so yesterday we had chan's bruised face and now changbin's they were filming something for sure (either that or they were boxing each other or they were making out idk)
pairing. potteryteacher!hyunjin x fem!reader genre. fluff wordcount. 1.4k warnings. kissing, cringe, very much expected plot.. ntm on me guys i'm rusty
riri's notes. so i disappeared from the writing communtity for awhile, but hopefully, i'm back! this is [secret member: the event], hosted by @mochaeia! thank you so much to @atetheluck for tagging me<3
( SYNOPSIS ) after spontaneously signing up for a beginners pottery class, you didn't expect much. until you saw the helplessly handsome teacher, hwang hyunjin. he's artistic and gentle, given the way he speaks and handles himself. as much as you hated to admit it, within the second class, you were anticipating the next one; and so was your heart. where the clay softens is a cliche romance oneshot.
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the studio smells like wet earth and heat, like something ancient and patient waiting to be shaped.
you hesitate just inside the doorway, fingers tightening around your bag strap. the wheel hums somewhere deeper in the room, low and steady, and for a second you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. you signed up for this class on a whim—one of those late-night decisions fueled by restlessness and the need to feel real again—but standing here now, surrounded by shelves of finished pottery and tools you don’t know how to use, doubt creeps in fast.
you’re already half-turned to leave when someone speaks.
“you can come in.” his voice is calm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
you look up.
he’s standing near the front of the studio, sleeves rolled up, apron already dusted with clay. his hair is pulled back loosely, strands escaping around his face. there’s something grounding about the way he stands—balanced, relaxed, like he belongs here in a way you rarely feel like you belong anywhere.
“you’re right on time,” he adds, smiling.
the smile isn’t flashy. it’s soft. easy. you swallow and step fully inside. “sorry,” you say. “i didn’t know where to-” “any wheel is fine,” he says gently. “we’ll start in a few minutes.”
you nod and move toward the middle of the room, choosing a wheel that looks… neutral. safe. the stool is cool beneath you when you sit, and you place your bag at your feet, breathing in slowly. the smell is stronger now. clay. water. kiln heat. something about it settles deep in your chest.
“hi, everyone,” the man says once the rest of the class filters in. “i’m hyunjin.” “this is an intro class,” he continues, hands resting lightly on a wheel. “so don’t worry about being bad at this. honestly, being bad is kind of the point.”
a few people laugh. you smile without realizing it.
“pottery is slow,” hyunjin says. “if you’re rushing, you’ll feel it immediately. the clay doesn’t respond well to force.” he sits at a wheel to demonstrate, and the room quiets.
the wheel starts spinning, a low hum filling the space. he places a heavy lump of clay at the center, wets his hands, and presses down. the clay responds almost immediately, rising and smoothing beneath his palms.
you watch his hands more than the clay.
they’re long, steady, confident in a way that isn’t loud. every movement is intentional. patient. like he’s listening instead of commanding. “centering is the hardest part,” he explains. “everything else depends on it.”
you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he glances up. your eyes meet. for half a second, something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. curiosity. then he smiles at you, smaller than before, and looks back down. your heart stutters like a middle school boy.
your turn is… interesting to say the least.
the moment you turn the wheel on, the clay wobbles violently. your hands hesitate, unsure how much pressure to apply, and the lump threatens to fly off entirely. “okay,” you mutter under your breath. “please don’t do this to me.”
it does not listen.
“hey,” hyunjin says quietly, appearing at your side. you jump a little. “sorry. i think i broke it.” he crouches next to you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of soap and something clean beneath the clay. “you didn’t break anything.”
“it’s fighting me,” you say, frustrated. “you’re fighting it,” he replies gently. you blink. “i am?” he nods. “your shoulders are tense.” you hadn’t noticed until he said it. you exhale, dropping them slightly. “can i?” he asks, gesturing to your hands. you hesitate, then nod. his hands settle over yours. warm. steady. grounding.
“even pressure,” he murmurs. “don’t rush it.”
the clay slowly steadies beneath your palms. the wobble eases, the lump smoothing out until it spins cleanly, centered. you let out a small laugh. “oh.” hyunjin smiles. “there you go.” for a moment, neither of you moves. then he pulls his hands away, standing. “you’ve got it from here.”
you nod, pulse racing. “thank you.”
“anytime.”
your hands feel colder without his.
by the end of the class, your fingers ache and your bowl is uneven, but it exists. solid. real. hyunjin lifts it carefully when he comes by. “this is good.” you snort. “it’s lopsided.” “most good things are,” he says, smiling. something about the way he says it stays with you. “same time next week?” he asks as people start to clean up. “yeah,” you say without hesitation.
thursday nights become something you orbit around.
you arrive early without meaning to. you take the same wheel every time. hyunjin always greets you with that soft smile, asks how your week’s been like he genuinely wants to know.
you learn how to wedge clay properly. how to pull walls without collapsing them. how to let go when something fails and start again.
he teaches patiently, never hovering, never disappearing completely. with you, he lingers just a little longer. “you’re getting better,” he says one night, watching you center without help.
you grin. “don’t sound so surprised.” he laughs. “i’m not surprised. i’m proud.” the word hits you harder than it should.
you learn things about him in pieces.
that he started pottery during a burnout spiral and never stopped. that he likes teaching because it forces him to slow down. that his mind is loud, but his hands know how to quiet it.
“this,” he says once, gesturing around the studio, “is the only place i don’t feel rushed.” you understand that in your bones. you start noticing the small things—the way he hums when glazing, the way he washes his hands before helping anyone, the way his eyes soften when you concentrate too hard. somewhere along the way, liking him stops being harmless.
the shift is subtle. it’s the way your heart jumps when he says your name. the way you find yourself watching him instead of your clay. the way the room feels warmer when he’s close.
one night, your piece collapses at the last second, walls folding inward.
you groan. “i was so close.” hyunjin crouches beside you. “hey. it’s okay.” “it’s not,” you say quietly. “i thought i finally had it.” he studies the slumped clay. “sometimes,” he says slowly, “collapse is part of the process.” you glance at him. “that’s very poetic.” he smiles a little. “i mean it. you can reshape it. or start over. nothing’s wasted.” you look at him—really look at him—and something in your chest tightens.
“you’re good at this,” you say.
“pottery?”
“people,” you correct.
his expression softens. “that means a lot.” the silence stretches, heavier now. “hyunjin,” you start, then stop. “yeah?” you shake your head. “nothing.”
he watches you for a moment. “you can ask me.” your heart pounds, “do you ever feel like… if you take one step, everything changes?” he looks down at his hands, flexes them slowly. then he meets your eyes.
“yeah,” he says softly. “i do.” the air between you feels charged.
the storm happens two weeks later.
rain lashes against the windows, thunder rattling the shelves. the lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. a few people gasp.
“it’s okay,” hyunjin says calmly. “everyone stay where you are.” emergency lights click on, dim and orange. the room feels smaller. closer. most of the class leaves early. you stay, helping clean up, waiting out the rain. eventually, it’s just the two of you. “thank you for staying,” he says. “i hate cleaning alone.” you smile. “i don’t mind.”
you’re wiping down a table when you feel his gaze. “what?” you ask. he hesitates. “i’ve been wanting to ask you something.” your heart jumps. “okay.” “would you like to get coffee with me?” he asks. “outside of class.” relief and warmth flood your chest. “yeah,” you say softly. “i would.”
his smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it.
coffee turns into dinner. dinner turns into walks that last too long. he listens when you talk. really listens. remembers the small things. never rushes you. the first time he kisses you, it’s slow and careful, like he’s checking in with every inch of space between you.
“is this okay?” he whispers.
“yeah,” you breathe. “it is.” loving him feels like clay—messy, grounding, shaped slowly with meaning.
you keep taking the class. you like being there together. like creating side by side. one night, you finish a bowl that’s smooth and balanced, centered perfectly. hyunjin lifts it, eyes bright. “you did this on your own.”
you grin. “guess i learned from the best.” he laughs, leaning down to kiss your temple. “i’m really glad you walked into this studio.”
“me too,” you say.
the wheel hums softly beside you, clay spinning under your hands.
and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’ve softened into exactly where you’re meant to be.
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