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pencil-n-pen · 2 months ago

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Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

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cupidkenji · 1 month ago

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Slowing Down

Now playing: slowing down - the backseat lovers whisper in my ear that you need me Pairing: Nam gyu (player 124) x AFAB!Reader CW: smut, drugging, noncon (putting this as noncon but the MC is into it. However, they are under the influence so they cannot consent.), toxic ex bf trope, he's kind of manipulative sorry, p in v, praise, mocking, possessiveness, creampie, this is literally deplorable i'm sorry, kinda ooc, university AU Summary: Four months after breaking up with your boyfriend, your roommate asks you to pick her up. Of course he had to be there. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described. WC: 3.7k part 2

this is disgusting and i'm sorry, please head the warnings. this is also not beta'd or proofread. i am tired and going to bed. sorry if this sucks. i wrote some pre-breakup HC if you want more <3

also check out this PHENOMENAL fanart if you want some visuals

The mildly run down apartment of a random university boy was an unfortunate place to find yourself when you had the option of being anywhere else. The brick walls were cracking and the water from the current rainfall made a sheen over the building that resembled porcelain. The glistening building was taunting and never ending as you stared up at the top floor, a single window open and seeping dim lighting out into the dark streets. Smoke was billowing out of it, bringing the scent of weed and the sound of laughter down into the depths of the road with you. You didn’t know how your roommate knew this guy, or why she came here if she didn’t have a ride planned, but you moved forward regardless. The front door was heavy, greasy and gray but lacking any security measures that were common for entry. There wasn’t even a front desk, just a desolate lobby that sat in front of an elevator.

She’d told you where to find her in the text she’d sent twenty minutes ago, begging you to come get her and successfully misspelling words that you’d thought impossible to type incorrectly. It wouldn’t have been difficult regardless, even without the guidance. It was midnight, most people who inhabited the building were either out at their own parties or asleep. The only room that harbored audible life was the one she was pointing you to, and you were less than eager to walk into a room with a group of who knows how many intoxicated strangers. You didn’t even know her that well, just that she was keen to partying, and was usually able to find her own way home. You figured she must be truly desperate to resort to you, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

The knocking you did felt like it bruised your knuckles. You hadn’t hit the door hard, but making any noise in the stillness of the hallway felt like a disservice. There was a penetrating calm in the building if you ignored the music leaking from your destination. It seemed wrong. When the door opened, smoke invaded your lungs quicker than you were anticipating, and you fought the urge to cough it up. The owner of the apartment had come to let you in. You recognized him vaguely from campus and knew of him only through stories you’d heard whispered between the girls he’d been with. You just wanted to go home.

A giggly drawl of your name sounded out from behind him, and he stepped back from the doorway to let you lay your eyes on your roommate. You had no idea what she’d consumed over the past few hours, but she seemed loopy and out of it. You walked through the doorway with your eyes stuck to her, thinking about how the fuck you were gonna get her home in this state. She was practically rag dolling on the small loveseat that sat in the living room. She appeared in her own world, and you really didn’t want to haul her back to the car in front of however many people were in here. You hadn’t looked up, going and leaning over her for a moment. She looked right through you, staring at the ceiling with a permanent uptick of her lips carved on her face. She was giddy, and seemingly glued to the furniture. Her pupils nearly encased her irises and you knew she wasn’t moving anytime soon. How she managed to request your assistance in this state was beyond you.

You heard the man who opened the door return to his seat behind you. It wasn’t loud, not like a party, you assumed there were maybe three people besides your roommate there. You were now in probably the most uncomfortable situation of your life - alone with three high strangers and a practically incapacitated roommate that was your responsibility.

“Do any of you know what she took?” It was the only thing you could think to ask, turning around to face the crowd as you said it. If you hadn’t gotten your words out before you spun, you would have choked on them. Of course, among the three people that could have been sitting there, was your ex. Locking eyes with him now was equivalent to letting someone rip the air from your lungs.

You’d met Nam Gyu at the beginning of your freshman year, him being a grade above you. He’d made you feel things you’d never envisioned for yourself. Writing them off trivially as immature and placing yourself above them. For two years you grew intertwined with him, and when he got deep into his problems, you did everything you could to help him. Eventually, it was too much, and you left. The residual devastation had stayed draped over you for the past four months you’ve been apart. You were growing convinced you’d feel gutted forever. He hadn’t taken kindly to the split, pestering and persisting every moment he could spare. He seemed convinced he’d get you back, never failing to remind you of the experiences the two of you had. Just his presence dragged you back to the depths of it, and your knees nearly buckled beneath you. You’d missed his eyes, missed being close enough to see all of him. You did a good job of avoiding him, so he resorted to calling, or texting. You never blocked him, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

You couldn’t read his face, you could only witness the flick of his eyes over you, feeling too exposed even in your covered state. “Probably something from the bag.” The man sitting to his right spoke, sporting purple hair and painted nails. You’d seen him on campus too. “She’ll be alright.” He didn’t seem fully sober either, something in the nonchalance and slight slur of his words keyed you in. At least he was comprehensible. You didn’t even look at him, caught in the pinpoint gaze that stayed locked on you.

You took a shallow breath, stomach stumbling slightly at the thickness of the oxygen combined with the abundance of smoke. That was what you told yourself, anyway. “I’m supposed to be taking her home.” Your eyes flicked to the left. A smaller man took up that end of the couch they were sharing, glossy eyes and shy demeanor. He was caved in on himself, he barely seemed to notice you.

The man of the hour chuckles slightly. “Good luck.” He motions to the girl with his head as he speaks. “She doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon.”

You took a glance behind you, your roommate fully asleep on the loveseat. You were fucked.

The purple haired man looked at you. “You can stay here for a minute if you want. She’ll sober up in a bit. Shit’s fast acting.” You were thankful he didn’t seem creepy. He also appeared in his own world, more concerned about his high than the random girls that were there for the ride. “She could always just crash here too, we’re all planning to.”

You looked at your roommate for a second time, considering the options. You could feel the familiar eyes casting a shadow on you. Regardless of the assumed kindness of the men, you still didn’t know them. You had no idea how well your roommate knew them either. You hated to think about leaving her here and something happening. Technically it would be on your hands, and you didn’t want her to get hurt. “Yeah, alright. I’ll wait her out.” You sunk down in front of your roommate, sitting on the floor wasn’t ideal, but you almost felt like you were protecting her, blocking any harm by keeping her behind you. You heard one of them mumble something about drinks in the kitchen, but you were planning to stay rooted to your spot. Since Nam gyu refused to say a word or steer his eyes away from you, you took out your phone to kill time while you waited.

When your attention was away from him, he spoke with his friends. You hated how deep his voice cut. It was so indescribably comforting to hear it again. You’d been declining his calls for this very reason, you knew the more of him you had, the harder it would be to stay away. After an hour, your phone was getting low, and your roommate was still passed out. The shy one had ducked away to a different room, presumably going to sleep, just leaving your energized ex and his friend who seemed to be getting drowsier as the minutes passed. You didn’t want to consume anything that might have been in that place, but inhaling nothing but smoke for the past hour had sucked the moisture from your throat. You reluctantly stood, drawing the eyes of only one of the men, and taking begrudging steps into the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, you grabbed a random carton of tea after your search for water failed. You grabbed a disposable cup from the container on the table, you were grateful - you hadn’t wanted to look for glasses. Leaving your now full cup, you turned to put the carton back in the fridge. He was standing far too close to you when you turned back, resembling a jump scare from some cheesy horror film. You took a shaky breath, grabbing your cup and walking back to your spot. You didn’t want to talk. He followed suit a minute later, a soda can grasped in his palm. He continued his conversation with the man beside him like nothing had happened, and you envied that ability. Your heart was beating like it was going to stop. You drank your tea faster than you even wanted to, just doing something to fight the urge of looking at him. You could have sworn your resolve would be stronger than this.

His eyes seemed to float to you more than they had been. You felt monitored, stalked, even. It was such a piercing sensation that a mild cold sweat started on your skin. There was something so personal about the way he looked at you. A devoted gaze of a predator, someone intense. It was something that drew you to him in the first place, something that wrestled within you. Fear and want in one. God, you wanted to go home. You spent maybe another twenty minutes on your phone, feeling the world get hazy around you. You hoped the invading mental fog was just a consequence of the late hour, of the smoke around you. You needed to move, so you stood up to throw your cup away. Your legs felt like steel rods, heavy and immovable. You don’t know how you dragged yourself back into the kitchen. Your skin felt like it was buzzing, too sensitive to the air around you.

You heard the couch creak behind you, the sound of confident footsteps as you stumbled and nearly fell. You were an imbalanced scale, tipping to one side when attempting to stand normally. Familiar hands caught you, and the feeling of him on you after so long pushed a small sob out of your dry throat. You didn’t have the strength to suppress it. “Careful.” He spoke low, so close to you that you could feel the vibration of his chest on your back. Your lips trembled as you looked around, things looked like static, marbling patterns blurring around you.

“What’s happening?” You hated how pathetic you sounded, teary and weakened. “Did you do something to me?” You sounded so small; quiet and choking out your words instead of saying them. His hands felt so heavy on your skin. You despised the inherent recognition that your body held for him. You weren’t stupid, he’d probably drugged you. How fucking deranged did it make you that you were still getting wet for him, even in this headspace. You squirmed a bit in his hold, but all that accomplished was making his hands rub against your skin, getting heavier as his hands tightened to keep you in his grasp. You looked back at the couch, his friend had fallen asleep, and your roommate was out like a light. You were so fucked.

“No, no. You’re ok.” He started walking towards the door of the apartment as you stumbled to clutch on to him. The world felt like a pool of molasses. “Let’s go back home, yeah?” He was still holding you, dragging you along with him and mumbling out the words like he was talking to a baby. “Not like you wanted to be here anyway.”

It was still raining when you got outside, the feeling of your clothes sopping up the water and molding to your skin was excruciating. The air felt prickly, like a cactus, and it made your poor roofied brain so confused that your body didn’t know how to react. It was bordering on painful as you sat in the passenger seat of your own car - him grabbing the keys on the way out and getting in the driver’s seat like he owned it. He didn’t even seem high. Your body ached, tingling like a shockwave, but your thighs were clenching in direct opposition to the sensation. Wires got crossed in your brain, and you were practically dripping into your underwear as your skin buzzed like you were on fire. You couldn’t sit still, shifting little by little and choking ever so slightly on some of your inhales. The drive was only ten minutes, but it felt like an hour.

You watched him open the door to your place. You swore you’d taken his key when you left him. Maybe it was yours, you couldn’t remember him taking it out of your pocket. Your apartment was cold, and you heard him sigh as he shut the door. He’d been here a thousand times over the years, something he was clearly remembering as he returned for the first time in four months. You heard the thoughts ring out in your head, bound back and forth with a million different things. Your hand was flat on the wall, looking at him lost like you were waiting for direction, or answers, or just something from him.

You couldn’t seem to properly catch your breath, chest heaving slightly as he moved towards you, his hands cradling your face to force eye contact. “I’ve missed this, you know?” He looked over the space he could see. It was brief, just enough to take it in without diverting his attention away from you for too long. “You haven’t changed anything.”

He pulled your hand off the wall, turning you around and forcing you to walk in tandem with him as he headed to your bedroom. He was right against your ear, speaking so low and knowing, your brain felt like a puddle in your head, only thinking about him and what he was going to do. “Most people go through breakups and they want to change everything, get something fresh.” Your stomach lurched as he opened the door, your own room causing a new feeling to stir in your gut. It wasn’t comfort, or fear. You couldn’t tell what it was. “What does it say that you left everything the same, huh?” He put his chin on your shoulder, holding you from behind in such a disgustingly intimate way. Your underwear was sticking to you at this point, you felt sick. “Did you really think you could stay away from me?” There was none of the usual malice in his tone, he sounded amused. As if he was scolding you for such a comical belief.

Your back hit the bed, as gentle as the first time he’d ever laid you on it. The lack of standing was a welcome relief, and you could have wept with the feelings that swept over you as you drank in the sight of him standing above you. You tried so desperately to remember why you’d left in the first place, fighting through the haze to not lose your will. “Wait- you-” You didn’t have a clue what you were even trying to express. “No- I can’t.”

He was heavy on top of you, hands drawing lines of fire as they dragged your shirt off. That exposed feeling you’d been sitting on all night cranked up severely as he stared at you, tracing his hands over you as he remapped old trails he’d been so familiar with. Nobody had touched you in four months. You’d been reeling so hard from the loss that you’d barely touched yourself. With your already limited capacity to process what was happening, combined with your recent celibacy, you felt like you were going to die, and it just made you all the more wanting.

“No?” He mocked, slipping the pants you were wearing down your legs. “Why’s that?”

You were breathing heavy, lungs filling with the air that seemed too thick, bearing the weight of the tension. “We’re not-” You stumbled over your words as he kissed down your chest. “We’re not together anymore.” He nipped at you, leaving a stinging feeling that forced quiet groans from your mouth. “And you fucking drugged me-”

“And you’re fucking soaked.” He ran his thumb over the prominent wet patch on your underwear, pushing it aside to make bare contact with you. “You’ve always been easy, honey, but this is something else.” He takes his time sliding against you, making you preen at the contact. You were so caught between right and wrong. He’d touched you a thousand times, dragged the same sounds out of you he was doing now; but he didn’t have the right to do that anymore, he shouldn’t be doing it, not like this. The argument formed and died in your mushy brain, the feeling of the craving you’ve had for months finally being satisfied pushed all reasoning out of sight. It felt so good, and he was barely doing anything. A couple slow lines up and down, and you could practically hear it. He was right, and you were in borderline tears from how much you needed this.

You watched his clothes come off, wishing you could have helped, but rejoicing in the view of his bare skin. It was fucking pathetic how much you reveled in the sight. You felt like a lapdog, some pavlovian response firing up in your brain as you stared at him. Had you truly thought you could stay away? You could have changed the locks, or cut your hair, maybe reinvented your wardrobe. You had been devastated, yes, but maybe the reason you were never heartbroken was because you knew the split wouldn’t last. A dedicated devotee rarely deserts the altar, why would you be different? Why would you want to be different when he felt so fucking good against you?

You choked on a tiny gasp as he started pushing into you, your hands reaching to grasp his shoulders as easy as any instinct is. You hear the small noise that pours out of his parted lips, tightening around him as he bottoms out. You go practically brain dead at the feeling, mourning that specific fullness more than you ever thought you could grieve anything. He seems to sense it. “Don’t you miss me inside you, honey?” Even if you can barely process anything other than the feeling of him, you still pick up on that sleazy tone he can never seem to shake. Mocking and arrogant, always talking down to you somehow. “It was stupid to leave.” He starts moving his hips, calculated and slow - loving in a way that’s out of character for him. “You know you’re fucking made for me.” His words were breathed out in a sigh, audible content in his voice, as if he could stay like this forever. You realized with slight horror that you wanted him to. You wanted to be here forever.

You were being driven so thoughtfully to the edge that you could barely keep up. The hand that wasn’t holding himself up was rubbing timed circles on your clit, his face finding home in your neck. If he wasn’t leaving marks, he was saying something that was only making you tighten around him more. “I didn’t want to have to do this, you know that.” You nodded, eyes watering from the intensity. “I tried so hard.” You just nodded again as he sucked a bruise into the underside of your jaw. You were scared to look at the damage when this wore off. “If you had just talked to me, we could have worked it out.” You couldn’t pick apart his words right now. Not when you were so close and he said them in that tone that just killed any critical thinking you had in you.

“I’m sorry.” You could barely hear the words as you said them, whispered hoarsely as you tensed up. Your lips were trembling, a tear running down the side of your face and dripping onto the sheets.

His hips stuttered at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I know, It’s ok.” He put his mouth on your jaw, mumbling his forgiveness so you could feel the vibrations, etch them into your skin. “Don’t hold it, honey, you can cum.” The permission made you lightheaded, air rushing from your lungs. “Just let me back in, yeah? I’ll forget it even happened.”

You were so close that it was painful, his motions speeding up. You whimpered, small and meek. Your hands were shaking, hiccupping as a couple more tears streaked down your face. The thought of having him back was so enticing, even through the mild sedation that was still coursing through you, you felt like you were whole again like this. You came hard, so hard that you thought you might black out for a moment as it fully hit you. He followed right after, cumming inside you for the first time in your entire relationship, as if to physically demonstrate his intentions, to emphasize that you were made for him. You belonged together, something that he whispered with various other praises as his hips slowed to a stop. You sat with the weight of what just happened, what was most likely going to happen when you were sober. You couldn’t imagine being away from him anymore. It was hard enough holding out for four months, but after this? It seemed impossible. You realized that it hardly mattered, even if you wanted to leave, after tonight,

you doubt he’d let you.

#squid game fanfic #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu smut #squid game smut #squid game season 2 smut #squid game fanfiction #squid game x reader #ex boyfriend #ex boyfriend smut #ex boyfriend fanfiction #x chubby reader #x fat reader #cupid:NG #namgyu x reader #namgyu smut

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excarow · 6 days ago

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Okay so, everyone finding out Tim lost his spleen is a trope I never get tired of, especially when people just fucking run with it, so hear me out:

Tim get's outed as spleenless because of a fucking zoom call.

The set up:

At first, it's a genuine slip of the mind. Ra's is trying to take over Wayne Inc, Bruce is y'know not dead, my man has a lot on his plate so he just kinda forgets to mention his missing organ. For a few months. (As unrealistic as this sounds, I love him, but Tim would have 1000% been benched cause of the stunt he just pulled, so no outside work for him)

Now by the time he realised his mistake he could either:

A: come clean and have to admit that loosing a semi-important organ slipped his mind and have to face both a disappointed Alfred AND Bruce (and honestly Dick) as well as be coddled for a long ass time OR

B: say nothing and deal with it himself

Like any self-respecting bat, he went with option B.

Now, telling Leslie and begging her to keep a secret would be the smartest and safest thing to do. But Leslie would sell him out to Alfred if he becomes a risk to himself so Tim does the next logical thing:

use Drake enterprises prior medical connections (they were a pharmaceutical company) to get the antibiotics he needs in a less than legal way and just promises himself to be extra cautious on patrol

Now, everyone (Alfred in particular) is thrilled because Tim is suddenly a lot less reckless on patrol and seems to be taking better care of himself!! Maybe he just needed a gap year galavanting off around the world, causing mass destruction and getting involved with the league of assassins to make him realise how important his life is.

This very precarious tower of cards comes crashing down when Ra's and Batman need to collaborate on something (not sure what. Maybe Ra's wanted to try to win Damien over, maybe the league is being framed for something and Ra's is upset cause he would do a better job than that) regardless there ends up being a zoom meeting/conference call. And behind Ra's is a jar containing a semi burst organ with the label 'my detective' on it

Now of course, Batman freaks (mostly internally but still) because this is Ra's and he has an organ??? And Ra's calls batman 'his detective' ergo, Ra's somehow has a fucking organ of Batman's??? That he keeps in a jar??

So of course Batman confronts him and Ra's is confused before ruining Tim's Very-Well-And-Thought-Out-Idea

('Well you flatter yourself Bruce, but unfortunately your title of detective has fallen onto Timothy. This jar is simply a little... Souvenir of our last time together. When he decided to blow up my base.')

And now Tim finds himself being outed as spleenless over zoom call while surrounded by everyone he really didn't want to know he was minus one semi-important organ.

(bonus points if they didn't know he blew up the league base)

#tim drake #batman #batfam #dc #red robin #bruce wayne #crack fic but its just the outline #i need you to read this while imagining the most bat shit insane mental gymnastics tim is doing #it would have been SO MUCH EASIER to just admit it and ask for help #but unfortunately hes a bat through and through #i just needed yo write this down before my brain exploded #the tim brainrot is going HARD rn godamn #please dont take this seriously

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hearts-are-connected · 10 months ago

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Dang it, I love this ship and I love the enemies to lovers trope. I get that a lot of people see them as a surrogate father and daughter relationship, but it feels like a been there/done that kinda thing.

As much as I love that trope, I'm also a little tired of it. There's only so much Last of Us style found family I take after seeing it for so many years.

The thing I love about VaultGhoul or Ghoulcy is the idea of Lucy breaking down of Cooper's walls while he helps build hers up.

Is he incredibly cruel to her and those around him in the first season? Yes, extremely

Does he need to chill out and find some of his humanity that's been buried under 200+ years of wasteland survival and bitterness? Yes

Who can bring that needed direction to his life while learning the ways of the new world she finds herself in? Lucy MacLean

I know that the canon ship of the show at this moment is Lucy and Maximus, and as much as I love him, I find the pairing obvious and kind of boring from a story telling perspective. I loved it on my first viewing, but upon re-watching the series, I wasn't as behind it as before. I see their relationship, kiss and all, as a kind of first fling for the both of them.

While it doesn't diminish the care they show one another, there's not a lot behind them as a couple. Now I know that some people might turn around to say how she and Cooper spent less time together than her and Max, but I guess the thing I look forward to is seeing what their relationship brings with the second season.

I feel like Max and Lucy will have a great friendship and I'm interested to see where the Brotherhood fits into their dynamic as well.

With Cooper though, I find his story so tragic, as it's supposed to be. He's your standard hardened survivor who only looks out for himself that's now stuck with the happy-go-lucky main character, however, she's not that character anymore by the end. She's still going to be the Lucy we love, but she's changed by the end. While not losing her compassion and some optimism, I think Cooper is going to bring out a harsher side to her as we saw when she bit off his finger.

I want to see her building up her walls and learning when to let them down. How to truly survive while still bringing her own energy to the wasteland and people around her. I want to see Cooper regaining some lost humanity while learning to truly care for another person again. To see the two of them as eventual equals in one another's eyes as they continue on their journey as reluctant allies.

I also want to say that I'm personally kind of tired of the 'age gap' argument. We have stories of teenagers falling in love with hundred year old vampires. So can we just drop the age gap thing?

As long as they're both consenting adults who understand what they're getting themselves into, who cares about an age gap.

Does it truly matter in the scheme of things when we're talking about a world with cryo-stasis and super mutants?

I personally don't think so.

I don't know if anyone will even bother reading this entire thing, and I know I went on a little long, but I wanted to write down my thoughts on the whole shipping situation with the Fallout TV show fandom at this moment.

I'm a VaultGhoul shipper and I can't wait to see where the second season takes our main trio of characters.

#fallout show #fallout amazon #ghoulcy #lucy x cooper #vaultghoul #cooper howard #lucy maclean #a ghoul and his girl #a girl and her ghoul #I ship it #Can't wait for season 2

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arilevenatz · 7 days ago

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Outscored 𝟐┃C.JH

Pairing: jock! Jongho x Reader

Genre/trope: enemies to lovers au

Word Count: 25.7k (💀) [it's gonna be a 2 parter]

Warnings: biker jongho (need I say more?), he is also a bit annoying, but he becomes a MAN at the end

AN: Ok I'm a sucker for jongho, u guys know it. And after he posted his picture I had a seizure. And I kinda slipped and wrote this whole thing. And yeah this is for all the jongho girlies out there like me. Please please please love this as I spent a lot of time writing this!

This is part two. Read part one here-

one | two

The project turned out better than either of them had expected, and when the professor handed back the grades, it was no surprise that YN and Jongho had scored the highest. The students in the class started whispering about them, dubbing them "the power partners."

YN, however, hated the nickname. She rolled her eyes every time she heard someone say it. “Why can’t people just mind their own business?” she muttered to Hanni one day in the cafeteria.

Hanni, ever the supportive friend, smirked. “Maybe because you and Jongho looked like an actual dream team. Admit it—you two killed that project.”

“Still,” YN huffed, stabbing her salad with unnecessary force, “I don’t like it.”

Over at the ATEEZ table, Jongho wasn’t exactly thrilled with the nickname either. He frowned as one of his friends, Wooyoung, teased him about it.

“Power partners, huh? Sounds about right,” Wooyoung said with a sly grin. “I mean, you two make a good team.”

“Shut up,” Jongho grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like it either.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mingi teased, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like it. But you don’t seem to mind being around her all the time.”

Jongho scowled, but before he could retort, Yeosang, who had been silently observing, spoke up. “Let’s be real, Jongho. Do you actually dislike her, or are you just saying that because you don’t want to admit something?”

“What’s there to admit?” Jongho snapped, crossing his arms.

Seonghwa, ever the voice of reason, sighed. “You’ve been weird about her since day one. You get irritated when she’s better than you, but you also can’t stop noticing every little thing about her. Either figure it out or let it go, because we’re tired of your denial.”

“Exactly,” San added with a grin. “Test it out. See if you actually like her or if she’s just in your head because she’s always in your space.”

Jongho glared at them all, but their words stuck with him. That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the way she had taken charge during the project, the way she had cooked for him, the way she had looked at him when she smiled after their grade was announced.

“Do I… like her?” he muttered to himself, the thought making him feel uneasy.

He shook his head, frustrated. No, it couldn’t be that. It was just… annoyance. Competition. Nothing more.

But the thought lingered, and for the first time, Jongho wasn’t so sure of his own answer.

Jongho’s dilemma had become everyone else’s entertainment. His friends, fed up with his constant denial, decided to take matters into their own hands. They came up with a "foolproof" series of tests to help him figure out his feelings.

Test 1: The Jealousy Test

Hongjoong kicked things off by walking up to YN during lunch. With his signature smirk, he leaned casually against her table and said, “YN, you’re looking gorgeous today. How about we ditch class and grab some coffee?”

Jongho, sitting across the cafeteria, froze mid-bite. His eyes narrowed as he watched Hongjoong laugh at something YN said.

“Dude,” Mingi whispered, nudging him. “Why are you gripping your fork like you’re about to stab someone?”

“I’m not,” Jongho muttered through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh,” Yeosang said, amused. “Sure looks like it.” Wooyoung winked at Jongho. “Yep, he’s pissed. Jealousy level: high.”

“I’m not jealous,” Jongho growled.

“Right,” Wooyoung said, grinning. “And I’m not handsome.”

Test 2: The Compliment Test

The next day, San decided to push Jongho’s buttons. During class, he loudly announced, “You know, YN is really something. She’s smart, funny, and have you seen her hair? Shiny like silk. I bet she smells amazing too.”

Jongho, who was sitting behind YN, audibly scoffed.

San turned around, feigning innocence. “What? You don’t agree, Jongho?”

“She’s… fine,” Jongho said flatly, avoiding everyone’s amused stares.

“Fine?” San repeated, pretending to be offended. “That’s all you’ve got? She’s perfect, and you know it.”

Jongho slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Shut up, San.”

Test 3: The Heartbeat Test

Seonghwa, ever the schemer, pulled out a fitness tracker with a heart rate monitor. “Okay, Jongho,” he said, strapping it onto his wrist. “Time to see how you react to her.”

“This is stupid,” Jongho grumbled, but he didn’t resist when Seonghwa placed the tracker on his wrist.

As YN walked into the room, Jongho’s heart rate spiked immediately. The boys stared at the tracker in silence before bursting into laughter.

“Calm down, lover boy,” Mingi teased. “You’re about to break the machine.”

Jongho yanked the tracker off, his face red. “It’s broken,” he insisted.

“Sure it is,” Yeosang said with a knowing smirk.

Test 4: The Accidental Touch

Mingi "accidentally" bumped YN into Jongho while they were walking down the hallway. She stumbled, her hand brushing against Jongho’s arm as he steadied her.

“You okay?” Jongho asked, his voice unusually soft.

“I’m fine, thanks,” YN replied, smiling politely before walking off.

The boys, watching from a distance, erupted into cheers.

“Did you see that?” Wooyoung howled. “He didn’t even yell at her!”

Jongho ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I hate all of you.”

“Face it, man,” San said, clapping him on the back. “You’ve got it bad.”

Despite the teasing and their ridiculous tests, Jongho couldn’t shake the growing realization. No matter how much he denied it, his friends were right—YN had gotten under his skin, and there was no turning back.

YN paced back and forth in her dorm room, arms crossed and brows furrowed as she fumed. “What is their problem? Why can’t they just leave me alone?!” she practically yelled.

Hanni sat on the bed, nervously watching her friend explode. She held a notebook in her lap but had completely forgotten about it as she tried to calm YN down. “Okay, okay, breathe. Don’t let them get to you, YN. They’re just… being their usual chaotic selves.”

“No,” YN snapped, spinning around to face Hanni. “This isn’t just their usual chaos. They’re deliberately messing with me, and I’m done with it.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “What do they even want from me?!”

Hanni bit her lip. “I mean… maybe Jongho likes you?”

YN stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Hanni like she’d grown another head. “What? Jongho? Like me? Absolutely not.”

Hanni shrugged, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying! It’s not like he goes out of his way to mess with anyone else like this.”

YN groaned, pressing her palms to her temples. “Even if that were true, how does this make any sense? His friends are involved now too! They’re all acting like lunatics, and I’m losing my mind.”

Hanni got up, placing her hands on YN’s shoulders. “Okay, listen. You want peace, right?”

“Yes,” YN said through gritted teeth.

“Then confront them. March up to their table, call them out, and demand an answer. If Jongho or his friends don’t give you one, I’ll personally throw my coffee at Wooyoung.”

Despite her anger, YN couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “You’d really throw your coffee at Wooyoung?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hanni said with a grin. “I’d make it iced so it stings more.”

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’m confronting them. But if I don’t get a proper answer, they’d better be prepared.”

Hanni gave her a thumbs-up. “Now that’s the YN I know. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

The next day, YN stormed into the cafeteria during lunch. The usual buzz of chatter filled the room, but she had her sights set on one table: Ateez’s.

Without hesitation, she marched over and slammed her hands on the table, startling them all. The entire cafeteria seemed to quiet down as people turned to watch.

“What do you want from me?!” YN demanded, her voice firm.

The boys exchanged glances, some smirking, some looking a bit guilty. Jongho, sitting at the center, raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” he asked calmly.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” YN snapped. “I know you’ve all been messing with me. Whatever weird little game this is, stop it. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, grinning. “She’s feisty. I like her.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa warned, giving him a look.

“Look,” YN continued, glaring at Jongho specifically, “I don’t care what your problem is. If you have something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

Jongho leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low and steady. “Maybe I do have something to say.”

The tension was thick as YN folded her arms, her heart racing despite her anger. “Then say it.”

For a moment, it seemed like Jongho might actually confess something, but instead, he leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Not here. Later.”

YN rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, turning on her heel to leave.

Behind her, the boys chuckled, but Jongho remained quiet, his smirk fading as he watched her walk away.

The lecture droned on, the professor’s voice blending into the background as YN’s attention started to waver. She rested her chin on her hand, her fingers tapping lightly on the desk. Her focus drifted from the lesson, and she casually let her gaze wander around the classroom, trying to keep herself awake.

It was an innocent habit. A quick scan of the room, her eyes briefly passing over her classmates. But when her gaze landed on Jongho, she froze.

He was already looking at her.

It wasn’t just a passing glance or idle staring. His eyes were locked onto her with an intensity that felt borderline magnetic. His dark brown eyes were sharp, unwavering, and inexplicably powerful. It was like he wasn’t just looking at her—he was seeing straight through her.

YN’s breath hitched for a moment. Her stomach churned with unease, but at the same time, something unfamiliar twisted deep within her. She hated to admit it, but he looked… ridiculously attractive. His expression was calm but unreadable, his jawline accentuated by the way he tilted his head slightly.

Why does he look like that? she thought, trying to keep her composure. And why can’t I stop looking at him?

It reminded her of that night at the red light stop—the same piercing gaze through the black helmet. But this time, it felt more personal. There was no helmet to mask his features, no physical barrier between them. Just those impossibly striking eyes.

She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks warming despite herself. Get it together, YN. It’s just Jongho.

But her heart wasn’t cooperating. It beat just a little faster than usual, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of his stare lingering even after she looked away.

Unbeknownst to her, Jongho smirked faintly. He had caught the way her face changed, the subtle way her lips parted in surprise before she turned away. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel victorious.

Interesting, he thought, leaning back in his chair. So she’s not entirely unaffected after all.

Jongho was never the kind of person to overthink emotions. He dealt with things as they came, approaching life with confidence and logic. But when it came to YN, logic didn’t seem to work anymore. Every time he saw her, his feelings became more chaotic, more confusing, and undeniably more prominent. While he couldn’t fully grasp what he felt, his actions started to show it, whether he intended them to or not.

YN was seated in her usual spot, scribbling notes furiously as the professor explained a particularly complex topic. Jongho sat a few rows behind her, his eyes drifting toward her more often than his notebook.

The class was halfway through when the professor announced a quick pop quiz. Everyone groaned, including YN, who had just run out of ink in her pen.

“Great timing,” she muttered under her breath, shaking the pen in frustration. She rummaged through her pencil case, but it was clear she didn’t have a spare.

Jongho noticed immediately. He reached into his bag, pulling out an extra pen without hesitation. Instead of handing it over himself, he nudged the guy sitting next to him, gesturing toward YN.

“Pass this to her,” Jongho said, his voice low.

The pen made its way to YN, who blinked in surprise when it landed on her desk. She glanced over her shoulder to see who it came from, her eyes landing on Jongho. He didn’t say anything, just met her gaze briefly before looking away, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Thanks,” she whispered, though he didn’t acknowledge it.

It was a small gesture, but it left YN feeling oddly unsettled. For someone who usually went out of his way to annoy her, the act of kindness felt strange—almost deliberate.

YN sat at her usual corner table, flipping through a thick reference book for an upcoming assignment. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice Jongho entering the library until he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

She looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Studying,” he said simply, pulling out his notebook.

She frowned. “There are plenty of other tables.”

“This one’s fine,” he replied, not looking at her as he started writing.

YN sighed, deciding to ignore him and focus on her own work. But as the minutes ticked by, she couldn’t help but notice him stealing glances at her. She tried to brush it off, thinking it was her imagination, until she reached for her coffee cup and accidentally knocked it over.

“Crap,” she muttered, quickly grabbing a tissue from her bag to clean up the spill.

Before she could fully manage, Jongho slid his notebook aside, pulling out a small packet of tissues from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her without a word.

YN paused, staring at him. “You carry tissues around?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “You never know when someone’s going to be clumsy.”

She rolled her eyes but took the tissues. “Thanks, I guess.”

Jongho smirked faintly but said nothing, leaning back in his chair as she cleaned up the mess.

As she continued working, YN couldn’t help but feel his presence more than usual. There was something different about him lately—something softer. And though she hated to admit it, it was starting to mess with her head.

Jongho, on the other hand, was quietly observing her, trying to figure out why watching her focus so intently on her work made him feel strangely… content.

It was one of those days where the world seemed to be falling apart for YN. She sat in the library, her head buried in her arms, tears streaming silently down her face. Her phone lay on the table next to her, the call from her mother still echoing in her mind. Her dad had suffered a stroke. The news had hit her like a freight train, and the helplessness of not being able to reach him was eating her alive.

She had tried everything—calling for train tickets, searching for buses, and even looking into flights—but nothing seemed to work. The distance to her hometown suddenly felt insurmountable, and it left her feeling trapped and powerless.

Hanni sat beside her, her own heart breaking at the sight of her best friend in such despair. She had never seen YN like this—so vulnerable, so broken. Hanni tried to console her, rubbing her back gently, but she knew words wouldn’t fix this.

“You need to go to him,” Hanni said softly.

“I can’t,” YN choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no way to get there.”

Hanni clenched her fists, her mind racing. If no one else could help, then there was only one person who could. She didn’t hesitate. Standing up, she grabbed her bag and stormed out of the library, leaving YN behind.

Jongho and his friends were lounging in their usual spot outside the gym, the air filled with their loud chatter and occasional bursts of laughter. Mingi was tossing a football back and forth with San, while Wooyoung was busy showing off some absurd new trick with a deck of cards. Hongjoong leaned against a bench, scrolling through his phone, while Jongho sat quietly, sipping on his protein shake, his usual stoic presence anchoring the group.

The peace was shattered when Hanni stormed into the scene, her expression a mix of frustration and desperation. The group turned to her, their conversations dying mid-sentence.

“What’s this?” Wooyoung smirked, tossing the cards onto the table. “The library queen has graced us with her presence?”

Hanni ignored him completely, her eyes locking onto Jongho. “I need to talk to you.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, setting down his drink. “What is it?”

“It’s YN,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Her dad had a stroke, and she needs to get home, but there are no tickets available. She’s stuck, and she’s losing it. You have a bike. You can take her.”

The guys exchanged glances, the playful atmosphere immediately shifting into something more serious.

“And why do you think he should do it?” San asked, crossing his arms.

“Because he’s the only one who can!” Hanni snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I wouldn’t trust you to get her there safely. Jongho can handle it.”

Jongho’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why me?”

“Because,” Hanni said, her voice softening, “for all your stupid games and ego battles, I know you care about her.”

The group went silent, all eyes on Jongho. He didn’t say anything at first, his jaw clenching slightly as he processed her words. Then, without a word, he stood up, grabbing his bag from the bench.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“The library,” Hanni said quickly.

“Alright,” he muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

His friends watched as he started walking off, a mix of surprise and curiosity on their faces.

“Wait,” Wooyoung called out, smirking. “Is this your knight-in-shining-armor moment, Jongho? Should we start calling you Prince Charming now?”

“Shut up,” Jongho shot back, but there was no real heat in his tone.

As Hanni led him toward the library, she couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a determined look in his eyes that gave her hope. Maybe, just maybe, YN had someone who would always be there when it truly mattered.

The library was eerily quiet as Hanni and Jongho stepped inside, the soft sound of turning pages and the occasional rustle of papers filling the air. Hanni led the way to the corner where YN was sitting, her head buried in her arms, silent tears streaming down her face.

Jongho’s jaw tightened at the sight. He didn’t hesitate. Striding up to her, he stopped just a step away and cleared his throat.

“YN,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She blinked up at him, confusion crossing her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“I’m taking you home,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get your stuff and pack a bag. We’re leaving now.”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned by his words. Normally, she would’ve protested or argued back, but she was too emotionally drained to put up a fight. Instead, she just nodded, her movements slow and robotic as she stood and grabbed her bag.

Hanni watched the exchange with a mix of relief and curiosity. She had never seen Jongho so direct, so...caring, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“Thank you,” Hanni whispered to Jongho as YN gathered her things.

He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on YN the entire time. Once she was ready, he turned on his heel and led the way out of the library, his stride confident.

The ride was quiet, the hum of the bike engine filling the silence as they sped down the highway. YN sat behind Jongho, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as the cool night air whipped past them.

Jongho didn’t say a word, but he drove with an intensity that YN couldn’t ignore. Despite everything—the teasing, the bickering, the games—she felt a strange sense of safety in that moment.

She rested her head lightly against his back, her tears drying as the rhythm of the bike soothed her nerves. She didn’t know what to say, and for once, she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

Jongho, on the other hand, was acutely aware of her presence. Her warmth against his back, the way her arms tightened around him every time they turned a corner—it was all making his thoughts spiral. He didn’t understand why he felt so protective of her, why her tears had struck such a chord with him.

But one thing was certain: he would do whatever it took to get her home, no questions asked.

As they entered the hospital, the smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the muffled sounds of machines and quiet conversations. YN wasted no time running toward the general ward, her heart pounding as she navigated the maze of hallways. Jongho followed closely behind, her bag slung over his shoulder, his usually calm expression now tinged with concern.

When she finally reached the ward, her heart sank. Her father was lying on a general bed, his face pale and drawn, wires and monitors attached to him. Her mother sat by his side, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, exhaustion etched into her features.

“Mom,” YN called, her voice trembling as she approached. “What’s going on? Why is he here? Why isn’t he in a proper room?”

Her mother looked up, her tired eyes meeting YN’s. “The hospital is full, sweetheart,” she said, her voice heavy. “There aren’t any rooms available right now. This was the only space they had.”

YN clenched her fists, her heart breaking at the sight of her father in such a crowded and uncomfortable setting. She looked around, taking in the other patients crammed into the small ward, the lack of privacy, and the impersonal atmosphere.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “He needs proper care.”

Just as the air in the room grew heavier with worry, a nurse approached them, her voice soft but clear.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking at YN’s mother. “A private room has just been arranged for your husband. We’ll move him there shortly.”

YN blinked, her mind racing with confusion. She looked at her mother, who appeared equally surprised, and then back at the nurse.

“Wait, what?” YN asked, standing up abruptly. “How did that happen? Who...who arranged it?”

The nurse didn't say anything, YN was shocked, glancing at Jongho, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Someone already covered the charges,” the nurse said quietly.

YN’s gaze snapped to Jongho, her heart sinking and racing all at once. She stared at him, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief, confusion, and something she couldn’t quite name.

“You...you paid for it?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Jongho shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “It’s no big deal,” he said, his tone casual. “Your dad needed a proper room, and you didn’t have time to deal with all the red tape. That’s all.”

“No big deal?” YN repeated, her voice rising. She took a step closer to him, her emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. “Jongho, private rooms in a hospital cost a fortune! You can’t just—why would you even—”

He finally looked at her then, his gaze steady but tinged with something soft, something almost vulnerable. “Because you needed it,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, YN couldn’t speak. Her throat felt tight, and she wasn’t sure if it was from gratitude, anger, or something else entirely. She glanced at her mother, who was watching them with a knowing look, and then back at Jongho.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The nurse cleared her throat gently, breaking the tension. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go make sure everything is ready for the transfer,” she said before walking away.

YN stood there, her emotions a whirlwind. She wanted to thank him, to argue with him, to understand why he would do something so selfless after everything they’d been through. But instead, she just nodded, her voice trembling as she said, “Thank you, Jongho. Really.”

He gave her a small nod, his stoic facade firmly in place. But as she turned back to her father, he allowed himself a brief moment to watch her, his chest tightening with an emotion he was finally starting to understand.

The hospital lobby was quiet except for the occasional announcements over the intercom. YN sat on one of the plastic chairs, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. Jongho sat beside her, his legs stretched out, arms crossed, silent as ever. The check-up was still ongoing, and the wait felt endless.

She didn’t know why, but the weight in her chest felt unbearable. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the emotions swirling in her head. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, someone was sitting beside her, just… there. No judgment. No empty words of comfort. Just Jongho, quiet and solid.

Without really thinking, she spoke. “My dad is an alcoholic.”

Jongho turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything. He just listened.

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued, her fingers clenching the fabric of her hoodie. “He used to be a good dad. He worked hard, took care of us, made stupid dad jokes. But then… something changed.”

Jongho didn’t ask what. He let her talk.

“He started drinking. At first, it was just a little. Stress, he said. Just a way to unwind. But then it got worse. He started losing jobs, coming home late, spending money we didn’t have. And the worst part was…” She swallowed. “He got angry. All the time. At everything.”

Jongho’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t interrupt.

“He never hit us,” she clarified, her voice quieter now. “But the words… sometimes they cut deeper. The yelling, the accusations, the way he would just explode over the smallest things. My mom tried to handle it, but it wore her down. And me? I—I couldn’t stay. I had to get out. That’s why I left. That’s why I stay in dorms or anywhere but home.”

Jongho exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice lower than usual, he finally spoke.

“That’s why you never go back.”

YN blinked, turning to look at him. His face was calm, but there was an edge to his voice. Like he understood more than he let on.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, filled with things unsaid.

Then, Jongho shifted, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead. “Must’ve been hard.”

YN let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well. Life’s not exactly a fairy tale.”

He glanced at her, his gaze softer than usual. “No. It’s not.”

Another silence. This time, it felt… different.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “You’re stronger than you think, you know that?”

YN turned to him sharply, caught off guard. “What?”

Jongho shrugged, looking away. “I’m just saying. You left. You got out. You built something for yourself instead of letting it trap you. That takes guts.”

YN didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t used to people saying things like this to her—especially not Jongho of all people.

Jongho leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. He rubbed his hands together, as if debating whether to speak or not. YN was still staring at him, her eyes searching, waiting.

“I guess… it’s only fair if I tell you something too,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

YN didn’t push. She just nodded, silently telling him to continue.

“My parents,” he started, pausing for a second. “They never really cared about me.”

That caught her off guard. She had always imagined him coming from a well-off family, considering the way he carried himself, the expensive apartment, the confidence.

“They weren’t bad people,” he continued, staring at the floor. “They just… weren’t really parents. Their world was business, money, social status. I was more like a project than a kid. Something to mold into their perfect successor.” He scoffed. ��But I wasn’t interested in any of that.”

YN stayed quiet, letting him talk at his own pace.

“I grew up in empty houses. Big, expensive places with no warmth. I had tutors, trainers, all that. But never them.” He clenched his jaw. “They were always too busy. Too far away. And when they were around, it was all about expectations. I had to be the best. Had to be strong. Had to be exactly what they wanted. If I wasn’t, I wasn’t worth their time.”

YN felt a strange tightness in her chest. She had never heard him talk like this before.

“But my friends?” He huffed a small laugh. “They’re my real family. They were the ones who actually cared. Looked out for me. Picked fights for me when I was pissed off. Made sure I ate when I was too stubborn to admit I was hungry. Taught me how to survive outside of what my parents wanted me to be.”

He glanced at her, his expression softer now. “That’s why I’m the way I am. Why I fight, why I stick with them no matter what. They’re all I’ve got.”

Silence settled between them again, heavy but not uncomfortable.

YN finally spoke, her voice gentle. “You’re lucky, you know?”

Jongho raised a brow. “Lucky?”

She nodded. “You found people who care about you. Even if it’s not in the way you expected.”

Jongho stared at her for a long moment, then smirked slightly. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

She didn’t say anything, just gave him a small smile in return. And for the first time since they’d met, they weren’t rivals, weren’t enemies. Just two people, sitting in a hospital lobby, understanding each other in a way no one else ever had.

For a moment, neither of them moved. YN had acted without thinking, driven by the strange warmth in her chest. She had never hugged him before—never even considered it. But right now, it just felt right.

Jongho stiffened, caught off guard. It's not like he was not hugged before, wooyoung and san always hug him, but this was different.

It was YN.

She held onto him tightly, her face buried in his shoulder, gripping his hoodie like she was afraid he’d disappear. She didn’t say anything, didn’t explain. She just stayed there, holding him like she needed him.

And what she didn’t know was that Jongho needed it just as much.

Slowly, his tense shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His arms moved on their own, wrapping around her waist, holding her just as tightly.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

For once, there was no competition, no rivalry, no mind games. Just them.

Jongho closed his eyes, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. He didn’t understand his feelings completely, but he knew one thing.

He didn’t want to let go.

Jongho had never felt this out of place before. Hospitals weren’t his thing—too quiet, too sterile, too full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with. But YN had dragged him inside, refusing to let him just stand outside like some outsider.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you can just stand in the doorway,” she had said.

And that’s exactly what he did. Arms crossed, leaning against the frame, watching silently as YN sat beside her father’s bed, her mother beside her.

Her father was awake now, looking tired but stable. He still had that roughness to him, even as he weakly talked to YN, but it was clear he wasn’t the same man she had once feared.

Jongho didn’t say much, didn’t interfere, but YN’s mother noticed him. She had been watching him carefully, taking in his presence, the way he lingered like a silent guardian.

Then, with a warm but firm voice, she said, “You should come to dinner at our house.”

Jongho’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

“My daughter wouldn’t have made it here without you,” her mother continued. “Let me properly thank you.”

Jongho hesitated. Dinner? With YN’s family? That was… new. He wasn’t used to things like that.

“I don’t—” He started to refuse, but then he saw it.

The way YN was looking at him.

She wasn’t saying anything, but her expression said everything. She wanted him to say yes.

And damn it, if there was one person who could make him agree to things he normally wouldn’t… It was her.

“…Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

YN smiled. And Jongho, despite himself, felt a little warmer inside.

Jongho had never really thought about how YN lived. He knew she stayed in the dorms, but seeing her actual home was… different.

The house wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t big enough for three people to live comfortably either. There was only one bedroom, and judging by the way her mother moved around the space so naturally, it was clear that privacy wasn’t really a thing here.

As they paced around the room, Jongho’s sharp eyes caught every little detail—the slightly worn-out furniture, the faint scent of home-cooked meals, the single bed pushed against the wall, the small study desk that was clearly YN’s. She didn’t even have her own room.

He didn’t say anything, but YN must have caught the way he was observing everything because she suddenly crossed her arms and looked up at him.

“I know it’s not as big as your fancy apartment,” she said, a teasing edge to her voice, “but you’ll have to adjust.”

Jongho scoffed, shaking his head. “You think I care about that?”

YN blinked. “Don’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who has to live here. I’m just visiting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you wouldn’t survive in a smaller home?”

Jongho leaned against the wall, smirking. “I’m saying you clearly think too much about what I think.”

YN opened her mouth, ready to argue, but before she could say anything, her mother called from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!”

The conversation was left hanging, but Jongho didn’t miss the way YN shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and walking towards the dining table.

He shook his head, suppressing a small smile as he followed her.

Dinner was… different. Not in a bad way. Just different.

Jongho had expected it to be awkward. Maybe some polite conversation, a few “thank yous,” and then he’d be on his way. But YN’s mother? She was nothing like he expected.

From the moment they sat down, she treated him like he was one of her own.

“Eat more, Jongho. You need to keep up that strength, right?” she said, piling more food onto his plate before he could even respond.

Jongho blinked. “Uh—yeah, I guess.”

YN stifled a laugh as she watched her mother practically adopt him on the spot.

“You must work out a lot,” her mother continued, eyeing his broad frame. “No wonder you’re so strong! You know, YN never brings home any friends. I was starting to think she didn’t have any.”

“Mom!” YN groaned, her face heating up.

Jongho smirked, looking at YN. “Yeah? I’m the first?”

“She never even talks about anyone,” her mother added. “But I can tell she trusts you.”

YN glared at her mom like she just exposed a national secret, while Jongho simply took a bite of his food, feeling… warm.

The conversation flowed so naturally. Her mother asked him about his studies, his life, if he was eating properly, even scolding him a little when he admitted he mostly ordered takeout. She fussed over him in a way no one ever had before.

It was strange. It was new.

But it felt… nice.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt like he had a place at a family dinner. Not just as a guest, but as someone who belonged.

YN noticed. She watched the way Jongho let his guard down, how he actually smiled—a real one, not his usual cocky smirk. It made her feel happy.

He deserved this.

He deserved to feel this warmth.

After dinner, YN grabbed the trash bags and headed outside, leaving Jongho alone with her mother to clean up.

Jongho wasn’t used to doing dishes with anyone—he usually ate alone or with his friends, where everything was chaotic and someone else always handled the cleaning. But standing here, washing dishes beside YN’s mother, it felt… peaceful.

As they worked in comfortable silence, her mother suddenly spoke.

“She didn’t have a great childhood, you know.”

Jongho paused, glancing at her. He had already known that from what YN told him at the hospital, but hearing it from her mother hit differently.

She let out a soft sigh, scrubbing a plate. “I did my best, but… I still feel like I failed her.”

Jongho didn’t know what to say to that. He had never really thought about parents blaming themselves before. His own never did.

“I just want her to be happy,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “She pretends she’s strong, but she’s been through a lot.”

Jongho set down the dish he was holding, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice firm but sincere. “As long as I’m here, she will be happy.”

Her mother looked up at him, studying his expression. Then, she smiled—soft and knowing.

“I believe you.”

It had been a month since that night at YN’s home, and things between her and Jongho had… changed.

They weren’t enemies. They weren’t exactly friends either. But they had fallen into a routine—one that felt strangely domestic.

Jongho would casually grab an extra coffee for her in the mornings, placing it on her desk with a simple, “You looked half-dead, don’t read too much into it.”

YN, in return, would remind him to eat properly, sometimes even handing him snacks with a nonchalant, “I don’t want you fainting in the gym or something. That’d be embarrassing.”

They walked to class together, studied together, and even sat next to each other during lectures. If Jongho wasn’t around, people would ask YN where he was. And if YN was late, Jongho would just roll his eyes but keep the seat next to him open.

They bickered over stupid things.

“Why are you staring at me?” YN asked one day, feeling his eyes on her.

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally were.”

“I was just zoning out,” Jongho huffed, looking away.

Or when YN handed him an umbrella on a rainy day.

“Here,” she said, shoving it into his hands.

Jongho frowned. “I don’t need it.”

“Then get soaked. Not my problem.”

“Then why’d you bring me one?”

“You're too noisy. Shut up and take it.”

They acted like they were just tolerating each other, but everyone else saw the truth.

They were basically a couple.

Just two idiots too stubborn to admit it.

YN felt… different.

It wasn’t something she could explain easily, but it was there—a strange pull toward Jongho. Like a force of nature she had no control over.

And, of course, Hanni wouldn’t shut up about it.

“You’re in love,” Hanni declared one day, arms crossed as if she had just solved the biggest mystery of the century.

YN, horrified, immediately shut her down. “Shut up. No, I’m not.”

“Oh, really?” Hanni smirked. “Then why do you always look out for him?”

“I just—he’s stupid sometimes, I need to make sure he doesn’t die.”

“And why do you get sad when you don’t see him?”

“That’s… that’s normal! I see him all the time, it’s weird when he’s not there.”

“And why do you get weird feelings when you’re together?”

YN froze.

Because that was true.

She did feel weird things when they were together—like her heart deciding to sprint for no reason, or how she found herself staring at him longer than necessary. She noticed the way his jaw clenched when he was focused, how his voice was deeper when he was tired, and how his hands were always warm even when it was freezing outside.

Oh no.

Hanni grinned, seeing the realization dawn on YN’s face. “Yeah. You’re so in love it’s embarrassing.”

YN groaned, covering her face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Jongho was losing his mind.

It started subtly—little things he noticed during their daily interactions. Like how small her hands were compared to his when she shoved a snack into his palm. Or how short she was, always tilting her head up to glare at him when they bickered.

And then it got worse.

One day, she was rambling about something, waving her hands dramatically, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to squish her cheeks.

Another time, she got mad at him over something stupid—probably about stealing her drink—and the way her nose scrunched up made his fingers twitch. She looked like an angry little kitten, and he… he was the big bear who wanted to scoop her up and keep her in his arms.

“Are you even listening?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

No. No, he wasn’t.

Because his brain was too busy fighting the cuteness aggression building up inside him.

So instead of answering, he just reached out and flicked her forehead.

“Hey!” she whined, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

Jongho smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Dunno. Just felt like it.”

If only she knew it was to stop himself from doing something even worse. Like pinching her cheeks until she smacked him.

He was doomed.

Like when they had gone out for ice cream, and YN, being herself, had managed to make a mess.

She was eating too quickly, and suddenly, a small drop of melted ice cream landed on the tip of her nose.

Jongho stared.

She blinked up at him, confused. “What?”

His grip on his cone tightened.

Was she real? Was this actually happening? Was she actually standing there, looking up at him with big eyes, ice cream on her nose, completely unaware of how devastatingly cute she was?

He exhaled sharply, leaned in, and—

Flick!

She yelped as he wiped the ice cream off with his thumb, scowling at her. “You’re a mess.”

She pouted. “You could’ve just told me.”

Yeah, well, if he had told her, he would’ve also had to admit that he was two seconds away from pinching her cheeks and calling her cute.

So no, thanks.

Or like when YN had forgotten her hair tie, so she dug into her bag and pulled out a tiny, pastel pink hair clip.

Jongho watched as she struggled to keep her hair out of her face with that.

The tiny clip was fighting for its life against her hair, barely holding anything in place. She kept adjusting it, pushing stray strands away with a frustrated huff.

Jongho’s jaw clenched.

It was too much.

The stupid little hair clip, her pouty concentration face, the way she kept huffing when the strands fell back—

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, plucked the clip from her hair, and smoothly tied it up with his own black hair tie which he conveniently had on his wrist.

She blinked at him. “...Oh.”

He crossed his arms. “There. Now you won’t look dumb.”

Her lips parted in offense. “Excuse you! My clip was working just fine—”

Jongho just flicked her forehead again and walked off before she could see the stupid grin threatening to break out on his face.

She was going to kill him one day.

Or worse—he was going to fall harder.

Jongho had always paid attention to the little things. It was something he’d always done, but now it was a bit more… personal.

The way YN would subtly try to avoid the topic of her birthday when it came up, how she’d always change the subject or even just shut it down completely. He never understood it until he saw it written in the corner of her notebook one day, almost as if it was an afterthought—her birthday was coming up.

Something about that made him pause.

He couldn’t help but wonder why she never celebrated it, why she never talked about it. It bothered him more than he realized. No one should feel like that about their birthday. It was supposed to be a day to feel special, to be loved.

But for YN… it didn’t seem that way at all.

YN stepped into Jongho's apartment, not knowing why he suddenly called her, but what she saw made her stop in her tracks. The entire place was decorated—soft, pastel colors, fairy lights hanging delicately from the walls, and small touches of things she liked scattered around the room. It felt like a scene straight out of one of those Pinterest boards she had secretly admired but never thought she'd experience herself.

On the table was a small cake, decorated with cream and flowers—exactly the way she liked it. But what really caught her eye was the little crown placed beside it.

Jongho stood by the door, hands in his pockets, nervously watching her reaction. His heart pounded as he waited for her to say something.

"Jongho..." YN started, her voice barely above a whisper as she took in the effort he’d put into everything. "What is all this?"

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed now that she was actually here. "Well... I know you don't like big celebrations, but I thought you'd like something a little special, you know? Something just for you."

She blinked, stunned. "But... this is all for me?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's your birthday, right?" Jongho said casually, though there was a small, nervous grin tugging at his lips.

YN couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her own. She looked around, noticing the little details—soft cushions, a few of her favorite books stacked neatly on the shelf, the little crown, and the cake that seemed to have her name written all over it.

"Why the crown?" she asked, half-laughing, half-teary-eyed.

Jongho shrugged, a little embarrassed. "You deserve to feel like a queen today. No one should ever feel like they don't deserve to be celebrated."

That did it. YN's heart swelled, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. The thoughtfulness behind everything hit her hard. Her birthday had always been a quiet, unnoticed day, but here Jongho was, treating her like she was the most important person in the world.

He stepped forward, holding out the little crown. "Here, your majesty."

YN laughed softly, taking it from his hands and placing it on her head, feeling a warmth in her chest she hadn't expected. "This is... this is too much," she whispered, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"You deserve it," Jongho said, his voice low but warm, his eyes locking with hers in that moment. "Happy Birthday, YN."

Her heart skipped a beat, her emotions rushing to the surface. "Thank you," she whispered back, her voice cracking slightly. She looked at him, her gratitude overflowing. "Thank you for seeing me."

Jongho stepped a little closer, the two of them standing there amidst the cozy decorations, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm hue on their faces.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, then took a step back, a playful grin appearing on his face. "Now, let’s eat this cake before I eat all of it myself."

YN laughed, feeling lighter than she had in a long time, her heart full of warmth from the little moments that had made this birthday unforgettable. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this special—this loved.

Jongho had done it. He had turned her quiet day into a celebration of everything she had ever wanted.

After cutting the cake and sharing a few playful bites, Jongho leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, birthday girl, close your eyes."

YN raised an eyebrow, suspicious but amused. "Why?"

"Just do it," he said, rolling his eyes but still holding that teasing grin.

With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, sitting still as she waited. She could hear him moving around the room, the sound of rustling paper and something being set down on the table in front of her.

"Okay," he finally said, his voice a little softer than before. "You can open them now."

YN opened her eyes—and immediately, her breath hitched.

In front of her was something she never expected but instantly adored—a bouquet of books, beautifully wrapped in soft-colored paper with a ribbon tied neatly around them. Not just any books, but ones she had casually mentioned wanting to read, ones she had stared at in the library but never picked up, ones that he must have noticed her lingering over.

She blinked rapidly, her fingers tracing over the spines as if making sure they were real. "Jongho… you—"

"You like them?" he asked, voice steady but eyes betraying a hint of nervousness.

YN couldn't speak. The warmth in her chest was overwhelming, emotions bubbling up faster than she could control. Instead of answering, she got up from her seat and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

Jongho stiffened for a second, but then, slowly, he relaxed into the hug, his arms coming around her just as tightly.

"You idiot," she mumbled against his hoodie, voice muffled but full of emotion. "This is the best gift ever."

Jongho let out a small chuckle, resting his chin lightly on her head. "Good," he said, a smile forming on his lips. "Because I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was lame."

YN shook her head against him, gripping onto his hoodie tighter. "It's not. It’s perfect."

And for a while, they just stayed like that, wrapped up in warmth and something unspoken between them—something soft, something real. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew.

They were falling, and this time, neither of them wanted to stop.

Jongho felt his heart race when he saw the small blush creeping up her cheeks, her eyes glistening with emotion as they met his. Her gaze lingered, vulnerable yet trusting, and something inside him clicked. All the words he'd been holding back, all the feelings he couldn't quite define-they came rushing forward.

Before he could even think, he cupped her face gently with his hands, tilting her chin up just slightly. She didn't pull away, her breath hitching as she stared at him, her lips parted slightly in confusion.

Without a second thought, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. His heart pounded in his chest as the moment stretched between them-gentle, slow, and full of everything they had been holding back.

YN's breath caught as she froze for a moment, her mind catching up with what was happening. But then, instinctively, she closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, her hands finding their way to his chest.

The world around them seemed to disappear as everything fell quiet, just the warmth of their bodies and the undeniable pull between them. Jongho's hand slid to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, and YN's fingers clenched slightly around his hoodie, her heart thumping in her chest.When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. Jongho looked down at her, his thumb brushing her cheek as he caught his breath.

"YN," he whispered, his voice rough, "I... I don't know what this is, but I can't stop thinking about you."

YN's heart fluttered at his words, her cheeks still flushed. She could feel the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands were slightly trembling as they stayed gently on her face.

"I think I feel the same," she whispered back, her voice just above a breathless murmur.

His hands were still cradling her face as if she were something fragile—something precious. His usual sharp gaze was softer now, almost uncertain, but there was something firm in the way he held her.

“I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like,” he admitted, his voice low and honest. “But I know that when you’re not around, I don’t like it. And when you are, I feel… lighter. Like I actually want to be better.”

YN’s heart pounded against her ribs, her breath catching at his words.

“I want to stay with you,” he continued, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “If this is what love is, then let it be.”

Her eyes widened slightly, emotions swirling inside her. He was never the type to say things without meaning them, never the type to hesitate. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her, vulnerable and real.

She felt warmth bloom in her chest, something overwhelming yet comforting. Her hands slowly reached up, resting over his.

“Then let it be,” she whispered back, her lips curling into the softest of smiles.

Jongho exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a second, just taking in the moment.

Neither of them needed to say anything more. They had already said everything that mattered.

After his confession, YN quickly realized one thing—Jongho was insanely clingy. Not in the physical sense, no. He wasn’t the type to smother her with hugs in public or demand constant attention. But mentally? Emotionally? He was all over her.

Her phone never knew peace.

Jongho: Where are you?

Jongho: Why aren’t you answering?

Jongho: You’re not dead, right?

Jongho: Hanni said you left the library 15 minutes ago. Where are you now?

And if she didn’t respond fast enough? Oh, he’d find a way. One time, he literally called Hanni when YN ignored his messages during a movie marathon.

“You’re ignoring my texts,” he accused when she finally picked up.

“I was watching a movie,” she sighed.

“Oh,” he paused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because… it’s a movie?”

“Tell me next time.”

YN groaned, but deep down, she found it cute—annoying, but cute.

Another time, she was just grabbing a coffee on campus, and before she could even sit down, she received a message:

Jongho: You didn’t tell me you were going to the café.

She blinked. Looked around. And there he was, sitting at a distance, sipping his own drink while watching her like a hawk.

She marched up to him. “Are you spying on me?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “I was here first. You should’ve told me you were coming.”

YN threw her hands up. “I didn’t know I needed permission to get coffee!”

“You don’t,” he said smoothly, “but if you told me, I would’ve gotten your order ready.”

And the worst part? He actually did. Because as she was about to go order, the barista handed her a drink. “Your boyfriend already paid for it.”

Jongho just shrugged at her bewildered expression, sipping his own coffee like nothing happened.

Yeah. He was absolutely clingy. But the way he looked after her, worried for her, cared for her in ways she didn’t even realize she needed?

She wouldn’t change it for the world.

You could never stay mad at him. No matter how much he annoyed you with his endless messages, his possessiveness, or his constant need to know where you were—one look at his big, boba-like eyes, and you were done for.

And he knew it.

That slight smile he had whenever he looked at you? It was because he knew you couldn’t resist him.

Whenever you pouted at him, complaining about how clingy he was, he’d just chuckle, pull you into one of his signature big bear hugs, and squeeze you tight. You always acted like you wanted to escape, but deep down, you never really tried.

And when you were alone? Oh, Jongho had no shame.

He’d squish your cheeks, stretching them like you were some kind of stress toy. “Why are you so cute, huh?” he’d mutter, poking at your puffed-up cheeks.

“Jongho, stop—”

Squish.

“Jongho!”

Squish.

And the moment you’d glare at him, trying to act serious, he’d just lean in and kiss you, completely ignoring your protests.

“Yah—”

Another kiss.

“Stop—”

Another.

And by the time you finally gave up, he’d smirk, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “You talk too much sometimes.”

But you couldn’t even be mad. Not when he was him. Your annoying, possessive, clingy, yet completely lovable Jongho.

Though you and Jongho never officially announced your relationship at college, he made it clear as day that he was yours—and that you were his.

And he had his ways of making sure everyone knew.

Jongho had always been intimidating, but after you two got together, his death glares became ten times worse. If a guy so much as looked at you for too long, Jongho would lock eyes with them from across the room. No words needed—just a single, cold stare, and the poor guy would scurry away like a frightened puppy.

Hanni once joked, "You don't need a security system, girl. Just let Jongho sit outside your dorm and scare people away."

Jongho wasn’t big on PDA, but when it came to making a statement, he had his own subtle ways. A hand on your lower back when guiding you through a crowd. A strong arm thrown over the back of your chair when another guy was getting too friendly. Holding onto the strap of your bag like it was a leash when you were walking together, just so he could keep you close.

The message was clear: Don’t even think about it.

His friends suffered the most. Jongho was always bringing you up in conversation, even when it wasn’t relevant.

“Jongho, pass me the notes.”

"YN already explained it to me. You should ask her—she’s smarter than all of us.”

"Jongho, do you want to come to the gym later?"

"Nah, I'm meeting YN. She gets grumpy if she doesn’t see me enough."

"Jongho, stop flexing your relationship, man—"

"I’m not flexing. I just have a girlfriend who happens to be better than yours."

“…None of us have girlfriends.”

"Exactly.”

The moment that really sealed it?

One day, some guy—clearly new to the college—had the audacity to flirt with you in the cafeteria. Nothing serious, just casual small talk.

Jongho, who had been sitting a few tables away, calmly stood up, strolled over, and without a word, took the spoon from your hand and ate your food from your spoon and even drank water from your cup.

You nearly choked.

The guy looked confused. Hanni was losing her mind in the background. Jongho? He just stared down at the poor guy, smirking slightly.

"Oh, were you saying something?" sitting down, he asked, his voice low and smooth, his arm resting on the back of your chair.

The guy got the message.

Jongho had never been the type to update his Instagram often. His feed was mostly filled with scenic shots—sunsets, cityscapes, the occasional black-and-white aesthetic post. He rarely posted selfies, let alone anything personal.

But now? Now his Instagram was practically a shrine dedicated to you.

It started subtly. A blurry candid of you sipping coffee at a café, captioned: “Not the coffee, just the person.”

Then came the next one—a picture of you reading in the library, chin resting on your palm, completely unaware of the photo being taken. “Genius girlfriend era.”

And then it became a habit.

— A mirror selfie of him at the gym… with you in the background, struggling with a dumbbell. “She’s trying.”

— A plate of food with your hands reaching for it. “I don’t get to eat in peace anymore.”

— A side-profile shot of you laughing. No caption. Just a red heart emoji.

Jongho wasn’t dumb. He knew there were girls lurking in his DMs, waiting for an opening. So he made sure they saw exactly why they had no chance.

Every post? Tagged @yn2001. Every story? Tagged @yn2001. Even in the comments, when someone asked, “Where’s this?”, he’d reply, “With @yn2001.”

Even his bio, which had previously been empty, now had:

“Taken. @yn2001.”

One day, he posted a picture of your intertwined hands, your fingers laced together on top of his lap. No faces, no explanation—just that.

And the caption?

"Mine.”

The DMs? Silent. The message? Loud and clear.

You were never the type to crave attention. Growing up, you had learned to blend into the background, to be self-sufficient. No one had ever really gone out of their way to make you feel special.

But Jongho? He changed everything.

The way he made it so obvious that you were his. How he walked beside you, making sure you were always safe. How his arm would find its way around your shoulders in crowded hallways. How he’d subtly block anyone who got too close.

The Instagram posts were one thing, but it was the little things that made you feel like a princess.

Like when he casually handed you his hoodie when you complained it was cold—without a word, just draping it over you like it was second nature. Or when he adjusted the straps of your bag because “It’s too loose, you’ll hurt your shoulder.”

Or how he always paid attention. If you so much as mentioned craving something, you’d find it mysteriously appearing in your dorm the next day. Kinder Joy? There. Your favorite drink? Waiting for you in class.

And the way he looked at you.

Like you were the most precious thing in the world.

For the first time in your life, you were someone’s priority. And you loved it.

The winter air was biting as you arrived at Jongho’s apartment for the night. He had asked you so politely—almost shyly—that you couldn’t say no.

After dinner, which you cooked while he hovered behind you like a baby bear, occasionally wrapping his arms around your waist or resting his chin on your shoulder, you both settled in for the night.

Jongho sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you went to do your skincare routine in the bathroom. You were halfway through when you felt his presence at the door.

"What are you even doing?" he asked, arms crossed as he watched you pat a serum onto your face.

"Skincare," you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He scoffed. "Looks like sorcery to me."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed an extra headband, walking over to him. "Sit."

He raised an eyebrow. "No way."

"You asked me to stay over. This is part of the deal," you said with a smirk.

With a grumble, he let you pull him onto the bathroom stool. You pushed back his hair with the headband, suppressing a giggle at how unexpectedly adorable he looked with it on.

"Don't laugh," he muttered, glaring.

"I'm not!"

You squeezed some cleanser onto your hands and started rubbing it into his face. He blinked rapidly at the sudden sensation, grabbing your wrist.

"What the hell—"

"Relax, big guy. Just let it happen."

He huffed, but let you continue. His face was surprisingly soft under your fingertips, and for a moment, you were lost in the closeness of it. Jongho, however, was glaring at his reflection.

"Feels weird," he grumbled.

You chuckled. "You’ll thank me later when your skin is glowing."

After washing off the cleanser, you moved on to toner and serum, explaining each step. Jongho just sat there, staring at you with those soft, unreadable eyes.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, looking away.

But his ears were red.

By the time you finished with moisturizer, he was pouting. "Feels sticky."

You flicked his forehead. "Beauty is pain."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t stop you when you applied lip balm on him, his lips parting slightly at the contact.

"All done," you declared, stepping back to admire your work.

Jongho looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his face slightly. "Huh… not bad."

"Told you."

He turned to you, a sly grin forming. "So if I have good skin now, does that mean I get more kisses?"

You gaped at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Jongho!"

But he was already pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into you.

"Thanks, princess," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

And just like that, your heart was gone.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of Jongho’s bed, your fingers idly playing with the hem of your oversized sweatshirt. He had just finished brushing his teeth, stepping into the room with his usual confident ease. His damp hair was slightly tousled, and his sharp eyes softened when they landed on you.

He tilted his head, noticing your hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. “I sleep weird.”

Jongho blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “What do you mean weird?”

“I mean…” You sighed again, fidgeting with your hands. “I move a lot in my sleep. I might—” You glanced at him briefly before looking away. “I might throw my leg over you. Or shove my feet under yours. Or, you know, hug you.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

For a second, he just stared at you before a small, amused scoff left his lips. “That’s it? I thought you were about to say something serious.”

You frowned. “It is serious.”

He crossed his arms, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think I’m gonna throw you off the bed?”

“No, but—”

“You can do whatever you want. It won’t bother me.”

That was a lie. Jongho never liked being hugged in his sleep. He never liked people clinging to him or invading his space while he rested. It had always felt suffocating, and he never hesitated to shove someone off if they got too close.

But you? You were different.

So when you eventually curled up beside him, shifting in your sleep and unconsciously draping your arm over his waist, he didn’t push you away. When your leg tangled with his, searching for warmth, he let it be. And when, in your sleep, you tucked your cold feet under his, he only let out a small huff, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

What surprised him the most was the way he naturally responded. Without thinking, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His hand found the curve of your waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking small circles into your skin through the fabric of your sweatshirt.

You sighed in content, unconsciously burrowing into his chest. Jongho glanced down at you, his lips twitching at the sight of you so comfortably nestled against him.

If it were anyone else, he would’ve been annoyed, but with you…

With you, he found himself pressing a lazy, almost absentminded kiss to your forehead before resting his chin atop your head.

Yeah. He loved this.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

168 notes · View notes

amuyyi · 8 months ago

Text

warm enough .

synopsis; recovering from an expected breakup, you find yourself drunk at a nearby bar, encountering an unfamiliar girl who happens to know your ex.

trope; non idol!ningning x fem!reader, uni au, fluff, a little angst, a little suggestive, strangers to lovers, feat. kep1er members :3

wc; 4.8k

cw; a little suggestive but not really

a/n; fun fact this happened to me irl ! figured i could use my experiences for stories ! everything from the breakup to the bar kiss is based on my personal experience so lol have fun. also its kinda poorly written because i wrote some of it while on the plane + in china while being very tired and i dont feel like proofreading so im sorry ^^'

The breakup was supposed to be a mutual thing. A smooth and easy agreement between you and Jimin. You guys met in a cafe when your soon-to-be-ex girlfriend finally dropped the bomb on you.

“I still care a lot about you, y/n. But I want to focus on myself and my future… I think you should too.”

You wanted to speak up, say that you didn’t want to let go yet. Just… hold on for a little longer. Maybe it’d get better if you guys just kept it going for another week. Another month. Another day?

“What I’m trying to say is…”

You always hated this part.

“I think we should break up.”

Despite the older girl being the one to initiate the ending of the relationship, you always knew it was coming. Jimin was sweet, and you definitely did enjoy the little dates you guys had been on through the past year, but there was something missing. Every time she looked at you, it seemed like she was looking through your eyes into her own. Her mind was always elsewhere whenever you two were together, like she was searching for something you couldn’t provide. She never seemed to smile around you, never laughed loudly or hugged you with warmth.

You really tried to be the person for her, you really did; but it was apparent that she was trying to convince herself you were the one as well.

It was shown in the way she bought you endless gifts with things you said you wanted, but never kissed you, In the way she would allow you to hold her hand, but never reached out herself, how she couldn’t bring herself to say “I love you” out loud. Jimin was cold.

You agreed that this was the best path to take, how you felt the exact same way and that it would be good for the both of you, but the tears that nonconsensually left your eyes said otherwise. You still remember the last words you told her before you got up to leave.

“I really hoped it was you.”

There's a saying or the other. “Your body will know if someone is right for you.” You came across it while aimlessly scrolling on social media once, and you thought it was an interesting but ridiculous concept. Countless people would share stories about how their hair would fall out or how they would break out into horrible acne when they were with their past partners, only being relieved from this when single or with their “match.”

It was funny, and you didn’t believe one bit of it until it actually happened. The tightness in your chest that followed you every time you two went out together, the stress of wondering if she actually enjoyed her company, the way you couldn’t truly relax in her presence– it all went away. It all left when she walked out of your life, and you’ve never felt more at peace with a decision. At least, for a little bit.

The breakup was the easy part. It was the recovery that ruined you.

You were the one to establish a rule of no contact, even after you both expressed wanting to stay in touch. It was your only way to hold on to the last sliver of pride you had left after spending a year chasing after Yu Jimin. The rule was established to allow you some time to heal, and you hoped to return to the girl as friends once you felt ready.

With this in mind, you then proceeded to spend a month barely eating, barely sleeping, and not leaving your apartment unless you needed to for classes. It was difficult to be on your own after dedicating so much time to her, falling behind, hoping that she would see you the way you saw her; but after about a month, you slowly felt yourself regaining your footing.

You started going out again, talking with your roommate, taking time to actually care for yourself. It was nice. Perhaps your progress would have left you comfortable enough to move on if you didn’t decide to go out that day.

There she was. Yu Jimin. After an exact 31 days of no contact with her, you finally cross paths. Quite literally, at that– but she wasn’t alone. There was a girl on her arm. She was pretty. Blonde with bobbed hair and a soft smile that made it impossible to hate her. Jimin was smiling too. This is the first time you’ve seen her smile like that, smiling as if she found what she was looking for after all of this time. She doesn't look past her. She sees her.

Jimin holds the other girl by the small of her waist the way she used to do with you, and she kisses her. She kissed her. Just like how she used to kiss you, but not exactly. There's love in her eyes. A warmth you’ve never seen before. In her eyes, there is certainty.

And that was the day your world came crashing down on top of you.

You tried to act normal as you walked past. You really did. Your eyes remain glued to your phone as your knuckles turn white. Her eyes didn’t even meet yours as you walked by. Why wouldn't she look at you? Maybe she's wondering why you won't look at her. That must be it. You hold your breath. As soon as she passed by, you couldn’t help yourself. You made the mistake of looking back.

…Nothing.

As soon as Jimin was out of sight, you cried. You ran home, scaring half the life out of your poor roommate, Xiaoting, as you collapsed in your bed. Everything hurts. Why did it hurt? You wanted this. You felt better without her— the tightness in your chest was gone.

Instead, it was replaced by an indescribably painful ache. One that felt so deep within your soul it would never heal. Quietly entering your room, Xiaoting says nothing as she sits next to your limp body on the bed, rubbing your back comfortingly. The gesture only makes you sob even harder.

She's been with you through it all. From the beginning of your relationship with Jimin till the end, she was there. Xiaoting really was a good friend.

From then on, Xiaoting’s one goal was simple: cheer you up. She would cook at least once for you every day despite not being the best chef, and she would allow you to rant about the same things over and over no matter how overbearing it got. Honestly, you started to feel a little bad. She shouldn’t have to bend over backwards for you just because you’re a little sad.

So when Xiaoting announces that you will be joining her at the bar with her friends tonight, you couldn't say no. Both because she stated it, not asked you, and that it simply was the least you could do for her. Especially after everything she’s done for you. Before you knew it, you were dressed up in your best (slutty) corset top and cargo pants with some hoops and over exaggerated makeup to accent the look. Xiaoting, as your best roommate and friend, matches with you, and you two make a big scene out of getting ready together; blasting music, doing each other's hair, borrowing each other's clothes, and more.

Xiaoting’s girlfriend Yujin had made herself at home for the pregame, and your mutual friend Hikaru soon followed. With Xiaoting as designated bartender, the four of you mingle, laughing and cracking jokes as the warmth of the alcohol and one another’s presence left you with a warming buzz. Xiaoting was an excellent mixer, and in combination with the chasers Hikaru bought and the drinking games Yujin proposed, you were all ready to go.

Xiaoting and Yujin led the way, hand in hand as you and Hikaru trailed behind, drunkenly singing into the cold night air as you trek to the nearest bar.

Being a Friday night, the establishment had been as packed as expected, and you all squeezed your way past other visitors as you’re guided to a nearby table. Xiaoting starts off strong, ordering shots for the entire group before utilizing her combined charm alongside her girlfriend’s looks to convince guys to purchase drinks for everyone as well. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way the duo would bat their eyelashes innocently at lone men for drinks– but at least it worked.

Lazily, your eyes wander through the crowd, the alcohol in your system making it a struggle to see straight. Despite your inability to see properly, you still manage to catch a glimpse of your friends from the corner of your eye, and easily spot Yujin attempting to very publicly make out with Xiaoting as Hikaru struggles to pull her away. You stifle a laugh at the sight, and decide to leave the three to their antics whilst you look for someone to talk to.

It's been a while since you last struck up a conversation with a stranger. The last time you had put yourself out there was before you met…

You shake your head. No. You are not letting your stupid ex ruin your night. Knitting your brows in concentration, you scan the bar. There were plenty of pretty girls to talk to, but you were feeling a little intimidated. Almost all of them came with at least one other person, and you didn’t want to intrude on anything…

Your eyes landed on a lone blonde at the end of the table, scrolling through her phone with alcohol flushed cheeks. She seemed approachable. Worst case scenario, she simply shoos you off. Taking a deep breath, you approach the blonde, deciding to pull out your best conversation starter.

“Are you chinese? You look chinese!!” You exclaim, suddenly switching to mandarin in the middle of your sentence as you ask the question. Smooth.

The blonde girl looks as if she would’ve been extremely offended at the comment if you didn't just speak to her in her native tongue halfway through your sentence, and she quirks a brow at you, an amused smirk on her lips as she leans against the bar.

“Yeah, I am! What's a cutie like you doing in a place like this alone??”

You feel your heart begin to race. So far so good. “I'm not alone!!! My friends are just busy making out with each other and the other is trying to stop them!!” You also lean on the bar, though not as alluring as the blonde before you. More like you partially collapsed and partially slid on it.

She chortles at your response, “well that's not fair to you, leaving you here all alone.”

The sweet and somewhat sultry tone of the blonde makes (non alcohol induced) blush appear on your face as you laugh, “it really isn't! But whatever! My name is y/n by the way!! What's yours??” You scream over the music, sticking your hand out. It was an unexpectedly polite gesture considering your circumstances, and perhaps it may have seemed a bit comical as well with how drunk you were.

She giggles at the response, grabbing your hand then pulling you in, her lips dangerously close to your ear as she yells over the music, “Ning Yizhuo. But call me Ningning! It's cuter!”

You grin. Ningning was a cute nickname. You decided at this very moment you could trust this cute stranger with your life story and personal information she didn’t ask for, and begin to slur out.

“My friends dragged me out here because I was sad over my ex who moved on from me a month after the breakup even though we dated for a year and she's a big jerk for that even though I wish only the best for her but also I hope she dies!!!”

None of the words you spoke just now came out clear, and they seemed to trip over one another when leaving your mouth, but it was enough for the other girl to go from extremely relaxed to suddenly very heated. She stands up straight as her eyebrows knit together.

“To be honest I don’t think she ever really liked me in the first place! I don’t know!! Whatever it doesn’t matter!!!” You continue on, sounding absolutely pathetic as you let yourself feel through the anger you didn’t even know you were repressing, “I was stupid to stay with someone who couldn’t even look me in the eye when saying she loved me!! She was stupid to do the same!! Whatever!! I don’t know!!”

Ningning cuts you off with a raised hand before you can continue, “what the hell?! I hate people like that!! You're wayyyy too hot to be treated that way! Who is she? What's her name?? I might know her!!”

Against your better drunken judgment, you decide to name drop your ex within a university bar. Because that is always a good idea. “Yu Jimin!! She's a engineering major !!!”

Ningning’s jaw drops as she stares at you, almost as if she were trying to find the correct words for what she has to say next.

“Girl, I know her !!!” She screams out after a brief moment of silence, “we shared a class together once!! Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't know she was like that!! You deserve BETTER!”

Before you could even think of what to say in reaction to that heavy load of information, Ningning grabs your face, pulling you into a kiss. It was a very messy one, her lips almost missing your own during the exchange. Seems like she's not entirely sober either.

Still, even in your drunken state you knew what to do. Your hands immediately find Ningnings hair as you pull her in closer, and you can feel her smiling as she grazes her tongue over the bottom of your lip.

You open your mouth to let her in and the only thing that you can think of or even feel for that matter is Ningning and her tongue. She… was really good at this. Jimin never kissed you like this before. Her hands trail down your back to your ass before she squeezes it, smirking when you squirm against her touch.

She breaks the kiss, her face inches away from yours as she breathes out, “you deserve so much better…” Ningning gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping back, taking in her work with a devilish glint in her eyes. You stare at her dumbfounded for a moment before whipping out your phone, fully talking in your appearance. Your hair and makeup were a wreck. How did all of that happen just now?

“Done by yours truly~” Ningning winks at you, quickly slipping your phone out of your hand and typing something in.

“Wh— Wait what are you doing?”

“Giving you my number, obviously. My girls are gonna wonder where I went.” She hands back your phone and looks at you with soft eyes through her drunken daze.

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” Ningning kisses you one last time, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. She disappears into the crowd of partygoers, a sly fox-like grin on her face.

“There you are!”

You feel an arm land on your shoulder as you jump, twirling around and looking down to see a drunk Hikaru with a slightly less drunk Xiaoting and an absolutely hammered Yujin on her side.

“We should probably head back home!” Xiaoting screams into your ear, “Hikaru’s gonna knock out on the couch and Yujin will be with me!”

Her words barely make it through to you, the music and the alcohol and the adrenaline within your system muffling out every word spoken. Regardless, you still nod and trail behind your friends as you leave, not all too sure what just happened.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You lay in bed, eyes practically burning holes into the new contact in your phone. “宁宁<3” is what it said.

So last night wasn’t just a dream. You really did just get a girl's number by doing nothing but spilling your secrets to a stranger. On top of all of that, your head was absolutely killing you, you swore you could feel your heartbeat within your brain. Still, that wasn’t important. Biting your lip, your fingers hover over the contact name. Should you message her?

y/n [10:59] — hey !! its y/n, the girl from the bar

y/n [10:59] — thanks for keeping me company last night :)

ningning [11:06] — i was wondering if u were gonna text me back

ningning [11:06] — and of course <3 jimin doesn’t know what she lost

y/n [11:08] — haha im flattered

y/n [11:08] — but u barely know me??

ningning [11:11] — that can change xx

Your eyes widen as you reread the text over and over again. Is she implying what you think she's implying? What if she's just being friendly? Can you even platonically make out with someone at the bar?

y/n [11:16] — are u asking me out on a date ning yizhuo ?

You wait.

Oh god. What if she was just being friendly?

ningning [11:18] — only if youll have me

You feel yourself blush at her message, burying your face into your pillow as you squeal like a high school teenager in love. It was embarrassing in hindsight, but.. it felt nice to be wanted.

y/n [11:19] — of course

ningning [11:19] — perfect <3

ningning [11:20] — dinner at my place tonight then?

ningning [11:20] — If youre not too hungover..

ningning [11:20] — i got the best hangover cures ;)

you can't help but arch your eyebrow at the winky face she added at the end but brushed it off, more focused on the fact that your drunk hatred towards your ex landed you a date.

You scramble to your feet and (metaphorically) kick down Xiaoting’s door, abruptly waking the girl from her nap as she screams out, “WO CAO!” She places a hand over her heart as she bolts up within her bed, immediately letting out a sigh of relief when she realizes it was just you.

“Girl what the HELL is wrong with you?!” She hisses, laying back down and throwing the blanket over her head.

You, being the ever loving and best roommate ever, respond to this by jumping into bed with (on top of) the redhead and squeezing her as tight as you can while screaming “I HAVE A DATE!!!”

Xiaoting shoots back up, your arms still latched onto her torso as she looks down at you, eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious?”

You hear a low groan and a hand slapping your arm as you roll your eyes, slapping the arm back as the voice of Yujin grumbles out and shuffles deeper within the sheets.

Both you and Xiaoting look at one another and giggle before she quietly slips out of bed, quickly placing a kiss on Yujins head before grabbing your arm and leading you out of her room. Once outside, she firmly grasps your shoulders.

“Okay, now tell me everything.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You nervously stand outside of Ningnings apartment, bag clutched in hand as you look back behind you. Xiaoting sat within her car on the side of the road, keeping an eye on you to make sure this girl wasn’t going to kidnap you or the other.

The two of you (and soon enough Yujin and Hikaru) had spent the day giving you pointers on how to go about the date. They had thrown an ungodly amount of clothes your way as well as telling you endless conversation starters and compliments to give another person. By the end of it all your head was overflowing with information that you were going to forget as soon as you head out the door, and all of your closet was sprawled on your bedroom floor and in the living room. Still, the girls seemed quite proud of their work.

All of you had consecutively agreed on an outfit that was nice, but not too nice. You wore a plaid skirt paired with a simple tank top and an off the shoulder cardigan.

Holding your breath, you ring the doorbell. You really hoped this wasn’t a mistake. When was the last time you were actually on a date with someone? You couldn't remember. After a few moments of silence, you hear shuffling followed by the door unlocking and Ningning poking her head out shyly. Her eyes light up at the sight of you before opening the door completely, revealing her outfit.

She wore an oversized plaid button up, unintentionally matching with your skirt alongside baggy jeans and some bunny slippers you thought were incredibly cute. Her hair was tied up in a messy but charming bun, held up by a hair stick with small gemstones dangling from the end.

This Ningning was completely different from the one you had met at the bar last night. Though, you suppose you were a different person now as well.

“You're here! Come in come in!” She grabs your hand and guides you inside. Flustered, you spare a quick glance behind you, and you can spot the silhouette of Xiaoting throwing a thumbs up from her car before Ningning closes the door behind you.

“You look gorgeous today, by the way,” Ningning compliments, her thumb rubbing over your fingers as she walks you through her apartment. The gesture makes your cheeks warm, and you find yourself easing into her touch like putty. It was a touch that was loving. Kind. Intentional.

Her home was cozy, with white walls paired alongside warm lighting and paintings and other wall art lining the interior. There was an appetizing aroma that wafted through the air, and you had remembered that Ningning had offered to cook for you.

“What have you prepared for us tonight, chef Ningning?” You ask, squeezing her hand as she grins, “Well it's not much, I'm not a really good cook but I decided to make us some dumplings! A little basic, but it's the only dish I feel like I’ve actually perfected.”

“I hope this is the hangover cure you mentioned” you comment lightheartedly, and you sense a playful energy in the way she looks back at you.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

You once again find yourself quirking a brow at her vague answers, but she simply smiles at you innocently and you find yourself smiling back. It was hard to not be amused by her.

Ningning guides you to the kitchen, which was cleaned perfectly for your arrival. On the center of the table were multiple bamboo steamer baskets, as well as a large tea pot and a simple glass bottle with various native wildflowers as a centerpiece.

The other girl pulls out a chair for you, and you teasing grin at the polite gesture, “how romantic, Ninging~”

She rolls her eyes and giggles before settling down herself, instantaneously pouring you a cup of tea as she gestures at the baskets, “go on, dig in. I’ll be personally offended if you don’t.”

Chuckling, you open up the baskets, releasing clouds of steam before revealing multiple handmade dumplings with various fillings and differing folding styles. Your eyes widen, and you simply comment, “wow,” before taking the first bite of the food.

To say that it tasted amazing was an understatement– you practically felt like you were thrown back to the motherland with a single bite, and it wasn’t long before you were filling your plate with more.

The two of you had spent the rest of the evening getting to know one another more. You had learned she was a computer science major and going onto her third year of uni, as well as the fact she was from Harbing whilst you shared that you were from Shanghai.

“Big city girl, huh?” Ningning amusedly comments, sipping on her tea as you roll your eyes, “yeah… But I'm not rich or anything before you ask.”

The blonde feigns rejection as she snaps her fingers, “damn. I was gonna ask you to buy drinks next time we head to the bars, I think you owe me. ” She smiles at you, and it's warm.

You liked this. You liked how easy it was to talk to her. It was never this easy before.

Soon enough you had ended up on Ningning’s couch, browsing through movies aimlessly as the hefty meal threatened to send you into a food coma. The blonde lay comfortably in your arms underneath a blanket, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut as you continued to search for something to watch.

“Hmm, what about… Velocipastor?” The name completely throws you off guard, prompting you to click on it, skimming over the description as you feel the vibration of Ninging lazily humming beneath you.

“Oh that movie is really good, trust me.”

“... Really? Are you sure, Ning?”

“Yeah yeah…” Her eyes were already shut as she spoke, nuzzling in closer to you as you chuckle, putting on the movie as you wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

Honestly, the movie seemed to be an excuse for the girl to be physically close to you– maybe get a nap in? You weren’t even sure if she was watching the movie at this point. Still, maybe it was for the best. Velocipastor was definitely not well funded within its production, that much could be seen. Plus, you couldn't complain about having a cute girl in your arms.

“Does your head still hurt?”

Ningning’s soft voice rings out, startling you. Honestly, you were getting pretty invested in the film, you had thought she already fell asleep.

“Mmm, a little. I don’t think your hangover cure worked.”

“Oh, the dumplings weren’t the cure.”

Your head cocks to the side as you tear your gaze away from the tv screen, looking down at the girl nestled on your chest as she looks back up at you. There was that all too familiar glint in her eyes again.

“Then what is?”

A mischievous grin curls on her lips before she leans in, connecting her lips with yours. Still a bit sluggish from the night before alongside a hefty meal, her kissing was a bit sloppy, but it was soft. Much softer than before.

You feel yourself almost immediately sigh into the kiss, and you would have found it embarrassing if she didnt guide her hand up your chest, to your neck, and into your hair, soon deepening the kiss.

Not expecting things to escalate so soon, you couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper as your hands landed on her hips, nails digging into her sides desperately as she laughs against your lips, pulling back.

“You’re really cute, y’know?” She purrs, using her hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you can see the hint of pink spread across her lips as she smiles, drinking in the sight of you.

Before you even have a chance to respond, Ningning tackles your jawline, trailing kisses down your face and onto your neck. You try to respond, but when she starts to nip the side of your neck, the words you wanted to say somehow managed to melt into complete mush.

“Mmhmmhgh…”

The sound that escapes your lips allows you the chance to actually feel embarrassed, and you slam a hand over your lips, looking away from Ninging. Your response elicits another laugh from the blonde, and you swear you could listen to the sound forever.

Her symphony soon quiets though, and Ningning looks you straight in the eye, her gaze softening as she opens her mouth, struggling to find the right words to say.

“Look, I know we just met…” she trails off for a moment, almost a bit shy to continue, “but if you want to give me a chance and see where this goes, I promise I’ll treat you so well.”

Her eyes are filled with genuine desire for you, and you couldn’t help but feel… Isolated? Targetted? For the first time you feel like you’re seen, and you don’t know what to do about it.

She presses on, “I’d really like to see you again, and I know you’re going through a lot right now but I want to be there with you every step of the way. I want to see where this takes us.”

“I want you, y/n.”

Your face heats up instantaneously, and you swear your eyes were threatening to bulge out of your skull right then and there. You look at her in silence as you struggle to find your words, and after a few seconds you finally croak out,

“I… I want to see where this takes us too, Ningning.”

Her eyes brighten at your response, and she beams, pulling you into a tight hug on the couch before interlocking her lips with yours once again. You giggle into the kiss, and throw the blanket over the two of you as the movie on the tv buzzed on. For the first time, you found someone warm enough for you.

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