synopsis: track athlete, myung jaehyun, is not as smooth as everyone thinks he is, as evident from his many attempts to woo you. in other words, 2 times he failed to ask for your number (+1 time you actually just gave it). third time's the charm, right?
genre: track!myung jaehyun x gn!reader, fluff, crack
cw: mutual pining (mostly jaehyun), secondhand embarrassment, literature rambles, insults w friends, uni au ⋆ wc: 5.4k
a/n: finally i have a bnd post yayy she's free from blurb jail!! this could've been longer tbh but i love myself too much to do that. ne ways hope fellow onedoors enjoy this cuz i need more onedoor moots yall -> please don't copy or translate ~^^
if one were to ask students of koz university about myung jaehyun, one would likely get one of three answers. either he was: a friendly face who easily blended into any conversation (even with complete strangers), a playful flirt who could charm his way into your heart and mind, or a star student-athlete who was the track team’s golden goose.
all good things that made him the resident campus crush. stealing hearts, but never leaving any broken. chased after medals that hung heavy on his neck rather than an empty crush that would take up his thoughts. at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. things change.
“hi, i’m yn. i’m taking this literature class for the next few months, and i just wanna say i really enjoyed your interpretation of “the tale of hong gildong” with the classic “robin hood.” your insight on both pieces was really amazing and the comment on social protest or political loyalty, especially in the modern world, was honestly genius.”
more specifically, he changed as soon as his eyes met yours in that lecture hall. why focus on a book filled with words upon words, when he could instead choose to focus on you who had features that blended into pure harmonization. eyes that sparkled as you continued to share your own thoughts on the matter. shadows that swished and swashed with every passing movement of your outfit whenever you gestured to a specific part in his presentation.
a presentation that he poured his heart and soul into and was beyond the moon knowing at least one person appreciated his efforts. not so they could grade him, or look to see what they should focus since they’re presenting next, but out of sheer interest.
yn. a fellow student who simply enjoyed his lecture topic in world literature 52 had made the resident campus crush, myung jaehyun, fall head over heels for them. oh dear.
“i cannot believe he expects us to finish memorizing all that information on inorganic compounds and reactions by this friday.” you complained, fingers gently rubbing your temples to ease the headache that was starting to form. the laptop in your bag was wearing your shoulders down, knots only further solidifying to your dismay.
“right? plus, we still have to finish the spectral analysis he assigned too! honestly, he is being such a–”
“leehan!” you cut your friend off mid-sentence at the sight of the tall individual sporting an alien-shaped keychain on his worn out backpack. you sent your friends a quick, lopsided grin to apologise. with a short say, they headed on to the dining hall, hopefully already knowing to save you a seat for lunch.
donghyun spotted your tired figure within the crowd at the call of his name, signalling you to come over with an excited wave. while the gesture would usually be ignored by jaehyun, who was previously cooing over his strange friend’s fact of the day in a baby voice, that wouldn’t be the case now. he felt his eyes widen at your figure slowly moving closer and closer towards his direction. head moved to look around, heartbeat pounding louder in his ears, palms getting sweatier with every step you took.
why is yn coming over here? no one’s behind us looking their way. why is leehan smiling? does he know them? no, no, can’t be. not possible. he barely talks to anyone besides us. surely not. please stop walking towards us. no, go away!
“hey hannie,” you greeted with a bump of his shoulder against yours. they know each other?!
“hey yn,” he moved his bag to the front with a soft grunt, unzipping the material and digging around past books and crumpled papers before pulling out a somehow creased folder. his hand gave it over and you immediately hugged it close to your chest in gratitude. “as promised, here are the notes you missed in class. sorry if it’s a little messy.”
“you are an absolute lifesaver. professor lee would’ve had my ass if i was a lecture behind again.”
leehan laughed and continued to exchange pleasantries with you as jaehyun and the rest of the group watched in sheer astonishment at how he casually conversed with you like the two of you were childhood best friends. a statement that would have had taesan huffing in objection like a grumpy black cat. his head racked up every single memory possible, anything to try and gauge what, who, where, when, why and how you two became friends. close enough friends for you to call him by a nickname too.
goosebumps littered your skin as you moved your vision to his side, flashing the five males around leehan a shy smile. “sorry, i’m being rude. i’m yn, a friend of hannie. you all are?” one by one, you become the slightest bit more familiar with the group, storing their introductions in your head for future instances.
park sungho, an architecture major who tests recipes in the cooking club. lee sanghyeok or riwoo from the dance department, who’s also in the cooking club (mostly just to eat sungho’s creations). han dongmin or taesan, who makes mixes in the music composition department and music club. kim woonhak, the self-appointed mvp of the basketball club in music composition. and lastly, “you are– oh! it’s you.”
jaehyun pointed to himself, eyes looking into yours to be sure. “yeah, you. i’m not too good with names but we’re in the same literature class, right?”
he nodded. breathed in and out. “ye-yes. same one. i’m uh… f-friend. donghyun’s friend.”
huh?
you hummed, waiting for him to continue his introduction. his eyebrows furrowed after hearing the mistake, quickly shifting his eyes to look away before continuing. “i’m from the lal department.” you looked at him confused, head tilting at the word. “i- you know, lal. language and literature. l a l.” woonhak tried his best to stifle a snort but to no avail he ended up doubling over in laughter at the older one’s awkward mistake.
“oh. that’s cool, but i still don’t know your name…”
did he seriously not introduce himself yet? all the basics have been said except for the most important one. he just had to forget that one. awesome. okay. it’s fine. just say your name. simple as that.
“j-jae myung hyun.”
“...jae is your last name?”
he was punching himself internally, hands pulling at every last hair follicle that remained as he yelled in frustration, voice cracking at the prolonged length of his scream. “ahahaha. it’s– hyun. no! jae. m-myung jaehyun. last name myung, first name jaehyun.”
“well it’s very nice to meet you, myung jaehyun, who is hannie’s friend from the lal department and also happens to be in my class.”
you flashed him a grin, eyes shining brightly into his own, a fluttering warmth hitting the soft-hearted male straight in the chest causing his heart to clench at the overly cute sight. stop smiling like that please. you’re gonna make me explode from how cute you are. with his hands clamming up, he responded with a shaky smile of his own.
“so…”
“shut up!” jaehyun remarked, harshly stabbing at the broken up meatballs in his spaghetti. his frown deepened at the sound of his utensils accidentally scraping against the dish, a high-frequency metallic screech that would make even the most stiff expressions falter.
“it was like a humiliation ritual happened before my eyes against my consent.” he groaned at the insulting dig from the ravenette, figure slumping against the lunch table in despair while his so-called friends chuckled at his more than obvious misery.
“you’re usually more smooth with introductions, annoyingly so. what happened?” sungho breathlessly asked, the first to calm his laughter from the group.
he whined, fingers ruffling his hair into a deeper mess that matched his current feelings. “i’m not sure. all i remember is they were across the hallway, looking like an absolute angel coming from chemistry 124.01. next thing i know they’re walking towards us with a smile that could battle the sun on its best day. it was an attack to the heart!”
“so much for mr. all i chase after are medals. with those comparisons, you are waist deep in with no way out.” dongmin mocked, pursuing his lips and moving his shoulders annoyingly suave-like to portray the older male. that was until he got punched by the shoulder.
“seconded. also, why do you know yn had just come from chem 124.01? stalker much.”
“i overheard james talking to them about their group project a few weeks back and found out about yn’s schedule through him. pretty sure they’re in the same program. it’s been around two months since then.” heads turned to look at him in absolute shock. the same thought ran through each of their heads. there is no way myung jaehyun, who is the literal personification of tmi and extrovert, kept his crush secret from us for two whole months.
“have you told yn yet?”
“...what do you think, idiot?”
woonhak opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it back up at the lack of words coming out. “right. my bad.”
his chopsticks pushed around the remaining kimchi on the dish, movement slowing down as he zoned out from the reality of the conversation at the mere sight of his crush. the longer he stared, the more lost he felt. just what made you different? so different that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get over this silly crush of his.
maybe it was the way you seemed so passionate about life, sharing your views in discussions you’re interested in. from poetic literature to the societal issues it suggests, each word that left your lips only proved to him how insanely smart you were. you never hesitated to ask questions that would clarify the inquiries running in your mind, even if you weren’t all too familiar with the topic.
or maybe it was because you were really kind, but knew when to stand your ground ensuring no one walks over you. taking notes for others when they got sick, putting little tips and comments in the margins of the pages to make concepts easier to understand.
he paid mind to the smallest actions: whether it was the way you placed your phone screen side facing down to invest yourself in the conversation; the way you leaned in to listen to someone closely, clearly paying attention; or the way you traced a smiley face on any surface before sending the person beside you an equally bright smile to lighten their day.
he liked that about you. he liked a lot about you, and you didn’t even know.
his eyes met your own a few tables away and he could feel his heart rate rapidly speed up. your hand gestured an okay sign and he rushed to reply with two thumbs up, chopsticks clattering on the surface as it slipped from his fingers. you let out a small laugh at his clumsiness, nodding as your hand covered your mouth. i’m such an idiot. you broke his gaze, jaehyun sighing at his unrequited love as soon as you turned away.
“that was really, truly painful to watch.”
“can i change my answer? i think that was the humiliation ritual.”
“how is the so-called campus crush such a lovesick loser with his crush?”
“i’ve never been more embarrassed to be friends with you.”
“the only way to describe you and your actions is: a complete and utter mess.”
he pushed his plate towards woonhak, the younger male’s eyes sparkling with excitement at the free food offered. his hands dragged over his face, slapping his cheeks to snap himself out of this dazed feeling. he felt sick. stomach squeezing into different intricate knots, a result of the butterflies and cruel humiliation he faced after realizing how clearly his feelings could be seen. heart eyes, dreamy gaze, and flushed cheeks written all over his face. “please just put me out of my misery.” he begged, body leaning towards donghyun who willingly patted his shoulder out of sympathy.
“if you say so–”
“dongmin!” sungho scolded, momentarily taken aback by the immediate response to jaehyun’s sad request.
“ask and you shall receive, right? damn, this is what i get for being nice.” the eldest rolled his eyes, hand meeting his forehead in pure exhaustion as he muttered under his breath how tired he is constantly being surrounded by idiots. well, as they say, birds of the same feather flock together.
“so… when are you gonna get their number and ask them out?” leehan asked, leaning ever so slightly into his distraught friend, tone casual as he nodded his head over to where you were seated. “we can always help you out.”
his gaze softened, peeking past his fingers only to close them once again as you catch him staring, heat rushing up his neck when you smiled faintly. with a quick mental shake, he lowered his gaze, breath caught stuck in his throat at the fact you unknowingly had him wrapped around your finger. “never. i can’t. i’m just going to embarrass myself again. i’d rather suffer with this crush forever until the day i die.”
“okay. suffer then,” the sound of your laugh rang in his ears, a friend of yours casually dropping his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. his eyes studied the way they looked at you, their expression reflecting only a hint of what he too felt for you. nails dug into his skin, a green-eyed monster consuming his thoughts as the stinging pain numbed. “suffer as you watch someone sweep your precious crush off their feet, knowing that could’ve been you instead.”
the teasing glint in their eyes was unmistakable. he shot them a glare causing a smirk to climb up their faces, enjoying the pout that framed his face at the idea of him never confessing. constantly trapped in a sea of his own emotions.
“fine. what’s the plan?”
i. operation “knight in shining armour”
“are you sure about this?”
“can you just– sigh, why am i helping you?”
“because you love me?”
“...save that for yn.”
the plan was simple. the humanities building had the busiest walkways in koz university and since jaehyun knew you had the navigating world history 225 class there (out of pure chance he adds but nobody believes), he was going to pretend to bump into you accidentally. maybe even lead you away from the crowd to protect you before asking for your number and inviting you out to lunch. the perfect case of a knight-in-shining armour.
it wasn’t even twelve yet yet he watched a couple of students flow in the hallways, eyes skimming through the crowd until it landed on you. your class must’ve ended early today. he threaded himself between students, grinning elegantly like expected before tapping you on the shoulder, “y-yn. hey, did you just finish class? what a coincidence ‘cuz i did too.” no it didn’t. he had been waiting outside for the past twenty minutes, but you didn’t need to know that part.
they look so pretty. ah, that’s a lot of papers, i should offer to help.
“here,” he slipped his hands under yours, the weight of books and course material lightening as he smoothly grabbed hold of the items, carrying it in his strong arms instead. “i got you.”
you whispered a thanks, ears warming a hinge of red, feeling bad that he was hauling the junk from your lessons. he was sweet, so kind that it made your heart leap in the air. it was nice walking with him in silence, the spring air sending a strange chill over your skin, the faint sound of leaves rustling in the distance adding to the atmosphere. “ow, excuse me! hey, stop pushing me! jae–”
the clock had struck twelve and right on cue a rush of college students filled the pathway, varying tones of voices mixing into one loud decibel as they shoved and jammed past each other to handle their business.
please let this go well.
jaehyun's eyes widened, not expecting the amount of people blocking his pathway, losing you in the mass. he shook his head, hyping himself up before pushing himself into the crowd, his friends, minus woonhak and leehan, watching with expressions of pain at the havoc ensuing before their very eyes. was this even worth it? for him, it most definitely was. he would be your prince charming, saving the day as he protected you from harm, getting an honorable reward by asking you out on a lunch date.
“ouch. hey, sorry– i lost someone in this– talk later please.” the mass flowed through the area, slowly leading him over to your worried self who was protecting your bag for life. sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, rays gleaming in your face making it harder to see through the rows of bodies. “sorry. yn, hi again.”
you turned around to see jaehyun awkwardly grinning at you, eyes glinting with that familiar sparkle of playfulness, a welcoming distraction from the current hecticness of the situation, “hey.”
“you alright?”
“never better, obviously. how about you?”
“absolutely amazing as you can tell, especially with me stuck in this literal sea of overworked students. come on.” he placed a hand on your shoulder, moving you just a bit closer to his chest, and with the other hand still holding onto your stuff, angling himself to protect you as he slowly guided you both step by step to the side, out and away from the crowd.
the sounds of chatter calmed and you could feel the airconditioned breeze hit your warm skin. notes of cedarwood and fresh soap hit your nose as you caught your breath, shoulders dropping down at the feeling of relaxation. finally, you had escaped. “thank you, seriously. you were basically my hero there.”
he chuckled, easing into his usual charming character, adoring the features that he could never see in detail up until today. how your skin felt warm to the touch, lips softly curving with every breath you took, hair strands falling to frame your face. it was a dangerous sigh. one that made him question if the concept of beauty was based on you.
his finger gently raised to swipe away at a stray strand, carefully moving it back into place behind your ear. the slight graze of his fingertip against the shell of your ear made you suck in a breath, eyes flickering to look up at his. “huh, your eyes are really pretty up close.”
“sorry?”
his tone carried a sincere lilt that contrasted the boyish grin he flashed, teeth pearly white drawing your attention to his lips. did he mean it? it sounded so casual, like it was a passing comment you didn’t need to pay mind to.
you should repay him somehow. after all that, it was basically necessary. your head flipping through potential options until, “food?” he looked at you in surprise. “i was gonna grab a bite to eat, if you wa-wanna? it’s a nice cafe by campus. relatively cheap prices. nice atmosphere. food is super good too.”
this is it. my chance. “plus i won’t be late to class later since it’s by campus… which you already mentioned, yeah. after that maybe we could exchange nu–”
“dude! come on, i am starving. it’s your turn to buy lunch. you promised, remember?”
your expression fell at the appearance of his friends woonhak and leehan, ultimately cutting yourself off before you could continue. “actually i was planning to go with yn.”
“no no, it’s fine. you have to keep your promise, also…”
“there you are, yn. are you busy?” your friend called, waving at your figure.
“ah.” he stilled. and just like that, he shut up.
“yeah. maybe next time. see you around.” his smile dropped while you hurried over to where your friend was, not even sparing a measly look back at him.
“so? did you get their number?”
he stole a glance at you holding your packed lunch with utmost care. the golden light casted a warm glow over the scene of you merrily walking away, a skip in your step at the prospect of having lunch. “i was about to until you interrupted, idiot! plus, yn’s eating lunch with their friends…” he deadpanned, wanting to cry from despair at his luck as they patted his shoulder sadly and smacked the youngest boy for butting in.
“how did we mess this up?”
“blame woonhak and jaehyun’s bad timing.”
“i said i was sorry!”
ii. operation “cat and mouse”
the literature lecture hall buzzed quietly, the usual sounds of chatter, fingers tapping hurriedly against the keys of their laptop, a subtle crunch of paper and plastic coffee cups being moved from hand to hand, and chairs screeching as students dragged them lazily across the floor. your heart was beating in fear, eyes constantly flickering back to the argument on the presentation slides at the front.
in the world of literature, what is the bigger tragedy? the love story of romeo and juliet, or the life journey of frankenstein’s monster?
with fifteen minutes left of the class, professor jung had once again initiated his weekly literature debate. a supposedly fun game that divided the class into two groups, pitting them against each other to argue in defense of their assigned side for the remainder of the session. you had been looking at the group document for almost seven minutes and at the messy sight of words on a page was starting to make you feel sick, groaning in complete spurn at its disorder.
a scattered pile of words in inconsistent paragraphs, bullet points listed that were either striked out or had an arrow following it, and sentences of varying sizes highlighted a light yellow paired with matching comments about what points to expound on. your ideas were starting to run dry, like a car slowing down in the middle of the road spurting out its last bits of fuel.
“how is what we wrote worse than before?” you frowned, staring at the messy page in disbelief. fingers tangled in your hair, tugging the strands the lightest smidge as if that would fix your problems. the brainstorming time was about to come to an end and with barely any progress, you couldn’t help but feel hopeless.
“just pull anything out at this rate. sad thoughts and find every inconsistency in their argument. if we grill them enough, the gaps will be obvious and our side will seem more uniform,” your classmates stated after seeing you shove the laptop away from you in irritation. the wretched device does nothing but make you feel worse.
beep beep. beep beep.
the timer echoed in your ears, the sound bouncing off the plain walls of the lecture hall. “who’d like to start?”
jaehyun raised his hand wearing a smirk dripping in confidence. your shoulders tensed, feeling the air shift as he cleared his throat. his posture was relaxed, like he already knew he had this in the bag. professor jung nodded, impressed at his proactiveness. okay, you got this jaehyun. cool and confident. all to impress yn. you’ll be fine.
“a famous example of star-crossed lovers in a forbidden romance. their story ended not from bad luck, but because the universe was cruel. not only did their families forbid them from being together, the forces of the universe did not look kindly on them either. at the knowledge of their passed loved one, they were impulsive and chose death. it shows dedication. a desperate attempt at finding love even in the afterlife.”
every statement he made, voice even and perfectly clear, points only helping him build a better foundation. yours fell short. it was good, but not enough. his was strong, like he had experienced the tragic love story himself. a victim of their misfortune rather than an ordinary student studying their lives. so you took action.
“frankenstein’s monster also experienced his rejection towards love. from the people of his community and after victor frankenstein failed to follow through with the creation of a female companion. his kindness was repaid with fear and violence on top of that just because he was a monster. wouldn’t you say that’s more pitiful?” you interrupted, eyes narrowing at the relaxed individual.
he gleefully laughed. messy hair that curled by the tips falling into his eyes, casually brushed away with a quick ruffle. they’re paying attention to me! it’s working. i’m impressing them. ugh and their points are so smart too. please like me back! “you’re wasting your time over this,” you mumbled, voice shaking as the clock slowly ticked away. huh?
“with you? happily… just like romeo might i say. a hopeless romantic that knew the rules and still chose to defy it out of dedication to his precious juliet. they had love that fell through after everything they did, frankenstein’s monster never experienced love to that extent of a cruel heartbreak.” the bell rang before you could argue back, and as you witnessed the professor giving jaehyun a nod of approval, you knew he had won.
“yn! y-you were great back there. if possible, do you think–” his sentence was cut off as friends gathered around, drowning him with compliment after compliment as he lost sight of you in the crowd.
“jaehyun, that was awesome.”
“you totally beat the other group.”
“best literature debate ever.”
“professor jung must love you man.”
the room filled with praise being thrown left and right towards the man, classmates patting his back and pushing to get closer like he was a celebrity. and why wouldn’t they. after all, he was mr. popular. he probably wanted to talk to them over you.
so you sent him a smile, not that you think he could see it, and silently slipped away to prepare for your next class. jaehyun could only watch, regret filling his chest as he tried to push through only to find you had disappeared in the hallway. your smile. it didn’t reach up to your eyes like normal. he didn’t like that. not at all.
shoot, i think i messed up.
iii. operation “just ask them you wimp”
it was like the universe and all its higher beings were plotting against him. he sighed, throwing his head back and groaning at the way the sun was blaring down on the track team. “do you think coach will let me skip practice if i tell him i’m having chest pains?”
“from what? your unreciprocated crush or the fact that you can’t even ask them for their number because of your general wimpiness?”
his right hand grabbed his soaked towel, flinging towards an unsuspecting tired dongmin. at the graze of cold sweat, the nonchalant male yelped, pushing off his chair to avoid the cloth landing on him. he was beyond upset. never had he been so annoyed at the fact people liked him, but at this point, after two major tries and many other small ones, he really wished that he could just get you alone so he could ask for the damn number. jaehyun didn’t even know if you would give it, but at least he could relax at the knowledge that he tried.
the coach clapped his hands together gathering the attention of the other players, with a booming voice he announced, “the annual cross university sportsfest is coming up. i want my runners front and center that day, winning medal after medal. so training is gonna be an hour longer for the next few weeks.” the team groaned in protest, the coach rolling his eyes and waving away the sound. “complain all you want, i want winners at this event. so no slacking! so start running your laps.”
while the other students ran ahead, jaehyun failed to move his body. he was too mentally tired for this. head gently thumping against the metal pole that supported their one shaded rest spot.
“myung, i swear. do not test my patience today.”
“but coach–” he whined, a prominent pout on his lips, shaking the arm of his mentor only to get a grunt.
“run the laps. now.”
he grumbled. this is not worth it. sigh. if i had some sort of motivation, maybe then i’ll feel like running laps.
“isn’t that yn?” his head shot up looking ahead and like he heard, there you were. tattered shoulder bag weighing heavy on your left shoulder, clothes wrinkled after a long day of back to back classes, lunch bag swinging lightly after being emptied during your late lunch period.
his hand grabbed a random water bottle, pouring its little remnants over his head , snatching his phone from the chair before he ran with haste. feet padding in a rhythmic sequence across the track that looped around the field. the dusty brick red track bright against the shades of greens, browns, and gray that framed their campus. bits of gravel and sand swept in the air as his pace sped up, calling out in desperation, “yn! wait up!”
you turned around, the intense afternoon heat blocking your sight until it cleared away to introduce the male calling for you. “h-hi, hey, wow.”
“jaehyun, what’s up?”
he walked closer to the edge, catching his breath as he leaned against the laced metal railings. while he was clearly out of breath, panting audible between you two, his smile hadn’t faltered for a second. it was brilliant, drenched in sweat (it was just water actually), undeniable joy, and pure love that he had for you. did he know how cute he was like this?
“nothing much, just training for the usual sports event. coach gum is drilling us about it too.”
you dug around in your pocket pulling out a navy handkerchief with small embroidered ducks by its corners, smoothed it down, and handed it over. “here. it must be difficult in this heat. i should leave–”
“wait, before you go.”
“myung! less talking and more running!” the sound of the coach’s voice, lined with tense anger, sliced through the air. “i will go over there and make you run!”
“he’s bluffing. anyways, i was wondering… could i possibly get your number? only if you want of course. i just–”
“myung!”
he leaned closer, pouting as he thumbed at the ends of the piece of cloth you gave. “i was hoping we could get lunch sometime soon. maybe like a date? if you’d let me.”
your eyes switched between him and his fuming coach who was now flushing a bright red at the male’s defiance. how exactly was this the star player of the track team? “are you seriously doing this right now? you’re literally in the middle of practice.”
“well i tried a bunch of other times but i wasn’t having any luck with it. the hallway, the lecture hall, heck even on my way to the bathroom. i kept screwing it up someway, somehow and gosh, i just really like you yn. a lot. what do you say?”
“are you seriously ignoring me?”
myung jaehyun, resident campus crush of koz university, liked you. it didn’t matter that he was dripping in sweat, hair a dark mess clumped together with strands sticking out awkwardly, jersey slipping that bit revealing a shiny collarbone. you loved how natural it felt. he waited and you just sighed adoringly, heart softening at his sincere expression. with you holding your hand out, he gasped and rushed to give you his phone, almost dropping it in the process which made you giggle at his state.
“text me soon, okay? good luck with practice, jaehyun.”
as soon as you handed the device back, the number now inputted into his contacts list, he immediately hugged his phone against his chest. with a grin of delight, he kissed the handkerchief excitedly. “i’ll text you right now if you want.”
“myung jaehyun! do you want more laps?!”
“bye, yn.” his footsteps brushed against the rough path, hands grasping the cloth and device in each palm as he yelled, “give me the laps coach ‘cuz i can run forever now that i got their number! i finally got yn’s number! the world loves me and i love them! let’s go!!”
you laughed, the giddy smile on your face stuck as you watched your phone glow with a notification from said campus crush.
so about that date? - jae myung hyun
*myung jaehyun. sorry typo
taglist: @hironoshimura -> asked: @hraethy @honestlynae (ty for pressuring me lovely)
❪ 雪明かり ❫ fluff angel au angel!harua x f!reader 604 cw ノ kissing, relationship isn't super established but it kinda is at the same time, harua is very naive and believes everything anyone (yuma) tells him, not proofread 〃 ♡ ⸝⸝⸝ this angel harua gives me cuteness aggression wth :( / 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
Harua's lips are on yours; gentle, soothing, a little timid. You have to guide him, palm cupping his jaw, tilting his head against yours at just the right angle. The subtle encouragement gets him to clutch the fabric of your sweater, pulling you closer. You hear the slight shuffle of feathers and you smile against his lips. Whenever he gets nervous, his wings flutter as his body grapples with feelings he isn't quite used to.
As an angel, Harua has only ever known the divine way of things. His purpose was to watch over humans, never to directly engage with them unless told so. That was, until he was assigned to you. He didn't know why you could see him, or how you instantly knew that he wasn't of this world. He was used to blending in without question, but around you it was impossible. Your perception was so strong. You could see right through every excuse he threw. Angels were never good at lying.
"Is that supposed to happen?" Harua asks in a quiet whisper. You catch his eyes, still a breath apart from his lips.
"Is what supposed to happen?" you prompt him to continue, pressing a little kiss against his lips after you ask. You always said you wanted your lover to be like an angel, but you never expected the heavens to take it so literally. Although you haven't defined the terms of your relationship, there is no doubt in your head. He's here in front of you, letting you kiss him in a way you're certain no angel ever has.
"That feeling in my stomach…" Harua breathes, a little unsteady. "It feels like I'm going to vomit, but it's also… nice?"
You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. "Butterflies? It's normal. It's a reaction when your body is nervous," you explain, cupping his cheeks.
"Why would I be nervous around you?" Harua wonders breathlessly. You lean a little closer, just to tease, and you watch him gulp.
"Aren't you?" you mumble, lips just shy of his ear. You can feel him shift like a ball of nerves about to explode. God, he's so cute.
"But Yuma said you shouldn't feel nervous around friends," Harua recalls innocently. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to piece things together. His brow furrows, nose scrunching in confusion.
"What else did Yuma tell you?" you ask, already knowing that anything coming out of Yuma's mouth towards Harua couldn't be trusted. You know your roommate well enough. With someone as naive as Harua at his hands, he would take every opportunity to mess with him.
"That friends kiss each other all the time."
You snort. "Do you just believe anything Yuma tells you?"
Harua's doey eyes hold nothing but perfect innocence. "Yuma wouldn't lie to me."
Yes he would, you think.
"Sweet angel, don't blindly believe whatever Yuma tells you from now on, okay? He's a little demon in disguise."
Harua's eyes widen in shock. "He is?!"
"Figure of speech," you clarify quickly. You drop your head against his shoulder with a groan. "What am I going to do with you?"
Harua feels your fingers curl through the hair at the base of his neck and that fluttery feeling returns to his stomach. Butterflies. Now that he isn't wary of the feeling, he finds enjoyment in it. He nuzzles his head towards yours, and his wings lift to wrap around your body without him even thinking. Harua has learned that when his body relaxes completely, the best feeling is being held by you.
synopsis —It was just supposed to be a regular date at the country club. But as nightfall hit and the band started to play songs that melted into that smooth velvet. Leehan just couldn't help himself.
warnings —None. Just toe tickling, feet kicking fluff. Classy Leehan.
a/n —inspired by Leehan's cover of Sway by Michael Bublé. His voice is so underrated! Love him sm! (Also first fic hehe... happy reading!)݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢
The sun had just gone down. No more cotton candy skies that brought that warm feeling to your chest and a smile to your face. You sat comfortably in a lounge chair that felt like a cloud as you read your book under the now-appearing stars.
Leehan sat beside you, sipping on wine. "Their wine is really good today, darling." He said, smiling your way, but you could only hum as you immersed yourself further into the paragraph you were reading.
"Darling?" He called, unsure if you heard him. "Want to try it?"
You finally looked up from your book. His arm was extended towards you with his glass in hand, and your eyes fell onto the liquid inside.
"You know I don't drink, baby." Your voice was gentle, like a whisper and a tad hoarse from not speaking for a while. Leehan just stiffly nods at that, a smile forming on his lips.
Soft music filled the silence between you two, and as much as some would find it suffocating, you found nothing but comfort in it. Being able to coexist with your favorite person in silence and not being forced to fill it with noise? Yeah, that's a feeling that can't be replicated.
The country club had the best view of the beach. The deck overlooked it, which is why it was your favorite spot. Leehan knew this, of course, and so he booked it a month in advance always. Especially for special occasions like your birthday or any day he deemed worthy. It was that simple.
A gust of wind happened to pass by wrapping around you. You close your eyes at how good it felt, your curls floating behind you. Leehan was starstruck at your beauty and how soft you looked without fail. He took your hand in his, earning your attention.
"You look beautiful, my darling." He kissed the back of your hand right above your knuckles. Tilting your head, you smiled.
"Thank you, my love."
As the night inched deeper, so did the mood. It wasn't long before the house band went from soft and airy to smooth. The arrangement had you swaying in your seat and tapping your fingers on the table to the beat.
"Let's dance," Leehan said as he grabbed your hand and stood up halfway before you stopped what you were doing.
"W-what, no—babe, no one else is dancing." You spoke low but firmly, not wanting to disturb anyone else.
Honestly, you should have known that one measly protest wasn't going to stop him. He stood up further, straightening. One quick stretch and he was ready to go.
"Please, pretty girl? You're feeling it, I can tell."
"But-"
The older wiggled his eyebrows teasingly with that smile that made you fold in half. He reached for you, hoping you'd take his hand...
"Fine." Even though you sighed loud in your head, you clasped hands as he brought you in front of the table.
Leehan placed one hand on your waist; the other held your hand in the air. When you got close enough, you rested your head on his chest, and his head rested against your now tussled hair.
As you started to rock back and forth, your eyes started to close. Breathing became easier, and your thoughts got quieter. Dancing with Leehan always seemed to have that effect. When he noticed how quiet you've gone, he pressed a kiss to your temple and held you tighter.
The singer's voice echoed across the deck, "When we dance, you have a way with me," but all you focused on was the sound of his heartbeat against your ear and the way his chest rose when you shifted slightly.
"Don't step on my feet," he teased.
"Hey!" you giggled, opening one eye.
That made him laugh.
In time with the song, you swayed together delicately. The salty air heightened your senses but added to the pleasure. It made it more real, more raw.
"I can't wait to be your wife." Though random, the confession made him grin, a goofy one at that. He pulled away just enough to look down at you. You lift your head to look up at him. "Yeah?" You kiss his jaw up to his ear. "Yeah."
Rolling his eyes playfully, he dipped you as the song neared the end.
"Just keep swaying with me." You locked eyes, and for a moment you swore it was just you and Leehan; everything else bled into the background.
Tiptoeing up to his level, you placed a kiss on his lips. Not just any kiss. It was a kiss wrapped in safety, a kiss that said, "I'm yours always, and nothing's ever going to change that." He kissed you back with that same passion. You both pulled away with stupid smiles on your faces.
"I love you."
"I love you more, darling." He countered with the warmest tone he could muster that evening.
"baby tell me why, doesn't loving you feel wrong?
i can't stay away for long,
i don't know how to get you off my mind,
you make hell our paradise."
— Wrong by Chris Grey
genre(s): smut!!!! (i tried after not writing so long), rivals with benefits kind of thing
pairing: myung jaehyun (bnd) x y/n (reader)
summary: for someone who excelled academic and co-curricular activities, the last year of your diploma ruined when the student body organization president, myung jaehyun, seemed to have fun in sticking up to your nose. as the head of disciplinary committee organization, it wasn't a surprise when both of you often came out with endless arguments and ruthless insults. until, one day, both of you figured out the very way to release the tension off.
words count: 4,865 words
author's note: i LOVE the tension between rivals-to-lovers even though i might be lacking in arguments between the characters TT plus the wording might sound a bit off since i haven’t proofread it yet hehe i just wanna give something after disappearing so long <3
The tension between the two of you was impossible to miss. It had existed long before today, lingering through every meeting where the conference room became a battlefield of endless jabs and razor-sharp remarks, all neatly disguised as "formal debate" between you and Jaehyun.
As the Head of the Discipline Committee, you were responsible for the overall safety of the university's students. Your judgment was rooted in logic and existing regulations, ensuring that every proposal complied with university policies and that every rule was enforced without exception. To you, everything came down to authority, consequences, and structure.
Jaehyun, on the other hand, served as the Student Council President. He oversaw event proposals from clubs and organizations while advocating for student welfare, approaching every discussion with practicality and the students' best interests in mind. His leadership relied on soft power, persuasion, and popularity.
The contrast between the two of you couldn't have been clearer. While Jaehyun focused on what the students needed, you focused on what they were allowed to do. He created opportunities for them to make memories, whereas you drew the boundaries that kept those opportunities in check. He was admired by the student body; you were respected—if not outright feared. He negotiated, while you enforced.
Every committee member under the two of you had learned to mentally prepare themselves whenever the weekly meeting email landed in their inbox. What was scheduled to last two hours almost always stretched into four, with at least half of that time inevitably consumed by you and Jaehyun arguing over one another's points.
As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't deny the familiar knot that tightened in your stomach whenever Jaehyun fired back with that infuriatingly sharp tongue of his. Every rebuttal rolled off his lips with practiced precision, as though he had already anticipated every loophole you would point out in an event proposal long before you ever opened your mouth.
It certainly didn't help that he looked unfairly put together while doing it. His prescribed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, and the sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled neatly to his forearms, offering just enough of a glimpse at the biceps he'd clearly been spending more time building lately. Throughout every presentation, his eyes never left you whenever you interrupted to point out another violation of campus regulations, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as though he enjoyed every second of provoking you.
You quickly shook the thoughts away, refusing to let your mind wander any further, and redirected your attention to the meeting at hand.
Seated at the center of the long conference table inside the Discipline Committee room, you flipped through the stack of proposals for the university's upcoming events while representatives from each organization presented their plans one after another.
"I think inviting this lineup would put us over budget," you said, your tone calm yet firm.
Standing at the front of the room, Sungho, the Student Council representative attending in Jaehyun's place, continued presenting the proposed K-pop lineup for the university's annual Summer Waterbomb Festival.
Leaning back slightly in your chair, you absentmindedly tapped the end of your pen against the conference table as your eyes scanned the projected budget. Every figure, every spreadsheet, every projected expense was supposed to keep your mind occupied— a fortress built on logic and reason.
You clenched your jaw before continuing. "Even after accounting for sponsorships and revenue from the festival stalls, we're still stretching the allocation too far." Lifting the proposal just enough to indicate the estimated expenses, you kept your voice steady despite the unwelcome distraction threatening your concentration. "If anything unexpected comes up during the preparation period, we'll have almost no financial buffer left."
Normally, this discussion would've been between you and Jaehyun.
Unfortunately— or perhaps fortunately— he was still in class, leaving only two Student Council committee members to attend the meeting in his place.
The room felt noticeably quieter without him. There were no playful remarks to derail the discussion, no stubborn negotiations that dragged a two-hour meeting into four. Instead, there were only proposals, calculations, and routine discussions that somehow felt far duller than they should have.
Sungho nodded, quickly jotting down a few notes before attempting to defend the budget. "We can adjust the catering costs to compensate, Captain. The festival's prestige depends on this specific lineup."
"Prestige shouldn't come at the cost of fiscal stability," you replied without hesitation.
Silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft scratching of pens across paper.
You were doing exactly what a Head of the Discipline Committee was supposed to do— identifying every loophole, questioning every oversight, and ensuring every proposal complied with university regulations. Your arguments were as precise and uncompromising as ever.
Yet the absence of one particularly infuriating, dark-haired nuisance was impossible to ignore.
Without Jaehyun leaning back in his chair with that infuriating smirk, ready to counter every point you made, the debate felt strangely hollow. There was no one to lock eyes with across the conference table, no teasing remark murmured just loud enough to test your composure, no relentless back-and-forth that somehow made every meeting feel alive despite how much it exhausted you.
Everything was efficient. Everything was orderly.
Everything was lifeless.
Before you even realized what you were doing, your gaze drifted temporarily to the empty chair reserved for the Student Council President.
A familiar sound drifted in from the hallway.
The unmistakable rhythm of confident, unhurried footsteps drew closer with each passing second, and your traitorous heart answered with a single, heavy thump against your ribs. Determined not to betray yourself, you kept your eyes fixed on the budget report, refusing to look up even as the heavy oak door swung open.
"I'm sorry," a familiar voice called, smooth with amusement. "Am I late to the party? Please tell me the most important decisions haven't been made without the President."
Jaehyun looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had just walked out of what was undoubtedly a grueling biomedical engineering lecture. A dark navy sweater hugged his frame, making his skin appear almost luminous beneath the conference room lights, while his slightly tousled hair suggested he'd spent the walk over absentmindedly running a hand through it.
His gaze swept across the room in a practiced glance, acknowledging the other representatives only briefly before settling squarely on you.
The corner of his mouth lifted into a knowing—devastatingly handsome—smirk.
"You look particularly fierce today, Ms. Protocol," he said, his voice dropping into that low, melodic drawl you hated for how easily it lingered in your ears. The nickname rolled off his tongue with infuriating ease, every syllable carrying a teasing familiarity that no one else seemed to question. "Is the budget giving you trouble, or are you just missing my expert guidance?"
"The budget," you repeated, deliberately emphasizing the word as the tip of your pen resumed its rhythmic tapping against the proposal. "Why is it always the same issue with your organization?"
A quiet sigh escaped you before you continued. "If it isn't another request to extend the event curfew, it's a budget that exceeds the allocated funds."
Only then did you finally look up.
Jaehyun had already settled into his chair with an ease that felt entirely intentional, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table as though he had all the time in the world. His attention never wavered from yours, the intensity in his gaze at odds with the formal atmosphere surrounding the meeting.
"Well?" you prompted. "Do you actually enjoy having your proposals sent back by the Discipline Committee?" Your voice remained impeccably professional, but everyone around the table recognized the familiar edge beneath it.
"Sent back?" Jaehyun echoed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "That's a harsh way to put it, Y/N."
He reached for the proposal in front of you, his fingertips brushing the edge of the document— close enough for the contact to feel deliberate without actually touching you.
"We prefer to think of it as a collaborative refinement process." His smile widened almost imperceptibly. "You provide the boundaries, and we provide the vision."
The slight tightening of your jaw didn't escape him.
Turning to Sungho, he continued as though the two of you hadn't just exchanged another silent challenge. "Let's revisit the catering budget. If we tighten the logistics, we can recover the buffer the Captain's so concerned about."
Then he looked back at you.
"Unless..." His voice dipped just enough for the word to carry across the table without losing its private edge. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as though the rest of the room had momentarily ceased to exist. "Ms. Protocol thinks we're incapable of being responsible."
He punctuated the remark with a casual wink.
You tightened your grip around the pen, forcing yourself to remain composed. "You're asking me to approve additional spending based on projected savings that don't exist yet," you said evenly. "I won't gamble the committee's budget on optimism."
To everyone else, it was another playful jab in the never-ending rivalry between the Student Council President and the Head of the Discipline Committee.
To you, it was a challenge— another move in the dance the two of you never seemed to stop dancing.
A quiet laugh escaped Jaehyun. It wasn't mocking. If anything, it sounded almost impressive.
Rather than rising to the challenge, he simply withdrew his hand from the proposal and leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing as though he had all the patience in the world.
"Tell me something, Y/N." His voice remained calm, almost conversational.
"If our Finance Committee comes back tomorrow and confirms we can recover every won of that contingency..." He let the question hang for a beat before finishing, "...would you approve the lineup?"
The room fell silent. For the first time that afternoon, you hesitated. It lasted no more than a heartbeat, but your breath caught all the same.
His eyes lingered on you just long enough to tell you he'd caught the crack in your composure. "Because if the answer is still no," he said softly, "then this was never about the budget."
Jaehyun noticed.
Of course he did.
The words lodged themselves in your throat. Every sharp retort and cutting remark you had prepared dissolved before they could leave your lips.
Because he wasn't wrong.
If you pushed back now without a legitimate reason, everyone in the room would see through it. They would realize your objections were no longer rooted entirely in policy but were beginning to blur with something far more personal. Worse still, Jaehyun's compromise was reasonable—practical, even—and rejecting it outright would only weaken your own argument.
In that moment, all you wanted to do was shut him up by crashing your lips against his.
You hated that he'd backed you into a corner.
You hated even more that he had done it so effortlessly.
It was ridiculous, really. Somewhere between months of relentless arguments and endless meetings, the two of you had discovered that the only way to silence the frustration was to kiss each other senseless. You couldn't stand each other emotionally, yet somehow the only person who truly understood the pressure you were under was the one sitting across the table.
So you both fuck.
Not because you liked each other— not that either of you would ever admit to such a thing— but because it was the easiest way to bleed off the stress, to satisfy the adrenaline that came with constantly pushing each other's buttons, and to release the tension neither of you seemed capable of escaping.
A few more minutes of discussion passed before the meeting finally came to an end. Committee members gathered their documents, exchanged polite farewells, and gradually filtered out of the conference room, their conversations fading into the hallway until silence settled over the space once more.
You, however, remained in your seat.
Your gaze stayed fixed on the proposal lying open in front of you, glaring at the neatly printed pages as though sheer determination alone could somehow rewrite the outcome of the meeting.
It couldn't.
After Jaehyun proposed having the Finance Committee produce revised projections, the rest of the board had quickly rallied behind the idea. One by one, members voiced their agreement, citing previous festivals and successful budget adjustments as examples until it no longer felt like they were evaluating the proposal— it felt like they were countering you.
By the time the votes were counted, the proposal had passed with revised funding, granting the Student Council a larger budget for the upcoming Summer Waterbomb Festival.
The decision was final.
With a quiet exhale, you leaned back in your chair and resumed tapping the end of your pen against the tabletop, an unconscious habit you'd developed whenever things slipped beyond your control. The steady rhythm echoed through the now-empty room.
Once. Twice. Again.
The soft, rhythmic clicks echoed through the now-empty meeting room, betraying the frustration you had worked so hard to conceal throughout the discussion. Beneath your composed exterior, irritation simmered restlessly under your skin. Despite every argument you had made, the visionaries had won.
You had fought for stability, yet the budget had expanded anyway. It was a victory for the Student Council— and perhaps for the students, who would undoubtedly celebrate the popular K-pop lineup. It was certainly a triumph for Jaehyun.
For you, however, it felt like a personal defeat against the meticulously ordered world you had built.
"You're going to break that pen if you keep at it like that."
His voice was lower now, stripped of the easy warmth he wore in front of everyone else.
Jaehyun crossed the room with quiet steps, the carpet swallowing the sound of his approach before he pulled out the chair beside yours and sat down, slipping effortlessly into the space you usually kept off-limits.
He leaned in until his shoulder hovered just shy of brushing yours, and the clean, expensive musk of his cologne drifted into your senses, making your breath hitch despite yourself.
"You look like you're planning a murder, Y/N," he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into an amused smile. Yet there was an unfamiliar softness in his eyes, one reserved for moments like these, when the audience had long since disappeared. "Was the budget really that devastating, or are you just annoyed that you couldn't keep me in line today?"
"Shut up, Jaehyun," you muttered, refusing to look away from the proposal still spread across the table. Your glare remained fixed on the pages, though whether it was directed at the paperwork or at him had become increasingly difficult to tell.
"Before I actually murder you with this pen."
Jaehyun let out a soft, delighted huff of laughter, the sound vibrating in the small space between you. His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest, most dangerous second before returning to your eyes, the playful mask he wore in public slipping away to reveal the quieter, unreadable version of himself that only you ever saw.
"Such a violent temperament for someone so composed," he murmured, his voice dipping into something more intimate than teasing. His hand moved before you could react, long fingers gently wrapping around yours to still the restless tapping of your pen. His skin was warm against yours, a stark contrast to the cool metal resting between your grip.
"Does this mean you're going to hold a grudge?" he asked, studying you with a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity. "Because if you are, you're going to have to come up with something far more creative than threatening me with a pen."
Your eyes flicked down to where his hand enclosed yours, his thumb drawing a slow, unhurried circle over your knuckles as though he had all the time in the world.
"Right," you said at last, voice steadying into something sharper. "It's all because of you."
Then you finally turned fully to face him. "I guess it's only acceptable for me to use that dick of yours to relieve some of this frustration, right?"
The words landed cleanly in the air between you, precise and unflinching in the same clinical tone you used to dismantle a budget proposal, though the weight of them shifted the atmosphere entirely.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
For a brief moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the university’s ventilation system— a quiet, indifferent backdrop to the sudden and violent spike of tension between the two of you.
Jaehyun froze.
The easy, lopsided grin he usually wore faltered as his eyes widened slightly, processing the bluntness of your words. He had expected a sharp retort, maybe a witty jab or a pointed lecture about fiscal irresponsibility. What he hadn't expected was for you to strip away every layer of professional restraint and leave nothing but unfiltered intent behind.
A slow heat crept up his neck, spreading across his cheeks before he could stop it. Whatever composed and easygoing image he carried in public was gone, replaced by something quieter yet sharper— something that made his breath turn shallow.
He exhaled slowly, unevenly.
His gaze darkened as it held yours, searching for even the smallest hesitation. When he found none, his grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb pressing more deliberately against your skin.
"Careful, Y/N," he rasped, his voice dropping into something rougher than before. "Say things like that in a room this quiet, and people might start thinking the Head of Discipline Committee has lost her composure."
"I am," you said, your voice steady despite the heat behind it, "and I'm so desperate to let go of this frustration that I'm this close to killing someone." The words came out sharp, controlled, almost frightening in their certainty.
Jaehyun’s pupils darkened, the shift immediate and unmistakable. "Then let's not keep you waiting," he murmured.
After making sure you both left at different times so no suspicion lingered among your respective committees, you eventually found yourselves inside Jaehyun’s car, parked far from the prying eyes of campus.
The moment the door shut, whatever restraint you had been holding onto all day snapped cleanly.
You didn’t waste any time to pull Jaehyun into a kiss field with all the built-up frustration, casually straddling him on the driver seat. Your grips on his navy sweater tightened. You were a whirlwind of suppressed tension, your body moving with a desperate and hungry urgency that left Jaehyun breathless. The friction of your thighs against him was a silent command, a demand for him to finally bridge the distance they had maintained all day.
Jaehyun let out a low and guttural groan into your mouth, his hands finding your waist to steady you. He met your kiss with equal ferocity, his tongue tangling with yours in a frantic and uncoordinated dance of need. The scent of yours, something crisp and elegant, now mixed with the heat of your skin drove him to the brink of madness.
The veneer of the polished Student Council President and the stoic Head of Discipline Committee shattered completely.
“God, princess.” He rasped against your lips, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your hips. He pulled you closer, eliminating every millimeter of space between you both. The navy fabric of his sweater bunched under your tight grip, a testament to how much you were clinging to him for stability.
His hands slid from your waist, travelling upward to cup your face. His thumbs traced your jawline with a feverish intensity. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the same restless energy you had been channeling into your pen just moments ago. Now, the energy was focused entirely on him.
Jaehyun shifted, his hips tilting upward to meet your pressure, his eyes dark with a singular and consuming purpose.
The silence of the parked car was filled only with the sound of their ragged breathing and the heavy, rhythmic thud of two hearts beating in a frantic and synchronized tempo, probably jolted a bit as it moved along to match the rhythms of you both.
“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. You moved along your hips, humping against him through the clothes while your hands travelled all the way to his sides, exploring his muscles through the shirt as if it reduced every inch of your frustration.
Your lips moved to his neck, licking and biting against the exposed skin as if you were in charge. Jaehyun threw his head back against the headrest, a sharp yet choked sound escaping his throat the moment your teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his neck. The sensation was electric, a searing brand that made his vision blur.
Every time you grounded your hips against him, the friction of the denim and cotton felt like a beautiful torture, driving him toward a breaking point he was desperate to reach.
“You’re… relentless,” Jaehyun managed to grit out, his voice a broken and low rumble.
His hands abandoned your face, sliding down your back to pull you even tighter against him, as if trying to fuse your both bodies into one.
Your eyes found him again, taking in the way he looked beneath you— undone in a way he never allowed himself to be anywhere else.
He needed more than just the sensation of your movement.
He needed the heat of your skin.
Your hand moved up without hesitation, resting lightly at his throat, thumb brushing over his pulse as it betrayed how much he was trying to stay composed.
“Fuck..” You breathed, “I hate you so fucking much,” you muttered in the midst of your shaky breath, your hips pressed even further. Your underwear was dampened with your wetness, dragging them along to the obvious tent of his dick through his denim jeans, earning a strangled and desperate sound from Jaehyun.
Jaehyun’s eyes snapped open, dark and dilated, as your thumb traced the movement of his throat. The sensation was a delicious and agonizing tether, grounding him even as you pushed him toward the edge of insanity.
Your beautiful yet venomous declaration of hatred confession sent a surge of pure, unadulterated heat through his veins. Jaehyun loved it when you were like this: raw, unpolished, and entirely unconcerned with the dignity your reputation usually demanded.
“Then hate me harder,” he rasped, his voice a jagged wreck of its usual melodic self.
Jaehyun reached up, his large hands captured your wrist to guide your hand, pressing your palm even more firmly against the pulse point of his neck. He wanted you to feel how fast his heart was racing, how much you were physically unravelling him.
His hips bucked upward in a reflexive yet hungry attempt to close the tortuous gap between you both. The friction was a slow burn, a maddening tease that made his entire body ache with the need to be inside her. You matched his rhythm, moving your hips in circle motion before lifting your hips, only to drop it against his thighs with much intensity.
Your head threw to the back, ragged breath followed by his other unoccupied hand guiding your hips. A strangled moan escaped from your lips and before you could come, his grip on your hips tightened with bruising force, forcing you to stay still on his hips.
The hand that hovered yours slid down, using both of his hands to peek the inside of your thighs underneath your cotton skirt, moving your panty to the other side. Catching up with him, your hands dropped to his denim jeans, unbuckled the belt and unzipped the jeans, exposing the very dick that you had been so desperately trying to ride.
“Fuckkkk— hngh…” You shut your eyes tight when the head of his cock slid inside you with ease, his hands now dropped on your hips as he guided you down from the position. You dropped your head to his shoulder, burying your face against the crook of his neck. “God, I really hate you.”
“Your words, your endless insults..”
You added on, “Your cock.”
“I fucking hate everything.” You managed to spill out the words that had been threatening to escape from the tip of your tongue, grazed your teeth against his skin, your walls clenched tightly around his length.
The young man let out a sound that was half groan and half sob as your internal muscles clamped around him with punishing, exquisite tightness. The sensation of your clenching was so intense it felt as though you were trying to pull him apart from the inside.
He gripped your hips so hard his knuckles turned white, his head lulling back against the seat as he surrendered to the overwhelming friction of your body.
“Hate me more,” Jaehyun gasped, his voice a broken mess. “Hate every single second of this.”
He loved the way you weaponized your frustration, turning your supposed disdain into a fuel that burned hotter than any genuine affection could. You were a storm, and he was more than willing to drown in you.
Jaehyun began to thrust upward, his movements heavy and deliberate, meeting your downward rhythm with a primal force. The car rocked violently on its suspension, a rhythmic creak echoing the frantic pace of the union.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against yours as his lips found your ear to whisper a dark and breathless truth. “You can hate me all you want, princess. As long as you never stop wanting me like this.”
A breathless laugh slipped past you, unsteady and fractured, more feeling than sound as the tension between you both spiraled further out of control. The proximity, the heat, the danger of being caught— it all blurred together until there was nothing coherent left to hold onto.
“Oh, I’m surely going to hate you,” you bit back, “I’ll make sure no one could make me hate you as much as how good I make you feel.”
You lifted your head, hands gripped both of his shoulders as you moved along with his thrusts, your hips pressed against his thighs. Arching your body, your head tilted to the back in full bliss.
“Is that a promise, princess?” Jaehyun smirked, he loved the way your pride remained intact even as your body betrayed her, your voice trembled with the sheer intensity of the pleasure he was forcing you to endure.
Jaehyun surged upward, his thrust became harder and frantic, driven by the sight of your arched back and the way your eyes rolled back. “Fuck, princess. You feel so fucking good.”
“So fucking perfect, and all for me, right?” The young man whispered against the sensitive skin of your neck when he leaned in, his right hand on your back while his left hand remained on your hips.
When you clenched again, his hiss morphed into a curse. His thrust deepened, abusing your cunt just as much as you hate him, breaking you into the most melodic, shattered moaning mess.
“Fuck.. Cl-Close,” you pulled the inner of your lower lips inside, your hips moved in rather chaotic, messy motions just to pull you both closer to the edge. “Yes, God, please—”
“I’m…. hngh, I’m going to..” your words became incoherent, breath ragged. “I’m close, mmmph— Oh God, fuck!” You screamed, your eyes shut tight as white-hot pleasure blazed through you, forming the white circle around his base.
Jaehyun didn’t stop at all— instead, he fucked even harder, his thrusts uneven and messy at this point, the car obviously jerked in a very suspicious way. His grips were all over your body, knuckles white, moving his hips with desperate urgency.
“Fuck princess,” the young man whispered against your skin, forcing you down to his hips as he moved one last thrust upward, his entire world tilt on its axis when the hot sperm splurted inside you, coating each of your wall with his cum followed by a guttural groan.
He slumped back against the seat, chest rising and falling unevenly as he tried to catch his breath, while you remained against him for a moment longer, unwilling to move just yet.
“You’re a terrifying woman, Y/N,” he muttered after a beat, voice still rough around the edges.
A quiet laugh slipped out of you, soft and unsteady as you rested your weight against him to steady your breathing. Despite everything, there was something disarmingly comfortable about the closeness— something neither of you ever seemed willing to acknowledge outside of moments like this. “Says the one who gets even bigger while still being inside me.”
Lifting your body just enough to face Jaehyun, your hands on his chest. “What are you? A virgin or a pervert?” Your tone filled with disbelief, finding it amusing how he was still hard.
A tired, triumphant smirked tugged at the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth. “It’s called being highly responsive to a very particular stimulus, princess.” His head tilted a bit, his eyes softened with a glistening tease. “I thought you like it when you have the upper hand?”
𓏵 ⌞ 中耒田 悠真 x f!reader, fluff, 0.9k ⌝ ∘∘∘ headcannons, use of yuma’s last name, mentions of throwing up but no actual throw up/action of, ft. members of &t
𓏵 stuff that your boyfriend yuma does that you can’t help but find endearing *ੈ✩‧₊˚
ナナ’s ⦂ thank you anon for requestinggg and yes i do write for &team ♡ i actually (☝️🤓) bias yuma!! ><
❤︎ bf!yuma who spoils you with gifts, especially with clothes and accessories. loving fashion too, he’s the complete opposite of stingy when it comes to buying you clothes, basically purchasing everything that comes into his view.
❤︎ bf!yuma who has a(n extremely obvious) soft spot for you and you only.
yuma absolutely hates whenever the members call him a cat or even allude to the idea of it, but when it’s you doing it? he’s complying with whatever fantasy it is.
“you’re such a big kitty, yu.” you coo, scratching underneath his chin. yuma’s relishing in the sensation, lips curled into a ‘w’ (like this → ₍⸍⸌- ̫-⸍⸌₎) he’s clearly into it, enjoying the way you baby him.
suddenly, the noise of a tongue clicking pierces through your voices. “excuse me, mr nakakita?” maki raises an eyebrow, arms folded at the sight of you two. “i thought you didn’t like being called a cat.”
your boyfriend rolls his eyes, huffing at how his pampering got interrupted. “i don’t like it when it comes from you guys,” he says, pointing at maki. “i like it when it comes from y/n. my girlfriend.”
❤︎ bf!yuma who easily gets jealous. but instead of being annoyed, he gets sulky and clingy, getting all touchy with you. he’ll see a random guy give you a small compliment and get SO pouty, slinging an arm around your shoulder and start whining straight into your ear about the guy.
more under the cut ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
❤︎ bf!yuma who loves talking to you in japanese despite you not understanding a single thing that leaves his mouth. at times, you start to wonder if he knows you aren’t comprehending his words.
“hontō ni aitakatta,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your body as he takes in your scent. “maji de, maji.” his hands slip up to the back of your head, carding through your locks.
you’re sure it means something endearing, but you don’t know exactly what it means, leaving you dumbfounded, hugging yuma back without a word. “babe, you know i don’t understand what you’re saying.”
he chuckles at your confusion, pulling away to cup your face in his hands. “it means ‘i missed you so much,’ baby. i say it to you all the time.”
❤︎ bf!yuma who’s so clingy with you, whether in public or while you two are the only ones in a room. if you’re in public, he won’t make it too obvious, usually wrapping an arm round your waist or your shoulders. but if you’re in private? oh he’s making it seen, particularly when the other members are around.
you’re lying on the couch in the practice room with yuma snug behind you, tracing faint circles on your waist as he hugs you from behind. the guys are watching staring at you two and yuma knows this.
“yu, they’re literally waiting for you to get up and mark the choreo as a group.” you nudge his stomach with your elbow.
instead of getting up, or letting go of you, his grip around you gets tighter, head nestling even further into the crook of your neck.
“hey, nakakita! get up and come practice already.” nicholas calls, loudly tapping his foot against the hardwood floor.
yuma groans, dragging himself off the couch. “fine,” he mumbles under his breath. before he leaves you, he gives you a kiss that lingers long enough for the members to go through the entire dance twice, prompting disgusted comments from the guys.
“ugh…” maki imitates throwing up, rolling his eyes at the view. “get a room, you freaks.”
❤︎ bf!yuma who loves when you leave little traces of you on his items. he can’t help but smile whenever he sees a cute sticker on his phone case or airpods, knowing you stuck it on there while he wasn’t watching.
❤︎ bf!yuma who manages to get even more clingy with you when you sleep next to one another. before you two fall asleep, your limbs are tangled underneath the thick duvet, bodies practically melted into the other’s.
“g’night, babe.” you press your lips onto yuma’s cheek before shutting your eyes. but instead of the easy sleep you thought you were getting, your boyfriend just kept on murmuring to you.
“you smell like your shampoo, baby.” he whispers, voice vibrating against the shell of your ear. “you’re so warm, too.” his body moves closer to yours, taking as much heat from you as he can.
“yu, i love you but i’m so sleepy right now.” you admit, kissing him on the lips in hopes that it’ll stop his rambling.
instead, it goes the complete opposite way you thought it would, turning yuma into a whining mess. “baby…” he mewls, closing the space between your bodies even more. “i’ll shut up for now. but tomorrow you owe me.”
You and Nakakita Yuma were A-list actors who always headbutt one way or another. It was a famous rivalry, the celebrity enemies, as everyone loved to call it. Some called it a PR stunt but in reality, it was a PR headache.
Yuma has always been annoying but it was one particular night at an afterparty where he found it was especially amusing to rub it in your face that you had lost an award. You had been quieter than usual, trying to ignore him but he could not take a hint even if it was thrown at his face.
So, you snapped and told him to shut up. That was it, two words, and how it should have ended. How it should not have ended is when he smiled right back and said, “Make me.” You had found yourself tangled in the sheets with him, hands in his hair, kissing him and him marking your body.
At least it effectively shut him up!
That is how the vicious cycle started: you two attend the same parties, whether after an award or by mutual friends, and you end up tangled in the sheets of some high-end hotel or in the back of a car. It was scandalous for both of your careers, but Yuma had always been known for not giving a fuck and somehow that had rubbed off on you.
You only went along because the sex was great, right after the argument. At least that is what you keep telling yourself every time. You know you shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t be lying to your managers and you shouldn’t be sneaking out like teenagers but the idea of having some private moment away from the public eye felt so satisfying.
Also, Yuma was a great company when he actually shut up and focused on something, that something being you! He doesn’t forget to argue, though, even in the middle, and you argue back, because that is who you are, definitely still enemies.
Enemies who are sleeping with each other. For three months now. It is a miracle you two haven’t been exposed by the media.
Tonight is no exception, as you see his wandering eyes from across the room. You do not feel great tonight; you just came because the host, Nicholas, would full-on sulk if you didn’t. You down your drink, hoping the feeling will go away.
Across the room, Yuma scrunches his nose just a little, carefully observing your features. You are tense, more than usual and you are giving your service smile to every single person talking to you. He sees your fingers twitch around the glass when your manager gives you a look of confusion.
In long strides, Yuma crosses the room and swiftly snatches the drink out of your hand before downing it. “Excuse me?” you glare at him and he just shrugs as he puts the glass down.
“The grapes would have fermented again by the time you were taking to drink that,” he smirks lightly, his snaggletooth evilly peeking out of his lips. You take a deep breath before reminding yourself that strangling someone is, in fact, illegal.
Yuma doesn’t let you speak, though, as he instantly says, “Want to ditch and get some of the night air?” You visibly roll your eyes as you shake your head to a ‘No.’ The evening was already tiring and the last thing you need right now is him being cocky while eating you out.
Yuma’s face contorts for half a second before he catches himself and continues, “No, I actually meant getting some fresh air.”
“When did you become so nice?” you reply without missing a beat and he snickers as his fingers wrap around your wrists and slightly guide you through the crowd.
“Won’t people notice we are gone?” you hesitantly ask as you stand in front of the elevator. You take in for a moment how Yuma’s fingers are interlaced with yours and how warm his palms are against your cold skin. This is the first time you are so nervous when sneaking out is all you two have been doing these past months.
“There are no cameras here to care enough about that, also, Nicholas has like a dozen balconies in here, so they wouldn’t be able to find us either,” he replies, voice softer than he intends it to be.
You two climb up to the top floor rooms, reserved for Nicholas’s friends and family only and enter the balcony of the extra room around the corner. The night air hits your face and for a moment, you let yourself forget the world and just focus on the cold air and Yuma’s hand in yours.
“What nostalgia moment are you waiting to hit?” The moment is instantly ruined by his lame remark and you smile at him sweetly, shoving the middle finger up his face with your free hand. Yuma just giggles, his fingers tightening around yours. For a long time, you two just stand there before he asks again, “No, seriously, are you okay?”
“I am fine, I am just tired,” you murmur, which technically wasn’t a lie.
“So tired that you don’t have any counter-arguments? Oh my god, have I finally won?” he dramatically puts a hand over his chest and gasps and your lips break into a smile, a genuine one, for the first time in the night.
You take a deep breath and reply, “I have this new co-worker who is so annoying and refuses to listen to the director’s orders, and we were stuck filming one small scene fifty times because he kept messing up.” You cut off short, not knowing how to continue. You never had deep conversations with Yuma; heck, you barely had conversations that didn’t start and end with arguing.
His fingers rub the back of your hand and you look towards the city skyline and the glittering lights spread across. “The city is pretty,” you whisper and he hums in agreement and you chuckle. It was rare of you and Yuma to actually agree on something.
“It is so pretty,” he murmurs, looking straight at your face while you are blissfully unaware of the fact. Yuma takes a deep breath, knowing what is about to come, what was always evident to come. He is not the type of person whose hands you would put your heart in nor is he the person who can hold you anytime he wants.
Because you are both celebrities, and celebrities cannot afford to live normally. If you two go out together tomorrow, there will be a billion cameras flashing at your faces. Would you ever give someone who invites all that a chance?
“I think I love you,” he says before he can stop himself and your eyes widen in shock. Before you can say anything, he continues, “I hadn’t planned on it, I just think I fell in love with you, which is weird because you are so fucking insufferable, but if I go one day without seeing that angry face of yours when I hit your nerves, it drives me crazy. It drives me crazy thinking you might be mad at someone else, just not me and it drives me crazy thinking you actually found someone who will treat you right, which isn’t me.”
He finally stops rambling and you stare at him; words stuck in your throat. When you finally realise what he just said, you whisper, “You are so stupid, Nakakita.” You don’t give him time to retort as you pull him by his collar and press your lips to his. You had kissed Yuma so many times before this and yet it still hit so different every time. Yuma’s fingers tighten around yours as he tilts his head and you thread your fingers through his hair.
You two part for just one second as you whisper to his lips, “Fuck I love you too, Nakakita,” and he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again as you groan from the taste of his lips alone. His hand tightens around your waist as you both smile into the kiss.
Yuma doesn’t know he stays sane at your lips moving against his in a way that is so wholly new. All he knows is the midnight driving and giggles were worth it, and so was pestering you from day one.
ARCHV ⠀ ⌗⠀، brat yuma agenda be taking over my mind omg, because that man is just so infuriatingly cute ugh. ilhsm
´ ᵕ ` ⠀⠀ &team shelf ⠀navi ⠀,⠀taglist . fill this / comment / ask
ꨄ︎ warnings : insults (?), bickering, frenemies to lovers, kissing, skinship, fuma makes a brief appearance, lowercase intended
ꨄ︎ word count : 1.5k
ꨄ︎ author’s note : for this ask from nika! i always make yuma a tease idk why, whoops. hopefully it’s cutesy enough for u twin 🤞all support is appreciated! hope u enjoy 🪽
ִֶָ. ..𓂃currently playing: apple cider - beabadoobee ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
⠀ ⠀ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 中耒田悠真 ᰍ໋ ۫ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹⠀ 𓈒 読む⸝⸝ ⟡
you and yuma had known each other since you were little kids - 6 years old to be exact. a heated argument over sharing the toy box in class led you to be sworn enemies, and younger you had promised herself she wouldn’t be friends with him. ever. but, by the time you were 13, the two of you had so many mutual friends that you’d ended up being in the same friend group, despite liking each other still. the universe simple wasn’t on your side when it came to yuma.
---
ever since the group had formed, you’d practically been forced by the others to get along with him. that meant no pointless arguments, no bullying, no pranks, nothing of the sort. not wanting to ruin the fun for the rest of them, you followed the order - or at least tried to. it was difficult when yuma constantly teased you for your style of clothing, your makeup, and tiny details like the way you walked. he enjoyed hearing the frustrated huff escape from you, loved seeing the annoyed expression on your face even more. what he loved the most, though, was the fact you fought back. it made things more entertaining when you’d shoot a reflective insult to his own outfit in defence.
your friends simply rolled their eyes every time. they were used to it by now, referring to you both as ‘tom & jerry in human form’.
---
somewhere along the way, you found your feelings of hatred towards yuma had faded, and something new had replaced it - love. or at least a variant of it.
his rude teasing had no negative effect on you anymore, instead you found it endearing, the way he’d look you up and down before saying,
“i can’t tell if you just rolled out of bed or not. you look a mess, sweetheart.”
however, you knew he didn’t feel the same way. it was obvious, and it made sense. the two of you were meant to hate each other, right? you were sure it was just a stupid little phase of yours, something that would fade after a couple of weeks. a month maximum.
---
your crush on yuma was pushing its 1 year anniversary when you started to notice the change in how yuma acted. his insults were less heated, becoming more playful instead. when your group of friends hung out, he wouldn’t refuse to sit next to you on the couch anymore, happily plopping down next to you, letting his leg brush yours. what really made you realise something was going on was when you’d catch him staring. during movie nights, picnics at the park, anywhere. whenever you glanced his way, yuma would already be looking at you, his classic, sly grin plastered on his face.
“whatcha lookin’ at? you look like you wanna kiss me or somethin’.” he’d taunt, as if he wasn’t the one caught daydreaming in your direction. you’d look away, praying he didn’t see the pink tint on your cheeks.
it made you wonder if his feelings for you had developed into something deeper, or if he was toying with you.
---
it was a saturday night, and the group was sardined in your bedroom, people practically piled on top of each other on the bed, some watching the movie playing on your laptop, some already knocked out. you were situated on the edge of the bed, not focused on the movie. yuma was sat between you and another one of your friends, fuma, who was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. yuma was watching the movie quietly, an occasional glance cast in your direction.
the heat of the packed room finally caught up to you, and you excused yourself from the bedroom, heading out to the balcony.
the chilled breeze helped cool you down quickly, allowing you to relax. it was late by now, and the night sky was practically pitch black, the small glistening stars scattered across it. despite feeling tired, you weren’t ready to fall asleep yet. mainly because there was barely any room left on your bed, but also because of who you had to sleep beside - yuma.
as if right on queue, the balcony door slides open and shut and yuma emerges next to you, leaning against the ledge of the railing on his elbows. he doesn’t say anything at first, simply scanning the dark skyline.
“it’s hot in there,” he says finally, breaking the silence. you let out a small laugh, nodding.
“yeah, it is.”
the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the silence stretching on longer than it usually does between the two of you. maybe it’s because the others were asleep inside, but it felt different being just the two of you. more intimate.
---
a few minutes had passed before he spoke up again.
“you know, you look really pretty tonight.” he turns his head to face you, eyes on your face. your stomach churned with an unfamiliar feeling; a mix of nervousness, confusion and flattery. you weren’t used to him being nice to you like this.
“thanks, yuma.” you manage to say, trying not to let your face hint at your inner turmoil. he shifts closer to you, arms pressed up against each other.
“i’m sorry i always tease you.”
you snap your head to look at him at the apology, surprised. his voice carried a tone of sincerity you’d never heard from him before, but you could tell it was genuine. you feel his pinky brush yours on the railing, and he interlinks them absentmindedly.
“you never actually look ugly. you don’t walk funny, either.” he admits, eyes flickering over you, pupils sparkling in the moonlight. “you’re, uh.. you’re perfect, actually.”
the heat that rushes to your face was sudden and warm, you knew yuma could probably see it. and by the faint smirk growing on his face, you could tell he definitely did.
“i’ve barely said anything and you’re already blushing.” he scoffs amusedly, nudging you gently.
“shut up,” you whisper, looking away in attempt to hide your pink cheeks. he lifts his free hand, cupping your face and gently turning you to face him.
“i need to be honest with you.” yuma says, expression more serious now. you nod, urging him to continue.
he clears his throat, thumb brushing the skin of your cheekbone.
“well, um..” for the first time in his life, yuma seemed.. nervous. it was unlike him. “we’ve always hated each other, haven’t we? it’s just how it’s been for us since we were kids. i thought it would always be like that, as long as we knew each other. but, recently, i don’t know why.. my feelings are changing.”
your eyes widen ever so slightly.
“...i think i’m in love with you.” he admits, eyes searching yours for reciprocation. a part of you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. he’d pulled pretty believable pranks on you before, and now you were cautious.
“yuma, don’t joke about that kinda stuff.” you say quietly, huffing. his hand pulls your face closer to his, lips just centimetres apart.
“i wouldn’t joke about this. c’mon, i’m not that mean.” he grins, letting out a small chuckle.
once his laughter died down, being replaced with silence, he cleared his throat.
“please don’t tell me i’m the only one feeling like this.”
as you look up at him, the cool breeze flowing through his hair, desperate gaze fixed on yours, you realise how serious he is. he actually loves you. yuma, your childhood-enemy-now-friend, was admitting his love for you. this didn’t feel real. but you knew you couldn’t lose this chance.
“i love you too, yuma.”
yuma’s face brightens up almost immediately, disbelief and happiness visible in his eyes. without saying a word, he leans down, crashing his lips against yours, years worth of love, hatred, and everything in between put into the kiss. your hands find his shoulders, gripping them for stability.
you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, and the smile on his face was the happiest he’d ever looked.
“i would’ve never expected this from us,” he says with a giggle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “but i’m not complaining.”
---
hand in hand, you head back to your bedroom, where your friends were all fast asleep, scattered across the bed. there was basically no room. you share a whispered giggle at the positions they were all laying in.
the two of you managed to squeeze next to each other at the bottom of the bed, and yuma wraps his arms around you. pulling you into his chest, your senses are filled with him; the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the soft sound of his breathing. everything felt perfect.
“goodnight, pretty.” yuma whispers, another kiss pressing to your forehead. “i love you.”
I'm not quite sure of the theme yet but I did see someone say that it kind of looks like a royalty concept? So, without further ado...
✩ CrownPrince!Yudai, the heir to the throne and the eldest of nine. You'd think that, due to the fact that he's about to ascend to his father's seat, he'd be extremely busy with his duties; observing court, studying foreign law, attending diplomatic meetings with other countries. He does indeed travel a lot, and he's come to determine that the country with the most beautiful woman he's ever seen come from the one he's visiting now. In fact, he's got one face-down in a silken pillow right now: The crown princess...You. Maybe at this rate, he can convince his father that your kingdoms should be united through marriage.
✩ Prince!Fuma, captain of the royal guard. He didn't have to ask to be part of the guard, but formalities and a sense of duty led him to seek out the king to request to join. To nobody's surprise, he eventually was promoted to the captain, and since then, the guard has been in its best shape since its formation. Of course, he'll always be at balls or court, but he prefers to be protecting rather than participating. In particular, he prefers to stand closer to the nobles rather than his parents and brother. There's a certain Duchess he's been quietly infatuated with for five years now, and if anything were to happen to you, he'd never forgive himself. Your own father thinks it's pretty odd that the prince would stand closer to you than his own family, but hey — if you marry into the family, at least someone will have accomplished something.
✩ Prince!Nicholas, the best diplomat in the family. All princes take part in foreign meetings for the extension of international relations, but only one is a polyglot who can make up cover stories like he's pulling them out of his ass. He's so good at coming up with shit on the spot that he's gotten away with loads of trouble, just with his talented tongue. His only problem is you, a new royal advisor that always seems to see right through his shenanigans. You've never snitched, though; probably because you've found yourself becoming...fond of him, for some reason. He thanks you one night by showing you just how versatile his mouth can be.
✩ Prince!Euijoo, who embodies the title of prince more than any of his brothers. Where Nicholas deals with foreign relations, Euijoo takes on domestic. There is not a single person in the kingdom who doesn't have some kind of soft spot for Prince Euijoo. How can they? He's respectful, assertive, and actually listens to the complaints of the people across the kingdom. Even you — poor and disillusioned from admirers of the royal family — have begrudgingly come to the conclusion that he's a sweetheart. He shows you through actions you'd never thought a rich boy could take: Teaching children to read, helping to build connections with other villages, and even getting your cat down from a particularly high apple tree. He'll take payment in pie and kisses, thanks.
✩ Prince!Yuma, a notorious flirt who uses his charms to get...well, everything. Maids swoon, guards flush, and even members of the nobility can't help but be drawn to him. Not you, though — you find his seductive persona to be more annoying than anything. Your little cat-and-mouse feud goes on for months until he realizes that, oh no, he actually likes you. You become notorious among the upper class for being the only one who can resist his devastating glances, but only you know the truth: You're so in love with him, it makes you sick.
✩ Prince!Jo, who likes to sneak out of the palace to go to figure drawing classes at a university in the city. No one really recognizes him, as he's never quite been one to make himself known at royal events, so he feels safe enough to forgo the hooded cloak he wears and just wears a commoner's clothes. You're one of the only women in that class, and a damned good artist, too; you catch Jo subtly peering over your shoulder on more than one occasion, his ears going bright red when you happen to make eye contact with him. He eventually works up the nerve to show you his sketchbook one day, and they're filled with the most fantastical illustrations you've ever seen. You tell him he should be an artist full-time. He can't tell whether he actually wants to kiss you, or if the compliments are just going to his head.
✩ Prince!Harua, who hates that he's not taken as seriously as his older brothers. What makes him so different from them? He's not even the youngest! As such, he finds himself alone more often than not with only you, a maid, for company. He's more introspective than anyone gives him credit for, and only you know about that side of him; unlike the rest of the kingdom, he trusts you to know who he is outside of his title. Harua ends up seeking you out even while he's meant to be training or studying, and no one can figure out who the prince's "sudden distraction" is. His lips are zipped; if you're taken away from him, he may as well go to live as a priest.
✩ Prince!Taki, who finds himself wandering more than he should. What he needs to be doing, per Yudai's begging, is studying more about diplomacy, but what if Taki doesn't want that? What if Taki wants to go out, purposefully injure himself a little, and then sit with the pretty healer-in-training who always makes time for him? You're always so gentle, but you have the kind of stubbornness that allows you to scold and push him, a royal, around like he's a child. The palace staff are under orders: if they go to the healer's quarters and hear swearing interrupted by quiet laughter, don't try and pull Taki back to his room. He does not want to be saved.
✩ Prince!Maki, who wants so badly to be a part of the royal guard, but his request goes unheard. It's just the politics of things; if the youngest prince is killed by an enemy (gods forbid), everyone within the kingdom's vicinity will be decimated. So, he finds a workaround: Training with you, his personal guard. You never go easy on him, nor do you coddle him like the others. In fact, he's come inside at night covered in concerning amounts of bruises and scars — but it's not like you're looking any better. There are teeny nicks on both of your necks, where the tips of your swords had grazed your skin at the height of a duel. He surprised you that night, enough for him to shove you into the side of the courtyard wall to hold his blade to your throat. What he didn't notice was that your own sword was already cold against his skin. He thinks about it more often than he should.
genre: fluff!!!, established relationship, soft romance
wc: 0.7k
warnings: none
a/n: I haven't written anything in the past few days because I've been stuck in the trenches studying for my last paper 😭 So here's something that's been collecting dust in my drafts for a while.
It started as a joke.
Well—maybe not entirely a joke, because once you got your hands on your boyfriend and your makeup bag at the same time, things were bound to escalate.
Leehan had barely sat down at your vanity before you pushed him further into the chair with both hands on his shoulders, announcing very seriously, “Today, you are my victim.”
He blinked up at you lazily, already smiling. “That doesn’t sound very comforting.”
“Shh. Beauty is pain.”
“You say that whilst holding blush.”
“Exactly.”
And somehow, despite fully knowing you were about to mess with him, he still let's you.
He always let's you.
You stood between his legs while he looked up at you with that patient little smile of his, hands naturally finding your waist as if they belonged there.
At first you pretended to take things seriously, lightly dusting blush across his cheeks, but the second you realized how cute he looked with pink cheeks, all self-control disappeared.
“Wait,” you whispered dramatically, leaning closer. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You’re adorable.”
“That’s concerning.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
You kept adding more blush, ignoring his increasingly suspicious expression until his cheeks looked permanently flustered. He laughed every time you squinted at him like a perfectionist artist, trying to “blend” makeup you had absolutely no intention of blending properly.
Then came the stickers.
Leehan should’ve known the moment you disappeared into your drawer that things were about to get worse.
When you came back holding sheets of tiny pastel stickers, his eyes widened slightly.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
You started covering his face with them immediately — tiny stars near his cheeks, little hearts under the corner of his lips, sparkly flowers under his eyes. The entire time he just sat there laughing softly while your tongue poked out in concentration.
“You’re treating my face like a notebook.”
“Mhm.”
“I can literally feel the glue.”
“Mhm.”
“You’ve gone mad with power.”
You ignored him completely, pressing one final heart sticker onto the tip of his nose before taking a step back to admire your work.
And honestly?
You almost melted on the spot.
The blush made his cheeks look all warm and squishy, the stickers somehow making him look even softer than he already did. Combined with the way his hair kept falling into his eyes, he looked so unfairly pretty that your chest physically hurt a little.
“Wait,” you breathed.
Leehan laughed nervously. “Why do you sound emotional?”
Instead of answering, you leaned sideways to grab one of your cute hair clips off the vanity. He watched curiously while you carefully clipped one side of his hair back, fully exposing his face to you.
Big mistake.
Because now he looked devastating.
Pretty wasn’t even enough of a word anymore.
His cheeks were pink, lips curved into the softest smile, tiny glittery stickers decorating his skin while he sat there holding your waist.
You stared at him for a long moment before the words escaped you without warning.
“I’m so gonna wife you up.”
Leehan immediately burst into laughter.
Like full-body laughter.
His head dropped forward, his grip on your waist tightened, and you could feel him shaking against you whilst you frowned dramatically.
“Why are you laughing? I’m serious.”
He looked back up at you, eyes crinkled into crescents. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works, my love.”
You grabbed his cheeks instantly.
“Shh. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“I’m just saying—”
“In my world,” you interrupted firmly, holding a finger against his lips, “it absolutely works like that.”
His smile softened immediately.
“And right now,” you continued, squishing his cheeks together slightly, “you look like you’d be a very pretty wife.”
The blush on his cheeks somehow looked even darker after that.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mumbled, trying to hide his face by leaning into your stomach.
You laughed victoriously, threading your fingers through his hair. “But am I wrong?”
Leehan stayed quiet for a second before mumbling into your shirt, “You used too much blush for me to answer objectively.”
“That’s not a no.”
He looked up at you again, stickers still covering half his face, eyes warm and impossibly fond.
“You know,” he said softly, thumb rubbing against your waist, “this is probably the weirdest way someone’s ever confessed they want to marry me.”
You gasped. “Probably?”
“Mhm. There’s still time for someone to top it.”
You narrowed your eyes before leaning down and kissing the sticker on his nose.
“Not happening,” you whispered. “You’re stuck with me forever.”
Leehan smiled so softly it nearly killed you on the spot.
he can never keep his hands to himself. hand interlocked with yours walking down the street, hand squeezing your thigh as he's driving or wrapped around your waist whenever someone gets too close to you.
he's always making sure you know how much he loves you, not by words, but by his actions. as he's passing by you, he bumps his head against yours like a cat as if to say 'i love you today as well'. when you're in bed, he puts his head to yours, eyes looking directly into yours as he leans in for a sweet goodnight kiss.
he likes the feeling of your skin. when you lay onto him, his hand finds its way under your shirt, kneading your tummy. he rubs your abdomen, fingers lingering too long in one place. you begin pushing his hand off because you're ticklish, and this only makes him more stubborn, his hand traveling higher.
when you aren't giving him enough attention, back turned towards him or too busy to entertain his wants, he begins teasing you. pulling you into a back hug, arms wrapped around you as he hold you tight against his chest. he leaves feather-light kisses on the nape of your neck, whining in your ear for your attention. he just wants you so much. 𖹭
FROM THE START — I know I've loved you from the start ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
bsf!woonhak x gn!reader
SYPNOSIS: texts between you and your bestfriend who is extremely down bad for you.. and you might feel the same way.
ఌ︎. mentions of ‘yn,’ reader is soft spoken-ish??? woonhak is very very much in love 👀 and more!
ఌ︎. lots of fluff, both are oblivious, friends to lovers, both have a soft spot for eachother + moreee
NOTE 🗒️: this is such a contrast to lovely dasher 😳 i had to do a oneshot for my bias so here we go 🥰🥰 this is also my apology for no chapter of lovely dasher for the next few days MY BADDDD
✸synopsis: you arrive as a disruption — quiet, brilliant, impossible to ignore — and turn his certainty into a rivalry built on silence and sharpened glances. years later, when competition gives way to closeness, you learn the truth — what you mistook for resentment was love, waiting for the right moment to speak.
✸content warnings: miscommunication at it’s finest
✸wc: 5k
✸an: lower case intended, no use of y/n, fem!reader / lowkey got hella butterflies writing this lmfao
[now playing: firework — &team]
m.list
─────
the bell rings like a verdict.
metallic, sharp, echoing down the hallway as if the building itself is bracing for something to break. you pause just inside the classroom door, fingers curled around the strap of your bag, taking in the smell of chalk dust and floor cleaner and late-afternoon rain clinging to uniforms. thirty pairs of eyes flick up — curious, bored, briefly interested.
and then they land on him.
yuma sits two rows from the window, posture loose in a way that only comes from certainty. his blazer hangs perfectly, tie slightly undone, pen already in hand like the lesson has been waiting for him to arrive rather than the other way around. there’s a low murmur when the teacher says his name — first in the class, whispered like a title instead of a fact.
you don’t look at him for long. you’ve learned better than that.
“class, this is our new transfer student,” the teacher says, voice brisk. “please introduce yourself.”
you step forward. the floorboards creak beneath your shoes. your name sounds unfamiliar in your own mouth when you say it, carried into the room and set down gently, like something fragile no one knows what to do with yet. a few polite nods. someone smiles. someone yawns.
yuma finally looks up. it’s not dramatic. no thunder. no music cue. just a simple, devastating moment where his eyes meet yours — and sharpen. you recognize the look instantly. not anger. not hostility. assessment. like you’re a problem he hasn’t solved yet.
the teacher gestures toward an empty desk near the front. close enough to feel the heat of attention. close enough to the board that mistakes will be visible. you walk down the aisle, aware of the way your presence disrupts the room’s rhythm. chairs scrape. pages flip. somewhere behind you, a pen stills.
you sit. the desk is cold. the classroom settles back into motion.
at first, it’s small things. the way your answers are a beat faster than expected. the way the teacher pauses after calling your name, surprised, then nods. the way yuma starts writing harder, pen pressing into paper like he’s trying to carve certainty into it.
by the end of the week, your name appears beneath his on the ranking board. second place. by the end of the month, the order switches. first place.
the room changes after that. it’s subtle — no one says anything outright — but the air tightens whenever scores are handed back. conversations hush when you walk past yuma’s desk. you feel it most during exams, the way silence becomes a living thing, breathing between you. every scratch of a pencil sounds loud. every flipped page feels like a challenge issued.
you don’t speak to him. he doesn’t speak to you. but you feel him everywhere.
in the way he finishes tests at the same time you do. in the way teachers compare your work without meaning to. in the way his gaze flicks to your paper and away again, quick and controlled, like touching something hot.
you tell yourself he’s angry. of course, he is. he’s been first for years — everyone knows that. you’ve walked into his territory, uninvited, and taken something he thought was permanent. you brace yourself for resentment, for cold words or sharp ones, but they never come.
instead, there’s this. a rivalry with no name. a war declared entirely in silence.
once, during a pop quiz, your eraser rolls off your desk and stops near his shoe. he freezes. you wait. after a second, he nudges it back with the edge of his foot, precise, careful not to look at you. the gesture is so mundane it feels unreal.
you don’t thank him. he doesn’t expect you to.
at night, you study harder than you need to. not because of him — at least, that’s what you insist — but because the idea of slipping, of giving him proof that you don’t belong at the top, makes your chest feel tight. you imagine his relief if you fall back to second. You imagine the quiet satisfaction he’d never show.
you imagine him thinking, i knew it.
so you don’t let yourself fail.
from his desk, yuma watches the board as your score is read aloud, jaw tight, expression unreadable. he tells himself he’s irritated. he tells himself this is just competition, that this is what it feels like when something valuable is challenged.
he doesn’t tell himself the truth. that the moment you walked in, rain on your shoulders and focus in your eyes, something in him tilted. that second place felt less like loss and more like gravity — like being pulled toward something he didn’t know how to name.
by winter, the class has stopped trying to decide who’s better. they just say your names together. and every time they do, something sparks — tense, bright, unresolved — like the beginning of a story neither of you realizes you’re already trapped inside.
─────
yuma never looks at you when the teacher calls your score. he already knows it.
you now sit three seats apart, close enough to hear the controlled scratch of his pen, the steady exhale through his nose when he concentrates. he works with an intensity that feels deliberate now — not frantic, not careless. focused in a way that suggests intention. as if he’s decided something.
group projects become landmines. the teacher pairs you together once. just once. the room goes still, like it’s holding its breath. you feel heat rise up your neck as you stand, gathering your books. yuma does the same, movements economical, face blank.
you sit across from each other. the desk between you is cluttered with papers, textbooks overlapping like poorly negotiated borders. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence. somewhere, a clock ticks.
“you can take the analysis section,” he says finally, voice calm, unreadable.
you nod. “i’ll handle it.”
no argument. no challenge. just clean division, like this has always been the plan.
you work efficiently. too efficiently. when you slide your notes across the table, his fingers brush the edge of the page a second after yours leave it. not touching — but close enough that you feel it anyway. he scans your work, eyes flicking line to line, expression tightening just slightly.
“it’s solid,” he says. not praise. not dismissal. fact. you don’t thank him.
by now, the rivalry has become ritual. you arrive early. he arrives earlier. you finish tests with five minutes left. he finishes with four. your essays are returned with red ink and a quiet excellent. his with blue ink and a restrained well argued.
teachers pretend not to compare. they fail. you catch fragments of conversation you’re not meant to hear.
“they push each other.”
“natural competitors.”
“healthy rivalry.”
you don’t correct them.
during lectures, you feel his attention like a low current — never staring, never obvious, but always present. when you raise your hand, his pen pauses. when he speaks, you listen despite yourself, cataloging the way his thoughts unfold, precise and sharp, like he’s learned to cut only where it matters.
once, your pen runs out of ink mid-sentence. you hesitate, fingers tightening around the useless plastic. before you can look up, another pen slides onto your desk. you freeze. slowly, you turn your head.
yuma is already looking away. the pen is black. identical to his. you use it.
at lunch, you sit with different people. he laughs with his friends, easy and bright, the sound carrying farther than you expect. you tell yourself it’s arrogance, that confidence like his can’t possibly be sincere. that he enjoys this — being challenged, being watched.
but sometimes, when your eyes meet across the room, his smile falters. just for a moment. like he’s forgotten what expression he’s meant to wear.
exams turn the tension brittle. the room is silent except for breathing, graphite and the ticking clock. you feel every movement — your own, his, the collective anticipation of thirty students waiting to be ranked. when you flip the page, you hear him do the same. when you pause, thinking, his pen stops too. it feels less like competition and more like synchronization.
you tell yourself he resents you. that the quiet is punishment. that the distance is deliberate. what you don’t see is the way he memorizes your pacing, the cadence of your thinking. the way he studies harder, not to beat you — but to stay close enough not to lose you again.
the class board updates weekly. first. second. sometimes your name is above his. sometimes it isn’t. either way, the space between you never changes. one line. one breath. one heartbeat.
by the end of the semester, no one asks who’s better anymore. they just watch — waiting for one of you to break the silence first. neither of you does. so the cold war continues — unspoken, meticulous, charged with something neither of you is ready to name.
─────
the gymnasium is overlit, banners sagging from the rafters, folding chairs arranged with ceremonial precision. the air hums with restless energy — parents fanning themselves with programs, classmates tugging at collars, the collective relief of an ending pressed into every breath. your cap feels too loose. your gown itches at the wrists.
you spot him immediately. yuma stands a few rows ahead, shoulders squared, posture familiar in a way that feels almost intimate after months of careful distance. his hair is neater than usual, expression composed, but there’s something restless in the way he shifts his weight — like he’s bracing for impact. you tell yourself it’s nerves. you tell yourself it means nothing.
names are called. applause swells and breaks like waves. when your name echoes through the gym, the sound feels unreal — stretched, suspended. you walk across the stage, heart pounding, lights blinding. you accept the diploma with steady hands. somewhere in the crowd, a cheer rises too loud, too sharp. you don’t look for him.
when his name is called, the applause is immediate. predictable. earned. you clap with everyone else, palms stinging, eyes fixed forward. he doesn’t look at you as he walks. he doesn’t need to.
afterward, the gym dissolves into chaos — caps tossed, photos staged and restaged, laughter breaking free now that it’s allowed. you navigate through bodies and congratulations, the day slipping through your fingers faster than you expected.
you think that’s it. that this is where the story closes. then you hear it.
“did you hear? same university.”
the words drift toward you, unintentional and devastating. you slow, heart thudding, the edges of the moment sharpening.
“yeah — same department too. wild, right?”
your grip tightens on your diploma. you turn, scanning faces, searching for context, like it might soften the blow. it doesn’t. the truth lands clean and heavy in your chest.
same university. the idea rearranges something inside you. you’d imagined distance — new buildings, new faces, a life where his presence didn’t calibrate your every move. you’d imagined starting fresh without the constant awareness of him three seats away.
you don’t notice him at first. he notices you. aross the courtyard, between clumps of graduates and bright balloons, yuma’s gaze finds yours. the world seems to narrow, sound dimming, edges blurring until it’s just the two of you suspended in the aftermath.
this time, there’s no rivalry in his eyes. just surprise. and something else — uncertain, unguarded. for a moment, neither of you looks away. then someone calls his name. he blinks, expression shuttering back into place, and turns. the spell breaks.
you tell yourself it’s a coincidence. departments are big. universities bigger. the odds mean nothing. you cling to that thought like it might save you from whatever this is threatening to become.
weeks pass. summer stretches long and hazy, days blurring together. you pack and unpack, reorganize your room too many times, pretend the future isn’t pressing in. occasionally, you catch yourself wondering if he’s doing the same — if the thought of seeing you again has lodged itself somewhere behind his ribs.
you don’t message him. he doesn’t message you.
orientation day proves you wrong. the campus is sprawling — stone paths winding through green, buildings rising like quiet sentinels. you stand near the edge of a crowd, clutching a campus map you don’t need, heart thudding as names and majors are read aloud.
and then you hear his. yuma steps forward, taller somehow, shoulders broader beneath a university hoodie. he looks different — less constrained, like the weight of high school has slipped off him without ceremony. when he turns, scanning the group, his eyes find you again.
this time, he smiles. it’s small. careful. real. your stomach drops.
you spend the day orbiting each other, drawn together and pulled apart by schedules and introductions. every near-miss tightens the thread between you. you catch glimpses of him laughing with new friends, gesturing animatedly, alive in a way you’ve never seen. it unsettles you more than the rivalry ever did.
later, you find yourself in the same lecture hall. same row. different ends.
you sit, pulse loud in your ears, and stare at the front of the room. the professor speaks, words blurring together as you become acutely aware of the space between you — smaller than it should be, charged in a way that makes breathing feel deliberate.
yuma shifts. you feel it.
when class ends, the aisle clogs with bodies. you stand, sling your bag over your shoulder, and turn — and nearly collide with him.
“sorry,” you say automatically.
he laughs, soft and surprised. “my fault.”
up close, he smells like clean laundry and something warmer beneath it. he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time without the lens of competition, and the realization hits you harder than expected.
this isn’t high school anymore. there’s no board. no ranking. no excuse for the tension coiled between you.
“so,” he says, hesitating just long enough to matter. “same university.”
you nod. “looks like it.”
a beat. another.
“same department,” he adds, like he’s testing the words.
“yeah.”
the silence stretches — not hostile, not comfortable. unfinished.
“well,” he says finally, stepping aside to let others pass, “guess we’ll be seeing each other.”
you meet his eyes. “guess so.”
he walks away first. you watch him go, the realization settling in slowly, inexorably — whatever you thought you’d left behind has followed you here. the rivalry didn’t end with graduation. it evolved.
and somewhere between the echoes of applause and the open sprawl of campus, the line between competition and something else begins to blur — quietly, dangerously — setting the stage for a reckoning neither of you is prepared for.
─────
the party is already too loud when you arrive.
music thuds through the floor like a second heartbeat, bass rattling the windows, lights cutting the room into fractured colors. someone presses a cup into your hand before you can refuse. the air smells like spilled alcohol and perfume and heat — too many bodies packed together, all of them moving like they know exactly where they belong.
you tell yourself you’ll stay for one drink. then another. you lose track of time the way you always do when you’re trying not to think. laughter blurs at the edges. conversations overlap. your shoulders loosen, your thoughts unspool, the tight discipline you carry everywhere finally slackening its grip.
that’s when you see him. yuma stands near the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp with sweat, laughing at something someone says. he looks unreal in this light — less sharp, more open, like the edges have been sanded down by music and alcohol and the sheer freedom of not being ranked anymore.
you tell yourself not to stare. you fail. he notices. of course, he does.
your eyes catch across the room, and something passes between you — recognition, familiarity, unfinished business. he lifts his cup in a mock toast. you roll your eyes, but your mouth curves despite yourself.
eventually, inevitably, you end up too close. the music is louder here, vibrating through your bones. someone bumps into you from behind, pushing you forward, and suddenly, yuma’s hand is at your elbow, steadying you. his touch lingers a half-second longer than necessary.
“careful,” he says, leaning in so you can hear him. his breath is warm against your ear. you feel it everywhere.
“i’m fine,” you reply, sharper than you mean to be.
he smiles like he expected that. “still competitive, i see.”
you scoff. “please. you live for it.”
“do i?” he asks, eyes dark, searching your face. the question lands wrong — or maybe too right.
you take a sip, wince. “don’t start.”
“i wasn’t,” he says softly. “you did.”
that’s when it happens. one sarcastic comment — about grades, about always being second-guessed, about how exhausting it is to be measured all the time. one look held too long, his expression shifting from teasing to something rawer, closer to the truth. the space between you shrinks without either of you noticing.
someone shouts. someone laughs. the world keeps spinning. and then you’re kissing him.
it’s clumsy — your cup nearly spills, his hand fumbles for balance, your mouth crashing into his with more urgency than finesse. it’s nothing like the careful control you pride yourself on. it’s all pent-up tension and alcohol and months of unsaid things spilling out at once.
he kisses you back instantly. like he’s been waiting.
his hand comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, grounding you even as your thoughts scatter. the kiss deepens, desperate, a little reckless. you breathe him in—heat, citrus, something unmistakably him — and for a few heartbeats, nothing else exists.
then reality slams back in. too bright. too fast. your chest tightens. panic claws its way up your spine, sharp and unforgiving. you pull back.
“i—” you don’t finish the sentence. his eyes are blown wide, lips parted, expression unreadable in the strobing light. he looks stunned. hopeful. vulnerable. and you can’t stand it.
“i have to go,” you blurt.
“wait,” he says, reaching for you. you step back before he can touch you again. the music swells, swallowing the moment whole. you turn, pushing through the crowd, heart hammering so hard it hurts.
outside, the night air is cold enough to bite. you breathe it in like you’re drowning, hands shaking, head spinning. the walk back feels endless, every step punctuated by your own thoughts turning vicious.
that was a mistake.
why would i do that?
he probably thinks i’m easy.
i ruined everything.
you don’t look back.
behind you, yuma stands in the doorway, watching you disappear into the dark, confusion and something dangerously close to longing settling heavy in his chest. and for the first time since you met him, the distance between you isn’t charged with rivalry. it’s filled with regret — misunderstood, mutual, and aching to be undone.
─────
you become very good at disappearing.
it starts small — leaving lectures a minute early, choosing the longer route across campus, pretending you didn’t see him when you absolutely did. you sit closer to exits. you study in quieter buildings. you time your coffee breaks with surgical precision.
anything to avoid running into yuma.
campus is too big for this to be hard, you tell yourself. too many paths, too many people. and yet his presence still feels everywhere — like static under your skin, like a name you keep tripping over in your head, no matter how carefully you step.
the first text comes three days later.
yuma: hey. can we talk?
you stare at the screen longer than you should. your heart does something stupid — hopeful, traitorous. you imagine his voice, the way his hand felt at your jaw, the intensity in his eyes before you ran. panic follows immediately after, hot and sharp.
you don’t reply.
the second text comes the next night.
yuma: did i do something wrong?
that one hurts. you type and delete a dozen responses. explanations. apologies. half-truths. none of them feel safe. none of them feel like they won’t give too much away. you tell yourself silence is kinder—that letting it fade is better than letting it unravel messily.
you don’t reply to that one either.
after that, nothing. the absence is louder than the messages ever were. days pass. then weeks. you see him from a distance sometimes — across the quad, bent over a table in the library, laughing with friends outside the dorms. he looks… quieter. less serene. the sharpness you once mistook for confidence has dulled into something more restrained.
you hate that you notice.
at night, you replay the kiss like a crime scene. every detail etched too clearly — the way he didn’t hesitate, the way his hand steadied you like you were something precious instead of reckless. you tell yourself you regret it.
you don’t. what you regret is running. what you regret is not trusting the moment. what you regret is letting fear speak louder than desire.
from his side of campus, yuma tells himself he crossed a line.
he re-reads your silence like a verdict, interprets it the only way he knows how — you regretted it. you saw him as a mistake made under bad lighting and worse judgment — something to be erased quietly. so he stops reaching out.
the misery settles in for both of you — heavy, unnecessary, entirely built on misunderstanding.
the day he finally corners you, it’s raining. not a storm, just enough to darken the pavement and cling to hair and fabric. you exit your lecture, already planning your escape route, when a hand catches your wrist — not rough, not forceful, just firm enough to stop you.
you freeze.
“hey,” he says. you turn slowly. up close, he looks tired. not in a sleepless way — more like someone who’s been carrying the wrong conclusion for too long. his grip loosens immediately, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.
“can we talk?” he asks. not demanding. almost careful. your stomach drops. this is it, you think. the embarrassment. the awkward laugh. the gentle rejection wrapped in politeness. you brace yourself.
“yeah,” you agree, voice steadier than you feel. “okay.”
he steps under the overhang with you, rain hissing against concrete behind him. the space is too small. the air feels thick again, charged with everything you’ve been avoiding. for a moment, neither of you speaks.
you prepare yourself for humiliation — for him to confirm every fear you ran from that night. that you misread everything. that you made it weird. that you were just convenient.
you look at the ground. you don’t see the way he swallows, nervous in a way you’ve never seen before. you don’t see the relief flicker across his face just because you didn’t walk away. not yet. but something is about to break — clean or messy, you don’t know.
all you know is that you can’t run this time.
he doesn’t tease. that’s the first thing you notice — the absence of it. no half-smile, no deflection disguised as humor, no sharp edge to hide behind. yuma stands in front of you under the overhang, rain threading down behind him like a curtain, his shoulders tense in a way you’ve never seen before.
“i’m not mad,” he says quietly, as if correcting something you haven’t said yet. you lift your gaze. his eyes are steady. serious. unarmed. “i never was.”
the words land slowly, rearranging your understanding piece by piece. you open your mouth, then close it again, unsure where to start. he takes a breath, runs a hand through his hair, water flicking from his fingers.
“i liked you,” he says. then, after a beat, more honestly, “i like you. since high school.”
your heart stutters.
“since when?” you ask for clarity, voice barely audible over the rain.
“the day i dropped to second place.” a quiet laugh escapes him — soft, self-aware, a little embarrassed. “i thought i’d be angry. everyone said i would be. but all i felt was… seen. like someone finally understood how hard i was trying.”
he looks at you then, really looks, like he’s bracing for impact.
“i was terrified,” he continues. “not of losing first place. of losing you. even before i knew what that meant.”
your chest tightens.
“i thought you wanted the rivalry,” he admits. “you never backed down. you never softened. so i leaned into it. i figured… that was the only way you’d stay close.”
the silence that follows is heavy, but it’s not hostile. it’s clarifying.
“i thought you despised me,” you say finally. the truth slips out easier than you expect. “i thought i ruined everything you worked for.”
his brow furrows. “no. you challenged me. that’s different.”
the realization settles between you like a fragile thing, finally set down. you weren’t enemies. you weren’t even rivals, not really. you were two people misreading the same tension from opposite sides, calling it competition because that was safer than naming it anything else. you exhale, a shaky sound you didn’t know you were holding in.
“so we just —” you gesture weakly between you, “did all of that for nothing?”
“for something,” he corrects gently. “just… sideways.”
a small smile tugs at your mouth despite yourself. the rain softens, the campus around you blurring into background noise, like the world is giving you space to rewrite the moment.
“i’m sorry i ran,” you say.
he shakes his head. “i’m sorry i didn’t chase you sooner.”
you look at each other, the weight of years shifting, loosening. and then he asks, careful but hopeful, “can we start over?”
you nod.
“yes.”
─────
starting over feels nothing like you expected.
there’s no dramatic reset, no clean slate wiped white. instead, it’s small things — shared glances in lectures, tentative smiles in passing, conversations that begin awkwardly and end too soon. you walk together after class, shoulders brushing, the contact sending sparks that feel new despite everything that came before.
studying together is different now. you sit side by side in the library, notes overlapping, no invisible line drawn between your work and his. when you get stuck, he leans in without hesitation, explaining patiently. when he falters, you fill in the gaps without thinking twice. it feels natural — dangerously so.
one evening, as the library lights dim for closing, he walks you back across campus. the air is cool, the path lit by scattered lampposts. you stop outside your building, neither of you quite ready to end the night.
“about the kiss,” you say, nerves fluttering.
he smiles, soft and unmistakably fond. “i didn’t think you were easy.”
your breath catches.
“i thought,” he continues, stepping closer, “you were scared. same as me.”
the honesty in his voice unravels the last of your doubts.
“can i?” he asks, gaze flicking to your lips — not assuming, not rushing. you nod.
this kiss is different. slower. intentional. completely sober. his hand rests at your waist like it belongs there, grounding instead of desperate. you kiss him back without panic this time, without running, the world narrowing to the quiet certainty of the moment. when you pull away, you’re smiling.
“so,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours, “partners?”
you laugh softly. “only if we’re allowed to tie for first.”
“deal,” he agrees immediately. “it’s the only way i want to win.”
you walk inside with your heart light, the rivalry finally laid to rest — not erased, but transformed. what once kept you apart now binds you together, sharper and stronger for having survived the misunderstanding.
you were rivals by accident. but this — this is a choice. and for the first time, you’re both choosing the same thing.
─────
finals season turns the campus into a held breath.
the library stays lit past midnight, windows glowing like watchful eyes. coffee cups multiply. highlighters bleed through paper. you and yuma claim your usual table on the third floor — same spot you once circled each other from opposite sides of, now shared without negotiation. your notes overlap. your knees brush under the table. when one of you falters, the other fills in the gap without comment.
there’s no tension left in the studying. only momentum.
you finish your last exam with a strange calm, pen down before the clock runs out. outside, winter air cuts clean and sharp, clearing your head. yuma waits on the steps, hands in his pockets, eyes lifting the moment he sees you. he doesn’t ask how it went. he already knows.
results come out three days later. the list is posted on the department board, students clustered tightly, murmuring. you stand back at first, heart steady, until yuma reaches for your sleeve and gently pulls you forward. the paper rustles. names blur — then sharpen.
at the top are your name and his name. side by side. tied.
for a second, the world goes quiet. then laughter breaks from somewhere behind you, applause from friends who’ve been watching this unfold all semester like a spectator sport. you feel something loosen in your chest, a knot you didn’t realize you were still carrying, finally untying itself.
yuma stares at the board, then at you.
“well,” he says, lips twitching. “guess this is the only way i’d accept first place.”
you roll your eyes, relief blooming into something warm and bright. “you’re impossible.”
“admit it,” he teases softly. “you like that i didn’t win.”
you step closer, close enough that the noise fades, and kiss him anyway — quick, unapologetic, right there in the hallway. someone whistles. someone groans. you don’t care.
he laughs against your mouth, hand warm at your waist, grounding. when you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, smile easy, real.
“no more rankings,” he murmurs. “no more pretending.”
“deal,” you agree. “same side.”
later, as the building empties and dusk settles over campus, you walk together beneath bare trees and amber lights. the path feels different now — wider, steadier. there’s nothing left to prove. no silence to weaponize. no distance masquerading as ambition.
you think about where it started — a classroom, a list on the wall, a misunderstanding sharpened into a rivalry. you think about how easily it could have ended there.
instead, you chose to stay. to speak. to listen. first place doesn’t feel like a victory anymore. it feels like alignment. you squeeze his hand. he squeezes back. and together, you walk forward — no longer racing each other, but moving at the same pace, toward whatever comes next.
✮ — i love seeing hcs of where they like kissing you and thought this would be cute!!
fluff ; est. relationships , kissing (duh!) , kinda suggestive in some… but supa cute and supa sweet!!
wc : ~0.4k per member — 2.6k total
୨ sungho ⋮ nose + neck ୧
sungho might not want to admit it, but his favorite way to wake up is to you treating him as if he’s porcelain with his morning glow. he feels you gently pushing the stray hairs out of his face, a softer approach of waking him. you’ll trace over the angelic-like features of his face so delicately and end with a kiss right on his nose. it’s the best way to start his morning and has him looking forward to the next time you do it.
other times, you’ll call him over as if to tell him something important. he’ll lean down to hear you better only for you to peck his nose and pull away, smug and satisfied. you’ll watch the blush creep up his neck as he tries to hold back from calling you cute a million times over, bonus points if you make eye contact and show him that pretty smile of yours <3
you can also catch him off guard if you go in for his nose after pulling away from what he thought was a normal kiss. it’s somehow always unexpected but never unappreciated, and sometimes even met with a peck to yours back. you could kiss him goodbye before he leaves for a schedule and he’s unfazed, but one to his nose is what gets him all shy and flushed.
but if you really want to kill him? his neck is the place to go. he swears he isn't sensitive but he jumps when you so much as graze his collarbones. you can feel his heartbeat quicken when your kisses trail down his chin, freezing up and getting so red when your lips finally brush against his neck.
he’ll gently grab at your wrist but never make an actual attempt to move you away. his breathing stutters when your lips linger more than usual, feeling the familiar pressure of a mark on the column of his throat. and he’s about to tell you off before you go right back to peppering him with kisses and he forgets all about it.
however, when he sees the aftermath of your “kiss” in the mirror, it all comes flooding back to him with an embarrassing blush on his ears. the softer kisses you pressed to his lovebite did nothing to hide it. sungho will say he’ll cover it with makeup when he goes out, but never actually does because he’s almost.. proud of it.
୨ riwoo ⋮ cheek + hands ୧
a simple, traditional kiss on the cheek is the way to go for riwoo. it never gets old and still causes his heart to race when you lean in for a peck. he finds it to be perfect because of how casual it is; a quick one while you’re perusing the town, more playful when you’re in the comfort of your shared apartment. he even loves posing for a selfie with your lips on his blushed cheek.
your expression when you cup his face in your hands is one he can never forget, especially when followed by a flurry of exaggerated ‘mwah’s all over his face. each moment of contact sends a surge of dopamine to his brain that tells him he needs more. he’ll occasionally lean in, almost expectantly, during random times of the day just to experience your love.
his chest feels like it’ll explode when you take the time to kiss the cute beauty mark that’s settled just under his eye. it’s such a small gesture but knowing you love every single inch of him only makes his love for you grow deeper. he’d tattoo the faint whisper of a kiss mark left by your lip tint on that spot if he could.. so he opts for just asking you to do it yourself everyday.
his heart also melts when you lace your fingers with his and bring the back of his hand to your lips. you could peck his wrist in the middle of a conversation, for no real reason in particular, and he’ll fall silent. his hands are just so pretty that you can’t keep yourself away !!
the feeling of your palms against each other is grounding for the both of you, so he insists on it even when you’re just at home. and so he’ll catch you absentmindedly brushing your lips against the tips of his fingers when you’re cuddled up. he finds it to be such a cute and quiet act of intimacy that still makes him a little nervous but finds it so so precious.
it’s especially perfect for when it’s cold out and you want to keep your lover warm. he’ll feel his skin still tingling even minutes after the contact and squeeze your hand even tighter. he’ll also press a quick kiss back to yours if he feels so inclined, which he normally does. it creates a much lovelier sense of warmth than what any pair of mittens could attempt to bring, he thinks.
୨ jaehyun ⋮ cheek + lips ୧
jaehyun will claim he doesn’t have a favorite place to be kissed because absolutely any form of physical affection you give him has him all giddy and happy. but you’ve noticed he gets extra doe-eyed when you lean in closer to his face. whether it’s the proximity, the intimacy, or both, jaehyun’s face gets all warm and red when you press a kiss to his cheek. he thinks your lips are so soft and like a gift from heaven that graces his skin. and no, he’s not exaggerating.
he’s even worse when you have lipstick or gloss on. something about seeing the specific shade you use against his skin is addictive to him. he’ll ask for more and more while he looks at you, pupils dilated and eyes glossed over, until his face is littered with pinky-red kiss marks and he is exactly where he wants to be.
sometimes, he’ll be cheesy and kiss your cheek back, pressing your faces together just to leave a mark identical to his on your skin. “even our kisses are kissing,” he’ll grin, holding you tight even after saying the corniest line ever. and yes, he does ask to take a picture for his wallpaper each and every time.
his lips are always special, too. he’ll pucker up and send you flying kisses from across the room in a wordless attempt to ask for a kiss, which almost always ends up with him just walking over and kissing you himself.
but when you make the first move and close the gap yourself, jaehyun is smiling and giggling into the kiss while pulling you closer. he has the most lovestruck look on his face that melts into a puppy-like smile. he’ll hold you in place for a while, not wanting to separate and end the moment. but when you finally do, the way his eyes sparkle and you see how kiss-bitten his lips are only has you wanting to kiss him again, which causes the cycle to repeat and jaehyun to ascend to cloud nine.
on the days that end a little rough for him, a foolproof way to coax him out of a bad mood is a loving kiss to his lips. you can’t stand to see his saddened pout so you take him into your hands in hopes of fixing the problem. he’ll always happily accept the invitation and end up losing himself in you, forgetting about what made his day so bad anyway. because how could any day end horribly if this is what he gets in return.
୨ taesan ⋮ lips + neck ୧
taesan only claims to love a kiss on the lips because of the journey it takes to get there. he watches with an all too smug grin, using his height to his advantage as you try to reach his face. he thinks you look cute like that with a slight pout and eager eyes. but he’s not evil, he’ll soon cradle your face in his palms after having his fun and close the distance, still laughing into the kiss.
when you do catch him off guard, however, he’ll hum into your mouth as if satisfied with how you’ve taken after his teasing nature. honestly, he’s grown addicted since the very first time you shared a kiss, now looking for any excuse to share one. a quick peck as you pass him in the hallway will leave him stunned for a second before turning around for a ‘real’ kiss.
he’s noticed that you’ve grown bolder and more confident when leaning close to his face and he loves it. because now he looks forward to how your fingers now tangle in the overgrown hair on the nape of his neck, gently pulling him closer. the flavor of your lip balm will linger on his lips and drive him crazy throughout the day as he waits to come home to you and get another taste.
but going in for his neck really gets him going. something about you kissing him first, especially in a spot like that, just makes his heart race. he was like a kid on christmas the day you kissed his neck for the first time and he’s continued to chase that high ever since. he’ll tilt his head up to give you better access because he wants you to leave a mark. he won’t ask for it but there’s a noticeable pout on his face when you leave him without one (that you also have to kiss away)
taesan tries to convince you that his collarbones are at “just the right height for you,” and even if it sounds like an insult, he’s completely serious. he’ll start wearing looser shirts that open around his chest like a bird trying to tempt his mate. he means for it to be seductive but it comes out as a cat trying to catch your attention. you give in anyway and he thinks his plan so clever, showing that bread-like smile every time.
he’s grown a liking to when it’s later in the night and you’re giggling from drowsiness as you curl into him. the feeling of your nose nudging against his jaw and how he can feel you smiling against his skin is what makes the moment special, because you’re so you when you’re happy. he of course returns the favor, littering you in kisses while keeping you in his arms, filling the room with your overlapping fits of laughter.
୨ leehan ⋮ nose + forehead ୧
because of how often he leans in close, leehan loves when your faces nudge together and you plant a kiss on his nose, eyes sparkling with admiration. the act is so cute that it’s always followed by a low giggle that’s like music to your ears and your boyfriend wrapping you in his arms to keep all to himself.
it’s such an adorable feature on his face that you can’t help but pay attention to it. especially when he gives you that warm, crescent-eyed smile where his nose scrunches into the most kissable thing ever. the times you get him while he isn’t paying attention, he’ll shyly turn away, the tips of his ears flushed red as he plots a way to ‘get you back’ with a kiss attack of his own.
although, it happens to be most effective when he’s in a sulky mood. he’ll try to maintain his scowl while acting like nothing is wrong, but he can’t turn you down when your lips are so soft against the tip of his nose and your smile is so sweet and determined to make him happy again. he’ll still ask for another before indulging in you, just for good measure :3
he also savors each and every smooch on the forehead you give him. despite his height, he’ll occasionally crane his neck downwards with a knowing smile, level to your face to lure you to kiss him. it’s best for when he’s feeling just a little needy for your attention and the small act of praise is enough to keep him going for the day.
you have perfect access when he lays on you. his arms wrapped around your middle and face tucked into your chest like all he needs to breathe is you. careful fingers push his bangs out of his face and give way to the best place for a kiss just above his eyebrow. he’ll hum in amusement and peek out from the crook of your neck in a silent plea for some more loving, to which you graciously give into each and every time.
and even though he doesn’t like when others mess with his hair, it feels different when it’s you. in fact, he’ll encourage you to do so by not-so-secretly guiding your hand to his head. you know it’s because he likes when you fix it up for him, following up with a kiss above the bridge of his nose, and he knows you know this. so it’s become a mutual exchange where you, in turn, get to act as your very pretty lovers own personal hair stylist while he stares at you like you hung the moon and stars. (plus, you both get kisses at the end, so win-win!)
୨ woonhak ⋮ lips + shoulder ୧
woonhak swears he’s all smooth and suave when it comes to being romantic. he’ll lean on a doorframe in an attempt to flirt and serenade you in the car during a spontaneous late night drive. but a sweet kiss will shut him up pretty quick.
you’re both so used to him rambling all the time that cutting him off with a kiss has become normal, and almost expected..(sometimes he’ll talk nonstop just to get you to kiss him.) and yet, he’s still caught off guard by it almost every time, a quiet gasp escaping his lips before they connect with yours. but he can never resist you and melts into it every time, letting out a low whine while his hands find yours. you find his nervous blush so comically adorable, it only makes you lean in again!!
plus, he lovess when you kiss the corners of his mouth. he’d never admit it but that specific little moment gets his heart racing and makes him want to pull you in closer. whether it’s to kiss a pout away or when you claim he has a crumb there, woonhak thinks you’re just too cute when your lips land on the edge of his. so he’ll bridge the gap before giving it a second thought and lean into your touch on the back of his neck.
and on the days where days in the studio drag into later nights, a kiss to his shoulder can easily calm his mind. you’re perfect company when he’s working and somehow know exactly when he needs a little break. he loves that you’re just the perfect height to rest his chin on, exchanging little acts of love throughout the day with one to your forehead and one to his shoulder.
he appreciates the calmer act of affection as opposed to everything else in his life moving so quickly. it’s gentle, the way you lay your head against the broadness of his frame and tilt your chin for your lips to make contact. soft yet solid kisses pressed against his shoulder blade, followed by you leaning further into his side. it’s sweet, quietly intimate, and just what he needs when everything else gets a bit too busy.
you will admit, however, that you can’t hold back on the days he wears a tank top. woonhak swears he doesn’t do it on purpose but loves the extra attention he gets from you. he’ll jump at the occasional bite or mark you decide to leave on the exposed skin and whine that he should give you one back, “just to be fair,” to which he’ll act upon anyway and might get a little carried away..
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↳ @xionvlog , @ivehan , @hraethy , @angelsemble
≡ p.s. apparently i write when im stressed.. ticketing in an hour lol. ill proofread this later… maybe
★ warnings: cursing i think? nothing serious once again.
★ n/a: probably will have multiple parts bc i have fun writing these, who knows. (i do.) (also because i dont want like thirty photos in one post. sorry)
ꨄ︎ warnings : white collar jojo, office setting, kissing, skinship, slight angst if you squint, jo is desperate 🤤, forbidden love - lowercase intended.
ꨄ︎ word count : 1.9k
ꨄ︎ author's note : something quick whilst i work on the harua fic! i LOVE ceo!jo. ty izzy for this glorious idea. he looked so good in the grandslam video so of course i made that the banner. it fits the business vibe, ok? he’s so yummy. anyways, all support is appreciated, and i hope u enjoy jokitties 🪽
ִֶָ. ..𓂃currently playing: art deco - lana del rey ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 朝倉穣ᰍ໋ ۫ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹⠀ 𓈒 読む⸝⸝ ⟡
the first day at your new job, secretary for the ceo of yx technology, was daunting. waking up on monday was daunting, the drive there was daunting. everything about your new job was daunting. even the ceo.
standing in the reception, waiting to be called up by your new employer, your hands shook with nerves. you couldn’t go home now, you were here. your job was important.
“excuse me, ma’am. are you the new hire?” a man called out as he approached you, his tall, sleek presence intimidating. you stand up immediately, nodding.
“i- yes, that’s me.” you stuttered. your nerves were at their peak.
the man smiled, offering his hand to you.
“great. i’m asakura jo, we spoke on the phone. i’ll be your boss starting from today. it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” his voice was incredibly sweet. he was so soft spoken for a man of such power. you shook his hand, his grip was firm.
“it’s nice to meet you too, sir.”
“let’s start with a tour, shall we?
---
after showing you around the large building, explaining different departments and locations, jo guided you to your desk, which was practically next door to his office.
“this is your stop. i promise you’ll fit right in with our team.” he said, a slim hand squeezing your shoulder. “if you’ve got any worries, come to me, alright? i’ve got you.”
“yes, sir. i will.”
jo smiled, his hand dropping from your shoulder into the pocket of his blazer.
“great. i’ll let you get settled.”
you had nothing to worry about. your boss was a total sweetheart.
---
over the next few weeks, you slowly became familiar with the office, your coworkers, the overall vibe of the company. the job and it’s tasks were challenging, but you managed. jo seemed pleased with your work too.
he was so sweet to you. he’d make you a cup of coffee every morning, dropping it off at your desk on the way to his.
“i insist,” he’d say when you felt bad. “the ceo can do things for his employees too.”
jo would give you that warm, welcoming smile each time you’d make conversation, too. it was the highlight of your day, honestly.
it was easy to grow comfortable with your boss. conversations were easygoing, light-hearted, jo’s voice always holding that same soft tone. he’d ask how your day went, if you ate lunch, how your family were doing. every word that came from him made you smile. maybe you were easily swooned, or maybe asakura jo was just a good boss.
---
it was a slow build up. you didn’t notice it at first. but when you did, you couldn’t not notice.
jo was staring at you. constantly. and every time you’d glance over, your eyes catching his, he’d turn away quickly, busying himself with paperwork or the buttons on the printer. his ears would be bright red every time. it was cute, to say the least.
you’d always found your boss attractive. that wasn’t something you were going to deny. asakura jo was insanely handsome, and you were sure he knew it, too - but his newfound staring problem made you wonder. did he feel the same attraction to you? was that why he was always staring, being so nice, blushing when you make eye contact?
enough, you’d scold yourself. that’s your boss you’re talking about.
you had to stay professional. you weren’t about to lose your job barely 2 months in. not at a company this successful.
---
late friday evening, you were working over time due to a surge in sells, your schedule packed, meetings to enter into the system, data to report. the office was quiet, maybe four other people were still there. four including jo. he was in his office, door wide open, wide enough that you could see him in your peripheral vision. not like you were staring.
the only sounds in the building were the muffled hum of the air conditioning and the tapping of keyboards.
drying your hands on your skirt, you were just leaving the bathroom when jo called your name.
“sorry to bother you. i know you’re busy.” he apologised, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “i need to speak with you in my office… about your report.”
a rush of nerves swept through you. were you in trouble? was the report not good enough?
“oh, um… yes, of course sir.”
“follow me.”
the walk to his office was short, but it felt like a lifetime. you didn’t know what to expect. jo opened the door, offering for you to enter first. you muttered a quiet ‘thank you’, and walked in. he followed behind, pulling the door shut. you swear you heard the lock click.
before you could get another word out, jo’s large hands found your waist, pinning you against the door. you gasped, but it was swallowed by his lips as they crashed against yours.
his kiss was hungry, ravenous, the way his mouth moved against yours was nothing short of desperate. your shock was quickly replaced with a feeling of warmth, the familiar sensation you got whenever you were in jo’s vicinity. only this time, it was charged with pure erotic heat. this was nothing like the jo you thought you knew. the sounds he made were filthy, his hands sliding down your body, finding their way to the curve of your ass. the touch made you nervous and excited all at once.
“sir, we shouldn’t-”
“shh… let me taste you.” jo mumbled into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours. “please.”
the kiss only lasted a few more seconds before you pushed him off of you. jo stared at you, eyes glazed over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. his lips were slightly swollen, glistening. there was a red flush that spread across his ears and cheeks, all the way to the base of his throat.
“i-i have to go.”
that was all you said, as you fixed your skirt and unlocked the door. you left the office no more than 5 minutes later.
---
during the weekend after the incident, you’d hoped that maybe jo forgot about what happened. that it was just a spur of the moment kind of thing. but you were wrong. completely wrong.
you could tell jo was thinking about it. the eye contact lasted far longer than it did before, his eyes holding a certain kind of heat that you saw that friday evening too. you didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on your body as you walked across the office. it was constant. a constant, obvious reminder that what happened wasn’t a dream. it was real. terrifyingly real.
unbeknownst to you, jo was going insane over what had happened that friday night. over how your lips had felt pressed against his. about the quiet sound you’d let out when his hands touched you. he swore he could still taste your cherry lipgloss. everything about you made him spiral.
it hurt when you rushed out, pushed him away. that wasn’t what jo wanted to happen. he was worried. but he wasn’t oblivious, either - he knew you were avoiding him.
---
it took him 3 days to build up the courage to pull you aside into his office once more. you were hesitant, but eventually agreed.
“listen, y/n…i crossed a boundary last week. a serious boundary.” he started, adjusting his tie. “i just wanted to apologise.”
you took a single step forward, nodding for him to continue.
“i’m extremely sorry. it was stupid, i wasn’t thinking straight. it won’t happen agai-”
he didn’t get to finish his apology before your lips crashed against his. now it was you who wasn’t thinking straight. your hands slid up his chest, cupping the sides of his neck. jo let out a high-pitched sound, his hands grazing your hips. your tongue swiped across the opening of his mouth once, twice, before you pulled back.
“i’m sorry i ran away.” you whispered, forehead pressed against his. “i was afraid. i didn’t want to get in trouble, or risk losing my job.”
jo whined, trying to attach his mouth on yours. the hands on his neck pushed him back gently.
“i thought i had enticed you or something. it felt unprofessional. it felt… wrong. but now i don’t know what to think.”
“you don’t have to.” jo responded, his voice breathless. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ve got you. it’ll be our little secret, okay?”
that was all it took. you were an easy woman to convince.
---
after the two of you agreed on your arrangement, the secrets began. the excitement you felt of sneaking around with jo was magnificent. the thrill was electric. the risk was inviting. jo pulling you into the break room to make out, all messy and rushed, walking back out as unsuspiciously as you could. his slim hands finding your hip as he passed you by the printer, a quick wink as he leaves. the flirty texts, asking you to come to his office when the office started to empty out.
no one ever found out about you and jo, which allowed you to slip into a familiarity of secrecy. it was tiring at times, but as long as you were with jo, you didn’t mind.
what the two of you had was perfect. but a part of you desperately wanted something more.
---
another late shift, the sun already set, and you were in jo’s office again. you were draped over his lap, legs on either side of his hips, his mouth on your neck. he loved leaving marks just below your shirt collar, a tease at exposure.
“jojo,” you called out, your hands buried in his dark hair. he hummed into your skin, urging you to continue. “i wanna talk about this. about… about us.”
his lips stopped at your words. he pulled back, his sharp eyes meeting yours.
“i’m listening. what do you want to talk about exactly?”
you swallowed, surprisingly nervous. jo could sense it, his hand squeezing your waist in silent reassurance.
“i just want to know where this is going. if it’s even going anywhere. i’m just… i don’t want to be a work wife or something. just something for you to use when you’re in the office.”
the way jo’s head shook was instant, his expression firm.
“no, my love. that’s not what this is at all. my feelings for you are much deeper than that.” he pressed a small kiss to your cheek. “trust me, i’ve loved the thrill of sneaking around, having a secret just between the two of us. but i don’t want this to be something temporary. i want to be able to show my adoration for you without restrictions. without the fear of being caught or frowned on.”
“me too. i really want that.”
“i’m glad we’re on the same page, my love, really.” another kiss, this time on your jawline. “let me take you out. properly. i’ll book a reservation at the nice restaurant downtown. you won’t have to worry about a thing, okay? i’ll take responsibility for whatever happens.”
“you will?”
“of course i will. anything for you.”
you smiled. jo smiled back.
“now, when do you want that reservation? friday or saturday night?”
