#this was fun to write and i hope you enjoy it

[sc0tters]

Be a Brat and Find Out | Quinn Hughes

summary: there is only so much of bratty you that Quinn can take before he teaches you a lesson.

request: yes/no

warnings: mature themes, p in v, swearing, cock riding?

word count: 0.95k

authors note: hello and welcome to the first part of the one shot wonder event! this was so much fun to write, I am not someone who usually writes blurbs let alone smut ones so I really do hope that this is enjoyed by you guys. the idea for this one stuck in my brain for a while so it was about time I got it written out!

This was a sight Quinn swore would have been in his dreams. 

Your whimpers echoed off of the walls of your bedroom “fuck baby you could have had such a good night.” Quinn sighed keeping his hands on your hips, making sure that you couldn’t stop your movements.

You sat in nothing more than your Canucks scarf tears stained your cheeks with your lipstick practically gone now. The folds of your pussy wrapped around his cock “please Quinny.” You begged cutting yourself off as he brought his hand up to tug at your scarf “don’t make me out to be the bad guy doll.”Quinn shook his head. 

The captain raised his free hand up to smack your ass “ahh.” You whimpered feeling him massage the area of your skin that he had hit. 

You had pushed him over the edge that night after particularly rough game. It toppled over the tower of close interactions you had with Cole McWard over the last week. Quinn swore that he was close to killing his younger teammate if you laughed at another stupid thing that came from his lips. But now it was you that felt the brunt of Quinn’s anger. 

That’s how you ended up on his cock because after a long ride home where you were dangerously close to pulling his cock out in the car, when your hand edged dangerously close to his upper thigh. Quinn refused to believe that you deserved to be properly fucked, that’s why you weren’t sat with his cock inside of you. You had fucked yourself on his thigh before, in fact it was one of your favourite things when you craved his attention. 

But now Quinn sat watching how your folds swallowed his cock, desperately rubbing your clit against his length. It was selfish, even you knew that but god were you loving how the hunger in your stomach felt.

Your eyes screwed shut feeling his cock throb against your clit “shouldn’t even fucking let you cum.” Quinn scoffed as he wrapped his arms around your throat slowly the blood flow to your brain “no!” You yelled shaking your head. 

The boy cocked his head “you think that’s the right attitude to get what you want?” He asked squeezing his hand “please Quinny.” You begged almost wondering how coherent words came from your lips. 

Quinn smiled, you were on the right track, “please what?” He pushed your buttons now feeling his strength wavering “wanna cum so bad.” You pleaded with a soft sniffle. 

Your body jolted feeling the head of his cock brush against your let, his precum spreading against your sensitive bud. His hand forced your hips back down, you weren’t allowed to get off that fast “even after you were such a brat all week?” The captain taunted you, using the hand that stayed around your throat to keep you upright. 

You tried everything to rest your head against his shoulder “sorry.” Was all that escaped from your lips “for what?” Quinn chewed at his lip seeing how your slick coated his cock. 

It shone like it screamed to actually be fucked, to be given the chance to feel the walls of your cunt stretch to allow his cock in “just wanted your attention.” It was no secret that the Canucks weren’t doing their best, but Quinn was on edge because of it. 

Quinn frowned at your words “and you thought that this was the best way to get it?” He shook his head watching you drive your hips with even more desperation now. 

You nodded gnawing at the inside of your cheek “please Q.” You begged refusing to let yourself cum into he said you could. 

The boy felt his eyes flutter “you promise you’re gonna behave?” The question stuck to your skin like sweat. 

You were never going to listen to that, like Quinn shouldn’t have been surprised if he was hoisting your ass over his knee next week “promise.” You nodded watching Quinn  bring your face closer to his. 

His lips pursed together “open that mouth f’me love.” This was the first time that night he said something with love. 

So naturally you clung to it, your jaw went slack as your tongue rolled out. But what you didn’t expect was that Quinn would let a glob of saliva go from his lips. It landed in your tongue and he swore he saw stars watching you pull your tongue into your mouth as you swallowed what he had deposited into your mouth. 

A grunt escaped from his lips “make a mess sweet girl.” He cooed sending you a nod. That was all it took for you to drive your hips harder, feeling how the very inch of his cock felt against your clit. You were desperate to fuck him but this was all he said you deserved. 

Your eyes screwed shut when your mouth fell open “right there baby.” Quinn grunted taking over as he began to feel his own high coming fast at him. 

It was almost pornographic how your moans mixed into each other as they painted the walls. Quinn didn’t know who exactly came first as his cock shot warm sticky ropes against his stomach. Your legs shook as your cunt gushed against his dick, not letting your thrusts stop because it was unclear if it was you or him controlling your pace.

You had barely come down from your high as you kissed at his shoulder “shit!” You groaned feeling his cock thrust into your cunt. 

Quinn laughed pressing a kiss against your head “you really thought that you’d get away with all that this easy?” The captain asked, flipping you both over so he could remind you who was really in control.

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.    

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut. 

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said. 

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?” 

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap. 

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once. 

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?” 

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said. 

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks. 

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly. 

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.  

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.  

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.  

His brows furrowed. “Do what?” 

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.” 

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.” 

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice. 

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff. 

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so. 

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. 

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” 

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.” 

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner. 

“Excuse me?” 

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.” 

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

Read Part 2 on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 2/14

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[woniedarlin]

Hi! I actually absolutely love your fic of jungwon being down bad for tsundere reader so I was wondering if you could write something where the roles are reversed and jungwon is the tsundere one 🤍

Chasing a Tsundere

pairing: tsundere! Jungwon x fem! reader

synopsis: You fell for Jungwon—hard. Unfortunately for you, he just had to be the grumpiest, most emotionally unavailable person ever to exist. He pushed you away, rolled his eyes at your persistence, and made it very clear he wasn’t the romantic type.

But giving up? Not an option. Because this is Jungwon we’re talking about.

author's note: Hello, my lovelies! This was so much fun to write. Big thanks to Anonie for the request—I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

caution: cursing and a bit of angst (tell me if there’s more!) , this story contains excessive tsundere behavior and a very persistent main character. Side effects may include secondhand embarrassment. Read at your own risk!

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

You leaned over Jungwon’s desk with your brightest smile, holding out a bento box wrapped in a pink cloth. “I made this for you. It’s your favorite! I even cut the veggies into stars!”

"Tch," Jungwon dismissed. "I don't want that disgusting slop."

If only he could have tasted that heavenly creation at least once. I mean, imagine turning down a homemade dish made with such effort? Poor you, who only deserved so much more.

He barely glanced up from his textbook as his pen continued to scribble down notes. “Why would I eat food from someone who burns toast?”

You pouted and clutched the bento to your chest. “That was one time, Jungwon. One time! Besides, I didn’t burn this.”

"I don't want your germs. Who knows what kind of gross crap is in there," he said; in which you glanced around the classroom; a few of your friends sent pity looks on your way. No one understood why you were so smitten with him, but they respected it nonetheless.

A few of your classmates looked to be in a similar state of enchantment. Maybe you should try it with them instead of the grinch?

"What do I have to do to make you go away?” Jungwon's words sting a bit.

“I don’t know.’’

You weren't even slightly intimidated or bothered, which was amusing. Most people would have backed off, but you just stood there. It wasn't enjoyable but also somewhat impressive. Not that he'd ever admit that. A long sigh erupted from his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He slammed his pen down, causing a few heads to turn, but he cared little. “Sit. Down. Go bug someone else.” He gritted out through clenched teeth.

”Please accept?’’ you showed the bento.

You were persistent with your efforts; he had to commend you for that, though he’d never admit it to your face. That would give you too much of an ego boost.

He eyed the bento in your hand, his stomach betraying him by growling quietly. He hadn’t eaten all lunch, so the aroma of the homemade food was almost too tempting to resist. But still, the stubbornness won out. "No. I’m not interested in your food. Why do you insist on wasting your efforts on me?”

“Please?”

Shit. He couldn’t help but think, “How can I say no to someone so sweet?”

He sighed, finally looking at you with that familiar, unimpressed stare. “Just leave it on the desk. I’ll think about it.”

A small victory! You quickly set the box down. “I knew you couldn’t resist. I’ll see you later!” You skipped away before he could respond.

He glanced between the bento and the door you’d disappeared through. His stomach growled once more, begging to be fed. With another sigh, he opened the bento box and slowly ate. “Not bad…”

☔️

The rain fell hard as you stood at the school gates, holding your bag to keep it dry. You sighed and watched the heavy rain, getting ready to run for it. Just as you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you.

"You planning on running out in that weather? Do you have a death wish or something?"

Jungwon approached you, umbrella in hand. Before you could even respond, he thrust the umbrella into your hands. “Take it,” he said curtly, glancing at you for only a second before entering the rain, completely unprotected.

“Wait!” you called after him, holding the umbrella out. “What about you?” You extended the umbrella, an offer of protection from the relentless rain. Jungwon paused, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"I don't need it."

His face didn't reveal it, but the gesture touched him. He had been trying to push you away, to make you dislike him, but all you did was offer him shelter from the downpour when you needed it. He couldn't help but admit the irony.

“Don’t catch a cold, idiot.”

☔️

It was another typical day. The hallways were busy with students. But all you could think about was how warm Jungwon’s arm felt as you held onto him.

You had been walking together, but you wanted to be closer. So, you wrapped your arm around his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave your body as you relaxed into him. He was always warm, and being this close to him felt right.

You noticed Jungwon stiffen almost instantly, his eyes widening. “What are you—” he started, his fingers twitching slightly, unsure what to do, before reluctantly relaxing. Slowly, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and the scowl that so often resided on his face faded away. You felt his arm loosen, “Weirdo,” he muttered.

For the rest of the walk, you were quiet. Strangely.

He led you through the crowded school corridors, expertly weaving around the students and making a ruckus. Eventually, he spoke up. " Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“More than okay,” you sighed, a dreamy smile forming. “I’m in love.”

Jungwon scoffed. “Love? Seriously?” he retorted. “You fall too hard.”

Suddenly, a girl appeared out of nowhere, walking up to Jungwon and batting her eyelashes at him. “Hey, Jungwon,” she cooed, giving him a flirty smile. “You look so handsome today.”

Oh, the audacity.

You felt your grip on his arm tighten, and without thinking, you made a slight hissing noise under your breath. Like an actual cat. Because that’s totally normal behavior.

Jungwon looked at her blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said, shifting his weight to put some distance between her and himself. After a few moments of awkward silence, the girl caught the hint and excused herself, shooting you a dirty look before sauntering away.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Jungwon noticed and let out a long sigh. He reached over with his free hand, gently touching your arm. "Hey, hey, calm down, alright? I can practically see the green flames of envy raging in your eyes," he says with annoyance. "She means nothing. No one does."

He pauses, "Except you, I guess?" he mumbles under his breath, his voice so low you missed it.

☔️

You were hauling a heavy box of basketball equipment to the gym hours later when a sharp voice stopped you.

"You're an idiot to carry that much all at once. Hand it over before you collapse." Jungwon came out from the corner with a frown on his face. He eyed the box in your arms and rolled his eyes as he took it from you, holding it quickly. “This is what happens when you don’t ask for help.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied with a sheepish smile. “The team needed help—”

He shook his head. "There's helpful, and then there's being too nice. You've got to stop saying 'yes' to everyone. That was what? A 40-kilogram box of balls and equipment? Your back would’ve snapped in two by lunch."

Jungwon continued, "Besides, Do they not have arms? If you need help, ask me.”

You opened your mouth to protest but hesitated when you noticed his face, “I’m fine, really,” you reassured him.

"And that's the problem. 'I'm fine.' What happens when, one day, you're not? When you're tired or overwhelmed and still say 'I'm fine' while falling apart inside?" He scolded you, "It's okay to say 'no,' and it's okay to ask for help. Do you not understand? This isn’t a game, and you’re not invincible!"

He turned and walked away, his final words echoing down the hall.

"Don't wait for a mistake to learn."

You didn’t expect this from him.

☔️

For weeks, you did everything. You put in the effort that he rejects, but on rare occasions, he accepts it. Well, you force him to take it. After classes, you were sitting on the rooftop, watching the view. For once, you weren’t seeking Jungwon out; you were trying to gather your thoughts.

Were you tired of chasing someone who always seems to push you away? Absolutely.

Jungwon noticed you perched on the rooftop. He couldn't help but wonder, what's got her so down? He knew he was causing you heartache but he also knew that with every rejection, you came back with more effort. He wanted you to see him as what he truly was. A jerk. Someone not worthy of your devotion... but you never seemed to give up, that determination was something else.

He wondered if he may have gone too far…

“Hey.”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, walking closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

You looked away, fidgeting with your hands. “I… I don’t think I should bother you anymore.”

Jungwon froze. “What are you talking about? Bother me? You’re not…” He trailed off, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’m an ass. I push people away and make it seem like I don’t want anyone’s company. But you… you never left, even when I wanted you to.” He sat down next to you, keeping a comfortable distance.

“I mean… you’re always annoyed with me. I just figured…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Stop saying that,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than usual.

“You think I enjoy acting like a jerk to everyone?“ He let out a humorless laugh, his eyes focusing on the horizon. ”The truth is, I am afraid to open up, to let people in because I know how easily they can break me.” He glanced at you briefly before averting his eyes again. “I’ve seen it happen to my parents and my friends. I don’t want to be another sad soul wandering the world broken.”

You hesitated before whispering, ‘’I’m sorry…’’

“Don’t apologize. Hell, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in pushing you away that I didn’t even realize how much you were trying to get closer to me. I don’t deserve your attention, let alone your kindness.”

He continued, “You’re not… You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, sure. But if you stopped being around…” He trailed off, looking away as his cheeks turned red. “I’d probably hate it.”

“Jungwon…”

“What? It’s true. I don’t know when or how it happened… but my day feels..lacking if you’re not there.” He shrugged as though admitting that wasn’t a big deal. “So…don’t you dare think about stopping.” He added sternly. “I like you, alright?”

“Thank you…for liking me back’’ you said shyly.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t get all mushy on me. You make it sound like I’d run into a burning building for you. I like you, but it’s not like I would get matching tattoos or serenade you under your window.”

“But will you?’’

He scoffed. “Really? Of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focus on?” He shook his head, then looked directly into your eyes. “Fine. Yes, I'd run into a burning building for you. I’ll do anything for you. Happy now?’’

“Very.’’ You giggled, ‘’Come on, walk me home, boyfriend.’’

“Boyfriend?”

He raised an eyebrow at your quick upgrade in the relationship. “You're lucky I like you cause anyone else suggesting that might've been laughed out of the school." He stood up, dusting off his pants and offering you a hand. "Well, come on, girlfriend.“

☔️

Days later…

You sat across from Jungwon at the small restaurant table, your heart doing little flips every time he glanced your way, even though his usual unimpressed expression hadn’t faltered since you arrived. The date wasn’t even bad—just, well, awkward. But awkward in a way that had you wanting to laugh every five seconds because of how seriously Jungwon took things.

Like now.

He's been staring at his menu for ten minutes. It's three pages long, and each item has a picture next to it. How complicated can it be?

"What's taking you so long?" you say, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shut up." He replies, never taking his eyes off the menu. “Do you want water?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Uh, sure?” you said, smiling awkwardly.

He waved the waiter over and ordered two glasses of water. After all this careful deliberation, he's just ordering water?

He barely looked at you as he added, “Bring her water. Lemon water.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, which Jungwon noticed.

Jungwon blinked at you, tilting his head slightly. “What? You don’t like lemon?”

He looked a bit hurt at the rejection of his thoughtfulness. This was the same guy who'd throw paper planes at the teacher but couldn’t handle not knowing if you liked lemon in your water? You were so endeared that it took every ounce of self-control not to squeal.

“Oh, no, you’re adorable today,” you assured him, finally letting out a soft laugh.

“Cool,” he managed, cheeks turning pink as he looked down at the table.

“No, I mean—it’s just water,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll live either way.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Just let me handle it.”

The corner of your lips quirked up. Why is he so serious about water?

The date went on, and the conversation flowed a little more naturally (after you decided to do most of the talking). Jungwon, though, still had his moments. “So, how much do you like me?” you teased halfway through your meal, grinning at him over the rim of your glass.

He choked on his drink.

He coughed, hitting his chest slightly as he cleared his throat. You didn’t think the question warranted that kind of reaction. But then again, you talked to the boy who spent ten minutes deciding whether he should get fries. “W-what kind of question is that?” he asked once he regained composure

You leaned in a little, resting your chin on your palm. “I’m just curious. Am I your type?”

He met your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. It was the first time all evening he'd looked directly at you without an expression of mild annoyance.

“What, you think I’m here for the ambiance?” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re… not that bad a company when you’re not talking about nothing.”

It is a backhanded compliment, but from Jungwon, it might as well be a love confession.

“So,” you continued. “How much do you think I like you?”

Jungwon avoided your gaze, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth to avoid answering. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking quite flustered. His eyes darted around, possibly seeking an escape route. No dice, he’s sitting opposite you in a relatively small restaurant.

He asked again, “What kind of question even is that?”

“A valid one,” you teased, grinning. “But you’ll have to pay me if you want the answer.”

He frowned, confused. “Pay you?”

“Yeah, like—give me, I don’t know... probably 500,000 won, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” You held up your hands dramatically.

“You said 500,000 won, didn’t you?” he said, pulling out the exact amount and sliding it across the table with an entirely serious expression. “Here. Talk.”

He stared at you expectantly, looking like he expected you to take the money and answer. It was a ridiculous situation. Here you were, in a normal restaurant on a Friday night, with your new boyfriend, who had just put 500,000 won on the table, waiting to know how much you liked him.

It took every ounce of will in your body not to laugh. Oh, he’s so cute…

Your jaw dropped. “Jungwon, I was joking!”

He froze, the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks. “What?”

You could see the cogs turning in his head as if he was contemplating what to do with you now. The situation was getting more absurd, and you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. It was probably rude to laugh in his face when he just tried to pay you for the information he thinks is valuable.

Still, you laughed.

“I didn’t actually mean it!” you laughed, pushing the money back toward him. “I wouldn’t charge you to know something like that.”

He looked down at the table, “Yeah, well, you started it,” he muttered, returning the money. After a few seconds, he slid a 50,000 won bill across the table, looking slightly embarrassed. “Fine. But this will do?”

He looked up at you, his gaze uncertain. You smiled, tucking this little tidbit of information away for later. The Jungwon is willing to pay you to know you like him. What a night.

“Jungwon, you don’t have to pay me.’’

“Look,” he said, looking at you pointedly. “Just..” He huffed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Just take the damn money, okay? It’s not like I’m breaking the bank here.”

He nudged the money towards you again, his eyes holding a silent plea. Clearly, he didn’t know how else to go about the situation, resorting to his only known means of communication: his wallet.

“Uh…okay?” You accepted it with amusement.

He smiled, nodding in relief. “Good. Now what…what were you saying before?” He asked, trying to hide his embarrassed flush with a cough. “About how much you like me,” he mumbled, his words barely audible.

“You know, you’re too serious,” you teased, poking at his hand lightly. “But I still like you anyway.”

Jungwon looked away, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Hmph,” he finally said, flicking a sugar packet towards you. “You’re not so bad yourself. In small doses.”

☔️

The date continued similarly. You’d offer to split the bill, but he’d insist on paying. You’d reach for the menu, but he’d swat your hand away, insisting on ordering for you instead.

He was trying hard, and you couldn’t help but adore him even more despite the awkwardness.

Just as you finished teasing Jungwon, music began to play in the restaurant. The lively beat echoed through the room as the servers clapped their hands and started encouraging diners to join them in the center of the floor to dance. You perked up immediately. “Oh my gosh, Jungwon! They’re dancing!”

He glanced at the crowd gathering in the middle of the restaurant and frowned. “Yeah, I can see that. What about it?”

“Let’s go!” you squealed.

His brows shot up. “What? No way.”

“Come on!” You were already out of your seat, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. He barely had time to protest as you dragged him toward the impromptu dance floor.

“I don’t dance,” he muttered, resisting slightly, but you didn’t let go.

“Well, you’re about to learn!” you declared with a grin, already swaying to the music as you pulled him into the crowd.

Jungwon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he sighed in defeat as you started twirling. He awkwardly moved his arms, shuffling his feet in time with yours. “This is embarrassing,” he grumbled, his face heating up.

“You’re doing great!” you cheered, beaming at him as you twirled again, laughing. “Come on, loosen up a little!”

“Loosen up?” he echoed incredulously. “I’m not a dancer!”

“You don’t have to be! Just have fun!” You reached for his hands, placing them on your waist as you guided his movements. “See? Not so bad!”

Jungwon muttered something under his breath, but his steps started to match yours. He tried to keep a scowl on his face, but the way you were laughing so freely made it impossible for him to stay annoyed.

“You’re smiling!” you teased,

“I’m not,” he argued, though the pink tint on his cheeks betrayed him.

“You are! Oh, Jungwon, you’re having fun!”

“I’m not having fun,” he deadpanned; his hands didn’t leave your waist as you swayed together.

“You’re lying,” you sang, twirling yourself and accidentally stepping on his foot.

“Ow—okay, now I’m definitely not having fun!” he groaned, wincing.

You gasped. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. But when you smiled sheepishly up at him, his chest felt lighter despite himself.

As the song ended and the crowd cheered, you clapped your hands excitedly. “That was so much fun!”

He sighed, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but the faint smile never left his face as you pulled him back to your seats.

☔️

The evening had been fantastic, but it was time to say goodbye. The cool night air surrounded you as you reached your front door. Jungwon walked you home, although he hardly admitted that he liked it. Every second of it.

“Alright,” he said, avoiding your eyes as you stood by your door. “You should lock the door when you get inside. And… don’t forget to check the windows too. It’s late, and you never know.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how concerned he sounded, even though he tried so hard to hide it. “Got it, Jungwon. Thanks,” you said, already knowing how sweet he was, even if he’d never admit it.

He shuffled on his feet, clearly not ready to leave just yet. “I’ll… I’ll call you when I get home, okay? Just in case. And make sure you don’t open the door for anyone unless you’re sure it’s them. You’re… you’re too nice, okay? People could take advantage.” You could hear a slight shake in his voice as he talked on. “And, uh… make sure you stay safe, alright?” He finally looked at you with worry.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was being. You stepped a little closer to him, surprising him with a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be fine, Jungwon,” you said softly. “And thank you. For everything.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately turned his head away, muttering something that sounded like, “I-I wasn’t doing this for you to kiss me, okay?” But his voice was quieter now, a little softer than usual.

You laughed, enjoying the moment, but before he could say anything else, you stepped back and smiled at him. “Call me when you get home, okay?”

He nodded quickly, still blushing furiously. “Yeah, I will. You—don’t—don’t worry about me!” he stammered, turning on his heel to leave. But just as he was about to walk away, he stopped and turned back toward you, his face hidden in his hands.

“I-I love you, alright?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He quickly turned away, clearly embarrassed, and started walking briskly down the street.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, a broad smile slowly spreading. That was all he needed to say, and you knew exactly how much he cared. You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, feeling your heart flutter as you watched him walk off.

“Love you too, Jungwon,” you whispered to the night air, knowing he wouldn’t hear. But somehow, it felt like the most perfect moment.

[Extra Scene]

Months later…

Jungwon lay on his bed with his phone resting on a pillow. He looked at you through the screen.

“You miss me, don’t you?”

You scoffed as you shifted under your covers. “We saw each other three hours ago.”

He hummed. “That’s three hours too long.”

“Why are you smiling like that?” you asked while squinting at him through the screen.

He glanced at you and smirked. “What, I can’t smile?”

“Not like that,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re up to something.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically as he turned onto his side. “Can’t a guy just admire his girlfriend?”

You scoffed. “You’re so full of it.”

“I’m serious,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “You look cute today.”

You blinked. “…It’s a video call. You can barely see me properly.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied smoothly. “You’re always cute.”

His door suddenly creaked open before you could even think of a response.

“Mom! He’s at it again!”

Jungwon’s head snapped toward the door, his face instantly turning sour. His older sister stood there, arms crossed, and seemed to be entertained at her brother, who was way out of character.

You burst into laughter.

Jungwon groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, wait—” She smirked, peeking at the screen. “Hi! Are you the poor soul who has to listen to his crap every day?”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh. “Hi…”

“Oh my God.” Jungwon groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it toward the door. “OUT!”

His sister dodged effortlessly. “Okay, okay, lover boy! calm down.” She wiggled her fingers at you. “Bye, future sister-in-law!”

“Just saying! You’re embarrassing,” she said to Jungwon while backing out of the room.

‘’GET OUT!’’

The door shut, leaving Jungwon lying there, face buried in his pillow.

You were still giggling. “Lover boy?”

He exhaled sharply as he peeked through the screen. “We’re never talking about this again.”

You grinned. “Sure, lover boy.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not,” he admitted and groaned.

[monster-effer]

Oh okk my wifi been acting up lately💀 I requested hcs with all the l&ds men about how'd they react to finding out reader can secretly pole dance, sfw and nsfw hcs if you do nsfw please! Thank you!!💕

This was a really fun concept to write about!!

It seems I am incapable of describing things concisely because this turned out much longer than I expected LMAO, I hope you enjoy 💗💗💗

Sylus

Funnily enough, this starts from a game of tipsy Truth of Dare with Luke and Kieran. You chose truth and they asked you to tell them one unknown fact about yourself. You are a certified yapper when you’re tipsy so you blabbed about your pole dancing hobby then passed out and forgot about your confession.

Of course this info made its way back to Sylus (most likely that same night). And he was intrigued. He would tease you while asking why you’ve been keeping such an interesting hobby from him.

The very next day he would have a pole installed in one of the spare rooms of his home base.

The room would be decorated with in dark, seductive colors with ceiling lights that  showcase the pole and the immediate area around it.

There is no furniture in the room besides a plush black arm chair and a side table.

Sylus calls you over to the N109 Zone saying that he has a surprise for you.

When you arrive he’s all smirks and being more vague than usual. You also don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

As he lets you walk into the room first, you are speechless.

“Forgive me if this is too presumptuous kitten, but I couldn’t get the image of you pole dancing out of my mind. I have a request, why don’t you show me what you’ve learned so far?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Sylus chuckles huskily before replying “Have I ever left you empty handed? You know me better than that.”

You gulp at his offer and quickly don the outfit and shoes that are placed neatly near the pole in the room.

Sylus dims the lights in the room, with the ceiling lights over the pole brighter than the rest. He settles into the armchair and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He adjusts himself in his pants, already feeling his cock stiffen from the anticipation.

You stretch and take a few breaths to get yourself in the zone.

You connect your phone to the speaker in the room then play the first song from your pole dancing playlist.

Once you feel confident and ready, you make eye contact with Sylus and begin to sway to the seductive music.

Although you took several classes in person, you have never performed for anyone before.

You begin to slowly whine your hips to the beat and spin while maneuvering around the pole.

With Sylus’ full attention focused on you, you can’t help but feel like a goddess.

Sylus’ gaze is practically searing your skin. You begin to perspire from the effort you’re putting into this performance. Feeling bold, you slide all the way down the pole until your thighs are flush with the floor. Then, you crawl towards Sylus.

Sylus sharply inhales and puts down his emptied glass on the side table as he eagerly awaits what’s to come.

When you reach him, you place your hands on his knees and slowly rise to your feet. You flash a mischievous smile at him before straddling his lap. Then you wind your arms around his neck and look into his eyes as you grind down hard onto his lap.

Your breath intermingles as you hypnotize him with your undulating hips. When your performance ends you are lightly panting, nervously awaiting to hear his thoughts.

Sylus is mesmerized by the gift you’ve just given him. And he can’t help but to cup the right side of your face before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

Your lips glide against one another before you both have to pull away to catch your breath.

“Does that mean you enjoyed the show?”

“You were exquisite my sweetie,” he says as he places his hands under your thighs and rises from the chair. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he walks towards the door of the room.

“Now, let me give you your prize for that outstanding performance.”

Zayne

Zayne is walking around downtown Linkon when something catches his eye. He sees someone that looks suspiciously like you in the window of a fitness class. He has eyes for no one else as he watched you swing effortlessly around the pole. Not wanting to be mistaken for a pervert, he only watches for a few more moments before continuing on his walk.

He ends up walking past his intended destination because he was lost in thought over what he saw. So many questions pop into his mind. Luckily it is Thursday, and he has plans with you this weekend.

Saturday morning finally arrives, and you are at Zayne’s door holding an assorted box of fruit flavored macaroons.

As you let yourself in with your key, you find Zayne washing dishes in his kitchen. He is lost in his thoughts because he doesn’t immediately notice you’ve come in. You place the macaroons on the kitchen counter before circling his waist with your arms and resting your head on his back.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he says softly.

“I just arrived. A penny for your thoughts?”

He finishes washing the dish in his hand before he dries his hand on a clean dish towel. He untangles his body from yours so he can face you.

“I saw something interesting when I was taking a stroll in downtown Linkon earlier this week.”

“Oh? And what was so interesting that it’s stayed on your mind until now?”

Zayne pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as a light blush overtakes his cheekbones.

“I saw someone who looked exactly like you a few days ago. They could have been your doppelgänger.”

It doesn’t immediately register in your mind that he’s talking about you yet.

“Oh? And what was my twin doing?”

He clears his throat before continuing. “Pole dancing,” he says in a low tone.

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots.

“O-oh,” you say shakily.”

“It’s a new hobby that I picked up recently. I didn’t think you, my doctor, would complain about me building muscle,” you reply cheekily.

“It seems you misunderstood me. I am far from complaining. I do have a request though.”

“And what is that?”

“I request an encore performance, just for me. Considering your medical condition, it is not advisable to begin a new exercise routine without first consulting your doctor.” He says with the smallest grin on his face.

“When is your next available appointment? I had a pole installed in my apartment a week ago. We can conduct your assessment there.”

Rafayel

Rafayel comes across your knee pads and skimpy outfit when he visits your apartment one day.

“What kind of event calls for this outfit cutie?” He asks while holding up your short shorts and knee pads.

IMO Rafayel would be very curious about your pole dancing skills. He would teasingly request a demonstration of your skills and he’d be adorably flustered as he watches your body wind up, down and around the pole.

The man would be flabbergasted and turned on at this demonstration of strength and the expression of freedom as you perform for him.

The sensual nature of this private show is heavy in the room. He’s never seen you look so confident and carefree before. He lets out a weak moan as he watches you and begins to palm his erection through his dress pants.

As a result of your performance, his libido and creativity are at an all time high.

He would have a pole installed in his studio and call you over one day.

He would request that you to hold various poses for him as he attempts to capture the raw sensuality you exude.

Rafayel would get so worked up while he paints that his ever steady hand begins to shake. Before he is done, he is begging for you to use him for your own pleasure. Whether it be riding his face, his cock or his fingers. Any of those get him off because your pleasure is his.

This develops into a pleasurable cycle.

One, two, three paintings later result in Rafayel being desperate and needy for you. More so than he already was. He is never letting you go.

And the paintings of you begin to pile up in his studio. But they aren’t for sale of course, they are for his eyes only.

Because to Rafayel you are the most captivating work of art he’s ever seen, and he will not share this side of you with the rich schmucks that can afford his art.

Caleb

Caleb finds out about your new hobby during one of his visits to Linkon. Instead of heading to his apartment in Skyhaven, he came over to your apartment for a change of pace.

When he walks into your apartment, he is immediately greeted by the pole you had installed in your living room.

He playfully raises his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side as he says, “I didn’t know you have this in you pipsqueak.”

You shrug and say, “I’m not a kid anymore Caleb.”

He slowly eyes you up and down. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. How exactly did you start this new hobby?”

As you explain that you got into pole dancing for fun and strength building Caleb is nodding along with your reasoning.

“Strength building huh? Show me what you’ve learned so far princess.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. But you eventually agree then go change into the performance outfit that gives you the most confidence.

Caleb is already feeling flustered when he sees the skimpy outfit you changed into. He has tried not to act on his long held crush but today may push him past his limit.

As you stretch you wonder if this is crossing the line for what is acceptable to do with a childhood friend/pseudo brother figure. Although you’ve denied it on multiple occasions, your feelings for Caleb lost their innocence well before this moment.

You grab your bluetooth speaker and turn on some music. As you lock gazes with Caleb you feel like this is the point of no return.

Caleb looks suspiciously comfortable seated on your living room couch, thighs spread wide and arms resting on the back of the sofa.

You gaze trails away from him as you close your eyes to get yourself into the zone. After taking a deep breath, you begin to strut around the pole. You seamlessly transition into a routine that you’ve practiced multiple times. But today it feels different, somehow more intimate because Caleb is watching you.

You lose yourself in the music as you climb the pole and twirl slowly down it. You feel so seductive in this moment as you lock eyes with Caleb and take in his reaction.

Caleb was already attracted to you because how could he not be? But tonight, he is struggling to hold back his possessive urges to stake his claim on you. In his mind, you have always been his and tonight he’s going to make sure you know it.

He doesn’t even wait for you to finish your routine before he activates his evol and pulls you right into his lap. His violet eyes were filled with lust as he takes in the surprised look on your face.

You are shook to say the least. Caleb doesn’t use his evol on you often, and when he has it was never for something like this. The tension between you two is thick as you look into each other’s eyes.

“I take it that you liked the show?”

“I’m sure you can feel how much I enjoyed it princess. From now on think I’ll be crashing at your place whenever I’m in town,” he says before pulling you into a messy kiss.

Xavier

Xavier finds out about your new hobby from overhearing a conversation you were having with Tara and Simone.

From the brief snippets he heard, it seemed like something you were really excited about. It made him wonder why you haven’t mentioned it to him yet. Since you two talk practically every day there have been plenty of opportunities to do so.

A few weeks pass before Xavier feels like he’s given you enough time. He decides to bring it up while you two laze around his apartment.

“I heard you talking to your coworkers about your new hobby.”

You choke on your boba tea.

“Did you now?”

“Yeah,” he answers breezily. “What is it?”

“I’m learning how to pole dance. It utilizes multiple muscle groups and I like how it makes me feel.”

Xavier is shocked but he doesn’t let it show on his face. “How does it make you feel?”

You whisper out “Strong…and beautiful.”

Xavier hums lightly at your answer.

“Are you allowed to record yourself in the classes you take?”

“I would have to check. But, I had a pole installed in my apartment a few days ago.”

A small smile appeared on Xavier’s face. “Can you show me your moves bunny?”

You send a flirtatious smile his way before standing up and walking towards his front door.

Let’s just say that Xavier is mystified by your hips. You show out for him just to see what causes him to lose his composure. It happens to be the moment that you slide down the pole, proceed to stand up and swivel your hips in a figure eight motion that does it.

Xavier flashes over to the pole, grabs you, then sits back on the couch while holding you in his lap. “Continue dancing,” is all he says in the commanding tone that makes your heart quiver. When you look in his eyes you realize you may have pushed him too hard.

You gyrate in his lap as you hold his gaze, charmed by his blue eyes that have darkened with lust.

His thumbs are digging into your hips, holding you in place. As if you’re trying to escape.

Xavier would 100% whisper some nasty shit into your ear while you continue to grind on him. Once he’s had enough let’s just say that your bed frame and pussy never recovered ♡.

[heartsriki]

STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL ⌇ 패션

pairing ᝰ — jake x fem!reader featuring.. heeseung, jay, sunoo | word count: 8800+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ Rich/celebrity au!, suggestive content, arrogant reader and jake, make out scene, cussing, fluff, smidge of angst, lots of bickering, heeseung is a asshole, reader is a fashion designer, use of petnames.

synopsis — everyone knew who you were. young, successful, talented and most notorious man eater. you enjoyed the games you played with men but it got complicated quickly when you played it with jake. fashion scenes golden boy.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊oh my god this took so long to write, anyways I hope you guys like it fr! Idk if I like it yet but the bathtub scene 👅👅 good lord. Ima fully check this tmr so sorry for any grammar mistakes!

The night was still young, the air thick with the hum of conversation and the distant clink of champagne glasses. You moved through the grand hall like you belonged there—because you did. Every glance that followed you, every murmured whisper in your wake, only served to remind you of the power you held.

Any other woman might claim to hate these kinds of events, the forced pleasantries, the exhausting game of charm and deception. But you? You thrived in it. You loved the way the room seemed to orbit around you, the way men tripped over themselves just for a second of your attention.

And yet, there was one thing you couldn’t stand. The desperate ones. The men who thought a well-tailored suit and a glass of overpriced bourbon made them worthy of you. As one of them slid a hand around your waist, his touch sensual and unwelcome, you scoffed, effortlessly slipping from his grasp without a second thought.

They never learned.

This was your reputation—the untouchable, the unattainable, the woman they all wanted but none could ever truly have.

But amid the usual sea of admirers, there was one man who didn’t make a move. He didn’t approach, didn’t try his luck. He simply watched, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. You barely gave him a second thought. Another coward, too afraid to step up.

Or so you thought.

“Having fun?” Heeseung asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a slow sip.

Jake hummed, his eyes still locked on you. “You could say that.”

Heeseung followed his gaze, his lips quirking up the moment he realized who had captured his friend’s attention. Then, he burst out laughing.

Jake raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”

Heeseung shook his head, still amused. “Her? No way. I’d switch targets now if I were you.”

Jake’s curiosity piqued. “Why? She got a man or something?”

“The opposite, actually.” Heeseung smirked, setting his drink down. “She’s a man-eater. Every guy in this room has wanted a piece of her at some point.”

Jake laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What, you trying to scare me off ‘cause you want her?”

Heeseung grinned. “More like trying to save you from embarrassment, man. She even rejected me, and that says something.”

Jake scoffed. “Egotistical bastard. Anyway, she doesn’t even know me. Why don’t I give it a shot?”

Heeseung let out a short chuckle and glanced at the others. With a simple nod, three more men joined the conversation—Sunghoon, Jay, and Sunoo.

“What’s up?” Sunoo asked, adjusting his collar.

Heeseung gestured toward you with his glass. “Jake has eyes on Y/N.”

Jay nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, hell no. Yeah, good luck, man.”

Jake scoffed. “You guys act like I’m not charming and rich.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Listen, if none of us even got as much as a kiss from that woman, you definitely can’t.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “So, you all think I can’t pull? Alright, then. Watch me.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, adjusting his cuffs before striding toward you with confidence.

The group watched in amused silence.

“Anyone busy tonight?” Heeseung asked after a beat.

“No,” they all replied in unison.

“Good,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his drink. “Because that man is going to come back crying.”

As Jake strode toward you, you noticed him instantly—without even needing to spare him a glance. Finally. The man who had been eyeing you all night had mustered up the nerve to approach. Not that it would make any difference. You can just tell you wont be interested.

It’s just a game to you.

Clearing his throat, he smoothly excused himself into your conversation. The men surrounding you shot him warning glances, but he ignored them, his attention solely on you.

You didn’t even hesitate. With a polite smile, you excused yourself from them and turned to face Jake fully, flashing him the kind of grin that had men falling to their knees.

Too easy.

Jake took that as a good sign. See? She’s already giving such a pretty smile. How hard could this be?

“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself,” he began smoothly, holding out a hand, ready to bring yours to his lips. “My name is Sim Jaeyun, but the people I like to keep close—like you—call me Jake.”

You didn’t give him your hand.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Sim.”

Jake barely managed to mask his surprise as he quickly withdrew his hand. So, the gentleman act wasn’t going to cut it. Fine. He could adapt.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman here tonight,” he charmed, his voice dripping with confidence. “Where’s that dress from? It works wonders on you.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been told,” you said airily, before letting the real dagger sink in. “And this dress? It’s from me.”

Jake blinked. “From you?”

You smirked. “Yes. I made it.”

It took him a second, but then it clicked. Shit.

Realization dawned in his eyes. He knew now exactly who you were.

You leaned in slightly, your voice silky smooth. “Tell me, Mr. Sim… do you always fail to research the women you approach or did you just underestimate me?”

Jake swallowed. “I—uhm—”

Before he could recover, your hands were on him. A slow, deliberate caress up his shoulder, your fingers threading behind his neck. He stiffened, caught between the intoxicating warmth of your touch and the sharp edge in your voice.

“See, it’s men like you I hate the most…” you murmured, voice soft but laced with venom.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips curling in amusement.

“Uneducated.”

And just like that, you turned on your heel.

Jake stood frozen for a moment, trying to process how the conversation had flipped so fast.

Then, from across the room—laughter.

He turned just in time to see Heeseung and the others, barely containing their amusement.

Yeah. No. This wasn’t over.

Jake straightened his shoulders, running a hand through his hair.

If you thought that was the last time you’d be seeing him tonight… you had another thing coming.

After realizing who you were, he knew he needed a lot more than just a prince act to get to you.

Y/N, the youngest successful fashion designer in the country. Your creative silk dresses and outlandish designs shot you straight to the top, allowing you to build your own designer store and amass a massive fortune.

He regretted not researching you beforehand, but to be fair, you didn’t really advertise yourself—just your million-dollar merchandise.

But his greatest mistake was also his biggest opportunity. Jake and his friends just so happened to be ambassadors for your company, and from the looks of it, fashion was the only way to get to you.

As their car pulled up to the photoshoot, Jake grew more nervous. He had already landed himself in the deep end with you, and he had only a vague idea of how to get out. But you? You were a total wildcard.

Jake huffed as he stepped out of the car.

“What’s your problem?” Heeseung asked, walking beside him.

Sunoo smirked, approaching as well. “He’s still trying to woo Y/N.”

Heeseung laughed. “No way! After that shitshow last night? You’re either ballsy or crazy.”

Jake shook his head. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out.”

As they walked in, the photoshoot was already set up. Props were on display, cameras were being tested, and the staff bustled around. Jake scanned the room for you, but you hadn’t arrived yet.

Sunoo clapped his hands as he admired the lavish outfits they’d be wearing. Jake had to admit—you were talented.

The sudden bang of doors flying open caught everyone’s attention.

You walked in, dressed in comfortable yet stylish clothes that hugged you in all the right places. Jake could finally see what everyone had been talking about. You knew how to get eyes on you.

“Cameras, props, and lights ready?” you called out, hands on your waist.

The staff confirmed, and you turned to face the group. One by one, you examined each member calling them out with their valuable features—Sunoo’s alluring figure, Jay’s strong jawline, Sunghoon’s thick eyebrows, Heeseung’s plump lips… and then you paused when you got to Jake.

“Mr. Sim, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, grinning as you looked him up and down.

Jake let out a short laugh. “Didn’t know I was one of the ambassadors? I’m hurt.”

You hummed, circling him, trying to pinpoint a striking physical feature that could be useful. But for the first time, nothing came to mind.

“Anyway, let’s continue. Sunoo is first,” you said, brushing past him.

Jake scoffed slightly. It was a small thing, really. But for some reason, the fact that you didn’t highlight anything about him bothered him more than it should have.

He watched as you guided Sunoo through your envisioned concept, your passion evident in every direction you gave. Sunoo followed your cues effortlessly, showcasing the designs exactly as you intended.

One by one, each member had their turn, and every shot looked incredible—each outfit tailored perfectly to their features.

Then, it was Jake’s turn.

You stood in front of the wardrobe, flipping through the options. To be honest, it was frustrating. You had instantly known what worked for everyone else, but for Jake… you were stumped.

You turned around, squinting at him, taking him in. He sat there watching you, his throat going dry as you slowly walked closer.

Then, without warning, you reached out and tilted his chin up.

Jake stiffened.

You studied him, and suddenly, it clicked.

His big, expressive puppy eyes. His soft, round lips. The way he looked almost desperate and vulnerable.

…He looked so good like this.

You laughed to yourself, turning to the wardrobe and pulling out a sleek black suit.

You knew exactly how to take advantage of Sim Jaeyun.

You bitterly laughed as you scrolled through the articles. Of course, you had an eye for things like this.

The internet was in an uproar over Jake’s part of the photoshoot—but in a good way.

The concept was striking. The camera was angled just above him, catching the sharp contrast of light against his desperate, pleading eyes. His lips were slightly parted, pouty in a way that almost begged to be kissed. His shirt hung open just enough to tease, showing only a sliver of skin, while the veins along his arms stood out, practically begging for attention.

You coughed, shaking the thoughts from your head.

Shoving the distraction aside, you sat at your desk, fingers gripping your pencil as you stared at the blank sketchpad before you. Normally, this was the easy part—designs came to you like second nature. But today? Nothing.

Your eyes wandered the room, searching for something—anything—to spark creativity. And then they landed on the stack of freshly printed photos from Jake’s shoot.

It was like a lightbulb flicked on above your head. Thoughts started forming and it was like the cogs in your brain started turning.

You needed a meeting with him. Now.

It took some effort to track him down, but after a few well-placed calls, you discovered he was at a celebration party for one of his many sponsors. A big shot, was he? You scoffed, feeling a twinge of irritation crawl under your skin. No—why did he irritate you so much?

Your sleek, high-end car pulled up to the entrance, drawing the attention of reporters and guests alike. Ignoring their murmurs, you strode inside, brushing past the glittering crowd. The party was far livelier than the ones you typically attended, but you paid it no mind. Your focus was solely on one person.

Jake.

He was easy to spot, standing in the center of the room with a glass in his hand and a woman draped over his arm. She was laughing at something he said, tilting her head flirtatiously.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before marching toward him.

At first, he didn’t notice, too caught up in whatever meaningless conversation he was entertaining. But then he picked up on the shift in the room—the way heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire. His gaze finally landed on you, surprise flickering across his face.

What the hell were you doing here?

“Hello, Sim,” you greeted, your voice laced with amusement. “Having fun?”

Jake blinked, momentarily thrown off. The woman at his side tightened her grip, glaring at you as if trying to stake her claim.

You gave her a quick once-over before arching a brow. “Please. If you’re going to try and mark your territory, at least put some effort into that outfit of yours.”

She gasped, her face burning red before she spun on her heel and stormed off.

Jake smirked as he watched her leave, then turned his attention back to you. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. “I need you to come with me. It’s urgent.”

His brows lifted, a slow grin curling his lips as he leaned in slightly, his voice dipping into something lower, teasing. “Need me that bad, huh baby?”

Your face flamed, and you immediately shoved his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant—ugh! I’m requesting a conversation. Over dinner.”

Jake tilted his head, studying you. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but the fact that you were suddenly giving him attention? Maybe it was for the big success with his contribution to the magazine. Whatever it was, He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.

“Alright,” he drawled. “Taking me out to eat before the fun stuff—how classy.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the exit. He let you, a smirk never leaving his face as he trailed behind you.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet. You stared out the window, lost in thought, while Jake stole subtle glances at you. You were always like this—so effortlessly captivating, playing hard to get like it was second nature. He didn’t mind. The chase made it all the more fun.

When the car finally rolled to a stop, Jake glanced out the window, his brows raising slightly. The restaurant was high-end, even by his standards. You didn’t just pick a fancy place—you picked the fancy place.

“You really like showing off, don’t you?” he mused, stepping out after you.

The moment you entered, the security barely even glanced at you before letting you through. Jake, on the other hand, was stopped immediately.

You turned back, giving him a slow smirk.

“He’s with me,” you said simply.

That was all it took. The guard stepped aside without another word, and Jake scoffed, shaking his head as he followed you in.

You were led to a private, reserved area on the rooftop, where the city stretched out in a breathtaking view. The soft glow of lights flickered over your face, casting delicate shadows. Jake had to admit—you looked stunning.

After placing your orders, silence settled between you. Jake swirled his wine glass, watching you over the rim.

“So,” he finally said, breaking the quiet, “why do I have the honor of your presence tonight, Y/N?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sim.” You exhaled, looking away for a moment before leaning back. “Do you know how I built my brand?”

Jake raised a brow. “Hard work I would presume?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “A muse,” you corrected. “Every artist needs one. And mine… has grown dull.”

He frowned slightly, trying to decipher where this was going. “And?”

Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Lucky for you, I seem to find creative inspiration just by looking at you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Jake stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded.

Because you weren’t joking.

You had come all this way, pulled him out of a party, taken him to an extravagant dinner— not for some business deal, but because you needed him.

Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as a slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

You sighed, already regretting saying anything. “It’s strictly professional, Sim.”

“Sure it is.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something else there too—something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, studying you the way you had been studying him all night.

Finally, he set his glass down and smirked. “Alright, Y/N. I’ll be your muse.”

You arched a brow. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” His voice dropped into something quieter, more serious. “But don’t think for a second that this is a one-sided deal.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jake leaned in ever so slightly, his smirk never wavering.

“You need inspiration,” he said. “And I need you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with amusement.

“Go on one date with me,” he said smoothly, tilting his head slightly. “And I’m all yours.”

You stared at him, blinking once. Then twice.

And then, you burst into laughter. A real, full laugh that made your shoulders shake as you leaned back in your chair.

Jake didn’t say anything—he just sat there, watching you with an unreadable expression. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… watching.

When your laughter finally died down, you exhaled and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake simply raised a brow.

“So, you’re serious?” you asked, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Just one date? No money? No sexual favors?”

His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Yep. One night. Let me have you on my arm for a few hours, and after that…” He shrugged. “I’m all yours.”

You grumbled at the thought. The idea of entertaining a man—even for one night for something as useless as a date—made you want to roll your eyes into another dimension. But you really, really needed Jake. His presence alone had sparked something in you. God, you hated when a man had the upper hand.

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. One date. That’s all.” You narrowed your eyes. “And then you’re mine.”

Jake chuckled, resting his chin in his palm as he gazed at you, a lazy sort of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Yes,” he murmured. “All yours.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made your stomach flip.

The deal was set. One date. That was all.

You repeated that to yourself as you adjusted your outfit, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t like you cared how you looked for Jake Sim. It was just… appearances. You had a reputation to maintain.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Your assistant peeked in, looking a little too amused.

“He’s here,” they said.

With one last deep breath, you grabbed your clutch and headed out.

Jake was waiting outside, leaning casually against his car—a sleek black luxury vehicle that, of course, fit his whole charming celebrity persona perfectly. He looked effortless in his suit, his hair styled just the right amount of messy, like he’d barely tried but still somehow managed to look good.

The worst part? He probably hadn’t tried.

His gaze flickered over you, and his smirk grew. “Well, damn,” he murmured, pushing off the car. “If I knew you were gonna look this good, I would���ve asked for two dates.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Not happening.”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door for you. “We’ll see.”

You slid in without another word, and the moment he settled into the driver’s seat, the engine purred to life.

“So,” you said, crossing your arms. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

Jake grinned as he pulled out onto the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is some cliché rooftop dinner setup, I’m leaving.”

He laughed. “No trust in me at all, huh?”

“Not even a little.”

Jake shook his head, amused. “Guess I’ll just have to change that.”

It wasn’t a rooftop dinner.

It wasn’t a fancy five-star restaurant, either.

Instead, twenty minutes later, you found yourself in the passenger seat of Jake Sim’s car as he pulled into a bustling night market on the outskirts of the city. The place was alive—bright, colorful lights hanging between stalls, the air thick with the scent of grilled food, fried snacks, and sweet desserts.

You blinked. This was… not what you expected.

Jake shot you a sideways glance, catching your surprise. “What?” he teased. “Thought I was gonna wine and dine you in some overpriced restaurant?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “…Yes.”

He smirked. “See? You underestimated me too much.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t underestimate anything.”

Jake hummed, clearly not convinced.

Before you could protest further, he was already getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the door for you. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”

You hesitated before ignoring his hand and stepping out on your own. Jake chuckled under his breath but didn’t push it.

The market was buzzing with energy. Neon lights flashed, the sound of sizzling food filled the air, and people bustled past in happy chatter. You followed Jake as he navigated through the stalls with ease, stopping at a particular vendor selling tteokbokki.

“Spicy?” he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. “I can handle it.”

Jake smirked like he didn’t believe you but ordered anyway. When he handed you the steaming bowl of rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce, you took a bite without hesitation.

And instantly regretted it.

Your mouth burned.

You coughed, eyes watering as you tried to keep your expression neutral. Jake, of course, was watching you with way too much amusement.

“You good?” he asked, clearly holding back laughter.

You swallowed, forcing a nod. “Shit—Totally.”

Jake snorted before handing you a drink. “Don’t act tough.” He said with a laugh.

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, gulping down the drink. “I just—”

“Don’t want to look vulnerable?”

You glared at him, which only made him grin. He slowly had you figured out.

The rest of the night went like that—Jake teasing you, you pretending to be unaffected, and somehow, between all of it, you… actually started to enjoy yourself.

He dragged you to different stalls, making you try every snack he claimed was the best. He somehow convinced you to play one of those rigged carnival games, and when you failed miserably, he swooped in with that cocky confidence of his and won a stuffed bear in one try.

“For you,” he said, handing it over with a wink.

You scoffed, snatching it from his hands. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

You didn’t. Well, maybe you didn’t hate it as much as you wanted to.

Hours passed without you realizing.

By the time you both made your way back to the car, the market had quieted down, the crowd thinning as the night stretched on. You hugged the stuffed bear to your chest, glancing at Jake as he walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets.

“I’ll admit,” you said after a beat. “This was… decent.”

Jake smirked. “High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He glanced down at where you touched him before tilting his head at you, something softer lingering in his gaze. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’re different when you’re not trying to impress.”

You stiffened slightly. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He smiled a little.

You quickly looked away, tightening your grip on the stuffed bear. “Don’t overthink it, It’s just one date.”

Jake hummed. “Just one.”

You didn’t like the way he said that. Like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he knew that one date wasn’t going to be enough.

The ride back was quieter than before. Not in a bad way—just… different. The playful teasing from earlier had faded into something heavier, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Jake was focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested lazily on the gear shift. You, on the other hand, sat with your arms crossed, staring out the window, pretending you weren’t acutely aware of every little movement he made.

It didn’t help that the car felt smaller than it actually was. Or maybe it was just the way he’d glance at you every now and then, his lips quirking up like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

At one point, he exhaled a small chuckle. “You’re quiet.”

You turned your head slightly but didn’t meet his gaze. “So?”

Jake hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Just not used to it. Usually, you’re too busy trying to put me in my place.”

You finally looked at him. “Trust me, I still could.”

“Oh, I know,” he murmured, eyes flickering to yours before returning to the road. “But that’s not what’s happening right now, is it?”

You opened your mouth to retort but hesitated.

Because he was right.

And that was irritating.

The rest of the ride passed with that same unbearable tension, neither of you saying much, but the energy thick enough to cut with a knife. Every second felt stretched, every brush of his fingers against the wheel, every shift in his seat, every subtle glance your way felt charged.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, you should’ve gotten out immediately. You should’ve thanked him—maybe given him a sarcastic remark for good measure—and left it at that.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you hesitated.

Your fingers clenched around the stuffed bear in your lap as you turned to face him. Jake was already watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something else.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you blurted, “Come inside.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “For a photoshoot.”

His lips twitched. “At—” he glanced at the clock on the dashboard “—midnight?”

You lifted your chin. “You said you were my muse now, right? I just got an idea. Unless you’re scared of a little late-night work.”

Jake’s smirk deepened, like he could see right through you. “You really suck at making excuses, you know that?”

“Are you coming or not, Sim?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning off the car. “Lead the way, boss.”

The moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted again.

Your place was modern yet warm—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, and mood lighting that cast a soft glow over everything. Jake took it all in as he followed you inside, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“So,” he mused, scanning the room, “where’s the magic gonna happen?”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words but ignored it, grabbing your camera from the shelf. “In there,” you said, motioning toward the bathroom as you both walked in.

Jake raised a brow as he watched you adjust the settings. “Straight to business?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, but even you knew it wasn’t convincing.

He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the heat of his presence. “Whats the plan?”

Your fingers grazed over the camera button as you eyed him without hiding.

Your jaw clenched. You inhaled sharply. Then, without missing a beat, you lifted the camera and snapped a photo right in his face.

Jake blinked at the flash.

You smirked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Take off your suit—leave the button-up—and get in the bathtub.”

Jake froze, his brows lifting slightly. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. But for once, he didn’t argue, didn’t throw a cocky remark your way.

Instead, he simply exhaled, loosened his tie, and shrugged off his suit jacket. His fingers made quick work of his cufflinks before rolling up the sleeves of his already damp button-up. With an unreadable expression, he stepped into the tub, settling against the porcelain with his arms resting along the edges, looking like a king on his throne. His shirt, already slightly undone from earlier, clung to his chest, teasing glimpses of toned skin beneath the fabric.

You hummed, pleased with how naturally he fit into the scene. Lifting the shower head, you turned on the water.

Jake yelped.

“Hey—shit, that’s cold!“ He recoiled, hands shooting up to shield himself from the icy stream.

You grinned mischievously. “Oops. Sorry, princess.”

Jake groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You only smirked as you adjusted the temperature, letting the water run warm. He exhaled, relaxing under the heat, though you could tell he was still a little wary.

The camera flashed.

Jake’s eyes snapped to yours. “Seriously?”

“That’s it,” you murmured, tilting the lens as you took another shot. “Just relax. You look better when you stop overthinking.”

Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders eased, his body sinking further into the tub as he let go of whatever was running through his mind. The water streamed over him, drenching his shirt completely, making the fabric cling to his torso like a second skin. His hair, already a mess from the rain earlier, now fell over his eyes, strands curling slightly from the dampness.

You almost let yourself admire him.

Almost.

He looked like something out of a luxury ad—lazily elegant, frustratingly attractive, like sin wrapped in silk. He was a glass of dark wine, the kind that burned just enough to keep you coming back for another sip.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying that out loud.

Instead, you inched closer, adjusting the focus to capture his eyes. He had the prettiest, prettiest boba eyes—deep and dark, framed by long lashes, almost too soft for someone who loved to tease you so relentlessly.

But something wasn’t clicking. The shot wasn’t right. You frowned, turning off the water to get a better angle, hovering slightly over him in concentration.

Jake watched you past the lens, amusement dancing in his gaze as you pouted in frustration.

“You look cute when you’re trying too hard,” he mused.

You barely had time to process his words before—

Splash.

A gasp tore from your lips as you were suddenly yanked forward, water soaking through your clothes in an instant. Your knees landed on either side of Jake’s lap, hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. Your body pressed against his, and the realization hit you way too late.

The camera slipped from your hands, landing with a soft clunk on the dry edge of the tub.

“You—”

But you froze.

Because holy shit.

His hair was a dripping mess, strands falling into his eyes, water trickling down his temples. His lips were slightly parted, breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. But it wasn’t that.

It was his eyes. Those eyes.

Gone was the teasing glint, the ever-present mischief. Instead, they were dark, hooded—pleading.

Exactly what you were looking for earlier.

But with something deeper. Something unspoken. It expressed something his mouth couldn’t say.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, like he was waiting. Like he was testing to see if you’d pull away.

The only sound in the room was the slow, rhythmic dripping of water and the soft, uneven breaths between you both.

Neither of you moved.

Because if you did, if either of you so much as shifted—

You both knew what would happen next.

Jake exhaled shakily, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Then, voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, “You gonna do something? Because this is killing me.”

Your throat went dry.

“Jake…”

The second his name left your lips—soft, breathless, uncertain—his fingers flexed against your waist, and something in his eyes snapped.

His jaw clenched. His chest rose sharply as he exhaled through his nose, his grip just a fraction tighter, just enough for you to feel the tension between you crackle like a live wire.

“…Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Without another second to hesitate, his lips crashed onto yours.

A sharp inhale left you as your eyes widened in surprise, but the warmth of his mouth, the way he moved against you so effortlessly, erased any thoughts of pulling away. Your lashes fluttered shut, that little voice in your head telling you to stop quickly drowned out by the sheer pleasure of it all.

Jake kissed you like he had been starving for this—like he had been waiting too long, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste another second. His hands roamed along your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be right there against him. Your own hands weren’t still either—fingers moving with urgency, working on the buttons of his soaked shirt, pushing the fabric away in greedy desperation.

The wet material slid off his shoulders, discarded somewhere to the side. And then—God—your hands were on him. Palms dragging down the expanse of his torso, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Jake sighed into your mouth at the sensation, his breath warm, his body reacting to you just as much as yours was to him.

Your heart was practically pounding. What was he doing to you? You’d played this game before, teased and flirted, danced along the edge of something dangerous—but never like this. Never this raw. Never this vulnerable.

He moved before you could even process it. His hands slid up, fingers weaving into your hair as he shifted you—one second, you were on his lap, the next, you were lying beneath him, water still clinging to both of you.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His lips left yours only to trail across your jaw, down your neck, to the sensitive dip between your collarbones. He kissed like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to leave a mark in places no one else had ever dared to touch. You sighed at the feeling, your hands slipping up into his damp hair, fingers tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin.

It was intoxicating. The weight of him, the heat of his breath, the way his lips moved against your skin as if he owned you.

Then— Jake stilled.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering over your face. A sharp inhale filled his chest as he took you in—the way you were watching him, the way your lips were parted, the unhidden hunger in your gaze.

Damn.

You looked like you were ready to devour him.

For a moment, he just stared—like he was trying to brand this image into his brain, like he needed to convince himself that this was real.

Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, lips brushing over your ear as he whispered, “Strictly professional, huh?.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering through your desire-hazed mind when he pulled away completely. Jake stood, stepping out of the tub before holding a hand out for you. You took it, letting him pull you up. Water dripped from both of you as you steadied yourself, but your fingers clung to his forearm, your lips slightly parted in silent protest.

Your expression must have given you away because he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Relax,” he mused, tugging you flush against him. “I just wanted to take you to your bedroom—unless you want to do this right here?”

His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something darker beneath it. A challenge. A temptation.

And the way his fingers slowly dragged down your waist, the heat behind his gaze, the way his lips barely ghosted over yours without fully kissing you—

He knew exactly what he was doing.

The warm sunlight streaming through the window pulled you from your sleep, making you groan as your limbs ached from exhaustion. Every movement sent a dull throb through your muscles, a reminder of exactly what had happened last night.

You raised your hand to rub your temple, only to pause when your fingers brushed against something—small, dark bruises dotting your skin.

That jerk.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips before you turned over, reaching instinctively toward his side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. Your stomach twisted.

Your first thought was that maybe he had just gotten up early. But then, the silence in the room became deafening, an eerie reminder of how alone you were.

Your chest tightened, but before the feeling could settle, you noticed the faint glow of light coming from the bathroom.

Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived.

As you moved closer, the sound of his voice—muffled but unmistakable—reached your ears.

You hesitated. Something in you told you to go back, to not listen. But your curiosity, your need to know, got the better of you.

And that’s when you heard it.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Your breath hitched.

Your heart didn’t just drop—it shattered.

Mistake.

Was that all last night was to him?

A mistake?

The one man you had allowed past your carefully built walls, the one man you let touch you in ways no one else had, was now talking about leaving before you even woke up.

Your hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into your palm to fight the sting in your eyes. No. No way in hell were you going to sit here and mope about this.

If this was a mistake to him, then it was a mistake to you too.

You turned sharply on your heel, biting down the lump in your throat as you moved quickly to get dressed.

You weren’t going to wait around for him to leave first.

From Jake’s perspective, he woke up to the soft vibration of his phone on the nightstand beside him. Groggily, he turned over, his eyes immediately landing on you—curled up beside him, your arm draped over his waist. You looked so peaceful, your breath steady, your grip on him light but firm.

His heart fluttered at the sight.

With a quiet groan, he reached for his phone, squinting at the screen to see Heeseung flashing across the caller ID.

He sighed before accepting the call.

“Hey,” he whispered, carefully shifting out of your hold so he wouldn’t wake you. Slipping into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him. “What do you want?”

“Yo, I haven’t heard from you since the party. What’s up with you?”

Jake glanced back at the bed through the cracked door before lowering his voice. “I’m at Y/N’s place.”

Silence.

Then, a loud yelp from Heeseung made Jake wince. “What?! Y/N? No way—did you guys—?”

Jake smirked. “Yes. Maybe—we did.”

Heeseung let out a hum of approval. “Damn. Someone finally got to her. Congratulations, man. We should celebrate tonight.”

Jake scoffed. “It’s not like that, Hee.”

Heeseung frowned on the other end. “Wait… you mean you’re actually trying to make something out of this?” A dry laugh followed. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Jake’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean? I thought—”

“Exactly. You thought.” Heeseung let out a sigh. “I already told you who she is. A man-eater, Jake. If you weren’t at her place right now, she probably would’ve disappeared before you even woke up.”

Jake swallowed hard.

It had taken a long time to get through to you—everyone knew that. But last night felt different. He wasn’t imagining that… right?

“Listen,” Heeseung continued, his voice laced with amusement, “if I were you, I’d take the good fuck and get out of there before she hurts your feelings.”

Jake’s grip on his phone tightened.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

Then, before Heeseung could add anything else, a new voice cut in.

“Don’t listen to that player.”

Jake blinked as Jay snatched the phone away from Heeseung.

Jay shot his friend an unimpressed look before putting the phone to his ear. “If things actually seem like it’ll go good between you two, then go for it.”

Jake exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You think so?”

“Yes. Don’t come crying to us later saying you fumbled.”

Jake let out a short laugh, finally smiling again. “Alright. See you later.”

Hanging up, he set his phone down on the sink and glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his messy hair, wincing slightly as a sting shot across his back.

Curious, he turned his body slightly and craned his neck to check—only to see deep, red nail marks trailing down his skin.

A laugh rumbled from his chest.

That was definitely your handiwork.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Another thought crossed his mind, he shouldn’t have listened to Heeseung.

Sure, You had a reputation—everyone knew that. But you weren’t just some girl to him. Last night wasn’t just about the physical.

He had seen the way you softened under his touch. The way you looked at him like he was more than just some guy you had picked for the night.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had felt it.

And yet, for a split second, Heeseung’s words had gotten into his head, making him doubt everything.

Jake stepped out of the bathroom with a light smile, now going back to chuckling at the sight of the nail marks on his back. But as he looked around, his smile slowly faded.

The bed was empty.

The sheets, once messy from the night before, were now slightly straightened—like someone had hastily tried to fix them before leaving. His heart sank.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice hesitant.

Silence.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of you—your clothes, your phone, something. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the closet door slightly ajar. He walked over, tugging it open. Empty.

Jake’s stomach twisted.

You were gone.

His mind raced as he reached for his phone, but before he could dial your number, something on the nightstand caught his eye. A necklace—your necklace. The one you always wore, the one you never took off.

His chest tightened.

What the hell just happened?

Then, it clicked. The way he had found you curled up next to him this morning—the way your fingers had unconsciously gripped his waist, as if afraid he’d leave. You weren’t the type to do that. So why did you—.

Unless—

She heard me.

Jake felt the blood drain from his face. His own words echoed in his head, the ones Heeseung had fed him, the ones he stupidly repeated without thinking.

“Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I should just get out of here before she wakes up, right?”

He clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

You had heard him. And now, you were gone.

Jake spent the rest of the morning searching for you. He called your phone multiple times, but it kept ringing until it went to voicemail. He texted, only to be met with unread messages. Every hour that passed made his frustration grow—where the hell could you have gone?

Then, it hit him.

Your studio.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and drove across the city, ignoring every red light and honking car. His mind was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, fear. He needed to fix this.

When he finally arrived, the familiar sight of your workspace came into view, its large glass windows dimly lit from inside. His heart pounded as he stepped out of his car and made his way to the entrance, pushing open the door without knocking.

The moment he walked in, he spotted you.

You were sitting at your desk, hunched over a sketchbook. From the way your pencil angrily scratched at the page, it was clear you were frustrated. Your usual fluid, elegant designs had been replaced with jagged lines, some pages torn out and crumpled beside you.

You were trying to drown yourself in work.

Jake’s breath caught as he took you in. Your hair was messier than usual, your face devoid of the usual sharp confidence you carried. You looked exhausted. Like you hadn’t slept at all.

Like you were trying to forget last night ever happened.

But when you sensed someone standing in the doorway, you didn’t look up. “Go away.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Y/N—”

“I said go away.” Your voice was steady, but he could hear the underlying hurt beneath it. That hurt made his stomach twist.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, taking slow steps toward you.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, finally looking up at him. “Talk? Now you want to talk? Thought this was all a mistake?”

Jake flinched. “That’s not—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, slamming your pencil down. “Don’t stand there and try to spin this, Jake. I heard you. I heard everything.”

The weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I woke up, and you were gone,” you continued, voice rising. “I went looking for you because—because for once, I thought maybe this was different. Maybe I wasn’t just another thing for you to play with. But then I heard you. I heard you say it was a mistake—that you should leave before I woke up.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Guess I just saved you the trouble.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his heart hammering. “Y/N, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” You stood up from your chair, stepping closer to him, your expression unreadable. “I was stupid enough to believe that this was more than just another hookup for you. That maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t some temporary distraction.”

Jake took a shaky breath. “You’re not.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Really? Because that’s not what it sounded like this morning.”

Jake exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck. He was messing this up—again. He needed to make you understand.

“I didn’t mean any of that,” he said, voice softer now. “I was on the phone with Heeseung, and he was—” Jake paused, shaking his head. “He was saying a bunch of bullshit, making me second-guess things. But I never meant it, Y/N. The second I said it, I regretted it.”

You stared at him, jaw tight. “And yet you still said it.”

“I know.” He sighed, stepping even closer. “I was stupid. I let someone else’s words get in my head, and I didn’t think. But if you’d stayed just a second longer, you would’ve heard Jay tell me not to listen to Heeseung. You would’ve heard me say that I wanted to stay.”

You hesitated, but your arms remained crossed, a sign that you weren’t letting him off that easily.

Jake sighed, rubbing his face. “Y/N, I don’t do this. I don’t—I don’t wake up next to someone and feel peaceful. I don’t look at someone and think, God, I want more than just one night. But you…” He looked at you, eyes desperate. “With you, it’s different. And that scares the hell out of me.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

Jake took your silence as permission to continue. “I don’t want to be just another regret for you. I don’t want this to be some game. And if you tell me you regret last night—if you tell me you never want to see me again—I’ll leave. But I don’t think you regret it.”

Your breath hitched. He was right. You didn’t.

But you were scared, too.

Scared because you had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, convinced that love was a battlefield you had no interest in fighting for. Scared because Jake had found a way past your walls without you even realizing it.

And scared because, despite everything… you still wanted him.

“I don’t regret it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Jake swallowed, nodding. “Then let me prove it to you.”

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all you saw was sincerity.

A heavy silence filled the room before you finally exhaled, your shoulders sagging. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you yet.”

Jake’s lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile. “That’s fair.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “God, you’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I’ve heard.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, but this time, there was no real malice behind it. Just exhaustion. Maybe even the hint of a smile.

Jake took a tentative step forward. “Can I at least take you to dinner?”

You raised a brow. “A real date?”

“A real date,” he promised. “No mistakes this time.”

You studied him for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Fine. But im paying.”

Jake scoffed. “Just because you have way more money than me doesn’t mean you can show off.”

And as you stood there, sticking your tongue at the boy mischievously who had somehow wormed his way into your heart, you realized— this definitely wasn’t a mistake after all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed. You stirred, shifting slightly, only to feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist. A soft exhale tickled the back of your neck, and you turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of Jake—eyes closed, breathing steady, his features relaxed in a way that made your chest tighten.

It had been weeks since the misunderstanding that nearly tore you apart. Since then, things had fallen into place in a way neither of you had expected. There were no grand declarations or extravagant gestures—just moments like this. Quiet, intimate, and real.

You gently moved his arm, attempting to slip out of bed without waking him, but before you could even shift an inch, his hold tightened.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was rough with sleep, and yet, there was a teasing lilt to it.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I was going to make coffee. But I see you have other plans.”

He hummed, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “My only plan is keeping you right here for a little longer.”

You let yourself relax against him for a moment before sighing. “Jake, we can’t just stay in bed all day.”

“Why not?” He murmured against your skin. “I finally got you, and now you want to leave me for coffee? You wound me.”

You turned to face him, raising a brow. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smirked. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Jake noticed—the way your eyes softened, the way you licked your lips as if debating whether to respond. Love. The word had been lingering between you two for a while now, unsaid but present in every touch, every look, every stolen moment.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was slow, unhurried, filled with an emotion you weren’t quite ready to put into words but hoped he could feel anyway.

He smiled against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I do love you, Jake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t know how I survived this long without you.’”

You scoffed, pushing at his chest playfully. “You’re such a dumbass.”

He caught your hand before you could move away, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine, fine,” he relented, grinning. “But at least let me make the coffee. You stay here.”

You arched a brow. “You? Making coffee?”

Jake gasped dramatically. “I’ll have you know I make an excellent cup of coffee.”

“You put in twice the sugar any sane person would,” you deadpanned.

“You still drink it when I make it,” he pointed out smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. This—this was what made it different with Jake. The teasing, the tenderness, the effortless way you fit together.

As he finally pulled himself out of bed, ruffling his already-messy hair, you watched him fondly. Maybe neither of you had planned for this, but it was happening anyway.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ JEONGNA’S PRIVATE MOMENTS THAT WERE ACTUALLY VERY PUBLIC ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

synopsis: A compilation of Luna and Jeonghan’s most obvious “totally platonic” moments that prove they were never actually hiding their relationship— just gaslighting us into thinking they weren’t.

this was so much fun to write! just a glimpse into carats’ minds as they revisit how obvious JeongNa were 🤭 this idea was inspired by my cherry baby’s @kortmurt recent request so thank you, my lovely!! hope you guys enjoy! happy reading, my loves 🤍

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ youtube compilations

[added captions are in brackets] ღ

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

indented italics are additional voice overs ღ

Hello! Welcome back to my channel! And if you are new… buckle up because I have something to get out of my chest *clears throat*

I know it’s been MONTHS already but we need to have a SERIOUS discussion because I, for one, feel PLAYED. BAMBOOZLED. GASLIT. MANIPULATED. LED ASTRAY.

Now, as we ALL know, Jeonghan and Luna’s relationship has been confirmed for a few months now. Not only that, but they’re also confirmed to be ENGAGED.

And do you think they’re being lowkey about it? Do you think they’re subtly easing us into this new reality?

No! They are out here posting, commenting, and flirting PUBLICLY like they’re getting PAID for it— oh wait, they’re not. They just enjoy making all of us feel single and stupid. Which, honestly, good for them. I respect it. ALL THE SIGNS WERE THERE! SOME OF US WERE JUST TOO STUPID TO SEE!! *points to myself*

Now that I look back, these two have been soft launching their relationship for FIVE YEARS. FIVE YEARS. And we all just ate it up like clowns. Like, ‘Oh wow, what a beautiful friendship! Soulmate besties!’

Meanwhile, Mr. Manifest-Manipulate-Meditate Yoon Jeonghan and Ms. Gaslight-Gatekeep-Girlboss Bae Jiyeon were out here actively LYING to our faces. And we BELIEVED THEM.

“We’re just best friends.” Is their go-to response or excuse to all the speculations… GIVE THEM AN OSCAR!!

So, in today’s video, we’re revisiting all the moments where Jeonghan and Luna did NOT know the cameras were on them. Moments where they straight up forgot they were in public. Where they weren’t even TRYING to hide anymore. Bonus clips of my favorite moments in general and some accidental slip ups.

Because let’s be real, the only reason they got away with this for so long is because we were all blind… and easily gaslighted.

So grab a snack, grab some tissues, and prepare to cringe at how obvious these two were being while we sat here thinking they were just besties… premium besties.

Let’s get into it.

THE IDEAL BOYFRIEND, YOON JEONGHAN

Starting strong with this iconic exchange between Luna and a Carat.

The soft hum of overlapping voices filled the air as SEVENTEEN and Luna sat in front of their respective tables, each lined up with tablets in front of them, virtually speaking to fans in an online fan sign event. The lighting in the room was bright, illuminating the members as they interacted with Carats through their screens.

Luna sat comfortably at her own table, her elbows lightly resting against the surface as she leaned in slightly toward the screen in front of her. She had her earphones in, nodding along attentively as she listened to the fan on the other end. A warm smile lingered on her lips, her head tilting slightly as she responded to whatever the fan had just said, eyes twinkling with genuine interest.

[She’s so pretty 😭]

As their conversation began to wrap up, the fan, who had been chatting animatedly with her, hesitated for a moment before calling out softly, “Jiyeonie…”

Luna, mid-smile, nodded, encouraging the fan to continue. “Yes?” she replied smoothly, her voice light and inviting.

The fan hesitated for just a second before continuing. “I have one last question before my turn ends.”

Luna let out a small hum of curiosity, straightening her posture slightly. “Oh? What is it?” she asked, her tone effortlessly warm as she adjusted the position of her hands, fingers lightly tapping against the table.

The fan took a deep breath, almost as if building up the courage to ask. “Who, out of the other members, would be the ideal boyfriend?”

[AMAZING QUESTION BTW!!]

Luna chuckled at the unexpected question, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she processed it. A light laugh escaped her as she leaned back slightly in her chair, her head tilting in amusement. “Ideal boyfriend for you?” she asked, lifting a brow before trailing off. “Or…?”

[For you, babes]

The fan, catching onto Luna’s playful hesitation, let out a giggle. “Just in general! Like, who do you think would make the best boyfriend?”

Luna exhaled a short laugh, her fingers playing with the wire of her earphones for a moment as she smiled. “Well,” she began, already thinking carefully about how to navigate the question. “Honestly, all of the members have qualities that would make them ideal boyfriends. They each have their own charms and unique personalities that people would find appealing. They all have their strengths.” She spoke smoothly, clearly doing her best to dance around giving a direct answer.

[She’s speaking facts]

[All thirteen of those men are boyfriend material]

[Jiyeonie is girlfriend material]

[GOSH– I want all of them…]

The fan, however, wasn’t having it. “Only one!” she insisted, grinning.

Luna’s smile lingered as she paused for a few seconds, eyes slightly narrowing in amused contemplation. Then, with zero hesitation and a completely natural ease, she simply said, “Jeonghannie.”

[AAHGSYEBUSGEYBEJEBSIHEUEBUEBDU]

[THAT SMILE]

[THE SMILE, THE TWINKLE IN HER EYES, THE QUICKNESS OF IT ALL!!!]

A high-pitched squeal immediately erupted from the fan’s side of the screen, making Luna burst into laughter, her head tilting downward as she tried to compose herself. She held up a hand as if in surrender, shaking her head at the overjoyed reaction.

[Same]

[Fell off my bed when I watched this for the first time]

“Wait, wait, let me explain!” she said between small giggles, pressing her lips together to suppress another laugh. “I just think he’s the most boyfriend material out of all of them.” She shrugged as if her answer was obvious, tilting her head slightly. “He’s obviously very thoughtful and knows how to take care of people in a way that’s subtle but meaningful. He remembers little details, and he’s good at making sure the people around him are comfortable. He’s funny, he’s smart, athletic, hardworking… I think those are important qualities, right?”

[miss thing out here listing all the qualities she clearly like in a man]

[WE. WERE. BLIND.]

The fan, barely containing their excitement, was already speaking again. “Okay! Jeonghan is the ideal boyfriend in general… but how about for you? Who’s your ideal boyfriend?”

[GREAT QUESTION AGAIN!!]

Luna’s eyes widened slightly at the follow-up question before she let out a soft chuckle. She lowered her gaze momentarily, shaking her head with an amused smile before simply muttering, “I already gave my answer.”

[GOODBYE WORLD I–]

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A. RAHHH 🦅🦅]

That was all it took.

The fan on the other end of the screen let out an even louder squeal, completely losing it as Luna bit her lower lip, laughing at the dramatic reaction.

[She’s not even at all hiding it]

This particular clip from the fan sign quickly made rounds online. It spread like wildfire across Caratland, becoming one of the most well-known moments in their fandom.

Fans analyzed every micro-expression, every shift in Luna’s tone, and every flicker of hesitation in her words. Even back then, before their relationship was public, Carats had suspicions— but it was only after their confirmation that this moment became a clear and undeniable piece of evidence.

[I never doubted my JeongNa]

“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN A PARTNER?”

And since we are in the topic of ideal types, here is another fan sign moment where JeongNa completely disregarded all form of discretion in front of a lucky Carat who by the way we should also thank for asking such a great question to our bunny couple.

At the offline fan sign, rows of excited Carats filled the venue, eagerly awaiting their turn to meet the members of SEVENTEEN. Each member sat behind a long table, interacting with fans one by one. Albums, posters, and various gifts piled up before them, each a testament to the unwavering support from their fans.

[Let me present to you another iconic JeongNa moment]

Luna, seated between Jeonghan and Vernon, radiated her usual calm and comforting energy. Her doe-like eyes focused on the fan before her, who clutched an album with trembling hands. Despite her clear excitement, nerves were evident in her quivering voice.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Jiyeonie,” the fan stammered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Luna offered a gentle smile, reaching out to clasp the fan’s hands reassuringly. Her touch was warm, grounding the girl before her. “Don’t be nervous,” Luna said softly, her voice like a soothing balm. “I’m happy to meet you too. Thank you for coming today. I like you’re dress!”

[She’s the bestest girl fr 🥹]

The fan took a deep breath, her face breaking into a smile at Luna’s comforting words. “Thank you… Oh! I have something for you!” she exclaimed, reaching into her bag and pulling out a delicate beaded headdress. The beads shimmered under the venue’s lights, their colors dancing with every tiny movement.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Luna marveled, her eyes wide with delight. She tilted her head slightly and glanced at the fan with a playful grin. “Will you put it on me?”

The fan’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’d love to.”

[I’D LOVE TO!!!]

As Luna focused on signing the album in front of her, the fan carefully leaned forward, her hands trembling slightly as she placed the beaded accessory atop Luna’s head. Luna sat still, allowing the fan to adjust the headdress until it settled perfectly, the beads framing her face elegantly.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Once the headdress was in place, Luna turned her head slightly, testing its weight before glancing up at the fan with a bright smile. “How do I look?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

[LIKE YOU JUST CAME OUT OF A FANTASY WORLD]

The fan clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “So beautiful! Seriously, your future partner is going to be so lucky,” she gushed, eyes filled with admiration.

[The “future” partner sitting right next to her]

Luna let out a soft, melodious laugh, dipping her head slightly as if to hide the slight blush dusting her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured, fingers idly tracing the cover of the album she had just signed.

Growing bolder, the fan leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been asking all the members about their ideal type today,” she began, her eyes darting briefly to the line of members seated beside Luna, “and I want to know yours too!”

[He’s seated right next to her]

Luna’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise, a chuckle escaping her lips as she considered the question. “My ideal type, huh?” she echoed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Well… I think I would want someone who’s a genuinely good person overall. Someone who’s hardworking, funny, and smart. I like someone a bit mischievous— someone who can keep things interesting.”

[wHO cOulD tHaT pOsSibLy bE?!]

The fan’s eyes sparkled with intrigue, nodding eagerly as Luna spoke.

“Most importantly, I think I want someone who can be my best friend first. Someone I know well and can trust with anything,” Luna concluded with a soft, affectionate smile that seemed to light up her whole face.

[The best friend in question is sitting right next to her]

The fan beamed at her response, clearly thrilled. But she wasn’t done yet. “What about looks? Do you have a type when it comes to features?”

[You’ll meet him in a sec, miss thing… or you could just turn your head to the man seated next to Luna]

Luna shook her head, her smile never wavering. “I don’t have a specific type when it comes to features. But…” she trailed off, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, “I do tend to find guys who look like anime characters attractive. Someone who can pull off both short and long hair.”

[SHE WASN’T EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE]

The fan burst into delighted laughter, completely enchanted by Luna’s answer. She nodded in agreement, clearly relating to the sentiment.

After her conversation with Luna the fan moved down the line, she arrived in front of Jeonghan, still giddy from her conversation with Luna. She barely had time to settle before Jeonghan, with that signature mischievous smirk of his, tilted his head and playfully narrowed his eyes at her.

[THAT. DAMN. SMIRK.]

[Bae Jiyeon, I get you. I feel you. I relate to you.]

“Why are you smiling so big?” he teased, his tone light and curious. He leaned slightly forward, resting his forearm lazily on the table as he signed her album. “Was Jiyeonie really that much fun to talk to? I’m telling you, I’m way more fun.”

[A menace]

The fan laughed at his antics, amused by the way he immediately started competing for her attention. The moment she glanced toward Luna, who was still signing for the next fan, Jeonghan followed her gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Luna, catching on to the conversation, barely spared him a glance before shooting him a playful glare, the kind that wasn’t meant to intimidate at all but rather to silently tell him to behave. Jeonghan, of course, didn’t take it seriously. He simply chuckled, throwing her a quick wink before shifting his attention back to the fan in front of him.

[AHVHNEBHEBSHS MOM! DAD! ADOPT ME!!]

The fan shook her head with a laugh. “All of you are so much fun to talk to.”

“Really?” Jeonghan feigned skepticism, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Then what were you two giggling about?” He signed her album effortlessly, eyes flicking up briefly as he waited for an answer.

[As if you weren’t listening 🤐]

The fan smiled knowingly, gripping the edge of the table in excitement. “I asked Jiyeonie about her ideal type in a partner.”

At that, Jeonghan’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second before he finished the last stroke of his signature. With a lazy sort of curiosity, he leaned back slightly and looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “Why are you so interested in our Jiyeonie’s love life?”

[OUR?!? SIR?!? WHATTTTT?!!?22)2)6:?277/)]

[Love life… he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore]

The fan giggled, shaking her head. “I asked everyone! I wanted to know everyone’s answers.”

Jeonghan hummed in understanding, nodding as he leaned forward once again. “You’re gonna ask me too?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes.

[HE IS TOO EXCITED TO ANSWER]

[you can practically see the answers trying to escape his mouth]

The fan nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”

Jeonghan let out a thoughtful hum, tapping the marker against the album cover as if considering his answer.

[*pretends to think as if he didn’t already prepare a answer*

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he finally spoke.

“Well… I like someone who’s cute but also really cool. Someone who’s down to do things I enjoy but also won’t force me to do things I don’t want to,” he started, his voice smooth and casual, but there was an unmistakable weight behind his words. “Someone I can be lazy with— you know, stay at home all day and just rot in bed together.”

[wHO cOulD tHaT pOsSibLy bE pt. 2?!?]

The fan immediately caught on. Her eyes widened slightly as he continued.

“Someone similar to me, but not exactly the same,” Jeonghan mused, glancing up at the fan briefly before looking back down at the album. “Hardworking, smart… Someone who would take care of me.”

[‘I know something you don’t’ ~]

The similarities to Luna’s answer were undeniable. But Jeonghan didn’t stop there. His voice softened ever so slightly as he added, “And someone who knows everything about me. Someone who was a friend first.”

[THE SAME FUCKING ANSWERS FROM THE BOTH OF THEM, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!]

[‘AND WHAT THE HELL WERE WE? TELL ME WE WEREN’T JUST FRIENDS!!!’ ~]

The fan, who had already been suppressing her excitement, bit her lip, practically vibrating in her seat. “And physically?” she asked, leaning in with a teasing smile.

[She’s a JeongNa shipper for sure and we love her for that 😝]

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, pretending to think.

[*pretends to think again as if he isn’t fighting the urge to just name Luna or point at her*]

Then, almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickered to his right— so quick and subtle that if you blinked, you’d miss it. Luna was still speaking to the fan in front of her, completely immersed in their conversation, unaware of the way Jeonghan had glanced at her.

[I SAW IT?!? DID YOU SEE IT?!?]

[*plays in slow motion repeatedly*]

[WNHEJEBSJWNNE HE COULDN’T HELP HIMSLEF?2!):&2’ziwj]

Jeonghan looked back at the fan, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Nothing too specific,” he said casually. “But I think long hair is nice.”

The fan sucked in a quiet breath before nodding along with a huge smile on her face.

“A dimpled smile,” he continued smoothly, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. “A really beautiful smile, actually.”

Her eyes darted toward Luna instinctively.

[WHATTHEFUCK JUST FUCKING NAME HER AT THIS POINT]

“Pretty eyes,” Jeonghan added, then, as if an afterthought, he chuckled. “Oh, and moles. I think moles on the face are really attractive.”

[Translation: “Bae Jiyeon”]

[Jeonghan’s type: Luna, Jiyeon, Bae Jiyeon, Luna Bae, Nana]

The fan’s mouth fell open slightly.

There was absolutely no mistaking it. He had just described the girl sitting right next to him.

Jeonghan, completely nonchalant, handed back the signed album, his smirk still firmly in place as if he hadn’t just exposed himself in the most discreet yet obvious way possible.

[HE KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK HE’S DOING]

[NO REGRETS FROM EITHER OF THEM TOO!!]

The fan, who was still in the middle of processing his words, barely managed to thank him before she was ushered by the staff to move down the line.

And just as she did, Jeonghan shifted in his seat ever so slightly, leaning toward Luna’s side. He lowered his voice, murmuring something only meant for her ears. Luna, caught off guard, paused mid-signature. Then, just as quickly, she bit her lip to suppress a giggle, shaking her head as she continued writing.

[I WANNA KNOW TOOOOOOOBEHUSGEUWHSJ]

[They are probably giggling at how they are teasing us 🫠]

Their words were theirs alone, but the moment— the way she grinned, the way he leaned just a fraction closer— was enough for anyone paying attention to suspect that there was more to their exchange than what met the eye.

DINNER AT NEW YORK

New York JeongNa was a vibe iykyk.

The video, taken discreetly from a few tables away, was slightly shaky at first, the fan adjusting their phone’s position to capture the scene without drawing attention. The dim, warm lighting of the New York restaurant cast a soft glow over the space, the low hum of conversations and the occasional clinking of silverware creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

[They were so cute here]

At the very corner of the room, tucked away from the more crowded center, Jeonghan and Luna sat together in a booth, but instead of sitting across from each other like most couples would, Jeonghan had chosen to sit right beside her. His body was angled slightly toward her, his arm draped lazily across the back of the booth, fingers lightly resting behind her shoulder as if it was second nature.

[GAHHHHHHHHHH IS ALL I CAN SAY]

There was no unnecessary space between them— the way their bodies leaned into each other made it clear that this wasn’t a calculated attempt at privacy but rather a natural display of closeness.

[THEY WEREN’T HIDING OR ANYTHING]

Luna was speaking, her hands occasionally gesturing slightly as she explained something, and Jeonghan— despite the quiet noise of the restaurant, despite the presence of other diners, despite the occasional movement of waitstaff passing by— was focused on nothing but her. His head tilted down, his gaze locked onto her face, listening intently as if whatever she was saying was the most important thing in the world.

[YOON JEONGHAN, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 🧎‍♀️]

[HOW TF IS SHE NOT MELTING IS THE QUESTION?!]

[Bae Jiyeon is stronger than me cause I would have jumped on him if I her—]

The fan’s camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the way Jeonghan’s lips quirked up at the corners, his expression soft, his eyes crinkling faintly. Whatever Luna had said must have amused him because a quiet chuckle left his lips before he subtly leaned in closer, murmuring something just for her. Luna turned her head slightly, reacting to his words with a small, knowing smile, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the fabric of his sleeve.

[Brb literally crying in the club rn…]

[They are perfect together 🥹]

The moment felt so intimate yet so casual, as if they had done this a thousand times before— shared a space like this, lost in their own little world, unaware or simply unbothered by the outside eyes that might have been watching.

And then, without hesitation or fanfare, Jeonghan leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head. It was brief but undeniably affectionate, his lips grazing her temple with an ease that spoke of familiarity, of comfort, of love that didn’t need to be hidden.

[HOW DID WE NOT KNOW?!?]

[IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF US!!]

Luna didn’t react with surprise. Instead, she simply turned her head slightly toward him, her expression warm, her lips curving into something impossibly fond. It was as if she was used to moments like this— small, quiet gestures that didn’t need words to be understood.

[*googles ‘how to be Bae Jiyeon’*]

Before the video cut off, their food arrived, the plates being placed in front of them, momentarily shifting their attention to the server. But even as Luna reached for her utensils and Jeonghan adjusted his seat slightly, there was still an unspoken connection between them, the kind that lingered even when words weren’t being exchanged.

And then, the screen went black.

‘BE THE SUN’ IN LOS ANGELES SOUNDCHECK

this. just this video right here.

The Los Angeles sky burned a soft orange as the sun began to set outside the stadium, but inside, under the glow of dimmed stage lights, the atmosphere buzzed with an entirely different energy. Hundreds of lucky VIP ticket holders stood eagerly in the pit, their phones raised, recording and capturing every second of SEVENTEEN’s soundcheck.

The exclusivity of this moment made it even more special— this was their chance to see the members in a relaxed, unfiltered state before the actual concert began. The stage was void of the extravagant lighting and pyrotechnics that would come later, leaving just the members, their voices, and the electrifying connection they shared with their fans.

[I want to experience soundcheck so bad 😫]

As the first chords of the song rang through the stadium speakers, the members casually moved around the stage, each of them interacting with the fans in their own unique way. Seungkwan, ever the entertainer, exaggeratedly pointed at a fan holding a sign that read, “SEUNGKWAN MARRY ME,” before dramatically clutching his chest and pretending to swoon. Hoshi mimicked a fan’s dance moves, laughing as they tried to keep up with each other. Mingyu crouched at the edge of the stage, grinning as he reached out to accept a plushie from a fan, holding it up like a prized trophy.

Luna, standing near the center of the stage, swayed lightly to the rhythm as she sang, her gaze scanning the sea of fans. She occasionally waved and shot playful winks at the screaming crowd, her presence radiant yet effortlessly cool. Beside her, Jeonghan sang along, his voice smooth and melodic, but his attention drifted between the performance and teasing interactions with the fans.

[THEY ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER ITS ADORABLE]

When one particularly excited Carat in the front row jumped up and down waving her phone, Luna pointed at her and chuckled, mouthing, “Careful, don’t fall!”

[I feel for you already, miss thing]

After performing three songs, the members gathered at the front of the stage, slightly out of breath but all smiles. Joshua, always the composed and charming spokesperson, lifted his mic.

“Thank you all for coming to the soundcheck,” he said warmly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the speakers. “We can’t wait to see you all again when the show starts later. Make sure to save your energy, okay?”

“Drink water!” Luna chimed in, earning a wave of laughter from the crowd.

[*chugs a gallon of water*]

The members waved as the VIP section erupted into cheers, their voices blending into one chaotic yet affectionate roar. With that, the group began making their way toward the back of the stage, heading for the wings where they would disappear until the official concert began.

Even as they exited, the fans’ eyes remained locked on them, knowing that they could still be seen through the side openings of the stage. The members continued chatting amongst themselves, some throwing last-minute waves and finger hearts to the crowd as they disappeared from sight.

[HERE WE GO 🤭]

That was when it happened.

Jeonghan, walking beside Luna while talking animatedly to Joshua, swung his arm a little too far in his expressive storytelling— and hit Luna square in the stomach.

[honestly… HIT ME NEXT, JEONGHAN]

A collective gasp echoed from the crowd.

Luna stopped in her tracks, her body instinctively recoiling as she clutched her stomach, her face morphing into an exaggerated pout. Her wide eyes flickered up to Jeonghan, who had frozen mid-step, realization dawning upon him.

[Apologize to my pookie right now 🥺]

The fans could see it unfold in real-time— the exact moment he realized what he had done. His mouth parted slightly, and without a second thought, he moved toward her in a hurry.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

The next thing they saw was Jeonghan wrapping his arms around Luna from behind, pulling her close as if to protect her from the very damage he had caused. His hands, gentle and warm, smoothed over the exposed skin of her midriff where her crop top left it bare, a silent apology written in the way his fingers traced soothing circles over the spot he had unintentionally hit.

[*malfunctions*]

[*passes out*]

[*squeals in JeongNa*]

The stadium erupted into screams.

If that wasn’t enough, what happened next sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.

Still holding Luna close, Jeonghan dipped his head down, his lips brushing against the crook of her neck once. Twice. Then a third time, as if sealing his apology with a kiss. Luna, though initially flustered, visibly relaxed in his hold, her lips parting into a small, knowing smile.

[WHATTHEFAWKKKKKKKMKKKKKK]

[THANK YOU TO WHOEVER FILMED THIS]

[THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE, OP 🫡]

[*plays that part again on a loop*]

Fans were screaming so loud now that their voices could probably be heard beyond the venue itself.

And the best part?

Jeonghan didn’t even seem to care.

His lips lingered near Luna’s ear for a second longer before he murmured something only she could hear, causing her to chuckle softly as they continued walking like that— Jeonghan’s arms still wrapped around her waist from behind, his hands resting comfortably on her stomach, their steps naturally falling in sync.

[MOM AND DAD?!!?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?]

[JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY— oh wait… they are about to 🤭]

The two of them walked together like that until they finally disappeared from sight, leaving behind a stadium full of fans who were still reeling from what they had just witnessed.

[Another iconic JeongNa video in the bag]

“THIS SONG REMINDS ME OF HANNIE”

And now here we have, Mother Taylor doing us a service.

The dim glow of Luna’s hotel room in Japan cast a warm, intimate ambiance as she sat comfortably on the bed, propped up against the plush pillows with her phone in hand. The screen in front of her illuminated her face softly, the gentle hum of background music filling the otherwise quiet space.

She had been live on Weverse for a while now, casually chatting with fans, answering their questions, and occasionally laughing at the more amusing comments that scrolled past.

[Side note: she is glowing in this live… she always is, who am I kidding?]

Dressed in an oversized hoodie, her hair loosely tied back, Luna exuded a calm, cozy energy that made the live feel less like a formal interaction and more like a late-night conversation between close friends. The air felt easy, relaxed— just her, the fans, and the soothing music playing softly from her laptop.

At this point in the live, Luna had settled into a quieter rhythm. Instead of talking continuously, she had let the music take the forefront, reading through the flood of comments in comfortable silence. Every so often, she would read one aloud, her voice naturally soft yet engaging.

“‘Luna, did you eat already?’” she read, her gaze flickering up to the camera before nodding. “Mmm, yes. I had udon earlier. It was really good. I was craving something warm after practice.”

She continued scrolling, occasionally responding with small smiles and hums. The sound of the song playing through her phone wrapped around her like a gentle embrace, the melody soft and sentimental. It wasn’t until a particular comment caught her attention that she blinked and tilted her head slightly, a small flicker of recognition in her eyes.

[I LOVE THIS SONG EVEN MORE NOW 🥹]

“Oh—‘Jiyeonie, what song is playing?’” she read aloud, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she turned her attention back to the music.

For a moment, she simply listened, letting the familiar chords settle in her ears before answering.

“This is ‘Invisible String’ by Taylor Swift.”

Her voice was warm, unhurried, as if she were sharing a quiet secret. Leaning back against the pillows, she let the melody play a little longer before she continued, her tone carrying a sense of quiet admiration.

[HONESTLY, THIS SONG IS SO JEONGNA CODED]

“I love this song.” Her gaze remained fixed on the scrolling comments, reading them silently before she spoke again, her voice thoughtful. “It’s so… I don’t know how to describe it. It feels nostalgic, but comforting at the same time.”

She exhaled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of her phone. There was a brief pause as if she were debating whether or not to say what was on her mind. And then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, she added,

“This song reminds me of Hannie.”

[GAJNMAJEJEVEIBSKWNSGWUSBJSBWUSHAJ]

[THE SONG ABOUT THE INVISIBLE STING THEORY REMINDS JIYEON OF JEONGHAN!!!!!!!]

[GOODBYE–]

[THEY ARE SOULMATES INDEED]

The reaction was instant

The comments exploded in a frenzy of capital letters, exclamation points, and rapid-fire messages from fans losing their minds. The chat box scrolled at lightning speed, filled with variations of:

“LUNA PLEASE.”

“NOT INVISIBLE STRING LUNA DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.”

“THIS SONG IS ABOUT SOULMATES ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?”

“BAE JIYEON I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“LUNA JUST SAID JEONGHAN IS HER INVISIBLE STRING EVERYONE STAY CALM.”

The sheer intensity of the fans’ reaction was almost comical, and Luna— fully aware of the chaos she had just caused— pressed her lips together, failing to suppress the amused smirk that tugged at her mouth.

[the smirk on her face says it all… she don’t care no more]

[SHE LOVES IT]

[THEY BOTH DO]

[JEONGNA ARE MENACES]

Luna didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. The soft, knowing expression, the way her fingers drummed against the back of her phone as she continued reading the comments, all of it hinted at a quiet amusement that she had expected this reaction.

[I KNOW DAMN WELL SHE CAN SEE THOSE COMMENTS AND SHE’S JUST OUT HERE SMIRKING]

And then, in a moment of effortless, almost unconscious sincerity, Luna’s voice rose gently over the melody as she sang along, her voice a soft murmur against the music.

“‘And isn’t it just so pretty to think…’” she sang, her tone light, delicate, as if she were singing purely for herself rather than for the thousands watching.

“‘All along there was an invisible string…’”

“‘Tying you to me~’”

[MOOOOOOOM IS SERENADING US]

[JEONGHAN, I MEAN. SHE IS SERENADING JEONGHAN]

[But seriously, we NEED a full cover]

Luna’s voice trailed off, fading into a quiet hum as she swayed slightly to the melody. The chat was still in shambles, a never-ending stream of reactions, but Luna only smiled, her expression unreadable yet undeniably warm.

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

The music played on, her fingers absentmindedly scrolling through the comments as she hummed along, her thoughts drifting elsewhere— perhaps to a certain someone who, unbeknownst to the fans, was probably watching this very live at that very moment.

[AND YES, YOON JEONGHAN WAS INDEED WATCHING THE LIVE]

‘I HAVE LOVED YOU SINCE WE WERE 18’ ~

Since we’re already here…

More moment of Luna telling fans about songs that remind her of Yoon Jeonghan.

Idfk why we didn’t see know… THEY WERE BEING SO OBVIOUS!

The evening air in Paris carried a crisp chill, the soft golden glow of the hotel entrance casting long shadows across the cobblestone pavement. The soft hum of conversation mixed with the occasional shuffle of feet as a group of fans stood gathered outside, waiting for one last glimpse of Luna before she left for the airport.

Dressed in a sleek, oversized coat that draped effortlessly over her frame, Luna stepped out of the hotel lobby, her presence instantly drawing the attention of the crowd. The moment she appeared, a wave of excited murmurs rippled through the fans, followed by a chorus of greetings and camera shutters clicking in rapid succession.

[She is so European 🤩]

A warm smile graced her lips as she lifted a hand in greeting, fingers wiggling slightly in a playful wave. “Hello!” she greeted, voice carrying over the group. “How are you guys? Did you wait long?”

The fans eagerly responded, some shaking their heads, others calling out variations of, “We don’t mind!” and “We wanted to see you before you left!”

Luna’s gaze softened, touched by their dedication. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, carefully maneuvering past her team, who stood at a respectful distance, allowing her this brief moment with her fans.

[I WANT TO MEET HER 😞]

[she is just truly the sweetest]

She took her time— posing for selfies, signing albums and posters handed her way, and accepting small gifts wrapped in delicate ribbons. A plush bunny, a handwritten letter, a small bouquet of flowers— each one received with genuine gratitude as she murmured soft thanks to each fan.

“You guys are always so sweet. There is no need for all of this but thank you so much,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag as she leaned in to sign another album.

[It’s what you deserve, Queen!]

The fans around her beamed, soaking in every second of the interaction. Despite the limited time, Luna made sure to acknowledge as many people as possible, meeting their eyes, sharing small jokes, and responding to their excited words with unwavering patience and warmth.

[Jiyeon always makes sure she has talked to everyone. It’s so endearing 🥹]

Eventually, as the last few fans remained, Luna reached for a poster being held out to her, her marker uncapping with a quiet click as she bent slightly to sign her name.

“Paris carats will miss you,” the fan holding the poster said earnestly, her voice tinged with both admiration and a hint of sadness.

Luna glanced up, eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the hotel lights. “I’ll miss you guys too,” she assured her, her tone gentle but certain. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

The fan, who had been filming the moment along with many others around her, nodded excitedly. “You have to!” she insisted. “We’ll be waiting!”

Luna chuckled, nodding as she finished signing with a small flourish. “I will, I will.”

[The Europe air does something to her istg]

As she handed back the signed poster, the fan hesitated for a second before grinning. “Jeonghan’s birthday is in a few days,” she pointed out. “Do you have a gift for him?”

[Duh 💁‍♀️]

At that, Luna looked up, her hand still midair as she processed the question. A slow, playful smile curled on her lips before she nodded. “Of course,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The fan leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “What is it?”

[Herself]

Luna let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s a secret.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, making the surrounding fans giggle in response.

“A secret?!” the fan whined dramatically.

Luna only shrugged, the smirk on her lips giving nothing away.

[She loves teasing istg]

[Bae Jiyeon enjoys torturing us]

The fan huffed before suddenly perking up with another question. “Okay, okay! If there was a song you’d dedicate to him for his birthday, what would it be?”

Luna barely hesitated before deadpanning, “‘Happy Birthday.’”

[SHE CRACKS ME UP 😂]

[She really said, “Girl, bffr, what other song would I dedicate on his birthday.”]

The fan let out a loud laugh, shaking her head. “Aside from that!”

Luna hummed, combing her fingers through her hair as she thought, “Hmm… I’ve been relistening to One Direction albums lately.”

The moment she said that, the fan gasped excitedly. “Really?! I love One Direction!”

Luna’s face brightened. “Really? Same! Their songs bring back so many memories.”

The fan nodded eagerly, urging her on. “Okay, okay! So which one?”

Luna paused for a second before tilting her head slightly. “I think… ‘18.’ It’s one of my favorites. It reminds me of Jeonghan, so probably that.”

[THAT SONGGGGGGG]

[‘I have loved you since we were eighteen’]

[AGHHHHHHHHHHHSBIEHSUWHAJNWKWB]

The reaction was instant— the fan let out a squeal of excitement, hands clutching her phone tightly as she processed Luna’s words. The surrounding fans echoed similar reactions, gasping, laughing, and whispering amongst themselves.

Luna smirked at their reaction before giving a small wave. “Alright, I have to go now,” she said, stepping back slightly. “Thank you all for coming! I’ll be back soon. Stay safe, okay?”

[She really answered that question, smirked because she caused a commotion, and then dipped as if nothing happened.]

[Icon behavior]

The fans waved frantically, voices overlapping as they called out their goodbyes. “Safe flight, Luna!” “We love you, Jiyeonie!” “Come back soon!”

Her bodyguard finally stepped forward, gently guiding her toward the waiting car. As she reached for the door, Luna glanced over her shoulder one last time, smiling at the sea of waving hands before slipping inside.

As the door closed behind her, the fans outside erupted into excited chatter, their cameras still recording, capturing every last moment of her departure.

THE INFAMOUS ALMOST CAUGHT CAR KISS (?)

Just this fucking video right here… just watch.

The air outside the SBS building was thick with excitement, the energy of the crowd buzzing like static in the cool night. Lined up neatly along the curb, a fleet of black vans awaited their passengers— SEVENTEEN, fresh off their Inkigayo performance, now finally off the clock and heading home.

[Side note: ‘Super’ might be my fave stage outfits]

Beyond the barricades, fans stood shoulder to shoulder, their cheers rising in pitch as they caught glimpses of idols making their way out. Media personnel crowded the front, cameras poised, ready to capture every moment of the artists departing. The bright flashes of cameras flickered like lightning against the night, illuminating the scene in rapid bursts.

And then, the commotion intensified.

SEVENTEEN had finally emerged from the building, now dressed in their own comfortable clothes rather than their elaborate stage outfits. Though exhaustion clung to their post-performance bodies, their faces still carried that familiar warmth as they acknowledged the sea of fans waiting for them.

“SEVENTEEN! SEVENTEEN!” The fans screamed, voices overlapping as they called out each of the members’ names.

[Icons doing iconic shit]

Luna and Jeonghan were among the first to step outside. Luna, wrapped in an oversized zip-up hoodie with the hood resting against her back, lifted a hand in greeting, a soft, dimpled smile gracing her lips. She bowed politely, waving towards the cameras and the fans alike.

[She’s so smol 🥹 (she’s taller than me)]

[I wanna keep her in my pocket and take care of her]

Jeonghan trailed behind her, dressed in a loose-knit sweater and black jeans, his long black hair slightly tousled from the hours spent on stage. His eyes crinkled in a quiet smile as he too waved, effortlessly charming as he dipped his head in greeting.

The screams intensified.

[They are so hot]

[They just look good together yk]

[They. Just. Make. Sense. Together.]

“LUNA! JEONGHAN! OVER HERE!”

“JIYEON-AH, I LOVE YOU!”

“HANNIE! YOU LOOK SO HANDSOME!”

The energy was infectious. As Luna and Jeonghan made their way towards their designated van, Luna took her time, sending small finger hearts toward the fans, mouthing silent “thank yous” to those who shouted words of encouragement. The bright lights of the cameras danced in her vision, but her attention remained on the fans, her steps slow and intentional, as if she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

[She loves us so much]

Jeonghan, however, had already reached their van first. With the door now open, he turned back, watching as Luna lingered for a moment longer, engaging with the fans.

[Han waiting for her 🥹 I’m so soft for them]

Then, in one swift, playful motion after debating, Luna reached out and plucked a plushie from the hands of a fan reaching over the barricade— a soft, brown teddy bear.

“OH MY GOD, SHE TOOK IT! JIYEON-AH! I LOVE YOU!”

The fan gasped, clutching onto their friends as a high-pitched scream escaped them. The surrounding fans erupted into excited shrieks, their hands flying to their mouths as they processed the interaction.

[Honestly same]

[Bae Jiyeon can snatch my arm right out the socket and I’d cry in happiness]

Jeonghan, still standing by the open van door, chuckled at the scene unfolding before him. His grin stretched lazily across his face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, simply watching her antics with amusement.

[‘A man. A man. A man. A maAaAnN’ ~]

Luna shot one last wave toward the crowd before finally making her way over, clutching the plushie to her chest. As she approached, Jeonghan— ever the gentleman— lifted a hand to the top of the car’s frame, ensuring she wouldn’t accidentally hit her head as she stepped inside. She slid in with ease, murmuring a soft thank you under her breath before settling into the seat.

[WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!?]

[YOON JEONGHAN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 🧎‍♀️]

With a final glance toward the crowd, the two of them waved once more before Jeonghan followed suit, stepping into the van. The door shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the screaming fans just outside.

[And so it begins…]

[Buckle up, ladies and gentlemen]

Though the outside world had been shut out, the interior lights of the van were still on, casting a soft, golden glow inside. The thick, black curtains that usually shielded them from the outside were slightly pushed open, leaving just enough space for the fans to get a glimpse inside.

[This is the universe showing us that it is a JeongNa shipper as well 😝]

And what fans saw made their hearts nearly stop.

Luna and Jeonghan sat side by side, both leaned back comfortably in their seats, facing each other as they engaged in quiet conversation. Though the details of their words couldn’t be heard, the way they looked at each other spoke volumes.

[Fucking adorable]

“Oh my god, look at them—”

“JEONGHAN IS JUST STARING AT HER—”

Through the slight gap in the curtains, it was evident that Luna was saying something animatedly, her hands moving slightly as she spoke. But Jeonghan… he was quiet. Just gazing at her with that small, lazy smile that never quite left his lips, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but still holding that familiar warmth.

[JEONGHAN! MY DUDE! CHILLLLLLL!!!]

Then, without warning, Luna lifted the teddy bear she was given earlier, holding it up as if inspecting it. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she made the plushie walk across Jeonghan’s chest, bouncing lightly as if it had little feet.

[IT’S SO FLUFFY I’M GONNA DIE! (I’m talking about Luna not the teddy 😊)]

The fans outside watching could see Jeonghan chuckle, his head tipping back slightly as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Then, Luna moved the plushie again, this time making it lean in and kiss Jeonghan’s cheek.

The fans lost it.

“JIYEONIE IS SO CUTE—”

“SHE MADE THE TEDDY KISS HIM I’M GOING TO SCREAM—”

[Same]

Jeonghan only shook his head, reaching out lazily to poke the plushie before turning his attention back to her, their conversation continuing in hushed tones.

But then— something changed.

[Here. We. Fucking. Go.]

Jeonghan lifted a hand, his fingers reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Luna’s ear, his movements slow, deliberate.

The fans watching held their breath.

Then, slowly, he began to lean in.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAHHHH 🦅]

Luna, mid-sentence, suddenly shifted. Her eyes darted toward the window— the small opening in the curtain— and her breath caught. Her expression flickered for just a moment before her eyes widened slightly in realization.

The fans saw the exact moment it happened.

“WAIT SHE NOTICED US—”

[Yeah no shit 😩]

[I wanted to see them kisssssss]

Luna quickly pulled back, her lips parting as she lifted a hand and subtly pointed toward the overhead light.

Jeonghan, noticing her shift, stopped just before closing the space between them. Instead of pulling away, he simply turned his head, following her gaze toward the window.

[He don’t care, gurl… just kiss him already!]

For a brief moment, the fans were able to see his expression— curious, then amused. Then, as if fully processing the situation, his lips curled into a smirk.

[THAT. DAMN. SMIRK. YOON JEONGHAN]

And then— he reached up, fingers flicking the light switch off.

Darkness.

Before the fans could even react, his other hand moved, gripping the curtain —and with one smooth motion, he pulled it shut.

That was the last thing they saw.

[HOW MUCH YA’LL WANNA BET HE MADE OUT WITH HER RIGHT AFTER?!? I BET EVERYTHING I OWN!!]

Were they about to kiss? Or was he simply going to whisper something?

A mystery to this day.

The fans outside erupted.

“WHAT THE HELL DID WE JUST WITNESS?!”

“I CAN’T BREATHE—”

[Same]

“JEONGHAN SMIRKED. HE KNEW. HE KNEW.”

[He knew and he didn’t care]

[Wasn’t even phased]

“THE WAY HE JUST CLOSED THE CURTAIN AND TURNED OFF THE LIGHT I’M ACTUALLY SICK.”

[Same pt. 1563]

The screams carried on, the energy electric, as theories and speculations ran wild through the crowd. And with that, the van pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the Seoul night.

KISSING SOUNDS (?) ON JEONGHAN’S LIVE + LUNA’S APPEARANCE

Here we have another moment where I am a hundred percent sure they were kissing.

THEY MAKE ME GO INSANE!!!

Just LISTEN closely!

The night was quiet, the only sounds in the dimly lit room being the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of the blankets.

Jeonghan lay comfortably on his back, his phone resting on his chest as he spoke to the thousands of fans tuned into his live. This wasn’t a traditional broadcast— no bright lights, no setup. It was a ‘voice only’ live— just his voice filling the space as fans listened in, his words casual and unhurried, carrying the weight of exhaustion from the long day.

[THIS VOICE ONLY LIVE IS ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVES]

[Jeonghan’s voice ugh 😩]

Unbeknownst to the listeners, Luna was beside him, nestled under the covers, her body curled slightly toward him as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. She had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice, the quiet lull of his speech acting as a soothing rhythm.

Jeonghan knew she was tired, the kind of exhaustion that seeped into her bones, and he hadn’t minded when she tugged at his sleeve earlier before he started the live, mumbling something incoherent before settling against his side. She barely stirred now, her breaths slow and steady, the warmth of her body pressed gently against his.

Jeonghan continued talking, his voice lower than usual, careful not to disturb her. “Ah, that’s funny,” he murmured, reading the flood of comments appearing on his screen. “No, I don’t have any snacks with me right now… Should I get something? Ah, but I’m too comfortable to move.”

The chat scrolled rapidly, fans reacting to his words in real-time. He lazily skimmed through them, his thumb scrolling up and down at a sluggish pace. Then, suddenly— acomment caught his eye.

He blinked, rereading it, and then— laughter.

A real, unrestrained laugh burst from his lips, much louder than he had intended. The noise cut through the quiet air, startling even himself.

[He has the prettiest laughs]

[MY GOD 🧎‍♀️]

[I have used this 🧎‍♀️ emoji one too many times… but that’s how I honestly feel.]

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

And, unfortunately, his laugh also startled Luna.

Beside him, she jolted slightly, her brows knitting together as a soft, disoriented hum left her lips. She shifted, her fingers weakly gripping at the fabric of his sweater as if grounding herself from the sudden disturbance.

Jeonghan immediately turned his head toward her, guilt flashing in his eyes. His laughter faded into a breathy chuckle as he mouthed, “Sorry.”

Luna blinked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, barely registering what had happened. She let out a sleepy sigh, nodding sluggishly before snuggling closer, her face pressing against the warmth of his shoulder.

Jeonghan felt something in his chest tighten at the sight. The way she looked— soft, half-asleep, and utterly vulnerable— made his heart ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Still feeling sorry for waking her, he lifted a single finger and gently tilted her chin up. She barely resisted, her drowsy gaze meeting his for just a second before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

She sighed into the touch, her body relaxing even further. The kiss was brief— but it was enough to silently convey what he couldn’t say out loud in that moment.

[LISTENNNNNNNN?!?]

From the fans’ point of view, all they heard was the sudden silence following Jeonghan’s laughter. A pause, a shuffle of movement, and then— a sound.

Something.

A light, fleeting noise— soft but unmistakable.

It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t obvious.

But it was something.

A smack? A wet sound? A kiss?

[THAT WAS A KISS, GOODBYE–]

The chat exploded.

“What was that sound?!”

“YOON JEONGHAN. EXPLAIN YOURSELF?!?”

“OH MY GOD DID HE JUST—”

“He’s not talking. He knows what he did!!”

[I WAS WATCHING THIS LIVE AND IT WAS INSANE!!]

The chaos in the comments went unnoticed by Jeonghan for a brief moment as he pulled back, watching Luna nuzzle into his shoulder once more, her breathing evening out again.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he returned his focus to the phone and in his moment of distraction, he accidentally tapped the screen.

The camera turned on.

For a split second, the fans were no longer just listening to his voice.

They saw him.

And more importantly— they saw her.

Luna, lying right next to him, her face partially buried against his shoulder, her expression still soft with sleep.

[PEEK-A-FUCKING-BOO]

[Imagine how psycho we were theorizing about him possibly kissing some random person then BOOM Bae Jiyeon laying next to him]

[I CANNOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP?!?]

[IDK WHY WE WERE SO SHOCKED WHEN THEY CONFIRMED THEIR RELATIONSHIP?! IT WAS RIGHT HERE ALL ALONG!!]

The reaction in the comments were instantaneous.

“OH MY GOD???”

“LUNA????”

“JEONGHAN?! JIYEON?! WTF?!”

“WE CAUGHT YOU. WE ALL SAW.”

The realization hit Jeonghan at the same time Luna processed what had happened.

Her eyes widened slightly, a delayed reaction, before she made a sound that was almost a whimper of embarrassment. Quickly, she turned away, covering her face with the sleeve of her hoodie as she scooted just out of the frame, her body half disappearing from view.

[Gurl…. We all saw you]

Jeonghan, unfazed, only chuckled, his lips quirking into an amused smile as he reached up and tapped the screen again, turning the camera back off.

[HE 👏 DOES 👏 NOT 👏 GIVE 👏 A 👏 DAMN 👏]

“YOU CAN’T JUST PRETEND THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN.”

“JEONGHAN WE ALL SAW HER.”

“THIS IS INSANE I NEED TO LAY DOWN.”

Jeonghan let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well,” he mused before turning the camera back on, “you might as well say hi now. They already saw you.”

Luna, still curled into herself, let out a muffled groan before slowly peeking out from her hoodie. She glanced toward his phone, her voice raspy with sleep as she mumbled, “Hi.”

[Shes’s adorable 🥹]

The chat erupted.

“SHE’S SO CUTE PLEASE.”

“She looks so sleepy I’m going to cry.”

“YOU GUYS TWO ARE ACTUALLY INSANE.”

Jeonghan grinned, his tone light. “She was sleeping,” he explained, “but I accidentally woke her up.” He conveniently left out the part where they had, in fact, been kissing.

[“… and kissed her.”]

And just like that, the mystery of that sound would remain unsolved.

“THE EYES, CHICO, THEY NEVER LIE”

Ending this video with this cute footage of them in the background of a behind the scene clip.

This video has a special place in my heart just because of the way they look at each other.

Enjoy!

The gymnasium was vast, its polished floors gleaming under the harsh, fluorescent lights overhead. The room was buzzing with activity as SEVENTEEN and their dancers milled around during their break, bodies moving in various states of exhaustion and playfulness.

Some members were still running through choreography, muscle memory guiding their motions even as their breaths came in short, measured exhales. Others were sprawled out on the floor, limbs stretched as they tried to catch their breath, sweat glistening on their skin. A few wandered around, chatting, hydrating, and indulging in lighthearted banter, their voices echoing through the open space.

[THIS DANCE PRACTICE IS ✨SUPERIOR✨]

The behind-the-scenes camera was currently focused on Hoshi, who stood in the middle of the gym, slightly out of breath but still beaming as he spoke animatedly to the lens. His hands gestured wildly as he explained the intensity of their practice, the difficulty of the ‘Super’ choreography, and how important synchronization was with such a large group.

However, in the background, a quieter scene unfolded by the bleachers.

[I love you Hoshi but I was focused on JeongNa at the back]

Luna sat there, crouched down with her knees hugged loosely to her chest, sipping on a water bottle as she watched the members goofing around. Her hair was slightly damp from sweat, her face glowing from the rigorous practice, but her expression was relaxed, her lips curling faintly as she observed the chaos around her. Her gaze flitted from member to member, watching them in their own worlds— Dino playfully shoving Mingyu, Seungkwan dramatically collapsing onto a bench, Woozi stretching out his sore muscles.

[She’s adorable 🥹 pt. 164367]

And then, movement caught the camera’s eye.

Jeonghan.

He approached her with a slow, unhurried pace, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants, his gaze never leaving her. There was something effortless about the way he moved, like he wasn’t walking toward her so much as he was being pulled there naturally, as if his body was drawn to hers without conscious thought.

[HE– no comment.]

Reaching the bleachers, Jeonghan stopped just in front of Luna, looking up at her with that signature, knowing smirk playing on his lips. Since she was sitting on the elevated bench, their height difference was reversed— he had to tilt his head slightly to meet her gaze while she looked down at him.

Without a word, he lifted his arms and placed his hands on either side of her, palms pressing against the cool metal of the bleacher seat, effectively caging her in. His arms formed a loose barrier, not restrictive, not confining— but there was a certain intimacy in the way he leaned in, closing the space between them just enough that their conversation felt like it existed in its own little world, separate from the bustling gym.

[I love them together. It is not even funny anymore.]

Luna’s reaction was immediate.

A soft, dimpled smile appeared on her face, the corners of her lips curving naturally as she gazed down at him. There was a warmth in her expression, her features softening in a way that was almost imperceptible yet impossible to ignore. She looked at him like she had been waiting for him to come over, like his presence was something expected yet still delightful.

And Jeonghan—bhe was looking at her the exact same way. His lips were curled into a quiet grin, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and affection.

[The way they are looking at each other 🥹]

[they love each other.]

They exchanged words, their voices too quiet to be picked up by the microphone, but their body language spoke volumes.

The way Luna’s shoulders relaxed as she spoke softly, the gentle tilt of her head, the way her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the cap of her water bottle. The way Jeonghan listened— his gaze locked onto hers, his smile widening at something she said, his eyes never straying from her face.

There was a brief moment where Luna’s eyes sparkled— an unfiltered joy flickering through them as she spoke, something playful and lighthearted passing her lips. Jeonghan’s response was a low chuckle, his shoulders shaking slightly as he dipped his head for just a second before lifting it again to meet her gaze.

[‘The look of love, the rush of blood’ ~]

And then, silence.

Not an awkward one, not one filled with hesitation— but a moment suspended in time, where they simply looked at each other.

[I pray a love like this find me 🙏]

Luna’s fingers stilled against the water bottle, and her smile softened, turning quieter, more intimate.

Jeonghan’s expression mirrored hers, his grin gentling, his head tilting just slightly as if taking her in.

[The way they are just looking at each orher so lovingly and smiling]

[They are each other’s safe place]

The camera, though focused on Hoshi, couldn’t help but capture this small, quiet exchange in the background. It was fleeting, just a moment in between the energy of their practice, but it was real. A glimpse into something genuine, something unspoken, something effortless.

And though they were surrounded by people, it felt, just for that moment, like they were the only two in the room.

There you have it folks, just a handful of moments where JeongNa either exposed themselves or nearly got caught.

Cannot believe we had the audacity to act surprised when the confirmation came out. Like—HELLO? HELLO?? Were we watching two different people this entire time? Because they were not hiding. At all. Not even a little bit.

If anything, they were gaslighting us into thinking we were delusional when in reality, we were just blind. Stupid. Clowning ourselves daily.

They really sat there, in broad daylight, touching, flirting, giggling, eye contacting, ALMOST KISSING, and we just… brushed it off? We deserved to be lied to. Honestly. Because HOW did we not see it??

At this point, I’m convinced they weren’t hiding at all. They were just playing a game of ‘How Much Can We Get Away With Before They Notice?’ And guess what? THEY WON. BECAUSE WE DIDN’T NOTICE UNTIL THEY TOLD US.

But in all seriousness, I love them. I love them so much. The way they look at each other, the way they care for each other— it’s just so genuine. And honestly? That’s all that matters. So yeah, we were dumb. But at least now we can openly scream about it. And I, for one, am never shutting up about them. Ever.

Congratulations to Luna and Jeonghan. You won. We lost. And we couldn’t be happier about it.

Till the next video! Toodleloo!

comments…

@/lunababybae • 1 day ago ╰ We were played. We were played good. But then again why am I surprised?! These two are the aces of GoSe 😝

@/rinarieee • 1 day ago ╰ I for one have been shipping them since the fucking beginning… just had a feeling they were made for each other. You can call me Cupid!

@/gyusshadow • 1 day ago ╰ LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR VIDEOS AS USUAL! You are hilarious 😂

@/moonbae17 • 1 day ago ╰ the way they were both clearly describing each other is what gets me every time 2:16 🤭💖

@/saluttteee_17 • 1 day ago ╰ THE WAY JEONGHAN JUST SMIRKS EVERY TIME THEY SLIP UP IS CRAZY ATTRACTIVE. HE IS A MENACE!!

@/mad-lineeee • 1 day ago ╰ the way Hannie looked at Luna 3:30 before he rants about what his type is

@/mrsbaebae • 1 day ago ╰ I have said it once and I will say it again… YOON JEONGHAN SEEMS TO BE AN AMAZING KISSER 🫠

@/alyy1625 • 1 day ago ╰ 5:45 DAMN 🥵 Han loves kissing her neck. He did this a few times to her in Game Caterers

@/jeongnanana • 1 day ago ╰ I am proud to say that I was at that soundcheck and we were all losing our minds over those two 🤭

@/gyuuuuudaily• 1 day ago ╰ invisible string and 18 are so their songs!

@/lunaticforluna• 1 day ago ╰ Jiyeon always dedicates songs for the guys but mostly Hannie and she never misses.

@/lulu-nana17• 1 day ago ╰ 8:03 her smile when she was singing Invisible String 😭 ik she felt that in her bones

@/sebongrighthere • 1 day ago ╰ THE. WAY. THEY. STARE. AT. EACH. OTHER.

@/missbitchhhh • 1 day ago ╰ Gurl you crack me up with the captions and your commentary 😂

@/shadowmyshadow• 1 day ago ╰ JEONGNA IN THAT DAMN VAN ALMOST KISSING WAS AND IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE

@/angel7266 • 1 day ago ╰ 11:30 JEONGHAN SMIRKING BEFORE TURNING THE LIGHTS OFF AND SHUTTING THE BLINDS?! IK THEY MADE OUT IN THERE!:₱/?)/

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 1 day ago ╰ 10:55 just me and Jeonghan being soft for Luna playing with a teddy bear

@/user763816262 • 1 day ago ╰ carats’ reaction as they watched JeongNa is the car 😂

@/ashonashonash_ • 1 day ago ╰ Hannie’s live till this day makes me giggle because it was so obvious they were kissing 🤭

@/jijijiyeonienie • 1 day ago ╰ that clip of JeongNa at the background while Hoshi was speaking to the camera was so wholesome. You can clearly tell how much they adore and love each other. It’s adorable and anyone who says otherwise are liars.

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[astraystayyh]

aaah kaylee i wont lie i let out the loudest exhale at your feedback 🥹 i can’t tell you just how relieved i am you enjoyed reading the story!!!! i really wanted to honor YOUR vision and i had so much fun writing the parts you mentioned in particular :,) i don’t have a brother as well so it was very endearing, in a way, to imagine what it’d be like to have a protective one

ahhhh you picked up on the nickname detail 🥹 i feel like most of their relationship happened when no one else was around, they could both be more vulnerable, weaker even, around one another ykwim

my heart is racing at u saying it was worth the wait!!!!! and that you’d like to see it as a movie 😭😭😭🥹🥹 i’m so honored and lucky to have you as my reader, truly, thank you for being so supportive and kind, you are the sweetest ❤️ i hope you have beautiful days and a warm, peaceful heart

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

���I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[utopiastri]

Touch starved/cuddle curse for landoscar please!!! I love your writing so much, thank you for sharing 💕

hi anon! i went for cuddle curse because i always love an excuse to write magical realism - i hope you enjoy and thank you for the prompt!!!

“So. How much longer are we trapped like this?” Lando asks

Jon checks his watch and glances at the ceiling as he does some quick mental maths. “About seven more hours? Give or take.”

Lando groans and tries to tilt his head back dramatically only to be stopped abruptly when the back of his neck hits Oscar’s arm where it's curled around his shoulders. “Sorry, mate,” he grimaces.

“It’s ok,” Oscar says quietly, “Sorry for getting us in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. Alright, well it’s not entirely your fault anyway,” Lando amends after Oscar gives him a look.

Jon clears his throat and Lando and Oscar both turn to look. “You boys all good here for the next few hours then? I'll be right next door if you need anything – you need anything before I go?” Oscar shakes his head and mutters a small thanks, but Lando stops to think about it for a second. He opens his mouth but Jon cuts him off. “Lando, no matter how many times you ask me, I’m not letting you have a cheat meal the night before a race just because your teammate got you cursed.”

Lando huffs. Oscar winces. Jon sighs.

“Fuck off then, if you’re not even gonna let me eat anything fun,” Lando grumbles.

Jon rolls his eyes and leaves the room. With him gone, Lando and Oscar fade into an awkward silence. Or as close to silence as you can get when you’re tangled so tightly with your teammate that you can hear every breath, every sniffle, every fidget. When the curse first pulled them together they'd experimented with lying further away from each other, but it resulted in so much pain for them both that they decided it would be better to just cling to each other instead.

For the record, Lando wasn’t kidding when he said this whole thing wasn’t entirely Oscar’s fault. Yes, Oscar’s the one who impeded Charles in quali today and yes, technically, Charles is the one whose magic accidentally manifested a curse on Oscar, but it’s not Oscar’s fault that Charles has never been able to control his magic.

“Why do you think Charles’ magic wound up casting a cuddle curse of all things?” Lando asks eventually, sick of the somewhat tense silence.

Oscar mumbles something but Lando can’t quite make it out.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I think the curse is having fun with the fact that Charles was pissed off that I was so close to him on track.”

“Huh?”

Oscar huffs. “I was too close to Charles on track so now the magic says I’ve gotta be too close to you instead.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Oscar mumbles after a few more moments.

“I’ve told you you don’t need to apologise. It’s fine.”

“Oh, what, because you’re having such a wonderful time right now? Being forcibly stuck to your teammate when you could be in your own bed with as much space as you want?”

“I mean it’s not…like, I mean I know I said we were ‘trapped’ when Jon was here but like, it’s not…not nice.” Lando tries not to pull a face at the trainwreck of a sentence he just came out with.

He's not lying though. There is something not not nice about being cuddled up so close to Oscar. It’s warm for one thing, comforting for another. He’s always enjoyed the rare occasions he and Oscar have hugged for longer than your typical bro hug.

It’s not not nice.

It’s, well.

It's nice.

Like. Really nice.

Oscar makes a soft noise. “You, um, this is, uh…”

“Osc?”

Oscar takes a deep breath and then somehow manages to pull the two of them closer together, nuzzling his face into the side of Lando’s neck. “This ok?” he whispers. Lando can feel his lips move against his neck as he speaks.

“Yeah,” he replies as quietly as Oscar spoke. Tentatively, prepared to pull back at any moment, he takes the hand currently plastered to the back of Oscar’s shirt and dips it underneath, resting his palm there, skin against skin. “This oka–”

“Yes,” Oscar breathes, barely letting Lando finish the question, already leaning into the touch.

Lando swallows and does his best to tug Oscar in tighter.

Maybe being stuck like this for seven hours isn’t such a bad thing.

[fallinallincurls]

Miles Away, I've Always Loved You

this is my entry for the 2025 winter fic exchange hosted by the lovely @wyattjohnston!! thank you as always for hosting!

my fic is for @writingonleaves! i had lots of fun writing this one and really hope you love it just as much.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 5.1k

The knock on the door startles Reagan out of her thoughts. She had been mentally trying to figure out how to organize the bookshelf in her living room now that it’s been built. 

The apartment is still mostly a mess. The move to Vancouver had been circled on her calendar for months, but Reagan knew the worst part about moving cross country completely by herself would be the unpacking and setting up of a new place. And so far, she’s been right. 

From putting together all the furniture on her own, opening and emptying box after box and feeling that same exhaustion hit her every few hours, the move has been an insane amount of work to say the least. But she couldn’t be happier knowing that she moved to this city that she’s still a little familiar with for the job of her dreams. That alone makes everything worth it.

There’s another knock at the door and Reagan lets out a deep sigh. She’s not expecting someone as no one in the city knows who she is since she just arrived three days ago. She abandons the stacks of books on the floor and heads to the door, wondering who could possibly be on the other side.

Without bothering to look through the peephole, which might’ve been a mistake, Reagan swings open the door to reveal a man she’s never seen before. He looks just a little older than her 25 years of age, has a big smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and his hair is neatly styled. Before she can even open her mouth to say anything, he’s already speaking.

“Oh, hey!” He says with an element of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know Cap had a girl, but I’m new here so I'm still trying to learn all of that, you know?”

She doesn’t know in fact because she has no idea what he’s talking about and the confusion must be evident on Reagan’s face because he continues talking in effort to explain.

“Um, I’m here for the team dinner? Apparently it’s tradition here for the captain to host everyone before training camp starts and so I brought this,” he shows you a bottle of expensive wine and then a container of store bought cookies, “and these.”

Everything the stranger standing in front of her has said only made the situation more odd. Team dinner? Tradition? He clearly mixed up numbers and is at the wrong apartment.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, but is almost immediately cut off when another voice calls out from down the hallway.

“Jake!” 

The man turns towards the voice and a look of recognition passes over his face as his smile seemingly becomes brighter at the sight of whoever said his name. 

“Q!” He says brightly, before returning his attention to her. “I’m sorry, I must’ve mixed up the apartment numbers.”

“It’s no problem.” Reagan reassures him before he waves a goodbye and starts heading to the apartment next to hers. The curiosity gets the better of her and she glances over to see who “Q” was and that’s when everything comes to a halt.

Because Q, or cap as Jake also called him, is Quinn Hughes. Her ex-boyfriend. The love of her life. And now, apparently, her next door neighbor.

Quinn must have sensed another pair of eyes on him because he looks over and meets her gaze. A look of disbelief crosses over his face for a split second, his brows furrowed in confusion as he realizes who his teammate bothered in the mixup.

“Reagan?” 

It might have been two years since the last time she saw him, but hearing her name rolling off his tongue still had the same effect on her as it did then.

“Quinn?” She asks in response, unable to comprehend that he’s standing less than 100 feet away from her. Quinn. Her Quinn. 

“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, just moved in a few days ago.” Reagan starts to explain and then a rush of worry hits her. “I finally got the job I’ve been waiting for and it just so happened to be here in Vancouver. I had no idea you lived in this building at all,”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Quinn says softly, cutting off her rambling. “Congratulations, I know how hard you worked to get through school and do everything you could to get this job.”

“Thank you.” Reagan murmurs, pushing her hair behind her ear and nervously dropping her gaze to the floor. All the heartbreak from the last few years has disappeared in the matter of seconds and it almost feels like she’s back there. In a time where they were still together and so in love with each other.

But Reagan knows that’s not her reality anymore. Now, she’s standing in her doorway looking at the man who she gave her heart to all those years ago, but now he’s almost a stranger. Just her neighbor in a new city.

“Uh, I know this is probably unexpected and way too sudden, but do you want to come over for dinner? There’s definitely enough food and everything.”

Reagan feels a wave of surprise wash over her at his offer and even though her heart is screaming to say yes, she knows she can’t accept. At least not right now.

“Thank you for offering, but I’m okay. Still trying to get adjusted and all. Another time?” She replies, trying to push away the want that’s arisen within her. She wants to spend time with him even if she hasn’t seen him in a while and her heart is still a little broken. Quinn nods in understanding, a strand of hair falling perfectly over his forehead, but Reagan sees the familiar look of sadness in his blue green eyes.

A loud yell erupts from inside Quinn’s apartment disrupting the quiet air around the two of them.

“I should probably get back. Almost the entire team is in there and I don’t trust a lot of them by themselves.” Quinn chuckles and Reagan feels a smile tug at her lips. “It was really great to see you. I hope Vancouver treats you well.”

“Thanks, Quinn. Same to you.” 

Quinn flashes you a sweet smile before ducking back inside. When the door to his apartment closes behind him, Reagan lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Not only does she have to navigate life in a new city with a new job, but now she has to handle living next to her ex, the man who was her everything, on top of everything else.

The memories that came rushing back the moment she realized it was him standing in the hallway linger in her mind for a little longer. All the shared kisses, big hugs after good and bad games, nights on the porch at the lake house in the offseason, his unwavering support for everything she did, early mornings spent cuddling and so much more. 

Reagan knew when they broke up that she would miss him for the rest of her life, but it feels like the wound has been reopened seeing him unexpectedly in person. Of course, she’s kept tabs on him by tuning into a few Canucks games and for a while, Jack was sending her regular life updates but those slowly came to an end. 

Her heart aches knowing she is going to have to see him more often now that they’re neighbors. It’s a curveball she never saw coming or even considered when she chose to move to the city that he lives and plays in. But here she is. 

With a shake of her head, Reagan clears her mind and pushes open her front door again. There���s relief that the entire interaction is over, both with Quinn and his teammate, but in a strange way, she also misses talking to him already.

Nothing could prepare her for randomly seeing the man she still loved years after he broke her heart. 

A few days later, Reagan gets a strong sense of deja vu. She’s attempting to put together the coffee table for the third time, after the first two tries were unsuccessful, when there’s a knock at her door.

A heavy sigh slips past your lips as she drops the useless IKEA instructions to the floor. She’s already preparing a little speech in her head in anticipation it’s another one of Quinn’s teammates who got the apartment numbers mixed up again.

“Hey, sorry, Quinn is-“ Reagan starts as the door swings open and reveals the blue green eyed, curly haired hockey player who lives next door. “here?” She finishes, more like a question than a statement.

“Hey,” Quinn says, flashing that soft smile that makes her heart melt. “I, um,” he pauses, almost as if collecting his thoughts to get exactly what he wants to say correct. “I know how hard it is to move to a new place by yourself having done it myself so I wanted to help with anything you need. And I brought breakfast too. Hopefully your usual order hasn’t changed.”

Reagan’s heart swells with adoration, remembering this is the version of Quinn she fell in love with. The kind, thoughtful man who continuously surprised her in ways she never thought possible. And against all odds, here he is again.

She’s stunned into silence for a few seconds, overwhelmed by his offer. It’s genuine and shows he cares even after all this time but allowing him to help means spending time with him, reconnecting, and Reagan doesn’t know if she’s ready for that just yet.

But she also really wants that coffee table to be built. So for right now, the pros outweigh the cons.

“Thank you so much, Quinn. That’s really thoughtful of you and honestly, there are a few things I’ve realized I can’t accomplish by myself no matter how hard I try.”

Quinn’s smiling genuinely now. He can’t believe she’s letting him help despite the fact they haven’t seen each other in a while minus the mixup the other day. But he doesn’t care. This is his opportunity to catch up with her and he’s going to cherish every second.

“That’s why I’m here.” He chuckles in response, handing her the iced coffee and bagel he picked up for her. “Order still the same?” He asks again, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Order’s still the same. I’m more surprised you remembered it.”

Of course he remembers it. He remembers everything about Reagan despite the fact there was a time where he wished he could forget everything about her. He remembers the show she would only watch before bed and the scent of her favorite shampoo. He remembers the feel of her hand in his and the way he always felt so safe with her in his arms. He remembers her go-to lazy dinner and the songs she loved screaming at the top of her lungs in the car.

He remembers it all. But now, Reagan feels like a stranger for so many reasons.

Quinn takes this moment to really look at her. She’s still breathtakingly gorgeous. but he notices her wavy dark brown hair is lighter than he remembers it. Maybe she got highlights or has dyed it since the breakup. There are more freckles scattered across her cheeks than there were when they met. She’s wearing an old oversized Umich shirt that he realizes at the last second might be his. But when her brown eyes meet his, any anxiety he feels about this moment falls away.

This is still Reagan. His Reagan. Yes, it’s been a while but he knows her. She hasn’t changed that much. If she’s letting him help and being friendly, maybe she doesn’t hate him like he always thought she did after the way things ended between them.

“Of course I remember it.” Quinn says with a shrug, trying not to reveal how much he misses her. “So what do you need help with first?” He asks as Reagan waves him into her apartment and closes the door behind him.

Reagan explains her dilemma with the uncooperative coffee table which takes first priority before going through a small list of things she wanted to get done today like unpack her kitchen and finish building her vanity. Quinn nods along to everything she says, seemingly happy to offer his help even if he doesn’t] have to.

“Thank you,” Reagan says softly, the two words holding more meaning than she ever thought could be possible. Quinn gives her a slightly confused look as he sits down on the floor ready to tackle the coffee table. “For everything. You didn’t have to bring breakfast over and offer to help me get settled in considering we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I really do appreciate it.” 

“I’d do anything for you, Rea.”

Hearing that one line and the use of the nickname only Quinn has ever used for her sends a shiver through her body. She feels her heart being tugged in his direction again even if it never fully healed from their end years ago, but she desperately tries to keep herself in check. Their relationship came to an end because of him. Quinn wanted to focus solely on hockey and his need to constantly get better on the ice was more important than keeping her in his life. 

So she moved on after he broke her heart. Or she thought she did until she saw him the other day. Her feelings have rushed back in no time, like nothing happened in the first place, but Reagan knows better.

“I know,” she murmurs, voice quiet as the wave of emotions hit her. “I’m going to start unpacking the kitchen. Let me know if you need any help. The instructions have been useless.” Quinn chuckles, that adorable sound filling her with a sense of happiness she hasn’t felt in so long. To this day his laugh is still one of her favorite sounds in the whole entire world.

For a good hour or so, the two of them work in comfortable silence. A random playlist Reagan selected is playing from a bluetooth speaker and every once in a while, she hears Quinn curse under his breath. She catches herself smiling a few times, the familiarity of it all bringing back so many memories. 

“Reagan?” Quinn tentatively disrupts the quiet as she’s reaching up to place a stack of plates in a cabinet above the kitchen counter. 

“Hm?” She hums in response, letting out a sign of relief when she gets the plates on the shelf. Quinn is grinning at the sight of her on her tiptoes trying to reach a higher shelf in her new home. This is something else that hasn’t changed since they were together. She still refuses to use any help to reach higher places despite being small enough that it would be beneficial. 

“Coffee table is finished.” He says, pointing over his shoulder when she turns around to look at him. “You weren’t lying about it being difficult, but it’s done.” A look of surprise crosses over her face and something about her right then makes Quinn’s heart ache. 

He knows he messed up when he broke it off with her years ago. His head was too stuck on hockey and only hockey. There was an unbearable amount of pressure on his shoulders after being drafted and he felt like he had to not only live up to the expectations, but defy them. And through all that, he lost the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

Reagan.

The woman who showed him unconditional love from the moment they met in college all the way through to the very end. Reagan who was there for every accomplishment and disappointment that happened in his career. The woman who always made sure he knew so many people, including her, were unbelievably proud of him at all times no matter what happened.

He never thought he would get to see her again and somehow here he is in her apartment that’s right next to his in the city that he’s been his second home for the last six years. 

“Told you I wasn’t lying.” She laughs, the sound filling Quinn with joy like it always has. “We can tackle the vanity next if you’re up for it. It’s a lot for just one person.” 

She leads him into her office where the unopened box is laying on the ground where she envisions the piece of furniture. Without a moment of hesitation, they get started on building the vanity as conversation flows freely. Quinn fills her in on everything going on with the Canucks from new teammates to how he likes being captain. She listens as he recommends some new restaurants and places to check out around the city and she fills him in on how everyone is doing back home in Michigan. Quinn asks about her new job and he can’t hide how proud he is when she tells him she got accepted into the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. 

Reagan has been playing the french horn since fourth grade and that’s the entire reason they met in college since Quinn ran into her at a UMich football game when she was part of the marching band. He remembers being struck by how pretty she was then even in the slightly unflattering bright blue and yellow uniform she was wearing with her instrument in hand. Over time as they became friends and eventually got together, Quinn learned her biggest dream was to play in a symphony. It’s difficult to get a seat anywhere, but if anyone could do it, Quinn knew it would be her. Reagan was talented, always has been, and knowing all that hard work finally paid off makes him beyond happy. 

And secretly, he’s never been so glad that the music she loves so much brought her to the city he lives in now.

“I was nervous about being accepted. It’s one of the most prestigious symphonies on the West Coast, but I was sick of being in Michigan again even if I do love it there, so I took a chance and it worked out.” Reagan explains shyly, her eyes dropping to her fiddling fingers.

“Hey,” Quinn says, abandoning the half built vanity for a second to take hold of her hands. “I’m so proud of you. You deserve that seat and it’s incredibly brave of you to pack up and move halfway across the continent to live out your dream.”

They both are aware of the unspoken words there. That it was also brave to come back to the city where their love story crashed and burned.

“Thank you, Quinny. That means a lot.” The words are barely out of Reagan’s mouth before Quinn is wrapping his strong arms around her in a tight embrace. She melts into the hug, her head resting on his shoulder and lets the comfort wash over her. Quinn lets out a small sigh of relief. He missed having her in his arms and the feeling of peace that surrounds him is unmistakable.

God, he messed up so bad by letting her go, by ruining the best thing he’s ever had because he thought he couldn’t balance the pressure of being an NHL player and a relationship at the same time. 

“Good to know Huggy Bear’s still got it.” Reagan teases him, reluctantly pulling away even if she wants to stay in his arms forever. But she can’t. She’s not that girl for him anymore.

“Yeah, yeah.” Quinn laughs, used to hearing the nickname his teammates gave him years ago when he joined the team. He meets her gaze and it’s then that an idea hits him. Reagan can see the look of hesitation in his blue green eyes, but waits patiently for him to continue. “Whenever you get settled in here and everything, would you maybe want to go skating? I know we used to go all the time and there’s this cool rink downtown you would love, but no pressure if not. I’m sure you’re going to be busy with work and adjusting to a new city.”

Reagan knows she should say no. She knows it would be better to leave the past in the past. But something about the way Quinn asks with pure honesty tugs at her and the small hope that maybe their love could get a second chance after all this time blossoms.

So she says yes.

“I would love that. Just text me when you’re free and we can schedule something.”

Quinn’s happiness at her response is immediately noticeable even though he tries to hide it so it’s not as obvious. The smile Reagan adores so much is on full display and she couldn’t be happier to have him in her half furnished apartment just days after she moved back to the city where her heart was broken.

Before she can get too swept up in the emotions, she gently pushes Quinn’s chest and giggles.

“We’ve got a list of things to do, Hughes. Get back to work.”

And with that, both of them work together to get through all the tasks Reagan wanted accomplished. That familiar sense of peace envelops the apartment and for the first time in a long time, Reagan’s heart isn’t heavy with sadness. Instead, it swells with joy like no other.

Between Quinn’s busy schedule of games, practices and traveling and Reagan’s new work schedule of getting acquainted with the symphony and joining practices of her own, it took a few weeks for them to find a day to go skating together.

But in that time, a constant stream of texts were exchanged and phone calls were made whether Quinn was next door or on the road. Reagan learned all about what happened in Quinn’s life for the two years she wasn’t part of it and heard so many stories of his teammates and his brothers, who she also missed since she hadn’t spoken to either of them since the breakup.

Quinn got a glimpse into who Reagan is now and if possible, he feels himself falling even harder for her all over again. His feelings never truly went away but every time he heard her laugh or she shared a secret, he knew that even after all that time, this girl is still the one he wants.

Finally, the agreed upon Sunday arrives and Quinn’s quiet, but strong knock sounds through Reagan’s apartment as she pulls a beanie on her head. 

“Coming!” She yells, almost tripping on her way to the door. She’s nervous and excited all at once. When the door swings open, Reagan’s breath is stolen away for a second as Quinn stands in front of her looking extra cozy and comfy bundled up for the cold. His eyes are alight with wonder and his somewhat wild brown curls are peeking out from under his favorite navy blue beanie. He has a hoodie on under his winter jacket and there’s the faintest blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hey, Rea,” Quinn greets her with a bright smile. The old nickname still sends a jolt of happiness through her veins even though he’s used it frequently over the last few weeks and she can’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe this is just the two of them going skating together, but there is a sense of something more in the air and if there’s even a chance Quinn wants to give their relationship another chance, Reagan is all in. She can tell he’s grown and matured in the time they’ve spent apart and if she didn’t see that, it would be much easier to ignore the feelings she has for him.

“Hey!” She replies, giving him a quick hug. Quinn is a little surprised, but welcomes the embrace for a moment before she pulls away and starts speaking in excitement. “Don’t worry about skates for me, I still use my favorite pair,” Reagan lifts her white pair of Bauer skates up and then glances at her warm, but cute winter outfit, “and I’m dressed for the weather since you said the rink is outside.”

“You’re all prepared,” Quinn chuckles, “Let’s go then.” He says almost sheepishly like he’s nervous all of the sudden, and reaches for her hand. Reagan intertwines her gloved fingers with his and offers him a reassuring smile to silently say “this is okay.” The rink is just a few blocks away from their shared apartment building so the walk over is cold, but brief and full of laughter and conversation between the two of them.

Reagan catches a glimpse of the rink when Quinn stops walking at the opening of a large clearing and her heart starts racing.

They are at Robson Square Ice Rink. The prettiest rink in all of Vancouver in Reagan’s opinion, but it’s also her favorite and was dubbed her and Quinn’s spot when they were dating. 

“Quinn,” Reagan breathes out in disbelief. She doesn’t need to say anything else, Quinn can read all the emotions on her face. He squeezes her hand in reassurance while flashing her a sweet smile before leading her to the benches to help put her skates on. 

“Come on,” He murmurs and Reagan swallows down the emotions in an effort to take in every detail of this moment. She immediately starts unlacing her skates when they claim a spot on the bench, but Quinn insists on doing it himself.

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“I know,” Quinn replies cheekily. “But you deserve to be taken care of so let me do it even if it’s just this one time.” Reagan sighs, in pure dramatics, which makes Quinn chuckle but her heart is warm and fuzzy. This is why she fell in love with him in the first place. He’s the most caring person she knows and would do anything for her. That much clearly hasn’t changed.

Reagan keeps her eyes on Quinn as he ties her skates perfectly until he taps the heel of her right skate to signal that she’s good to go and freezes. Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment until it hits her.

Quinn got these skates for her years ago. They were her first pair and one of the best gifts she has ever received. But after taking them out for a few spins, she noticed that he had them customized. There was a little blue 43 printed onto the outside of the heel on her right skate which is exactly what Quinn is staring at right now.

“It’s still there.” He says quietly, tracing the two numbers before meeting Reagan’s eyes. It’s almost as if he expected her to cover the numbers up herself after the breakup and although she was angry about how everything happened, these skates are a reminder of the blissful beginning and she wanted that to remain untouched.

“Of course it is.” And just like earlier, this feels as if the simple moment holds a double meaning. As if that tiny 43 is a sign of hope for Quinn that he might get a second chance. That there’s still a spot for him in Reagan’s heart.

They share soft smiles and sit in the comfortable silence for a moment as Quinn puts his skates on. When Quinn takes her hand to help her onto the ice, Reagan lets herself be fully present. Months ago she never thought about reconnecting with the man who broke her heart, but now she couldn’t be happier that they’re friends again. She missed him beyond words.

It took a few laps around the rink to get her footing back, but once she did, she was challenging Quinn to races and constantly giggling as he tried to distract her from skating smoothly. Despite being one of the most well recognized people in the entire city of Vancouver, no one bothered Quinn on the public outdoor rink even if a few of the younger kids kept a watchful eye on him as if they recognized the captain of their favorite hockey team.

“How is it so far?” Quinn asks out of the blue as the two of them are skating at a leisurely pace. Reagan takes in the city skyline around them before meeting his gaze.

“Skating? Good! I always forget how fun it is and-”

“No,” he gently cuts you off and shakes his head, “I mean living in Vancouver. I know it’s been a huge adjustment for you.”

“Oh,” Reagan says in realization, taking a moment to think. “It’s been way better than I expected, honestly.” Quinn raises his eyebrows in surprise as an adorable smile blossoms across his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah and I have a sneaky feeling you already know you’re a big part of why that is, Quinny.” His cheeks become pink with blush and he looks down briefly before stopping the two of you for a second.

“Have you ever thought of giving us a second chance?” 

The question is like a punch to the gut. Not only because Reagan never saw it coming, but it is exactly what she’s thought of asking Quinn herself a thousand times.

Has she thought of giving them another chance? Yes. Every single day she wonders what it would be like to be his girlfriend again. To allow herself to feel the overwhelming love she has for the oldest Hughes brother. To feel at home again because he’s back in her life. And Reagan has come to realize that she wants a second chance with Quinn more than anything.

He’s proven that he has grown and matured from the man he was years ago when he shattered her heart into a million pieces. He’s shown that her life and her dreams are just as important and he’ll do anything he can to support her every single day. His love has been on display since the first moment she saw him in the hallway of their apartment building weeks ago.

“Yes. Every single day.” Reagan responds with nothing but pure honesty.

“Me too.” Quinn almost whispers, trying not to let his nerves show. He’s biting his lip, a nervous habit of his that hasn’t disappeared. “Uh, you can say no if you’re not ready or anything, but would you like to go out with me? On a proper first date? Again?” 

Instantly, a beaming smile is on Reagan’s face as his words process in her mind. It’s happening. Something she’s dreamed of for so long, it’s real.

“I’d love that, Quinn.” She hugs him tight, relishing in the joy rushing through her veins. Nothing could make this moment any better and when Quinn kisses her temple, also feeling the happiest he’s been in a long time, everything in the world feels right again.

[harrywavycurly]

I just read the bumble story and I love how reader talks to Harry and the “we listen and we don’t judge” thing about his hands😂 I can see her saying that to him all the time and maybe he even says it to her a few times as well!

Hiii babes!!! Awe thank you for reading the Bumble Fumble!! I loved writing their dialogue, it was so fun because she just says exactly what’s on her mind and you know Harry was probably thinking “what does that even mean?” when she said that to him the first time!! But this made me think of some random convos they’d have where you use that phrase so I hope you enjoy!!💖

You can find the Almost Bumble Fumble: here✨

*these are just conversations so it’s pure dialogue*

Summary: You teach Harry how to properly use “we listen and we don’t judge” ✨

“I lied to Jeff and told him I had an appointment this morning so I could get off the phone with him because I didn’t want to listen to him tell me about his weekend because I knew it was going to be a bit boring and I wanted to make sure I had your coffee ready by the time you got here and I can’t fake being interested in what he’s saying and making coffee at the same time.” “We listen and we don’t judge. But thank you for putting my coffee so high on your list of priorities.” “Well I just know how you get without it.” “Kinda the same way you get when you can’t journal for ten minutes every evening before bed.” “Exactly.”

“Wait you said what to her?” “Harry you’re supposed to listen and not judge…and that face you’re making is telling me you’re totally judging right now.” “What? No love I’m not judging I’m-I’m listening. Continue please.” “Right well I told her that her dress wasn’t very cute because I just couldn’t let her walk out of the house not looking her best so she got mad and broke my favorite pair of sunglasses so I cut the straps off all her purses.” “Jesus remind me to never upset you.” “I was in high school Harry it was just normal teenage angst that’s all.” “Well uhm we listen and we don’t judge.” “Too late Styles…you already judged but nice try.”

“Niall told me he’s reading fifty shades of gray but told from Christian’s point of view. I didn’t even know that was a thing?” “We listen and we don’t judge. It’s good. I mean as good as fifty shades can be..” It’s good? I didn’t-wait you’ve read it?” “Harry…” “Sorry sorry. We listen and we don’t judge.”

“I cry every time I watch Taken because-” “We listen and we don’t judge. You can cry at any movie you want sweetheart it’s fine.” “Oh my god.” “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” “You really meant it! I didn’t feel any judgement from you at all!” “Crying is cool so of course I’m not going to judge you for it.” “I feel like a proud mom right now this is great.” “Glad I could make you proud but I don’t know…m’not really into the mommy thing.” “We listen and we don’t judge so that’s fine you don’t have to be into the mommy thing.” “Oh that was good…you’re quick.”

[arkaniske]

Where the Sea Awaits

AO3 Link * Chapter three: Jyees & Vick’trr 6200 words * SFW * Jayvik * Selkie!AU Beta read by @kitcatkim [[1st chapter of the fic here]] cw for descriptions of healing injury Summary: When Jayce Talis discovers a stranger cast ashore, he can't shake the feeling that the sea itself has intertwined their fates. The steady rhythm of the tides he's spent his life mastering is suddenly disrupted, and as he delves into the mystery of a man seemingly torn from the depths, an unexpected bond begins to form.

The longer his gaze lingered on the man—still sitting stiffly, the blanket draped over his too-thin frame—Jayce felt the frustration melt into something quieter. Softer. Whatever had happened to this stranger, he was clearly lost, wary and hurting. And gods, if Jayce wasn’t at least a little lost himself.

The ocean stretched endlessly around the fisherman. A striking blue colour only rivalled by the sky it reflected, two parallels finding a gentle caress at the horizon to merge into one. The sailor’s lungs were filled with salt, his skin kissed a thousand times by the sun and his heart beating with the rhythm of the ocean. He couldn’t remember casting off. He wasn’t sure where he was, nor did he care. The sound of his fishing rod flying past his head as he cast his line was enough to pull the corners of his lips into a content smile. Calm settled into the fisherman’s bones, and he watched the lazy bobber skate across the waves. Time passed oddly here, the seafarer watched as the sun rose and sank into the water and yet, he felt no need for food or sleep. Every now and then the bobber would be pulled into the deep blue, and he would reel it in only to find it empty. Another piece of fish would be speared on the hook before he cast the line once more, awaiting the next catch. With a loud crack, the fishing line went taut in an instant, nearly pulling the rod out of the fisherman’s hand. He was quick to plant his feet, the wood of his ship starting to twist around his ankles to hold him in place. The rod bent sharply, creaking under the strain of the weight, and the fisherman’s grip tightened to whitened knuckles. As the line pulled again the boat rocked with the force. He leaned back, muscles straining as he began to reel it in, but the weight at the other end didn’t give. It only demanded more of the line tethering the two, pulling it deeper into the ocean. The water around the boat remained still even as the battle continued, no waves formed. No thrashing. Nothing. The air grew thick and heavy around him, pressing against his chest like an unseen force. It reminded him of the crushing weight of water at great depths—the way it could wring his lungs, leaving no room for air. He swallowed hard, each inhale feeling more laboured than the last. He cast a quick glance over the side of the boat, what little breath he had left hitching as the water below darkened. The deep blue shifted into an endless void as though the ocean floor had risen to meet him. Then, the line snapped. The fisherman stumbled. Had it not been for his rooted feet he would have fallen over with the rod. He froze, gaze locked on the water as waves threatened to claw their way into his ship, lapping at the railing and leaving deep claw marks in their wake as it pulled back. His heart pounded against his ribs as he leaned over the edge once more, searching for the source. This time, the water was staring back. Two golden orbs appeared in the depths, glowing faintly as they hovered just below the surface. They did not blink or waver, only stare as if they could see through the very core of the fisherman. He could hear the wood of his ship break and snap under the force of the ocean, claws dragging along the bow of the ship—they might as well have been dragged along his spine and bones. The sound settled somewhere in his chest, and he felt unwell. Without warning the ocean surged upwards, the light shattering into a thousand blinding fragments. Like broken glass, reflecting the sun in a thousand shards, only to illuminate the fisherman. The boat tipped violently, and without the wood to ground him, he felt himself falling into the waters. Falling into the light. Into the eyes—and—

[[Continue on AO3]]

[maretinelli]

FERRARI COUPLE

Ollie Bearman X driver!fem!reader

Summary: In which Y/n and Ollie are a couple, but they are also part of the Ferrari Driver Academy. And on a relaxed day, they make a video with the media answering some questions from fans.

Words: 4.2K+

Warnings: Ollie in F2, Y/n one of the female drivers from the Ferrari Driver Academy, some suggestive words, funny (??) and cute of course, because they are a couple.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. I think this is cool because it was fun to write. And please request stories on my profile hahaha

MASTERLIST

The environment was cozy and well lit, decorated to give the video a relaxed tone. Ollie and Y/n were sitting side by side on fluffy cushioned chairs, with a table in front filled with colorful beads and threads scattered around. It was a fun scenario, matching their young and spontaneous energy.

Before the recording began, they were talking quietly among themselves, enjoying the moment of tranquility before the questions began. Ollie had his hand resting on Y/n's thigh in a natural way, a gesture so everyday that they didn't even notice it anymore.

"Imagine the questions they'll ask" Ollie commented, with a playful smile. "I bet there will be something like 'who's faster on the track? As if we were going to fall into this trap."

Y/n laughed and then whispered just to him, mischievously, "I just hope it's not about sexual experiences."

Ollie let out a surprised laugh, covering his mouth as he tried to compose himself. Y/n joined in, and the two of them laughed together until someone from the media interrupted them:

"Okay, guys, let's start recording!"

They quickly arranged themselves in the chair, and Ollie removed his hand from her leg, straightening his posture. The media lady nodded and gave the signal for them to begin.

Ollie smiled for the camera. "I'm Ollie Bearman."

"And I'm Y/n Bearman-" Y/n said automatically, but as soon as the words were out, they both started laughing. "Bullshit. I'm Y/n Robbins."

"And we're drivers from the Ferrari Driver Academy!" For a second, they looked at each other, surprised by the synchronicity and instinctively clapped hands in a quick greeting.

"We just high-fived like two bros." Ollie grimaced amusedly, looking at Y/n with an air of disbelief. "It was weird, since we're a couple and already..." He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Y/n's eyes widen at him like a warning, and Ollie smiled at the camera, looking away naturally. "We came here to answer some questions from our fans!"

Y/n laughed, nodding. "And let's make bracelets while we answer!"

She took the box of beads and placed it in the center of the table, separating the colored strands for each one.

"I think they asked us to make bracelets while we answer so they can make sure we're giving the truthful answer" Ollie joked, grabbing a handful of beads.

Y/n tilted her head, processing the logic, and then nodded. "Oh, right! That makes sense!"

Ollie smiled in satisfaction, and Y/n opened the larger box with more bead options, spreading them out in front of him. "Okay, we're ready. Bombard with questions."

The first question appeared on the screen:

"Who took the initiative in the relationship?"

Y/n laughed for a moment alone, remembering how Ollie was very insistent in asking her out, but that she wasn't far behind with the flirting either.

"I guess that answer depends on who you ask" he said first, giving Y/n an amused look.

Y/n raised her eyebrows and laughed. "What do you mean? You took the initiative!"

"I'd say it was mutual" Ollie replied, shrugging.

Y/n shakes her head, laughing, but concentrating on putting the beads on the white string she had picked up. "No, love. At first, you were so nervous while talking to me that you stuttered and made it seem like you were forcing me to go out with you." She smiles. "Like, that day at the go-kart track, remember? You said something like 'I... I... I'd really like to but only if you want, of course! I mean, you don't have to! But I'd love to wait, do you want to go to dinner with me?'"

Ollie covered his face with his hands. "Oh my God, do you remember that?" The whole room laughed.

"Yes." She smiles, as if the memory was from yesterday. And not almost five years ago.

"But I wasn't that obvious!"

"Sorry, love. It was." She slaps his thigh, which is still covered by his tracksuit.

Y/n looked directly at the camera and wordlessly raised an eyebrow, as if expecting the audience to agree with her. Ollie let out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Okay, maybe I was a little obvious," he admitted, adjusting the thread in his hand. "But it was because I wanted to make sure you knew I liked you."

Y/n smiled, her expression softening. "I knew it."

"And you flirted back too!"

"Yes. Only I was less obvious than you." She chuckled softly. "I was direct, but I knew how to hide it."

The two looked at each other for a second, exchanging a knowing look, before Ollie cleared his throat and fiddled with the beads again. "So the official answer is that I took the initiative?"

"Yes" Y/n said with conviction.

Ollie sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay. I took the initiative. But I don't regret it one bit."

Y/n laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly. "I know. I love you!"

Ollie smiled shyly and lowered his head, fiddling with the beads. "I love you too," he said quietly.

They were those couples who showed a lot of affection, but in public Ollie held back a little and was shy, as for Y/n, she really liked to tease. Which ended up being left for her in bed later.

Y/n tilted her head and whispered back, "Speak louder, Bearman. The audience wants to hear."

Ollie laughed and shook his head. "I love you, annoying."

Y/n smiled in satisfaction. "Now yes."

When the next question appeared on the screen, Ollie and Y/n immediately perked up. They thought it would only be questions about their relationship.

"If you had to compete against each other in a race for a prize, what would you choose as the prize?"

He turned to Y/n with a challenging smile. "Easy. If I win, you'll have to let me drive your Ferrari for two months!"

Y/n let out a laugh. "No way!"

Ollie knew how overprotective Y/n was of the Ferrari she had at home. Only she drove, and occasionally Ollie, but she had to be in the passenger seat. As if he didn't know how to drive a car and didn't have a Ferrari like that at his parents' house.

“See? You’re already afraid of losing it.” He teased, picking up some beads and putting them on the string.

Y/n crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Ollie, feigning indignation. "Scared? I just don't want you destroying my pet car."

Ollie put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. "I'm literally a professional racer. You think I'm going to crash your car?"

She shrugged. "I think you're going to speed up more than you should."

The media crew laughed along with them, and Ollie rolled his eyes before pointing at her. "Okay, but what about you? If you win, what will your prize be?"

Y/n gave a mischievous smile. "If I win... you'll have to spend at least two hours a day massaging me!"

Ollie blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "TWO HOURS?"

Y/n nods. "Two hours. Full body."

She said innocently, but when she looked up, Ollie was already smirking at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Y/n immediately realized what he was getting at and pointed at the camera, raising her voice.

"Three and a half hours! Massage. ONLY."

Ollie laughed, leaning back in his chair as if in surrender. "Lucky we're not really competing, I'd only be at a loss."

Y/n laughed out loud, and the media crew joined in. Ollie then picked up some beads and pretended to be extremely focused on them.

"You know what? I better focus on the bracelet. I know there's no way I can lose this."

"Which habit of the other was the hardest to get used to?"

"Ollie's delay" Y/n answers first.

Ollie's eyes widened and he laughed. "Calm down! I couldn't even finish reading the question!"

"Ollie being late was definitely one of the hardest things to get used to in the beginning of our relationship." Y/n begins. "Because look at that. He's still in his workout gear, and I'm all smelling nice and pretty right here. He probably got out of the car and flew all the way here because he was late."

Ollie just looks at the camera and nods, because that's exactly what happened. He had forgotten about the video with the Ferrari media people and when he looked at his watch he was already late.

"I surrender. That's true!" He holds up his hands. "But hey! I'm changing, aren't I?" Ollie turns to his girlfriend and she smiles.

"True! He's changed a lot since the beginning of our relationship until now with these delays." She sends him a loving smile, without teasing or evidence of teasing. "Now go, a difficult habit of mine that was difficult for you to get used to."

"When you get our double bed all to yourself"

Y/n laughed loudly, knowing she took up a lot of space while she slept. "Details, dear!"

Ollie turns to the camera and places his hands on the table, leaving his beaded necklace aside. "Seriously, when she sleeps she uses the entire bed. Her arms are on my face, her legs are on my stomach. I have inches of space to sleep." He says with a smile. "One of these days I'm going to measure how far I sleep from the bed and share it with you."

Y/n puts her hand on her face laughing.

"There was one time during a race that the only room in the hotel that they gave us was the one with two single beds. And we, like a very much in love couple, put the two beds together to sleep next to each other, right?!" He turns to his girlfriend and she agrees laughing, remembering the day. "We lay down and she fell asleep, not even five minutes later, she was already invading the bed I was in. That night I had to sleep on the floor!"

"WHAT? You slept on the floor?" She asks scared, not knowing this part. Her heart breaks a little.

Ollie laughed at her reaction. "Yeah, and you didn't even notice!"

"Why didn't you wake me up or push me aside?" Y/n says in a worried tone and Ollie smiles at that.

"Oh, it's okay. I grabbed some extra pillows and pulled the covers off you and you slept well." He teases and Y/n rolls her eyes but smiles.

"Okay, I'll change that, I don't want you sleeping on the floor anymore!" She slaps her hand on his thigh again.

"Nah. I'm dealing with it now. It's been a while since I slept on the floor or couch in our apartment." Ollie places his hand on top of his girlfriend's hand and she smiles.

"Okay...next question!" She says a little quietly, while holding Ollie's gaze a little longer than she should.

"What was the funniest moment you've ever spent together?"

When the question appeared on the screen, Y/n and Ollie looked at each other, already holding back laughter.

"There are so many stories..." Y/n said thoughtfully. "But I think the funniest one was the elevator one."

Ollie immediately started laughing. "Oh my God, that was a bad one for me!"

"So, let me tell you!" Y/n clapped her hands excitedly and turned to the camera. "We were on vacation in Switzerland, and when we got back to the hotel, Ollie said he forgot his room card in the room when we left. So he went down to the reception to get another one, but he was barefoot, because he said the sneakers he was wearing hurt. So he left me waiting at the door of the room, with his shoes in my hand..."

Ollie shook his head, embarrassed. "So far, so good. The problem was on the way back."

"He entered the elevator, alone, holding the new card in his hand, but when the doors were closing, a lady entered too..."

Ollie was already laughing before Y/n finished her sentence.

"Then he, being super polite, smiled at her and said: 'Hi, how are you?' But as soon as the elevator opened for him to leave..."

"I STOPPED ON MY OWN FOOT AND FELL!" Ollie finished, covering his face.

The team burst out laughing.

"And it wasn't a normal fall!" Y/n emphasized, crying with laughter. "He tried to hold on to the elevator wall, but he slipped even more and ended up on the floor, lying down, with the room card flying to my feet, which was waiting for him at the room door and watching the whole scene."

"And the lady was just looking at me like, 'Oh my God, is this kid okay?'" Ollie added, laughing along. "I was on the floor for about three seconds, trying to decide whether to get up quickly or pretend to pass out to avoid the embarrassment."

Y/n lets out a loud laugh. "I didn't know whether to help him or keep laughing with his sneakers in my hands.

Ollie took a deep breath and turned to the camera. "Moral of the story: never go barefoot and distracted to get a room card. You might end up lying in the elevator."

Y/n sits up straight in her chair, gasping for air to catch the breath that the laughter had taken from her. Ollie waited for Y/n to compose herself, but when she looked at him again, a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

"Now imagine the scene from the lady's point of view." Y/n said, laughing again. "She just got into the elevator, and out of nowhere she saw a barefoot guy sprawling on the floor, with a card flying through the air!"

Ollie shook his head, laughing. "And the worst part is, when I got up, I tried to play it off and pretend like nothing happened. Like, I just straightened my shirt and said, 'I'm going... my girlfriend's waiting.'"

The team burst into laughter again, and Y/n slammed the table. "I can't believe I'm dating this man!"

Ollie smiled and shrugged. "Well, you already knew what I was like before we started the relationship. So, no complaints!"

Y/n took a deep breath, still smiling, and turned to the camera. "Next question, before I burst out laughing again."

"If you had to describe your relationship with a movie or series, what would it be?"

Ollie and Y/n looked at each other for a moment, already knowing exactly what the answer would be. "Brooklyn Nine-Nine!" They said at the same time, before starting to laugh.

"Our relationship is basically Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago, Competitive, passionate and a little chaotic."

Y/n nodded excitedly. "Exactly! I'm more organized and like to plan things, like Amy. And you..." She looked at him with an amused smile. "Well... you're Jake. Chaos."

Ollie put his hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "Hey, I'm a functional mess! Jake's awesome too."

"Yeah, but you also make up random competitions out of thin air!" Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. "Like that time we were at the grocery store and you decided that whoever got all the items on the list first would get massages from the other for a week?"

Ollie smiled with satisfaction. "And I won, because I'm a strategist."

Y/n arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "You cheated! You took half the stuff from an absent-minded lady's cart!"

The team burst out laughing, and Ollie shrugged, trying to hold back his laughter. "All is permitted in war and love."

Y/n shook her head, laughing. "But at the end of the day, we balance each other out. Just like Jake and Amy. And despite the craziness, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Yes. I have my Amy Santiago and I wouldn't trade it for anything." Ollie looks in love. Which would result in many cute comments on the video later.

Y/n smiled sideways at Ollie's words, feeling her heart warm at the affectionate way he looked at her. Without saying anything, she just squeezed his hand on the table, sliding her thumb gently against his skin.

"Okay. Next question..."

"What is the greatest proof of love that one has ever done for another?"

Y/n looked away to Ollie, already feeling a lump forming in her throat. "I think when I had that accident and you spent days in the hospital with me. And we were only five months into our relationship."

Ollie smiled, looking at his girlfriend and seeing that her eyes were shining brighter because of the tears. The room was silent for a moment. Y/n blinked a few times, feeling the weight of the memory.

"Do you remember anything from that day?" He asked softly.

She took a deep breath before responding. "Just flashes... I remember waking up in the hospital, but I was so groggy I don't even know what happened before."

Ollie nodded and squeezed her hand lightly, as if to anchor her there, in the present. "Well... I remember everything." Y/n felt her chest tighten when she saw the seriousness in his eyes. "I was on the pit wall watching the race. It was quick, but at the same time it seemed like an eternity. The radio went silent, and all I could see was his wrecked car. No one said anything, just the sound of sirens..." Ollie looked away at the table, swallowing hard before continuing. "I ran to the medical center, but no one let me in. They just said you were being taken to the hospital. And I followed."

Y/n felt her eyes well up. She could imagine the scene perfectly, as if she were watching a movie. She continued to put the beads on the string, to disguise the pain she was feeling now.

"I was there the whole time," he continued, turning back to look at her. "I didn't even notice the hours passing. I just wanted to know if you were going to be okay. I don't think I really took a breath until the doctors said the surgery was a success and that you were going to recover."

She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the tears, but one eventually escaped. Ollie smiled slightly and wiped her face with his thumb.

"You were there for days" Y/n muttered, her voice a little choked.

"Of course I did," he replied without hesitation. "I wasn't going to leave you alone, love."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Didn't even go out to take a shower..."

Ollie shrugged. "I knew you'd complain about it later, but at the time it didn't matter. All I wanted was to make sure you woke up and that I was there when you did."

Y'n felt a warm wave of emotion wash over her. Without a second thought, she leaned over and wrapped Ollie in a tight hug, hiding her face in his shoulder. Not caring about the camera at the moment.

"I love you" she whispered against his shirt.

Ollie smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I love you too. And now, if anyone ever asks, you can be sure that was the greatest proof of love I've ever given."

Y/n stands up laughing, "Yes. Yes it was, love!"

Everyone was silent, absorbing that confession that almost no one knew. Ollie smiled at the camera and picked up the string with the beads.

"Let me see if it fits your wrist." He measures it and Y/n sees the black and red beads. "That's it. Let me put some letters on it now!"

Y/n laughs. "Okay. Let's move on to the next question, before I cry now." They laugh. "From crying with laughter to crying with sadness, big transformation"

Ollie laughs, putting on a letter O bead.

"What was the most embarrassing situation you've ever been in together?"

The two looked at each other and started laughing in embarrassment. It was as if they shared their neurons and remembered the same things when the questions were asked.

"We can't tell that..." Y/n confesses, feeling her cheeks blush.

Ollie shakes his head. "No, we can't tell you. But it was really embarrassing. I think we traumatized your older brother back then." The pilot looks at his girlfriend.

Y/n lets out a laugh. "He didn't talk to me for a week." She confesses and Ollie smiles. And then she looks at the camera. "All I can say is... we thought we were alone in the house... in the room and my brother came in. That's all."

She laughs embarrassedly.

"JUST!" Ollie informs and they laugh..

"Have you ever had a silly fight that you now find funny?"

"Oh, that's an easy one!" Ollie said, leaning his elbows on the table. "The ice cream fight."

Y/n put her hands on her face, laughing. "Oh my God, I can't believe we're going to tell this."

"Now you have to tell!" Someone from the media team encouraged.

Ollie took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a big story. "So, we went out to dinner, everything was beautiful, the weather was great. On the way back home, we stopped to get ice cream. Y/n got hers strawberry and chocolate, I got mine cookies and cream." He said, taking his girlfriend's wrist again to measure the length of the thread.

"So far so good," Y/n added, nodding.

"But in the car, while I was driving, I offered her some of my ice cream..." Ollie sighed dramatically. "But then, when I asked for a piece of her ice cream, what happened?"

Y/n covered her face, laughing. "I said 'no'."

The team burst out laughing, and Ollie threw up his hands in outrage. "She said no! I offered her mine, but when I asked for hers, she said no without even thinking!"

"Guys, but it was the last part with more chocolate syrup, it wasn't enough!" Y/n defended herself, still laughing.

"It was the most random fight in the world" Ollie shook his head. "We spent about ten minutes in the car discussing 'sharing equally' and 'respecting the last sacred bites'."

"In the end, I bought him another ice cream because I felt sorry for him" Y/n admitted.

"And I accepted, because I'm an understanding person," Ollie said, all smug.

"Understanding, nothing! You only accepted because you wanted more ice cream" Y/n scoffed, pushing his shoulder lightly.

"That too" Ollie laughed, lacing his fingers with hers under the table. "But seriously, that day felt like a terrible fight, but now it doesn't make sense.

"Not at all." Y/n laughs, focused on the bracelet she was making.

"What's the cutest thing you do for each other on a daily basis?"

Ollie smiled before answering. "Every time I get home after a tiring day, Y/n already makes me a cup of tea or hot chocolate, depending on the weather. And no matter the time, even if it's late, she always waits up until I get home."

Y/n smiled, a little embarrassed, but clearly happy with the answer. "Well, I like taking care of you."

"And I love that," Ollie said, looking at her fondly. "But the sweetest thing you do for me is that when you wake up before me, you always tuck me in tighter and give me a kiss on the forehead before you get out of bed."

The media team gave a loud "Awww."

Y/n laughed, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh, how embarrassing, why did you notice that?"

"Because I always wake up in those moments," Ollie replied, holding her hand under the table. "And also because it's the cutest thing ever."

Y/n pursed her lips, trying not to smile so much, but failing miserably. "Okay, then it's my turn now! The cutest thing Ollie does on a daily basis is that he always sends me random messages saying he loves me or asking if I ate right."

"Y/n forgets to eat sometimes!" Ollie defended himself, laughing.

"I get busy, it happens!" Y/n shrugged.

"And that's why I always ask, because if it depends on her, lunch becomes a snack and dinner becomes breakfast," Ollie explained.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but her smile showed that she loved this care.

"Oh! And there's one more thing!" Y/n remembered, laughing. "If I'm driving and he's in the passenger seat, he always puts his hand on the gearshift, even when he doesn't need to change gears, just to hold my hand while I drive."

Ollie smirked, not denying anything. "It's a reflex."

"It's cute!" Y/n corrected, squeezing his hand under the table.

"Okay, so I guess we're tied for daily cuteness," Ollie joked.

"Sure thing," Y/n agreed, her eyes shining.

The team smiles and one of them says, "Okay guys. Our last question now!"

"But already?" Y/n looks at the media and they smile.

Ollie smiles and then takes his girlfriend's wrist, tying the bracelet with the remaining thread and smiles satisfied with his work. Y/n looks and sees a bracelet with black and red beads with the word 'Ollie' in letter beads.

She laughs a little and turns to him. "Amazing!"

"Isn't it?!" Ollie jokes and she laughs.

"Have you talked about marriage?"

Ollie smiled at the question. He turned to Y/n and, with a caring tone, replied: "Well, I guess we've talked, haven't we? It wasn't that long ago, actually."

Y/n gave a shy smile, blushing a little. "Yeah, we've talked about it a little. Lately even more... we've already started to imagine what it will be like."

Ollie chuckled softly. “I’m definitely more of a… romantic, I guess. I’ve always wanted a big ceremony, but maybe we can do something more intimate. I just know one thing: I want it to be with you. No matter what, you’re going to be my wife.”

Y/n looked at him with a sweet smile. "I think what matters in the end is being together, whether it's with big plans or something simple. We'll find a way to do something special."

Ollie nodded, taking her hand. "Yes, the important thing is that the wedding is about the two of us. And how we love each other."

They exchanged meaningful glances, the kind of conversation that seemed simple but was full of emotions and silent promises. The crew smiled at them. Ollie and Y/n were the most passionate couple in Ferrari.

Someone from the media nods, so that they can finish recording.

"I guess that's it then," she begins. Tying on the bracelet she had made during the interview. "I hope we didn't scare you with some of the answers."

Ollie laughs, leaning his elbows on the table and then sees Y/n hand him the bracelet. It had pink beads and the word 'Mi amore'. The nickname he called Y/n on a daily basis, ever since they started dating. Years ago.

He smiles and glances quickly at her. Before turning to the camera and ending the video as well.

"So that's it guys. Thanks for watching!"

Y/n waves her hand and blows a kiss in the air. With that, the crew approaches the camera, turns it off and smiles, saying that it was over and how well they did.

"We should do this more often." Y/n smiles, picking up the beads that were scattered on the table. "Just try not to start talking about our sexual experience next time."

Ollie laughs out loud. "Okay. I'll try not to think about that when we're answering the questions."

Y/n smiles and closes the bead box, but notices that Ollie was still looking at her. "What it was?"

"Admiring my girlfriend. May I?" The pilot gets ready and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"You can." She smiles and Ollie gives her a quick peck on the lips.

They got up from their chairs and walked over to one of the media people, handing them the box of beads as they thanked them for agreeing to the idea. Ollie and Y/n smiled, saying that they were glad they made the video.

Leaving the room, Ollie holds his girlfriend's hand, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before starting to talk about random things that happened that day.

Y/n just smiled, knowing that regardless of the cameras, the spotlights and everything around them, they would always just be Ollie and Y/n and that was enough.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part One

Hello, everyone! I was reading this series by @the-witty-pen-name and was inspired to make a fic where y’all chose who reader ends up with! On every part of this series this one, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: You convince Steve to fake date you in order to get Eddie's attention, unbeknownst to you that Steve is actually very much in love with you.

Part One: The Agreement

The diner is packed as you sit at a booth, your best friend across from you, eating his stack of pancakes while you've barely even touched yours. You're too nervous to eat, and honestly, watching Steve chow down is making you feel sick. there's just a lot of riding on the whole thing and you know you're going to sound crazy for asking him in the first place, but you still want to at least try.

Steve would do anything for you, you know that, but you're wondering if maybe this is crossing a line. You push your plate to the center of the table and sip on your soda, still trying to get the courage to tell him why you really wanted to meet him there. It definitely wasn't just for pancakes.

Steve isn't stupid. He knows something's going on that you're not telling him. You look sick, nervous and he hates seeing you like that. He just wants you to say what you need to say so you'll feel better again. He knows you're only chugging down your soda so you don't have to speak and he hates that for you, trying his best to not seem concerned because for whatever reason, that always somehow makes it all worse.

You finally get the courage to look up at him and hate that he's put on that dopey smile that always seems to be reserved for you. He's finished his pancakes so now he's just staring at you, waiting for you to just get on with it, politely, though, because he's Steve.

"What I'm about to ask of you is crazy and I know that. You are more than welcome to say no and I won't be offended if you do," you finally say before taking a deep breath.

"Are you asking me to bury a dead body? Did you kill them? No, I actually don't want to know. Wait, yeah I do. I should know if my best friend has committed murder." He's speaking so quickly that you can barely even understand what he's saying.

"I don't need help burying a body and I didn't murder anyone. I'm not asking you to do anything illegal, Steve. I would never ask you to do that. That's why we have Eddie, right?" Steve knows that Eddie would be the one to help you out with that kind of thing and that pisses him off. Fucking Eddie. It's just been the two of you your whole lives and then this fucker comes in and ruins Steve's whole plan. Well, he would have if Steve would have just stopped being a pussy and asked you out already.

Truth be told, the man has been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you. All you've ever been is friends, but he wants to be more. And he wants it so badly that the whole thing makes his chest ache. The only reason why he hasn't made a move in the almost fifteen years you've been friends is because as much as he loves you romantically, he doesn't want your relationship to change. He's afraid that if the two of you got together, you'd eventually break up and then he'd lose you for good.

"Right, so what's this about?" He asks before taking a sip from his own glass. For once, he's unable to read the situation. He almost always knows what's going on with you, but right now, he's got nothing.

"Well, speaking of Eddie, well, I sort of have a huge crush on him." Steve doesn't know why you're telling him this. He's known for a while. You're so obvious about it that it sometimes makes him cringe. He wishes he could give you some of his subtlety so you’d look a little more cool around Eddie.

"Duh." He's laughing now and for once, it's a joke you don't get, like it's something just for Steve and Steve alone.

"You know?"

"Y/n, all of Hawkins knows. You're not exactly subtle. But what does this have to do with me?"

"I was wondering if you maybe...would be willing to fake date me in order to get his attention." His eyes widen at your request. Whatever he thought you were going to say, it defintely wasn't that.

"Yeah, nice try. Not happening." He can't do it. He won't. He would do just about anything for you, but not this. This is where he’s drawing the line.

"You're not even going to consider it?" You're pouting now and if things were different, he'd kiss it away, or maybe he'd just give in because he almost always does when it comes to your silly ideas. This one, though, has got to be the silliest of them all.

"You said I could say no so this is me saying no." He crosses his arms over his chest in a sort of "that's final" manner and you know you should just forget the whole thing. It was all just a pipe dream anyway.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to help, it’s that he can’t. He would actually love to pretend to be your boyfriend and act all mushy with you like he’s wanted for years, but none of it will be real. It’s just going to be a fake relationship with fake feelings and fake kisses and he just can’t take that. It will all just hurt too much when he watches you running into Eddie’s arms when the thing is all over.

He already feels like a dick and seeing the dejected look on your face as you stir your soda with your straw is starting to feel like you stabbed him in the chest. And you might as well have. It would hurt much less.

Guilt is beginning to eat at him as he looks at you. That sad look on your face is making him reconsider. You do so much for him so he doesn’t know why he can’t do this little thing for you. It’ll be maybe a couple weeks tops, right? That wouldn’t be too bad. And not to toot his own horn or anything, but he’s a great actor. Well, he only thinks so because The Hawkins Post article that covered his fourth grade class’s performance of The Wizard of Oz applauded his role as Toto.

Maybe he can fake date you. Maybe it could be fun and he’s just overthinking it. He just wants you to be happy, and the thought of you possibly asking someone else is starting to make him feel sick.

“I guess I could just ask Robin,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, but he can still very much hear you. He can’t believe how quick you’re switching up on him, how quickly you’re able to find an alternate now that he’s said no. He’s usually your first and only option for things so now that you’re even considering asking anyone else-well, the knife has been twisted.

“I see how quick you are to replace me,” he grumbles. “And with Robin?”

“Well, who else am I going to ask? My first choice said no.”

“Or maybe you could cut the shit and just tell him how you feel. Eddie likes it when people are straight up with him.”

You know he’s right, but actually putting your feelings out there is terrifying, especially to one of your friends. You feel sick even thinking about it, the worst possible outcome playing in your head. You can vividly see Eddie laughing at you, the sounds echoing, sounding distorted, making you feel small and scared.

Yeah, there’s no chance that you’re letting that happen even though Eddie would never laugh at you because of something like that. If he were going to reject you, he’d let you down easy and be nothing but a gentleman about it.

“Alright, fine, fine,” Steve pulls you out of your thoughts. “Jesus, you’re lucky I love you.”

“Aww, I love you too, Stevie.” You’ve got on a smug smirk and he’s prepared to shut that shit down. As much as he loves you, he’s not doing this without something in return.

“Not so fast.”

“What?” You’re genuinely confused, convinced that it was a done deal and now you’re unsure if he’s actually going to go through with it or not.

“I mean, what do I get out of this? What’s in it for Steve?” He leans back against the booth, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” You ask with a shrug and he just shakes his head, unimpressed.

“If it works,” he scoffs. “What else?”

“My love and affection?” That should be a given.

“Boring,” he yawns. “You have to cover any family video shift I ask of you and you have to do my laundry for a month.”

“You’re kidding.” Your shoulders slump as you realize that you’re actually going to have to agree to his terms if you ever want to have a chance with Eddie.

“Afraid not. You didn’t seriously think I’d do it for free, did you?” You sort of did because he always does, but you suppose that this is much bigger than his other favors.

“I don’t know, maybe. But you’ve got a deal.” You reach across the table and put your hand out for him to shake.

“Really? That easily. Shit, you must be desperate.” He shakes your hand and that’s that. Steve is now officially your fake boyfriend.

“I am.”

“This better be worth it.” God, this is going to kill him, but anything for his best friend, right?

“Oh, it will be,” you tell him as you down the rest of your soda as you grab your purse that’s sitting next to you before you and Steve stand from your table and you walk side by side to the front where you pay for the meal. It’s the least you can do for Steve helping you out like this, right?

-

“You are such a dingus,” Robin tells Steve. He’s over at her apartment, the two of them talking over mugs of coffee at her kitchen table. He raced right over after breakfast with you to discuss the colossal mistake he just made, desperately wanting his other best friend’s advice.

“What the hell else was I supposed to do, Rob? She was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.” He’s saying it like that was the only option he had when he could have easily said no and you would have dropped it.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington. Why can’t you just tell her that you love her?”

“And risk ruining one of the best friendship I’ve ever had? No thanks.”

“I can’t but also can believe you’ve gotten yourself into this. It’s just like you to help the woman you love get another man. Just so you know, I don’t support this.”

Robin loves you, you’re one of her best friends, and while she doesn’t think you ever ask too much of Steve, she does think that he tends to overlook his feelings to spare yours a lot of the time. He’d much rather risk his own happiness if it means he’s helping you in some sort of way.

While she loves that he’s willing to go above and beyond for you, she still thinks that’s it’s important that he takes care of himself. She just wants what’s best for him and hates that he’ll spread himself way too thin just to see a smile on your face.

“No one was asking you to,” he glares and she just mimics his facial expression. “I wasn’t asking for advice, I was just telling you what’s going on so you wouldn’t think it was real and blow my secret.”

“You’re pathetic,” she shakes her head. She honestly doesn’t know Steve still hasn’t told you the truth. The two of you could be married or at least engaged by now, but he’s too much of a chicken to just admit his feelings for you.

He’ll claim it’s because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship, but Robin knows the truth. She knows that he’s just afraid of putting himself out there. She’s seen the women zipping in and out of his life and not one of them has stuck. As much as he claims he wants to love and be loved, he’s scared. Terrified, even. He’s convinced it will all just crash and burn and he’ll be all alone. Again.

“I know,” he whines, resting his head onto the table before quickly leaning back up and running a hand through his hair. “But hey, if said no, she was going to ask you.”

“Me?” She asks, her eyebrows shooting up as her big eyes widen. “I could have been her fake significant other? Shit, I would have done it for free.” Robin has always thought you were pretty and shit, having everyone think that you were her girlfriend would have been a goddamn honor.

“You’re not her type.” She knows exactly what he means by that, but she just feels like messing with him.

“Oh, and you are?” That’s salt in the wound and she knows it. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to take it back.

“You know what I mean,” he waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “And besides, you’re a terrible liar so it wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

“Well, I would have sold it much better than you,” she scoffs. “But maybe not since you always look at her with the longing stares. How she doesn’t know is beyond me. Anyway, I have to get to work. I’ll see you later, lover boy.”

As Robin leaves, Steve’s not so quick to get up. He just stares down into his coffee mug, gathering his thought about the whole thing. One the one hand, he wants to help you, but one the other, he’s already starting to feel hurt about deceiving his friend. Eddie’s someone he’s gotten really close to over the years and he’d hate to lose someone so special to him just because of something like that.

And what happens if you actually do end up with Eddie? Will Steve resent him for it? It wouldn’t exactly be fair since Eddie has no idea that Steve is in love with you, but he just doesn’t think he’d be able to stand by and watch the two of you behave like a couple when that’s all he’s wanted pretty much his whole life.

But there’s no turning back now. He’s going to stick it out because he doesn’t want to let you down. He’s going to have to see this through, watching you use him to get another man while having no idea that’s he’s fallen madly and deeply in love with you.

He drains the last few sips of his coffee then puts the mug in the dishwasher before heading out, making sure to lock Robin’s door behind him. He gets into his car and sits for a second, thinking to himself that he’s about to be in for one hell of a ride.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello! If you are willing I would like to request a Frankie morales x reader oneshot? 🙃🙃 im obsessed with Frankie x wife reader lately and I was thinking maybe you could write somethin where the reader is pregnant and having cramps / contractions while Frankie is out with his friends and calls him all freaked out but even though it’s just false labour he still rushes home anyway?🥰🥰

(I love your writing btw I hope you accept this request thank you <3)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐲 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

Pairing Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Summary A night of laughter, love, and quiet devotion reminds you and Frankie how much your world has grown—especially with your baby on the way.

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! This is my first time writing for Frankie, so let me know what you guys think. 

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Across the living room, the evening news drones so low, the TV might as well not be on at all. Ten minutes ago, Frankie left you alone on the couch to go get ready for a night out. You’d looked up from your book long enough to catch the wink he shot you before disappearing up the staircase.

As easy as it would be for him to stay in, you insisted he go out and enjoy himself. The two of you had finally settled into your new home. Soon enough, the guys were starting to rib him about falling off the face of the earth.

He's getting better at striking a balance these days. 

“Alright, hermosa,” he announces as he descends the stairs. “Here’s what I’m working with...” 

Frankie walks back into the living room in dark-wash jeans and a sage button down. As you set your book aside, he offers a goofy spin in a lighthearted mockery of what you oftentimes do. You try to restrain your smile, but it shines through anyways. Frankie grins like he’s won a prize, teeth glinting along with the sparkle in his dark eyes.

Everyone said he was trouble when you first met. It didn’t take long to realize they meant the intoxicating kind that disarms a room, draws people in, makes them feel seen. The kind you’d never recover from losing if you let slip away. 

A year ago, he got down on one knee and asked you for forever. That was the moment you realized that, in turn, you were the trouble he couldn’t bear to lose.  

Before you have the chance to stand, he stalks over to you and leans down to capture your lips in a brief, tender kiss. 

You smile when he pulls away to stand back up to his full height, all six feet and broad shoulders. Looking up at him from your seated position feels a little funny, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If for no other reason than the gentle way he pinches your upturned chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Have fun,” you murmur as you blink up at him. 

“I will.”

“And be safe.”  

“Yes ma’am.” Frankie’s touch falls away, and you stand to wrap your arms around his neck.

You tuck your nose into his shirt as his strong arms encircle your waist. He smooths a large hand up your back before stilling at the nape of your neck to deliver a firm but gentle squeeze. As he starts to pull away, you slip your fingers into his hair to scratch his scalp with your nails. It’s been a while since his last haircut, and now the dark strands curl beneath his ears. 

Frankie hums a low note of satisfaction. “Not fair.” 

“Completely fair,” you lilt.

He chuckles and pulls back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are soft as he says, “Should be back in a couple hours.” 

“I’ll wait up.”

"You don't have to," he says.

"Don't I always?"

He thinks back over the times he's gone out without you, and yeah. You always do.

•••

It's quiet when he arrives back home. 

He kicks his boots off at the door and notices a pink sticky note on the wall above the key holder. There's a smiley face and heart drawn on it along with "welcome back!!!" Frankie feels himself smiling as he plucks it off the wall and saunters further into the house. 

In the living room, one lamp remains on so he can navigate his way through the otherwise dark space. You've folded the throw blanket. Fluffed and arranged the pillows like you do every night before bed. It’s the little things like that, little signs of life, that he’ll never tire of coming back home to. 

When Frankie finally enters the bedroom, he sees your smile in the warm, dim lamplight. You're kneeling on the bed wearing the cutesy black pajama set he likes on you. A breathy chuckle escapes him as he takes you in before his eyes find yours. 

He plays off the warmth in his cheeks by holding up the sticky note you had left for him. 

You tilt your head with innocent, furrowed brows. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Beats me," he plays along as you slide off the bed. 

He sets the note on the dresser so he can rest his hands on your waist when you approach. The scent of vanilla evades his senses in the gentlest way. 

“Did you have fun?” It’s a genuine question, but his mind goes fuzzy when you smooth your hands from his stomach up to his pecs. 

With a distracted nod, his thumbs slip beneath your satin tank top to brush your skin. All he can think about is the gentleness of your touch. The way you begin to toy with the button at the top of his shirt without actually unbuttoning it. 

“But not too much fun, right?” you ask. “You’re not too tired, are you?” 

You finally pop the first button undone, then the next one, then the next. Revealing more and more of the dusting of hair across his tanned chest. 

Rather than answering, he scoops you over his shoulder as you squeak his name. 

- 

Eight Months Later

It’s been a while since Frankie laughed this hard. When he’s finally on the verge of catching his breath, Santiago picks up from where Will left off in the story, and that pleasant side ache returns. If he weren't too busy swiping the tear from his eye, he reckons he’d see every head in the bar turned to gawk at the four cackling hyenas. A live country rock band plays as their soundtrack.

Luckily, that isn’t the case. Like them, everybody is lost in their own little worlds. With their own inside jokes and old stories that endure no matter how many times they're told. 

“And that’s what your ass gets for trying to show off,” Will concludes. It earns him a prompt elbow to the side from his younger brother, whose cheeks are either flushed from the whiskey or embarrassment. 

It had been the story about Benny getting told off by a group of older women during a group trip to Panama. Not in English, but in Spanish. The icing on the cake was that they had been pausing every few words so Santiago could translate for them in real time. 

As their amusement begins to settle, they look around at each other and shake their heads. It’s been too long since they’ve gotten together like this. Frankie takes a small swig from his beer and lets his head rest against the wall behind him. 

Under the dim lights, with drinks on the table, and surrounded by strangers, it feels as though no time has passed at all.  

Benny’s eyes rove over to the recreation room, where people shoot pool and throw darts. 

“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to kick some ass in a game of 501,” he says. 

William folds his hands on the table. “We puttin' money up?”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Benny scoffs and pulls a face. “I’m leaving here with something.” 

“Twenty-five each and the winning team splits the pot?” Santiago proposes. “I call Fish on my team.” He gives Frankie's shoulder a squeeze.

Benny drums a beat on the table. “Let’s do it.” 

They’re in the middle of scooting past other patrons when Frankie’s phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He doesn’t expect to see a picture of your face light up the screen. Santiago is the only one in the group who notices. 

“Gotta take this,” Frankie tells him, and answers the call as he turns away. 

“Hang on one second, honey, I’m getting someplace quiet.” 

To make it to the front of the establishment, he shuffles between a small sea of tables filled with people with loose smiles and glowy faces. He holds the door open for a group of young ladies filing inside, which earns him a series of chirpy thank-yous. The giddy energy of the night fades once he’s outside, as if it was all stuffed within the walls of Dave's Bar and Grill. With the patio being around back, only a few people stand smoking out front. 

The air is warm. A couple of the parking lot lights flicker. Frankie heads toward one of the benches as he says, “Alright, sweetheart, I’m here.”

A heavy breath is the first thing that greets him from the other end of the line. 

“Frankie,” your voice is shaky, and his brow furrows as he takes a seat. 

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, his voice even softer. 

“I’m cramping pretty bad right now.” You take another deep breath. “I think it’s the Braxton Hicks the nurse was telling us about. They’re finally happening.” 

He stands from the bench and begins pacing along the curb. “You sure they're the false ones?” he asks. “You know you’re body better than anybody else…” 

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure.” Another sharp ache pulses low in your stomach, and makes you bite back a small whine. 

Frankie releases his lower lip from between his teeth as guilt tugs at his chest. “Go lay down, okay?” he says as he fishes his truck keys out of his pocket. “Or run yourself a bath if you can manage. Nurse said that’s supposed to help.” 

Shuffling arises on your end. “Okay,” you murmur.

“I’m on my way.” 

Tonight, you can’t muster the willpower to tell him to stay out with his friends. Ever since you hit the thirty-four-week mark, you’ve been hyper-aware of every pang, flutter, and gurgle. Even if you were the one feeling the heat, it was easier to walk through the flames with him. 

“Drive safe, okay?” you say. “Go the speed limit.” 

“I’m always safe.” It’s a white lie, but he was getting much better. Especially now that he was about to have two people looking forward to him arriving home in one piece at the end of the day. 

Life is a delicate, fragile, remarkable thing. It’s a fact that solidified all the more the first time you showed him a black-and-white ultrasound and pointed out your little girl. 

“I’ll be there soon,” he promises. 

Santiago steps outside as he's hanging up, immediately scoping out Frankie. 

“Everything alright, man?” He searches Frankie’s gaze. He’s always analyzing and piecing together. People, places, things. Frankie doesn’t have to say anything. “Your wife and baby okay?” 

Frankie nods, but there’s worry etched across his face. “Gonna head home to be on the safe side.”  

“I’ll let the guys know.” Santiago pulls Frankie into a hug and gives him a few pats on the back. “It was good seeing you tonight.” 

“Likewise.”

“Guess it’ll have to be a playdate next time,” Santiago teases. 

Frankie cracks a smile. 

•••

With the bathroom door cracked, you can hear the familiar shuffling of Frankie entering the house. His keys clink into the bowl shortly before the steps begin to creak under his weight. One purposeful footstep after the next, until he’s filling the doorway with a hand on his hip. But you sit in the bathtub with your eyes closed and your head tipped back. The subtle scent of lavender fills the humid air. You’re only visible from your collarbones up, and your pregnant stomach rises above the bubbly water. 

Rather than speaking, he stands there and takes you in with those soft, dark eyes. You’re beautiful where you lay. His gaze is palpable, and opening your eyes to meet it solidifies for him that you’re okay. It's a silent assurance. These moments when you don't need words have only grown in number. Every trace of worry that once existed has dwindled away.

As he takes a small step inside, he tosses his baseball cap onto the sink counter and runs a hand through his hair. Tension melts from his shoulders in real time. Makes him look even taller where he stands.  

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you say, then note, "Your shoes."

The teasing undertone to your words makes him chuckle. At himself, at the fact that he’d rushed home, despite your warning, with a head full of clamoring thoughts. Thoughts of arriving to you in labor and having to deliver his own child. Or packing you into his truck and needing to pull over and do the very same. There was no middle ground.

He’d dedicated years of his life to working under the most intense pressure, but it was his pregnant wife who’d finally thrown that composure off course.  

Yet here you were pointing out the fact that he had tracked his shoes upstairs.

Frankie crouches to untie his boots before kicking them off his feet. He stumbles in the process and has to brace himself on the sink. The smile already budding on your face blooms into a fuller one when he huffs and peeks over at you. When you straighten up, the water sloshes and reveals more of you chest. 

A long sigh escapes him as he sits alongside the tub and stretches his long legs out in front of him. That’s when a laugh bubbles up your throat. Despite his best efforts to retrain his own amusement, he can’t help but join in. The two of you sit there laughing in a mix of relief and acceptance of the fact that your worlds have only just begun to change. 

A comfortable silence soon settles in the space between you. Frankie gets an almost wistful look about him as he stares straight ahead. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask after a while. 

He rests his arm on the side of the tub. “Us,” he answers. “Being parents.”  

There’s an understated sense of anticipation in his tone that he still hasn’t been able to put into words. A small hint of apprehension lingers too, but the type that propels as opposed to paralyzes. 

You hum as you run a wet hand over your glistening stomach. 

“I love you,” he continues softly. “I love her.”

He reaches out to splay his large hand over your stomach. You smile as he continues talking, “Love that I get to do this with you.” 

Fondness swells in your chest all the more. Like a third lung set on sustaining you too. 

“I’d kiss you right now, but I don’t know how,” you admit. 

Without hesitating, Frankie shifts so he’s able to steady your chin and press his lips to yours. You lift a hand to rest the tips of your fingers against his scruffy cheek. Frankie hums when you ghost your tongue along his lower lip, only to pull away like you have something to say. Before you can speak, he presses back in for one more soft peck, then touches his forehead to yours. 

You feel yourself smiling. “What I was trying to say,” you start, but Frankie kisses you again because you’re right there, and because he can.

Butterflies erupt all throughout your stomach. 

“Go ahead,” he finally coaxes with a small smile, lips brushing yours. “What were you gonna say, hermosa?” There’s a gruff, honeyed quality to his voice that you’re certain is intentional. 

“That I love you too,” you whisper. 

-

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

FRANKIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[sqh3e]

now i’m on the way, p.wb

warnings : pure fluff, pet names(baby) — drabble & soft hours ★ bf!wonbin x reader

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

after hanging out with your friends for a few hours you return home in a drunken state, you stand outside the door fiddling with the house keys giggling as you try to stick the key in the lock.

you finally manage to put the key in the lock, opening the door it was quite dark in the house, “love?” you shouted out before taking your shoes off at the door. you squint your eyes to the corner of the room seeing wonbin curled up on the couch under a blanket and snuggle with your lady plushie he bought you a few months back.

you smile at the sight before turning on the light, “i know you aren’t sleep,” you said “i could’ve been.” he fake pouts sitting up on the couch patting the spot next to him gesturing for you to sit. you walk over to him laying down beside him throwing your legs across his lap.

“you seem like you had a fun night, i heard you outside the door fumbling with your keys.” he says, rubbing your legs. “yea tonight was fun but i mostly thinking about you the whole time,” you say sitting up on the couch with your legs still on his lap.

he tilts his head at you “yea you’re definitely super drunk,” he laughs pulling you onto his lap. “what i can’t think about you?” you ask, “of course you can, i’m just saying” he tucks some hair behind your ear.

you hum at his touch, he places a hand on your cheek “you’re so pretty, you look peaceful like this.” he says with a smile “that’s because i’m in your arms.” you add and you both share a small giggle.

you lay your head against his chest feeling as it rises and falls, listening to his heartbeat and for a second you swear you and his heartbeats were in sync.

d’s notes: another drabble… stopp these are fun to write omg. but wonbin omg i miss him so much guys… like i just can’t- also my requests are open i have ideas but ugh idk i get self conscious for some reason… i hope you all enjoyed this drabble :D have an amazing day or night.

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