#the worst ones are always the loudest i know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jihyoruri · 5 months ago

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY kim chaewon x reader

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, read these three parts before this one if you haven’t already, getting glimpse into yn, chaewon is chaewon…, mentions of weight & throwing up, yn’s family (a real warning fr), pre debut stuff

yn knew who she was from a very young age.

she came from an old money family, the moon family, but it wasn’t just any old money—it was wealth built over generations of hard work, or so her father would tell her.

her family was extremely important, involved in almost every major company in korea. they held a high status and were regarded with the utmost respect, held to the highest standards imaginable.

and oh was that standard installed in yn.

the numbers four, ten, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen and nineteen is something that yn will always remember for six important reasons. It's likely the reason she is who she is today.

age four is the last time yn remembers really crying.

she probably cried before that, but she obviously didn’t have the memory to recall those times.

ever since she was born, she remembers being in her father’s arms, never her mother’s. her father took care of her along with her brothers.

yn knew her father wasn’t the best man, but he wasn’t the worst. at least he acknowledged all three of his children. while he definitely paid more attention to her brothers, he still looked after her.

her mother, though, never acknowledged her. even when yn was a little baby, her mother’s focus was always on her boys.

both parents’ attention was always on the boys—they were the future of the family, the men of the family. at least her father made a little bit of effort when it came to yn.

at age four, yn was at the age where all she wanted to do was play outside, winter had fallen and disappeared and it was finally getting warmer outside, so it was the perfect opportunity to go play outside.

she asked her dad to accompany her but he was getting ready for a meeting.

“go play out front,” he said patting her head, “it’s beside my window, so I’ll be able to see you, the gate is locked so it should be safe, it’s big enough for you to run around, just watch out for the flowers, the maid planted them yesterday.”

yn excitedly ran out of her father's office, dashed down the large marble steps, and headed for the front door, but not without bumping into one of her older brothers.

“where you are going?” daeun asked his sister.

"outside! dad said I can play out front," she replied eagerly.

the ten year old clicked his tongue and shook his head. "lucky you. after jae’s done getting ready with mom, I'm next." he was about to remind her that the whole family had dress fittings today for the ball they were hosting, but she was already out the door.

yn basked in the sunlight as she ran out front, rolling in the grass and sprinting on the concrete.

suddenly, her foot slipped, causing her to fall and hit her knee on one of the decorative stones. blood started to paint the stone red

yn let out the loudest cry imaginable, clutching her knee, not even caring about the blood on her hands.

“yn!”

yn looked up, she furrowed her eyebrows confused to see her mother running towards her and not her father.

“oh my- what happened?!” the woman asked kneeling in front of her daughter.

“I was running and tripped.” yn sniffed as her mom lifted her up, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders leaning her head down, “where’s daddy? I need him to look at my knee.”

“he’s in his meeting,” the woman informed the crying girl, “I’ll look at your cut.”

“but he always looks at them! do you know how to look at mine?”

the woman patted her daughters back as they made their way inside the big house, “I look at your brothers all the time, let me patch you up and then get you ready for the dress fitting.”

instead of arguing more yn just sniffled tightening her grip on her mother who walked further into the house.

“we also can’t be crying like this anymore yn, we don’t do that here.”

age four is also the first and last time yn remembers being held by her mother.

it was also the last time she remembers fully crying.

age four the standard was officially introduced to her.

yn thanked her father as he passed her a second piece of bread. "jae, pass me the butter, please."

"you're having another piece of bread?" her brother asked with a grin. "slow down on the carbs, yn."

"pass your sister the butter," their father said sternly. jae immediately quieted his laughter and slid the butter over to yn.

daeun gave jae hard nudge, “leave yn alone it’s not her fault she’s menstruating.”

yn's mouth dropped open as her brothers laughed. She looked at her mother with a betrayed expression. "you told them?"

"I had to," her mother shrugged, cutting the beef on her plate. "they might have been concerned about why you're eating so much."

yn pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. ehen she realized she was having her first period, she wanted to go to her dad, but what could he do? she knew she had to go to her mother, even if it made her uncomfortable

“yn is always eating though, especially this year.” jae said, “even the maid brings her snacks.”

“always snacking and writing those poems.”

"can you shut up, lardass?" yn snapped, getting ready to lunge over the large dinner table.

"leave your sister alone," their father said, taking a sip of his wine.

silence fills the table for their mother speaks up, “actually yn, I got your dress in a size four.”

yn looked up from her now abandoned bread confused, “size four? I’m a size eight though.”

“I know.” her mom shrugs, “I feel like you can be a little smaller, it would make you look attractive.”

“why does my ten year old sister need to be attractive?” daeun asked in a joking manner.

“you know what I mean.” their mother said before looking at yn, “you need to slim down a little honey, cut out some things.”

“can you two talk about this on your little girl hangouts.” jae cut in.

yn scoffed, “what girl hangouts.” she muttered to herself, her mother barely talks to her much less have girl hangouts, “may I be excused?” she looked at her father who nodded his head.

“where are you going?”

“the washroom.”

it had been two months since that dinner, yn stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. her size four dress fitting perfectly.

“see,” her mother started, “you look so beautiful, size four is the size for you, I’m glad you took my advice on cutting out some food.”

yn stayed silent just look at herself in the mirror, she looked up at the ceiling as she felt the back of her eyes start the burn, the water threatening to spill out.

“are still sick?” she turned to look at jae and daeun who entered the room that their mother had exited.

“she was sick?” daeun asked look at his younger sister who sat her vanity, looking through her expensive perfumes.

“yeah for like the past two months.” jae said, “sometimes after dinner I would hear her throw up like crazy in the washroom.”

daeun raised his brow at yn who barley acknowledged jae’s words.

“can you guys tell dad I’ll be downstairs in a second.”

"Sure," jae said, tugging daeun along with him. daeun looked back at yn before shaking his head and following Jae out of the room. along with him.

there’s a reason yn will always remember the age ten.

XIV

the starting of age fourteen was weird for yn.

jae was eighteen and daeun was twenty , they were barely in the house these days cause they were making their way through training for the family name, they were slowly becoming more and more important to the family business.

while yn was stuck at in the big mansion she called home, her father was also out of the house, always at meetings and press conferences and if the boys are out the house her mother is also out the house.

so yn was really alone.

and she wanted out.

she was tired of the same routine, waking up, going to school, coming home, sleeping.

she laid on her big pink bed, humming along to the lyrics of hoot by girls generation that came from her cd player, she owned every album from the girl group.

yn loved music, she loved the singing, dancing and rapping, she could totally see her self doing that for living.

wait…

isn’t sm entertainment holding auditions…

today.

she jumped up from her bed and and ran down the marble steps of her house while she called her dad.

“hey daddy! I’m going out, where? oh nothing just want to get some fresh air, I won’t leave the gated community I promise.”

she knew if she called the chauffeur to drive her, he would tell her dad. yn huffed as she adjusted her skirt and her pink chanel sweater. she slipped on her Mary janes and turned off her phone.

she was going to have to make a run for it.

yn has never ran like this in her life, her father would kill her if he found out she was doing this but it felt so right.

she ran and ran until she was right in front of the recognizable building, sm entertainment.

she walked in to see a woman standing there with a paper in her hand, she look at yn and raised a brow, “hi! are you hear for auditions?”

“yes,” yn nodded her head, adjusting her sweater, “yes, I am.”

the woman scanned yn’s expensive attire, “really?”

“yes.” yn stated firmly, she could sense the woman’s thoughts, and if there’s one thing her father has always thought her, is to not let people underestimate you, she was above them. “is there a problem?”

yn adjusted her sweater even more, showing off the costum family crest that was sown into her sweater, causing the woman’s eyes the widen.

“oh nothing, the audition rooms is down this way.” the woman says gesturing down the hall, yn’s stern face melted into a kinda smile.

“thank you.” she said before walking down the hall.

as she walked she saw a line of people leaning on the wall beside the room.

yn made her way to join the line, standing beside a girl with bangs.

the girl looked at yn and smiled, “are you nervous?”

“this was kinda a rushed idea, so I don’t know how I feel yet.” yn said looking down at her mary jane’s.

the girl laughed and scanned over yn, “hey what’s up that that logo thing, I’ve seen it everywhere since i’ve been in korea.”

yn looked at the crest, “oh, it’s my family crest.”

“that’s cool, so your family is pretty big huh?”

“I guess who can say that,” yn said before looking at the backpack the girl had, “can you actually do me a favour.”

“depends on the favour.”

“can I put my sweater in your bag? and take it out after the auditions.”

“sure!”

yn unzipped her sweater while the girl opened her bag and stuffed it inside, “thank you so much.”

“no problem.” the girl says before looking at the shirt, “ I like your shirt.”

“thanks, it’s miumiu.”

“that sounds expensive, I’m yizhuo.”

“I’m yn.”

“good luck yn.”

“good luck to you too yizhuo.”

the girls stood in line for about an hour, yn listened to yizhuo talk off her ear about if they both made it into sm all the way until it yizhuo‘s turn.

yn looked at the time on her watch, her family wouldn’t be home for another couple hours, she should be able to get home on time , hopefully.

she watched as yizhuo walked out the room with a smile on her face, mouthing a good luck.

if they weren’t there before the nerves were definitely catching up to yn now, she took a deep breath and walked into the room to see three adults sitting.

she gave them a charming smile and stood in front of them.

“hello.” the woman out of the three said to the younger girl with a smile, “state your name and age.”

“I’m moon yn.” yn looks at the three adults, they were scanning her face as if they were trying to figure her out, “and I’m fourteen years old.”

“okay yn, what’s your specialty?” one of the men ask, looking the girls mary jane’s, how is she gonna dance in those?

“uh…” yn didn’t even know what to say, this was definitely an impulse decision on her end.

“always snacking and writing those poems”

“rap.” she states causing the three to raise their brows in surprise, obviously not expecting the girl decked out in pink to say that, “I love rapping.” she lied.

“show us you skills.” the woman said causing yn to mentally curse herself.

she looked deep into the back of her mind to find one of her writings, shaking off her nerves she recited something she wrote a while ago, her flow becoming better as she went on, trying her best to free style.

as she finished the woman nodded her head impressed, “did you write that yourself?” she asked writing on the paper in front of her.

“yes.”

one of the men hummed nodding his head, “now what song are you performing for us today?”

I guess her days of memorizing and singing girls generation songs and choreography is finally gonna pay off.

“I will be singing into the new world.” yn says shaking out her nerves.

the three nodded their heads surprised, this girl kept surprising them.

“let’s hear you.”

as yn started, all she did was think of the words her family members would tell her, to always show confidence, to show people that you’re better, and that’s what she did.

once she finished, she put her hand on her chest to smooth out her breathing, she can’t believe she just did that, the only time she’s done something like this was in the comfort of her big bedroom.

“thank you yn, you will definitely be hearing back from us.” the woman said to the girl who smiled and thanked them.

yn was about to rush out the room but was stopped by one of the men.

“are you related to the moon family, you look so familiar, like I’ve seen your face on tv.”

yn hesitated, she thought about lying but they would easily search her family up, “yes.” she nodded her head.

all three of them looked even more surprised, but yn had no time for more conversation rushing out the room and bumping into yizhuo, who had yn’s sweater in her hand.

“woah, you’re in a rush.”

“yeah, I have to head home.” yn said taking her sweater from yizhuo’s hand and dragging it on.

“wait can I get your number.” she asked handing yn her phone.

yn rushingly typed out her phone number in the girls phone and rushed out the building.

“it was nice meeting you!” she heard yizhuo yell.

and just like how she got to sm entertainment she got home the same way, she ran miles making her way to the gated community that she called her neighbourhood.

yn was about to make it through her gate, when she heard a familiar sounding car, she immediately ran to the back of the house and climbed the tall fence falling to the ground with a big thud.

she didn’t have time to whine about the pain and ran towards the outdoor stairs that lead to the balcony of her bedroom.

she slide open the clear sliding door and rushed into her room.

she took off her sweater letting out a sigh of relief until she heard foot steps heading towards her room, she threw the sweater across the room and jumped on her bed right on her stomach.

her bedroom door opened to reveal daeun, “dad wants to talk to you.” he said before closing her door.

yn felt a nervous feeling bubbling in her stomach as she got up from her bed and out her bedroom.

it was silent as she went down the stairs to find her father standing at the end of the stairs looking at her with a stern face.

“have a nice walk around the neighborhood?” he looked at yn who laughed nervously.

“yeah I got back an hour ago.” she lied forcing a smile.

“come with me.”

yn nervously followed her father into the dining area where the rest of her family sat staring down at her.

“sit.”

she sat beside jae who side eyed her before looking at their father, she hasn’t had much of an relationship with her brothers now that they’ve have started officially working with the family company.

she could brush of the obvious favouritism towards them when she was younger but as she got older the more she resented her brothers.

her father stood looking at her as she looked down in her lap.

“look at me, we don’t look down.” he said sternly causing yn to snap her head up immediately.

“now tell me why,” he starts, “one of my associates is telling me that they saw my daughter running around the city and entering the sm entertainment building?”

yn winced at the sound of her fathers voice before looking at her mother and brothers that just stare at her waiting for her to talk.

she couldn’t stay silent, if someone is talking to you, you answer them.

“I want to become an idol.” she says quietly, silence fills the air after her words.

“you want to become an idol?” her father asks shocked, why in the world would his daughter want to become an idol, “no, I won’t allow it.”

yn inched up in her chair looking at her father with pleading eyes, “come on dad, just look at it, if I debut and I have a perfect idol image, everyone will praise you for raising such a good daughter and bringing a good image to the family name.”

her father looks at her processing her words the look on his face made her hopeful, “I’ll be the best trainee to exist, I’ll be at the top of everything, I’ll be better than everyone, I’ll show them that the moon family is multi talented and not to be underestimated.”

there’s more silence.

“you’re gonna be at the top of everything, if you aren’t number one of everything I will take you out.” he says looking at yn who couldn’t fight her smile but dropped it immediately.

“thank you.” she replied in a level toned as her father just nodded in response.

“go to your room.”

she rushed out the dinning room and up the stairs to her room, as soon as she closed her door a smile broke onto a big smile.

she heard buzzing from her phone only to see an unknown number.

hey it’s yizhuo, I really hope we get to train together, wanna call rich girl ?

yn couldn’t help but playfully roll her at the nickname before typing out a sure.

she spent the whole night on the phone with yizhuo, she had never talked to a person like how she talked to her, she felt relaxed.

if she gets into sm she really hopes yizhuo gets in as well.

and her hopes came through.

yn squealed on the phone as her and yizhuo opened their letters at the same time, both of them being accepted into sm entertainment, meaning they’ll be training together.

yn will never forget fourteen.

XVI

age sixteen, was a age full of accomplishments and hardships.

she was number one for every single monthly evaluation since she started training at fourteen, living up to her promises she had made to her father.

the compliments that the trainers and senior idols that visited the trainees would say to her felt good, she had grown a passion for the little lie she made in her auditions she loved rapping, it was what she felt comfortable with.

but under all the accomplishments she has had, there was a girl who wanted to burst into tears everyday.

her father really took her words to heart about her being better than everyone, he told the company to make sure yn trained on her own in another practice room, making her isolated from the other trainees.

after a year yizhuo and her stoped texting and calling each other, yn’s head was full of training and being the best that she has barely paid attention to her phone.

she thrived in the praises her father would throw her when she would tell him that she hadn’t slept because she was training so much.

his thats my girls made her feel like she was on top of the word, with her father’s praises she didn’t need friends she didn’t want friends. all she wanted was to make him proud, maybe even have her mother finally notice her.

the other trainees would call her untouchable, and not in a good way she was pretty stuck up in their eyes, with her rich girl mentalities. when she was in the same room as them the aura always shifted she never laughed at jokes, she never cried at harsh feedback, she was always stone cold, when people tried to talk to her she would always say something shady and mean and walk off.

but she somehow came on top every time, even with her in their opinion shitty attitude.

she was like a robot, some of them wondered how she didn’t get tired.

but oh she did.

it was was five am and yn was currently passed out on the practice floor, she had been practicing since the early morning before with zero breaks, she didn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything but that didn’t matter when she was practicing.

voices were heard outside the door but yn didn’t even flinch completely out like a light.

“I never saw her leave yesterday.”

“why do you care yizhuo? didn’t she stop talking to you.”

“yeah but… I’m just worried.”

“is the door locked.”

“I don’t think so.”

“let’s check on her.”

the door creaked open and gasps filled the air, yizhuo and two other trainees jimin and minjeong ran over to yn’s passed out body.

“yn!” yizhuo shaking the girl who could barely open her eyes at the action.

yn tried to open her eyes fully but it was so difficult, she felt yizhuo pull her up to lean against her, “jimin unnie give her your water.”

jimin pulled the water bottle out her backpack and handed it to yizhuo who had to force the water in yn’s mouth since the girl could barely grip anything with how weak she was.

yn leaned against yizhuo as silence filled the air, the three girls looked at her with concern as she attempted to sit up.

“this is humiliating.” yn mumbled to herself as she looked at the three girls with red eyes.

“what happened?” jimin asked looking at the girl that she always thought was at the top of the world who currently looked like she fell off the top of the world.

“I don’t know,” yn said trying her best to keep eye contact with the older girl, “I was practicing and then I wasn’t.”

“you’ve been practicing since yesterday?” minjeong asked the girl shocked, she didn’t have much of an opinion on yn like how the other trainees did, she thought the girl was hard working to be honest, but now maybe a little too hard working, “have you eaten?”

“no, its whatever.”

“it’s not whatever.” yizhuo said looking at yn, “this is crazy yn, you’ve been blowing me off because you’ve been depriving yourself?”

all yn did was lean back onto the girl, exhaustion surrounding her.

“I was wondering how you stayed in shape, I guess the secret is you don’t eat.” minjeong said mindlessly, causing jimin to nudge her.

“hey,” the oldest started, “how about we go to the cafe across the street and get you something to eat, for yizhuo’s sake at least.”

yn looked at the older girl before letting out a sigh, allowing her to pull her off the ground.

jimin had firm grip on yn who could barely stand up as yizhuo and minjeong got off the floor.

“I’m practicing with you in this room for now on.” yizhuo said dusting herself off, “jimin and minjeong unnie are as well now.”

yn side eyed the girl, “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“I don’t care, right?” yizhuo turned to jimin and minjeong who hesitantly nodded their heads in agreement.

yn stayed silent, looking at jimin In shock when she interlocked her hand with yn and guided her out the door, she barely knew the girl but was already acting so kind.

“I like your bag.” minjeong said to yn as the four of them walked, she picked it up for yn when they left th practice room, “how much was it?”

“actually never mind don’t tell me, It’ll hurt too much.” the girl cut yn off causing the other three to laugh.

yn will never forget sixteen because she acquired three of the most important people in her life at that age, plus another a year.

XVIII

age eighteen was when yn officially thought it was the end of the world.

after letting yizhuo, jimin and minjeong into her life she grew a sense of freedom.

she still worked just as hard as she did at sixteen but this time she had people looking after her, there was also a new addition to the friend group a year later.

yn laughed as aeri took photos of her in the practice room.

the five girls were put into a group together, they were told that they were gonna debut together, yn was just glad that she was debuting and with people she considered her friends.

“no fansite’s please.” yizhuo joked as she stood in front of yn guarding the girl from aeri’s phone, “that’s how we’re gonna act like when we debut.”

“knowing yn she’ll pose for them.” minjeong cut in laughing at the three girls.

“I’m made for the cameras.” yn joked posing for aeri while yizhuo kept blocking her.

“yn your phone is ringing.” jimin cut in on their fun, “I think it’s your dad.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows, why would he be calling her?

she took her phone from jimin’s hands and brought it to her ear, walking out into the hallway, “hey dad.”

“hey honey, I’ve got some news for you.” she couldn’t pin point her father’s tone as he talked, “the company is doing a partnership.”

“that’s good?” yn replied not understanding why her father needed to tell her this, the family barely talked to her about the business, “is that all?”

“no actually, it’s with hybe.” he said into the phone while yn tried her best to understand why he’s telling her this, “okay?”

“meaning you have to leave sm,” he says nonchalantly while yn felt like water had been poured all over her.

her heart was in her stomach, “what?”

“yeah, you’ll be transferred to be a trainee in source music.” he says it like he’s reading off of something, “you’ll be guaranteed a spot in their upcoming new girl group.”

“dad- I’m already in a group- I’m literally debuting in a couple of months.” yn felt like she was gonna throw up, all this hard work, her friends for nothing.

“this is business yn.” her father said sternly, “I can’t have you in company that could be a possible threat to money.”

“but you said, if I stay on top of everything I can stay in sm, I’ve been number one for the post four years almost five years.” she argues, this couldn’t be happened.

“I said you could be an idol if you stay on top of everything, nothing about the company.” her father said.

“dad please.” yn said into the phone her voice cracking.

“are you about to cry?” her father asked sternly, “we don’t do that, stop it.”

“I’m not crying.” yn said looking up, “just this is so unfair, I’ve worked hard.”

“so have I,” her father replied brushing off his daughter’s words, “it’s either you move to hybe or you’re not training anymore.

and with that he hung up.

yn took a deep breath to calm her nerves and opened the practice room door to only be met with four girls staring at her like they’ve seen a ghost.

“did you guys hear anything.” she asked, throwing her head back when they nodded.

“I’m sorry guys, he’s just such-”

“an asshole.” aeri cuts off looking at yn with sad eyes, “so you’re really leaving.”

“I guess I have to, this was just dropped on me out of thin air.” yn trying her best not to burst into tears.

“maybe we can all audition for hybe and become a group there.” minjeong said look at yn who slide down the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“no you guys have worked too hard for that.”

“so have you,” jimin said, “this is so unfair.”

yn shrugged she looked at yizhuo who stared back at her, she could see the tears rushing to the girls eyes.

she smiled weakly at yizhuo who rushed to her side and bursted into tears, “this is so unfair, we were supposed to debut together, now what? you’re back to being a trainee?”

yn and the rest of the girls hugged the crying girl, “it’s okay.”

“it’s not okay.” yizhuo said harshly, “you’re supposed to be crying with me.”

yn couldn’t help but laugh at the girls words, “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to convince myself that this is fake.”

the girls huddled together in silence, “he said I have guaranteed spot in the line up for their new girl group.”

“so I guess we’ll see each other music shows?” aeri tried to lighten the mood, causing the girls the weakly laugh.

yn will never forget age eighteen, it was the year all her hard work went down the drain.

XIX

age nineteen was the age of complete chaos.

yn’s year of training at hybe was a lot, it was draining.

she trained under source for a while and hated it, she met a couple of girls that she was in the lineup with for the new girl group, they were pretty cool but it wasn’t the same as sm, she was the oldest out of all of them and didn’t connect with the girls much.

she had to watch aespa debut from behind the screen while she was stuck in the source music practice room, she still couldn’t believe her father, she always had a feeling that the family business would be put above her feelings one day but I guess she didn’t think that day would actually come.

she still talked to the girls who were now idols but it never felt the same on both ends, they were supposed to be together.

her days under source honestly felt like they were merged into one, everything was the same.

that was until yn was told that she was going to be moved under another label under hybe called ador with five other girls.

the six of them were gonna be the first new hybe girl group.

the girls were sweet, it was obvious all of them looked up to yn as a big sister, they also thought how rich she is was pretty cool.

but it was like the world was against yn because as soon as yn and the other ador girls were getting closer and getting ready for their debut yn got a call from her dad.

yn leaning against the mirror of the practice room, “hello?”

“hey honey did you get then news?”

yn slide down the mirror and say on the floor crossing her legs, “what news?”

“you’re getting moved back to source.” he says nonchalantly, “tomorrow to be exact.”

yn squeezed her eyes, “dad, you’re joking right?”

“when have I ever joked with you?”

he’s right, “so what? just like last time I can’t debut.”

“not exactly, plans changed I was told that your groups debut was gonna be postponed and that another girl group was gonna be debuting,”

yn furrowed her eyebrows she was not told this at all, “so what?”

“so, I told them that you would be a good asset to the group, you’re probably the most talented and would bring a lot of attention,”

“so I’m debuting in another group?”

“yes, you can thank me.”

yn rolled her eyes into the back of her head, “thanks dad…bye I have to tell the other girls.”

as much as she didn’t want to admit it she was excited to finally become an idol, all this hard work would finally mean something.

it was weird walking into that practice room full of other girls that have been working together, she was the new girl.

“this is yn, she will officially be apart of the lineup and will be working with you guys for now on, we’re gonna try our best to help her with the choreography and help her catch up with things, make her feel welcomed, she’s a really important figure, I’ll leave you guys to get to know her for a little.”

she tried her best to ignore the last sentence, her family followed her everywhere like a shadow.

“hello.” she said confidently even though she felt slightly uncomfortable under the eyes of the six girls.

she gave them a charming smile, “don’t worry I’m a fast learner, I think.”

she heard a giggle come from a girl standing in the far right causing yn to raise a brow at her.

“sorry,” the girl cleared her throat, “I’m kazuha.”

yn gave her a smile “nice to meet you kazuha.” she says before looking at the other girls.

she nodded along as they stated their names before looking at the last girl who just stared at her, “and yours is?”

“you don’t know me.”

“no sorry.”

“I’m kim chaewon.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows at the way the girl said her name to her, like she had some sort of authority over she, she didn’t like it.

“I’m moon yn,” yn responded, she didn’t have to say her name, that was already told earlier, but she felt like she had to.

chaewon raised a brow at yn’s tone, “rich girl huh?”

yn narrowed her eyes before turning towards the girl who had introduced herself as kazuha, “you seem cool, wanna show me some of the choreo before we have to start practicing?”

yn hasn’t acted this stand offish since she started at sm but it seemed needed, she couldn’t just let anyone talk to her the way they wanted, that’s not what she was taught.

the girl smiled at yn, “sure!”

as yn let the girl drag her to the other side of the room she heard the chaewon girl say something to the taller girl beside that she learned was yunjin, “this is who we lost ruka to? a stuck up rich girl?”

she decided to brush it off, it was the first day, they would probably warm up to each other.

oh how wrong was she.

nineteen was the age things officially went both uphill and downhill for yn.

this is just a chapter before things get worse ngl

#richgirl!yn #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim chaewon #lesserafim x reader #leaserafim #kim chaewon x reader #chaewon #aespa #aespa x reader #chaewon x reader #girl group imagines

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whatifitis · 3 months ago

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♡ I knew it, I know you - FC 43 ♡

Based off the song: I knew it, I know you by Gracie Abrams

Summary: You and Franco dated but when things took a turn with your career, your world got turned upside down.

Author's note: i was told i should add additional parts to this plot so lmk if that's something you guys would like to see <3

WC: 3309

CW: fights, brief mention of a car crash, a bit of angst i think

You swore to god, you hadn’t thought of him in ages. But there he was, plastered all over social media as a driver for Williams for the remainder of the season in F1. The man who absolutely destroyed you. But you had also destroyed him. You had destroyed each other towards the end of your relationship.

You and Franco dated back when the two of you were in F2 and F3. The two of you had hit it off almost instantly, already so drawn to each other. You weren’t gonna lie, the two of you almost weren’t a thing. You are terrible at not only initiating, but also keeping conversations going. But the fact that Franco was so bold and carefree, he was able to stick with you till you opened up out of your shell, which was truly insane to you. And you’re grateful for him and everything he has done for you, no matter what went down all that time ago.

The two of you were always there for eachother, whether one was winning races or not. You would always scream the loudest when he won. Every single time he was on the podium, you’d be so incredibly proud of him, standing there watching in awe, tears streaming down your face. You’d never met someone so perfect.

He was so different from anyone you’d ever met. He was valiant, hilarious, strong, and so beautiful, on the inside and out. He knew you’d often struggled with your mental health and maintaining relationships, whether platonic or romantic. But he stayed, he actually stayed, through all your faults. He loved you anyway. He was the best thing that ever was yours.

But now it’s like he’s on another planet, you wonder how the weather is there.

While you were proud of him for making it to F1, you still couldn’t help but feel a bit of annoyance. The two of you would often talk about the future together. The plan was always to work your asses off and make it to F1 together. He was gonna be the first Argentinian driver in ages, and you were gonna be the first woman in ages to drive in F1. During this time, you guys were gonna save money and buy your dream home together. He’d always wanted a big patio where you two could do barbeques together, where he could bring his family. He also wanted a pool where everyone could enjoy their time together, away from the cameras and chaos.

But now those dreams are just that. Dreams.

The breakup wasn’t necessarily mutual or on good terms. Franco initially wanted to work things out and talk but you didn’t think it’d fix anything. Things were already getting rocky as your racing career was coming to an end. After a bad accident all those years ago, you weren’t able to get back in the car. And for that, you were so angry. Racing was all you could do, you didn’t have a backup plan. Your anger got the best of you and you were taking it out on those around you. Franco got the worst of it though wanting to do his best to help you, but all it did was make you feel pitied.

Things just kept spiraling from there, til you officially ended things with him.

It was the night after the F2 race in Monaco. You had been there the whole weekend, cheering on all your friends. You were making your way to see Franco but you were stopped by a journalist. You weren’t really in the mood to speak to a stranger but you decided it wouldn’t do any harm to stop for a minute or two.

The journalist was a young man, about your age and a bit taller than you.

“Hello, thanks for taking a moment to speak with me.”

You simply smile at him, still not feeling all that sociallike.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”“Sure. Hit me.”

“My first question is, how does it feel to have had to drop out of racing due to your crash back in Australia?”“Oh well, you know, it didn’t feel great. I’m super disappointed in my performance from that day and of course not being able to race again has been a big struggle. I miss it a lot, but there’s nothing I can do now besides keep going. I’m still gonna come to some of the races and cheer on and support my friends.”

“Amazing. Now, how does it feel to know you won’t be the next woman in Formula 1? To know that you’ve essentially let down so many women, young and old, with you leaving the sport?”

You were honestly baffled by that question. Why the fuck would he ask that? Who in their right mind asks that?

You seriously had no words, so you simply nodded your head and walked away.

When you reached Franco, he could practically smell the rage emanating from you.

“Amor, what’s wrong?” going to touch your arm, before you quickly pull away.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

Your shortness with him wasn’t new at this point, so he stayed quiet till you guys reached your flat.

Once you guys had walked in, he was quick to ask what happened at the track that led you to be stomping around with smoke coming out your ears. You told him everything that happened with the journalist, and he was nothing but sorry that something like that had happened to you. He knew how hard your transition was into a life without racing.

“Baby, I know things are hard right now, but we can figure it out. This isn’t the end.” Franco tried to reason with you. But all you could see was red, feeling an intense pressure and heat in your chest.

“You don’t even get it. My career is over, everything I’ve worked towards is gone. I have nothing left.”

Your words hit Franco, like a knife. You had nothing left? What about him?

“There are so many things you can do. We’ll find something that works for you. Stop being negative and actually try.”

“Fuck you. I am trying, you don’t understand how hard this is. Everything’s working for you. Your life is perfect and amazing. Stop pitying me. I’m not a child.”

Somewhere in the chaos in your mind, you had lost all sense of where you were and who you were talking to. All you knew was that you were screaming everything you felt.

Your mind was racing, you weren’t making total sense.

After the race today and having dealt with you these past few months, he was tired. He wasn’t gonna coddle you and go easy on you anymore.

“Well you’re sure acting like one. You need to grow up. Shit happens and you have to deal with it. Not everything will work out in life, you just have to deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say. Your life is perfect and you have everything you want.”

“If I had everything I wanted, then I wouldn’t have a girlfriend who’s giving up. I’d have a better girlfriend.”

What? Did he really just say that? I hate when we fight, sucks when we fight.

“I can’t pretend I’m sorry, when I’m not sorry. All I’ve ever done was my best when it comes to you and us. Unfortunately your girlfriend is awful.”

You looked him in the eye one final time, “Get out. We’re done.”

“That’s it? You’re gonna give up so easily?” he lets out a huff, “Typical of you to give up, again. Let me know when you’ve grown up.”

With the slamming of the door, he was gone. That was the last time you saw him.

After a few days of radio silence from you, Franco felt abandoned. He’d already felt lost when you told him to leave, the second the door slammed closed, he almost went back in through the door to fix everything. It felt as if you didn’t care about his feelings, like he’d been cut a thousand times. Franco actually struggled to keep it together. He didn’t realize how much he needed you in his life. He didn’t realize how he depended on you, on your support, your touch and how it kept him sane and stable when everything around him was just pure chaos.

It was hard for him to race after that day. And words could never describe how his heart hurt when he got called up to F1, when he got a seat. He immediately thought of you, he was living your dream after all - he couldn’t even share the experience with you, you weren’t by his side anymore. You were gone.

Until now.

Since that day, you have been working on yourself. You were in therapy now and continuing school to become an engineer. You thought, maybe since you can’t be in the car, you could work around it or with it. Things had been looking better. You started to surround yourself with love and support from your friends and family.

You were on a work trip in Texas, helping a company work on a new up and coming project that could be innovative, when you got a call from an old friend. Oscar had seen through social media that you were in Texas, and invited you to see the race at COTA. When he initially offered the invitation, you almost didn’t go since you didn’t think it’d be a good idea, considering how you and Franco had left off. But it had been years, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You would be able to go and support the rookies and maybe make up with Franco.

It’s not like you didn’t feel love for him anymore. Maybe you two could work things out and get back to where you were. So you told Oscar you’d be at COTA.

“That’s great! I’m so glad you’ll be able to make it. It’s been so long and I’m sure Lily would love to see you too.” “Omg, I’m so excited to see her again! I’ve missed her so much.” “Yeah. So, I’m sure you’ve heard. Franco is driving for Williams for the rest of the season, so he’ll be at COTA. Will you guys be able to keep it civil if you run into each other?”

“I can. I’ve lived a lot and I’ve let the rain in since everything. It’s just a matter of how he’ll react.” “I’m not gonna lie, I think he’s been waiting for an apology from you. Er, at least he did for a while.” “Yeah, he deserves one from me. I was pretty shitty to him, I know that now.”

“I’m glad you were able to sort everything out on your end, hopefully you two can be friendly again.” “Maybe. I gotta go, Osc. Talk soon.”

“Talk soon.”

The amount of various feelings flowing through your body was making you physically shake. You were excited, nervous, happy, and everything mixed into one.

You pull up Franco’s contact, thinking it’d be better to reach out and arrange a meeting rather than bombarding him at the track.

You must have typed and deleted about 50 messages before settling on a simple “hey”

Franco didn’t expect to see your name show up on his screen. He chuckled bitterly at the irony of life, bringing you back onto his path after being the one to send him away. He doesn’t even know how he feels about you anymore.

“Hey” he replied

“How are you?”

“I’m okay. You?”

“I’m okay”

Three minutes pass, you simply just stare at the screen, not knowing how to proceed. You watch as three dots float on the corner of your screen.

“What do you want?”

Damn, harsh much?

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime this weekend? Oscar invited me to watch the race and I thought maybe we could talk. I think I’ve calmed down since the last time we spoke.”

“Sure. I don't know when exactly I’ll be available but I can text you closer to the weekend”

“That sounds good. Thanks for being cool about this.”

“No problem, see you soon.”

He was quick to cut the conversation. Maybe he's just busy. You decide to put your phone away and focus on some work stuff.

The weekend comes around quickly and you find yourself wandering around the paddock alone. You weren’t able to make it Friday, but at least you’re here for qualifying. You managed to get a few minutes with Oscar and Lando, catching up a bit before they had to get ready for qualis. You made your way to where you were gonna watch the race, texting Franco at the same time.

He was letting you know he’ll be able to meet up with you after the race today. You were so incredibly nervous because you wanted things to work out between the two of you. You missed him. He was your best friend, and you guess that was the worst part of losing him. If he just said when, you’d play again because you felt more in brief moments with him, than with anyone else.

You sat down and watched the qualifiers, screaming and cheering everytime one of your boys passed someone or did something impressive. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed this. Watching and cheering on your friends from the sidelines. It felt good to watch them achieve their dreams, even if you couldn’t reach yours. Franco ended up in P6, which was impressive considering he’s only raced a few times in an F1 car, and he’s in a Williams car.

After about 20 minutes, Franco texted you, letting you know to meet him in his driver's room. You made your way to his room after getting lost for about 8 minutes, when someone eventually felt bad for you and pointed you in the right direction.

You walked up the steps to his room, standing there for a minute, nervous about seeing him. It’s been about 2 years since you last saw each other. You wonder if he looks any different now. Of course you’d seen his pictures around, but sometimes the cameras don’t catch certain things. Like how his eyes are essentially a kaleidoscope of everything you’ve ever loved, how his nose crinkles a bit at the bridge when he’s happy.

Fuck it, enough stalling. You knock on the door and wait there for a response. After a minute, you don’t hear one so you assume you didn’t knock loud enough. You raise your hand to knock again when the door swings open. When it opens, your eyes quickly find his.

He looks deep in your eyes, trying to find a glimpse of the past in them, a recollection of the memories you shared together, but it’s like you’re not there anymore. Sure, you’re standing right infront of him, but the you that he knew, the one he fell in love with, is missing.

“Hey” he said softly.

“Hey”

You two stood there in silence for a moment, sort of processing that you’re seeing eachother again in person. As if your brains are trying to decipher whether this is real or a hallucination.

The silence breaks when Franco shakes his head and clears his throat,

“Come in.” he says, holding the door open for you.

You walk in, brushing past him.

The room is spacious, quiet, yet suffocating.

You walk to the middle of the room, feeling a bit self-conscious. Turning back to face Franco, you watch as he closes the door and turns his body to you.

“So’’ he says.

“So”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to catch up, see how you’re doing. A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other.” you look down, swallowing a gulp before continuing, wringing your hands together, “I also wanted to apologize, for everything. The way I had acted all those years ago, especially towards the end. I wasn’t being fair to you and all you wanted to do was be there for me.”

“It’s fine.” he replies, leaning against a counter, crossing his arms over his chest, not giving you an ounce of emotion.

The burning sensation he feels in his chest now isn’t love anymore - instead it’s a mixture of pain and anger, feeling a riot form in his emotions. He’s wasting time on listening to someone who kicked him to the side without caring about how you had let him down when he needed you the most.

Well, you didn’t know what to expect, but it surely wasn’t that dry and short answer.

“That’s it? I came all this way to come and see you and apologize, and all I get is ‘fine’?!”

“I said ‘it’s fine’ actually.”

Why was he being like this? You get that you fucked up a lot and that you had hurt him, but if this was how he was going to act, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue this conversation.

“Why did you even agree to talking to me, if this is how you’re gonna act?”

“How am I acting?” “Like you don’t give a fuck. Like you just wanna gloat, see how badly I was doing. You don’t know how to step outside yourself.” “You think so little of me? It’s not my fault you can’t sit with the hard thing.”

“Well when the proof is in the pudding then yeah. Are you even sad about the fact that we don’t talk anymore? That all we had is gone?”

“I’m not the one who ended things, you were. You’re the one who ruined us.”

“I blew all my plans, just to get to talk to you today. I’m trying to fix everything that I broke but you’re not letting me.” “Maybe you aren’t trying enough.” he says as he pushes off the counter and walks towards you, stopping a few inches from you. Close enough that you can feel each other's breathing.

“Not trying enough? Or not enough for you? For your deluded self?”

“I’m not the problem here, especially considering I’m the one driving in F1.”

“I should be the one with this chance, not you! All you have is an inflated ego and your shallow thinking.”

“I was the one who worked my ass off to get here. I’m sorry you couldn’t join me in this like we had planned, but it’s not my fault that things fell this way.”

“I should be in your seat, not you!”

“No, you don’t deserve this seat. I actually put in the work to be here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I earned my way through those races. I was one of the best.”

“Keyword: was.”

“You know that crash stopped me from driving. I can’t get back in the car.” “Can’t or won’t”

“Can’t”

“No, you’re just a fucking pussy. You’re too scared to get back in the car cause you know you can’t do it. You can’t amount to anything.You know that even if you get back in the car, you’ll never get a seat in F1.”

You stand there for a beat. You never knew he could be so mean. Maybe you brought it out of him.

It’s all your fault. You’re the problem.

You feel the tears threatening to spill. You take a breath before saying, “I thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose.”

He looks you up and down, lip twitching, “I guess I lied. I had the wrong idea about you.”

An all too familiar sight, his back, as he walks out the door, again, because of you.

You really thought you would get what you wanted. But what did you want?

#f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto angst

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drowningmist · 8 months ago

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𓇢𓆸 [4:14 AM] GOJO SATOROU

You glared at your phone, infront of you on the mattress which had been ringing for five minutes straight.

12 missed calls from toru☆ , it shows.

Your phone brightened again with a message

"Baby please pick up the phone"

You grabbed your rectangle and switched it off. You were never like this, never ignored the stressful situations, always confronted them but right now you were in a tight spot yourself.

You have been with gojo satoru the gojo satoru for 8 months now and you were happy, happier with him. But never dated before the sudden relationship made changes in your life which you only came to notice now. Now you had a person to remind you to take rest after studying, now there was a person waiting for you to cuddle him, now you saw places never seen before although leaving in this city for almost 2 years. Now you had conversations with your aged people that didn't end with just a small question related to assignments. Maybe, you liked the nows so much, this new change in your life that you side tracked from your goal, what you came her for. This was your dream university for which you worked so damn hard to get in, it took you two attempts to get into this uni , the first time you got sidetracked , had friends , you get swayed by them. The failure gave you a reality check and only you knew how hopelessly and desperately you tried again, completely alone fighting your depressed tired mind that you will make it this time and you did and you swore you would never repeat your mistakes and only focus on being the best student in your firm and get placement, a job , a peaceful solace life. That was your plan but then came gojo satoru.

He was in bussiness branch, you being in robotics and automation. But you both shared a few clubs and that was enough for the gojo satoru to set an eye on you. That was it, man had your whole schedule revised, your cafe order to you favourite place in the library. Initially, you despised him. He had everything you didn't have, got admission cuz he was rich while you rubbed your ass, unsurprisingly popular and surprisingly one of the best bussiness student for straight two years. You often wondered when did he studied and how much, did he even had time for it after his night outs . Maybe it was jealousy you felt but you don't know, your heart don't know what he his eyes did to you in the two years of knowing, from pulling away and pushing his advantages to grabbing his face to gently peck him from making a disgusting face when he was around to greeting him with open arms and snuggling to his chest.

But yesterday's results of your mid semester pulled you back on earth. Yeah , afterall you didn't belonged there with the gojo satoru who had everything you didn't and gained everything you couldn't. Unlike him you had to be consistent you weren't gifted, hardwork was your key. You weren't here to fall in love, you were here to be the best student. And maybe it was your insecurity but you always thought you were just his temporary infatuation, a fling, you thought it wouldn't last he will get bored of your stiff personality and leave you alone. But you were immune to being left alone what you feared was the failure you didn't wanted to repeat the pattern. So, you broke up with him and in the worst way possible on a text. Maybe it was intentional you wanted him to stop chasing you, stop loving you , stop looking at you as the most priced possession.

There was a knock on the door, you remained still but then the few more thuds had you standing on your doorstep.

"I know you are there open up"

" its early sato- gojo, go home". You gulped down your whimpers and spoke sternly.

You heard a dry laugh from the other side

"Gojo, huh?"

Then there was another thud on your door making you jump, this one was the loudest.

"Stop , you will disturb the neighbors! "

"You open the door and I'll stop knocking" he replied curtly

Sighing you open the door mentally readying your break up speech. But you didn't get the chance, just as you opened the door gojo was pulling you to your couch settling you there and then crouching down to your eye level and flashing you his phone screen.

" Explain".

You eyed his phone it was opened to your today's conversation more specifically your message of breaking it off.

You looked at him but immediately looked away.

Was he able to make this type of face before?

" there's nothing to explain, I want to break up with you"

He scoffed

"Why?"

"You are .. you sighed " I don't want to be in a relationship now"

"Should have thought before kissing me"

You glared at him

" I am not able to manage it all. My studies and our relationship "

Gojo cupped your face and sighed

"Oh baby.., you should have said so ,we can just study togeher its a win win, u see? we could plan study dates then ..hmm yeah thats a good change of pace, we can meet in the library and study or we could plan home dates too-

"Gojo" he stopped

"You don't get it.. i-i don't want to be in a relationship! I want to focus on my studies"

"Nobody is stopping you from studying and your way of studying is not healthy at all. it's always good to relax and don't worry about managing stuff I'm a part of your life now just like you are of mine, all I want is for you to be healthy and happy . who will stop you when you are at your limit-

"You are a distraction gojo! You are the problem if it weren't for you then I wouldn't have to go through all this again I don't want to experience that shitty feeling of being a failure!"

''distraction''

his lower lip wobbled as he tried not to sniff even thought there were no tears in his eyes.he was looking at you with flummoxed expression on his face.

you paused at his crack of voice and kept your head low.

''just leave please''

Nobody said anything and gojo got up and left without uttering another word and you remained still tears cascading your eyes which started to fall as you heard the door shut.

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sai-int · 22 days ago

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the voices were whispering about poly!141 romancing a burlesque dancer!reader, this was a lot fluffier than i intended it to be, but here are some thots...

﹥ simon first sees you at a performance he’s dragged to, fully expecting to be unimpressed.

﹥ the second you step on stage, he’s captivated—not just by how you move, but by the power and command you radiate.

﹥ he becomes a quiet regular at your shows, always sitting in the shadows, watching intently. no cheers or whistles, just the unwavering focus of a man completely in awe. no, that's not drool on his balaclava, what are you on about?

﹥ when he finally speaks to you backstage, it’s brief but genuine: “you were brilliant out there,” his presence lingers long after he’s gone.

﹥ simon shows his care in subtle ways, like walking you to your car or standing by when someone gets too pushy after a performance.

﹥ his intensity can be overwhelming, but his quiet reverence makes you feel seen like no one else ever has.

﹥ johnny is the loudest, most shameless fan in the crowd, whistling and cheering without a hint of restraint.

﹥ when you glance his way mid-performance, he gives you a cheeky wink that’s more charming than annoying.

﹥ after your first show, he’s waiting backstage with an absurdly large bouquet of flowers and a grin that could light up a room.

﹥ he shows up to every performance after that, leaving little notes and even bringing snacks to win over your crew just to have an excuse to be around.

﹥ when you’re stressed, johnny knows exactly how to pull you out of your funk, whether it’s cracking the worst jokes you have ever heard or reminding you why you’re amazing.

﹥ his energy is infectious, and while he’s a goof most of the time, his loyalty and admiration for you run deep.

﹥ kyle notices you for your confidence onstage, but it’s the person you are offstage that truly hooks him.

﹥ his first interaction with you is understated—a warm smile and a thoughtful question about your routine that catches you off guard with its sincerity.

﹥ he doesn’t overwhelm you with attention but instead takes the time to understand your world, asking about your inspirations and the work behind each performance.

﹥ kyle’s gestures are small but meaningful: bringing you tea (or coffee, if you prefer. either way, it's just right.) during long rehearsals, sharing playlists he made just for you, or songs he think you should dance to (in private, though it's too soon to admit he wants that)

﹥ he’s the steady presence in your life, always knowing when to step in and when to give you space.

﹥ watching your shows, his pride is quiet but palpable, his gaze full of admiration that makes your heart race. when he sees you nail a move you were struggling with at rehearsals, he knows to reward you later.

﹥ john isn’t the type to fall easily, but something about you draws him in—your grace, your confidence, your unapologetic authenticity.

﹥ he doesn’t approach you immediately, choosing instead to observe, waiting for the right moment to move on you.

﹥ when he finally does, his words are simple yet deliberate: “you’ve got a way of commanding a room.” there’s a weight to them that makes you realize he sees you.

﹥ john is the one who steps in when things get chaotic, offering calm solutions and unwavering support. a strong hand to guide you.

﹥ he’s protective without being overbearing, ensuring you’re taken care of without trying to control your life.

﹥ his affection reveals itself in quiet moments—holding your hand late at night, his voice low and rough against your ear as he confesses how much you mean to him.

﹥ together, the four of them create a healthy mix of support and chaos that makes your world feel complete.

﹥ simon ensures you always have a safe place to land, offering strength and stability.

﹥ johnny is the light that chases away any shadows, making you laugh even when you think you can’t.

﹥ kyle notices the little things, ensuring you’re always cared for in ways that matter most.

﹥ john is the anchor, grounding you with his steady presence and unwavering reliability.

﹥ they tease each other constantly—johnny and kyle competing to cheer the loudest at your shows while simon mutters about “bloody fools” in the corner, john's too lost in the way your hips move to care about any of their rambling.

when the spotlight fades and it’s just the five of you, you feel surrounded by a warmth that makes you realize you’ve found your permanent home—in their arms, in their hearts.

mlist | @honestlymassivetrash

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i-yap · 8 months ago

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MY FAVORITE IS DICK GRAYSON FORVER WILL BE DICK GRAYSON AND HERE IS WHY

DICK GRAYSON X Y/N ( FRUSTRATED ME EDITION)

- first of all , he is the hottest character in dc (literally the comics have written this line by line)

- he is the real one with communication issues. You think jason struggles with that? NO jason uses any chance to tell me people how much he suffered. But dick? He wears a smile, he hides everything he is feeling

- the only person who gets to see the real him is YOU. The stress, the pressure, the mommy daddy issues...cmon. and bruce prolly was the worst at raising grayson and learned from his mistakes for the rest

- dick is someone who tries to be happy. Who tries to have a normal life. Who tries not to let his issues affect him . But they do which is why he has so many fucked up relationships. But when he meets you he wants to keep you, he needs to keep you with him. So he tries yet again to open up, fix his issues, love you the way you truly deserve.

- AND let us all not pretend we are all not stressed asf in life. He is so joyful and bright and will almost never dull the mood. Car karaoke ? Done. Skinny dipping in some random lake you drive by? His suggestion. Amusement parks? He is excitedly pulling you to all the rides and WILL 100% WIN YOU THE BIGGEST TEDDY

- he is deep, he js in touch with his feelings and he knows how to take care of you. Idk abt u guys but I have issues . I want a man who gives you those words of affirmation, who makes it super obvious he likes you.

- he needs you just as much as jason or tim or damian do. He also never had genuine love, he also has been a soldier a leader the person responsible all his life. He needs yo hold you, he needs that peace and quiet away from everything he has to deal with . He wants someone he can come home to and just show how drained he is .

- he is so kind to the world but he WILL BURN IT FOR YOU . I refuse to believe any other opinion on this. No matter how big a hero this guy is...remember how he killed joker for jason? Someone he said he hated? Broke the no kill rule?? Yea imagine what he will do for you.

- and how dare u suggest he isn't jealous/ possessive. He gets so cranky..not insecure and u don't have to coddle him and avoid all other men ...but u do have to give him extra kisses

-HE IS THE REAL GREEN FLAG fuck the whole " a hero will sacrifice you for the world but a villain will burn the world for you" NOT HIM NO HE WILL KILL EVERYONE OKAY cuz how date anyone suggest taking you away from him after everything he has done for the world. You are his reward and you better remember that.

- slow waltzing in the kitchen while he sings you his favorite love song, giggling in a pretty cafe while sharing a piece of cake( he is feeding you the whole thing and will kiss you when u Ask why he isn't eating any himself) , getting tipsy and walking back home all sweet and drunk and in love. He is adventurous and wants to experience everything With you.

- best part, everyone around u will love him. I'm sorry but I like it when my bf is liked by the old ladies and my parents and my boss. He will make you the power couple, even if you aren't as "powerful". He is your biggest loudest supporter always. Always introducing you to ppl as if you cured world hunger , telling everyone just how smart and kind you are taking any opportunity to talk about You. And dancing with him at galas makes you feel like a princess

- he will get the best gifts, say the sweetest things, be the most supportive kind eyes only for you guy once he genuinely falls in love.

I love jason a lot too, and tim and bruce too. Like yes I daydream about all of them But I just hate how underrated my boy here is.

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 2 months ago

Text

She's got us now

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Set before Act 1.1.

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

The Last Drop was louder than anywhere Luna had ever been before. The nights were the worst—crowds of people shouting over music, chairs scraping against the floor, and the occasional crash of glass breaking. It was overwhelming at first. Her small hands often clutched Vander’s shirt as she hid behind him as he stood behind the counter, her wide eyes darting toward every unfamiliar noise.

“It’s alright, Lu,” he’d say, his big hand resting on her shoulder. “Nothing to be scared of.”

When he said it, she tried to believe him.

But it wasn’t just the noise. The other kids—Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder—were a whirlwind of energy that made her head spin. Vander wouldn’t let them go out alone at night (yet, when they were older they could, he always said), so they hung around in the evening sitting on a table by the wall, or messing around a little bit. Not that anyone minded, really. Vi was the loudest, always climbing something or chasing Mylo through the bar. Mylo talked a mile a minute, sometimes teasing Powder and now also Luna in a way that made her unsure if he was joking or not. Claggor was quieter but still intimidating with how easily he kept up with the chaos, kind of like Vander in that way.

And then there was Powder. Powder was closer to her size and age, with a wide grin and a streak of curiosity that seemed boundless; she was undoubtedly excited at having someone younger around, as the older kids tended to baby her from time to time. She was the first to approach Luna.

“Do you like dolls?” Powder had asked one afternoon, holding up a patched-together figure with button eyes.

Luna blinked, unsure how to answer. “I… don’t have one.”

Powder’s eyes lit up. “I can make you one!”

The blue haired girl hovered around her, asking endless questions. “Do you like colours? I love to draw! What’s your favourite food? Are you scared of spiders? I’m not. Well, okay, maybe sometimes.”

It was a lot, but Powder’s excitement was easier to handle than Mylo’s teasing or Vi’s confident energy. Vi, on the other hand, took her time warming up to Luna.

“She’s so quiet,” Vi had whispered to Vander one evening, looking at Luna sitting at the table, swinging her legs idly as Powder braided her hair (insisting that she had to wear it like herself). Mylo and Claggor were bickering over a game of cards nearby, their voices blending into the general hum of the bar. “Is she scared of us?”

“She’s just getting used to everything,” Vander replied, while cleaning the inside of a mug. “Give her time.”

“So… she’s going to stay with us? Permanently?” Vi asked, her tone uncertain. She wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. Not that she minded having someone else around, but it was another change. Another person to get used to.

Vander glanced at her, his expression softening. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go or anyone else to take care of her.”

Vi frowned, crossing her arms. She leaned her arms on the counter, her face scrunching in thought. “It’s just… we don’t even know her. What if she doesn’t fit in?”

Vander chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “And what exactly does ‘fitting in’ look like around here, huh?” He gestured toward Mylo and Claggor, who were now arguing loudly over whether Claggor had cheated in their game. Powder, meanwhile, was carefully arranging Luna’s hair into a lopsided braid, ignoring the two boys excellently as she chatted about her favourite toys she wanted to show Luna later.

Vi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fair point.”

“Look,” Vander continued, his voice quieter now. “When I found you and Powder, it wasn’t any different. You already knew me, yes, but you were also scared and you had gone through a lot, just like her.”

Vi looked down, her expression softening as she remembered. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And now look at you,” Vander said with a grin, ruffling her hair. “You’re the one making this place feel like home for the others. You’ll do the same for her. Just give it time. She’s going to be one of us, just like you, Powder, and the boys.”

Vi huffed but didn’t protest. “Fine. But she’s not gonna cry all the time, is she?”

Vander chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. That kid’s tougher than she looks, I’m sure of it. She’ll be okay,” he said, almost to himself. His voice had turned low, filled with quiet determination, the kind that always made Vi believe he could do anything. “She’s got us now.”

Vi watched him for a moment, the way his gaze softened as he looked at Luna, the way he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a deep, thoughtful breath. He wasn’t just saying it—he really believed it.

And if Vander believed it, maybe Vi could too.

Vi glanced over at Luna as well, watching her laugh quietly at something Powder had said, her small hands clutching the edge of the table as if she was still anchoring herself to this new world. Maybe Vander was right. Maybe she just needed time.

So, Vi tried in her own way. She offered Luna the better seat when they ate dinner and slowed down when explaining the rules of the games they played to include her.

“Tag’s easy,” Vi said one day, crouching down to Luna’s level. “If you don’t wanna play, that’s fine too.”

Luna hesitated but nodded. Vi grinned, grabbing her hand to pull her into the game.

“You just gotta run fast, okay?” Luna nodded. “Hide so that they don’t find you. If they don’t, you win!”

“But what if you never find me?” she asked, eyes wide showing her frighten.

“We will, don’t worry about that,” Vi laughed a bit, crouching down again to her level to look her into the eyes when she noticed Luna still didn’t seem at ease. “Hey, I promise. I’ll find you. Always. And if not me, then Vander, okay?”

That seemed to do the trick; it certainly did, when Luna would end up winning a lot of times because she would hide in the smallest of places. She would always wait for Vi or one of the others to find her in order leave her hiding spot, though, always making sure they found her.

Claggor was the first to win her over completely. Unlike Mylo’s teasing or Powder’s chatter, Claggor was steady, with a calmness that made him approachable even when Luna was feeling shy or overwhelmed. He was the one who helped Luna feel less lost in the chaos of the Last Drop.

The first time she followed him around the Last Drop, it wasn’t because he’d asked her to—it was because he was working on fixing something at one of the tables, and she was curious. She hovered nearby, not saying anything, just watching as he tightened a loose screw on a wobbly chair leg.

“You want to help?” he asked after a while, glancing up at her with a small smile.

Luna froze, startled. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll show you.” He handed her a screwdriver, holding her small hand in his for a moment to guide it into position. “Now turn it, like this. Slowly.”

She followed his instructions, her brow furrowing in concentration as she twisted the screwdriver. When the screw was snug in its place, she glanced up at him, uncertain.

“Perfect,” Claggor said, grinning. “Good job, Lu.”

From then on, she seemed to follow him around whenever he worked on repairs. He never complained, even when she slowed him down by asking too many questions or accidentally dropping tools. When she accidentally tipped over his toolbox, scattering screws and nails across the floor, she was afraid he’d be mad, and immediately scrambled to pick everything up, but he was calm about it.

“It’s okay,” Claggor said, crouching down beside her to help. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Really?” she asked, her wide eyes sceptical.

“Sure,” he said with a wink. “Once, I spilled everything right in the middle of the bar when it was full. Vander nearly tripped over me.”

That made her giggle, and Claggor grinned, satisfied.

When they weren’t fixing things, Claggor had a way of looking out for her without making a big deal out of it. If she was struggling to reach something on the counter, he’d quietly grab it for her. If Mylo’s teasing got a little too much, Claggor would step in with a simple “Knock it off, Mylo” that usually did the trick.

And when she was too nervous to speak up during one of their mealtimes, it was Claggor who noticed and slid the bread basket closer to her with an encouraging nod.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said softly. “Just take what you want. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

Even Mylo softened after a while. Though he still teased her (like most older brothers did to their younger sisters), his jokes became less sharp and more playful. One night, when they were all sitting at the table for dinner, Mylo leaned back in his chair, tossing a pickle from his plate to hers.

“Trade you,” he said.

“For what?” Luna asked cautiously, looking down at the pickle as though it might bite her.

“Nothing. I just don’t like pickles.” He grinned and added, “And you look like you do.”

She wrinkled her nose but took the pickle anyway, nibbling at the edge. Mylo smirked, satisfied, and went back to his meal. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it made her giggle—the first time she’d done so around him.

He remembered his first weeks after Vander had taken him in; he hadn’t been used to having a roof, a bed, food on the table… He had been unsure about everything at first, masking it with roughness and sharp bites whenever someone spoke up to him about it. And although he had grown into a teaser and he thought it was funny to annoy others from time to time, he also wanted to help Luna feel more at ease. He didn’t stop teasing her completely, but the edge in his voice softened. He’d say things like, “Careful, squirt, don’t trip over your own feet,” when she hesitated on the stairs, only to add, “Here, hold the rail like this,” as he showed her how to climb them more confidently.

When she joined the group to watch him and Claggor play cards, he scooted over to give her a better view of the game, though he kept up a running commentary that made her giggle.

“See, Lu, Claggor’s terrible at this. Don’t ever take advice from him about cards,” Mylo said, leaning close as though sharing a great secret.

“Hey!” Claggor protested.

“It’s true,” Mylo shot back, grinning.

“Don’t listen to him Lu, he cheats all the time!”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!”

Luna only giggled.

One night, as the bar quieted down and they all sat around in the warm, dim light, Mylo noticed her watching him and Powder play a game with a set of battered dice.

“Wanna play?” he asked suddenly, holding up the dice.

Luna blinked. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll teach you.” He scooted over to make room for her on the bench, motioning for her to sit beside him. “Okay, so here’s how it works...” For the first few rounds, Luna struggled to keep up, biting her lip in concentration as she tried to understand the rules. Mylo teased her lightly when she made mistakes, but he always followed it up with a quick explanation or a playful grin to show he wasn’t serious.

“See? You’re getting it,” he said after she won her first round. “You might even be better than Powder soon.” Powder protested, glaring at him. “What? Just saying.”

Luna smiled, her confidence growing. It kind of broke the ice. By the end of her first week, she started to feel less like an outsider and more like she belonged, giggling and smiling more often.

It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t always easy, but every little moment helped her feel a bit more at home. The way Powder had smiled at her the first time she handed her a piece of bread. How Mylo had tried to teach her how to throw a rock just right in the alley, despite her clumsy attempts. Claggor’s quiet approval when she helped wash the dishes, and even the rare chuckles from Vi when she managed to get something just right in the makeshift kitchen.

But more than anything, it was Vander’s presence that made her feel like she was becoming part of something.

Every night, when the bar quieted down, and the sounds of the busy day faded into a quiet hum, Vander would make time for the kids. Late in the evening, when the others would be settling into their cots, murmuring amongst themselves or falling asleep with their heads buried under old blankets, Luna always waited for the moment when Vander would sit beside her bed, asking her about her day.

It was something she had come to look forward to, the time when the world outside faded away, and she could focus on something—someone—who made her feel like she wasn’t alone in this strange new world.

Luna hugged her blanket tight against her chest, the edges worn and soft. It was a gift from Powder, who had insisted she take it when Luna had no blankets of her own one of the first nights she had spent with them.

“They’re loud,” Luna said quietly, her voice unsure, her eyes still darting over to where the others were gathering nearby, talking and laughing in their own chaotic way. “But… they’re nice.”

Vander’s gaze softened as he watched her, his expression full of quiet understanding. He leaned a little closer, his large frame casting a comforting shadow over her bed. “They are,” he said with a small smile. “They’re your family now, Lu. You’ll see. They’ve got your back.”

Family.

The word seemed so big, so final. Luna didn’t fully understand it. She thought of the people she had met before, the ones who had taken her in for a night or two, fed her scraps, and then sent her away when their patience ran out. But there was something different about Vander’s words. They felt warm, like the sun on a cool day. Not demanding, not overwhelming, but steady.

Luna tucked herself deeper into the blanket Powder had given her, the edges soft against her skin. She glanced over at the others, who were talking about something she didn’t fully understand, but they weren’t laughing at her, or ignoring her. Powder was saying something about a machine she wanted to make with some metal scraps Claggor had given her, her voice animated as she waved her hands explaining it excitedly while Mylo told her to shut up and let him sleep.

Vander’s voice, calm and reassuring, pulled her back to the present. “We’re your family now,” he repeated, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her face. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, not anymore.”

The word didn’t seem as strange anymore. Family.

It felt safe. It felt like belonging. It felt right.

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 5 months ago

Text

Chan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Blood, Life after loss, Cursing, Mentions of cursing higher power out of anger, Angst.

Word Count: 5.5k

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

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Part One.

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You vividly remembered the day your older brother debuted.

The memory was seared into your mind, a day full of nervous excitement and overwhelming pride. You were only 9, still young enough to idolize him in the purest way, but old enough to understand how much this moment meant to him. The two of you had grown up together, inseparable since the day your parents brought you home from the adoption agency. Hajun had always been your protector, your constant source of comfort, and now, he was going to be a star.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon, the kind where the crisp air nipped at your cheeks and the golden leaves crunched beneath your sneakers. You were clutching your brother’s hand tightly as you stood in the crowded concert hall. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a mix of excitement and nervous energy that buzzed like static electricity.

Hajun had always been the rock in your life, the one who knew how to make you laugh even on your worst days. As the lights dimmed and the opening notes of Eclips3’s debut song filled the air, you could barely contain your excitement. You had seen him practice countless times, but this was different. This was his moment. Your father had you on his shoulders so you could see up and over the barricade, yelling.

"JuJu!" You squealed, holding up a sign with your sloppy handwriting that said: "That's My Brother".

When the spotlight hit him, you saw the confident smile that always made your heart swell with pride, although you were too young at the time to understand that feeling. Dressed in sleek black and white, he looked every bit the star you knew he was destined to be. He danced with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, his movements precise and full of passion. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with every beat, and you felt your chest tighten with a mix of joy and admiration.

During their dance break, when Hajun was at the center, it felt like the crowd was the loudest; but maybe you had imagined it because you loved him the most; maybe you didn't.

But you didn't imagine the excitement in his eyes, and the smile he couldn't even bother to contain.

You remembered how, in that moment, everything seemed perfect. Your brother was up there, living his dream, and you were there to support him. His eyes met yours briefly, and he gave you a quick wink. It was a silent reminder that no matter how far he went, he would always remember where he came from. It was a promise that you held close to your heart.

He loved you and you loved him.

As the final notes of the song faded and the crowd erupted in applause, Hajun waved, his smile never wavering. When he finally came offstage, his face was flushed with excitement and exhaustion. He scooped you up into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go.

“I don’t, want you to move away.” You mumbled sadly, digging your head into his shoulder, the rush of adrenaline and happiness fading instantly as you realized this hug was unlike his other ones; this was a goodbye. Although temporary for now.

“Don’t worry, Gremlin,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a mix of triumph and tenderness. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. I may be far away, but you can always ask Mom and Dad to call, okay? And I’ll visit, and you can watch my videos and I’ll mention you in them too. I promise, I’ll always be here for you.” He stuck out his pinky, his eyes twinkling, and you gave your gap-toothed smile as you locked your pinky with his. He placed a kiss on your cheek and ruffled your hair one last time.

Little did you know, those words would become a beacon in the storm of your life. Something you would always come back to. And that promise he made would be tested.

Because all things made, are at risk to break.

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Your alarm went off and you just stared at the small black box that had one of those plastic zoo animals hot glued to it - a racoon. The noise was annoying, and sometimes you wondered why you didn't just switch to using your phone alarm, but there was just something nostalgic about using a physical alarm clock.

You hadn't realized it had been going off for almost 20 minutes until your mother walked into your room.

"Sweetie, you up?" Her voice was soft, melodic. A hint of raspiness in it, although it was more pronounced today; you figured due to the time of day and how much she had cried over the past week. She looked as if she was about to go out. She had her bag hung over her shoulder and her makeup done.

"Yeah." You mumbled. Technically you had been up.

Since you hadn't even fallen asleep.

It wasn't like you could get much sleep these days.

"They're announcing it today?" You mumbled quietly, the soft hum from your ceiling fan the only thing breaking the almost unbearable silence. You figured thats why your mom was going out, you had heard her on the phone with one of the ladies from church, and heard her telling her that your father was working overtime at the hospital and that she wanted something to do throughout the day to keep busy.

"They wanted to wait a bit longer; to give us time to grieve, but fans are starting to realize something is up."

"It's only been a month since Kae-Joon killed himself as well. Are you sure it isn't just the company trying to keep their image intact?" The venom in your voice made your mom flinch.

"I'm so sorry, baby."

"Apologizing won't bring him back, Mom." The cool air hit your legs, as you threw off your blanket, causing a slight sting so some of your open wounds. Three hours of constant scrubbing left your skin raw and sensitive, and it had yet to heal. But you didn't want any traces of his blood on you.

"Just like you, I'd rather not watch when they make that announcement." You stood up and made your way to your closet, finding some pants and a sweater to throw on. You could feel the stress your mom was carrying when she sighed.

"Did you at least open the box he left you?"

It was as if you were deaf to her words. After a few minutes of silence, she got up and left, softly shutting the door behind her. You made your way back to your bed and under the covers deciding to not even comb your hair.

What could anyone tell you to do?

It had been a week since you strained your vocal cords, screaming for help, screaming curses at God when you had found your brother bleeding out on the guest bedroom floor.

You remembered seeing Hajun act the same way, when his leader had walked the same path, not even a month ago.

But he had been happy the past few weeks, hadn't he? He had come home, and you had gotten to be with him.

He loved you. He wouldn't do this. Not to you.

You reached towards your nightstand, and your fingers wrapped around his phone.

You powered it on to see a picture of him with you on your first day of high school.

You both had wide smiles, and Hajun was squeezing your shoulders, his chin rested on top of your head as you both laughed.

Your mom and dad had always joked that Hajun loved you more than he loved them.

But the irony of it was that it wasn't a joke at all.

The minute you had come home from the adoption agency, apparently Hajun had been all over you, wanting to hold you, and have your crib put in his room.

Your mother had given birth to a baby boy, but due to complications he died just hours after his birth. Distraught your mother had been pleading that it wasn't true, and a teen mother had heard a few nurses talking about how heartbreaking it was. She was putting her baby up for adoption and having heard another mother's grief wished to ease some of that.

You wondered if it was one of those instances where another's one's trash was another's one's treasure after you had gotten into a huge argument with your mom one night.

But looking back you couldn't have been more grateful to be put into the family you were in, with your mom, dad and Hajun. Your mom had also gotten the daughter she had always wished to have. And you got a love you believed everyone deserved.

You wiped your eyes once it became too blurry to see Hajun's screen staring back at you, and scrolled through the large number of missed calls he had gotten.

Sunwoo Hyung 🤍😂- 47 missed calls

Favorite Hyung 🤠🤓- 92 missed calls

Chris🦘- 4 missed calls

Grumpy Hyung 🖤🐈‍⬛ - 38 missed calls

You could scroll through it all day. Goodbye texts, calls placed in denial.

They were all one in the same, and you subjected it to yourself for the past week, refusing to swipe the notifications away.

Your parent's had seemed to want you to forget most of it, as that was there way of copying. To forget everything; minus the fact that Hajun has left a box addressed to you in his room.

It was hard to accept his suicide when you deluded yourself into believing it was something done in the moment; you didn't know if you could even begin to cope with the pain of acknowledging that he had meticulously planned it. So, you hadn't looked at the box, let alone in it yet.

In a weird way your parents wanted to know. To find closure you figured. They hoped his suicide note would be in that box, and the battle you had gotten into with your parents when your mom had brought up the possibility did nothing to help aid in the hurt you all were facing.

Your father had been out at work every day, refusing to take bereavement leave so he could distract himself from his eldest child's death. It hadn't helped he had worked the shift Hajun was rolled into.

Your mom had been packing up the house in a move that you knew would be inevitable. None have you been anywhere in the house much rather than your bedrooms, ordering food in, using the bathrooms on the highest levels of your home, and completely side stepping any area of the house where your brother held his presence the most.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and tightened your own embrace, as you felt more tears begin to form.

"I miss you."

Your family has always been an affectionate family - Hajun the most - and since his death that all seemed to sever. Your mom had barely touched your father, let alone you. It seemed everyone's version of coping was isolation, and that just made Hajun's absence even more noticeable.

He always had to have skin ship with someone. Most of the time it was hugging or sitting close enough to someone their legs were rested by each other's, with you he would rest his head on your shoulder, or pinch your cheeks telling you how adorable you were, and 'how could you not be when you have the most handsome brother in the world'?

It had been an ongoing laugh in the industry and in his fandom that he was his own dating ban. Due to his inclination to hug everyone he met, his company had to deflect rumor after rumor, to the point where they eventually had no choice but to make an official statement. Thirteen separate articles had speculated about his love life, each one feeding into the frenzy that surrounded him. His warm nature was both his charm and his curse, a constant point of speculation in a world where even a simple smile could spark a scandal.

But now you knew better. You knew the real reason behind that warmth, the desperation behind every hug, the way he clung to people as if they were his lifeline. He had always been the light in every room, the one who could make anyone smile even when his own smile never quite reached his eyes. You used to marvel at how he could be so kind to carry so much of the world’s weight on his shoulders, his friend's, his family's, and still manage to hold his own.

You were selfish to never realize that the weight was slowly breaking him down, piece by piece.

Maybe, it's my fault... You had wondered while sitting the hospital waiting room. Maybe if I never complained, maybe if I solved my own problems instead of looking for him to solve them.

After the leader of Eclips3 had taken his life shortly after being involved in a trafficking scandal that had led to the death of four separate women, and the group went on an indefinite hiatus which sparked Hajun's homecoming, that light had dimmed even further.

"I could've saved them. If I would've known..." He repeated over and over.

You saw it every time you looked at him—the way his once vibrant energy now seemed forced, his laughter a hollow echo in the house that had once been filled with genuine joy. You tried to reach out, to be the rock for him that he had always been for you, but he would brush it off with that same reassuring smile.

He had gone through a few of these ruts prior. You once had mentioned to your mother he seemed more tired than usual, but soon enough after a break he was back to normal.

Two nights before he had ended it all you laid in his bed as he spoke to you softly.

"Sometimes...I wish I never chose this life." He had told you.

"Then quit. Come back home. Mom and Dad will take care of you."

He had pinched your nose. "How could I when I make so many people happy? I can't just throw away God's gift to me hmm?" He laughed quietly. "Besides, who would buy you all the things you want if it weren't your big brother?"

The breath you had released betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

His eyes would always betray him, and the pain in them at the moment was so deep that it made your heart ache. Yet you didn't say anything.

"Just a break, Gremlin," he whispered, ruffling your hair like he always did. "I’ll be back to annoying you in no time." His eyes would always betray him though, and the pain in them at the moment was so deep that it made your heart ache. Yet you hadn't said anything.

If I said something, would he still be here?

The break never ended. Instead, it shattered into a silence so profound that it consumed you, wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. Wrapping around you just the way Hajun's arms had so constantly wrapped around you, tight, secure, an unbreakable hold.

You were alone now, in a world that had lost all its color, where the joy that once filled the rooms was replaced by a deafening quiet that you no one could escape. Every corner of your home felt empty, even though it was still filled with the remnants of his life—his clothes still in the coat closet, his favorite mug still on the kitchen counter, his music equipment still set up as if he might return to use it any moment.

Sometimes in the quiet hours of the morning when your brain shut off momentarily, you believed he would walk through the door, the gentle hum of his voice accompanying the staccato patterns of his keyboard.

His room, once a sanctuary of music and late-night confessions, now felt like a tomb. The posters on the walls, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed to mock you, their bright colors dulled by the memories they carried.

The posters of countless amines you had forced him to watch on his tours were hung up, the corners curling inwards from the stagnant air in his bedroom. His guitar, propped up in the corner, was still out of tune, left that way after the last song he played—a song you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to again.

Everything was frozen in time, preserving the last moments of his presence, moments that were now too painful to revisit, yet too precious to let go, and too blaringly obvious to set aside in hopes of a happy future.

But you had to. You had to go through his things, even if every object you touched felt like another stab to your already shattered heart. You needed to feel close to him, even if it meant opening the wounds that hadn't begun to heal even further. You couldn’t just leave his room untouched forever, as much as it felt like disturbing it would make his absence all the more real.

So, you managed to pull yourself out of your bed and make the walk to the end of the hallway.

The black paint he had painted once on his doorway was peeking through a part of the peeling white paint that your dad has used to cover it up.

Your hand slowly grasped around the doorknob, and you stood there for a minute, an hour- or maybe it was seconds. Time was foreign in that moment.

You stood in the doorway, the air thick with the scent of his cologne, the memories clinging to every surface like ghosts. You inhaled, and it almost seemed like he was standing right next you, or behind you, hugging you and telling you how he was proud of everything you had done, or telling you how much you meant to him, or how grateful he was to have a baby sister.

Your steps were hesitant as you crossed the threshold, each footfall extra loud in the stillness; the snapshot of a life that had been cut too short. You couldn’t help but feel like an intruder, as if you were trespassing in a space that didn’t belong to you, even though it was now yours by default.

And even when your brother had been around, he had always left his door open for you; if not physically metaphorically. The bed was still unmade, the sheets tangled from the last night he had slept in them. His desk was cluttered with notebooks, sheet music, and pens as well—tools of a trade that he had dedicated his life to, tools that he would never use again; tools that you pinned some of the blame on.

It was while you were rummaging through the drawers of his nightstand that you found it—a small, weathered box tucked away with a pile of old notebooks that he had countless lyrics written in. Lyrics to songs that would never be released.

Your mom had told you that there was a box in the nightstand, but out of respect to Hajun's wishes, she didn't touch the box as it was addressed to you. Just informed you of its existence. Constantly.

Your breath caught in your throat as you pulled the box out, your fingers trembling slightly. The box was unassuming, just a plain wooden box, but it was heavy, as if it carried more than just the objects inside. You knew your brother’s handwriting well, and the simple label on the top read, "For Gremlin, when you need me the most."

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You sank down onto the floor, the weight of the box in your hands almost too much to bear. What could be inside? What had he left for you? Was it really a suicide note? You weren’t sure if you were ready for whatever it was, but you couldn’t not open it. Not now. Not when you decided that it was time to acknowledge whatever he had left behind. The box felt like a connection to him; a connection that you weren’t ready to sever, even though it had been only days since you last heard his voice.

But it would be even longer without hearing it now.

With trembling hands, you lifted the lid, your breath hitching as you revealed a stack of envelopes, each one labeled with a different emotion—“Read when you’re sad,” “Read when you’re scared,” “Read when you’re mad.” There were fifteen in total, each one written in his familiar handwriting, each one a piece of him that he had left behind for you.

They still smelled like him. And the ink still smelled fresh as well, as if he was in there moments ago as he was writing them.

You wondered if he had waited until the morning before to write them, or if he sat at his desk, with his desk lamp, writing them in the moments the ones he loved most slumbered.

Did he feel even more alone in that moment?

Did he feel as lonely as I feel right now?

The tears that you had been holding back for so long finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as you ran your fingers over the envelopes. The reality of his absence hit you all over again, like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. He had known. Somehow, he had known that he wouldn’t be there to help you through the hardest moments; that no matter who he turned to he knew he wouldn't be able to defeat the biggest demon raging in his mind; so, he had left you these pieces of himself, a way to still be there for you, even in death.

Your vision blurred as the tears continued to fall, your breath non-existent as you tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free.

It was so like him—always thinking of you, always wanting to protect you, even when he couldn’t protect himself. He had been hurting so much, more than you could have ever known, and yet he had still found the strength to think of you, to leave behind something to comfort you in your darkest moments.

Why couldn't he have focused on himself? Why did he have to worry over me so much, that he couldn't reach out for help? He could've have been dialing a number, talking to a therapist- mom, dad, me - instead of writing these and admitting defeat. Why couldn't he worry about himself for one moment?

It's my fault. You told yourself over and over as you looked through the envelopes, a weird anger boiling in your stomach at how kind your brother was that it aided in his own neglect.

You were about to put the envelopes back in, when you saw something flash in the bright lighting of his room.

At the bottom, beneath the envelopes, was a photograph. A tiny polaroid that had been taken in what you had assumed was a party, or a club. It was dark, but you could tell the photographer had used flash.

You pulled it out, recognizing only one face in the picture—your brother and another young man that you had assumed was Hajun's age, both grinning widely, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

Their smiles were both wide and white, and you instantly could tell just by the way the man smiled - his eyes nearly disappearing and his nose scrunching up slightly, that they had to have gotten along extremely well.

The young man was familiar, his face one you had seen before, but couldn't pinpoint. You were more than sure he had to be another idol, since Hajun didn't have many friends outside the industry - unless they were back home - due to the safety concerns and harsh restrictions of his company.

You flipped the photo over the photo out of habit, not expecting anything to be there, but slightly surprised when you saw a somewhat messy penmanship on the back, an unfamiliar handwriting that had engraved the words in fine tip sharpie, “Call me when you get lost.”

And beneath it your brother's familiar chicken scratch:

You'll be okay.

He knew. He planned.

And a hatred burned in your heart, but you couldn't bring yourself to accept that anger.

Why did you leave me?

Your hands shook as you held the photo, tears slipping down your cheeks as the reality of what he had done washed over you.

He had left you more than just words. He had left you a connection, a way to reach out to someone who might understand, someone who might help you find your way out of the darkness you were drowning in.

But how could you?

How could you listen to your brother's instruction when he had delivered you the worst kind of betrayal.

How could you listen to his instruction, listen to his words and believe them when you had once believed in a promise that he so easily broke.

How could you reach out to someone when you didn’t even know how to begin to heal? The thought of calling a stranger, even one your brother had trusted, felt impossible. Yet, as you sat there, surrounded by the remnants of your brother’s life, you knew you couldn’t do this alone, you didn't want to admit it, but you had to.

The photograph slipped from your fingers as you collapsed back onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You laid against the cool hard wood of the floor, trying to grasp anything that could keep you tethered to reality.

The pain, the grief, the overwhelming sense of loss that you had been trying so hard to keep at bay finally broke free, and you were powerless to stop it.

The sobs that tore from your throat were raw, primal, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the room, through the house, through your entire being.

"Mom! Dad!" You cried out. "JuJu."

The house remained silent, your parents out and about. Staying away from anything that brought them back to that moment.

"JuJu." You croaked. "JuJu..."

It felt like the world was crumbling around you, like everything you had ever known was being ripped away, leaving you with nothing but emptiness. How could he be gone? How could the one person who had always been there for you, who had promised to never leave, be gone? The thought was too much to bear, too painful to comprehend, and it left you feeling hollow, like a part of you had died with him. You wanted to die.

You couldn't end up like him, you couldn't.

But you couldn't even fathom living without that support.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, curled up on the floor, your body wracked with sobs that seemed to have no end. Time had lost all meaning, and you were trapped in a cycle of grief that felt like it would never end. But eventually, the sobs began to subside, leaving you drained, exhausted, and aware of your utter loneliness.

With shaking hands, you wiped at your tears, but they kept falling, as if your body was finally letting go of the grief that had been festering inside you for so long. It brought almost a physical relief, being able to release that second half of tears that had seemed to stop when the gravity of Hajun's death had hit you.

The photograph lay beside you, the words on the back blurring through your tears, but you could still make them out.

"Call me when you get lost."

The words echoed in your mind, and for the first time since your brother’s death, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back.

You found a tentative belief in Hajun's last promise; a belief knitted together solely by desparation.

With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you dialed the number scrawled on the back of the photograph. The line rang once, twice, three times, and for a moment you thought it might go to voicemail. But then there was a click, and a voice on the other end—a voice you somewhat recognized in passing. But would be at a loss if needed to pinpoint who it belonged to.

"Hello?" The voice was tentative, cautious, as if the person on the other end wasn’t sure who might be calling. It was laced with an Australian accent, a deep and rich and prominent tone. You could hear the sound of music playing faintly in the background, and the voice of multiple people speaking, a reminder of the life you had once known through your brother, the life that was now so far out of reach.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a jagged breath escaped. Your throat felt tight, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. But then, as if sensing your hesitation, the voice on the other end softened. "It’s okay," he said, his tone gentle, reassuring. "Take your time."

And somehow, those simple words were enough to break through the wall you had built around yourself. The tears started flowing again, but this time they weren’t just tears of grief. They were tears of relief, of release, of finally letting go of the pain that had been eating away at you for so long.

"I miss him," you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I miss him so much, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to live without him. And- And I found this- and you said call me wh-when-" You gulped for air.

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment you thought the call had disconnected. But then, the voice came back, stronger this time, yet still harboring an immense amount of sadness as well.

"You're Hajun's little sister, aren't you?" The voices in the background quieted, as the man on the other end moved to a quieter spot.

"You don’t have to do it alone," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache with a strange mix of pain and comfort. "He wouldn’t want you to go through this by yourself. And neither do I. So, whenever you’re ready, I’m here. We’ll figure this out together."

And in that moment, for the first time since your brother’s death, you felt a glimmer of hope. It was small, fragile, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the darkest of clouds. But it was there, a guiding you toward the hope of a future that, while uncertain, wouldn't be so terrifying anymore.

You had lost your brother, and nothing would ever fill the void he had left behind. But maybe, just maybe, you could learn to live with the pain, to carry it with you as you moved forward. And with the help of the person on the other end of the line, the person your brother had trusted enough to leave you in their care, you knew that someday, you would find your way out of the darkness.

Maybe not entirely, but right now you figured a life with any light- even if only seen at a distance, like the exit of a tunnel, would be better than whatever the hell you were going through at the minute.

"I-I'm Y/N." You stuttered out, your tears coming to a slight halt. There was yet another silence on the other end, and you wondered if he had hung up; but somehow you knew by just talking to him for a moment, he wasn't the type to do that.

"I'm Chris. Hajun was one of my closest friends. And I'm sorry." His voice was choked with emotion for just a slight second. "But I promise, I'll do my best to help you. It's what he would've wanted."

"I... I don't know. How can I escape this. I can't...what if I can't?"

"If you can't escape, then know that I'm here. Know that you can call me, tell me where you are - whether in a deep anger or sadness tell me -and I'll come find you."

Even in a moments time, you trusted him. You trusted those word's he said. You were lost, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you were found. Because no one did that for Hajun. No one found him until it was too late.

Maybe it's a promise he wished he could make to Hajun.

But now Chris was making you that promise. A promise that you prayed to God he would keep.

Because you didn't know if you could handle another broken promise.

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miraclewoozi · 2 years ago

Text

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader. content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI). w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change? warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut ( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net. )

note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass. ( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )

smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).

—————

He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday.

As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.

The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.

His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house.

The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure.

Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.

He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back.

—————

You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.

Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.

Variety.

Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch.

He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.

This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.

They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.

“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over.

Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.”

He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.

“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit.

That’s when he sees you again.

He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.

By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.

“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”

—————

Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.

Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.

It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.

To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.

He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.

“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice.

“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.

A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.

You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.

He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.

It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.

He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.

Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat.

He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.

To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.

It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open.

“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?

“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly.

Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.

“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).

It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.

“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…

“Hm?” he questions.

You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning.

“Oh. Right.”

He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.

He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure.

“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”

You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.

“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.

“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”

You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.

“I guessed you could,” you say.

Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.

“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life.

“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.

“Mm. You can tell.”

Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.

He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.

Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”

What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.

“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”

“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.

You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do.

With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”

Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.

He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.

“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”

“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.

Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.

“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.

But you don’t.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.

“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day.

But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?”

He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.

“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”

You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.

“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly.

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself.

“See you around, y/n.”

You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone.

—————

He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks.

For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays.

It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?

Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something.

Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts.

The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served.

Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.

Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to.

You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today.

He can hazard a guess at your predicament.

After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress.

But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.

“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.

“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle.

He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”

“How… have you been?” you ask.

“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question?

“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”

Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”

The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you.

“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.

“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.

“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.

“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”

A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.

“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —”

His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”

The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”

“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”

Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.

Except the obvious.

“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.

Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.

“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them.

“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring.

“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.

Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.

“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”

You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen.

Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm.

His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.

“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”

“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.

Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.

“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”

“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table.

More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.

“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”

You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun.

“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him.

“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”

You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though.

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?”

He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one?

“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.

Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers.

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten.

All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon.

Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.

It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since.

He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other.

jihoon: fine. you’re right.

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right.

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!

soonyoung: because we told them?????

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks.

At least he’s admitted it now.

He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters.

So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

—————

Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.

As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty.

All this before he even gets to work.

He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.

It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.

Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else.

Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway.

A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.

So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.

It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.

He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus.

“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.

“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this.

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Slim, he decides. But not zero.

There’s hope.

“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin.

He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”

“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”

“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”

“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.

“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.

He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach.

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.

Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time.

And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?

You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel.

“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”

“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.”

Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs.

“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”

“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest.

“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.

“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.

You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.

For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.

y/n: hey :)

y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?

He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)

Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no.

jh: apparently yes, you can.

jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.

He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.

The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away.

“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.

“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”

He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.

You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside.

You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in.

“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.”

“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”

“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.

“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.

“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”

——-

Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.

“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”

“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that.

“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”

A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.

Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.

One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.

The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.

He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him.

Any. Fucking. Minute.

“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”

“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”

In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you.

“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”

He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”

You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold.

Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.

“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.

“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.

You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.

Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too.

And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.

“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point.

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”

“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”

“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”

“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”

You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…

“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”

Oh, so you can read his mind now, too?

You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.

“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”

You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”

“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.

“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor.

He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.

“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.”

You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.

“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.

At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely.

“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard.

“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”

He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”

“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”

“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”

“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”

“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”

His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.

“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.

“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length.

“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.

He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.

“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.”

A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.

Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing.

“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.”

Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”

“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”

“Mm, says you.”

It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.

The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.

You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.

“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”

So, you do.

Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.

“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”

You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.

It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth.

—

You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms.

You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.

“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”

“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers.

“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”

“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks.

“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”

“Of course I want to.”

So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

——————

He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again.

All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.

“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.

Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.

“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.

“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering.

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.

Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.

He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly.

“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”

“Not important enough,” he sighs.

“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers.

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows.

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

#woozi smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #??? how do i tag anything lmao #running away now it's nearly 2am lmao BYE #j writes.#*

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skipper1331 · 1 year ago

Text

Boxer // Alessia Russo

a/n: based off this request. Bear with me, i don‘t know anything about boxing and the end is just random :D

"Ready for tomorrow?" the italian asked while she cuddled in to your chest. The smell of her shampoo hitting your nostrils as a content sigh left your mouth. "Yeah" you whispered at the verge of falling asleep, "but my opponent is one of the best, it‘s gonna be intense" with your eyes closed, senses shut off you didn‘t notice the way Alessias body tensed. She didn‘t want you to get hurt badly. "You‘re the best" she said, tightening her grip around you. You didn‘t hear it anymore as you had fallen into a slumber, soft snores filling your shared bedroom.

Despite that Alessia tried dearly to fall asleep, she just couldn‘t. She thought about the possibilities that could happen to you; broken arm, nose, leg, jaw, anything. Blood running down your face, black eyes, she thought about every possible injury with the worst ending. What if you break your neck? What if she (your opponent) breaks your neck?!

With your gear on you stood in the boxing ring, your opponent in front of you on her side of the ring. Your coach was giving you a prep talk about her weakness, to keep your defence up and watch your steps.

The arena was filled, many people from across the country to watch the two of you fight.

In Lessi‘s words it‘s a derby match or in Lucy Bronze‘s words an el clásico. And not only Lucy and your girl were sitting in the stands but Ella Toone, Leah Williamson, all of the lionesses. They were ready to watch you fight and win. This match may be one of the biggest in history.

To be honest, you were kind of nervous, you knew your opponent - the second, the ref would give the go - your enemy - she was an awesome boxer, could hit hard but was also very good with her technic in general and her mind games were horrific and dangerous.

Lessi was sitting between Tooney and Mearps, biting her nails while her right leg made a regular, rapid up and down movement. "Stop that" her best friend told her firmly as she placed her hand on the blondes thigh, stopping her penetrating moves.

"I‘m nervous"

"We could tell" Mary said, "She’s gonna be great" she tried to reassure her - with no luck.

The fight was about to begin, already fist bumping your enemy of the night. You turned one last time to the eyes that motivated you before you turned back around.

You were ready to face the so-called boxing devil.

Even though the blonde was nervous she still cheered for you the loudest, the other lionesses cheering with her. It was intense to say at least, your enemy hit some pretty good places where she definitely got points for but you did as well.

The whole time you were calm and collected until you saw her cheking out Lessi. The way the womans eyes wandered over the blondes body as your girl stood next to her friends.

Something inside you switched.

"Wow!" Mary cheered as she grabbed Alessias hand, "what‘s gotten into her? She‘s smashing!" Ella on the other side yelled something, other lionesses joining her as they encouraged you. For everyones eyes it seemed like you just got a new boost of energy - for Alessia it looked like you were angry. She knew you like the back of her hand, even fighting she knew what you did, how you thought and this type of fight-style wasn’t your usual. It was aggressive.

"Yes!" the girls shouted as the fight was called an end, the ref holding your arm in the air - you won.

Taking your gear of you jumped out of the ring, walking up to your favorite girl, "hm hello" you pressed a quick kiss to her lips as you slung your arm around her, looking at the defeated Girl in the ring. The blondes arm went around your body as well, not minding the sweat on your body - she hugged you always when she was sweaty so no complain there. You greeted the rest of the group, chatting with them for awhile. Mary and Ella even recreated some scenes of the fight while Rachel did the sound effects, Lauren utterly confused, her mouth agape. You loved her lionesses girls, some of them were super sweet and some hilarious - just a bunch of lovely weirdos.

Later that night, you cuddled into Alessias chest, her fingertips stroking patterns on your skin as you relaxed in her touch. Yet the question that Mary had asked earlier was still laying on tip of her tongue. What‘s gotten into her? "You know, i‘m so proud of you?" she mumbled into the dimmed room. "You told me more than once" you giggled, the striker not keeping her mouth shut on the way home. "Is there a but?" you asked sitting up as she didn‘t join your laughter, like she normally would. Straddling her waist, you looked at her with confused eyes, fingers playing with her baby hairs, "no. I was just wondering- you seemed angry?"

"How did you know?"

"amore, you‘re my girlfriend. I know everything about you." she grinned cheekily before she pressed a gentle lingering kiss on your cheek. "So?" pinching your sides, she questioned with her eyes, your own dotting around her face as a blush covered your cheeks, "shecheckedyououtandididntlikeitbecauseyouremygirlfriendandifeltjealous" you rushed out, your head falling the curve of her neck, your shy persona had taken over. "Come again?"

"she checked you out and i didn‘t like it because you‘re my girlfriend and i felt jealous" you admitted, face turning a deeper shade of red. The italian gave a loud laugh as you pulled back, playfully glaring at her, "not funny"

"It is! my jealous baby" you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, about to leave her lap and touch, "nah" grabbing your waist, she didn‘t gave you the chance as she held you tightly.

"You looked hot with that new energy" she purred in your ear while her thumbs drew circles on the bare skin at your legs, "and i love you" her lips pressed against your own as affirmation before she let her back flop on the bed, strong arms pulling you with.

At the end of the day, it didn‘t matter that she was a footballer and you’re boxer, if someone checked the other out the hell broke out.

And her friends loved you so everything was fine. A solid statement to love her forever.

———————

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #arsenal wfc #engwnt #engwnt x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #lucy bronze #lauren hemp #ella toone #mary earps #rachel daly #arsenal x reader

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alessioa · 1 year ago

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Lucy Bronze x Lioness!Reader

Head aches and a concerned Lucy

In which reader refuses to stay home even though Lucy isn't happy with it.

CW: Migraines? Passing out

Kind of based on this request.

Migraines, a funny thing that was. One moment you could feel kind of fine and the next your head was filled with unbearable pain to the point where it felt as if you would throw up and pass out. Those moments were the worst.

So when you woke up to the aching in your head and nausea you tried your best to get out of bed without waking Lucy. She had told you countless times that you should wake her, but no.

Slowly you made your way to the bathroom as it felt as if you were about to throw up. In there you passed out in front of the toilet.

When Lucy woke up she felt your side of the bed and it was cold and you were nowhere to be seen. “Y/n” she whispered, then repeated herself but louder as you didn’t answer. She got worried and began to look around the house, kitchen empty, living room empty, office empty. When she finally found you - you were still passed out in the bathroom.

Lucy carefully shook your body to wake you up. When your eyes began to flutter a pained groan left your throat as you regained consciousness the pain came hurling back and it felt as if someone was hitting the inside of your head with a hammer.

Lucy looked at you a little worried that you might have injured yourself or something. “What happened” she asked when it looked like you were present. “Migraines” you whispered, not wanting to talk too loudly because then the pain in your head would be amplified.

“Oh baby, you know that you can wake me up. Why didn’t you?” she seemed so concerned when she asked the question that you almost felt guilty for not waking her. “Didn’t wanna be a bother” you mumbled, not proud of yourself for it.

“Okay, but next time please let me know. How about I call Sarina and tell her that we are sick, I don’t think that you can train today”. At that you quickly shook your head, you couldn’t afford to miss training because it was your first call up to the national team and you didn’t want to risk anything.

“No, I’m fine. I can train today” you answered, your voice as steady as you could make it. “Y/n” Lucy warned, she really didn’t like that you dismissed your pain so quickly. “I said I’m fine, now leave it. I will train today” you answered with a harsh tone.

—

Maybe training wasn’t the best choice today. You tried your best but with the other girls around and their loud volume they didn’t really help the pain in your head. And apparently Lucy had told Sarina too as she didn’t push you too hard and it was clear that she focused on you quite a lot during the day. But so was Lucy. She was always around and she tried her best to quiet the girls, it was not as successful as she wanted but it did help a little bit.

Alessia and Ella were two of the loudest in camp, they were always together and often brought you along. And you usually did stuff with them, but they didn’t seem to catch the memo when you tried to ignore them as they didn’t exactly take your pain away but almost made it worse with their loud voices and laughter. Luckily you were saved by the trainers calling the team out on the field for a scramble.

After a 7v7 game the pain in your head had not passed and now on top of that you were exhausted. That unfortunately led to you passing out in the middle of the field, scaring your teammates who called the medics on quickly when you didn’t respond to them or move.

Lucy felt guilty, she knew the reason for you passing out being your migraines and exhaustion. She should have fought harder to keep you home and maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation.

When the medics assured everyone that you weren’t injured they brought you into the medical room where they waited for you to wake up. When you did, Lucy was by your side holding your hand. She looked so concerned.

“Maybe I should have stayed home” you said, catching her attention as she hadn’t noticed that you had woken up. “You should have stayed home” she agreed.

#lionesses #world cup #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #lucy bronze #woso #woso imagine #engwnt #woso soccer #womens football

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chiyuuchu · 5 months ago

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OMG… the virtual Angel one was so good I loved how u writer! I never thought I would find someone on here who knows about kpop…. ANYWAYS now that that’s out of the way I was thinking of a bakugou x reader also inspired by a kpop song called Bad Boy by Red Velvet…. If you can pretty please!!!

Ps since you know kiss of life tell me your favorite groups!!!!

he’s a really bad boy <3 (16th August 2024)

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Prompt! Y/n, who is the complete opposite of Bakugou ends up in a very complicated dynamic

a/n i actually got addicted to the recommended song virtual angel and been listening to it every day! my top kpop groups are kiss of life, aespa and ive along with an honourable mention of global group katseye!

Y/N wasn’t like most of the other students at U.A. She had a reputation—one she didn’t earn by being the loudest, the strongest, or the most ambitious. No, Y/N earned her reputation by being completely unbothered by the noise around her. She was known for her calm, almost serene demeanor in the face of chaos, something that made her both admired and envied by her classmates.

Bakugou Katsuki, on the other hand, was the opposite—loud, brash, and always ready for a fight. He thrived in chaos, often causing it, and no one in their right mind would try to cross him. Well, almost no one.

From the moment Y/N walked into Class 1-A, she and Bakugou were like fire and ice. He was the explosive force that could light up a room—or burn it down—while she was the cool breeze that effortlessly put out flames without breaking a sweat. She didn’t back down, didn’t flinch, and most importantly, didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction when he tried to rile her up.

At first, Bakugou was intrigued by her nonchalance. Then he was frustrated. But eventually, that frustration turned into something else—something more dangerous. Bakugou, the ultimate bad boy, had fallen hard.

It wasn’t that Y/N was doing anything overt to get his attention. She was just doing what she always did—staying calm and collected, making quick work of any challenge thrown her way, and letting Bakugou’s fire burn without letting it consume her. And maybe that’s what made her so irresistible to him. She didn’t need to fight for control because she already had it—effortlessly.

One afternoon, Bakugou found himself cornering her in the training grounds. He was seething with that familiar fire, the kind that usually sent others running. But Y/N didn’t run. She simply crossed her arms, staring up at him with that same, maddeningly composed expression.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” Bakugou growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to uncross her arms. “No. But I think you’re trying too hard to prove something.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. She had a way of cutting through the bullshit, seeing right to the heart of what was really going on. It was infuriating. And maybe a little bit... attractive?

He took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You think you can handle me?”

Y/N didn’t budge, didn’t blink. “I’ve been handling you so far.”

There it was again, that calm confidence that got under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. He wasn’t used to being on the back foot, wasn’t used to someone playing the game better than him. And that’s what this was—a game. One that he was determined to win.

But as Y/N turned on her heel, leaving him standing there in the training grounds, he realized something that made his heart pound in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t a game he could win. Maybe this wasn’t about winning at all. Because for the first time in his life, Bakugou Katsuki found himself wanting something he couldn’t just take. He found himself wanting her.

And the worst part? She knew it.

Y/N wasn’t stupid. She saw the way Bakugou looked at her, the way his eyes lingered a little too long when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She saw the way he tried to goad her into reacting, to get some kind of rise out of her. But she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

She wasn’t going to give in to his fire. Not when she knew that she could make him burn brighter just by staying cool.

But she couldn’t deny the thrill she got from their interactions, the way her heart beat a little faster when he was near. Maybe she liked playing this game too—liked knowing that she had the ultimate bad boy wrapped around her little finger without even trying.

Because at the end of the day, Y/N wasn’t just unbothered. She was in control. And that, more than anything, made her the most dangerous player in the game.

But even the most controlled people have a breaking point. And as Bakugou continued to push, Y/N began to wonder if she’d finally found hers. Because while she might be able to handle Bakugou, she wasn’t so sure she could handle what he was starting to make her feel.

And that scared her more than anything.

Y/N leaned casually against the wall of the training grounds, her gaze steady as Bakugou stalked toward her, his usual scowl firmly in place. He stopped just a foot away, the air between them crackling with tension.

“Something you need, Bakugou?” Y/N asked, her tone calm and indifferent.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you always act like nothing gets to you? Like you’re untouchable.”

“Maybe because I am,” Y/N replied, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “Or maybe it’s because I’m not interested in playing your games.”

“You think this is a game?” he growled, stepping closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not scared of me?”

“Why would I be?” Y/N shrugged, unfazed. “You’re all bark, Bakugou.”

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You really think you can handle me?”

Y/N didn’t back down, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve been handling you just fine, Bakugou. Question is, can you handle me?”

The training grounds echoed with the sound of rapid footsteps and the crackling of explosions as Y/N and Bakugou clashed in an intense sparring match. Sweat dripped down Bakugou’s forehead as he launched himself at Y/N with a powerful blast, but she moved with the grace of someone who had done this a hundred times before, dodging his attack with ease.

“Too slow, Bakugou,” Y/N taunted, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Bakugou growled, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Shut up and fight me properly!”

“Gladly.”

Y/N’s movements were fluid, almost effortless, as she weaved through his explosive attacks. With a calculated flick of her wrist, she created a powerful shockwave that sent him staggering back. Before he could recover, she was on him, flipping him to the ground with a swift move that knocked the wind out of him.

Bakugou landed on his back with a grunt, staring up at Y/N as she stood over him, her breathing steady. He scowled, anger flaring in his eyes, but beneath the surface, there was something else—something he wasn’t willing to admit, not even to himself.

She had beaten him, fair and square, and for a split second, he couldn’t help but think that the way she looked, standing victorious above him, was incredibly hot.

“You done yet?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Bakugou clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the strange flutter in his chest. “Not by a long shot.”

“Good,” she said, offering him a hand to help him up. “Because neither am I.”

The 1-A common room was buzzing with chatter as the class gathered for a rare evening of relaxation. Snacks were spread out on the coffee table, and everyone was lounging around, enjoying the break from their usual hectic schedules.

Y/N sat comfortably on the couch, leaning back with a content smile as she watched her classmates banter. Bakugou was sitting on the armrest beside her, arms crossed and a familiar scowl on his face.

“So, Y/N,” Kirishima began, leaning forward with a grin. “How do you deal with Bakugou so well? You’re the only one who doesn’t end up as an explosion target.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bakugou shot Kirishima a glare. “I’m right here, you know.”

“Exactly,” Kaminari chimed in, smirking. “You guys bicker like an old married couple, and she’s always got you under control. How do you do it, Y/N?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “It’s simple, really. I just don’t let him get away with his usual crap. Someone’s gotta keep him in check.”

Bakugou huffed, looking down at her. “Like you could keep me in check, dumbass.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes. “You’re all bark and no bite, Bakugou. I just don’t take you seriously when you throw one of your tantrums.”

“Tantrums?!” Bakugou growled, leaning closer, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t throw tantrums, you annoying little—”

“See what I mean?” Y/N interrupted, unbothered. “He’s like an overgrown toddler.”

The class erupted into laughter again, and Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “I swear, you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet,” Y/N said, smirking as she looked up at him, “you’re always hanging around me. Makes me wonder if you secretly like having someone who can actually put up with you.”

Bakugou opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat. He clenched his jaw, turning his head away with a low grumble. “Tch, whatever.”

The class exchanged knowing looks, nudging each other as they watched the two continue their playful bickering.

“Well,” Mina said with a grin, “you two sure know how to keep things interesting. It’s almost like watching a rom-com.”

“Yeah,” Sero added with a chuckle, “except with more explosions and insults.”

Y/N just shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at Bakugou, who was still grumbling under his breath. “I guess it’s just our dynamic. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha fluff #mha #bakugou fluff #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons

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underdark-dreams · 1 year ago

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I would like to request something soft and sweet. Years after saving the Gate and having moved in with Rolan, Cal, and Lia, Tav is enjoying the day reading/admiring Rolan as he works, and then either a) Tav asks Rolan to marry them or b) Rolan asks Tav to marry him.

Thank you 💕💕

Rolan x fem!Tav

Was it wrong to feel selfish about the person you loved? Rolan and Tav finally get a night alone at the Tower to talk about what each of them wants.

Tags: Romantic Fluff, Mild Angst, Marriage Proposals | SFW

Word Count: 4,316 [Read on AO3]

“All right, all right. Three harpies at once, no weapons. How do you win?”

“Do they have the high ground?”

From the settee by the fire, Lia pointed down at her little brother as though he’d brought up a key point. “You’re on even terrain.”

“Right, this one’s easy.” Cal settled back comfortably against the rug with hands clasped behind his head. “I start yelling loud enough that I can’t hear the harpy song. Then, I charge at whichever one’s singing loudest and knock the wind out of them with my horns, and then, you know." He waved a hand around vaguely. "Rough 'em up."

“So fucking stupid—” Lia fell sideways in her seat, clutching her side with laughter.

“I keep telling you, you’re always forgetting about the horns.” Cal jabbed a finger at his forehead. “Natural advantage, Lia, you should know this by now.”

The absurd conversation was impossible to block out, but Rolan made an attempt as he bent over his desk. Behind him, he felt Tav's chest reverberating with laughter at his siblings.

She was in one of her affectionate moods tonight. She'd drawn up a chair behind his in order to rest her cheek against his back, one wrist draped loosely over his shoulder.

Rolan didn't mind the closeness—he never did from her. But between her warmth and his siblings' ridiculous game of what-if, he'd barely written one paragraph in the past ten minutes. He finally gave up and set aside his quill.

Tav shifted slightly on his shoulder. "How's Gale?" She asked, perhaps feeling guilty about interrupting his concentration.

“He’s well. His new class has a few with real promise, according to Tara.”

"I can't believe Tara likes you more than me," she mumbled suddenly against his back. "I met her first."

Her petulant tone made his mouth twitch into a smile. He would’ve turned to kiss her if they were alone. Instead, Rolan only pressed his lips to the hand draped over his shoulder. "Tressyms know a good wizard when they see one, dearest."

“Makes two of us,” she replied. The soft words ghosted across the skin on his neck, raising goosebumps under his collar.

It suddenly seemed like a very good idea to tell his siblings to get lost. Rolan was saved the necessity by a stroke of good timing. Near the fireplace, there was the soft clinking of plate armor as Lia got to her feet.

“Right, I’m off—” Lia buckled her scabbard around her waist as she rose, her shortsword tip clanking against the greaves over her shins. “Can’t be late to lead my first evening patrol.”

It had never occurred to Rolan before that Lia might end up in the Flaming Fist. He had to remind himself that the company’s reputation had improved considerably in the year since Florrick had succeeded Ulder Ravengard. Corruption and bad behavior had flourished under Gortash, but Florrick had done much to clean the Fists’ ranks of the worst—at least within the city walls.

As he looked at her now, standing tall in her emblazoned surcoat, Rolan realized that his young sister was quite grown up. She’d earned a promotion to Gauntlet faster than any of them expected, a fact she loved to remind them of—especially Rolan. Lia took care of others the way she always had, and now she could take care of herself. The thought was somehow bittersweet in Rolan’s chest.

"Me as well," Cal chimed in from the floor. Though he only stretched arms and legs out long with a massive yawn.

“Don’t rush off,” Rolan drawled, but there was affection in it.

“Highberry’s are across the street, I got a few minutes.” Cal scrubbed his face with both hands as if to wake himself. “We got new ones at the orphanage last week, twin boys. They’re good kids, but gods, do they play hard…feel like my back’s aged about ten years…”

Lia stepped over to give him a hand up with a chuckle. “Read the room, Cal. The lovers need their alone time.”

Cal glanced around at the two in question. Tav still rested her cheek on Rolan’s shoulder with an expression of dreamy happiness, while Rolan was failing to hide a scowl. Lia knew how he hated when either of them used that word.

“Ah, right—” Cal slipped to his feet, sounding eager to be off all of a sudden. “I’ll be back after sunrise. Keep the place together while I’m gone?” He added, a fine joke considering Cal was always the one breaking things.

Rolan’s only response was to wave his quill behind him in a shooing motion. Tav called a friendly goodbye to brother and sister as they made their way down the main staircase, chatting as they went.

Once their footsteps had retreated completely, her restraint evaporated. “Thank the Gods, come here—”

Rolan barely managed to save his inkwell from overturning as she twisted to launch her torso across his lap, capturing his face in both hands for an enthusiastic kiss. His near arm gripped around her middle, no doubt leaving ink stains from his fingers against her linen shirt—he found himself unable to care about anything but the sweet taste of her lips.

They each pulled away for breath at the same moment. Tav’s grip lingered, her fingers combing back through his hair gently to clasp together at his nape.

“Hello,” she grinned. Her eyes roamed over his face like he was everything.

Rolan’s palm brushed down her back, utterly content. “Hello.”

They took each other in like that for a long moment, just enjoying the quiet closeness. Her fingers smoothed and combed the hair back from beside Rolan’s horns needlessly—a fussy gesture that nevertheless brought a hum of contentment to his chest.

Apparently satisfied that she had him put back to sorts, Tav’s hands moved to rest on Rolan’s shoulders. “Got more work to do?”

Though she phrased it as a question, Rolan sensed she already knew the answer. He let out a reluctant sigh.

“Go on,” said Tav, not waiting for his reply. Rolan’s shoulders received a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll wait for you.”

With one last soft kiss, she slid off his lap and away. Rolan said nothing, but he instantly missed the warm weight of her against him.

Tav retrieved her current reading from the shelves behind and curled up on the now-vacant settee near the fireplace. Though his spirit rebelled, Rolan picked up his quill again to continue writing his last few replies. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could join her.

For a while the vaulted room settled into a quiet, echoing lull. There was the crackle of magical flame in the great stone hearth; the rhythmic scratch of ink against parchment; the faint whistle of an evening breeze out on the open balcony beyond. Periodically, he heard Tav turn another page of her book.

Before long he’d reached the final sealed envelope on the day’s pile. As Rolan stretched his hand for it, he caught sight of Tav watching him over the back of her seat.

“What?”

“Just admiring,” she sighed, eyes sparkling. “You look so handsome when you’re concentrating like that.”

Rolan’s brow wrinkled playfully at her. “Am I not usually handsome?”

“Always.”

“Hmm. You just think that because you’re in love with me,” Rolan replied curtly. He turned back to his work in an attempt to hide the way she made him smile and flush like an idiot.

“Both can be true,” she called back, not denying anything. But Rolan heard the shuffle of pages as she returned to her reading.

It took him a moment to regain concentration on his work. Rolan’s eyes reread several lines of the letter before him multiple times. But this one was truly quite important—a missive from the archwizards’ council at Blackstaff Tower. They were inquiring about his arcane research, apparently intrigued for the first time in years by his own Tower’s new ownership. He dove back in to focus on answering their questions in detail.

Half an hour and five sheets of parchment later, Rolan finally surfaced back to reality. He straightened up and promptly felt a pop in his neck from his stiff writing posture. The last light of sunset had slipped from the sky, leaving inky blackness behind each vaulted window of the cathedral-like interior.

As he rolled his aching shoulders, Rolan glanced toward Tav—only to find that the seat by the fire was empty. Rolan glanced back around the room, finding the rest of it empty as well.

Had she given up waiting and gone up to bed? The thought disappointed him, though it opened up other possibilities.

But Tav had told him she'd wait, and she wouldn't lie. As he rose from his desk to search for her, Rolan caught a faint metallic tap from the balcony.

Her silhouette was cast in relief against the dark sky. It was a moonless night; the pale orange glow of lamplight from the streets far below was the only light lining the edge of her figure, that and what little firelight streamed out through the highly vaulted doorway. Tav leaned on her elbows, the pewter wine glass under her fingers tapping an absent little rhythm against the stone railing. It was one of her habits when deep in thought.

Rolan allowed himself a moment to admire her. Seeing her in a quiet pose like this was one of his favorite things in all the Realms. Tav had become so many things to so many people in the short year he’d known her: hero, savior, diplomat, even rather a politician.

But tonight, for now…she was just Tav. His Tav.

Rolan felt a pang of something like guilt in his stomach. It was by no means the first time he’d had such a feeling about her. His; possessive, controlling. It reminded him of the way he used to think before she came into his life.

For a long time, Rolan had felt a need to control the people he loved. If he didn’t, who would? Control just went hand in hand with protection. Caring for others was a luxury, and if the events of his life had taught him anything up to that point, it was that fate and misfortune were always looking for ways to separate you from what you cared about most.

And Tav had slipped so easily into the deepest depths of his heart. At first begrudgingly, resentfully…Rolan hadn’t exactly seen her as a welcome addition to their lives when they’d first met long ago on the road to Baldur’s Gate.

Right now, it was impossible to imagine anything but love for her.

As Rolan watched a soft breeze ruffle the ends of her hair, something uncertain bloomed inside of him. Was it wrong to feel selfish like this about the person you loved? The question hung unanswered in his chest. Rolan felt its weight there tonight, like a heavy stone dragging on his heart.

His hand absently brushed against the small leather pouch he kept tied on his belt—there was a small clink of metal against metal from inside.

“Just going to stand there?”

Tav’s voice brought him back to reality in the most pleasant way. Rolan blinked to find that his legs had carried him forward to the arched doorway of their own volition.

Tav stood a few strides away, watching him over her shoulder with a bemused smile. The firelight streaming out from behind him softly illuminated her features.

In the next moment, Rolan had closed the distance to tilt her face into a kiss. Her empty cup clattered forgotten to the stone tiles at their feet. Would he ever tire of the way her arms circled around his shoulders like that?

Rolan didn’t think it was likely—he nuzzled against her cheek as their lips parted, inhaling her familiar and comforting scent.

“What’s with you tonight?” Tav laughed, the sound breathy and soft against his collar.

“What?” Rolan protested, drawing her away slightly to examine her face. “Can’t I appreciate the woman I love?”

A happy flush rose to her cheeks, unnoticeable in the dim to someone without Rolan’s precise vision. But notice he did, just as she caught the way his golden eyes traveled over her expression. Tav pressed her face back into his shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter around him.

“I wish we had more time,” she said against the crook of his neck.

Rolan tried to quell the instinctive panic that rose in his chest at her words. Instead, he stroked a hand over her hair. “What do you mean?”

The way she paused before answering allowed Rolan’s heart just enough time to wind up to a brisk rhythm against his ribcage. Eventually, Tav leaned back to look at him. Her expression had grown quite serious.

“I know that you—” She cut herself off, then wet her lips and began again. “Rolan, this place is your life. I’m not under any misconceptions that all this—” She tipped her head and looked sideways as if to indicate the Tower itself. “—That any of it’s going away any time soon. You know that, right?”

Her face tilted toward him with utter sincerity. Rolan found that his thoughts were forming with an odd slowness, as if swimming around his brain through something gelatinous.

“And you’ve been very understanding,” he managed to tell her. The guilt from earlier returned its grip over his chest. “More than I deserve.”

She sighed as her hand rose to his cheek. “Thank you for saying that…but you wouldn’t if you knew how often I daydream about kidnapping you away all for myself.”

Before Rolan could find a response to that, Tav had stepped back out of his grip with a soft curse.

“Damn—” She swore again, then wrung her hands with a shaky, anxious laugh. “This shouldn’t be this hard.”

Rolan still didn’t understand quite what she was saying, a sensation that he found deeply uncomfortable. It made him feel like a vessel adrift. He clasped hands behind his back to anchor himself, collecting his features into a guarded expression.

“Please,” Rolan invited her, tipping his horns to her in a way that felt awkwardly formal. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” She chewed the inside of her lip as she watched him. There was a tense pause, and then she launched in abruptly.

“I’ve been thinking our life here in your Tower. You and me—us. And,” she added, “I’ve been thinking about your work. How much it means to you…how far you’ve come in just a year.”

Tav gave him a small smile, as if casting back to those tense and awkward times when they’d first known each other. Then her face fell again. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s something missing.”

Rolan found he had to glance away from her for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Are you unhappy?” He asked her slowly.

“What? Not at all—” Tav shook her head with vehemence. “You make me so happy, Rolan, you have no idea. It’s just that I—I’m not always satisfied,” she finished weakly.

“I see.” Rolan kept his face very still, but his pulse beat painfully in his throat.

She was unsatisfied with the life of an archmage’s partner. It was perfectly understandable—before she’d come to live with him, Tav traveled far and wide, sometimes leaving the city for a week to visit her far-flung companions across Faerûn and the very hells themselves.

A life spent cooped up in a tower, no matter how grand—how could he have ever thought it would be enough for her?

Rolan’s guilty conscience was deserved. He had been too selfish with her. He wanted her safe; he wanted her here. Most of all, he wanted Tav to want to be with him.

And Rolan had been so sure that she did. Perhaps he’d let the strength of his own feelings mislead him.

Rolan was painfully aware of the silence stretching on between them. Another evening breeze stirred the air, and as it rustled through their clothing, Tav’s eyes searched his face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

Behind his back, Rolan’s hands clenched where she couldn’t see them. Right now he was thinking of the small leather pouch that had hung from his belt for months, and the two small metal objects it contained, and the many ways he had imagined offering one of them to her. But none of those were things he should tell her now.

“Nothing,” Rolan answered aloud. “Only that I’ve been rather foolish.”

In response to that, a strange, puzzled expression passed over her face. Then her lips parted.

“Ohhhh—” The sound rose from deep in her chest, a pained exhale. “No, Rolan, no no—”

Tav stepped to grasp his face between her hands with such speed that Rolan nearly flinched in surprise at the contact.

“I’m such an idiot,” she confessed to him. Her voice was very small all of a sudden. “I know I might not have the right to ask you, Rolan—but I don’t want less. I want more.”

Rolan’s eyes traveled back and forth between hers as if there was some hidden message he was missing there. “More?” He repeated, questioning.

Tav nodded her head very slowly at him. “More of you. More of us.”

In the next instant it felt like the weight tangled around Rolan’s heart had snapped its line and plummeted straight down into his stomach. As he watched the firelight reflected earnestly in Tav’s eyes, realization shot up his spine like a shockwave.

The force of his relief made his head spin. Rolan wanted to say a dozen different things to her all at once. Unfortunately, he found that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth at the moment.

Instead—in a rare moment of clarity that was all reflex and no logic—Rolan felt himself sinking to one knee in front of her.

“Why are you—”

Tav’s eyes went wide as she followed his face down to where he landed. Her hands fell from where they’d held him to hang down limp at her sides; her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a flight of stairs.

“How can you not know by now?”

What a terrible way to begin, he thought—yet those were the words Rolan found leaving his mouth. Trying to right his thoughts, he reached for one of her hands and took it between both his own.

“Forgive me,” Rolan blurted out. “I swear I’ve practiced this before, but—I can’t remember all the best bits just now.”

Tav shook her head at him as if punch-drunk. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she whispered hoarsely.

A nervous bark of laughter escaped him. “Have you ever known me to be burdened with an excess of humility?”

Despite the electricity now swirling between them, the corners of Tav’s mouth twitched upward. “Point taken.”

Rolan used the moment to gather himself. His tongue suddenly felt two sizes too large, and he swallowed with effort against his dry mouth.

“You’ve always done so much for me. From the first moment…every moment. You’re the reason why I have Cal and Lia, why I have everything—” Rolan’s eyes left her only for a moment to pass up over the great spire of the Tower above them.

From his periphery, Tav opened her mouth to protest.

“Please listen,” Rolan begged her before she could speak. He wished he’d thought this through even a little; his knee was already starting to ache against the stone, but he pushed through the discomfort.

Tav’s figure froze still in response as she watched him. Only her hand shook slightly between his palms.

“You must know what you mean to me,” Rolan murmured. “You’ve given me so much more than I deserve. You’ve loved me more than anyone…better than anyone. But—” He drew her hand a bit closer to his chest. “But I’m afraid there’s one more thing I have to ask you for.”

Tav’s lips were parted in anticipation as she hung on his words. She stood so motionless it was like kneeling at the foot of a beautiful statue. Only her wide eyes moved continuously over his face, and Rolan felt he could lose himself in them completely if he gazed too long.

“Let me give you more,” he asked simply. “Let me give you everything.”

“You—you damn wizard—”

As she broke her silence, Tav’s expression was flickering somewhere between amusement and tears. She was shaking her head at him, moisture pricking at the corners of her eyes. “If you don’t say it plain in the next—”

“Marry me.”

Though they stood under open sky, the two words seemed to echo with deafening force against his own ears. The question hung like a tangible physical thing, reverberating painfully in the narrow space between their bodies. Rolan could only grip her hand like a lifeline and wait for her to say something—anything.

Finally, Tav burst out into a laugh.

Or was it was a sob?

It was some strange combination of both, a choked sound of relief rising in her throat even as Rolan watched liquid suddenly spill and roll down each of her cheeks. Before he knew what was happening, Tav had also dropped to her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Whatever responses Rolan had anticipated, this was one he didn’t plan for. He could only freeze and watch her cry and wait for things to make sense again.

“I don’t know,” Tav hiccoughed through the rapid tears that were streaming down her face now. Her lips trembled as her hands found his shoulders, clutching two handfuls of his robes. “I d-don’t know,” she repeated. “But I want you, Rolan.”

He had just enough hope to take that as a yes.

Rolan folded Tav’s body into his own with near crushing force. He was now overwhelmingly grateful for their absurd position kneeling together on the cold stone of the balcony. It was unthinkable to have her anywhere but in his arms right now.

“Yes, by the way—” Tav’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, but her chest shook against him with unmistakable laughter now.

“I had plans,” Rolan answered against her hair, half to himself. “None of this is right, hells, I swear I had so many plans—”

“Hold on,” Tav replied in a trembling laugh. She pulled away gently, just enough to notch one hand under Rolan’s ear. Her face radiated joy despite the damp skin on her cheeks. “Rolan, what on earth could be wrong right now?”

Everything, he wanted to groan out. But he bit the word back.

Instead, Rolan ducked his head to fumble with the drawstrings of the leather bag fastened to his belt. Tav’s fingers dropped from his jaw as she watched on in silent curiosity.

He shook the open bag over his hand. With a tiny clink, two rings poured from it and out onto Rolan’s outstretched palm. Even on a moonless night, the metal seemed to glow from within with a silver-blue fire.

“Mithril,” Tav breathed in pure delight.

The observation was so unexpected, yet so thoroughly Tav, that Rolan let out a choked laugh.

She touched fingers to her lips. “How long have—when did you—?”

“The week you moved in,” Rolan answered. The way her eyes flicked up to his in pure adoration made Rolan’s heart swell in his chest, but he continued. “That’s when I gave Dammon the commission. Of course it took months to find a vein of it down in the Underdark, I nearly went mad, you have no i—”

The words were stopped up as Tav’s lips collided against his. Rolan’s fist closed over the twin metal bands just as his hand was trapped between their chests.

She kissed him so long and so hard that Rolan gasped for air a bit when she broke away.

“Do you like it?” Rolan asked, needing her answer more than his lungs needed air.

“You’re kidding me.” Tav blinked at him. “Rolan, if you don’t put that thing on my finger this fucking minute, I swear I might have to reconsider.”

He wasn’t about to chance it. Rolan slipped the band onto the finger of her outstretched hand without hesitation; it fit her perfectly. She followed suit, her hand shaking slightly with excitement as the ring slid down to his knuckle.

For a moment they just held opposite hands out beside each other in quiet admiration. Then Rolan linked his fingers with hers, pulling their palms together.

He supposed the rings were supposed to come after the vows, not before—but the sight of them on their interlocked fingers was too perfect to be wrong.

A moment later they helped each other back to their feet, both laughing at their stiff knees and the pins-and-needles in their legs.

Rolan felt giddy as a youth. He couldn't stop kissing her; his arms circled her firmly into him, his tail looping around and over her hips in a caress. As Rolan watched the pure happiness radiating from Tav’s face, his heart was the lightest it had ever been.

“Now what?” He asked eventually.

Tav sighed with contentment in his arms. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to take you to bed,” Rolan answered without hesitation. Words had grown tiresome; he could think of no better way to demonstrate exactly the strength of his feelings for her right now.

In response, she separated to tug his hand with both of hers back under the doorway.

“Then we’d better go,” she said, walking backwards so she could flash him a coy smile. “Because I want my fiancé to tell me about all those ways he didn't just propose.”

#rolan x tav #tav x rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #fem unnamed tav #sfw #in which tav holds rolan's face in her hands approx. 29 times #and rolan misunderstands everything #they are a mes #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 tieflings

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