this, and just as always, Alessia knew.

You didn't stay much longer after having drank your hot chocolates, the cold starting to get a little too much for the two of you. So you drove home and settled on the couch together, a fuzzy blanket draped over your entangled bodies and a show on the tv that was more background noise than anything else. Alessia ran a comforting hand through your hair and rested her other one comfortably on the small of your back, pressing soft kisses against your crown as you slowly but surely eased off into a peaceful slumber on your girlfriend's chest.

Just before you fell asleep, though, you could hear a faint whisper coming from the woman underneath you. "I love you, darling." Alessia thought you were asleep, so was surprised to hear you reply. "Right back at you, love. Thank you for tonight." You accentuated your words with a firm kiss against her chest, right where your head was resting.

No matter how busy work would get, as long as you had your blonde lover to come home to and wrap your arms around, you felt like you could take on the whole world.

[miley1442111]

Heyyyy are you still requests?? If yes..................

Last night i relived a painful memory when a loved person told me to shut up in front of our friend group and it was so humiliating and overwhelming, i went dead silent for the rest of the month but still played cool with everyone and everyone knew i was destroyed, wasnt leaving home that much yet and the person who told me to shut up was going trough some shit (ON THAT DAY) and actually never apologized...

SO SORRY FOR THE VENT BUT IT WAS NECESSARY FOR THE PLOT I SWEAR.

What if the reader is the one being told to shut up by none other than RAFE CAMERON who is a very close friend and he told the reader to shut up out loud in the middle of a party in front of your friend group (Kelce and Topper) and the reader also play it cool but it collapse at themself like a dying star and all their light is sucked by the black hole it became. But unlike real life, Rafe doesnt need people telling him he fucked up and he felt terrible and a few weeks later he sees reader on a party, unusually quiet, being dragged by their friends around trying to cheer reader up and the reader still trying to play it cool but the damage was showing and maybe Rafe take the chance to approach you but he doesnt know what to say or what to do so he acts like nothing happened?? IM SORRY THIS IS SO CONFUNSING I JUST WOKE UP AND I HAD TO WRITE THAT BEFORE THE MEMORY FADED. Sorry if i made you feel uncomfortable, just ignore it if you didn like ittt!! I love your writting btw i'll never forget that one ask i did and you answered about Rafe choosing between reader and a lover!!!!

and ask 2:

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talking too much- r.cameron

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a/n: HELLO to the both of you! thank you two so much for requesting, and very sorry that this happened to you :( I'd let you talk my ear off about anything any time :) (ps, great song choice)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader

summary: i suggest you look at the requests

warnings: reader kind of loses her spark, rafe is a confused and stressed asshole, reader becomes very insecure, feelings of not being good enough, rafe gets very stressed at the end (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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It was finally nearing the end of June and you were planning your 4th of July party with your friends. Topper, Kelce, Rafe, you, Sarah, and a few of your other friends sat around the table, thinking up ideas for what parties to drop into, and what you were going to wear, etc. You were excited, that was no crime. You’d always been the most excitable in the group, it was just part of your bubbly personality, there was no issue with it. No one had ever been more than a little irritated with it before, no big deal. You’d just apologise and remember to tone it down for those people, but your closest friends weren’t those people. Your closest friends liked your personality, your closest friends liked you. It didn’t matter how loud you were. 

“And then I guess we’ll-”

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe cursed.

The room went silent. You stood still, frozen as people’s eyes turned to you. Sarah offered a look of sympathy, she knew how much you valued Rafe’s opinion, especially since you had a slight crush on him. You felt yourself recoil. How could he be so rude? All you were doing was giving ideas to the group, it’s not like anyone else was trying to speak much, and Rafe definitely wasn’t adding to the conversation. At least, he hadn’t been for the past hour, just sitting in the corner with his leg bouncing and that stupid vein protruding from his stupid neck. You slumped back in your chair, embarrassment filling your mind as you thought over every other interaction with him and the group. Were you annoying? Did they all actually hate you? 

“I don’t hear you talking much Rafe,” Sarah shot back. “Something to say?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Fuck off Sarah,” he scoffed and waited for you to bounce back and start speaking again. You didn’t. He looked up as the group started speaking again, going off of all the plans you’d started. You were just sitting there, on your phone. 

You just waited until someone actually asked you a question to give your input, and even then all you said was; “Sounds good.”

He’d fucked up. Big time. 

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

It had been a week since ‘the incident’, and Rafe hadn’t seen you. He felt awful, absolutely disgraced after what he’d said. He was stressed, it was a bad moment, and he took it out on you. He was sorry. But how was he supposed to tell you that? How was he supposed to explain how sorry he was, explain that he was just stressed? How would you believe him? You two had never been the closest in the friend group, not to say you two didn’t speak, but you two weren’t exactly attached at the hip like you were with Sarah, or Kelce. All you’d ever been to him was nice, not something he was sure he deserved, but he appreciated it all the same. 

How could he get back to that?

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

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Sarah begged over the phone. 

“I’m tired, I was working all day-”

“Come on, you’ve been dodging all week! 4th of July is coming up, I don’t want to hang out with Kelce and Top without you,” she whined, 

“I’ll be there for the 4th, I’m just busy right now,” you sighed. “I promise I’m ok,” you lied. 

“If you’re staying home because of what Rafe said, I’ll kill him,” she swore. 

“I don’t give a shit about what Rafe said,” lie. “I’m just busy, promise.”

Sarah sighed. “Alright, see you on the 4th!”

And with that, you hung up. The last week had been one long pity-party that made you feel even worse about yourself, deciding that your friends were better off without you, especially when you can’t even bounce back from one tiny insignificant comment from one random guy. That’s what you thought anyway. But now, you had 3 days before the 4th, and you weren’t sure how you were going to get the courage to face any of them. 

Not that they hadn’t reached out. Everyone who was there (aside from Rafe) had called or texted to ask if you were ok, and apologised for not saying anything. Kelce had felt the worst, since he was supposed to be your best friend, and he hadn’t said anything. You brushed them off, promising them it was fine, promising them you were fine. They barely believed you, but you somehow convinced them that you were busy. You told half of them that you were packing for your move, and the other half that you had gotten a job at your mom’s company. I mean, technically you were a few weeks out from moving away and you should be packing, and technically you did just get a job at your moms’ company (managing the online presence and doing admin work), but really both those jobs were easy. You could’ve done them for a few hours, then seen your friends. But you didn't want to. You didn’t want to feel like a burden. 

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

The day of the 4th rolled around and Sarah picked you up with all the girls in the group in her car. You looked gorgeous in your short red dress, at least that’s what Sarah told you. You kept your mouth shut as the girls gossiped and sang along to songs, only interjecting when truly necessary. When you got to the beach, you managed to break away from the girls and get a drink, standing alone as you watched the night go by. You liked people watching, you found it interesting to see the small micro-expressions on peoples faces, the snippets of their conversations, and everything in between. 

“Hi,” Rafe smiled softly. He was in front of you, blocking your view of the people you were looking at. 

“Hi,” you answered meekly. 

He stood there for a moment as you tried to look over his shoulder, but the group were gone. You sighed in defeat and turned around to pour yourself another drink. 

“How are you?” he asked. 

“Fine thanks,” you answered. “You?”

“Good, fine… yeah,” the awkwardness in his voice almost made you physically cringe. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“It’s been like a week?” you questioned. In the past week, Rafe had realised how much he missed you, and how much you added to the group. He missed how you brightened up everyone, how you kept the peace by being close with almost everyone, how you made him laugh. 

“What have you been up to?” He scratched the back of his neck, his nerves almost getting the better of him, almost making him turn around and not do this. Almost.

“Not much. Working, packing, usual stuff,” you shrugged. 

Rafe’s expression faltered. “Packing?”

“I’m moving in a few weeks,” you explained. “So you won't see me for a while.”

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. 

Absolutely not. 

Rafe felt his stomach sink. “Why?”

“‘Why’ what Rafe?” you asked, genuinely confused. Why, out of all people, would he care?

“Where?”

“Just main-land, but a bit further into the city so I’m moving schools,” you shrugged.

“But it’s our senior year?”

“Yeah? And?”

“We all said we’d do it together, remember?”

“It wasn’t my choice to move,” you scoffed. “And also, why are you acting like this is new information? Tonight is my ‘last hurrah’ get-together. We’re doing the stupid sleepover.”

“W-what?”

“We didn’t invite you,” Sarah butted in. “You were a dick, now you reap the consequences.”

You rolled your eyes at the shocked look on Rafe’s face. “Night Rafe, see you around.”

Rafe stood frozen as you walked away, shocked. Had he really not been listening for so long? Had he really missed that? You were moving, you were gone. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

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obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[loveanton]

honestly | song eunseok

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: you always thought that jung sungchan would forever be a part of your life, never once imagining a world where the two of you didn't speak let alone get along. now, three months have come to pass since you last spoke to the man you once thought you’d marry and you're starting to become content with the idea that maybe your world doesn't have to revolve around jung sungchan after all.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: eunseok x f!reader ft sungchan

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: friends to almost lovers!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 8.7k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: lots of kissing, drinking, eunseok and sungchan almost fight, they shower together, nipple sucking, slight choking, arguing between the reader and eunseok, this is more suggestive than pt 1.

�� 𝑎/n: this is a pt 2 to everything i didn’t say which you can find here!

You giggle as you sneak another spoonful of Eunseok's ice cream, your eyes twinkling with mischief. He tries to push you away gently, laughing.

"Hey, get your own!" He giggles. Despite his playful resistance, he relents, offering you another bite. You grin, accepting the spoonful with a delighted hum.

Beomgyu watches the two of you, shaking his head with a grin. "Eunseok, you my friend, are so whipped."

Karina nudges him with her elbow. "Shut up, Beomgyu. They're cute together."

It's a warm evening, and the group of you—Jake, Anton, Beomgyu, Yujin, and Karina—are seated at a booth inside the ice cream parlor, enjoying the summer night. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional jibe.

As you savor the stolen bite of Eunseok’s soft serve, your thoughts drift back over the past few months. It's hard to believe it's been three months since you last spoke to Sungchan, the man you imagined marrying. You never thought a world where the two of you didn't speak, let alone didn't get along, could ever exist. But here you are, beginning to accept that maybe your world doesn't have to revolve around Sungchan after all.

These three months have been a period of self-discovery and healing. You’ve spent time figuring out who you are apart from Sungchan. The first few weeks were the hardest. The memories of him were everywhere, and it felt like a part of you was missing. But slowly, you began to find solace in new routines and new friendships. Eunseok and his friends became your anchor. They took you in, and their warmth and kindness made the pain of Sungchan’s absence bearable.

For too long all you ever knew was Sungchan, ending the toxicity that had become your friendship has been doing you good. Karina and Yujin took you under their wing and treated you as a sister, often coming over to your dorm for sleepovers and staying up late to listen to you vent about how hurt you were. Jake, Anton and Jake also became like brothers, for too long you only ever had Sungchan to depend on. It’s so refreshing having other guys in your life who add to it in such a positive way. They don’t leave you in a state of confusion or go out of their way to intentionally hurt you, they constantly love on you and do what they can to make sure you feel that love.

Eunseok, especially, had been your rock. He was always there when the memories got too overwhelming, offering a shoulder to cry on. He made you laugh when the stress of classes was too much and was there to celebrate your small victories. Most importantly, he loved you in a way you wished Sungchan had.

A week ago, Eunseok had asked you out, and without hesitation, you had accepted. Since then, things have been going great. You feel lighter, happier, and more yourself than you have in a long time.

Returning to the present, you smile as Eunseok offers you another bite of his ice cream, his eyes soft with affection. "You know, I think you like my ice cream more than your own," he says, his tone playful.

You shrug, leaning in to accept the spoonful. "Maybe I just like you more," you reply with a wink.

He chuckles and leans in to kiss your cheek, but just as his lips brush your skin, the door to the ice cream parlor opens. Your heart skips a beat as Sungchan walks in, accompanied by Shotaro and Wonbin.

Your eyes meet Sungchan’s, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. Sungchan’s expression is a mix of surprise and something else – a flicker of jealousy. He sees you with Eunseok, the way you’re so comfortable and happy together, and it’s clear that it affects him. His roommate is now the person holding you, the one who makes you smile.

You feel a pang of sadness at the sight of Sungchan. You were once so close, but now you’re strangers. The realization of how much has changed is bittersweet. Yet, beneath the sadness, there is a sense of satisfaction.

Sungchan and his friends approach the counter to order, and you can’t help but steal glances in his direction. It’s strange to see him like this, to be so close yet feel so distant. Part of you wants to go over and talk to him, to bridge the gap that’s grown between you. But another part of you feels smug, enjoying the way Eunseok holds you and the way Sungchan seems to react to it.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Eunseok asks quietly, noticing your distraction.

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay. Let’s stay.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. Your group continues their light-hearted banter, trying to maintain the cheerful atmosphere despite the tension that has entered the room.

You can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Seeing Sungchan again stirs up old memories and feelings, but you also feel a sense of pride in your new relationship. Eunseok has been everything you needed and more, and you’re grateful for his unwavering support and love.

Sungchan and his friends walk over to your group, their expressions casual but their presence adding a palpable tension. Anton looks up, a forced smile on his face as he greets them. "Hey, Sungchan, Shotaro, Wonbin."

"Hey, Anton," Sungchan replies, his eyes flickering towards you and Eunseok before quickly looking away.

The rest of your friends exchange wary glances, not particularly pleased to see Sungchan and his entourage. However, they tolerate his presence due to Anton's connection with him through the swim team. Anton shifts uncomfortably before reluctantly asking, "Do you guys want to join us?"

Eunseok’s grip on you tightens slightly, his protective side showing. You can feel his unease, and you lean into him, offering silent support. Sungchan and his friends agree, pulling up chairs to join your booth. The atmosphere shifts, becoming awkward and tense.

Sungchan attempts to break the silence with small talk. "So, how’s everyone been?"

Karina doesn’t hide her disdain, her tone sharp. "Better, now that we don’t have any toxic people around."

Jake snickers at her comment, leaning back in his chair. "Play nice, Karina."

Sungchan brushes off the remark, forcing a smile. "It’s good to see you too, Karina."

The tension is almost tangible as you all sit together, the easy camaraderie from earlier now strained. Wonbin, trying to lighten the mood, chimes in, "Hey, we were thinking of going to a rave tonight. You guys interested?"

Your friends exchange uncertain looks. They seem reluctant, knowing that you and Eunseok might not be keen on the idea, especially with Sungchan present. Eunseok speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Actually, we have plans for tonight. We’re going on a date."

Sungchan’s eyes flicker with a mixture of emotions – jealousy, regret, and something else you can’t quite place. He stares at you and Eunseok, his discomfort evident. The group remains silent for a moment before Beomgyu breaks it, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Will Yuri be there?"

Sungchan’s expression hardens slightly. "No, we’ve broken up, so I doubt it."

You and Eunseok share a look but don’t comment. The dynamics of your friend group have shifted so much in the past months, and seeing Sungchan now feels like looking at a stranger. Despite the tension, there’s a sense of closure in knowing you’ve moved on to something healthier and more fulfilling.

Eunseok glances at his watch, then at you. "We should probably get going. We have to head to the trampoline park."

The mention of your date brings a soft smile to your lips. "Yeah, we don’t want to be late."

Sungchan’s gaze lingers on you both, his jealousy more palpable now. He opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes it, swallowing his words. Anton tries to lighten the mood one last time. "Have fun, you two."

You and Eunseok gather your things, saying your goodbyes to the group. As you stand up to leave, Eunseok’s hand finds yours, his touch reassuring. You cast one last glance at Sungchan, noting the mix of emotions on his face – a stark contrast to the happiness you feel with Eunseok.

Outside, the sun is still blazing, but the air feels lighter. Eunseok looks at you, his eyes full of warmth and affection. "Are you okay?"

You nod, squeezing his hand. "I’m more than okay. I’m with you."

As you walk towards the trampoline park, the memories of Sungchan fade into the background. What matters now is the present – the love and happiness you’ve found with Eunseok and the new friendships that have become a significant part of your life.

When you arrive at the trampoline park, it’s a kaleidoscope of colors and motion, filled with laughter and the sound of bouncing springs. As you and Eunseok enter, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his smile infectious.

“You ready to jump?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.

You nod eagerly. “Absolutely.”

Eunseok pays for both your entrance fees and leads you towards the cubbies meant for your personal items. The two of you kick off your shoes and step onto the trampolines, the soft mats beneath your feet making you feel like you’re walking on clouds. With a playful grin, Eunseok starts bouncing, his movements light and effortless. You follow suit, giggling as you try to match his rhythm.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” you call out, jumping higher and moving to another trampoline.

“Oh, you’re on!” he replies, laughter bubbling up as he chases after you.

You both jump from one trampoline to the next, the exhilaration making your heart race. At one point, Eunseok reaches out and catches your hand, pulling you close as you both bounce together. The world around you blurs into a joyful whirlwind, and all you can focus on is the warmth of his hand in yours and the sound of his laughter.

After a while, you both decide to take a break. You find a spot to sit on the edge of the trampoline area, still holding hands. Your cheeks are flushed from the exercise and laughter, and you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Eunseok looks at you, his expression softening. “This is fun. I’m glad we came here.”

“Me too,” you reply, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “So, um… Sungchan.”

You tense slightly, but you knew this topic would come up sooner or later. You lift your head to meet his gaze, waiting for him to continue.

“His breakup with Yuri…” Eunseok says quietly. “I just… I want to make sure you’re okay. I know it’s a lot to process, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

You smile gently, appreciating his concern. “Eunseok, this doesn’t change anything for me. Sungchan and I… we had our time, and it’s over. I’m with you now, and I’m really happy with you. I want to build something new with you, not dwell on the past.”

Relief washes over Eunseok’s face, and he pulls you into a hug. “I’m so glad to hear that,” he murmurs into your hair. “You mean a lot to me, and I just want you to be happy.”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. “Thank you, Eunseok. For everything. I don’t think I’ve said it enough these past three months, but thank you for being there for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

His smile is warm and tender. “You don’t have to thank me. I care about you a lot, and I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

You feel a swell of emotion, and you lean in to kiss him softly. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, full of promise and affection. When you pull away, you see nothing but love and happiness in his eyes.

“Let’s keep jumping,” you say with a grin, wanting to prolong this perfect moment.

Eunseok laughs and helps you to your feet. “Let’s do it.”

Hand in hand, you return to the trampolines, ready to lose yourselves in the joy of the present. The memories of Sungchan continue to fade into the background, replaced by the bright, new memories you’re creating with Eunseok.

The sun is high in the sky, casting a warm glow over Anton’s sprawling backyard. His house, the largest in your friend group, is the perfect setting for a summer pool party. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and splashing water.

You’re lying on a lounger, soaking up the sun with your eyes closed, enjoying the warmth on your skin. You can hear the cheerful chatter of your friends, the occasional burst of laughter, and the rhythmic splashes from the pool. Anton, ever the host, approaches, casting a shadow over you.

"Hey, are you just going to tan all day, or are you actually going to get in the pool?" Anton asks, grinning down at you.

You snort, opening one eye to look up at him. "No way. I just got my hair done."

Anton shakes his head, chuckling. "Loser," he teases before wandering off to join his swim team friends.

You laugh, watching him go. Anton’s always been the life of the party, effortlessly moving between groups and making everyone feel included. Your attention shifts as Eunseok emerges from the pool, water dripping from his hair and glistening on his toned body. He takes a seat beside you, leaning in to kiss you. You blush but indulge him, savoring the taste of his lips.

Ever since your first kiss at the trampoline park a week ago, the two of you haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other. It’s a constant source of amusement—and occasional irritation—for your friends.

"Seriously? Again?" Jake shouts in complaint from the pool, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "Get a room!"

Eunseok flips him off without breaking the kiss, making you giggle. He finally pulls back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on, let’s get something to eat."

He takes your hand, helping you up from the lounger. As you walk towards the house, Beomgyu and Jake make exaggerated gagging noises.

"Anton, you better clean the sheets before your parents come back!" Beomgyu calls out, laughing.

"Use protection!" Jake adds, his tone playful.

Eunseok laughs and flips off the pair, yelling over his shoulder, “fuck off!”

Yujin, ever the voice of reason, rolls her eyes at them. "Will you two grow up and find someone to lay you so you can stop riding, ____’s dick."

Inside the house, the air is cooler, a welcome relief from the heat outside. You make your way to the kitchen, where a large fruit platter awaits. Sohee, your new friend from organic chemistry, is there, arranging more food. You’d convinced Anton to invite him, thinking he’d fit in well with the group. He greets the two of you as Eunseok starts plating different food for you. Sohee lets you know he’s going out to join Anton by the pool before waving goodbye.

Eunseok picks up a piece of fruit and holds it out to you. "Here, try this."

You take a bite, savoring the sweetness. "Mmm, it’s good."

He grins and leans in, kissing you right after you swallow the pineapple. The kiss deepens quickly, and before you know it, Eunseok has you cornered against the counter, his hands roaming your body as your mouths move together in a passionate dance.

Just then, Sungchan walks in, looking for a beer. He scoffs at the sight of you and Eunseok, causing you to pull away abruptly. Eunseok places himself protectively in front of you, not wanting Sungchan to see you in your bathing suit.

"People eat in here, you know," Sungchan sneers. "You’re disgusting."

Embarrassed, you start to apologize, but Eunseok cuts you off. "Just get your beer and go, Sungchan. No need to be rude."

Sungchan doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing. He’s clearly a little tipsy and looking for a fight. You can sense the tension building and decide it’s best to defuse the situation. You tug on Eunseok’s arm. "Come on, let’s go. It’s not worth it."

Eunseok reluctantly allows you to pull him away, his eyes still locked on Sungchan. Once you’re back outside, the lively atmosphere of the pool party helps you forget the encounter. Your friends are laughing and playing games, completely oblivious to the brief confrontation inside.

Beomgyu spots you and waves you over. "Hey, come join us!"

You and Eunseok make your way to the poolside, rejoining the group. Anton is in the middle of a cannonball competition with Jake, their playful rivalry adding to the festive mood. You take a seat on the edge of the pool, dipping your feet into the cool water.

"So, what did you guys find to eat?" Karina asks, lounging on a float nearby.

"Just some fruit and maybe each other's faces," you reply, smiling smugly. "But we were rudely interrupted."

Eunseok chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Forget about him," Yujin says, rolling her eyes. "He’s just jealous."

"Yeah, probably," you agree, feeling the weight of Sungchan’s gaze still lingering in your mind. "But let’s not let him ruin our fun."

The group continues to enjoy the party, the earlier tension fading away. You watch as Eunseok dives back into the pool, joining Anton and Jake in their antics. His laughter is infectious, and you find yourself smiling, feeling grateful for the new friends and love in your life.

Eunseok soon comes out of the water and comes over to wrap a towel around your shoulders, the fabric warm and comforting against your skin. "You looked a little cold," he says softly, his hand lingering on your shoulder.

"Thanks," you reply, snuggling into the towel. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sky's colors shift from vibrant orange to a soft purple as the sun sets.

"I wanted to tell you something," Eunseok begins, his voice hesitant. "I'm moving in with Jake and Beomgyu next month for the new school year."

You blink, taken aback by the news. "What? Really?" You knew Sungchan and Eunseok's friendship had become strained the more Sungchan mistreated you, but you never thought Eunseok would leave their apartment.

Eunseok sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah. There's no reason to stay. Sungchan's been a dick to me ever since you two stopped being friends, and I'm over it. I can't keep babying him to get him to say why he's so pissed at me."

You place a hand on his arm, offering a reassuring squeeze. "You never did anything to him, Eunseok. He's the one who's been unfair."

He smiles at you, his eyes softening. "Thanks for understanding. It means a lot."

"If you need help moving out, just shoot me a text," you offer, trying to lighten the mood.

Eunseok chuckles, his mood lifting a bit. "If you came to help, we probably wouldn't be moving things. We'd be making out."

You laugh, feeling the tension ease. "You're probably right." You stand up, brushing the sand off your legs. "I'm gonna use the bathroom, and then we can head out."

As you roam the halls of Anton's large home, you hear faint mumbling and the sound of stumbling footsteps. You turn a corner and see Sungchan, very drunk and barely able to stand. He mumbles to himself, his eyes unfocused.

You hesitate, debating whether to help him or not. Against your better judgment, you approach him. "Sungchan, are you okay?"

He looks at you, his eyes watery and confused. "I'm... I'm fine," he slurs, but then he nearly falls over.

You catch him just in time, steadying him. "Come on, let's get you to a bedroom." You guide him to the nearest room, setting him down on the bed. He clings to you, his tears flowing freely.

"I miss you," he cries, his voice broken. "I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have put Yuri first. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You try to calm him down, patting his back gently. "It's okay, Sungchan. I'm over it."

He shakes his head, his grip tightening. "No, you're not. I know you. You're still hurt, and I'm sorry."

You nod, feeling anxious with how unconsolable he is. "Okay, all is forgiven."

He pauses, his sobs quieting for a moment. "Will you be at my birthday? You've never missed one."

You feel as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you. You had completely forgotten about Sungchan's birthday. You glance at a calendar in the room and see that it's August 24th. His birthday is in a little over two weeks.

Lost in your thoughts, you struggle to understand how you forgot something that used to mean so much to you. You also take a moment to acknowledge that he's drunk and might not actually want you at the party. But at the same time, you realize that if you don't go, it might really signify the end of your friendship.

"I'll think about it," you finally say.

Sungchan looks at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I envy Eunseok."

You're confused. "Why?"

He sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because he had the balls to do what I was always too scared to do."

Your heart races, shock and anger flooding your system. Sungchan starts to lean in as if to kiss you, but then the door swings open, and Eunseok walks in.

"Eunseok!" you exclaim, scooting back quickly.

Eunseok's eyes darken as he takes in the scene. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tense. He strides over, grabbing Sungchan by the collar of his shirt.

"Nothing happened," you say quickly, stepping between them. "He's drunk."

Eunseok looks at you, his jaw clenched, and then back at Sungchan. After a tense moment, he lets go, taking a step back. "Let's get out of here," he says, his voice tight.

You nod, taking Eunseok's hand and leading him out of the room, leaving Sungchan behind. As you walk down the hallway, you can feel the anger radiating off of Eunseok.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, squeezing his hand.

"It's not your fault," he replies, his voice softening. "Let's just go."

As you step outside, the cool night air hits you, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart and mind. Eunseok pulls you close, wrapping an arm around you protectively.

"I don't feel comfortable with Sungchan around you," he admits, his voice low and tense.

You stop walking and turn to face him, holding his gaze. "Nothing happened, Eunseok. He’s drunk and upset. I just helped him because I felt bad seeing him like that."

Eunseok's eyes search yours, his frustration evident. "Then why was he leaning in to kiss you?"

You hesitate, the words you shared with Sungchan replaying in your mind. "I... I don’t know," you finally say, averting your eyes.

Eunseok's expression tightens, a mix of hurt and anger flashing across his face. "You don't know?"

Silence hangs heavy between you, the tension almost palpable. "Whatever," he mutters, turning away. "Let's just go."

The drive to your dorm is tense and awkward, the silence thick with unspoken words. You glance over at Eunseok, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. Your mind drifts back to the conversation with Sungchan, replaying his drunken confession and how upset you were by it.

How dare he say he envies Eunseok? This is the same Sungchan who told you that your feelings for him disgusted him, who pushed you away and left you heartbroken. Now he’s jealous that Eunseok had the courage to be honest about his emotions? It's complete bull, and the more you think about it, the angrier you become.

You try to shake off the thoughts, but they cling to you like a shadow. The car ride stretches on, the silence deafening. You steal glances at Eunseok, wanting to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words won’t come.

When you finally reach your dorm for the summer, the weight of the evening presses down on you. Eunseok parks the car and gets out, walking you to your door like he always does. The silence between you feels almost unbearable.

"Eunseok," you start, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away, his frustration evident.

"I just need some space right now," he says, his voice strained.

Fear grips your heart. "Are you... are you breaking up with me?”

His expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head. "No, I’m not breaking up with you. I'm still very much into you and our relationship. But it's clear you're hiding something, and until you’re ready to be honest with me, I need some space."

Tears well up in your eyes as he steps closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Make sure you eat something before going to bed," he murmurs, his voice softer now. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," you whisper back, watching as he turns and walks away.

You enter your dorm, the silence of the empty room echoing the silence that had filled the car. You collapse onto your bed, the events of the night swirling in your mind.

As you lie there, you realize that despite everything, you need to be honest with Eunseok. He deserves to know the truth, even if it’s painful. But for now, you need to process everything that happened and figure out how to tell him.

You curl up on your bed, feeling the emptiness of the room around you. The conversation with Sungchan plays over and over in your mind, his tearful apologies, his regrets, and his jealousy of Eunseok. It all feels so surreal, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from.

Eventually, exhaustion takes over, and you drift off to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will bring some clarity and a chance to make things right.

The following morning you wake up to a ding from your phone. You groggily reach for the device and see a string of text messages from Eunseok. Your heart skips a beat as you open the first one.

[seokie 🪨]: I'm sorry

[seokie🪨]: I fully trust you. If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened.

Relief washes over you as you read the third message.

[seokie🪨]: Are we okay?

You feel a mix of relief and guilt. He's not mad, but you still haven't been completely honest with him. You quickly type a response, your fingers trembling slightly.

[you]: we're good. can i come over?

His reply is almost immediate.

[seokie🪨]: Of course. Do you want me to pick you up?

You smile, shaking your head as you respond.

[you]: no need, i'll walk it's not far

You get ready, feeling a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. When you arrive at his place, Eunseok greets you with a kiss, his touch warm and reassuring.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Curiosity piqued, you follow him into the kitchen, where you're met with an array of baking items laid out on the counter. Your heart swells with emotion, remembering how you once told him about your love for baking to ease stress.

"You remembered," you say, touched. You wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," you repeat, kissing him.

Eunseok smiles, his eyes twinkling. "I know you already forgave me, but I wanted to do something nice for you anyway."

The two of you start baking a cake, following a recipe Eunseok had found. You're impressed by his dedication to measuring out the exact portions, his concentration making you smile.

"Where did you find this recipe?" you ask, amused by his precision.

"Pinterest," he replies, grinning. "Seemed like a good one."

Once everything is mixed and the cake is in the oven, you sit on the counter and Eunseok steps between your legs, his hands resting on your hips.

"Where do you see our relationship going?" he asks, his voice soft but serious. "I know it's early, but I really like you."

You look into his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words. "I like you too, Eunseok. I see us going far. I want to keep exploring this."

He smiles, relieved. "What about your living situation next semester? Are you still moving in with Yujin and Karina?"

You nod. "Yeah, I am. It'll be nice to have some independence and be with friends."

Eunseok leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I'm glad. I want you to be happy."

You smile, feeling a playful urge. "Speaking of happy," you say, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it at him.

Eunseok laughs, grabbing some flour and tossing it back at you. A full-blown flour fight ensues, both of you laughing and dodging each other's attacks. You relent when you see you're losing, flour and batter everywhere.

Eunseok takes your hand. "Let's get cleaned up."

He leads you to his bedroom, and you start to undress. He begins to leave to give you privacy, but you catch his arm.

"Join me?" you ask, your voice soft and inviting.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods, a smile playing on his lips. You take his hand and walk into the bathroom, you get into the shower first and look at him, completely vulnerable as he stares at your naked body.

He’s quick to strip and then steps into the shower with you, pressing you against the wall, his mouth already on yours. A wanton moan leaves your lips when he slides his hands down your sides as he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss. He places a hand on your right breast playing with it, he lightly pinches and rolls your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

You moan against his mouth which causes him to smirk before pulling away and angling his head down until his lips wrapped around your right nipple, which he had neglected before, sucking gently. His tongue swirls around the flesh and his teeth graze over your nipple.

“Please don’t stop.” You breathily whine, caught up in the feeling of your boyfriend sending you over the edge.

He slowly pulls away from your chest and places one last kiss on your lips. “We don’t want our cake to burn.”

He steps away from you completely and gets to work on lathering your body with his wash. You lift your eyes to look at him but he doesn’t return your gaze and continues to wash your body. You pout deeply and reach out to grab his hand to place back on your breast.

“Seok please!”

Eunseok remains expressionless for a few seconds until a small smile creeps up his face. His hand roughly squeezes the breast it’s resting on before he snakes his way up your body again and you think it’s to hold you steady by your shoulder, but you gasp when he seizes his large hand over your throat.

“Eun—”

He squeezes your neck and you moan, hands flying to grab his wrist. “Don’t be a brat.”

He gives you one more warning squeeze before pulling his hand away from your neck. Feeling dejected and slightly annoyed you stand still and let him finish bathing you.

Once he finishes rinsing the soap off your body and washing down his own body and hair, the two of you exit the bathroom. Eunseok dresses you in one of his shirts and a pair of sweats. "You look good in my clothes," he teases, kissing your forehead.

"Is Sungchan home?" you ask, suddenly remembering the previous night's tension.

"No," Eunseok replies, shaking his head. "He went out with friends."

You feel a bit more at ease as you head back to the kitchen to decorate the cake. Despite your best efforts, it turns out looking a bit discombobulated, but the laughter and fun make it worth it.

"At least it tastes good," you say, taking a bite and grinning.

Eunseok laughs, nodding. "We tried."

He grabs some boxed wine, and the two of you sit on the couch. You take a deep breath, deciding to finally be honest with him.

"About last night," you start, your voice trembling slightly. "Sungchan was really drunk. He... he told me he misses me and that he's sorry. He said he envies you because you had the courage to do what he couldn't."

Eunseok's expression darkens, but he nods for you to continue. "How do you feel about all this?"

"Angry," you admit, tears pricking at your eyes. "He told me my feelings for him disgusted him, and now he's jealous?"

Eunseok sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Are you going to his birthday party?"

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. "I feel like I should," you finally say. "For closure."

Eunseok's jaw tightens. "I would prefer if you didn't."

You frown, frustration bubbling up. "I have to go, Eunseok. We were friends for years. I need to hear him out."

He shakes his head, his frustration evident. "You don't have to do anything. You want to go, and I wish you could be honest about that."

Your eyes narrow, feeling a surge of anger. "We’ve been friends for years, I can’t just act like he means nothing just because a few months have passed!”

Eunseok's eyes flash with frustration. "A few months? He treated you like crap, and now you're willing to just forgive him because he’s drunk and feeling sorry for himself?"

You stand up, pacing the room. "It's not about forgiving him, Eunseok. It's about closure. I need to understand why he did what he did."

"Why do you need closure from someone who hurt you so badly?" Eunseok snaps, standing up as well. "He had his chance, and he blew it."

You turn to face him, your own anger rising. "You don't understand. He was my best friend. I need to at least try to get some answers."

Eunseok takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "And what if he tries to pull something again? What if he says more things to mess with your head?"

"I can handle it," you insist. "I need to do this for myself."

He shakes his head, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. "You’re not listening to me. I'm telling you this isn't a good idea."

"And I'm telling you that I have to go," you say, your voice firm.

Eunseok's face hardens. "Fine. Do what you want. But don't expect me to be okay with it."

"Why can't you support me on this?" you plead, feeling a knot of frustration and desperation tighten in your chest.

"Because I care about you!" he shouts, his voice echoing in the small space. "I don't want to see you get hurt again."

You feel tears welling up, but you blink them back. "I care about you too, but this is something I need to do."

Eunseok clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Then go. But don't expect me to be waiting here with open arms."

You stand there for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. "I didn't think you'd be so controlling," you whisper, hurt evident in your voice.

His eyes widen with a mix of shock and anger. "Controlling? I'm trying to protect you!"

"I don't need protection from you," you snap back. "I need understanding."

Eunseok glares at you, his jaw tight. "Well, I guess we’re at an impasse."

"Yeah," you agree, your voice shaky. "I guess we are."

Without another word, you grab your things and head for the door. Eunseok doesn’t stop you, and the silence is deafening as you walk away. Just as you’re about to step out, you hear him mutter something under his breath, but you can’t make it out. 

You leave, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. You wanted today to be a step towards healing, but now it feels like everything is falling apart.

Eunseok watches you go, his heart heavy with frustration and regret. He grabs the boxed wine, takes a long drink, and slams it down on the coffee table, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You storm into Sohee's dorm room, your anger radiating off you in waves. "Can you believe that? He thinks he owns me or something!"

Sohee looks up from his desk, concern etched across his face. "What happened?" he asks, motioning for you to sit down.

You start pacing instead, the words spilling out in a rush. "Eunseok and I had this huge argument. He doesn’t want me to go to Sungchan’s birthday party. I told him I need closure, but he’s acting like I’m betraying him or something."

Sohee listens intently, his brow furrowing as he takes in your words. When you finally stop to catch your breath, he leans back in his chair, considering his response carefully. "Okay, let's break this down. Eunseok is your boyfriend now, right? So, naturally, he's going to be protective."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Protective? It feels more like he’s being controlling. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do."

Sohee shakes his head. "It's not that simple. Eunseok was just looking out for you. It’s not wrong for him to be upset about you wanting to go see Sungchan—the very guy who hurt you. Put yourself in his shoes. How would you feel if he wanted to hang out with an ex who hurt him?"

You pause, the anger starting to ebb as you think about it. "I... I guess I’d feel pretty insecure."

"Exactly," Sohee says, leaning forward. "You’re dating Eunseok now. Of course, it won’t make him happy to see his girlfriend run into the arms of the man she loved for years, especially now that Sungchan is saying those feelings are returned."

Your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. "I didn’t think about it like that. I just... I need closure. I need to understand why Sungchan did what he did."

Sohee gives you a sympathetic look. "I get that. But if you really feel like going to Sungchan’s party is the only way you can move on, then maybe you shouldn’t be dating Eunseok right now. It’s clear you have more things to work through."

"That’s not fair," you protest, tears pricking at your eyes. "I really love Eunseok, but I need to know why Sungchan chose to hurt me that way."

"So ask him," Sohee says gently. "There’s no need to feed into something Sungchan wants. Just ask him directly. That way, you get the answers you need without disrespecting your relationship with Eunseok."

You sit down, the weight of Sohee’s words settling over you. "You’re right. I should just ask him."

Sohee smiles, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You can do this. And remember, Eunseok loves you. He’s just trying to protect you."

Feeling more resolved, you pull out your phone and text Sungchan.

[you]: hey, are you free? i need to talk to you

You send the message and take a deep breath, hoping this will help you find the closure you need without jeopardizing your relationship with Eunseok. Sohee watches you, a supportive presence in the midst of your turmoil. "Good luck," he says softly. "I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get through this."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Thanks, Sohee. I really needed to hear that."

"Anytime," he replies with a warm smile. "Just remember, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got people who care about you."

You nod, feeling a bit lighter. "I know. And I’m going to make things right with Eunseok."

"That’s the spirit," Sohee says, giving you an encouraging thumbs-up. "Go get 'em."

You and Sohee continue to chat, your conversation shifting to lighter topics as you unwind from the emotional turmoil of the past few days. As you talk about your plans for the upcoming semester and some of the fun things you’ve got planned with your friends, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s a message from Sungchan.

[sungchan]: i'm free tomorrow

[sungchan]: how about we meet at 3?

You glance at Sohee, who raises an eyebrow in question. "Sungchan says he’s free tomorrow at 3. I guess it’s happening."

Sohee nods. "Good. Get it out of the way so you can move forward."

You quickly type back a reply, agreeing to meet Sungchan at the boba shop near campus. "It’s set," you say, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "I’m meeting him tomorrow."

Sohee gives you a reassuring nod. "You'll do fine. Just stay honest and keep your cool."

You smile, grateful for his support. "Thanks, Sohee. By the way, do you think you could help me pick out a gift for him?"

Sohee looks surprised. "A gift? For Sungchan? Why?"

"It’s a parting gift," you explain, your voice soft. "Something to signify the end of our friendship, in a way. I just want to leave things on a good note."

Sohee sighs but eventually nods. "Alright. I get it. Let’s go to Target and see what we can find."

The two of you head to Target, wandering through the aisles as you think about what to get Sungchan. You want it to be something meaningful, something that represents your time together. As you pass the toy section, your eyes land on a LEGO set, and a memory from your childhood flashes before you.

"This is perfect," you say, picking up the box.

Sohee looks at it curiously. "A LEGO set? What’s the importance behind it?"

"It was the first one we built together," you explain, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "The first time I ever went to his house. It seems like a fitting end for us."

Sohee nods, understanding. "That’s a good idea. It’s personal and meaningful."

You also grab a card, planning to write Sungchan a note to go along with the gift. As you make your way to the checkout, Sohee gives you an encouraging smile. "You’re doing the right thing."

"I hope so," you reply, feeling a mix of emotions. "I just want closure."

After paying for the LEGO set and the card, you and Sohee leave Target and decide to get some food together. Sitting in a cozy corner of a small café, you talk about everything and nothing, trying to keep your mind off the upcoming meeting with Sungchan.

"So, are you nervous about tomorrow?" Sohee asks, sipping his coffee.

"A little," you admit, stirring your drink absentmindedly. "But I think it’ll be good for me. I need to understand why he hurt me the way he did."

Sohee nods thoughtfully. "Just remember to stay calm. Don’t let him get under your skin. You’re doing this for you, not for him."

"Yeah," you agree. "Thanks, Sohee. For everything."

"Anytime," he says with a grin. "That’s what friends are for."

You spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing, the heavy weight of your worries lifting slightly with each passing moment. By the time you part ways, you feel a bit more prepared for the conversation with Sungchan.

___

The next day arrives, and you find yourself standing outside the boba shop, clutching the bag with Sungchan’s gift inside. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and step inside.

Sungchan is already seated at a corner table, looking pensive. When he sees you, he gives a small, hesitant smile. You walk over and sit down across from him, setting the bag on the table.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Hey," he replies, his eyes darting to the bag. "What’s that?"

"It’s a gift," you say, pushing it towards him. "Happy early birthday."

He looks surprised but takes the bag, pulling out the LEGO set. His eyes widen in recognition, and a sad smile forms on his lips. "I remember this. The first one we built together."

"Yeah," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I thought it was a good way to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Sungchan's eyes widen in surprise.

You nod, your expression serious. "What you did those three months ago wasn’t fair, and what you pulled at the party most definitely wasn’t okay. I’m only here to hear you explain yourself so I can move on. Eunseok has been good to me, and he doesn’t deserve me half-assing our relationship."

Sungchan nods, looking down at the table. "I meant what I said at Anton’s. I am sorry for pushing you away."

You shut it down, your voice firm. "I don’t want an apology or any excuses, Sungchan. I want an explanation."

He clears his throat, his voice shaky. "I started crushing on you when we were in high school, but I didn’t say anything because I was scared I would mess things up."

You cut in, your tone sharp. "Oh, so leading me on for years was the better option?"

"No," Sungchan says, shaking his head. "It was cruel, and I should have just been honest, but I didn’t want to lose my best friend. I thought if I told you how I felt and it didn’t work out, I would have lost you for no reason. But if I gave you the hope we could be something, at least you would stick around."

Your heart aches, feeling betrayed. "Was it worth it? Because you’ve lost me anyway."

He looks down, his face full of regret. "No, it wasn’t worth it. I’m sorry."

You shrug off his apology, determined to get to the bottom of things. "And what about Yuri? Why date Yuri if you apparently like me?"

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought it was time to move on. I didn’t have the guts to be honest after all these years, so why keep leading you on? When you and Eunseok started dating, it made me angry. It took Eunseok a week to do something I’d been dreaming of for years. It’s not right, and I’m not trying to excuse it, but that’s why I did it."

Your anger flares. "You think that justifies anything? You hurt me, Sungchan. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. And then you have the nerve to act jealous when I finally find someone who cares about me?"

He looks up, his eyes filled with remorse. "I know I was wrong. I was selfish and scared, and I took it out on you. I’m truly sorry."

You shake your head, tears of frustration and betrayal welling up. "I trusted you. I thought you were my friend. But you were just playing me for years."

"No," he protests weakly. "I wasn’t playing you. I cared about you. I still do."

"It doesn’t matter," you say, your voice breaking. "You were never my friend. A real friend wouldn’t have done what you did. And I’m fine with us no longer being in each other’s lives."

Silence falls between you, heavy and suffocating. Sungchan looks like he wants to say something, but you’ve heard enough. You stand up, your heart aching but resolute.

"Goodbye, Sungchan," you say, your voice firm.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with regret. "Goodbye."

You turn and walk out of the boba shop, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of the past few months feels heavy on your shoulders, but with each step, you feel a little bit lighter. You know it’ll take time to heal, but you’ve taken the first step towards moving on.

As you walk back to your place, you think about Eunseok and how much he means to you. You know you need to make things right with him, to show him that you’re committed to your relationship.

When you get home, you take a deep breath and pick up your phone, texting Eunseok.

[you]: can we talk? i need to explain everything

His reply is immediate.

[seokie 🪨]: Of course. Come over whenever you’re ready.

You gather your thoughts, feeling a mix of nerves and determination. You know it won’t be easy, but you’re ready to fight for your relationship with Eunseok. You grab your keys and head out the door.

The walk to Eunseok's place is brisk, each step echoing your anxious thoughts. When you arrive, you hesitate for a moment before knocking on his door. He opens it almost immediately, his expression a mix of concern and hope.

"Hey," he says softly, stepping aside to let you in.

"Hey," you reply, trying to muster a smile.

The tension is palpable as you both make your way to the living room, sitting down on opposite ends of the couch.

For a few moments, the silence hangs heavy between you. Finally, you take a deep breath and decide to break it.

“Eunseok, I’m really sorry for how I behaved last night. I was out of line, and I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings didn’t matter."

He looks at you, his expression softening slightly, but there’s still a hint of tension in his eyes. "I appreciate that.”

You nod before carefully adding, “…I also met with Sungchan today.”

Eunseok's jaw tightens, and his eyes flash with annoyance, but he stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

"I needed closure," you explain. "I needed to understand why he did what he did. And... I needed to make sure I was fully committed to us."

Eunseok nods slowly, his gaze fixed on you.

"And did you get the closure you needed?"

You nod, feeling the weight of the past few months lifting slightly. "| did. I realized that he was never really my friend. He was just... scared and selfish. And while that hurt, it also made me see things clearly. Eunseok, our relationship means so much to me. I want to make you my priority."

Eunseok's expression softens yet again and he reaches out, taking your hand in his. "I'm sorry too, for how l approached the conversation yesterday. I was just... scared of losing you. I know it's not an excuse, but I should have handled it better."

You squeeze his hand, feeling a surge of relief and affection. "I understand. And I'm sorry for making you feel that way. I promise, from now on, I'll be more open with you. No more secrets."

Eunseok pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I'm just glad we're talking about this. I don't want to lose you either."

You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "You won't. I promise."

As you hold onto him, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. Eunseok is the one who’s always been there for you, and you’re grateful for that. A small part of you even feels thankful to Sungchan for breaking your heart because everything he didn’t say and do led you to Eunseok.

Pulling back slightly, you look into Eunseok’s eyes, feeling a surge of affection. "I’m really happy you’re my person, Eunseok."

He smiles, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "And I’m happy you’re mine."

In that moment, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you and Eunseok will face them together. Your past with Sungchan is behind you, and your future with Eunseok looks bright and full of promise.

[mydearesthrry]

lover, you should’ve come over - h.s.

a/n: part 2 to casual. read here! also, this is lowkey not great cause casual wasnt supposed to be a 2 parter. but bc i love u i did it. be grateful. enjoy my babies!!!! song: lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley

warnings: angst, happy-ISH ending

pairing: loser doormat!y/n x harry styles

— MARCH

harry: hi princess, i really miss you.

harry: i haven’t seen you since two fridays ago, where’ve you gone?

harry: text me back, please baby.

y/n: safe and alive

y/n: and i already told you, u don’t need to worry abt me

y/n: im fine

harry: i’m coming over.

y/n: har, please don’t. it’s really okay.

harry: not to me.

setting her phone down with a sigh, y/n scrubbed her hands up and down her face as she felt the beginning of a headache begin to brew at the thought of having to see harry.

after the conversation they’d had two weeks ago, harry hadn’t come over, and she hadn’t made the effort to ask him to. she reckoned that if she pulled back slowly, he wouldn’t notice.

she curses herself now for thinking that. of course he’d notice. because he’s harry.

she didn't want to have to talk about how she felt, because it meant admitting that she loved him. and she knew that wouldn't exactly fare well for her.

trying her hardest to make time pass by as slow as possible, she stepped into her bathroom, starting a bubble bath. if this was what she was going to have to deal with tonight, she might as well be comfy. harry can deal with sitting on the floor.

“princess?” she heard him call. her eyes squeezed shut as she braced herself, knowing that even seeing his face was going to viscerally affect her.

“i’m in here,” she called back, quieter than he was initially. “hi.”

“you look pretty,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. an eye roll from y/n had him squatting down in front of her, face inches from hers. “wanna give me a kiss?”

“no, not really.” she said plainly, sinking further deeper into the water, creating distance between them. harry couldn’t see her body as it was completely concealed by the mountains of foamy bubbles.

“ouch, princess, i don’t see you f’two weeks and this is what i get? even drove over here 5 over the limit jus’ t’see you.” harry didn’t want to admit that her rejection had felt like a gunshot wound to the heart, but he’d accepted it anyway so as to not make her uncomfortable. he knew she was upset and needed to fix it. he just didn’t know why.

“i’m sure you’ve gotten plenty kisses from claire the past two weeks, hm?” she mumbled pettily, shifting her glare to the faucet in front of her.

“so that’s what this is about.”

“what’s this?” she didn't think he actually noticed.

“you being all bratty, not talking t’me, s’hurting m’feelings, my love.”

harry was surprised to hear a laugh emit from her throat. “hurting your feelings… i’m hurting your feelings? that’s rich, really, harry. even for you.”

“what?”

“how do you not know that you’re making me miserable?” she whispered defeatedly and the dam broke. silent tears began to run down her cheeks, and she knew she couldn’t blame it on being sweat from the heated water. not when harry reached out to wipe them away with his calloused thumbs.

“baby- i- what?” he blubbered, shifting onto his knees to have an advantage of being closer to the tub. “what do you mean i’m making you miserable?”

“because you like playing this game with me, harry. its just so fucked up. you keep me around, kiss me, fuck me, and then treat me like i’m just one of your fucking lads, like you don’t really care. you get possessive when i talk to other guys at events, but if i get upset that you’re literally fucking another girl, i’m being sensitive, and ‘i should know by now that we aren’t exclusive.’ it feels like you don’t even want me. someone who claims to love me wouldn’t do this to me.”

a pause, a sniffle.

“you’re supposed to be my best friend, h.”

the room was eerily silent. harry’s face had gone stoic and pale. y/n sat there quietly, breath hitching with every sob she tried to stifle.

“‘m sorry,” he started.

“i’m sure you are.”

“how do i fix it?”

“i… i don’t know if you can.” she whispered honestly.

no words were shared between the two for minutes that felt stretched into hours. her fingers and toes had gotten pruny, the bubbles beginning to dissolve. she needed to get out— but she didn’t want harry to see her at her most vulnerable.

“can you please wait for me in my room?” she murmured, reaching over the lip of the tub for her towel that lay on the floor, sliding it closer to the tub.

“princess,” he said in near disbelief.

“please don’t call me that. can you please wait for me in my room?” she said ruefully, catching his eyes so he knew she was serious. she knows he would never purposely disrespect her boundaries.

harry shifted uncomfortably at y/n asking him to stop calling her ‘princess’, the name he’d crowned her with since the beginning. “erm, yeah. sorry.”

walking out of the bathroom, harry collapsed onto her bed, eyes brimming with tears as he tried to control his sporadic breathing. why did he do this to her?

“hi,” y/n said, shuffling out the bathroom a few minutes later with her hair in a small pink towel. she looked significantly calmer, more put together. “let’s talk.”

“i’m sorry-“

“no, me first, you listen,” she stated, watching as harry nodded, not caring that she’d cut him off.

“i love you. it’s not a secret that i love you, and i love you in more ways than one. i love everything about you, how kind you are, how gentle. but you aren’t really,” she paused, not knowing how to explain herself. “you aren’t really nice to me.”

"what do you mean?" he murmured, head cast downward. he reminded her of a wounded puppy. it was his fault, but she couldn't help but feel a little bad.

"i... i don't know how to put this without being the bad guy, but you're really manipulative to me. texting me when it's convenient for you, coming over when its convenient for you, all of it, harry. it's manipulative, and i don't know how to make you understand. i couldn't do it to you, even if i tried."

"why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

"i tried. every time i tried talking about it with you, you'd shut me up with a kiss, feeding me a line, something. it was always something." she explained, a sympathetic, dulcet smile on her face.

"i didn't mean to hurt you, y/n."

she nods understandingly. she knows that he's a good person at his core. she knows his heart. "i know you didn't mean to, but you did."

"if- if it helps, and i don't know if it's gonna," harry begins, before pausing as his throat began to squeeze, his nose tingling with the onslaught of tears. "i always wanted it to be you."

are you kidding me? y/n thought, taking a deep breath to keep her composure. “if you wanted to be with me, why didn’t you just come over?”

“i don’t know what you wanted. if you still wanted me, or if you wanted to end things… i… i didn’t know. 'm sorry, baby, i'm really sorry, fuck, i really, really am. y've got t'believe me, i didn't mean to hurt yo-” he stumbles over his words, breath catching as he tries to explain himself. y/n can see the panic begin to coat his green eyes, and with throwing all logic out the window, she climbs onto his lap, holding his face in her hands.

"i know you didn't, harry, i know. that's why i'm telling you now, okay? i'm trying to help you. i want to fix this, but you need to understand how i feel too, okay?" she nods, running her thumbs up and down his cheekbones, the tips of his lashes kissing her fingertips.

“i- i can’t lose you, i can’t,” he gasped through tears, shaking his head side to side. “i’m sorry baby, i’m so, so sorry.”

“harry. look at me.” she demanded, holding his face tightly so he couldn’t move. his eyes slowly casted to her face, noting how her eyes had began to gloss over again, nose reddening with emotion. “i know you didn’t mean to hurt me. i’m not that upset anymore. you won’t lose me, but you need to see my point of view.”

“and i do— i really do, i swear. angel, i promise i see you and i hear you, i just- fuck- i don’t know how to make it better.”

“you acknowledging it makes it better. you apologizing makes it better.”

“it couldn’t possibly be enough. i- y/n, i hurt you. i made you cry, and i made you inferior. i promised myself that you would be the one person i wouldn’t ever hurt. you’re too good t’me, you’re so perfect.”

a soft smile played on y/n’s lips. “its okay, h. i forgive you.”

“you do?”

“yeah, i do. but, i don’t think i can do this with you anymore.”

“do what?”

“this, the friends with benefits agreement. it’s too hurtful for me, and if i can’t have you as a lover, i don’t think i can have you at all.”

“what? what do you mean by that?”

“i need time, h. i need space, and i need room to breathe and think. if i see you, i worry i’ll make rash decisions that’ll hurt me in the end.” she sighed, climbing off his lap as she made her decision. “if i can’t love you in the way i know you deserve, i don’t know if i can give you love at all.”

“why?”

“because i don’t know how to love you without it being all consuming.”

“why don’t you let it? i still want you, y/n. i just told you that.”

“but i can’t risk getting hurt again, harry. not by you.”

“so that’s it? i can’t be your friend, i can’t be your lover?”

she sighed, clenching her teeth before swallowing thickly. “i can’t be the reason you didn’t find the love of your life.”

a pause. bated breaths. “what if its you?”

a defeated chuckle. “it can’t be. no matter how much you want it to.”

“why won’t you give us a chance!”

“how can i believe that it won’t be different than last time?!” she screamed, finally at her wits end. standing from the bed, she stood at the foot with clenched fists. “i think you should leave.”

“what? no, baby, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to upset you.”

“please leave, harry. i just need time to think, and i can’t do that if you’re here.” she pleaded. watching harry step up from her bed, she placed a hand over her mouth and followed him out the door.

“i love you, but it’s ruining my life.”

“promise me you’ll call when you’ve had time to think. promise me that you’ll call when you need me again. please, promise me you’ll call me if you want me here. i will come to you, no matter where i am.”

“i know you will, harry. i know. and i will. i promise to call you when i’m ready.”

“i love you, okay?”

“i know. goodbye, harry.”

— JUNE

“hello?” y/n said into the speaker of her phone.

“hi, princess. i’ll be there in 20, okay? i’ve missed you.”

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟝

𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞

↳ 'A picture is worth a thousand words,' as the age old adage goes, but you are soon to find out that the narrative spun around them can be worth so much more.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [8,7k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

Leaning his face closer to yours, Eric squints devilishly at you and says, "Be nice to me, or I won't scout the way myself to sneak you in."

The following days speed by in a blur; comeback practice, setlist practice, multiple meetings and pre-comeback appearances meant to create interest for what is soon to come commandeer the majority of your time, and it is only once you land in Germany that you realize just how little you have been able to afford for yourself.

There is a wash of relief there when the foreign air hits your skin and the unfamiliarity of a place you have never been before begins to sink in. Of course, MVNE have things they must do here beyond a handful of songs they are set to perform tonight, but photoshoots and social media are nothing compared to the demanding schedule that still awaits you back home.

You've still not spoken to Sunwoo in weeks.

He has been away for the majority of the time, and did not fly with the rest of you. Sunwoo, you find out through overhearing discussions amongst managers, will come in a few hours in the future. Straight to the stage for rehearsals, and then a meager wait following that until it is time to perform for those awaiting him.

One positive thing about it all is that Juyeon has kept his word.

Interactions with him are brief and professional, given the fact that you are in public and there are curious eyes all around. The fans like the two of you together in certain ways—as far as performance and aesthetic are concerned—but both of you know it best to not test the limits of where your friendliness might land you.

You steal glances as he stands near to you, careful not to draw attention to yourself. He is handsome and kind; forthcoming with his thoughts and feelings, incredibly intelligent and well-read on top of it all. For a moment you wonder to yourself, why not him, and then suppose that it really is as intangible and cosmic as what he had said to you only a week or so back.

Your heart just isn't in it. What else can be said for that?

Mid-day rolls around and rehearsals come and go. The sound leaves a lot to be desired with numerous hiccups and discussions following in tow. MVNE will perform four songs, which is plenty given the way your body feels weary on account of the travel and jet lag. A couple of the girls push for one more, but you stay silent in the conversations. Really, your mind is heavier than your body could ever be. Hours have passed, the rehearsal following yours is for The Boyz, and you know who is standing by backstage awaiting their time to shine.

Your feet hurt by the time your time slot is finished—numerous runs done over and over again until finally everyone has got it right. The girls all hurry backstage to enjoy the small amount of time they have until fans start shuffling into their places and the arena lights shine for you and so many others to be seen. At the very least, the green rooms are catered well and there is a whole plethora of food awaiting you.

Once down the stairs and behind the scenes of the glamour, bodies dart around and zoom past you, all with time-sensitive tasks of their own that must be attended to. Black blurs that you cannot make out the faces of before it is too late and they have disappeared off into the distance. People are shouting and static is buzzing from sound systems and communication devices. It's stressful making sure that everything happens precisely the way it is meant to; the air brimming with electricity that can be felt right down to your bones.

You look up and to your left, your eyes catch Kevin's briefly and your heart leaps up into your throat. The understanding that they had been waiting back here is something that logically, you had made peace with, but emotionally? Evidently less so.

Yet you can't look away.

Your attention spans down the line with momentum so fast that it makes your head spin. Chanhee and Haknyeon are standing just behind, though their eyes are set to the ground in anticipation of what's to come. Mimicking them, you also look to the floor, not wanting to accidentally trip on something that may be troublesomely in front of you. Then, your eyes snap back up and as if constructed by fate itself; you find Sunwoo.

He looks at you as if he can feel the fact that your gaze sits heavy on his form. It's so dark and so busy that you only have a second or two to truly get a look at him, but you don't require much to recognize that he has seen better days and wears the fact tiredly upon him.

Those eyes light up for what seems like the first time in a long time.

But you snap away from him and are quickly ushered down the hall towards elsewhere entirely. The girls all make their way inside of the green room, a few of them wasting no time looking over the bountiful display of snacks and drinks that have been waiting there for the taking. Rather than following suit, or sitting to rest your tired feet, you halt just past the doorway and remain lost in a split-second moment that has hardly even happened, at all.

The look on his face, and the obvious desperation seen behind eyes that have no hope of being able to convey the depth of whatever it they feel as though they need to.

"Hey," a familiar voice calls to you, enough to snap you back to the present. Woori nudges you with her shoulder from just beside you and lowers her voice a little bit more to avoid being overheard. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, of course." What else are you meant to say beyond the thing that you know she wants to hear. "Just tired, jet lagged… You know how it goes."

"First time overseas for an event, it's not easy, I'll tell you that much," she agrees. "I don't know how groups do it, back and forth all the time, but I guess all we can hope for is that eventually, that'll be us, too." There's no response you have to give to her words with your mind still left back in the hallways. Woori notices it—perceptive as she is—and lowering her voice to a whisper she says, "Are you sure you're okay? You know… with everything going on?"

You grant her your attention, and though you have no doubt that your feelings lie fully displayed upon your features, you don't have the fight left in you to attempt to correct it, either.

"It's fine." That's the best you can do. "It's all going to be fine."

From just behind where the both of you stand, a knock raps at the door and shortly thereafter it swings open to reveal a couple of familiar faces that you were not at all anticipating seeing.

There stands Rimi, dressed in white and pastel pinks. Beside her is another girl that you know, though not as familiarly as Rimi, herself. Her name is Kokoro; never not seen with bleached blonde hair and a wild aesthetic of animal prints and vast accessories.

They both enter and immediately wrap you in affection, with strong hugs and kisses pecked to the sides and top of your head. Just what you need, right about now.

"How did you guys get back here?" you ask, still basking in the love that they're showing you. "Don't tell me you've started down the dark path of sneaking into places you know you're not supposed to be."

Rimi's hands set at her hips, a comical display of displeasure at your words and she says, "Please! We would never! But more than that, we don't need to!"

Kokoro raises a hand. "My family knows one of the directors of this production, so we have just about as much free reign of this place as you do."

"Shall we step outside to chat?" Rimi suggests, "We wouldn't want to bother the other girls during their resting time, only you."

Little does she know, their presence is precisely the sort of pick-me-up that you need. Following them out, Kokoro says something about a vending machine with a very particular cold coffee that she wants, and the three of you head down towards her intended prize. It is a less frequently traveled spot by talent and staff alike; no time for anyone to hang around and enjoy the luxury of a beverage in the hours leading up to the show. For the first time in a long time, you feel the tension dissipate from your form. Comforted by the quell of madness.

"We can speak comfortably around Kokoro," Rimi says suddenly, words that feel a little out of place and do more harm than good when it comes to the stress that you're hoping to leave behind. "She already knows everything that goes on everywhere, nothing you could tell her would be news to this one."

You look the girl over. Times spent together in the past have been little more than holding spots in line and journeys for soju and barbeque after an event. However, your trust held in Rimi is unwavering, and if she is willing to vouch, then you allow yourself to accept the fact.

"My family is very well connected," Kokoro says. "I wouldn't be able to escape it if I tried."

The smile you give her is slight and half-hearted, but you don't have it in you to offer much more beyond that.

"That said! How are you? How have things been? It hasn't been long since we last spoke but a lot has happened!" With wide eyes and a dramatic display of disbelief, Rimi shakes her head as she recounts the most obvious elephant in the room. "I mean, can you believe it? Just crazy the way all of that has played out."

Busy with her drink retrieval, Kokoro finally slips the container out from the slot and still bent down, she looks up at you and says, "It must have been a very strange conversation, huh? But I guess this is business. It's all politics, smoke and mirrors and all that, ya know? Like, we always know that's the case, and then you see it in action and it's like whoa, they'll go to any lengths to get what they want, isn't that right?"

Through the course of Kokoro's tirade, your eyebrows have flexed and pressed together on your face. It hasn't been a conscious effort on your part, and though you entered this discussion with a baseline understanding of what is about, the more she has spoken, the less you have come to understand it. Somewhere along the line, the words Kokoro has said have sounded less familiar to you, and more akin to information that you have not yet become privy to.

You understand what the three of you are talking about, but simultaneously, you have no idea what the three of you are talking about.

So, you have no choice but to inquire. Your eyes dart to Rimi—who is watching you expectantly—then back to Kokoro who is seemingly unaware and working towards enjoying her prize.

"Uh, what are we talking about?"

Rimi rolls her eyes and stamps her foot like a cartoon character. "Sunwoo! The pictures, and everything!"

"I know, I gathered that much, but…"

Silence follows. Eventually, any hint of comedic display falls from Rimi and a sense of sincere urgency takes hold instead. "Wait." Her shoulders drop all of their tension, slouching lifelessly to her sides. Cocking her head inquisitively she says, "Have you not… spoken to him?"

Your throat is dry and your eyes drop from hers, unable to maintain the contact as this topic persists.

"No, I don't think I have to explain why."

"Oh shit!"

It drops from Rimi's mouth before she has a chance to reel it back. Her hands fly over her mouth and Kokoro gasps in the aftermath of it, gently swatting at her as if to reprimand her for saying it. Reaching towards you, Rimi grips your arm tightly—almost enough to hurt—and with a kind of determination you've never seen from her before she says, "Babe, you need to talk to him, oh my god. It's not true!"

Your stomach drops before you have time to truly consider the weight of what you have just been told.

"Wha… I saw the pictures," you stammer, "We all saw them. We saw the articles, the company statement…"

After struggling for quite some time, the cap finally pops off of Kokoro's drink. She takes a sip and appears wholly unbothered by the weight of the conversation that is happening around her. A loud sigh follows her sip, like she's filming for a commercial and selling the part to perfection, and once she's finished Kokoro finds the time to attend to you.

"I mean, yeah, the photos are real in the sense that they exist and they were spotted out together." She takes another sip, enamoured by the flavor in ways that seem incredibly untimely given the gravity of what is happening to you. "It's the story around them that's not. I thought for sure you would have known this, figured this was already water under the bridge. They must be keeping a real tight leash on him then."

You close your eyes, shake your head in disbelief and just say: "Pause."

A moment is needed for you to think through the unimaginable amount of thoughts swirling around in your head. You take in a slow but deep breath, holding it inside of your lungs until you can't stand to keep it there for any longer. Your nerves settle slightly, enough to move forward with all of this without completely shutting down, bursting into tears, and ruining the incredible amount of stage make-up that is crafted upon your face.

"Can you just… Start from the beginning."

"I'll keep watch!" Rimi announces, craning her body so that she can look down the hall.

"Okay, so." Kokoro revels in another sip of her coffee drink before continuing on. "My dad works with a lot of very high-profile people, so I hear about all of the nasty business in the industry. Entertainment companies, news, politics… all of it," she says. "He's currently assigned a job working very closely with the news source that posted those photos and the article along with it, and you know, these people love to talk. They love gossip. They can't sit on a secret without it killing them. Love the attention."

Growing impatient, you say, "Can we just…"

"Right! Anyway, he was there when the story broke, and I guess it was a big deal when it happened, the office was going crazy about it! So, they went out for some drinks after work and got to talking, and apparently everyone working on the project spilled! There was a lot of correspondence with your company back and forth, and apparently it wasn't just some random paparazzi that snapped the photos and sent them in… It was your company, themselves."

The more she says, the more your heart sinks down to your gut.

"So, they get these pictures of him out with this photographer. The outing is nothing special, nothing happens. It's just a casual thing amongst colleagues but you know, you can snap a single photo of a moment and spin it to seem like anything with the right kind of story attached. Which is precisely what they did. That company paid a lot of money for this all to get out, by the way. Orchestrated the whole thing. And I can't prove this—it's just something my dad overheard in passing another day—but it seems like they did it to manufacture tension in-house." Kokoro stops, gives you a knowing look and then says, "Don't have to be the smartest person in the room to know exactly what that means."

Voice trembling, you say: "They know about us."

"Yup, and are going about breaking it up in the nastiest way they know how," Kokoro confirms. "I mean, if you think about it from their perspective, there's no other way. No-dating rules have been a thing in the industry for decades but it doesn't stop anyone from doing it anyway. If you sniff out some funny business under your roof, the only real way to ensure that it stops is to craft up a way for those people to not want anything to do with each other the natural way—good ol' emotional manipulation style."

You feel sick. Your stomach twists and your chest tightens, eyes stinging with the pain of tears you're desperate to fight back. Everything hurts, straight down to your bones; body limp with the discovery that you have never been as attuned to the intricate and downright wicked willingness these people have to get whatever it is that they want.

"You're sure?" you ask. Realistically, you already know the answer to the question, but something inside of you needs to hear the confirmation one more time.

Kokoro nods. "Yeah, without a doubt. I'm really surprised he hasn't reached out about it, but my guess is that they're watching him like a hawk. He probably doesn't have free access to his phone if he hasn't."

No wonder Sunwoo never reached out once the story broke. The sickness writhes inside of you just that much more in relation to everything that has transpired since then; your feelings, your actions, things that can never be undone or taken back.

All just to find out that Sunwoo hasn't done anything, at all. Instead, he is the person with the target on his back; the first shot sent from his very own company, and the second—unbeknownst to him—fired from you.

"Someone's coming!" Rimi whisper-shouts.

Kokoro nods to her and the conversation comes to a close, but before you will allow it to do so, you grasp the sleeve of her coat into your hand and say, "Thank you, but… I need to talk to him. How do I talk to him?"

Her eyes widen. "You're asking me?" Thinking it over for a few seconds, her head bobbles in a considering sort of way as if mulling over any potential options and she says, "Are you close to anyone else in there? Someone else you trust? I can't talk to Sunwoo himself, the degrees of separation aren't far enough, but I might be able to pass a message along and start orchestrating something."

Juyeon would be willing, you know that fact well. You trust him and have seen firsthand how capable he is through missions of stealth. However, involving him in this feels too close to home—as well as other things—and so, you opt into your next best and considerably more messy option.

"Eric."

Squinting suspiciously, as if to say that you have missed the importance of this being a covert sort of going on, Kokoro relents to it and just says, "Well, alright. Eric it is, then. I'll try to talk to him and figure something out, Rimi and I will message you when we have something but it's probably for the best if we're not seen together again after this. Not until we're back in Seoul, at least."

How deep does the rabbit hole go, you wonder.

Rimi [18:47]: great news~♡ kokoro talked to eric about that client her dad works with who wants to work with him in the future and it looks like he's super open to it! we wanted to talk to him about it more later after the show, but he said something about just being way too busy with the gym tonight (¬_¬") men can be so annoying, but that's how it is! see you in seoul again soon~!

Covered in sweat, it is the first thing you see on your phone upon arriving back inside of the green room. Your heart skips, breath holding inside of your lungs out of fear that should you dare breathe, the possibility of this may disappear with it.

This is code. Obviously enough to you with the knowledge you have but not so much so that anyone who happens to see it could understand the hidden meaning behind the words. 

Unexpectedly, a hand finds your back and you jump at the fright.

Kaia swings around to settle in your line of vision with a big smile on her face and a make-up wipe in hand, always the fastest to rid herself of the excessiveness of it all.

"Great job out there tonight, you were electric," she says, "We're all going to go out for dinner and some drinks, enjoy the city a bit while we're here, tell me you'll come along with us!"

You want to say no, but there is no good excuse for not doing so. The Boyz trail behind you in their performance and are set to go on shortly, and rushing back to the hotel only ensures that you sit waiting until a later point in time where you are finally able to begin perusing the hauls for the place it is that you will seek. Truthfully, the only reason you wish to bow out is a selfish desire to be alone with your own thoughts and worries; what will happen, what has happened, and what might be waiting for you in the not so distant future.

"Of course I'll come," you say, putting all of your ample weariness on the shelf for the time being. A formidable task. "You were great, too. We all were."

Miyoung is passing by as you say it, catches ear of what you've said, and flashes you a smile as she continues on her way.

For MVNE, things couldn't be better. Little do they know how close you are to bringing it all toppling down.

You don't know Eric's manager, nor how intense he is about his line of work. All you know is that this had seemingly been his plan, and if he had set it into motion, then it must be fairly smooth going from here.

The room you have is shared with Serri and you're quite thankful for that. A perfect night for her is staying in, watching television and scrolling through her phone with little interest for much else to entertain her. She is quiet and kind, but wholly uninterested in being the life of the party—especially after a long day of travel, rehearsals, and performances.

When you say you're leaving to see what the accommodations have to offer, she barely even hums to acknowledge your words.

Circumstances are such now that you can't take any chances with anyone you may run into, and so, you are dressed accordingly. The typical wear of an idol engaged in sneaky business and you make it a point to keep your head low, not bothering to ask the front desk where the location of the gym even is. You trust you can find it on your own—these places have maps everywhere—and once you make it to the lobby, your instinct to trust your gut is instantly rewarded.

Basement level, just one more level down and just beside the pool.

You don't know what time you're meant to be here, and you don't ask Rimi for any further clarification, either. Correspondence with Eric is certainly out—not that you have a way of getting ahold of him, anyway—so all that you can hope is that their business is wrapped up and you haven't kept him waiting so long that he has already retired back to bed. It's late, most people are no longer making their way through the halls… All you can do is hope.

Down here it's musty and the scent of lingering wetness clings to the carpet that you're walking on. You pass a door for staff, and then the very next one is precisely what you are searching for.

With a racing heart that threatens to leap from your chest, you slowly push the door open.

And seated on a bench right in plain sight, is Eric.

"Your friends told me they have an exciting opportunity waiting for me, how nice of you to send them my way."

While a part of you wants to clear the distance and jam a fist into his arm, the stronger part nearly wants to break down and cry.

"Youngjae…"

His eyes go wide. "Whoa, government name. You're really in the trenches, huh?"

Fighting the floor of emotions that threaten to take hold, you bring your palms to your face and drag them downwards woefully as you make your way towards him. Eric pats the empty portion of the bench just beside him and you take your seat with a despondent plop.

"I need to talk to Sunwoo."

"You're kinda dumb, you know that? I can't believe you saw all that and really thought that what you were seeing is what you were really getting. I mean, seriously? Another woman?"

"You're not helping."

Eric reels a bit, rolls his eyes like he accepts that his badgering is not particularly wanted and says, "I'm just saying, you know that guy is crazy about you. I mean, I didn't have the proof and he hadn't told me it wasn't true yet but like… I kind of knew someone was playing games, and it wasn't him."

"You can hang me up in the city square for torture another time, but right now I need to talk to him. He doesn't have his phone?"

"Nope, at least, not without someone eyeing him while he's using it. It's kind of a nightmare, if I'm being honest. Can't send as many dick jokes as I'd typically like." You look over at him with a glare, and once again Eric realizes that his additional anecdotes are falling on deaf ears. "Alright, look… It's late enough by now that I don't think he's being hounded. We got food and some drinks after the show and then a few of us headed back in, him included. I told him I was going to come over so we could see if the theory is true that Ridiculousness is literally always showing on TV in hotels, no matter where you are or what time it is. He seemed to like that idea."

"I cannot believe you guys are actually idols," you say, "No wonder everyone likes girl groups now, instead."

Leaning his face closer to yours, Eric squints devilishly at you and says, "Be nice to me, or I won't scout the way myself to sneak you in."

His hand grips your wrist and just as swiftly, you are dragged to your feet and back towards the door.

When the elevator announces your arrival, your breath fully catches in your throat. Once again, you hold it for fear that none of this is real, that with one faulty move karma will deem your being here something that should not happen.

The silver doors slide open and Eric pops his head out.

"Nothing, it's clear. Pretty sure everyone is asleep already, managers included."

"Even for him?" you ask.

Looking back at you he says, "Yeah, they're tyrants but they're not on him twenty-four-seven, nobody gets paid enough to do that. Let's go."

Eric wanders down the hallway with the sort of nonchalant ease of a guy with absolutely nothing to lose. It must be nice, you think to yourself, walking with your body nearly curling inside of itself as if to disappear should the slightest of glances fall upon you.

"What if someone else is inside?" you ask then, nervousness making itself evident through your questioning.

He briefly glances back at you again. "Again, not paid enough."

"You guys don't room together?"

"Not anymore, perks of being in the game for a while." Eric pauses for a second and then says, "Wait, you two were friends for a while before all of this, don't you know that already?"

"I never went to his room, are you insane?"

Playfully offended, Eric tosses his hands into the air and says, "Okay, sorry. Forgot meeting at restaurants was a much safer option, as has thoroughly been demonstrated to us."

His jovialness is hardly appreciated.

The two of you turn a corner and after only a few more steps, you stop in front of a door. Neither of you move, and after a couple of long, unnecessarily drawn out moments Eric looks at you and says, "Okay. We're here. Knock."

"Is it weird that I'm scared?"

He rolls his eyes, a seemingly common reaction from him in regards to you now. "Oh my god." His fist pounds on the door—far more loudly than you think is really necessary given that this whole operation is meant not to draw attention—and then before the door even begins to draw open, Eric begins his journey back the way you came.

"You're not waiting!?" It's something in between a necessary whisper and a displeased yell, and all he gives you in reply to it is a big grin and a shrug.

Time draws on so slowly that you easily lose track of how much goes by with you perched up outside of the room. How many seconds has it been? A minute, perhaps? You don't know. Beneath your skin, your veins feel like fire in anticipation of what's to come. Maybe he's asleep, maybe Eric was wrong and the person that is soon to greet you is the angry face of a manager that somehow knew that all of this was taking place. A heavy exhale leaves you and it's shaky with uncertainty. You shouldn't be here, you can still leave… and yet, you can't. No matter what.

There's a click from behind the door and your heart nearly stops. It begins to pry open slowly, and though you aren't quite able to make out what lies beyond, the thing that does come to you is the gentle waft of warm steam and the noise beyond that grows louder as it widens.

An arm slips out, hand grasping your sweatshirt by the sleeve and forcefully dragging you inside.

What awaits you hidden away in those walls is a flurry of lips, teeth and hands.

Neither of you say a word and Sunwoo's mouth finds yours in a flash. His hands are warm and wet; hastily slipping beneath your sweater and tearing it upwards to rid you of the bothersome thing. With a pounding heart and chest that feels suffocatingly tight, you completely let go and relent to what he intends to give you; it's been far too long, you put up enough of a fight, and as far as you are concerned… This is the other side of a battle well-fought.

Beside you, the bathroom door is left ajar—a shower still running hot inside of it. The taste of beer still lingers faintly on Sunwoo's tongue as you revisit a place you have been so many times before. His skin is damp, warm; and droplets of water hopelessly cling to long, black clumps of curls that dangle in front of his eyes.

But more than anything else, he is relentless in his pursuit.

Sunwoo's fingers dig at the button of your jeans and though you make the effort to aid him in the task, it is already completed by the time your hands find their way there. His movements are hurried and clumsy; needy and rushed that aren't entirely unlike him but nothing that you have quite seen before. Teeth nip at your bottom lip and your body melts into the feeling of his hands smoothing over the skin of your sides. When your head falls back, he takes it as the perfect opportunity to drag his lips down the expanse of your throat; kissing, nipping… Maybe even marking. 

You should care. You should find the strength to take the reins of this and bring it back to a place that isn't so desperate with careless need.

But you don't.

Dragging you into the bathroom, Sunwoo's mouth barely leaves your skin even for a second. Fingers disappear beneath the top of your jeans and they are quickly shimmied from your legs, discarded and quickly forgotten. Right along with all other intimates you had been hiding underneath.

Once you are finally disrobed, the towel tied at Sunwoo's hips is the next to fall away. His hands come back up to cradle your face, the urgency behind his actions slows to nearly a halt, and he kisses you again unlike any of the times before.

It isn't want that hangs shackled behind this motion, but something far more delicate and sensitive to the touch. This is adoration, it's regret, it's something raw and exposed and meant only for you, and you, alone.

It feels like love.

Sunwoo presses you to step backwards, and so you follow suit. The water is hot and jarring to your skin as it cascades down upon you. Never letting go, the persistence once again finds its way within his motions and once chaste kisses are replaced with tongue and teeth and a need to feel you in all of the ways he has been so desperate for before.

Your palms press into the flesh of his chest and the mere amount of muscle that rests underneath. Sunwoo is overwhelming in his insistence on all things, and being a lover is no different. The air is heavy around you with moisture in a way that makes it difficult to breathe, inebriated by the combination of both it and his desire to have you.

As your touch wanders, so does his. You slip down towards his waist and settle at his hips, now starkly aware of the fact that neither of you have a single garment covering your forms. All of your shared intimacy up until this point has been quick and to the point with little time afforded to revel in the joy of exploring one another's bodies. All of this is new to you, entirely uncharted waters await.

You feel his fingertips light and gentle as they slip down the front of your body and towards the space between your legs. Sunwoo's touch is shockingly delicate given the way his lips slot against your own. The feeling of his hands on your skin, his body pressing harder, firmer against your own dizzies you nearly out of the ability to think clearly. You've wanted this for so long; tried to fight it and lied to everyone—including yourself—in an attempt to win the war waging between you.

Sliding a hand up his back, you bury fingers deep within his hair. Sunwoo groans into your open mouth as a result of the touch and the sound of him like this—the look of him with lustful, half-lidded eyes and lips plump from abuse—sends a wanting chill down your spine that all but has you melting into putty in his hands.

When he goes in to connect your lips once more, you keep the hold of his head in your hands firm, disallowing him from doing so. The thought has lingered in the darkest recesses of your mind ever since his touch fell upon you; a dutiful thing that—while ugly and untimely—simply cannot be ignored.

"I…" you begin to say, and even just that much is sputtered out in a directionless way, with no clear path to follow. Sunwoo looks at you tentatively and with unwavering interest. All that you can hope for is that what you have to say will not shutter it away—rightfully, and for good.

"I…" you start again, forcing the rest of the confession out past the painful dryness in your throat. "I slept with Juyeon." Tears begin to form but you refuse to let them come. Crying on account of your own actions feels manipulative even if the intent to be so is not truly there. Your lip trembles as you continue with the words. "After the article, the pictures… I—"

Sunwoo's face twists into a mixture of things as he looks at you: confusion, disbelief, but most of all… indifference. "I don't fucking care," he says, firm and resolute. His hands clasp your face all over again and he kisses you hard, pulls back, and then reiterates it again: "I don't fucking care about that."

Your back finds the smooth tile of the shower wall shortly thereafter, and Sunwoo's hand falls down once more  to fit between your legs. The gasp that slips away from your lips is immediately taken in by his own through fervent kisses and the ever so slight but pleased grin that twists at his mouth. Knees that feel gelatinous threaten to no longer be able to hold your weight, the arousal pooling where he touches you leaving your senses feeling stifled past anything but him. You can no longer hear the sounds of the water beating down or smell the faint hint of floral shampoo that once seemed so strong in the air; only slightly panting breaths just beside your ear and alcohol that has long since been consumed.

Sunwoo's fingers are long and slender, inching down and then slowly inside in an effort to have you melting around them. Tension drops from your shoulders as he does, your head falling back against the wall and his lips quick to taste the exposed skin there. That all-too-knowing curl follows—heel of his palm firm against the dull throb that begs for attention—this place has been visited between the two of you so many times before, and Sunwoo's expertise in the matters of having you come undone this way are fully on display.

His free hand finds your thigh and the feeling of his fingernails gently gripping into the flesh there as your body craning off the wall and harder up against his, but the pleading groan that drips from him afterwards is the final straw of your quickly dwindling sense of composure.

In your mind, the way you say his name sounds stronger than the actuality of it; broken, pathetic, and little more than a whimper.

"God, I want…"

Sunwoo doesn't finish the thought but you already know precisely what he means by it. This is quickly spiraling out of control should either of you hope to walk away from this with good decisions having been made. There is no push for more being made save for the idle desperation felt from his fingertips raking at your thigh. He wants more—knows neither of you have walked into this situation amply prepared for that—and worst of all, so do you.

And throwing all caution to the wind; a victim of being drunk with history, regret, and arousal, you find his warm, wet lips all over again to kiss him with silent, unspoken confidence and intent.

"I don't care," you whisper against them.

The reaction that follows is nothing short of a culmination of things, none of which are ill-suited for the situation at hand. Sunwoo's head falls back, eyes rolling as if some part of him had been holding out hope for the fact that you might be better than him—better than this. You're not, neither is he; and though it may be poor decision making at its finest, when his gaze drops down to find yours again, there is a sort of sinister hunger now sitting behind his eyes.

You know Sunwoo well enough to know he wouldn't dare to broach the subject on his own, but your willingness to put it on the table for yourself is simply too much for him to be able to deny.

The grip becomes strong, creating space for his hips between your legs as the hand once there moves to himself. His chest presses against your own, lips ghosting across yours as you feel the careful first push inside.

"Can't tell you no," he says softly, breath escaping him through the words as he sinks deeper into your body. "I've been dying to give you anything you want."

Feeling him bury into you, the closeness of your bodies, and the heat of your surroundings has you dizzy with need. Your hands slide up the hot, wet skin of his back with nails fast to dig in and find purchase against the muscles just below. They flex and move beneath your touch, tense with strength to hold you open for him and shifting with every slow, concentrated drive of himself into you. The friction of each drag blurring your vision, oxygen thick and hard to take into your lungs through the steam that continues to form.

Once frenzied kisses fall to the wayside in favor of open mouth panting and a repeated chorus of whines, groans and moans. Sunwoo watches your expressions intently for any hint of how to take you further as he settles into a more demanding, conscious pace. "Feel good?" he asks, voice low and labored, intonation matching with every press of his hips against yours. 

The answer is written all over your face, given away with every sound that falls away from you and every deep drag of your nails against his back. He'll likely walk away from this encounter with rows of evidence to show for the fact, and you can only hope that there's nothing in his immediate future that might cause that being known.

Even just thinking about it has his name escaping you in a desperate plea for more of him.

"Keep doing that and I'm gonna come," Sunwoo says, a hedonistic growl laced through his tone. "But I need to feel you fall apart on me first." His lips drag across the flesh of your jaw, teeth lightly sinking in as he continues fucking you through the way his words make you tighten around him. "Then I'll have you moaning my name as much as you want."

Your muscles tense, the need for release teetering on the edge of unbearable to the point that your body aches from the tension. Nails dig deeper into him, so much so that he winces at the feeling but never once relents, and taking matters into his own hands, Sunwoo presses you harder against the wall in anticipation for how unrelenting his drives become. Faster, longer, fuller strokes that have you coming undone at a breakneck pace. Any control of your volume immediately falls to the wayside and is amplified by the bathroom echo—so just as quickly, Sunwoo fits his palm snugly across your mouth.

His eyes fixate on yours, completely in tune to the feeling and movement of your body as he works to bring you over the edge. Eyes blown out with lust and need and a sort of carnal desire to have and acquire something that he has, to some degree, always believed to be his.

"Come on," he urges, "Come for me, your body's begging for it."

Once loud moans dissipate into a silent cry through your release. It shakes you, rattles your body almost painfully as it rips through you. Any concept of your surroundings completely melts away for those few, slow seconds following the intensity that wrecks your body. Sunwoo never stops, never slows as he continues to fuck you through it without so much as a falter; and the gasps you find do cuminate into a breathless, pathetic chant of his name just as he so desired.

But he can't continue through it much longer, in the haze of your immediate aftermath you can feel the shake to his strength, the tremble of his breaths as his own end rushes to find him. The once easy rhythm to his hard drives into you are quickly dissembling; his head drops, forearm pressed to the wall beside your head like the additional assistance to his stance is needed.

Watching him unravel like this is delectable in ways you never could have possibly anticipated.

"Gonna come," he whines, "I'll pull—"

"Don't."

Your insistence for otherwise has his hips stuttering, head dropping down to just beside yours as he growls through the logical resistance of it. Hands once firms against his back slide down to his hips, guiding him forward and urging him to do precisely as you have instructed.

"Fuck." The exasperation sounds punched out of his chest, aching and craving for exactly what you've offered him. His head snaps back up, the hand against the wall then curling around to lightly grip into your hair as hungry lips once again find your own. All teeth and tongue and groans into your mouth as his drives once again find the speed and depth they had before. "Want me to come inside you?" he says, words filthy and coated with venom on his tongue. "Want me to take you, want me to really make you mine?"

And the airy yes that escapes from you is just as sinful.

Confirmation is all he needs, the simple word echoing against the shower walls as Sunwoo buries himself hard and deep inside of you. Laborious pants draft over your mouth, his chest rising and falling in quick succession with every aching throb of release that shakes him. He pulls from you only just a bit before pressing forward fully again, and an anguished whimper dies in his throat for the last time.

Basking in the immediate aftermath, there is only silence now. Your chests rise and fall with the hope of finally finding the calmness of breath that you seek, and slowly breaking apart your bodies, Sunwoo hisses at the feeling of loss and then suspiciously squints at you.

"Oh, you're a freak, huh?"

You deadpan.

"Says the guy with a fire-hot possessive streak."

"Very normal kink to have, I'll have you know." He inches his face closer to yours again, lingers in the space just between your mouths and then quickly pecks a kiss there. "Sure worked for you."

Gently shoving him backwards and into the stream of water, you roll your eyes and relent to the most obvious thing of all. "I guess I should have known that the mouthiest guy I know would be no different… In other aspects."

"Yes, you should have," Sunwoo agrees, and annoyingly so. "And as much-needed as this was and a great reunification gift… I guess we've got a whole lot more talking that we need to do."

The sound of his voice in the latter half of the realization is so far from the strength and confidence displayed only moments before. Sunwoo's eyes fall away from yours like he doesn't have the courage to face you, nor the choices you have made. Juyeon had insisted that this day would come, and though you had eventually relented to accepting that fact, suppose you had expected there to be just a bit more time spanning in between. Time for it to feel further in the past, time for it to feel less like a wound still trying to scab.

You offer a small and forced smile then say, "Lets get cleaned up, I want to enjoy this for a little while longer."

Sunwoo crawls into bed beside you last, tending to the last minute prep of your final moments together like this. You are unable to spend the night here and are expected to be found in your room by the time a manager makes his way to retrieve you in the morning. You'll be tired, the wear of the long evening will certainly show on your face… But it was worth it, without a doubt in your mind.

The television flickers on and a program that you neither recognize nor understand flashes onto the screen just as the light to the room is harshly shut off. It smells faintly of him; clothing, cosmetics, fragrances scattered about as far as the eye can see with little care for the place that they happen to land. Comforting and familiar within the coffin of a secret you no longer hold.

Slipping in beside you, Sunwoo's head falls daintily to the side as he offers you a tight-lipped smile. His arm falls over the front of you—laid out on your back and spending the majority of your time staring towards the ceiling.

Tip-toeing back through the memory of how it is that the two of you arrived here.

"So," he says, and his voice is so quiet that you almost don't even hear him. "Tell me."

But there's no strength behind those words, and that sinks into your chest with a weight far heavier than anything you could have anticipated. Sunwoo wants to know because he feels like he needs to; not through jealousy or even anger, but because of the very same reason that Juyeon knew to be true.

"I was angry." Staring up at the darkness of the ceiling, from here it looks as though it can carry on forever. A part of you wishes that you could disappear into it, leaving all of this behind, but the tender curl of Sunwoo's fingertips into the flesh of your stomach remind you to be present and that being here just might be worth it, after all.

"I had actually just gotten back from meeting with my friend, one of the girls that met with Eric backstage. We talked about you. Talked about us." You pause, remembering that day. Inhaling deeply, you continue on. "I got home and the girls showed me. I mean, what else was I meant to think?"

Turning your head, your eyes find his. Light from the TV flashes across them in an almost mesmerizing way. Easy to get lost in, easy to forget that all of this has been, and will continue to be, so hard.

"So, I was hurt, and I was angry, because I thought how can he be saying all of this to me while doing this behind my back? It's not as though we've never talked about you and other women, so I figured if there would ever be someone else, you'd at least respect me enough to say as much. It just felt like a knife to the back, after everything."

"You wanted payback," Sunwoo reasons.

"Yeah, and what better way to cash in, I guess."

"Fucking my friend?" The words are jarring when you hear them despite the light and comical way that he delivers it. Sunwoo rolls his eyes, sighs, and says, "Sure, that'll do it."

"Are you mad?"

"No." Inching closer, Sunwoo's lips ghost just beside your ear to say, "I came inside you." But as if the consideration has only just found him, he reels back suddenly, startled and says, "Wait, did he…?"

You shove him with nearly enough strength to have him falling out of the bed completely.

"No! Are you insane?"

The giggle that follows is annoying and presumptuous in its intent, but true, nonetheless. Sunwoo crawls his way back to snugly fit his body against yours and says, "See, you like me. What's there to be mad about? All jokes aside though, the whole situation is shit and obviously I know how it looks, so I can't really blame you for acting out. I mean, sure, I kinda wish you didn't fuck Tall, Scary and Handsome because that's a whole lot to try and compete with, but Juyeon's nice. He's a good guy. He probably had a whole lot to say about it, too."

Your eyes shut slowly at the recollection. "Yeah, he certainly does… Think about things."

"I take solace in the fact that you had to suffer for it in some way."

In silence, the two of you lay together for many long moments. Sunwoo's finger traces shapes over the expanse of your skin idly, lost in thought much like yourself, if you had to guess as much. Your mind has been heavy since long before your arrival here and the subsequent actions taken thereafter; but now that they have occurred, your thoughts have muddled and congealed past the point of being recognizable to you.

Turning your head to look at him again, you find the courage to say the thing that maybe—for a long time now—you've really wanted to say.

It isn't permanent, just speaking it aloud, but it certainly does feel that way.

"I don't think I want to be an idol anymore."

Sunwoo's hand slowly comes to a stop.

a/n: fun fact but this shower scene was The Scene that this whole entire thing spawned from, and now we're finally here. escape by tbz the perfect listening vibes for it 😋

[hypnagogicwriter]

𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧

fandom masterlist | general navigation

synopsis: There's glitter on the floor after the party, and Y/N finds herself cleaning up year after year. Surprisingly, Gojo Satoru joined her once and didn't seem to leave.

Tags: Gojo Satoru/f!Reader, Reader is Not a Jujutsu Sorcerer, still kicks ass tho, Soft Gojo Satoru but he is struggling with emotions, Feelings?, Reader has a problematic past, We only briefly look at that, kinda Strangers to Lovers, inaccurate canon universe

Words: 1471

Kinda obvious based on this song

The sound of laughter and distant fireworks echoed through the halls of Jujutsu High as the students celebrated the arrival of a new year. The main room was a mess of discarded cups, streamers, and confetti, and Y/N stood at the center, broom in hand, surveying the aftermath.

It was tradition now—she’d clean while the others enjoyed themselves, preferring the quiet over the chaos of the party. That's where she belonged, after all.

“You know, there’s no rule that says you have to do this every year.”

The familiar voice made her sigh. She turned to see Gojo Satoru leaning against the doorframe, his blindfold perched on his head.

“Shouldn’t you be off dazzling everyone with your charm?” she asked, resuming her sweeping.

“I already dazzled them,” he said, walking into the room. “Now I’m here to dazzle you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Grab a broom if you’re going to stay.”

He smirked but complied, picking up the other broom. Together, they cleaned in silence, the remnants of the party fading away. This was not possible when Y/N took up the position as a regular teacher, the communication between the two of them was too harsh.

“You’re always cleaning up after everyone,” he said after a while, his voice quieter than usual. “Why?”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the floor. Someone has to do the dirty work. At home, it was always her. A bit like Cinderella, only without a prince, but with a good friend with exceptionally good contacts, who couldn't stand her family.

His gaze lingered on her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing in him.

The first time Gojo had seen Y/N like this was a year ago, on New Year’s Day. She had been sitting in the empty common room, staring at the remnants of another celebration. He’d wandered in, looking for a late-night snack, and found her instead.

“You okay?” he’d asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Just thinking,” she’d replied, her voice echoing back from the end of the universe.

He didn’t press her that night, just sat across from her and shared the silence. It became a habit after that—running into her at odd hours, sharing unspoken moments in the aftermath of celebrations or battles.

She intrigued him, this non-sorcerer who carried herself with quiet strength. He wasn’t used to people like her.

There are 12 months between "Gojo Satoru is really getting on my nerves!" and "You're really hard in love, Y/N" (Shoko smirking diabolically).

It started with little things—passing conversations in the halls, stolen glances during meetings, and a steady rhythm that Y/N hadn’t noticed was building. Gojo had a way of inserting himself into her life, in the spaces between her routines.

One day, she was grading papers in the courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the stone path. She heard the distinct crunch of footsteps and sighed.

“Gojo, if you’re here to bother me—”

“Bother you?” he interrupted, dropping into the chair across from her. “I’m here to provide you with my much-needed company. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask for your company,” she replied, not looking up from her work.

“Your eyes did,” he teased, leaning back and balancing his chair on two legs. “They practically screamed, ‘I wish someone would entertain me.’”

Y/N smirked despite herself. “My eyes must be malfunctioning, then.”

They fell into their familiar talking, his teasing bouncing off her sharp retorts. By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, she realized she hadn’t marked a single paper but didn’t feel annoyed about it.

Another time, they crossed paths in the library. She was perched on a ladder, pulling down a stack of dusty books, when his voice rang out.

“Need a hand, shorty?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Gojo.”

“Come on, let me be your knight in shining armor,” he said, winking up at her.

“Go pester someone else,” she muttered, carefully stepping down the ladder.

But when she mistook the last step, Gojo was there, catching her before she could hit the ground. She blinked up at him, her face inches from his, and for a moment, the air between them shifted and Y/N thought of kissing him.

“Careful,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping out of his arms and busying herself with the books.

The moments kept piling up—him bringing her coffee during long staff meetings, her quietly leaving snacks in the training rooms he frequented. Neither addressed the subtle shift, but it was undeniable, and for everyone to see.

The breaking point came during a mission. A group of students had been sent to exorcise a minor curse but found themselves overwhelmed. Y/N and Gojo had been dispatched as backup.

While Gojo handled the curse with his usual flair, Y/N focused on helping the injured students. She knelt beside one, assessing their wounds, like Shoko had shown her and other non-sorcerers, when she heard Gojo’s voice behind her.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Before she could react, he was in front of her, his hand raised as a barrier materialized to deflect a stray attack. The curse dissolved moments later, but the weight of his protective stance lingered.

“You okay?” he asked, turning to her, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Can’t have anything happening to you.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, so honest.

Later that night, as she replayed the events in her mind, she found herself questioning her growing feelings. It wasn’t just his charm or his power—it was the way he seemed to notice the parts of her that others overlooked.

And while she hated to admit it, she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. She had fallen for Gojo Satoru, and it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath her feet.

There are 12 months between “Y/N is a pain in my ass!" and "You're down bad, Gojo-san" (Ijichi grinning diabolically).

This New Year’s was quieter than the last. Most of the students had gone home, leaving the school nearly empty. Y/N found herself cleaning again, the silence soothing as she swept confetti into a pile.

“You’re predictable,” Gojo said, appearing as if from nowhere.

She didn’t look up. “And you’re annoying.”

He chuckled, grabbing a nearby chair and spinning it around to sit backward. “Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Hide away. Take care of everyone else. Pretend like you don’t matter.”

Because she meant nothing. She was just a mixture of bone and flesh. Meaningless. Next to everything else. For the sake of peace, she decided not to say it out loud. You hide something like that behind walls without doors.

She stopped sweeping. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his tone serious. “You give so much of yourself to everyone else, but you never let anyone in.”

Oh, how she hated the way he read her like an open book. The way he gently hit the points. The way he tore down the walls, she carefully built around her past.

Her chest tightened, and she turned away. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you,” he said simply, standing up. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Don’t joke about that, Satoru.”

“I’m not joking,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, I really did. Because having this kind of feeling for people, for non-sorcerers especially, is tough. I learnt from my past that it can hurt, but I also learnt that it hurts the most not to talk about. So yeah, I do care about you so, so deeply and I would never joke when it comes to you —and my students.”

She turned to face him, searching his face for any hint of mockery, but all she found was sincerity. She was speechless.

“You drive me crazy,” she said, her voice trembling.

He smiled, but it was softer this time. “Good. Then we’re even.”

As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Y/N and Gojo sat side by side in the common room, the mess forgotten.

“Do you think this is a mistake?” she asked quietly, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Probably,” he replied, lacing his fingers with hers. “But I don’t care.”

She laughed softly, and he turned to look at her, his eyes bright in the dim light.

“Stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

And she did, in fact, stayed in this love, even longer than him.

[14thcommander]

seashore | hange zöe x reader

summary: a rainy day at the beach with hange. the shitty weather somehow leads to confessions of love. (idiots in love, friends to lovers, not beta read, a shit ton of symbolism, tooth rotting fluff)

i suggest listening to the song do you think I’m pretty by kingfisher

wc: 1.5k

The wind is gentle when it blows against your face — light, careful like a mother’s touch.

It brings the smell of cigarettes, the one Hange is currently smoking. They attempt to point it in the opposite direction, in order to avoid its terrible scent reaching you. It fails, but it’s the intention that counts something.

The beach is empty — well, mostly. There is a group of teenagers that are close enough to be seen, but too far to be heard. The sound of waves is the only thing you hear.

The ocean is a green, grayish color — the line that separates it from the sky, in the horizon, is blurred.

It is a chill day, one you consider the perfect atmosphere to go to the beach. Hange knows you like gray, moody days — the ones in which the sky looks like a warm, soapy bath. You were never a fan of sunlight anyway. Perhaps that’s why you admire Hange so much.

“Too bad Levi and Erwin are missing this sunny, hot day at the beach. Bet they’re sad just thinking about it.” Hange’s words are filled with irony, waiting for a reaction. The sarcasm that drips from their tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

The two of you are friends — well, sort of. You are part of the same friend group, consistently hanging out. Over time, you grew closer: what was supposed to be a collective hangout, turned into just you. It feels complicated these days.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who agreed to come with me.” You offer them a middle finger, to which they throw their hands up in surrender.

The both of you are sitting on an old beach towel you brought, the fabric is wrinkled from being shoved on the bottom of your bag. None of you are dressed appropriately for the beach: Hange is wearing a thick flannel, protecting them from the chill breeze. You are wearing a beat down pair of converse, the ones you have since high school. Somehow, you match with each other. You try not to think too much of it.

“Call me crazy if you want, I wouldn’t let my friend go to this mopey beach all alone. I’m loyal like that.”

And that’s why you are at the beach, with Hange and no one else. Levi and Erwin were supposed to come along, however you are glad something came up for them. Nothing would be more awkward than ending up on a double date with your sort-of-friend.

The word friend tastes bitter on your throat, poisoning your lungs like Hange’s cigarette.

“You’re the only person I know that thinks this is appropriate beach weather.” They say, breaking the lack of dialogue between you for the past minute or so. Not that you’re counting or anything like that, of course. “Are you a vampire or something?”

It earns them a chuckle from you, almost a laugh — it drips like honey from your mouth, and Hange desperately wants to know how it tastes like. They want to hear it again.

“I doubt you like having fun in the sun either.” You reply, watching as the wind blows their hair — brunette locks dancing in the air, enhancing the messiness of their ponytail.

“Touché.”

Hange says, while burrying the remains of a cigarette in the sand, and you don’t point out how wrong it is — not with words, at least. Your eyes seem to translate your feelings either way.

“You’re so expressive.” It’s Hange’s turn to chuckle. “It’s adorable.”

Their words almost make your face heat in embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh, shut up.” Your tone is playful, not pointed at all. Avoiding their eye contact, you turn your face in order to pretend the ocean before you is a better sight than Hange.

“I mean it. I like it.”

Hange might tell you a joke, but they would never tell you a lie. Something about the honor of a scientist, you guess. It’s a beat of silence until you speak again.

“Yeah, well, you’re the opposite. I can’t read you at all.” This comment, though, this one is pointed — not like a knife, but similar to thorns on a rose. It comes with something beautiful, too: honesty.

The truth is palpable, swimming in between you. It’s all a funny, weightless banter, until it isn’t.

“My resting bitch face doesn’t help. Guess I’m better with words or something.”

This time you laugh, genuinely. It isn’t mean, you don’t mean to mock Hange at all — it’s just that the irony of it all is funny to you. Almost unbelievable.

“Oh, what a poet you are.” Your eyes are glued to the sea before you, admiring its chaotic beauty. The waves crash against the shore, becoming a conjugation of white bubbles.

It’s silent again, wordless tension building around you like a sand castle — ready to crumble at any sudden move.

“You’re really pretty.” They admit, which sounds like something in between a secret and a confession. It seems out of nowhere, but it truly isn’t. Lately, this is all Hange can think about. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The waves crash again, destroying the metaphorical sand castle you built around yourself, trying to protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of.

“Hange.” The sound of their name leaving your mouth isn’t a threat, although it isn’t an invitation either.

“No, I mean it. Truly.” They reach for something inside their bag, something important in the mess of papers, headphones, and a cigarette pack.

They’ve found it: a small, worn out notebook.

“Here, take a look.” They offer it to you, opened on a certain page. “Then tell me you think I’m lying.”

There are doodles of you. Your face, distracted, frozen in the moment, probably when you were laughing at something crude Levi had said. There is your silhouette, too: you guess it’s the view of when you walk in front of them, hurriedly trying to arrive on time for a move you went to see.

Your smile, your eyes. Every detail of your face, something that cannot be translated by a photograph. The traces Hange has memorized over the years you have known each other. This is what they picture before going to bed, or early in the morning when they wake up.

“Hange.” This time, when you say their name, it is softer — it warms them up. “Hange…”

It’s like you’re hypnotized, unable to say anything but their name.

When you look up, they are closer, nose brushing against yours. Hange looks at you through thick glasses, with curiosity. This time, they can’t read your expression.

“Kiss me.”

And they do. It is gentle, soft — their lips move against yours like the waves move against the shore, as if it was nature’s reason for your own existence. Their warm palms find your face, holding you preciously. It is brief, however. The kiss ends as quickly as it came.

Neither of you speak, too afraid to break the moment. Hange brings their forehead against yours, and like that you stay. You taste like salt air, warm like whiskey. It is fiery, overtaking them as a whole. They wouldn’t mind being swallowed by it, drowning in the overwhelming hotness that is your touch.

This time, Hange says your name, warm brown eyes looking into yours and finding nothing but love. Admiration. Devotion.

It’s a humorless chuckle, what comes next. It leaves their lips nervously. For someone so careless like Hange, it sure is a new sight to see them like this — a pink tint covering their cheeks, a loopy smile on their lips. They have never looked so soft.

“I have wanted to do this for so long.”

“What, go to the beach on a rainy day?” You ask in attempted humor, beaming when it earns you a laugh from them.

“Kiss you. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile, breaking eye contact and looking at the sand. It looks damp, cold. Unlike what you feel right now.

“Me too.”

Hange looks into your eyes again, scanning it from any signs of mischief. They find none.

“I get the appeal of this now. If anything, the shitty weather makes it feel more romantic.”

You give them an I know, right? look, and they fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Glad I could change your mind. We could do this again, if you want.”

The words that leave your lips are soft, but confident. Just like you.

“What, are you asking me on a date?”

“Depends on your answer.”

Hange offers you a toothy smile, feeling like a child. They feel on top of the world now. How could they not, after all?

“Yeah. Obviously, of course. I would love to go on a date with you. Multiple dates, even.”

You smile again, cheeks already hurting from so much happiness.

“Can’t wait to make you mine.” They say, bringing your palm to their lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your warm skin. “Cause I’m already yours.”

You believe them.