é seu primeiro date com seu garoto dos sonhos. é o primeiro date dele com a garota dos sonhos dele…
avisos. james!ficante, amassos, sugestivo.
Por Deus, o filme nem parecia tão interessante — aliás, qual era o filme mesmo? James mordia os lábios devido ao nervosismo constantemente. Estar ao seu lado dentro daquela sala fechada era sufocante, da maneira mais gostosa o possível. O estômago de James dava voltas e voltas, as borboletas dançavam lá dentro. As mãos eram passadas na calça com frequência, afim de secar o suor que nelas estavam.
Você, por outro lado, se sentia até mesmo estressada. Por que ele não havia tomado nenhuma atitude ainda? Havia posto sua melhor roupa, passado seu melhor perfume, e colocado aquele gloss de morango delicioso. Almejava que ele quisesse provar o sabor, afinal.
“‘Cê tá legal?”, decide perguntar, repara como ele te olha com os olhinhos brilhando e sorri. Imediatamente ele também sorri.
“'Tô.”, repara o rubor nas bochechas dele.
Decide por si própria tomar a destra dele. Entrelaça os dedos na mão grande, e o nervosismo de James se intensifica. Não é como se ele não esperasse algo; se arrumou bastante, se encheu de perfume, quis ficar bonito para você. Sua timidez infelizmente não o deixa fazer tudo que ele queria contigo dentro daquela sala escura.
“Tá com frio?”, ele pergunta. Você assente, é claro. Mesmo se estivesse com calor concordaria. “Uhn...”, ele murmura desenlaçando suas mãos, e passando os braços por seu ombro, a abraçando, trazendo você para seu peitoral.
“Você 'tá cheiroso.”, murmura ruborizada, a cabeça encostadinha no pescoço pálido de James. Você só queria enchê-lo de beijo.
“O-obrigada.”, ele sussurra sentindo suas orelhas queimarem. “Você também 'tá muito cheirosa.”
Ele desce o olhar para ti, acaba com o rosto próximo demais do seu. Era agora. Ele mal tinha tempo para sair, e deveria guardar a vergonha no bolso, e aproveitar aquele momento com você. Os olhinhos descem até seus lábios, onde ele encara o quão apetitosos estão com aquele gloss. Ele aproxima mais o rosto do seu, e sela seus lábios devagarinho. Passa a língua pela própria boca, sentindo o gostinho de morango e volta a te dar selinhos demorados.
“Jamie...”, você murmura, quase tonta pelos selares. Ele só murmura um "hum" fraquinho. “Usa a língua. É mais gostoso.”
Todos os pêlos de James se arrepiam ao escutar seu pedido. Franze o cenho quase sôfrego. Sua vontade era fazer coisas proibidas com você ali mesmo, e te ter tão entregue para ele daquele jeito não o ajudava em nada.
James passa a língua em seus lábios, ansioso em que você o retribua, o que não demora a acontecer. Logo as línguas se massageam. A mistura de sabores de morango, e o chiclete de menta de James. Só se escuta os barulhinhos que o beijo de vocês faz naquela sala. Molhadinho, suave. James se vira mais para você, captura sua cintura com a canhota, trazendo você para mais perto dele. A respiração de vocês já está descompassada, a boca de James inchadinha, mas ele não deseja parar de te beijar.
Na cabeça de James não se passa nada além de: poderia te deitar naquelas cadeiras vazias, e te ter ali mesmo. Ou seria melhor te acolher em seu próprio colo, e te fazer rebolar pra ele? Só um pouquinho. Ou te beijar, encostar em qualquer parede, beijar seu pescoço, te apertar inteira.
Quando você para de beijá-lo, James se sente até tonto, desnorteado. Você está com o perfume dele por toda sua roupa, e ele todo vermelhinho. Sem graça, olha em volta, e sente o olhar julgador das poucas pessoas que também estavam ali naquela sessão.
Sela seus lábios mais uma vez, agora em um selinho rápido e casto, e passa a tentar assistir o filme.
— PAIRING: frat president!Lee Heeseung x fem!nerd!reader
— SUMMARY: No one, not even you, can figure out why Heeseung's so infatuated with you. Too bad, he's not your type.
— WORD COUNT: 16.8k
— WARNINGS: college!au, this is a coping mechanism (and a little self-indulgent), reader is described to have glasses and shorter than heeseung, mentions of other HYBE & FNC artists (just piwon), frat!enha, downbad!heeseung (like embarrassingly bad), reader's kind of a jerk but he likes it, chock full of clichés (because they're fun sometimes), grumpy x sunshine, heeseung's so domestic in this (i kind of went crazy but it's chill), slight sunsun & keeung mention, miscommunication (i love it too much), cursing, suggestive themes (no actual smut), a lot of backstory that i promise is important
— A/N: fun fact, this was originally named after a one direction song for obvious reasons but then i changed it since that was too upsetting :(
You weren't the type of girl he hung around.
Being the president of Gamma Kappa Phi Zeta, Heeseung had met all types of girls at parties over the years—you were not one of them.
You weren't a sorority girl like your friends, you weren't rich, you never put too much thought in your clothes, you just wore whatever was clean. You were never invited to the big frat events.
And something told you, you didn't want to be.
They got seriously dangerous sometimes, like people have ended up in the hospital over these parties. Fireworks to the face, people falling off the roof into the parking lot, and a waterboarding that could have easily been avoided.
It was dumb kid stuff, you told yourself.
You didn't need to be included, you were focused on your studies, that's what you told your parents and yourself when you looked out the window with a yearning to be among people your age.
You and Heeseung weren't even supposed to meet, it was just dumb luck.
୨ৎ
"Dumb? No, it was stupid!" Yunjin's voice rings through your room like an alarm. Right now, she's stomping around your room like your mother, picking up all the clothes you couldn't be bothered to pick up.
She always came over at the same time everyday, checking on you to make sure you're still breathing, as if you were some charity case.
You were recounting your day to her when she noticed the clutter. And she rarely could help herself. You didn't feel like doing it and if that's what she wanted to do, that was her problem.
The reason she was calling you stupid? The same one she always got this dramatic over; Mr. Calderon.
Since freshman year, people have been telling you to take his creative writing class if you wanted to get criticism without the gloves.
You wanted to be better so you signed up.
But everyone forgot to mention two things to you; one, he was the meanest motherfucker in the world and two, if you failed his class, it brought your GPA down exponentially.
Two foods that suck together.
It seemed like in the beginning that people had no idea what they were talking about since his first assignments were pretty chill but the further you got in the year, the more he started to shut down your ou there creativity.
Nothing you did was correct.
You didn't use the right formula, there was too many long sentences, your idea didn't make sense to him.
At some point, it felt like he just wanted you to transfer out of his class, he kept trying to scare you off but you kept coming back for your punishment because you didn't know how to quit.
But neither did he.
And that's where today comes in.
Today was a shitshow, your breaking point.
You told him exactly what you thought about his teaching; that it was archaic and stupid and needed fixing. He said tough titties, you joined my class so you had to deal with it.
You called him an evil little fuck who only liked to tear women down and he probably was sad and alone and that's why he acted this way.
He didn't like that.
He wanted to give you a detention but then he realized this was college and he couldn't do that.
So he gave you the next best thing.
Sanctioned tutoring.
You brought this upon yourself, you knew that.
Yunjin was just reminding you.
"Mr. Calderon has too much patience with you. You're lucky all you got was stuck with Riki. You could have gotten booted from the class. This is like your last straw." She scoffs, almost mirroring his pain.
As if your punishment needed to be any worse than it already was, you didn't just have to tutor some dumb boy, it was a dumb frat boy who apparently has a body count so high, he should be a walking STD.
And of course, Yunjin was on your oppressor's side. She had a crush on him for as long as you've been under his rule (in his class).
"You should be nicer to that man. He is too fine to be getting wrinkles this early." She wiggled her eyebrows at you.
You don't even realize the grimace on your face.
"Are you seriously still on this? I thought we were past it."
She plopped down onto your bed, exhausted from the job she assigned herself. You had to give it to her, it had only been a few minutes and your room actually looked neat for once.
"Never."
Silence falls between you. You let it, you both needed it after the days you had. Her more than you since your pain was self-inflicted.
She breaks it first, her loud groan echoing off your walls from it being extremely empty. "So when are you going over?"
You return to the obligatory conversation you and Riki had earlier.
You had to do most of the talking since he decided now was the time he wanted to be silent out of spite. You asked him what time he'd be free, the only answer you got was a groan.
"Look, Icky, I don't want to do this any more than you do. But I'm coming by. You can give me a time or I can just show up whenever I want. Your choice."
He rolled his eyes but reluctantly, he told you to come by at 7.
You checked your phone before turning to your friend who was making herself too comfortable in your bed right now. You kicked her.
She pushed you back and that cued you both to get out of the bed.
You were going the same way, so why not walk together? It also didn't help that Yunjin was on the search for Jake. The reason? She wouldn't say, she just looked very suspicious, stalking like she was looking for prey.
As president, Heeseung's days aren't anything less than exciting. From the moment he woke up, he was already putting out fires left and right.
He opened his eyes to Jake standing at the edge of his bed, looking like he was about to say he threw up. He immediately closed them back.
"What happened now?" His voice hoarse but he never lets that stop him from talking this early.
"I don't know how to tell you this but Sunghoon broke the sink downstairs."
"No, I didn't!" Sunghoon fought back through the wall.
"And I need your help," Jake continues, not paying any mind to things happening outside of the room. "Yunjin's kind of been stalking me a little bit and I need protection."
Now he was up, his eyes broke open fully, his blanket was tossed to the side and he was sitting up, looking at his brother completely now.
"What did you do to her?"
"I didn't do anything!" He tried to plead his case.
But it was rather hard when he lived in a house full of tattletales who loved picking on him.
Luckily Beomgyu was walking by when he heard it.
"He's a liar. She told me some of her clothes are missing. Including some of her underwear." He eyed Jake. Heeseung didn't even get a moment to ask more before Beomgyu was getting shoved down the hall.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about." Their heads shook in tandem.
It was only 9 AM and Heeseung already wanted to pull his hair out.
He dragged his hands along his face. He stands up, stretching his limbs until he heard a pop, a pop that he felt the need to get rid of everyday because of these boys running him ragged.
"Jake, I swear to God. If you are keeping Yunjin's clothes from her, that is your problem, not mine. That is between you and her."
He rushes Jake out of the room, not even entertaining his pleas for help with a mess he made himself. Heeseung was very big on letting his brothers fix their own personal problems.
Especially the stupid ones.
"I hope she tears your ass open."
Shutting the door doesn't stop the loud noises from breaking through but at least he knows he taught everyone else how to knock.
Ask before you come in!
The last time they ever did it, they caught Soobin playing Just Dance in his underwear and no one's been able to look him in the eye since.
He went through his morning routine no problem.
He goes to the bathroom, uninterrupted. Thank the Gamma gods for the presidential quarters.
He puts on his darkest clothes because he can just tell, by the end of the day, someone is going to spill something on him. It's just being prepared.
Once he finally gets his hair to look just the right amount of messy, he gathers himself, bracing for the state this so-called 'broken sink' was in.
He'd hate to spend the rest of his day on the phone with housing management. Again.
Mercifully, it wasn't too bad once he got downstairs. He tried not to pay too much mind to all the gross things the members were doing this early in the morning.
If he stopped and said something to everyone, he'd never see the end of it.
Make that a problem for a different day.
The sink just had a simple clog in it, he could get it out in no time. No need to make any phone calls.
He'd like to imagine this is the only problem he'd have to face today but that was just delusional.
Next, he had to settle an argument between Jungwon and Jay; the younger one had ate the lasagna that Jay had prepared for his cooking class. He thought it was someone else's.
It wasn't due yet so he just told Jungwon to pay for ingredients for his new dish.
Then, he had to fish Sunoo's laptop out of the pool because when they pushed him in, he was working on his paper.
Heeseung got all the rice he could muster (most stolen from Jay, sorry) and tried to bring it back to life. Once he saw a light, he left it alone since the day was already gone by the time he got it out of the water.
He was like their mother, corralling them away from the light sockets because they were still in that phase of wanting to touch the shiny things.
By 6 PM, he felt collapse. It was barely even night and his body was already screaming at him. Every movement brought about a new ache, a new cramp, something stopping him from doing something for himself for the first time all day.
As soon as the clock struck 7, the only thing he had the energy to do was drag himself to bed.
But he wasn't allowed, since the big ol' man babies were always crying.
The moment he touched a stair, he heard it.
One quick cling of metal, a burst and then screaming. He didn't even have to turn around to know what happened.
The pipe that was perfectly fine hours prior, now broken with water spraying everywhere.
And who else but Jake at the scene of the crime?
"Hee! Sunghoon broke the sink again!"
It's like it never stopped, like at all.
His bed gets a rain check and he turns back around, meeting Jake in the bathroom with the newly forming puddle.
He does what Jake hadn't thought to do and he turns off the water supply to stop the river from becoming. Not without getting his sweatpants completely drenched.
He made himself busy throwing all the towels on the ground, hoping to soak up what was left. All the while, Jake had buzzed off, off to the next thing which happened to be figuring out who was at the door.
He slid to it like it was nothing, swinging him open with reckless abandon.
"Hello—" His greeting died in his chest once he met Yunjin's eyes, her piercing ones that had been searching for him all day. You didn't even get to say anything before he took off screaming up the stairs with her in tow.
You didn't seem concerned, he probably deserved it.
But it did leave you unaware of what to do. Yunjin knew more about the house than you did. She was meant to be your bridge.
You kind of just stood on the porch, rocking back and forth like a baby.
Heeseung was tripping out of the bathroom when he spotted you standing there. His presidential instincts kicked in immediately, he jogged over to the door like you were the mailman.
"Hi, how can I help you—holy shit, you're gorgeous."
And just like the rest of the idiots he lived with, he had been hit with the stupid. But this wasn't his fault, you looked so pretty. Any inside thought he might have had about you was pouring out of him like word vomit.
He didn't know you, he'd remember you.
He shamelessly looks up you up and down.
Your baggy clothes, your hair was down but still a little messy, your big glasses that framed your face, your lipgloss that seemed to sparkle under the porch lights.
He had seen many a girl, none of them made his heart beat this irregular before.
"Sorry, who did you say you were, sweetheart?"
"I didn't. Where's Riki? He told me to come by at 7." You rock back in forth on the balls of your feet, your eyes darting around the space.
You wouldn't lie to yourself, you were curious on how they lived. You found the water mess immediately. On the floor and covering his pants. You were about to ask but he caught you staring and spoke up first.
"Oh, Jake broke the sink. I didn't pee on myself, I promise."
Your teeth clenched in disgust.
"I didn't want to say anything."
He tries to laugh but he can't seem to commit to it, he's too busy memorizing everything about you.
"Trust me. If I knew there was going to be a pretty girl at my door, I would cleaned up a little better."
And then you laugh, the most mellifluous and light sound he's ever heard.
He wanted to hear it again, to be the one to cause it to come out of you once more.
But this day refused to let Heeseung be, he wasn't allowed to admire you for long before Riki was appearing over his shoulder like a parrot. He reached past his brother like it was nothing, snatching your hand up like it belonged to him, yanking you up the stairs, muttering something about staying hidden.
Heeseung watches until you're gone from his sight.
He couldn't go to sleep now.
He instead got stuck on hold with housing.
He tried to pretend like he wasn't staring at his brother's closed door, wondering what you two were doing.
He knew you weren't a hook-up, from how close he was, he'd probably be able to hear you two. If anyone asked, he was making sure Riki was safe, no other reason.
Definitely not spying on you.
He almost didn't even notice when someone was on the other line.
୨ৎ
"So are you going to listen to anything I say or are you just going to keep making eye contact with the ceiling?" You bored into him but he wouldn't have noticed.
He giggled like you had said something funny.
"You gon' keep playing eye tag or you gon' holler at your boy?" He laughs once again at his joke. You knew he wasn't talking to you, it was muttered, you had only caught it because it was the only noise in the room.
You don't even think, you grab the pillow behind you and hit him in the face with it.
"Ow! Why?!" He tried to dodge but it's useless.
"Because I hate you! And Mr. Calderon, for making us spend time together." You hit him again, he goes to move but he's too slow.
"You know, you're the first tutor to ever hit me!"
"I doubt that, everything that comes out of your mouth is stupid. They've at least screamed at you."
"At me? No. For me, yes."
A comical pause; you're just staring at him.
"You're a helpless disgusting little worm, Riki. I hope your parents choke you out Homer Simpson-style when they see your grades because I quit."
You grabbed your backpack off the floor and you move for the door.
His chuckle is villainous in the air. A shiver almost develops on your back but you don't let it.
"You do realize that if you fail to tutor me, you could fail this class, right?" He was being presumptuous, as if he held the fate of your future in his hands.
"I'm not the one already on thin ice here, you are. I at least have other good grades. You just suck." You turned around slowly. "When I tell Mr. Calderon I couldn't tutor you, he won't see it as my failure, it'll be yours. I'm just another person who couldn't fix your trainwreck which is not my fault. If anything, he'll commend me for trying. And that's enough for me to get a different extra credit assignment."
You stopped yourself from laughing as you looked at him again because the situation really was testing your last nerve.
You were about to say fuck him and fail out of the class, maybe then you'd be free.
But he stopped you, guilt painting his face for what seemed like the first time in his life. He actually looked like a real person for a second and not just some stereotype.
Another pause as he looked everywhere but at you.
"I have to get my math book from Taehyun. I lent it to him sophomore year and never saw it again."
You nodded.
Now he'd never tell anyone this because no one would want to sleep with him if they knew how slow he was, but tutoring was actually very helpful.
He was still ashamed of getting help but once that door was closed, he was the most eager student you would have ever seen.
After getting something right the first time, he got a sense of accomplishment in his chest, he liked it. He wanted to feel it all the time. And that drove him to want to know all the answers.
He was chasing his high and fixing his grade — it was a win-win.
Heeseung definitely took notice of you coming around more often. It was hard not to, since Riki was moving like he had something to hide, meeting you at the door without giving you much of a chance to knock, sneaking you up the stairs as if his parents were going to see.
It'd seem weird if he didn't know how nosey the members got; one look at you and they'd be busting down his door like the police.
He doesn't get to talk to you again until he stakes out the door, coming downstairs around the usual time you appear and grabbing the door before Riki does.
You looked up from your phone in surprise, those weren't the eyes you were used to seeing.
"Hey, you're that guy who pees his pants. Aren't you the president of these dummies? Hee something? I don't know if I would trust your judgment if you were pissing your pants all the time. But then again, they're dummies."
He chuckles too loud at your joke, loud enough he's surprised you don't clown him for it.
"Um, it's Heeseung. And your name was?"
"Y/n, I'm Riki's—"
You don't get to finish your sentence because you're cut off by the loud stomps down the stairs. Riki's barreling, taking them two at a time, not even stopping when he almost slipped.
"There you are! We're going to the library today." He steps in between the two of you, pushing you out of the doorway and toward the steps.
He ushers you away from the house, putting his arm around your shoulders. You turned around right before he pulled you off the porch fully, meeting Heeseung's eyes one more time.
"Bye, Mister President." You waved him goodbye.
"See you later, pretty girl." He prayed you couldn't see the dopey smile that was painted on his face from such a quick interaction.
Learning your name was all he needed, now it made it ten times easier to find out who you were.
And he knew exactly who to ask.
୨ৎ
"No, leave me alone." Yunjin was hoping to be by herself when she got to the fashion studio but now Heeseung was her shadow, every movement she made, he was on her heels, not even giving her a moment to breathe.
"Come on, Yunjin!" He whined. "Think about all I've done for you. Would it hurt you to help me just this once?"
She paused, eyebrows crinkling at his pleas.
"Like what, Hee? The last time I can remember you helping me with something was my math grade freshman year and that's about it. I owe you nothing. And even if I did, I've probably paid it over double by now."
Even if Gamma boys were supposed to hate Delta girls, that could not be said about Heeseung and Yunjin, even though, they were the leaders.
They knew each other way before this, their friendship didn't have to end just because they were in college now.
And since they both held power, they used to help each other out sometimes.
If Yunjin's girls got raided in the night, she knew it was them and once she tattled on them, she knew Heeseung was going to reprimand them because he didn't play that.
And if the girls were feeling vindictive, a one-night stand that didn't go the way they hoped and they decided to take it out on the house, Heeseung knew he could mention it to Yunjin and she'd straighten it out. No problem.
Usually she was a big help.
This was not one of those times.
"What are you even asking me for again?" She's cutting fabric, she's not even really paying him any mind anymore. Usually they tucker themselves out.
He rolled his eyes, it felt like this was the 50th time he said it.
"Your friend, I was wondering if you could put me on. Yes or no?"
Now she's squinting at him, confused since she has a lot of friends.
"Dani?"
He shook his head immediately, he was on bad terms with both Danis so that was not a road he wanted to travel down.
"No, Y/n?"
She looked up like he said something he wasn't supposed to.
"I'm sorry, how do you know her?"
He shrugged like it was nothing, like you weren't the only thing that's been on his mind. "She's been tutoring Riki for the past month, I think. He keeps trying to hide her like we wouldn't notice him suddenly counting under his breath. I don't know why he didn't just ask me though."
She shook her head since that wasn't the full story. She explained how you were being punished with being a tutor in order to get extra credit and Riki was your first subject.
All he heard was a way in.
He could need a tutor. Ok, he didn't need a tutor, but he needed to talk to you.
"So can you make the introduction?"
"Absolutely not."
"Why must you hurt me so bad?" He whined.
"Y/n hates frat boys! If I tried to introduce you two, she would not be down like at all. You want to talk to her? Go find her yourself. She's probably in the library. The study rooms have better wifi than her apartment."
She didn't have to tell him twice, he was gone before she could even look up and notice his little smoke cloud.
At first, he figured Yunjin was just playing a trick on him, just to see him huff and puff over something that really was this big of a deal. But there you were, stumbling out of the library, struggling to carry your books like this was a 2000s film.
It was something he picked right out of his fantasies.
He was on you quicker than a flea, rushing to your side to help you.
"Here, let me get that."
You didn't fight him on it, seemingly too tired to decline help at the moment, he took it as a step in the right direction.
Pushing your hair out of your face, you finally notice who he was.
"Oh hey, it's the President. Are you stalking me or something?"
He snorts—not completely.
"No, I was hoping to procure your services so Yunjin told me where to find you."
You quirked a brow at him.
"Services? I'm not a hooker."
And he's guffawing like you're a comedian. "No, tutoring. I need a tutor." Again, confusion spread on your features.
"Why?"
"I'm struggling with math right now and you seemed to be helping Riki so.."
"How do you know that? He treats me like an affair. As if he doesn't get upset when I cancel a session."
"I wouldn't be a good president if I wasn't checking on my members to make sure they were being educated properly. I once bounced a guy out of the chapter because he had a B in English, straight up."
Your face betrays you as you snicker at his joke.
Once again, he was making you laugh.
He was 2 for 2.
It doesn't go unnoticed by him how you two begin walking side-by-side, your steps in perfect unison, you almost sounded like one person.
"I mean I'm not a real tutor. I don't know if he told you but this is a punishment. I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. He's actually the most annoying person in the world."
He wasn't going to correct you, you weren't wrong.
But he wasn't giving up on you either.
"What if I paid you?"
"How much?"
"How ever much you need. I have an exam coming up." Not fully a lie, he did have an exam coming up. He just didn't need any help.
You pondered it for a second, your mouth contorting as you went over it. "Ok, but don't pay me. Then it'll definitely look like you're soliciting me for sex."
He nodded quickly.
"We can meet at the library tomorrow, I guess."
He's the nodding machine, bobbing his head up and down like he was getting tested on it.
You take your books back, balancing them on your arms a little better since you're more awake now. "Here," you use your free hand to fish your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him. "Put your number in."
This was a dance he was all too skilled in.
He was actually surprised you didn't already have it, it's plastered on almost ever girl's bathroom on campus. 'Call Heeseung if you want to have a good time,' that type of thing. It was a prank gone wrong but jokes on them, he got hook-ups because of it.
Before he knew it, you were waving him goodbye, walking off into the sunset like an angel.
He couldn't wait for tomorrow.
It didn't make sense.
The moment your eyes broke open, you still were in a dream-like state.
When yesterday poured over you, it was orange juice on cereal, settling weird and tasting wrong.
One question kept repeating in your mind: Why did Heeseung Lee need a math tutor?
To your knowledge, you were pretty sure he didn't need one. You might have been too tired to be making any transactions because now shit didn't make fucking sense.
Was he messing with you?
Was this some type of bet? He had to see how long he could keep a tutor before you realized he wasn't as dumb as he seemed.
Either way, you weren't laughing.
Right now, you were just tired and wondering why you told this boy you'd meet him when you knew damn well this was the only day you had nothing and could just relax.
You were about to cancel.
You didn't want to play his game.
But then your phone blinked, maybe he heard you.
heeseung
how do u like your coffee? i was planning on picking some up before we met
you
are you trying to butter me up or something? are your grades worse than riki's?
heeseung
no one is that bad :/
i just wanted to do something nice for you since i'm not paying you
you
fine i like my coffee cold and milky
heeseung
my kinda girl ;)
ok, see you in a bit, beautiful <3
Now you were certain he was pranking you.
You didn't move urgently to get dressed at all.
He was already there waiting, standing outside the library as if he needed your permission to enter. Two cups in his hands like the good boy he was pretending to be.
You almost laughed at how helpless he looked. This guy was the leader of a frat? Sounds ludicrous.
"Hey there, Mr. President." You joined his side on the stairs, taking the lighter drink into your hands.
You take a tentative sip, the caffeine coursing through your veins to be the power you need to get through this next hour.
"Are you ever going to call me my name?"
Another sip.
"Are you?" You shot back.
His face crumpled.
"Touché."
With that, you went into the library, him using his free hand to open the door for you.
Inside the vibes are so much different than the glaring sun outside. The lights were dark and gentle, a few of the other bookworms already cuddled up to the shelves the way you would be if you weren't tutoring.
The librarians are quick to greet you too.
"Y/n!" It came out loud and sing-songy, the way it wasn't supposed to sound in a library.
You didn't even try to stop the smile that began.
"Hey, Kee."
He walked around the counter swiftly, wrapping his arms around you in that comforting mother way he learned from being a librarian.
"I feel like I haven't seen you literally in forever."
He was dramatic; you were getting books last week.
You don't jump to introduce them, you don't really care to. Luckily, Heeseung is such a 'nice guy', and it would be unbecoming if he didn't speak up.
"Hi, I'm Heeseung," he puts his hand out for Keeho to shake and he takes it gladly. You watched as his face lit up from the sight of the boy beside you. He bounced between you two like he was figuring something out.
You didn't even flinch.
"Oh, I know who you are."
Heeseung goes to you for a life raft and since you're not completely awful, you give him a hand.
"Keeho makes it a point to know everybody's business. As the librarian, he has to have everything memorized. The books and the people who come in. Or..don't come in." You snorted.
He nodded because it's true and he does nothing to hide it.
"Also, it's very hard to work in the library and not hear whispers of your name in the stacks. Every girl wants a piece of you."
Heeseung expelled a shy little giggle, as if Keeho were mentioning his accolades and not his whore tendencies.
"Not every." You cut in, stopping the laughing.
There's a pause as Keeho nudged you, urging you to be a little nicer as Heeseung looked physically wounded. You just rolled your eyes.
"This seems a lot to run for just one guy." His eyes wandered around with a childlike wonder that confirmed your train of thought, he hadn't been in here before.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not alone."
As if on cue, your attention is pulled away from the conversation but to the sound of one of the library carts crashing into someone. A very quiet 'ouch' and then reprimanding.
"See that cute little sophomore?" He pointed to the boy who was being lectured and actively picking up the books he dropped from the cart.
"That's my son, Shota. Not really but I buy his food. And the one who looks like he's grounding him? That's Jiung. He does the important bits. I just look pretty."
They both give you a wave before disappearing.
"As fun as this is, we have some tutoring to get to."
Keeho nodded. "The table in the corner is free."
You grabbed Heeseung's forearm, yanking him along with you so he didn't get lost.
You plant him on the end, sitting beside him with your front pointed toward the entrance and front desk. You didn't have an explanation for it, just being in the exact position makes your brain work the best.
You began pulling your stuff out of your bag and between finding your pens, your brain makes it apparent to you that he hadn't moved yet.
He was too busy eyeing Keeho from where he was giggling at his phone behind the desk.
You had to snap to get his attention back to you.
"Huh?"
"Yo. ¿Dónde están tus libros, huh?"
A pause as his brain tried to translate what you just said but coming up empty.
"Books, my guy. You know the colorful things with words?"
His mouth makes a very visible 'O' as he finally dives into his backpack that just felt like a prop and heaved out his heavy old ripped up textbooks.
“So, I’m guessing you two are close, you being such a nerd and whatnot.”
You rolled your eyes.
"Are you guys friends?"
You can feel it, the entire library is the most silent so it'd be hard not notice how deep he was fishing. He was basically screaming at you.
"Yeah, why?" You stay locked on turning your laptop on.
He shrugged, still bringing things out of his bag of wonders.
"I don't know, there was just a little bit of vibe."
You snorted but choked it back once you heard the loud noise expel from your body. It was laughable, just not in here.
"A vibe? Really, Mr. Frat Boy? That's your diagnosis?"
"I'm just saying what I saw."
This time, you don't stop your laugh, at least, not efficiently since you slapped your hand over your mouth, stifling it slightly.
You didn't think he could make less sense today; you stood corrected.
"You might need to get new glasses there, Hee, because your gaydar sucks." You almost fold over in laughter, your hands finding the table to ground you.
"No." He protested. "No!" A hushed whisper as he can't believe himself either. "I have perfect gaydar. My roommates are gay."
"Well, you might want to have a conversation with your roommates because those boys are together."
He went to look back, get another look to reaffirm what he thought he saw and as if Keeho had heard your conversation, as he was walking past, he pressed a harsh kiss on Jiung's temple. His smirk was faint but there.
"Huh."
"Yeah. Don't make assumptions. Or else you'll make an ass out of you and..'mptions."
He laughed at your joke for a second, not too long, calculated as he's done this before. "You're funny."
"I know."
A sip from your cup was a drag of a cigarette, calming your nerves.
"Wait, did you call me Hee?"
"Don't get too excited, dummy. Now show me what you're working on."
He grumbled but did as you asked with no problem.
Your first tutoring session actually wasn't that bad. Not any worse than any other.
You spent the hour explaining the simplest of systems and he spent his time staring at you. He did interrupt quite often to ask you questions about yourself but you avoided them—this wasn't a social call, you were supposed to be doing a job.
He did not get that.
And since he didn't, it only made sense for you to see him again.
You couldn't find any reason not to.
You two met for the second time a week later.
Between attending your classes and still tutoring Riki, you found it hard to keep Heeseung on your plate. But he begged you, citing that without your help he was going to fail. And although you figured he didn't need your help with that, you still found a way to squeeze him in.
It just took a longer for him to see you again.
He was already sitting at a table by the time you got there, already having his stuff out, looking around with the biggest curious eyes you've ever seen.
He was coming more prepared this time.
He jumped up the moment he saw you, pulling your chair out as you shook your very wet umbrella.
You sit down without even thinking about the gesture.
"Sorry for coming so late. I didn't know it was going to rain and I was on the other side of campus without an umbrella. I had to borrow this from Chaewon."
He's shining those pearly whites in your face when you finally look up and you hate how you could see why so many people get weak in the knees about it.
Your heart did stutter a little.
"You don't have to be sorry, babe. I'm glad you're here."
You just rolled your eyes at the nickname as you reached into your bag to pull out your stuff.
"Now I kind of wish I got struck by lightning."
He snickered, not too loud for the librarian to notice but enough that the other people would hear his laugh. It was part of his tactic, and it hadn't show any fails just yet.
"You'd probably look a little funny."
"Just open your books."
He doesn't fight you, he just smiles and does what's asked.
The second time around, he was more focused, showing signs that he was actually listening to you and not just making spit bubbles. He still had a few issues with the problems you were working on but when you explained, he wasn't just staring, he was comprehending.
You couldn't call him dumb anymore, not when he was trying.
You two wrap up at the best time; the sun peeks through the clouds for the first time all day, birds chirping and singing for the day to return.
You feel a change of heart so you open your mouth in the silence.
"You're improving," you muttered to your bag. You kind of hoped he didn't hear your compliment but he was too close not to, standing just a breath away doing the same thing.
His grin was big and toothy.
"I'm sorry, was that a compliment?"
That earned your second eye-roll of the day, this one was just a little more playful than the last, adorned with a small smile.
"It was. Are you going to make me regret it?"
"You'll never regret anything with me, angel, I promise." He smirked, winking at you with a twinkle.
You hate that it erupts a giggle out of you.
"You have to stop talking to me like that. I am not your girlfriend, Heeseung."
"No one said you were." He shrugged all innocently.
"Your face is saying something else."
You zipped your bags up at the same time, almost like he was waiting for you to be done so he could follow you. He trails you out of the library, only catching up fully to open the door for you.
You don't chuckle at the gesture, you welcomed it.
And he took that as a fantastic sign.
The sun beams down on you both instantly, hitting you both at the same time.
Your eyes shut instinctively, not being able to withstand the blinding rays. He noticed and stepped in a little closer, putting his hand on your face to block.
"Better?"
You don't realize how close you are until it's too late. His voice a little more hushed since you're not that far, his breath fanned your cheek slightly, and for once, you felt yours catch.
"Mhm..thanks."
He looked so pretty from this angle, the light hitting him perfectly to give him a subtle glow, it was a little unfair. It was making your mind turn to goop.
"You know all this nice weather, maybe next time, class could be outside."
"Who said there was going to be a next time?" Your brows knit together with your gaze. He mimicked you like a baby.
"Uh, your face."
Your head dropped in embarrassment, your eyes widened, anywhere else was better than looking at him with the smug smirk brewing. "It's kind of cute to see you nervous." He teased.
"Shut up," you snickered, shrugging him away with a very clear grin.
"Nothing about you makes me nervous." You scoffed.
He bobbed his head up and down, he could pretend he believed you. it didn't have to be true.
୨ৎ
Over the next few weeks, the weather just can't help getting nicer. The sun isn't hiding much anymore, the once green trees in the courtyard are now blooming pink anywhere and everywhere.
The breeze that you could use as shield was now dull, a nice warmth now flowing through the air. You could no longer hide behind your big hoodies, not when it was basically grilling weather.
You still carried them around but as a decoration for your bag and a safety net.
You didn't want to admit it, but he was right.
It was perfect if you wanted to spend all your time outside. And according to Yunjin, that's exactly what you wanted to do.
She claimed you 'never left your apartment unless it was for nerd activities'. That caused Kazuha to burst out laughing in the middle of the backyard.
You didn't think it was that funny.
"They are not nerd activities!" You wailed, trying to shove Kazuha for teasing but she was too strong. "God forbid a girl is focused and educated."
"And severely domestic." Yunjin poked from her spot across you at the table. "No one ever sees you anymore. We have to contact the librarian if you're missing from the one spot we check."
She was making you sound downright pathetic. Is that how people saw you? Some homebody who never did anything and just never showed her face? Is that what you were? Why was she your friend if you were this sad?
Your hands retreated to your lap, your fingers threading together so you could pinch them to bring yourself down. You knew she meant nothing by it, didn't stop your mind from bullying you into a corner though.
Yunjin's such a good friend, she sees how your energy changes and she corrects promptly.
"Well, either Keeho or Heeseung. You have your pick of them these days." She sipped her drink all cheeky and aunt-like, darting her eyes around to see her damage.
Kazuha stopped her cackling fit, Chaewon choked a little, Eunchae even finally gave the conversation her attention. His name was like Batman, something about hearing it made everyone sit forward.
"You're hanging with Heeseung?" Chaewon inquired, turning toward you fully.
"Doesn't Keeho have a boyfriend?" Eunchae leaned over to Kazuha in confusion, gaining a unnecessary nod that stopped any future debate.
"No, we're not hanging." You shut it down.
Yunjin made an astonished face, she never liked letting you live.
"You're not hanging and yet he has you saved in his phone as 'my pretty girl'? Yeah, for sure. Because I have all people I'm just acquaintances with under cute little nicknames."
Both Eunchae and Kazuha gasp to let you know they're still in the conversation, they however instead vied to be focused on their food instead of boring into you like Chaewon seemed to be doing.
"How long have you two been close?" Her tone was light, the same kind interest that was always in her voice when she spoke to you.
"Not long. Not at all really. I'm just his tutor. He's kind of a weirdo."
"Yeah, a weirdo who seems to be obsessed with you," Kazuha's mouth is full of pasta, you're confused on how she even got words out.
Yunjin's spaghetti was best eaten hot anyway.
"He is not obsessed with me."
"Yes, he is," Yunjin smacked the basketball right out of your hands. "Trust me, I've known Heeseung for the longest and I've never seen him so enamored. I'm telling you: the boy is in love."
As much as it blossomed in your chest, you didn't want to believe her.
The moment you let yourself be delusional was when you were vulnerable to everything, he could hit you from every angle metaphorically and you wouldn't let him take anything from you.
He wasn't allowed the power.
It was still possible she could have got her wires crossed.
People can change.
"He's definitely just using you for a grade." You and Chaewon were in the same boat.
You gesture to her. "That I believe more."
“You’ve been friends with him but you never dated him.”
Sometimes you forgot about Heeseung and Chaewon’s relationship from freshman year. It was so long ago, you kind of thought she did too.
It was before he became such a hotshot, before he was Gamma president, way before you even joined the friend group. You had only heard stories about what happened between them.
No specifics, just that he humiliated her at some party.
She has since gotten over it and forgiven him, so she says.
"He might not be a 'whore' anymore but tigers never change their stripes. He's a manipulator."
"And I refuse to let him get me. He could shower me in all the compliments he wants. I'm not falling for it."
And you meant it.
Just not enough.
As much as you wanted to deny Yunjin, she was right about one thing — you did enjoy spending your time outside.
The birds and the atmosphere were actually ideal.
More than the library.
If you needed to get something done, or if you just didn't want to be in your apartment any longer, you'd go out and sit in the quad, let the sun rain down your face and forget about how much life sucked.
The animals chittered, the trees making whipping noises in your ears, all calming noises you needed to suppress any aggravating feelings settling in between your eyebrows.
"Well, aren't you just a pretty flower?"
And how easy it was for it to return.
You don't have to open your eyes to know who's voice it was, he welcomed with something cringy every time.
"Are you stalking me or something?"
His shadow over you is daunting, daunting enough for you to sit up. When you finally do give him a look, he appeared a little different than when you saw him last. It brought a heat to your cheeks.
His hair is parted out of his face so you could see him better, he's a little more unzipped than how you would normally perceive him, now just rocking a t-shirt and jeans.
And in his hands was a picnic basket.
You don't get a chance to ask about it before he's sitting beside you and pulling a blanket out.
"Technically not stalking because you're still laughing at me. It borders on predator once I start like following you home."
You tittered, your eyes focused on all of the things he's pulling out like he's Mary freaking Poppins.
"Not a smile on my face, weirdo. Just general perplexity. How did you find me and why do you have all of my favorite snacks?"
He lights up, this was the exact reaction he wanted.
"Both questions, same answer: Keeho told me. You were right, that guy really does know everything about his patrons."
And right now you wished you never told him diddly.
Because the expression on his face is the same one he gives you when he'd correct you, smiling arrogantly like he's the smartest person in the world.
You hated that expression because every time he made it, you felt your heart skip a beat and your breath stutter.
"What are you doing here, Heeseung?"
"Well, as much as I love our time in the library, and I do — more than life — I feel like we can do more fun things, hence picnic." He reached into the basket again, pulling out a cute pink beverage and tossing it over to you.
You don't even hesitate before poking it open and taking a sip.
If he was going to offer food, you weren't going to not eat it.
"Or we could do something actually fun, like rip each other's teeth out or watch paint dry."
His face crumpled at you. "What do you have against picnics?"
"Nothing. It's just I don't understand why anyone would want to share their food with the ants and the dirt, that's all." You take a very innocent sip while watching his composure dissipate into awestruck.
"What?! Picnics are so freaking romantic. You could be under the stars or on top of a hill watching the sunset."
You squinted.
"Like in Up?"
That took all weight out of his fight, he slumped in defeat.
"Do you like anything?" He tried.
"Yes, of course."
"Like what? Tell me."
Your lips pursed, jumping around your mind to look for the answer he was digging for.
"I like music and books. I like ice cream. I like eating it by myself, preferably not outside and not with bugs."
He snorted.
"Umm, I like Yunjin. You'd think I wouldn't because she's like you kinda but she's actually a really good friend. She treats me nice even though sometimes I don't think I deserve it." You paused a little, pinching some grass between your fingers.
He leaned back on his hands, suddenly staring at you with a new lens.
This had been the first time you had emoted in a way that wasn't negative, you weren't shutting him down, you weren't getting him away for the topic, you were actually opening up. He had to take advantage.
"You know, I never heard how the two of you came to be. You're not like the usual people she runs with. You're...different."
"Different as in I'm not some sorority girl like Saki or Chaewon?" Your attention falls on the pile of snacks in between you, picking at something.
"Well, no. You're a little more weirder than them."
"Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
"No, that's not what I meant," he sat up, sticking his hand out and placing on your shoulder. You stare at it but you don't tell him to move. His touch is stronger than you expected, you don't hate it.
"I just meant you're not afraid to say things. Most girls I meet — besides Yunjin — are more quiet and soft-spoken, you're not. It's cool."
"If you're waiting for me to say 'I'm not like other girls', it's not coming. Because trust me, I am no different than the next girl. Our only difference? I'm not falling for this. I've dated frat boys, I'm good off 'em for a long time." You continue to pick at his food, not making eye contact as you closed his whole situation down.
If he were anyone else, he'd probably pout like Charlie Brown and walk away with his blanket tucked between his legs but unknowingly you cracked a door open for him.
"I'm sorry. I was under the impression you hated frat guys through and through. At least, that's what Yunjin told me. You mean to tell me you dated one?" You can hear the smile in his voice, you don't have to look.
The eye-roll that followed was a given.
He's leaning forward, his head perched on his hand when your eyes betray you and flick over to him. He bats his eyelashes at you.
"Do go on."
You could dodge him again but maybe it's the nice weather, the breeze that quells any anger you could be feeling, you don't care to keep yourself from him.
Not when he was openly asking and eager to listen.
"Yunjin caught me on a bad bender. That's how we met. My boyfriend cheated on me so I went to her party to drink my sorrows away. She's been addicted to caring about my wellbeing since."
There's a lull where you expect the facade to break and for him to unmask the demon inside to disappoint you like you've been anticipating.
But he doesn't.
In fact, he makes the exact same face she did when she found out: his jaw on the ground.
It's not a look you've seen on his face before. It's nice.
"A frat guy did that to you?"
"Yeah, aren't you all like that?"
"No!" He's quick to stop that train before it leaves the station. It surprises you so much, you look around just in case anyone heard him being ridiculously loud.
"Cheating is absolutely fucking disgusting." His tone was direct and unforgiving. He spoke in absolute, he had never been more serious about anything since you've known him. "Anybody who does that shit is stupid and lazy."
You can't hide your snicker, in fact, you don't even try to. Hearing a man denounce cheating these days was like when they got mad about periods, it wasn't something substantial, it was just something they said.
"You think I'm joking?"
You shook your head wordlessly.
"I just think guys will say whatever they need to get into your pants. Especially when it's the only thing on their mind."
"Fine, I'll make you a deal," he brushed the crumbs away and stuck his pinky out. "I promise I will keep it in my pants, as long as we can be friends."
You're not sure you completely believe him but you're curious about his attempt so you lock fingers with his.
"I have good self control," he smirked.
"Mhm, sure."
Bad idea.
Once you opened up the door for him, he barreled through like an bull. All you had to do was tell him you could be friends and he took that shit to the bank.
Now that just meant he was blowing up your phone when you least expected it.
You were in class, wanting time to move quicker?
He'd send you that pic of that cat telling you to hang in there.
You're just working on homework in your bed?
Then you'd get a selfie of him in the same position you were in, mocking your anguish.
You couldn't sleep?
Neither could he, and now you were both just sitting up, not getting any rest, giggling about whatever dumb shit Jake did that day.
You didn't like the fact that he had you bursting at the seams in your own home. He was invading the inner sanctum and he hadn't even made it to the door.
It was disgusting.
And to make it ten times worse, now you were just waiting for him to text all the time. You checked your phone to see if his name was there, you got worried if he didn't send you anything in the normal times, sometimes you even messaged him first.
You wanted to jump out of your skin.
He wasn't any better although. Without even realizing it, he began neglecting his responsibilities just to talk to you. It's not safe to fall in love when you're the president — and unfortunately that's what he felt was happening.
It had only been a couple months and he already couldn't imagine his life without you in it, his nights without your really bad jokes (he didn't think they were bad) or his mornings without pictures of how bad you thought you looked when you woke up (he refused to think you looked bad either).
You were the perfect pathetic pair.
୨ৎ
You had been fully integrated into his night routine by now. Now when he brushed his teeth, you made an appearance, right on the sink.
You two had been texting for a few hours, he couldn't even remember where it started, all he knew was that now you were talking about weird things you did in childhood.
He told you about how he thought if he skated backwards, he could go back in time; you laughed at him mercilessly.
And in return, you relayed to him that you used to drink chocolate milk out of your plastic Hello Kitty tea set.
He poked fun at you like you did, but he actually hadn't heard anything cuter.
you
what are you doing anyway? you're being dry and i kind of hate it :(
heeseung
sorry, i'm brushing my teeth
give me a second
He was rinsing when his ringtone washed over the tiled walls. He doesn't even think twice about answering it.
"You wanted to talk to me this bad? Aw!" His speech is muffled from all the foam coming out of his mouth. He spit before locking eyes with you in his screen.
"Ew, no. Maybe. I was curious on what it looked like when you were brushing your teeth. My mind just couldn't imagine it."
He brushed extra hard for your amusement.
The pain was worth it to see you smile.
"Not all of us are stinky."
He hears a rustle on your end, probably readjusting yourself in your bed. He knew the sound by now.
"I don't think you've ever smelled bad. You're one of the nicest smelling guys I've ever met."
He dropped his toothbrush in the cup, turning the light off and jumping into his bed for the night.
"How many guys are you smelling?" He chuckled.
You grimaced. "Too many."
He must have been enjoying himself too much, he got comfortable too early, too quickly and the world wasn't allowing that, or rather his members.
Once again, knocking is forgotten and his door flies wide open. He flinches like he's doing something wrong, grabbing the blanket to cover himself up. There's nothing out in the open, it just feels intimate.
"Hey, hyung, can I have some underwear—" Riki started but his words die on his tongue once he sees the state of his older brother.
He was shaking like a cat and it's unnatural.
Riki's eyes squinted.
"Have you ever heard of knocking?!"
"Nah." He paused for a second, giving Heeseung a once over with an inquisitive eye. "Are you masturbating in here?"
"If I was, would you leave?"
He shook his head. "No, not really. I really need some underwear."
"Is he about to put on your underwear? That's nasty!"
The younger one's gaze is like lasers, zapping from place to place, trying to find the source of the sound he just heard. "Was that Y/n's voice?"
He flipped his phone around, revealing your cozy state to his nosey friend quickly before turning it back.
"And for your information, he is not stealing my underwear. I buy extra for when the boys lose theirs." He answered, hoping to peel the scowl off your face.
"How often are they losing their underwear?"
Now he was frowning, no part of him wanted to divulge any part of his system to you. Especially when he knew how dirty his roommates were, it was something better left inside the house.
"No comment."
Having what he came in for, Riki moved for the door, going back to mind his business. As he goes to close the door, he turns once more for one final blow.
"By the way, just want to let you know, pizza night kind of went bad and now there's a big ass puddle of pasta sauce in the middle of the kitchen. You might want to get on that."
He doesn't even let it settle on Heeseung's face, he's gone before he could get yelled at.
The vein in the back of his neck pinches thin. He can't tell if he was still breathing or if he finally died and was put out of his misery. A soft snicker falls from his mouth dementedly.
"It never ends, does it?" His fingers carded through his hair recklessly.
"They really rely on you for everything, don't they?" Your tone is so gentle, it almost brings him down from the small panic attack those boys gave him everyday.
"It's like they want me to reach into the chests and breathe into their lungs for them!"
Almost.
"These are supposed to be grown men? They act like they still need their mommy."
"Men will only be as bad as you allow them to be. Tell them you're not going to clean up their messes and if they don't whip up into shape, start leaving it there. You're not their maid. Or their mom."
The manly side of his brain wanted to be mad and tell you were wrong, stick up for his brothers the way he was taught to feel. But you were right, he was just mad all it took was for your words to snap him out of this years-long spell.
No one ever told him he didn't have to do it.
They just expected it.
"You know something? I never thought of it that way."
"Your comfortability matters just as much as theirs. You can't be expected to overcome your bad grades and keep sweeping up their messes. You're not Superman."
There's a split-second his logic gives him to right his wrong; 'Haha, funny story. I actually have really good grades and I've actually been pretending to be stupid à la Mean Girls because I like you.'
It would have been so easy to say.
But his tongue stops him instead. Not when he made it this far.
"I could be Superman."
You squinted in response. "Mhm sure."
He was the president of the dummies after all.
୨ৎ
Things get hectic for you two, with all the procrastinating you were doing, life started to catch up to you and eventually you had to go to sleep without all the extra conversation.
You fade out of each other's lives like hair dye. You're still on each other's minds but all the way in the back since you need room for what needs to be done.
Heeseung uses your tactic of letting them clean up their own messes. It takes a little longer than it should since he literally had to reprogram everyone's instincts. But in a short time, he has them moving with purpose. They even figure out where the broom closet is.
And just in time because party season begins not too long after they get a clue.
Now it doesn't feel like he's juggling everything with just two hands. There's some extra, it's very slim but something is better than nothing.
He has the boys around campus moving like the military, picking up deliveries and buying things with his credit card all willy-nilly like he had cash to burn.
This is the only time being frat president mattered: when people needed a sick event on campus to drink at.
He had nary a moment to call or text you. Between being the party guy and actually working on his schoolwork, you were a guilty pleasure he couldn't indulge in quite often anymore.
You weren't exactly free either.
In a quest to break out of your shell, you found that they were hiring in the library. They needed someone to check people out since there were only three boys working there. They need some type of estrogen to bring the masses in.
It was an easy change, you spent most of your time in there anyway, now you were just getting a paycheck for it.
It was a win-win scenario.
And sometimes during your shift, something slightly odd would happen. Maybe you'd find a book with your name in it since you borrowed it earlier in the year or someone would wander in after they had crossed your mind.
He was in a rush when he stumbled in. All he was looking for was a book his teacher mentioned before he met Jake in the parking lot to go get his car from the shop.
He couldn't fully remember the name and it was becoming bothersome. He couldn't find anyone to help him so he was about to give up and leave.
Then he heard a familiar sound through the stacks, the sweetest little hum to ever grace his ears.
He turned the corner with the daze of someone following the scent of a pie and weirdly enough, there you were, wearing your earbuds, dancing around the shelves like a stage.
You had never looked more natural in his eyes. You were in your element, cracked completely open for anyone to see. He kind of didn't want to disturb you on account of it being his favorite thing to look at.
He saunters up even though you can't see him and he tapped you on the shoulder.
You flinched as if someone had screamed your name and yanked your ear free. "Jesus! You scared me." All he does is laugh at your anguish, and snatch your phone from your pocket to see what had you dancing like that.
"You were over here dancing to this girly music? I didn't know you listened to this kind of junk. That's cute."
You scowled. "Natasha Bedingfield is not junk. She made perfect music for the time period. You're just mad you can't listen to her without getting made fun of because you're a stupid boy. I bet you've never even felt such joy." You snag your phone back, dropping it and your earbuds in the cart away from his grabby hands.
He scoffed, leaning back as if you hit him.
"I'll have you know I'm not some sad human being just because I don't listen to music from the 2000s."
Your frown juts out when he says that, you couldn't stop it, it felt like he basically shot you in the chest.
"I don't know how to tell you this, sweetheart, but that's exactly what that means." You brought your clasped hands up to your mouth, shaking your head disappointed.
With that, you turned back around to your cart, doing your job since you had been abruptly stopped.
"I don't know what to comment on — the fact that you just called me sweetheart or stupid. I loved both, to be honest."
All of your resolve drained out of your body and you're giggling the way he missed hearing in his ears every night.
"You're so weird." You complained but it had no real burn to it since you're smiling. "So what brings you to the library? You're not stalking me again, are you?"
He almost forgets what he came in here for, seeing you washed everything else away.
"As much as I would love to consider this a visit to my favorite grump, unfortunately, I am here looking for a math book my teacher wanted me to read." His pupils lulled back, already done with this quest.
You go into work mode immediately, turning the corner with Heeseung in tow.
"Who's class is it for?" You trained on the shelf.
"Mr. Kim."
You spot it with precision, grabbing it with force. "You're lucky I had his class freshman year. Mr. Kim doesn't believe in helping his students. Instead he gives you this big ass book that's supposed to have all the answers, and weirdly enough, it kind of does." You hand it over.
"With this, you probably won't even need me anymore," you chuckle but it sounds fake, your heart didn't like the idea of him not being your life, and you were pretty sure he wouldn't be if he didn't want his grades to be better.
Out of nowhere, he tosses that book full-force behind him. It makes such a loud thud you jump.
"Dude, what the fuck?" You whispered harsh, you were the librarian, it was in your nature. "What was that for?"
"That book had some bad juju. I didn't like the way it looked at me."
"That doesn't mean you throw it! Go pick it up, right now."
"Yes, ma'am."
He shuffled over to where it landed, doing exactly what you asked with no argument, just putting back where you got it from.
"Yeah, nah, nevermind. I trust you more than any stupid book anyway."
He doesn't have a reason but he continues to follow you as you pushed the cart back to the front where it resided. Since you've done it so much these days, it was impulse going behind the desk and sitting in your stool. And since he has no sense, he follows back there too.
"You're not allowed back here!" You tried to create some semblance of professionalism but he didn't care, he was already touching your knickknacks.
"Relax, no one's trying to be in your librarian business. I just want to play with your toys."
You spent most of your time in the front so it only made sense to have things to entertain yourself with while you wasted away, i.e fidget toys that was gifted to you from Soul. He only gave you the ones he liked.
And now your slime balls were getting the life squeezed out of them because they were in the hands of a excited boy.
"Don't you have somewhere to be? Some beer to drink, some other girl to bother?" You slimmed your eyes at him, he seemed blissfully unaware.
"Are you coming to the Gamma party in a few weeks?"
"No." It seemed obvious, you actually couldn't even believe he was asking you. "I never go to Gamma parties."
"Really? Not even for your favorite person?" He pouted.
"Why would Yunjin want me at your party?"
He clutched his chest, falling back once again with that dramatic flare you had come to honestly enjoy.
"Sticks and stones, Y/n. That's all it is. It doesn't matter how bad you treat me because you wanna know why?"
You raised your eyebrows in intrigue.
His strong hands land on the sides of the stool, turning you toward him so you could see him fully. He leaned in until you were eye-to-eye, his breath fanning your face.
You stifle a giggle by covering your mouth.
"I can tell you like me just as I do. You wouldn't be all giggly if you weren't." He whispered.
You continue but you do move your hand to speak.
"What if it's because your breath stinks?" You wondered in between your little snickering.
To double down, he blows in your face to throw you off guard so he could plant a kiss right on your forehead.
"Ew!" You wipe the fictional smell out of the air.
He flees the scene before you could hit him like you wanted, going on the other side of the counter where he belonged.
You didn't want to touch it but your face burned where he kissed you, basically branding this affection on you and cementing just how much he was genuinely right.
"Ok, fine. I won't beg you to come if you don't want to. But at least, can you come by tomorrow? I need help with an assignment due next week."
You scoffed as if it was going to be tedious, out of the way and impossible but ultimately, you do miss spending time with him and you kind of didn't care about how you got it.
"Sure." You nodded.
"Awesome." He snapped. "Just to let you know though, most of the boys are going to be at the away game so we're going to have the house to ourselves. Ok, bye!"
He ran out before you could say anything else, just leaving you there with your flagrant dismay.
Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough.
The weather was not on your side it seemed. You planned on walking over to the frat house, it wasn't that far, and you've done it so many times before. But the moment you were almost there, the sky opened up and started spitting on you with ferocity.
You couldn't understand what you did to get such bad luck, you just pulled your hood up and ran.
You were lucky the Gamma house had a porch with a roof and that Heeseung didn't make you knock long. One rap and he was swinging the door wide open to reveal your soaking frame.
He was frowning instantly.
"Do you need me to buy you an umbrella?"
"I don't have one because it doesn't usually rain this much!" He grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the warmth. "Plus, I rarely leave my apartment."
He's rubbing your damp arms, hoping to bring some warmth into them.
"How about we get you a towel or maybe some drier clothes, yeah?"
Feeling like a really sad mop, you give him a solemn nod and grabbed his hand when he put it out to guide you up the stairs you had been up many a time before.
Although now, you're not going through the younger one's door.
Now you get the big one with the sign on it, the one that sparkled with words 'president'.
You don't know what you expect when he opens his door, up till now, Heeseung had continued to be an enigma.
You imagined the stereotype you were told about: the flashy, whorish rock-star vibe. You were told to be aware. But that wasn't what you were seeing right now, you didn't have a name for what this was.
His tidy sheets are what you catch first, it's very hard not to since his bed is so big. Probably the perks of being the president, you get the best sleeping quarters.
His room's actually the cleanest thing you've ever seen, it almost looked like no one lived in it.
He lets go of your hand in the middle of the room, leaving you there to explore with your eyes as he rifled through his drawers for something of his that might fit you enough.
He doesn't have many posters around, just a few in frames behind his bed. But even those seem too put together for a college student.
There's not even any demonic clothing piles you could confuse for people in the middle of the night. All of his dirty clothes divided in color piles in his hamper like a crazy person.
This wasn't the guy who was spewing all types of lines in your ear at night, trying to get a rise out of you. It wasn't even the guy who was lowkey stalking you.
You didn't think you knew this one at all.
"Here you go," he held his folded sweats out for you. Even they still looked as good as new. "You can change in the bathroom." And he directed you to the private door behind him.
You don't waste another second, running in and cracking the door just enough so he can't see you anymore.
Him being a gentleman, he still turned around, just in case he could get a glimpse of anything. He didn't want you to think he was perving on you like some weirdo.
He wasn't that type of guy.
You discarded all of your wet garments on his bathroom tile with a nasty plop. You don't think about them once they dropped, you felt liberated and you didn't want to stare down your oppressor.
"What should I do with my clothes?" You spoke through the door.
"You can leave them there, babe. I'll put them in the dryer for you, don't worry."
With that, you pull the oversized sweatshirt over your head, alongside the pajama pants that were too long. His height was never something that dawned on you until you were wearing his stuff.
They were covering your toes and actually dragging on the ground.
You bunched them up before finally turning the light off and returning back to his eerily empty room.
He's sitting on the edge of his bed now, pretending to be engorged in his phone and not like he was staring at the door, hoping to use telepathy to tell you to come out.
You can tell from how quickly its discarded.
When his gaze locked on you, he paused for a second, pupils widening with the heightened sense of a cat. You didn't have to look so cozy in his clothes.
He hadn't even done anything yet.
He cleared his throat even though it wasn't obstructed. Anything to not lose his cool this early.
"So are you going to make me do a scavenger hunt to find your books or are you going to make my job so much more easier?"
He smiled innocently.
"Of course not. I haven't eaten anything yet, and you know I can't think if I'm hungry, Y/n."
You were already on your first eye-roll of the day.
"I guess."
He stood up once you finally gave in, crossing the threshold so he could be in your space again, exactly in the way he missed in the last 24 hours.
"Well no one's going to drive out in this weather, that I know for sure. I wouldn't. And Jay doesn't really let me buy like pizza pockets or anything, says it's going to kill me quicker than all the instant noodles I eat. So we kind of only have ingredients here." He shrugged.
"Do you have any ground beef?" You inquired emotionlessly.
"Yeah." He confirmed.
"Do you have any spices?"
"Yeah."
"I have an idea."
୨ৎ
Yunjin always said you were a hazard in the kitchen, that all you knew how to do was make the simple things to keep yourself alive. You wanted to deny it, claim she was wrong but it was undeniable.
And one of those simple things you had mastered?
Tacos.
"Stop touching! You're going to burn yourself." You smacked his hand away for what felt like the fiftieth time.
"It's not my fault. It smells so good."
His hands wrapped around your middle like it's second nature, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you cooked on the stove.
"Where'd you learn how to make these?"
"You can learn how to make anything on internet these days. Especially when you don't have many places to go to."
He hears the disappointment in your voice, it knocked into him like book stacks. It clicked into his brain easily now that he knew what it sounded like.
"Not for lack of invitation. I asked you yesterday if you wanted—"
"Not parties, Hee. Definitely not yours. I wouldn't feel safe there." It was sad that it was true. He didn't want you to feel that way about something he only did to give people a good time.
He especially wanted to be able to show you some fun. Without inhibitions the way it was meant to be when you were young.
You deserved it.
"Even if my parties were dangerous — which they're not — I would protect you from any and everything that could harm you. I wouldn't invite you somewhere you wouldn't be protected."
"Mhm."
Your agreement could barely hold water, you're not looking at him, still focused on your task in front of you. You don't believe him and he wants so badly to shake that way of thinking right out of you.
He proves to be too eager in his quest to change your mind because he moved too quick and hits the pan right where the fire is and singed the tip of his finger.
"Ah, fuck!"
He buckled over and whimpered like it was the end of the world.
If there was one way to throw him off his rhythm, it was when he hurt himself. He never knew how to handle it. He reverted back into a baby, that's how low his pain tolerance was.
"You dummy! I told you it was hot." You were squatting down in front of him in no time. "Did your mom never teach you how to listen? Let me see, you baby." You grabbed his hand with force, investigating the growing boil on the tip of his pointer.
It wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be but you had to admit, he was cute when he was being dramatic.
"Where is your first aid kit?"
He uses his head to point underneath the sink, still wincing at the shiny sore beginning.
You moved fast, grabbing the little box and lifting him in on swoop.
You ripped his big ring off before turning on the water. He freezes once it splashes back at him, almost like a deer in the headlights.
"No, what are you doing?" He panicked, pulling back as if the water was going to be another thing that was about to burn him.
"I know what I'm doing. You have to run it under cool water first. I promise I'm not trying to kill you. Just let me help you."
That's enough to get him to stop fighting; he lets you rinse him (not without a fuss), you rub some burn cream right on the sight really rapidly to his chagrin, and you cover it up with a band-aid.
"I'm sorry, those dumb boys expect you to be their guide and you get put down by a pan? You are hopeless."
He doesn't say anything as you begin repackaging everything back up, his eyes are locked on you in way that's still examining, still confused if he's looking at you or someone else.
"How did you do that?" He sounds so far away, out of his body, like he's not the one asking the question.
"Do what, sweetheart?"
"Lock in so quickly for me just now. I acted like a complete child and you knew what to do immediately."
You meet his gaze with a light he had never seen in you. It definitely wasn't helping from how his heart was beating out of his chest right now. It certainly didn't make it better when you pushed your glasses up either.
"Have you never had anyone help you before?"
He looked up, recalling any instance in his life before now, scanning everything for the kind of action he had just gotten from you.
"Besides my mom when I was a kid, no. I figured I'm an adult, no one was going to save me so I had to do it myself."
You were shaking your head before he could even let the sentence marinate.
"That's not true. Everyone needs help sometimes. Even cute little dumb presidents." You kissed his bandaged finger with a smile.
You finished cooking without any hassle, he sits away from the stove just in case it wants to bite him again. You snickered at his antics but you didn't outwardly make fun of him. Somehow you figured it was his first time feeling this way.
When you're done, he tells you it'll be better if you ate in his bed. Apparently it was the most comfortable spot to eat in in the entire frat house. Mostly because it's where he had a lot of his meals.
You obliged, a comfy seat would never be turned down.
You two sat side-by-side against his headboard, knees bumping as you ate for what seemed like the first time in ages. Neither had ate today so that might have contributing.
And since tacos were one of the only dishes you could do really well, it was gone before either you could say a word.
All that was left behind was a content hum harmonizing in his quiet room.
"You're going to call me dramatic for this too, but I honestly don't care. That was one of the best meals I think I ever had." He rubbed his stomach, giving his food a nice pet on his way through his body.
"Weirdly enough, you're not the first boy to tell me that."
He takes your plate from you, stacking them up on his side table, out of the way.
"Oh yeah? Was the other one that cheating asshole? Don't listen to him. Matter fact, don't even mention him. As far as I'm concerned, he is a stain. If anyone else compliments your food, use me as a reference, not him."
You snorted like a woman in a trance, it almost didn't even sound like you for a second. "Ok, noted. Although, do you think you can talk about him that way having not known him?"
His beautiful browns locked on you like it was his job.
"I don't care if it was my best friend, he deserves double what he did to you. Maybe worse. You are too special of a girl to cheat on. I have to fight for your attention because he had it and he fucking wasted it. In my head, he's a loser."
As numb as you wished you could play it, that last sentence touched something in your supposed-dead heart and made it burn. Not the life-ending kind but the one you didn't know you missed until he returned it to you.
It didn't even seem to affect him the way it did you, this was just a normal Thursday for him.
The world just had to make him extra charming today.
It was pissing you off.
And making you want to kiss him a little.
You hadn't even noticed that he had gotten closer in saying that, his knee was now hovering over yours, your shoulders also touching from the proximity.
He was doing it on purpose and you couldn't find it in you to shun it anymore.
"You don't mean that." You shook your head, mustering up the last little fight you had left.
He cuts through it easily with that devilish smile of his. His strong hand came up, cradling your cheek like he wanted from the moment he met you. Your heart betrays you, making you lean into it.
"I would never lie to you."
Just then, like the world needed to send the biggest, brightest sign, thunder cracked across the sky all loud and overwhelming.
You jumped, a tense snap that went with the weather. Your instincts were akin to a feline. With the harsh rain attacking his glass windows, it sounded too loud to just to be water. And then the lights had to go out.
That was enough to make you fully meld your body into his.
You were practically in his lap when the next flash happened, trying to burying yourself in his neck in hopes that the big sounds would cease.
You realize your mistake as it's happening but you don't move and neither does he.
"Um, sorry." You sound regretful and yet, you gripped tighter once it hit again. "I was never too good around thunder as a kid. Or the dark. Something about just always seemed too much for me."
Another crack made him wrap around you, his warm arms bringing you close and keeping you safe from your fear.
"You don't have to be sorry, angel. It's not your fault. Do you want some help?"
The question sounds innocent enough, but in his low tone, it sounds how he means it, forbidden and not before touched.
"Help?"
Instantly, a switch flipped. His hands moved, pulling on your hips dangerously, like he wants to make it so you can't move. The adjust makes you gasp, but you welcome it.
"I can help you through it or I could leave you alone. Which one do you want?"
You figured you'd be disgusted when the topic finally officially came to the table. But under the guise of a distraction? You do anything to not have to think about the terror going on outside.
"Help me how?"
Your panic makes you a little slow but it's okay, he planned on moving slow anyway, especially since he was finally getting to have you so close.
The pressure of his fingers in your side start to drop, until they were pushing into your thigh, too close to where he wanted to be but not enough to be crossing a boundary. Although he can tell you like it from the squeak you let out.
He tries not to laugh at you because he knows it was involuntary but it's still cute.
"Do you mind if I touch you?"
You go to nod but the weather has other plans to send you back into his shoulder for safety.
"Uh-uh. If you're going to tell me what you want, you're going to have to look at me. Please, come on."
Against on your better judgment, you slowly lift your head amidst the chattering outside. You could hardly make out his face in the darkness, you couldn't tell if it was because of the fear or it was just the lighting.
But you can see his eyes and the altruistic-threaded lust that filled those twinkling irises.
How could you say no?
It calms you enough to let you speak clearly.
"I think you just want me to say it."
That shit-eating grin returned, a car passes by, putting it on full display.
"I really, really want you to say it. Like nothing would make me happier in this world."
The situation is so odd, you don't even notice the genuine laugh you give him.
"Fine." You scoffed. "Yes, I want you to touch me."
It breaks like a dam, he had been waiting so long that it wasn't possible to hold it back anymore. He lunges forward, tackling you into the bed, hovering over top of you so his lips could meet yours with urgency.
It's not soft or sweet like in the movies, it's rough and hungry. There was teeth and tongue thrashing everywhere, he was gripping you like he was in pain and you were the remedy.
His instincts kick in as his hands went lower, past the waistband of your (his) pants. You gasped into his mouth and your fingers grip onto his shoulders for stability.
That's his sign that he's moving too fast.
He pulled away even though he doesn't want to but he knows your lungs are screaming at you. You're not as used to this as he is. He doesn't let go as you catch your breath, his forehead rested against yours.
"Sorry, baby, I got too excited. I've wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you."
A snicker falls from your mouth in your quest for air.
"What happened to that good self control?" You huffed, eyes still closed, your nose bumping against his.
"If I'm doing a lot, you can tell me. Just say the word and we can forget this ever happened."
And you hate your keen ears at the moment because you can hear the desperation in his voice. Not only does he want it as much as you do but he was willing to turn it off if you weren't ready.
That was the last thing you remembered him saying before everything disappeared alongside your clothes that came to paint the floor.
You were extremely grateful that all the other boys were gone. You would have hated if they heard any of the noises that came out of the two of you.
He probably wouldn't have minded since he kept trying to get you to be louder but either way, you let out a breath of air when you finally did fall asleep — cuddling with him, the way he insisted.
୨ৎ
The sun broke through Heeseung's curtains cinematically, a bright spotlight being lit on this one moment. The rain of the day prior had dried and all that was left was beauty. As if it needed to be louder.
Here you two laid, him behind you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in unbelievably close, his breath was warm on your bare back, calming in the quiet.
His grip was tight like he thought you were going to run away.
If anyone were to bust in right now (like they did so naturally), they would probably think you were a couple.
But it was professional, you kept telling yourself, this was transactional. He was getting a service from you and soon enough, you'd be done. And it wasn't as promiscuous as your position would suggest.
This was just misread after a night of things you probably wouldn't mention if you kept tutoring.
Definitely not like this.
You woke up first, your body aware that this wasn't your bed or the fact that you weren't sleeping alone.
You tried to move, his limbs become a seatbelt, holding you in place.
"What if the boys are back? Someone's going to get the wrong idea."
He took that as a sign to nuzzle into you more, his nose finding the crook of your neck like it's his birthright.
"Good. They need to know who you belong to. You're my girl."
Your snort is involuntary but you don't stop it from bursting out into the emptiness. You flipped over to see him better and surely enough, he's still looking at you with those big browns of his, like you're something precious. His hand comes up and brushes your hair behind your ear.
"I don't know how many times I have to say this: I am not yours."
His lips pressed together to form a thin line. You didn't even believe yourself, why should he? Especially if he knew you as well as he proclaimed.
"You can keep saying it but you wouldn't be in my bed if you didn't like me a little," he caressed your cheek.
You don't fight it though, you let yourself lean into his soft hand slightly.
It felt nice, nice enough for you to forget where your head was, or how many heads like yours have graced his pillows after a night of giving into the bad desire every girl has.
But maybe it didn't have to be something heinous, you didn't have to regret it.
Not if he didn't.
For once, you're looking at him with inquisitive eyes, searching and hoping to find the awful bits. Something to grasp onto so you don’t have to admit how much you actually enjoy his company. But then he smiled, and it put a warm feeling in your chest, a warmth you couldn’t downplay.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“I’ll take it,” his words are barely above a whisper as he ditches them to lean in and capture your lips again. He’s not as feral as he was before, he’s not trying to bite and nibble, he just felt like it.
"And for your information," he planted another kiss on your cheek, "the boys won't be back until this afternoon. I gave them a bunch of errands to run, just in case."
Your face crumpled, thinking of the possibilities of his vague statement.
"Just in case what?"
He pulled his underwear back on with a sweet smile.
"In case dreams come true." Once he winked at you, that's when it clicked for you. You pulled the blanket up completely covering your frame in embarrassment.
"Gross!"
"I'm just letting you know you have nothing to worry about. No one's going to see your cute little butt but me."
You couldn't see him but you could have sworn you heard a small laugh.
You hear him rummaging through drawers, probably looking for a clean pair of pants. You don't pop your head back out until you feel a weight by your side, right on the edge of the bed.
He's already looking at you when you peek.
"You want some breakfast? Jay does at least buy the good cereal."
You pretend to think about it and against your better judgment, you do end up eating cereal with Heeseung. In fact, you spend your entire morning with him.
You hate yourself because you tell him things about yourself when he asks, you shoved him playfully when he said something stupid, you let him hold you when he reached out, you even told him about your dream of being a writer; all things you would do if he was your boyfriend.
And him being so sweet, he welcomed all those things happily, as if he wanted to be.
It did tug on your mind a little.
Would it be so bad he was?
You thought about coming to the frat house instead of going all the way home after work, sleeping in his bed more often, kissing his pretty face whenever you wanted to.
It was a nice future, one you'd be completely okay with living.
Especially if it was filled with how he was staring at you right now.
He never interrupted you when you spoke, he kind of just watched you like there was nothing better to be looking at, as if he couldn't believe you were still sitting on his couch with him.
Eventually you noticed the clock: he had to get ready for his day and you had a shift at the library soon. This beautiful bubble you wished you could live in forever had to pop.
You peeled yourself out of comfortability, paying no mind to all of his whines and pleas.
"No! Where are you going?" He's frowning, reaching for your ankle as if that was going to stop you from putting your clothes back on.
"As fun as this is, playing make-believe all morning, at some point, I have to get back to my life." You slipped your now-dried pants back on, still a little warm from the dryer.
He doesn't comment, he just watches you change like you're trying so hard to get out of there.
Is this how girls felt freshman year, when he was pushing them out like his parents were coming home any minute?
It was an odd feeling.
"What are you doing later?"
"This is not going to be a regular occurence." You shook your head. You knew that's what he was grasping at, and you were really adamant on not stepping over the line more.
"That's not what I was going to ask."
It most certainly was, but it was just because he wanted you to sleep in his arms again. Might have been the best sleep of his life but he couldn't say that out loud without sounding crazy.
He scooted to the edge of the couch where you stood, pulling himself up to his knees so he was rightfully taller than you.
"God forbid a guy just wants to see you again."
You scrunched your nose but you would admit, your heart did jump.
"I'll let you know but no promises."
You go to slip your shoes on quickly, moving fast, you don't even think about swinging the door open, you just do it. You are smacked in the face violent from the cold breeze.
"What the hell? Why does it have to be cold on the one day I leave my jacket?" You smacked your teeth, pulling your sleeves down like it's going to combat the shiver.
He doesn't second guess, he's off of the couch without another word, opening his hall closet to pull out one of his hoodies.
"Here."
He opened it up, prompting you to duck your head so he could don you with it.
"Now it's like I'm walking you home."
You quirked a brow at him. "Are you sure you're not trying to like mark your territory? Make sure no other boys talk to me on my way home?"
He looked up all innocently like that wasn't his intention. You weren't dumb and he knew that.
"I mean, it wouldn't be completely awful if they saw you wearing my hoodie and knew to stay away."
You go to stick your hands in the pockets and are immediately met with something cold and hard. You pull it out haphazardly and are meet with the cursed ring from last night, a physical talisman that last night wasn't just something you imagined in your sleep.
"Oh! I was looking for that. I forgot I stashed it away in my pocket. The boys are always stealing my shit so I have to make sure I don't leave it out."
You placed it in his hand.
He tried to put his ring back on his burnt finger but you stopped him, you didn't want it to swell and get stuck. He loved watching you be worried for him, so he gave that to you too.
"Jeez, are you trying to make a Heeseung shield around me?"
He doesn't confirm or deny more of these claims, he just smiles, kisses your forehead and holds himself back because he knew if he had his way, he wouldn't have to watch you walk away.
╰┈➤ you and sunghoon are going through a divorce but then finds out your pregnant.
✴ husband!sunghoon x preg!reader ✴ Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, divorce, marriage in crisis, arguments, emotional turmoil, secret pregnancy, morning sickness, crying, guilt, miscommunication, reconciliation.
The divorce papers had been sitting untouched on the dining table for six days. Every morning, you walked past the cream-colored envelope with your eyes fixed anywhere but there, convincing yourself that if you ignored it long enough, maybe the end of your marriage would disappear with it. It never did. The signatures waited patiently beneath the flap, yours written with trembling hands, his clean and effortless, just like everything Park Sunghoon ever did. Five years of marriage had somehow been reduced to ink on paper, and neither of you had found the courage to send them to the lawyers. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was denial. Or perhaps, deep down, neither of you was ready to admit that the love you had fought so hard for was slipping through your fingers.
Sunghoon hadn't always been this distant. Before becoming the CEO of PARK Group, he had been the kind of husband who insisted on driving you everywhere because he claimed the roads were "full of idiots."
He'd leave little sticky notes inside your handbag just to make you smile during work, surprise you with late-night convenience store dates after exhausting weeks, and hold your hand whenever the two of you crossed the street, even though you constantly teased him for it. Somewhere between endless board meetings, overseas investors, and the pressure of keeping a billion-dollar company alive, those little gestures disappeared.
At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Then weeks became months, and months became years, until the silence between the two of you became louder than any argument you'd ever had.
The front door unlocked just after eleven that night. You heard the familiar click of expensive leather shoes against the marble floor before his coat landed over the back of a chair.
"You're still awake?" he asked quietly, surprised to find the television still glowing in the dark living room.
You looked up from the untouched mug of tea in your hands and forced a tired smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I couldn't sleep."
He nodded as if he understood, although the truth was neither of you understood each other anymore. He loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders with a wince. "The meeting ran longer than expected. I tried calling."
A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You always have a meeting, Sunghoon." His expression hardened ever so slightly. "I'm doing this for us."
"No," you whispered, standing from the couch. "You keep saying that, but somewhere along the way, there stopped being an 'us.' It's just you... and your company."
The argument didn't explode all at once. It built slowly, quietly, through years of missed dinners, forgotten anniversaries, and conversations cut short by another ringing phone. You couldn't even remember what had started this one. Maybe it was the fact that he'd canceled yet another weekend away because an investor had flown in unexpectedly. Maybe it was because he'd answered three work calls while you were trying to tell him about your day. Or maybe it was because you were simply exhausted from feeling like you came second to a company that would still exist long after the two of you had fallen apart.
"I don't even recognize you anymore," you said, your voice trembling despite your attempts to stay composed. "Do you know what the worst part is? I don't think you recognize yourself either."
Sunghoon stood across the kitchen island, still dressed in his tailored charcoal suit. He looked just as tired as you felt, his tie hanging loose around his neck and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his forearms. He opened his mouth to respond before closing it again, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.
"You think this is easy for me?" he asked quietly. "Do you think I enjoy leaving before you're awake and coming home after you've gone to bed? I'm trying to keep everything together."
"And what about us?" you whispered. "Who's keeping us together?"
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
The next morning, the divorce papers were drafted.
Neither of you cried when the lawyers handed them over.
Neither of you protested.
It almost scared you how calm everything had become.
The screaming had stopped.
The tears had stopped.
It felt like your marriage had simply... run out of emotion.
For the next week, the penthouse became nothing more than a place the two of you happened to share. Sunghoon slept in the guest room. You stayed in the master bedroom. Meals were eaten separately. Conversations were reduced to polite questions that sounded more appropriate between strangers than husband and wife.
"Have you seen my watch?"
"It's on your desk."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
That was it.
No warmth.
No affection.
Just silence.
Then the nausea started.
The first morning, you barely thought anything of it. Stress could make people sick. Anyone going through a divorce would feel exhausted. But when you found yourself gagging at the smell of breakfast three days in a row, a tiny voice in the back of your mind began whispering something you refused to believe.
Standing in the pharmacy after work, you stared at the pregnancy tests for what felt like forever. Your fingers hovered over the shelf before finally grabbing one and shoving it into your basket as quickly as possible. You prayed nobody you knew would see you.
The drive home felt endless.
Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.
You locked yourself inside the bathroom before finally opening the small box, reading the instructions three separate times because the words refused to register. The timer on your phone counted down three agonizing minutes while you paced back and forth across the marble floor.
One line.
Relief flooded your body.
Then...
A second line appeared so faintly you almost convinced yourself you were imagining it.
You blinked.
It grew darker.
Your heart stopped.
"...No."
You picked up the test with trembling fingers, staring at it as if it might somehow change if you looked hard enough.
Positive.
The room spun.
You slowly slid down against the bathroom wall until you were sitting on the cold floor, your knees pulled tightly against your chest.
Pregnant.
You were pregnant.
A sob escaped before you could stop it.
It wasn't because you didn't want the baby.
It was because the timing felt impossibly cruel.
Only a week ago, you and Sunghoon had agreed your marriage couldn't be saved.
Now there was another heartbeat growing inside you.
One that belonged to both of you.
Tears blurred your vision as you instinctively rested a hand against your stomach. It was too early to feel anything. Too early to even look pregnant. Yet knowing that your child was there made everything feel different.
A sharp knock at the bathroom door made you jump.
"Y/N?"
Sunghoon's voice was muffled through the wood.
"You've been in there for a while."
Your heart leaped into your throat.
Quickly wrapping the test in tissues, you hid it beneath spare towels inside the cabinet before splashing cold water across your face.
"I'm okay," you called back, though your voice cracked.
The door opened as soon as you unlocked it.
Sunghoon frowned the second he saw you.
Your eyes were red.
Your cheeks were damp.
"You've been crying."
You immediately shook your head. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
He took a hesitant step toward you, his usual guarded expression replaced by genuine concern. Carefully, almost instinctively, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch caught you off guard. He hadn't touched you like that in months.
"You don't look well," he murmured. "You've barely eaten this week, and every morning I hear you getting sick."
"It's just stress."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I know."
His brows knitted together. "Maybe we should go to the hospital."
"No."
The answer came far too quickly.
His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering across his face.
"...Why not?"
You forced a smile that felt painfully fake.
"I just need some rest."
For several long seconds, he simply looked at you.
Then he sighed softly.
"If you start feeling worse..." His voice was quieter now. "...please tell me."
You nodded even though you had no intention of doing that.
As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway without looking back.
"I know things between us are... complicated right now."
Your chest tightened.
"But that doesn't mean I stop caring about you."
The bedroom fell silent after he walked away.
The tears you'd been desperately holding back finally spilled over again.
Because hearing those words only made your secret feel heavier.
And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines...
You wondered how long you could keep it from him.
The following morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. A dull ache settled behind your eyes while another wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, forcing you to sit up abruptly. You barely made it to the bathroom before gripping the edge of the sink, your breathing uneven as you waited for the feeling to pass.
When it finally did, you leaned against the cool marble countertop, staring at your reflection. You looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath your eyes had become impossible to hide, and your cheeks had noticeably lost their color. You quietly opened the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out the pregnancy test one last time before slipping it into your pocket. A few hours later, you found yourself sitting alone in your obstetrician's office, nervously twisting the sleeve of your sweater while waiting for your name to be called.
"Mrs. Park?" the nurse smiled warmly.
You stood, following her into the examination room. Everything happened so quickly after that—blood tests, questions about your health, and finally the ultrasound. You hadn't expected to cry, yet the moment the tiny image appeared on the monitor, your vision blurred.
"There," the doctor said gently, pointing toward the screen. "It's still very early, but everything looks healthy."
Healthy.
The word echoed in your ears.
Your hand instinctively rested against your stomach as tears silently rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't stop staring at the tiny flicker on the monitor. It didn't look like much to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.
The doctor handed you a small black-and-white ultrasound photo before smiling kindly. "Congratulations. Judging by the measurements, you're just over eight weeks pregnant. Morning sickness and fatigue are completely normal. Try not to skip meals, even if eating feels difficult. If your symptoms become worse, give us a call."
You nodded absentmindedly, clutching the ultrasound picture so carefully it felt as though it might disappear if you held it too tightly.
On the drive home, your eyes drifted toward the passenger seat where the envelope rested. You couldn't stop imagining what would happen if Sunghoon saw it.
Would he smile?
Would he cry?
Or would he stay...
Only because he felt obligated?
That question had haunted you since the moment you found out.
You knew your husband better than anyone.
Park Sunghoon never walked away from responsibility.
If he learned about the baby now, he'd tear up the divorce papers without a second thought.
Not because the two of you had fixed your marriage.
Not because the hurt had magically disappeared.
Because he would convince himself that staying was the right thing to do.
You refused to let your child become the reason someone stayed in a loveless marriage.
You wanted your baby to grow up in a home filled with love, not guilt.
By the time you reached the penthouse, you'd made up your mind.
The pregnancy would remain your secret.
At least for now.
When you stepped inside, the house was unusually quiet.
Sunghoon's shoes were by the front door, meaning he'd gotten home before you for once. You slipped the ultrasound into your handbag before walking farther inside.
The smell of food drifted from the kitchen.
You froze.
Sunghoon stood at the stove wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His suit jacket was tossed over one of the dining chairs, and an apron—one you'd bought him years ago as a joke because he insisted he was a "great cook"—was tied around his waist.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard you.
"You're home."
You blinked in surprise.
"...What are you doing?"
He glanced back at the pan.
"Cooking."
"You hate cooking."
"I know."
A small, awkward smile appeared on his face.
"But you haven't been eating."
Your heart squeezed painfully.
"I thought... maybe soup would be easier."
You didn't know what to say.
For months, you'd begged him to come home before dinner.
Now, when your marriage was already hanging by a thread, he was standing in the kitchen making soup because he was worried about you.
The irony hurt more than it comforted.
"I didn't ask you to do this," you said quietly.
"I know."
He turned the stove off before facing you completely.
"I wanted to."
Silence settled between the two of you.
His eyes slowly wandered across your face, lingering on the exhaustion you could no longer hide.
"You look pale."
"I'm alright."
"You've been saying that every day."
"I'm just tired."
He walked closer until only a few feet separated you.
"You've barely eaten."
"I'll eat later."
"You've been getting sick every morning."
"It's stress."
His brows furrowed.
"Did you at least go to the doctor?"
Your heart skipped.
"...Yeah."
"What did they say?"
You looked down at the floor.
"They said I need more rest."
Technically...
It wasn't a lie.
Sunghoon let out a quiet sigh before reaching for your handbag.
"I'll carry—"
"No!"
The word escaped much louder than you intended.
Both of you froze.
His hand stopped midair.
Confusion immediately crossed his face.
"...I was just going to put it on the table."
"I..."
You tightened your grip around the strap.
"I'm sorry."
"I just... have something important inside."
He slowly lowered his hand.
"I'm not trying to invade your privacy."
"I know."
Another silence followed.
This one heavier than the last.
Finally, he gave you a small nod.
"The soup's ready whenever you're hungry."
He turned away, pretending not to notice the tears gathering in your eyes.
The moment he disappeared into his office, you rushed upstairs.
Locking yourself inside the bedroom, you pulled the ultrasound from your bag before carefully sliding it into the back of your bedside drawer beneath a stack of old photographs from your honeymoon.
Your fingers lingered on the picture.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't sure whether you were apologizing to your baby...
Or to the man sleeping only a few rooms away.
The days that followed settled into a strange routine. The arguments had disappeared, but they hadn't been replaced with happiness. Instead, there was a quiet understanding between the two of you, as though you were both too exhausted to keep hurting each other. Sunghoon still left for work early, though not as early as before. Some mornings, you'd find a glass of water and your vitamins sitting on the kitchen counter without a word. Other days, he'd send a simple text asking if you'd eaten lunch. They were such small gestures—ones that would've seemed insignificant months ago—but now they only made your chest ache. He was trying. It was simply too late.
Morning sickness, however, wasn't nearly as forgiving.
You had barely managed two spoonfuls of breakfast before the familiar wave of nausea forced you to excuse yourself. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before you were kneeling on the cold tile floor, one hand gripping the edge of the bathtub while the other instinctively rested against your stomach. By the time the nausea finally settled, your eyes were watery and your breathing uneven.
A gentle knock echoed through the room.
"Y/N?"
It was Sunghoon.
His voice was careful, almost hesitant.
"You've been in there for almost twenty minutes."
You quickly splashed cold water over your face before unlocking the door.
He frowned immediately.
"You look awful."
A small laugh escaped you despite yourself.
"Thanks."
"You know I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
His eyes searched your face, lingering on the redness around your eyes.
"You've been getting sick every morning for weeks."
"I'm just... run down."
"You've lost weight."
"I'm trying to eat."
"I can see that."
He sighed quietly before reaching out. His hand hovered near your cheek for a second, silently asking permission before gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was so familiar that it almost broke you.
"I hate seeing you like this," he admitted softly. "I know we're... where we are right now, but that doesn't mean I stop worrying."
Your throat tightened.
"I'll be okay."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I don't know what else to say."
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, to your surprise, he opened his arms ever so slightly.
"Can I...?"
You stared at him.
He hadn't hugged you in months.
When you didn't pull away, he slowly wrapped his arms around you, careful and gentle, as if he were afraid you'd disappear if he held you too tightly.
It was warm.
Comforting.
Painful.
You closed your eyes for just a second, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.
"I've missed this," he whispered.
Your heart shattered.
Because so had you.
But missing someone wasn't always enough to save a marriage.
That evening, the two of you sat together in the living room for the first time in weeks. The television played quietly in the background, though neither of you was paying attention. Sunghoon had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, his laptop balanced on his knees while he answered a few emails.
You were reading a book you hadn't turned a page of in almost fifteen minutes.
The silence wasn't awkward anymore.
It was... peaceful.
"I spoke to the lawyer today," Sunghoon suddenly said, closing his laptop.
Your fingers tightened around your book.
"Oh."
"He asked if we'd decided on a date."
You nodded slowly.
"I told him..."
He paused.
"...that I wanted to wait."
You looked up.
His gaze stayed fixed on the coffee table.
"I don't know if waiting changes anything."
"It might not."
"But rushing into it doesn't feel right either."
Your eyes softened.
"Why?"
He let out a tired laugh.
"Because despite everything..."
He looked at you.
"...I still come home looking for you."
The confession stole the air from your lungs.
"I still wonder whether you've eaten."
"I still catch myself reaching for my phone whenever something funny happens because you're the first person I want to tell."
His smile was bittersweet.
"I don't think people stop loving each other overnight."
A lump formed in your throat.
"They just get lost."
Tears threatened to spill, but you forced them back.
"I don't know if I know how to find us again."
He nodded.
"I don't know either."
For the first time in months, there were no raised voices.
No accusations.
Just two people admitting that neither of them knew how to repair what they'd broken.
At that exact moment, your stomach lurched.
You shot to your feet so quickly that your book fell to the floor.
"Y/N?"
"I'll... I'll be right back."
You hurried upstairs, pressing a hand over your mouth before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sunghoon watched you go, worry etched across his face.
A few seconds later, the sound of retching echoed faintly through the hallway.
He immediately stood.
His first instinct was to go after you.
Instead, he stopped outside the bathroom door, resting a hand against the wood.
"...I'm here if you need me."
You squeezed your eyes shut on the other side, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks.
"I know," you whispered so quietly he couldn't hear.
Outside, your phone began ringing from where you'd accidentally left it on the coffee table downstairs.
Neither of you noticed.
The screen lit up with a familiar name.
Dr. Han.
His stomach tightened.
You'd told him you'd seen a doctor because of stress. Seeing your doctor call twice in less than a minute made him wonder if something was wrong.
He answered.
"Hello?"
There was a brief pause before a warm voice spoke on the other end.
"Good evening, Mrs. Park. This is Dr. Han calling from Evergreen Women's Clinic. I wanted to follow up regarding the symptoms you mentioned during your appointment. Have the morning sickness and dizziness improved at all?"
Sunghoon frowned.
"...I'm sorry?"
Another pause.
"Oh... am I speaking to Mr. Park?"
"...Yes."
"I'm terribly sorry. I assumed Mrs. Park had already told you."
His grip around the phone tightened.
"Told me... what?"
The doctor fell silent for a second, clearly realizing she'd made a mistake.
"It's regarding her pregnancy," she answered carefully. "Considering she's approaching her ninth week, nausea, fatigue, and food aversions are perfectly normal. We were also hoping to schedule her next prenatal appointment before the end of next week."
Everything around him seem to disappear, except you.
Sunghoon couldn't take his eyes off you.
The words from the phone call echoed endlessly inside his head.
Morning sickness... nine weeks... prenatal appointment... both mother and baby are healthy.
His hand was still wrapped around your phone, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was gripping it. You stood frozen at the foot of the staircase, every bit of color draining from your face the moment you realized he knew.
Neither of you spoke.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
"You were pregnant..." he whispered, his voice so quiet it barely reached you. "This whole time."
You swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eye. "...Yes."
A hollow laugh escaped him, though there wasn't an ounce of humor behind it. He looked away for a moment, blinking rapidly as he tried to compose himself, but the hurt was written all over his face.
"So every morning..." he began, "when I heard you getting sick... when I kept asking if you were okay... when I asked if you wanted me to take you to the hospital..." He looked back at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "You already knew."
You nodded weakly.
"I found out after we agreed to the divorce."
"And you decided not to tell me."
"It wasn't that simple."
"It feels pretty simple to me."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make your chest tighten.
"You looked me in the eye every single day and lied."
"I wasn't lying."
"No?" His eyebrows pulled together. "You told me it was stress. You told me you were fine. You let me think something was wrong, and every time I asked, you pushed me away."
"I didn't know what else to do!"
The words escaped before you could stop them.
Sunghoon fell silent.
Your breathing grew uneven as tears blurred your vision. "What was I supposed to say? 'By the way, I'm carrying your baby while we're signing divorce papers?'"
"I deserved to know."
"I know you did!"
Your voice cracked.
"I know that!"
The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"I thought about telling you every single day."
You covered your mouth, trying to steady your breathing.
"I even picked up my phone so many times..." you admitted through sobs. "I wrote messages... I deleted them... I practiced what I'd say if you came home early... but every time I looked at the divorce papers, I couldn't do it."
Sunghoon's expression softened for only a second before the hurt returned.
"So you chose for both of us."
"No."
"Yes, you did."
He shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"You decided I didn't deserve to know I was going to be a father."
"I decided I didn't want you to stay because you pitied me!"
The room fell silent.
Your words hung heavily between you.
"I know you, Sunghoon," you whispered, wiping your cheeks. "You would've canceled everything. You would've torn up those divorce papers before I even finished speaking."
"Of course I would've."
"Exactly!"
His answer caught you off guard.
"You just proved my point."
"No." He stepped closer, stopping a few feet away. "I would've torn them up because my wife had been carrying something this huge all by herself."
"You would've stayed because of the baby."
"I would've stayed because I still love you!"
His voice cracked for the first time.
The confession echoed through the house.
Neither of you moved.
Sunghoon looked away, taking a shaky breath before speaking again, this time much quieter.
"Do you really think I've spent these past few weeks sleeping in the guest room because I stopped loving you?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I slept there because every time I looked at you, I was reminded that I'd failed you. I convinced myself that maybe you'd be happier without me."
Your heart clenched.
"I never stopped loving you either," you admitted. "But loving someone isn't always enough when all you do is hurt each other."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
Another long silence settled between you.
It wasn't angry anymore.
It was heartbreaking.
Sunghoon glanced at the phone still sitting on the coffee table before quietly placing it down. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red.
"I missed everything."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The first doctor's appointment."
"You hearing our baby's heartbeat."
"You finding out."
He swallowed hard.
"And I wasn't there."
A fresh wave of guilt crashed over you.
"I didn't want to do it alone."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I was scared."
Your shoulders shook as another sob escaped.
"I was scared that if I told you, I'd never know whether you stayed because you loved me... or because you felt responsible."
Sunghoon closed the distance between you, but he didn't touch you.
Not yet.
"I can't change the mistakes I've already made," he said quietly. "I can't take back the nights I chose work over you or the arguments that pushed us here."
His voice trembled.
"But don't ever believe that our child would be a burden to me."
He paused, fighting back tears of his own.
"Or that loving you was ever an obligation."
Your eyes met his.
For the first time in months, neither of you was pretending to be okay.
There were no walls left.
Just two broken people standing in the middle of the home they'd built together, finally admitting how deeply they'd hurt each other.
The divorce papers were still waiting on the dining table.
Neither of you looked at them.
Not because everything had suddenly been fixed.
But because, for the first time in a very long while, they no longer felt like the only possible ending.
🏷️ : light jealousy, playful teasing, clinginess, physical affection (hugs, hand holding,cuddling), protective boyfriend behavior, mentions of flirting, comfort, established relationship, lots of fluff, cheesy boyfriend behavior.
❤︎ : hey guys ik im supposed to be posting the pt2 for that seonghyeon story but like it’s taking me sooo long to think of anything idk if i even wanna finish it im so unmotivated help, also seonghyeon headcons coming soon for my lovely moot that requested ( I didn’t forget abt you queen I swear).
bf!james : who absolutely melts whenever you play with his hair. He’ll pretend he’s still watching the movie, but within five minutes his eyes are closed and he’s leaning into your hand like it’s the most relaxing thing in the world. If you stop, he’ll mumble, “…why’d you stop?” without even opening his eyes.
bf!james : who randomly sends you pictures throughout the day with absolutely zero context. A cloud shaped like a heart. His coffee. A cat sleeping outside. A blurry selfie where half his face is missing. When you ask why he sent them, he simply replies, “Wanted you to see what I’m seeing.”
bf!james : who always notices the tiny things. You tied your hair differently? He noticed. You switched perfumes? He noticed. You’re quieter than usual? He noticed before you even realized it yourself. He’ll gently bump your shoulder and ask, “You okay?” because he can somehow read you better than anyone else.
bf!james : who loves stealing little moments with you. Waiting for the elevator? He’s holding your hand. Standing in line? He’s leaning against your shoulder. Walking together? Somehow your fingers are already intertwined before you even realize it.
bf!james : who playfully argues over absolutely everything just to hear you defend yourself. “Brownies only taste better with vanilla ice cream.” “It literally doesn’t.” “Convince me.” He isn’t trying to win. He just loves watching you get animated while explaining your point.
bf!james : who immediately reaches for your hand whenever you look overwhelmed in crowded places. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He just quietly threads his fingers through yours and gently leads you through the crowd, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze every few steps.
bf!james : who secretly loves when you wear his hoodies or just his clothes overall, Every single time he notices one missing, he already knows where it went. Instead of asking for it back, he’ll grin and say, “Guess I have to come see you if I ever want that hoodie back.”
bf!james : who cannot stay fake mad at you for more than five minutes. You’ll catch him trying to keep a serious face, only for him to crack the second you smile at him. “…Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “…Be cute when I’m trying to be upset.”
bf!james : who always walks you to your door, even if it’s late and even if he has somewhere to be. He waits until you’re safely inside before leaving, and without fail, your phone lights up thirty seconds later.
— 4k words ꣑ৎ pairing: bf ! Martin x afab ! Reader. genre: fluff ꣑ৎ warnings: mentions of menstrual cycle, mentions of period cramps synopsis: During a casual dorm hangout, you unexpectedly got your period. You try to hide the discomfort, but James notices right away and quietly alerts Martin.
The dorm living room smells like buttered popcorn and the faint citrus of someone's body wash. Martin's arm rests along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as the five six of you scroll through movie options. James sits cross legged on the floor, remote in hand, while Juhoon and Seonghyeon argue over whether the next film should be action or comedy. Keonho is already halfway through a bag of gummy worms, offering you one every few minutes with a grin.
You shift slightly, feeling the familiar twinge low in your belly. It started during the walk over—nothing too dramatic, just a steady, dull ache that you know will eventually build. You press your thighs together to keep your expression neutral, determined not to ruin the mood. Martin laughs at something James says, the sound warm and easy, and you smile along even as another cramp rolls through you.
James glances up from the floor, narrowing just a fraction. He's always been observant, the kind of friend who catches the smallest changed in breathing or posture. You see the moment he registers the way your hand has drifted to your lower stomach, the way your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. He doesn't say anything right away, just watches you for another moment before turning back to the screen.
The opening credits roll. You try to focus on the dialogue, but the ache sharpens, spreading into your lower back. You breathe through it, slow and measured, hoping no one notices the slight tremor in your exhale. Martin's thumb traces absent circles on your shoulder, and you lean into the touch, grateful for the warmth.
Half an hour in, James pauses the movie. "Snack refill," he announces, standing and stretching. He catches your eye, tilting his head toward the kitchen. You shake your head, trying to look casual. "I'm good," you say, voice steady. He studies you for a second longer, then nods and heads fro the kitchen alone.
You hear the fridge open, then the low murmur of voices. Martin's hand stills on your shoulder. A moment later James returns, a fresh bowl of popcorn in one hand and a can of soda in the other. He sets them on the coffee table, then leans down to murmur something to Martin's ear. You catch only the tail end—"she's hurting bro"—before Martin's posture changes. His arm slides from the couch back to rest fully around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him.
"Hey," he says softly, just for you. "You okay?"
You nod, automatic. "Yeah, just a bit tired."
Martin doesn't push. Instead he reaches for the blanket draped over the arm rest and tucks it around your legs, the motion is so natural that the others barely glanced over. James catches your eye again and gives a tiny, reassuring nod before settling back on the floor.
The movie continues, but Martin's attention had shifted. Every few minutes he adjusts the blanket, or offers you a sip of water, or lets his hand rest warm and steady over your knee. The cramps ebb and flow, sometimes sharp enough to make your breath catch. You keep your face neutral, but Martin notices the tiny flinch every time. He leans in, voice low. "Bathrooms free if you need it. I can grab anything from the store—pads, chocolates, whatever you want."
You shake your head, cheeks warm. "I'm fine, really."
He doesn't argue, but the next time the pain spikes he stands, murmuring something about more snacks. When he returns he's carrying a hot bottle of water wrapped in a dish towel. He slips it under the blanket and against your lower stomach without a word, the heat soaking through your clothes and easing the worst of the ache. You exhale, shoulders loosening for the first time all evening.
Juhoon notices the exchange and raises an eyebrow, but Martin just shakes his head with a small smile. The others take the hint and keep the conversation light, talking over the movie about upcoming concerts and new choreography. Keonho offers you the last gummy worm, and when you accept it he grins like he's won something. Seonghyeon shifts closer on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours in silent solidarity.
Another cramp hits, sharper this time. You press the hot water bottle tighter against your belly, biting the inside of your cheek. Martin's hand finds yours under the blanket, fingers interlacing. He squeezes once, a silent question. You squeezed back, grateful for the anchor.
James stands again, stretching. "Anyone want takeout? I was thinking soup—something warm." He looks at you specifically, and you realize he's offering to rest without drawing attention. You nod, and he pulls out his phone, already scrolling through menus. Martin stays beside you, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, soothing arcs.
The food arrives twenty minutes later. Martin helps you sit up, careful not to jostle the hot water bottle. He hands you a bowl of miso soup, steam curling up in fragrant ribbons. "Sip it slow," he murmurs. The warmth spreads through your chest, easing the tension in your shoulders. You manage a few spoonfuls before another cramp rolls through, and Martin's hand returns to your knee, grounding you.
Juhoon clears the empty containers when everyone finishes, and Seonghyeon suggests switching to a lighter movie. The group settles into a comfortable rhythm—shared blankets, quiet laughter, the occasional hand squeeze from Martin when he feels you tense. The pain is still there, but it feels smaller with so many people looking out for you.
At some point Martin disappears into his room and returns with a fresh pair of your favorite sweatpants and one of his oversized hoodies. "Change if you want," he says, voice soft. "They're clean." You take them gratefully, slipping into the bathroom. The fabric soft against your skin, the hoodie carrying the faint scent of his detergent. When you return, Martin's eyes light up, and he pulls you back onto the couch, tucking the blanket around you again.
The evening stretches on. Keonho falls asleep first, head lolling against Seonghyeon's shoulder. Juhoon scrolls through his phone, occasionally showing funny clips to James. Martin stays focused on you—adjusting the hot water bottle when it cools, offering more water, pressing gentle kisses to your temple when the others aren't looking. Each small act of care chips away at the discomfort, replacing it with a quiet warmth that has nothing to do with the heating pad.
Eventually the movie ends. James stands up, stretching. "I should head out. Early practice tomorrow." He catches Martin's eye, and something unspoken passes between them. Martin nods once, then turns back to you. "You can stay if you want," he offers. "I'll make tea, and we can just… rest."
You agree, and the others file out with quiet goodbyes. Juhoon ruffles your hair on the way past, Seonghyeon offers a gentle smile, and Keonho waves sleepily from the doorway. When the door clicks shut, Martin exhales, shoulders relaxing. He pulls you closer, one hand rubbing slow circles over your lower back.
"Better?" he asks.
You nod, the worst of the pain dulled by the heat and his steady presence. "Much."
He stands, disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the kettle click on, the soft clink of mugs. When he returns carrying two steaming cups of chamomile, the scent sweet and soothing. He hands you one, then settles beside you again, legs stretched out so you can rest against his chest.
You sip the tea in comfortable silence. Martin's fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, the touch feather light. Every so often he presses a kiss to the top of your head, the gesture automatic, like breathing. The cramps have eased into a manageable ache, the kind you can ignore as long as he keeps holding you like this.
At some point you drift, half asleep against his chest. Martin shifts only to set the mugs aside, then pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders. His heartbeat steady under your ear, a quiet rhythm that lulls you deeper into rest. You wake once to find him still awake, eyes soft in the dim light. He smiles when he sees you looking, presses another kiss to your forehead, and whispers that you should get some sleep.
You do, wrapped in his hoodie, wrapped in his arms, wrapped in the certainty that you're cared for. The pain is still there, bu it feels smaller with Martin beside you—ready with heat and tea and quiet words, ready to notice even when you try to hide it. The night stretches on, gentle and safe, the dorm quiet except for the sound of his breathing and the occasional soft press of his lips against your hair.
Morning light filters through the blinds when you wake. Martin is still there, arm heavy and comforting across your waist. He stirs when you move, blinking sleepily before pulling you closer. "How're you feeling?" he asks, voice rough with sleep.
"Better," you admit. The worst has passes, leaving only a faint ache that the heat and his presence have already begun to soothe. Martin smiles, small and relieved, then presses a kiss to your cheek. "Good. Want breakfast? I can make eggs, or we can order something."
You choose eggs, and he slips out of bed, padding into the kitchen. You hear the sizzle of butter in the pan, the quiet clink of plates. When he returns he's carrying two plates and another hot water bottle, this one wrapped in a fresh towel. He sets everything on the nightstand, then climbs back into bed, pulling you against his chest once more.
You eat in comfortable silence, the eggs warm and comforting. Martin keeps one arm around you the whole time, occasionally offering you a bite from his own plate. When you finish he clears the dishes, then returns back to tuck the blanket around you again. The day stretches ahead, full of comforts—more tea, more heat, more quiet moments where Martin notices exactly what you need before you have to ask.
By mid morning the pain has faded to a distant memory. Martin suggests a walk if you're up for it, or a movie marathon if you'd rather stay in. You choose the couch, and he settles beside you, remote in hand, the hot water bottle still tucked against your stomach. the rest of the day passes in gentle waves—snacks, soft laughter, the occasional kiss pressed to your temple. Martin never leaves your side, his presence a steady anchor that makes the discomfort feel small and manageable.
Evening comes again, and with it the quiet certainty that you're exactly where you're meant to be—wrapped in Martin's hoodie, wrapped in his care, wrapped in the knowledge that even on the hardest days, he'll notice, he'll stay, and he'll make sure you never have to face it alone.
IN WHICH — Martin is secretly dating his producer and sometimes secrets can be too hard to hide.
idol!martin x producer!reader
୨⎯ contains: secret relationship • romance • fluff • minimal cursing • kissing • being caught • love martin in this • teeny tiny argument ⎯୧
wc. 896
j's corner ˚ · . part two because someone suggested it.... ugh, martin is wrecking me so bad lately
part 1 part 2
It was another hard day in the studio with Martin and what you mean by hard was that Martin was trying to get your attention every second. You had kept waving him off, trying to focus on the beat and lyrics you two were writing.
"Mars, we need to focus. You've got the upcoming tour shows and we have less time to get this done then." you look to him, slightly frustrated.
His head drops with a deep sigh before he notices your gaze fall back onto the lyric sheet. He reaches out, gently taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger.
The thing that pains you most about this is that Martin is always so gentle. That's why you find it so hard to focus on work when it's just you two in the studio.
Though, you cannot risk almost being caught again. That kiss was such a fond memory, but it needed to stay that way. Things were already hard, and an issue within the group was not needed.
Your thoughts die down when Martin whispers your name with his soft tone. The tone is one he almost never lets anyone but you hear. Your eyes find his again, watching the emotions swirling in his brown irises.
"Baby, I keep trying to tell you this, but you won't let me." he starts, "This beat is the last thing I care about right now."
Your eyes widen the smallest bit, "What do you mean? Martin, this is so important."
"No, what's important to me right now is you, you're my priority. I'm about to go to Chicago in a few days, then I'll be in North America for a while. I want to enjoy my last few days with you before we can't see each other." Martin's voice never raises the whole time he speaks, he would never yell at you, he just needs you to understand his reasoning.
"Martin..."
"No, listen, please. I love you, and you know that. I cherish these moments with you, that's why I'd rather focus on you right now." he adds.
Your whole entire demeanor softens as you stare at him, "Mars, I love you too, and I want these moments too. I'm just worried about the repercussions."
He nods, understanding where your anxiety about the situation is coming from. He get's scared too, but the want overpowers it most of the time.
"Why don't we focus on the song for another half hour, hm?" he asks, giving you an option that would satisfy both of you.
You nod, leaning in to give him a long hug. His arms wrap around you tightly as he gives you a small squeeze. When you pull back, the both of you start chatting about the lyrics again.
Around half an hour later, Martin watches your focused face as you re-arrange the beats on the computer. He tries to hold off, he really does, but to him you look too pretty to resist.
His hand comes out, cupping your cheek and moving your face towards his. His eyes search yours as his thumb running along the bottom of your lip.
"The beat-" you start, but he interrupts you.
"Fuck the beat." Martin mumbles before dragging your lips to meet his.
You immediately melt into the kiss. You had your worries about kissing in the studio, but they seemed to slip away once you felt his soft lips. They moved against yours with a gentle passion.
You knew you should pull away, that there was no excuse to almost get caught again. This time, you weren't in some noise cancelling booth, you were in the open, meaning you could hear the footsteps.
Once your hand comes up to thread through his hair, his head tilts. He lets out a small noise when you tug lightly on the blonde strands that had grown out over the past months.
He pulls back just barely, licking his lips, "Strawberries."
Your brows furrow at his mumble, "What? Genuinely what are you saying?"
His eyes are lidded as he looks back at you, "You taste like strawberries." he mumbles as he connects your lips again. This kiss is more fierce than the one before.
The strawberry chapstick you had put on earlier flashes through your closed eyes. The two of you are so sucked into this kiss that you don't hear the footsteps and laughed from the hallway.
"You like strawberries?" you ask, smiling into the kiss into the kiss.
"I love strawberries, baby." he mumbles back, tilting his head again to deepen the kiss.
"I'm sure you do, baby." a new voice rings through the studio room, a voice you recognize to be Juhoon.
You immediately pull back, eyes wide and struck with fear. Martin groans and drops his hand from your face. When the boys register in your vision, their expressions are one of shock.
"You two have so much explaining to do, right now." James speaks as both Keonho and Seonghyeon nod.
"We're so fucked," you whisper, looking back to Martin, whose face is slightly red. You're sure your face is more flushed than the light pink on his.
"At least I can kiss you more now." Martin says, to which you lay a slap on his shoulder.
"Hurry up, Strawberry Boy." Seonghyeon frowns, to which you let out a small laugh at the name.
𑣲⋆ it takes a man to live, it takes a woman to make him compromise, so be in my eyes, and be in my heart
⋮ ⌗ tags: boy next door! martin x reader | series of headcanons/oneshots | relationship development | romcom elements | that one trope where you pretend to be married for the couple discounts 😹 #cheapskates | climbing through windows cliche | serenading | confessions | sharing a bed (nothing weird) | accidental domesticity | kissing | fluff | martin’s a flirt (albeit a bad one) | w.c. 9k
⋮ ⌗ Despite what you may assume, Martin is not a try-hard. He doesn’t volunteer at the shelter because girls think it’s attractive, and he doesn’t carry groceries for old people hoping someone will notice. He just happens to be walking by. Funny then, that for all the people he’s charmed in this town, there was only one girl capable of reducing him to a complete idiot. And oh he wanted her all over. What poor planning on his part.
Boy next door! Martin, who you’re still fairly convinced is a bit of a creep.
When you say this to his face, though more accurately across the small stretch of air between both your windows, he clutches at his chest like you’ve wounded him in some tragic way.
“Y/n,” a deeply scandalized Martin says. “You’re so mean. You know how self-conscious I am about these things.”
You don’t look up from your work. Instead, you just wave him off.
“Then do both of us a favor and leave me alone. I’m trying to work.”
“Yeah, well you’re always working.”
“Trying to pass.”
“You’ve been passing. People who work as hard as you usually end up graduating valedictorian.”
“And the people that distract them usually end up unemployed.”
There’s a long pause after that, then a quieter mutter from his side of the window.
“...Creep… I’ll have you know my mother raised me right.”
“I’m sure she did.”
Alright, maybe you were exaggerating. But what else were you supposed to call someone who persisted that relentlessly in whatever he wanted from you? The fact that your windows faced one another didn’t do you any favors either, though perhaps for him it did.
By now, you’d known Martin for quite a while, ever since your family moved into the neighborhood. And for reasons other than his height, Martin had never once considered making himself less of a Martin for anyone else’s comfort. Even if he’d been 5’3, he still would’ve been hard to miss or avoid. He’s annoying like that.
Oh, but he’s just so adorable, isn’t he?
You have a fully developed frontal lobe, you believe, and with all the years of accumulated experience you currently possess, you are, in theory, equipped for this slow horror of adulthood. But the devil, in all his infinite wisdom, has grown lazy. Once upon a time he offered money and power and a break from the common lowly miseries. These days though, the devil has reinvented himself as a hormonal teenage girl who’s only contribution to your inner mind is gossiping about some idiot boy.
“I’m sure she did.” You set your pencil down and decide to indulge him, resting your chin in your hand with a look you know is too knowing for your own good. “Everyone just seems to like you, don’t they?”
Martin scoffs and looks down. “Yeah. Except you.”
“Aww, who says I didn’t?”
That gets him to look up, and there’s a brief and unmistakable flicker. Martin thinks there are many things a person can do with reason if the girl of their dreams looked at them like that, which is to say, not a lot.
“I guess I’ll do both of us a favor. Did you know studying with music playing gives you more brainpower?”
You pick your pencil again and go back to your work. “Did you know that isn’t actually true?”
Martin, ever the optimist, smiles at you anyway. “You’ll see.”
He disappears from view for a moment, then comes back with his acoustic guitar, the old battered thing you’ve heard him talk about more than once, down to the scratches he remembers all the stories to. Even the ones you never thought to ask about.
After a fair amount of fumbling he’d sooner die than admit to, Martin finally manages to settle himself on the windowsill, his feet swinging freely over the drop. You look up from your textbook long enough to send him a panicked look; you’re going to fall. At least, that’s what he chooses to believe you’re saying. He looks back without missing a beat. Already have.
The rest of Sunday slips through your lead-stained fingers and his calloused ones. Your notebook has gained several completed pages, Martin has worked his way through half a dozen songs by then, and the one thing that made the least amount of progress that day was your determination not to think about him and the fact that he was basically seranading you the whole afternoon.
It’s the devil, I tell you.
Boy next door! Martin, who happens to be very handy. Being an only son had taught him a surprising number of things.
Consider the most common disasters that keep a household in business. Washing machine acting up? You call a guy. Tire gone flat, and there’s another guy. Sink leaking, pipe bursting, fridge making an ominous noise, there’s a guy for almost everything. There exists the little luxuries of a modern life, of course, and just as certainly there will be costs for them.
Martin was your ‘guy’.
“You better not erase anything on there. I got work to do in a few hours.” You linger beside your desk with your arms folded right as Martin glances at you and furrows his brows.
“You drag me into your room to fix your computer and threaten me.” He sets his backpack down by the chair and unzips it. “How wonderful.”
“Is this gonna take long?”
“Most people would start with a hello, or a, hey thanks for stopping by to fix my junky computer, I really appreciate it.”
“I said hello downstairs.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Martin kneels beside the computer tower and turns it gently away from the fall, running his fingers over the screws out of habit before twirling it with a screwdriver. He clears his throat as the first screw comes loose.
“Could be a power supply issue. Could be the drive.” The second screw clinks softly onto your desk. “Or your motherboard.” He slides the side panel free with a careful tug before glancing up at you over his shoulder. “We won’t know if you’re just going to rush me.”
The side panel comes off with a metallic groan. Martin sets it carefully under the desk, angles the tower toward himself, and clicks his tongue. Inside, the case is dustier than it ought to be, enough to suggest that the fan filters have been ignored for a while. A thick little gray buildup clings to the corners near the intake, and one of the cables has slipped a little too close to the fan for comfort.
“Did you ever clean this thing?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Yes.”
You blink. “... Really?”
Martin lets out a little breathless laugh. “Computers are a little like teeth, y’know. If you only pay attention to them when something hurts, you’ve probably waited a little too long.”
“You’d know a lot about that, huh?”
Slowly, he turns to look at you. “Y/n, are you implying I have terrible teeth?”
“I’ve seen you come home from the dentist completely drugged up on anesthesia more than once. Through my window, by the way. There must’ve been something wrong with your teeth.”
“So you’re just implying you’re a stalker, is that it?”
You grab the nearest pillow and toss it at him, and without looking, he catches it against his chest. Martin grins, all terribly healthy teeth and all. They look perfectly fine. Better than yours, actually. His smile is just another matter you aren’t really adamant about bringing up.
“I’ll get this working again in a couple of hours.” Martin brushes the dust from his hands onto his jeans before standing. “You can take a nap in the meantime.”
You eye him suspiciously. “And leave myself unconscious in a room alone with you?”
There’s a brief pause before he retaliates. “You think I’m the problem here?”
“Well I don’t know Martin. Who knows what you might try.”
He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, little missy. You’ve got some deeply unaddressed trust issues that need to get checked, seriously.”
“Mmh,” You crawl beneath your blanket, already turning toward the wall. “M’kidding, Edwards. Wake me up when you’re done.”
“Nighty night.”
Boy next door! Martin, who happens to be so handy in fact, that he becomes a recurring character in your house, courtesy of your father, who likes to joke that having one bratty daughter and no sons is an unfortunate imbalance to his life. Not that your father doesn’t love you. He does. It’s just that when it comes to repairs, you’re not exactly useful in the way he would prefer.
Martin, meanwhile, almost always shows up at the worst possible moment.
You had just gotten out of a very long, very steamy bath, feeling clean and ultimately pleased with yourself until you caught your reflection in the mirror and saw that you had managed to shave yourself into the general texture of a potato. Oh well.
With one towel wrapped around your body and another around your hair, you step out of the bathroom and are about to head for your room when—
“Wha—Martin?!”
He looks up from the box he’s been rummaging through at the foot of the staircase, one hand still gripping a drill, the other half-buried in a handful of nails. The second he sees you, the both of you go still, and the guise of the situation lands on you at the exact same time.
“Holy shit—”
“Get the fuck out! Oh my god—”
Martin jerks backward so quickly he nearly drops the drill, then immediately covers his eyes with one hand as if that might somehow undo the fact that he’s now seen you. You would feel bad for him if you weren’t the one standing there in nothing but a towel and ready to evaporate from all this mortification.
“Jesus, where’d you come from?!”
You’re already backing up, trying your best to pull the towel closer to yourself.
“The shower?! What are you doing in my house?”
“Your dad called me over to help him put up a shelf!”
Martin fumbles the words out fast, grabbing the box of nails again before waving a hand in your general direction.
“Oh god, okay I didn’t see anything, I’m heading down—”
“Hurry!”
You whirl around and practically sprint toward your room, towel clinging for dear life, cheeks burning, and your heart pounding like a witness. Martin, meanwhile, runs back downstairs, and when your dad asks why he’s suddenly gone so red, he blames it on the heat, which would have been believable if the weather outside had not been one of the most disappointingly temperate August afternoons in recent history.
A while later, when you head downstairs after growing some balls, you’re greeted by a blissfully clueless father and a flushed Martin.
You send them the flattest look you can manage. “Hey uh, I’m heading out to a friend’s. Be back later.”
“Plans with a friend,” your dad repeats, then nods toward the counter where Martin is still standing with a screwdriver set to the wall, clearly trying to seem invisible. “And while we’re on the subject of friends, aren’t you going to greet the one currently standing in our kitchen?”
You close your eyes for one brief, tragic second.
“...Hi, Martin.”
He chokes up a reply in return. “‘Sup.”
You veer your gaze towards your dad again. “Excellent. Can I go now?”
“Need a ride?”
‘No thanks.”
“Alright, be back by 6, okay?”
Most of the time, Martin’s heart is usually good for standard things; pumping up blood, keeping him alive, the usual. But this particular organ also has come to know that whenever you look at him, Martin seems to forget his rhythm altogether. So when you give him one last glance before you leave, the thing stumbles over itself in his chest, and he fears he might just give himself away sooner than later.
Boy next door! Martin, who leaves you things on your windowsill like a diligent little bird with his very own nesting spot.
His gifts were rarely grand enough to be called gifts, which was part of the problem. A CD with listen to this scribbled on a sticky note attached to it. Some snacks. A keychain. Little trinkets he had found all over the place and decided, for reasons best known to himself, that it should probably be yours.
Then there was the time he heard you making that miserable sound from your room, figured out you were on your period, and reappeared by your window like a chivalrous knight with a few too many pads, pain relievers, and hot packs, confessing he didn’t know which size you used and that he wasn’t prepared to get it all wrong. It was mortifying at the moment. Later though, after the embarrassment had settled down, it became one of those strangely conclusive truths about Martin: he was, for all his nonsense, a genuinely nice guy, and he really did mean well. Sometimes that made him a nuisance. Sometimes, it also made him a miracle, like an answered wish from a candle.
So evidently, you spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering why Martin was still single.
Because he was handsome, amongst other things. That much even the local aunties could agree on, and they were, for better or for worse, an intuition unto themselves. Objectively speaking, Martin had everything people claimed to want. One of your friends who went to his school told you he was practically impossible not to know. Martin just had that effect on people, and it made sense. He remembered names and birthdays, fixed things if only to stop you from crying, and laughed with his whole body. He was funny in the unintentional way, and so persistently kind.
He really should’ve been somebody’s boyfriend already. There had to be something slightly off in the universal laws to have left him unclaimed for this long.
Going back to the matter of Martin leaving things on your windowsill though, today’s gift had been more difficult to interpret than usual. So after a few minutes of knocking at his window from across with a stick, he finally appeared from inside and opened it, still in his school uniform, tie loosened at the collar, hair disheveled in a manner that suggested he had either spent the whole day frustratingly studying for once or he’d been dragged through a hedge. Either way, he looked really good all the same.
“Hey,” he said, squinting at you a little. “How was school?”
You lifted the mid-sized teddy bear, the roses, and the heart-shaped box of chocolates in one go. “Is this from you?”
Martin’s expression shifted from confusion to something faintly indignant. “Uh, yeah. Do you not know what day it is today?”
“It’s… Valentines Day.”
“Right.” He leaned an elbow against the window frame and grinned. “And do you remember what you said during the last Valentine's Day?”
“No?”
Martin gave you a look of great impatience and said, in a mocking high-pitched voice, “‘Oh man, I just wish some guy would give me flowers and chocolates and an ugly teddy bear so I could post it and pretend I wasn’t staring at everyone else’s Instagram stories feeling left out. Oh man.”
You stared at him, mouth agape. “Did I really say that?”
“You sure did. So, I decided to take the initiative.”
“Clearly,” you mutter. Then, because you’re still trying to process the fact that he even did this, you lift the whole arrangement a little higher. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Martin shrugged. “Record a boomerang of it or something, I don’t know. You’re welcome.”
You narrow your eyes. “Who am I gonna tag though?”
He paused just long enough for the answer to feel like a small trap. “No one. People get more intrigued when you’re in a mysterious relationship.”
“Even if there’s actually no mysterious relationship to be intrigued about.”
Martin gave you one of those long, knowing looks he was always doing now, then smiled that teasing little smile before turning back to wash up.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/n.”
You make a point of shutting your window and drawing the blinds. Then, once everything has been constricted down to the size of a single bedside, only then do you sink onto the edge of the bed, Martin’s gifts bundled awkwardly against your chest, a ludicrous embassy of red. It ought to be funny, except your chest has gone strange on you as you try, with very little success, to think in a straight line. As you try to reason out through all the confusion, your heart is worse than it is useless. It jolts and stumbles in your ribcage like something newly awakened.
Later that night, after posting the boomerang Martin had so graciously insisted upon, a public act of protest against whatever bizarre emotional crisis he’d managed to make out of you, your phone dings with another notification you decide to check.
1 new comment!
M.j.edwards: wow!!!! wonder who the lucky guy is :P
You throw your phone somewhere across the mattress, bury your face into the pillow until breathing becomes mildly constricted, and just before sleep finally catches up to you, one perfectly coherent thought manages to squeeze itself free:
Fuck this guy.
Boy next door! Martin, who always manages to turn every grocery run into a little domestic performance in which the two of you were a happily married couple with a mortgage and three children. For the discounts, of course. Right?
The discounts were real though. So was the fact that, whenever your parents were too busy to run errands on the weekends, somebody had to go, and that somebody had gradually become you, the respectable and considerate daughter you were by a long stretch and a generous interpretation of the word.
You didn’t have a car though. You also didn’t have the upper body strength required to haul a sack of rice home by yourself. Which left you, regrettably, in need of a big strong and willing man. If only there were someone…
“I think we need more than just one carton of eggs.” Martin said, stopping in front of the eggs isle and peering at the rows of cartons.
You leaned against the shopping cart and looked at the one already sitting inside. “Mom didn’t specify how many, so let’s just assume she only needed one.”
Martin lifted a brow. “Be honest, Y/n. Not even a family of 3 can survive on just one carton of eggs.”
“I don’t know what kind of diet your family put you on for you to grow like that, but I’m pretty sure we can.”
He made a faint sound of offense. “It’s just the Edwards genes.” Martin glanced back down at the egg display, then reached for another. “I’m getting another carton just in case, is that alright?”
“Do whatever.”
By the time you both reach the counter, the line has thinned to the far left in a halfhearted little tail that won’t be your problem anymore. You nudge the cart forward when it’s your turn, the wheels giving a soft complaint against the tiles, and the old woman at the register looks up with a soft smile.
“Will that be all, dear?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
Her gaze flicks from the cart to Martin and then back to you again, brightening in that knowing immediate way, as if they can smell romance the way dogs smell the rain.
“Oh, aren’t you two just adorable,” she says, and before you can decide whether to laugh or panic, she’s already continuing, warm and delighted. “How is everything? Got any kids?”
You make a sound of protest. “Oh no we’re not—”
“No kids, aunty.” Martin says at the exact same time, slipping so easily into the lie as he rests one hand against the cart and the other on your shoulder, giving the lady a smile so open you were doomed. “But everything’s doing alright, right honey?”
Your head turns toward him so sharply it would count as a whiplash. “Uh huh.”
“How long have the two of you been married?”
“It’s hard to say,” he says with a hint of mischief. “Time becomes a concept when you’re just so in love, huh?”
You stare at him. Don’t.
He stares back, too pleased with himself. Do something about it.
The old lady makes a small, approving noise. “Well, with a pretty girl like that, you ought to know what you’ve got, boy.”
Heat rushes up your neck so fast you’re certain Martin can see it. Beside you, his mouth twitches, and for one second you think he’s going to look just as embarrassed as you are. But he doesn’t, and instead leans a little closer to the counter.
“He’ll be carrying most of these, right?” She asks, nodding toward the bag of groceries.
You turn to Martin before he can answer. “Don’t worry, aunty. His mom raised him well.”
Martin reaches for the bagged rice and another two bags of groceries, holding them up as if to say I’ve got it, giving you a lazy smirk and a small wink. “See?”
The old lady bids you two farewell with an equally hearty smile. “You two have a nice day.”
And when you wheel the cart back toward the entrance, cheeks still hot and Martin encumbered with far too many bags, this whole thing seemed to hover just slightly beyond an ordinary life, luminous and a little detached. Martin tells you he secured the discount, fully content, and you watch him stack the bags into the back of his truck while the road holds steady at a distance and the afternoon burns on in its indifference.
You sigh before you can stop yourself and ask the sky, the birds, and the heat with all this childish longing in your chest for one small sign that what you feel for him isn’t a joke being played over your head, not a dare, not some cruel little ruse of timing.
“Any other place we need to head to? The bank? Pharmacy? Dry cleaners?”
You shake your head and let the window slide down. “Not on mom’s list so I think that’s it for today.”
“Then why don’t we get some kebab before heading back? I’ll treat.”
“I have no objections if it’s on you.”
When Martin turns that bright, tooth-baring grin on you and answers with some teasing little thing that ought to have been harmless, you look away toward the open window, toward the road and the heat-hazed distance beyond it, wishing for something small and true. God, where is that damn sign?
Boy next door! Martin, who your friends have promoted to “boyfriend” without your consent, no matter how many times you remind them that no, he isn’t.
In fairness, they’re working with some pretty damning evidence.
Because if you walked past your school’s parking lot and saw a guy from an entirely different campus casually posted up against his car calling out for one girl (in this case, that girl would be you), wouldn’t you assume boyfriend too?
“Oh look who it is.” Hyein sings beside you, nudging your shoulder hard enough to nearly send your notes flying. “Again.”
Sure enough, Martin’s leaning against his slightly dirty sedan, one hand shoved into his pocket while the other waves you down the second he spots you weaving through the flood of students spilling out of the school.
You sigh. “My dad’s probably still stuck at work.”
Three pairs of eyes swivel toward you. “Oh, don’t give us that excuse again, Y/n.” Iroha groans.
Yujin folds her arms and points dramatically between you and Martin, who. “You’re hiding something, and I think I know exactly what’s going on.”
“Haha.” You wince before she can finish, flashing the brightest smile you can manage while already walking backward toward the parking lot. “I don’t want to know what comes after that.”
“It starts with ‘boy’ and ends with—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow!”
You pivot on your heel and flee before the accusations can get the better of you, and the laughter that follows trails behind you all the way across the parking lot.
Martin reaches over to open the passenger door before you can. “Your dad asked me to pick you up.”
You climbed in while he rounded the hood toward the driver’s seat. The inside of the car smelled faintly of solder and the peppermint gum you told him to stop chewing on, lest he wanted to go on another trip to the dentist. He started the engine.
“I figured. Did you come here straight from school?” You ask as you buckle your seatbelt.
“Yeah. I got held back by band practice though.” He frowned slightly as he eased the car out of the parking space. “I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”
“No, I just finished.”
Traffic crawled as you pulled away from the school district, every other intersection painted red by another spotlight and another line of impatient cars. Martin didn’t seem to mind. He drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel whenever the car came to a stop, fingers tapping out a rhythm you vaguely recognized from whatever song he liked to play on a speaker in his room where the sound would reach your own.
“...and then our drummer, Juhoon, kept insisting we were rushing the chorus,” he said, making a face. “But we weren’t rushing. He just kept slowing down.”
“So who was right?”
“I was. Obviously.”
“Sounded pretty biased to me.”
“If you say so.”
By the time he turned onto your street, the sun had already slipped low enough to stain the rows of houses gold, the light catching in the windshield until you had to squint. Martin pulled up neatly against the curb and shifted the car into park.
You twisted around to grab your backpack from the backseat, only—
“I got it.”
You looked over.
“You don’t have to, Martin.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been carrying it all day. So I can carry it ten more feet.”
“I know.”
Martin let out one long sigh through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling into the laziest grin. “I got it.”
By the time you’d shut the passenger door, he’d already slung your backpack over one shoulder, so there was no way to protest now. And the thing looked silly on him because of how small it seemed compared to Martin.
He climbed the two front steps ahead of you, waiting while you dug around in your pocket for your keys.
“Be careful on the way back. Check your rears and all that.”
“What would you know about driving, Y/n?”
“Enough to avoid getting killed. Thanks for the ride home Martin.”
“And thanks for letting me drive you.”
“...Letting you?”
“Mmh.”
“You make it sound like I did you a favor.”
“Well, you did.”
He’d probably spent thirty minutes driving across town after school, waited outside in the parking lot, carried your backpack all the way to your front door, and somehow you had done him the favor.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He gave a small nod, hands already tucked into the pockets of his school slacks.
“Okay. ‘Night, little missy.”
And there it was again. That abiding look. You take it to mean three things: goodnight, I’ll text you when I get back, or I’m glad I got to see you today. Which one, you’re never sure of.
By the time Martin gets home, which is basically just next to your house, the sky has long since traded its gold for a hazy blue-gray.
He toes off his shoes in the entryway, mutters a quick hello to his parents somewhere deeper in the house, and shrugs out of his school uniform before changing into some more comfortable clothes. And homework can wait. Well, homework will wait.
He crosses his room and reaches for the cord hanging beside his window. The blinds rattle softly as they climb, and there you are. It’s a sight he awaits to see every single night ever since he’s had the chance to look at it.
Your blinds are open too. They usually are, and Martin tells himself that’s why he’s always looking. Because they’re open, and because his are too. Because it’d be stranger to deliberately avoid the window than it would be to glance outside every now and then. Except ‘every now and then’ has, over the past few years, evolved into ‘every few seconds’.
But anyway, here are the things he’s managed to pick up on. He knows you study too much, and you do so with your legs folded beneath you until they inevitably go numb. He knows you chew the inside of your cheek whenever you get confused, knows you have the unfortunate habit of biting your nails while reading, only noticing after you’ve already ruined another perfectly good manicure. And whenever a topic finally pushes you one step too far, you grab your hair on both sides and tug.
Martin has watched this exact sequence enough times to predict it, and when he sees you do just that, he smiles not because of your frustration, but because he was right. It sends a wave of triumph straight through his chest.
If anyone asked, he’d have a difficult time explaining why simply existing in the same line of sight as you makes working on his own assignments feel a little less tedious. Fortunately, no one asks most of the time. And Martin certainly isn’t about to bring it up because that would seem—
Hah, he’d definitely sound like a creep, but in his head it was easier to pretend this was no stranger than any other nightly ritual.
Just like his window, which lifts each night beneath that thin, trembling thought that maybe…
Ah.
There you are.
Boy next door! Martin, who cares. Too much.
By the time you called him, it was well into the night. The party had long since crossed the invisible line between fun and too much without anybody seeming to notice but you. The music had been turned up several notches beyond what your ears could take, the lights had been dimmed until every face dissolved into moving shadows, and downstairs there was nothing but a blur of shouting, perfume, sticky floors, and bodies on bodies like they were a bunch of sardines.
You had escaped to the hallway upstairs some time ago. It was quieter here, if quieter simply meant you could at least finally hear yourself think over the bass rattling through the walls. One shoulder rested against the wall beside a bedroom with its door left half open, your phone clenched so tightly in your hand that it hurt. Every few seconds someone stumbled past laughing at something you couldn’t hear, disappearing down the staircase without sparing you a glance.
You’d never felt more out of place in your life.
Thankfully, Martin answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” His voice nearly made you want to cry with relief.
“Martin, hi.”
There was a pause just long enough for him to notice the strain in your voice, the music bleeding through, and the fact that you weren't calling him at nine-thirty on a Saturday night just to chat. And then he knew right away.
“Tell me where you are.”
“I…” You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against your aching forehead. “I don’t know where I am. It’s too crowded.”
“Okay.”
You waited for the inevitable why didn’t you check? or how’d you lose your friends? But it never came.
Instead he asked, “Can you ask somebody? Just the address. D’you think you can do that?”
You looked over the banister, at the people below still weaving around one another with their drinks balanced precariously in their hands. The thought of stopping one of them and trying to explain that you were lost in a house you’d willingly walked into three hours ago felt suddenly impossible.
“I don’t think so.”
A quiet exhale crackled through the speaker, then some thinking.
“Alright,” Martin said. “Why don’t you send me your location from your Maps app? Just pin it and send it to me.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll come get you.”
It all sounded so simple to him that, for a second, it barely seemed to attest with you at all. It would be that easy from Martin, would barely even qualify as a decision in his hands. No wary should I? Do you want me to? His answers were as definitive as he came.
You fumbled through your phone, missing the button twice before finally finding the app.
“There,” you mumbled after a moment. “I sent it.”
“Got it. Now give me a description of the house.”
You wandered toward the front windows, careful not to stray too far from the hallway, and peered through the glass. Beyond the reflections and the garden lights sat an enormous wrought-iron gate painted matte black.
“It’s…” You squinted harder. “Really big. Black gate.”
“Mmh.”
“And really tall.”
His keyboard clicked faintly through the phone. “Keep your phone on. I’ll call you when I’m there.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t wander off.”
You glanced back toward the stairs where another wave of strangers spilled into the hallway.
“I won’t.”
Martin came downstairs in sweats and a thin T’shirt that didn’t do enough to hide how much he was ready to fall asleep. His hair was still a little damp from the shower, and his dad peered up from the couch the moment he heard him cross the landing, looking mildly suspicious.
“Where are you off to so late?” His dad asked.
Martin reached for the keys on the little table by the door then glanced back over his shoulder. “Gotta pick Y/n up,” he had decided once and for all. “I’ll be fine. Don’t wait up.”
His dad’s expression shifted at once from curiosity to half-smothered amusement. “Be careful,”
The whole drive over, Martin tried very hard not to panic, which unfortunately only made him more aware of the fact that he was panicking. He spent the entire ride with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping restlessly against his thigh, telling himself to calm down. By the time he turned onto the street pinned on his GPS, he was already looking for the house with the black gate and the tall front wall, and sure enoug there it was, sitting at the end of the block. Even better, it was unmistakably hosting a party. Lights glowed through the windows, silhouettes moved behind the curtains, and the bass thumped so hard from inside the house Martin could feel it through the soles of his shoes the second he stepped out the car.
He would’ve preferred literally any other outfit for the occasion. But because he had been at home and expected to stay there until thirty minutes ago, this ugly Nike hoodie would have to do. No iced up swagged out Martin tonight. It happens.
He took out his phone and called you. Once, and no answer. He tried again. Still nothing.
Martin looked up at the house again, jaw tightening, and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Fine. He would simply go in, locate you, and then leave. Simple. He already had a plan, more or less, to ignore everyone who even glanced at him. And so he stepped through the open front gate, nodded awkwardly at nobody in particular, and went inside.
There were people everywhere, all of them moving in small, confident knots in a sympathetic sort of social chaos Martin had been denied. He muttered apologies to a handful of people for stepping on their feet, and called your number again as he moved deeper inside. Still nothing.
At that point, he was nervous, because something was definitely up. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you’d gotten separated from your friends. Maybe you were in some quiet corner trying not to cry, which was a thought already so upsetting Martin tried not to think about it further. He turned the corner into what looked like the living room, only to nearly walk straight into a group of girls who were all turned toward him at once, smiling with a kind of deviant interest.
“Oh my god,” one of them said, eyes flicking over his face and then down. “Are you with anyone?”
One of the girls leaned in a little, grinning. “We’re heading out to the back deck. You should come with.”
Martin looked down at her hand that had actually caught at his sleeve, then back at her face.
“No,” he said with enough firmness that she let go right away. “I’m looking for someone.”
She blinked, then laughed a little. “Okay, mystery man.”
They kept watching him as he moved past, and one of them called after him, “Come back if you get bored!”
Martin didn’t turn around. “I won’t!”
No sign of you still. He called your number again, then immediately groaned when it went to voicemail for the third time.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath.
Martin eventually found you at the far end of the kitchen, which was the worst possible place to be caught in a conversation you no longer wanted to be having, because there was no good way to leave it without looking rude and no good way to stay in it without feeling your skin crawl a little more every second.
The guy in front of you was too close, one hand braced against the counter beside your shoulder. He was smiling at something he had just said, though you’d already stopped listening about three sentences ago, and you kept offering the sort of tight little expressions that were for you meant to try and end the conversation, and instead seemed to encourage him to continue.
“So,” he was saying, leaning in a little more, “you come here a lot or what?”
You smiled with your mouth and absolutely nothing else. “Not really.”
“That’s crazy. I feel like I would’ve remembered seeing you around.”
You blinked at him.
No, you thought. You would have remembered deciding to leave.
“Yeah,” you stick to saying for the 100th time tonight. THere really was no dignified way to say I don’t know you and I don’t want to be doing this without somehow hurting this guy’s delicate manhood.
“Small world.”
“Mm.” His gaze dragged over your face, then to the rest of you, sizing you up. “You got a boyfriend?”
You had prepared for that question. Unfortunately, you were stupid enough anyway to reply with a “No.”
There was a pause, and then the smile on his face sharpened into something more pleased. “Good.”
You opened your mouth to say something when another voice cut between the two of you.
“She’s with me, buddy.”
The guy in front of you looked over first, annoyed by the interruption. You turned your head too, and there was Martin.
You’d never seen him angry before. He was usually the sort to play things down, the forgive-and-forget type. You thought of him as the kind of person who seemed constitutionally incapable of staying mad for very long, which was always why you never took him seriously. If you had ever wanted to know what it looked like when a six-foot-something guy who clearly hadn’t slept enough loomed over somebody in complete eerie silence, you now had the pleasure of finding out.
The guy glanced from Martin to you and back again. “I don’t think she wants that.”
Oh, I would want nothing more. You let out a long, exasperated sigh. Men. Such gifted readers of character, truly.
Martin didn’t move. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t puff himself up or do anything particularly cinematic, which was somehow the most unsettling version of him possible. He just looked at the guy.
And looked some more.
The silence that followed wasn’t all that barren. It was full, and hard, and woefully directed.
The guy then shifted his weight uncomfortably. “What? I was just talking to her dude.”
Martin’s gaze dropped to the hand still braced against the counter beside you. The guy seemed to see this because he pulled his hand back a little too quickly as if the gesture had suddenly become embarrassing.
“I think you need to wrap this up, man. I gotta get her out of here.”
Then the guy looked at you again, one more attempt at reclaiming the situation, and the expression on his face had gone a shade past offended into something stupidly affronted. “Whatever dude, party’s shit anyway.”
The moment he steps out of the kitchen, Martin nudges your shoulder and checks your forehead for a fever. “Coming?”
“Yes please.” The relief in your own voice was a little embarrassing, though you really were glad he was here.
“Cool.” His expression eased at once, and then he was guiding you toward the door with a steady hand at either shoulder, his taller frame hovering at your back like a stable presence.
By the time you got in the car, your head hurt so much. Martin seemed to notice the strain your eyes made visible. “Hey. Something wrong?”
“Head hurts like a bitch.”
“I’ll get us back in a hitch. Hold on a bit longer, okay?”
“I can do that.”
Martin eased the car up a little faster on the drive back, refusing out of pure principle to let you make a mess on his leather seats. Every so often he glanced over at you from the corner of his eye, checking for breathing and the general amount of color left in your face. The house lights slipped past in a soft smear of orange and white, and your head had long since stopped feeling attached to your body in any practical sense.
By the time he pulled up quietly up the curb outside your house, the street had gone dark. Martin killed the engine, got out, and came around to your side before you had time to fumble with the door yourself. He opened it and crouched a little, one hand braced on the frame.
“You good?”
“I gotta…” You swallowed hard. “Puke—oh god—”
“Alright, alright.” Martin reached in, gathered your hair back with one hand, and guided you as carefully as he could toward the bush near the fence where you folded over yourself and emptied your stomach into the dark with all the remaining poise you had left, which was to say none at all.
Martin stood close enough to keep you steady with one hand resting lightly between your shoulder blades while the other kept your hair clear. It would’ve been humiliating if he hadn't been so absurdly matter-of-fact about it. When you were finally done, he glanced toward the house. The windows were dark. No lights on downstairs.
He looked down at you. “You’re a champ.”
“Shut up, Martin.”
“Here.” He adjusted his stance and reached for you again, one arm going firmly around the back of your waist while your other arm was guided up over his shoulders. “I got you.”
The walk to the front door became a slow and awkward collaboration between his steadiness and your lack thereof. Martin supported your weight without making a fuss, his hand secure at your side, his voice low whenever you wobbled or muttered some complaint about being treated like a sack of laundry.
He got you up the stairs one careful step at a time. At the top landing, he paused just long enough to let you breathe, then guided you down the hall toward your room as quietly as he could. By the time he reached your door, you were mostly being held up by his one arm.
Martin nudged the door open with his free hand. “Alright, we made it.”
“My head hurts.” You complain as Martin settles you down on your mattress in a sitting position.
“Do you have any pain relievers lying around?”
“Used them all up when I had my period.”
Martin snorts, but it's mostly out of sympathy. “I’ll be right back.”
You watch him move toward your window, opening it as he’s climbed in and out numerous times before. He crosses to his own window across the way, fishes around for the stick he keeps by the frame, and opens that one too before hauling himself through.
“You better not fall and die.”
“You first.”
Then he disappears out of sight, and for a minute all you can do is stare at the window and try not to think about how your parents are probably asleep hard enough that they wouldn’t hear a train in the hallway, let alone Martin dropping back into your room like a cat burglar.
“Some Ibuprofen.” He handed you a pill, then his water bottle. “And water. I can’t risk going downstairs right now so this’ll have to do.”
“Thanks.”
He gives you a brief look, almost fond, almost disbelieving, then waits while you swallow the pill and hand the bottle back. You scoot over on the bed until there’s just enough room for him to climb in beside you, and he does so without indecision, settling with his back against the wall thinking this was where he’d always belonged at the end of the night.
Then Martin looks at you, takes in the exhaustion, the headache, the general state of your presence, and says, “You look horrific.”
You squint at him. “You say the nicest things.”
“I try.”
That gets a laugh out of you, albeit a tired one, and Martin’s mouth twitches in quiet achievement. He shifts a little against the wall then reaches for the blanket and pulls it up over your lap. Outside, the street was dim with only the occasional sweep of someone’s headlights slipping past the curtains. Inside, the window stood open just enough to let the air move through, and it was cool on the back of your neck, cool on your wrists, cool where it touched the damp edge of your hair. Martin sat beside you with his shoulder against the wall and his knees drawn up, looking tired but content.
“Did you know who that guy even was?” he asked at last, and there was nothing casual in it despite what it sounded like.
“No, he was pretty cocky too. Kept telling me about his new car and how I should join his Soho house.”
He let out a short breath through his nose. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Yeah.”
He turned his head then, slow enough that you could feel he wanted to pry. “What is it?”
You stared at the ceiling for a second, because the answer was not an easy one and you’d grown tired of pretending otherwise. “I don’t know. I really was just having fun a while ago, then it all turned to shit because the alcohol kind of got to me and the guys were pretty lame.”
“Were you there to look for a guy?”
“Not exactly.” Which wasn’t as far from the truth. “My friends just all have boyfriends now, and I guess they were trying to find someone for me. Don’t know where they went off to after a while, but I just suddenly felt awful.”
Martin’s expression changed, brows now furrowed. “S’that why you said you didn’t have a boyfriend to that guy earlier? Because you were looking for one?”
You turned your head toward him offensively. “Don’t make it sound stupid, dude.”
“I’m not trying to. But seriously? Him? Sleazy rich kid with the spunky attitude?”
“Isn’t that what they say love’s all about? Finding the beauty in something horrendous, or whatever the fuck?” You dragged a hand down your face. “Like… ah, Beauty and the Beast, for example. He was cruel before he was kind, and Belle stayed anyway. I guess she was rewarded in the end because he turned into this beautiful blonde hot prince. That’s the bargain, isn’t it? Love is supposed to redeem people.”
And you guessed you didn’t sound all that stupid, though the worry that you’d be perceived that way was still there. Maybe Martin would think you were only some overinterested, underloved, chronically single woman reading too much into every little thing. Worse, maybe whatever this feeling had become would dry up under that kind of scrutiny and leave you with nothing but embarrassment. Because unlike the dramatic little trials people always seem to assign to love in the stories, Martin was anything but difficult. Not a necessary pilgrimage over rough holy ground. No, Martin was easy, and oh so serene. That, more than anything, disturbed you.
Martin turned his body toward you, one shoulder going easy against the wall. He looked at you for so long before speaking that you’d already predicted by then what would come out would’ve been something very hypercritical.
Instead, he asks a question. “Y/n, do you want me to tell you something a little seditious?”
“What?”
“You’ve got love all wrong.”
Not what you expected. Then again, it was better than being criticized anyway.
“How can I get love wrong?”
“Because it’s a very pessimistic approach.” Martin let out a small huff of a laugh and shook his head.
“I’m not trying to mansplain anything to you, but you think it all has to hurt before it can even mean anything. Does the hurt somehow make it more invaluable? I don’t think you have to dig and dig and excavate through everything ugly first like some godawful price of admission to have something beautiful.”
His eyes wandered for a second before settling back on yours. “And sure, it’ll make for some good storytelling. Maybe it’ll give your relationship some edge. When it’s fiction, people like to eat that stuff up. But that’s not always how it should be.”
Martin looked relieved, and his voice softened. Now, he was close enough that neither of you had to raise your voices anymore. “Love can be just beautiful. You can either be a war heroine crawling out of the ground, or you can just be Meg March, who wants her love simple and savoury. There’s nothing overly wrong about that. Either way, love’s all the same when it’s the right kind.”
“But there’s always a catch.” And you’re not arguing with him so much as just repeating what this life has spent years teaching you. It’s really something you need to shake off at some point.
“Maybe,” He shifts on the mattress until the space between you has somehow become smaller, and you don’t remember Martin looking this florid and earnest ever. “But not this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means,” He looks down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles like that’ll somehow sand some courage on him as well. “That if you let me love you, it won’t be punishment, or some long and bruising thing you have to push through to deserve all the good parts.”
Without really thinking, because then thinking would make him even more nervous, he reaches toward you. His fingers hesitate only an inch from your face, and when you don’t move away, he gently hooks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“Because I’ll give you all the good parts. You don’t have to ask me.” The backs of his fingers graze your cheek, and they're warm. “It can just be this.”
Your breath catches so abruptly you wonder if Martin hears it. Maybe he does, because he looks away for the briefest second, suddenly fascinated by absolutely anywhere that isn’t your face, which would be a lie at best. He still has to ask himself how you manage to look so pretty all the damn time.
His hand hasn’t gone very far, though. His thumb brushes your temple, barely there, so light it feels less like being touched.
“Just let me love you. I swear I’ll be good.” Both hands cup at your cheek now, index resting just beneath your ear as he whispers. “I’ll give you… so much. What do you want?”
You don’t have to think about it more, because the thought wouldn’t leave your mind the moment you saw him at the party anyway. Your hand finds his wrists, and his pulse leaps beneath your fingertips.
“I think…” You swallow. “... I’d really like you to stop talking now.”
“... Oh.” Martin blinks, and stiffly looks around, then back at you. “Was that—?”
“I just,” You shake your head, smiling despite the impossible state of your heart. I just want to kiss you.
You don’t say it out loud because you guessed words have carried the two of you as far as they can. So instead, you close whatever remaining distance there was left between you and kiss him into the pillow. Maybe the alcohol was still in your system, because there was no way in hell you’d be able to concoct all this courage by yourself. Tomorrow, you think, you’ll probably wake up sober and horrified, but you’ll remember this. Even if it ends badly. Especially if it ends badly.
Fortunately for you, Martin’s always been more in love with you than you’ve been with him. If he were being particularly insufferable, he’d probably argue that, being a considerably larger human being than you, he possessed a much larger storage capacity for love. Then you’d tell him that was the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, and he’d tell you to prove him wrong.
He waits another heartbeat, suspicious that he still hasn’t woken up from this very lifelike dream. When he pinches his leg and realizes this is in fact real, he sighs into the kiss, relieved. His hand rises almost timidly, gathering the last wandering strands of your hair behind your ear, and kisses you straight back with all the sentiments he’s managed to keep secret while standing at adjoining windows for so long.
Every hope he crumpled small enough to fit inside his own body, every wish he’d been too afraid to speak of, every kind of aftertime he’s daydreamt that always had you in it, all of it, he presses into that sweet kiss he’d wanted so badly all his life and hopes you’ll taste what years of wanting felt like to him.
Martin smiles as he pulls you back. “You never keep this tucked away,” he murmurs, holding a bunch of your hair into the back just like how he did when you were emptying your guts about an hour ago.
“Is it getting in the way?” You ask as you wipe your lips dry. “We can stop.”
“Oh but you make a man go crazy, Y/n.” He exclaims, leaning closer until your foreheads touch. “You make me go crazy. And I’ve wanted to pluck you out of my head for a while, but you’re like a little scurrying rat. I can’t seem to catch you.”
You make a scandalized expression that immediately dies down as soon as you see Martin’s mouth curl so wide, and he makes another request. “So kiss me a little more, why don’t you?”
“How dare you compare me to a rat.” You lean in once again and kiss him anyway.
You don’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning you’ll wake up with one leg thrown across Martin’s waist and your face buried somewhere between his shoulder and his neck. The size of your bed deems it less advantageous on Martin’s part. His arms and legs, which had always been oddly long, will be hanging off both sides of the mattress at once. His neck will ache, and his back will have been bent out of place as if he slept inside a folded lawn chair. In the end, as he’s climbing back to his own room through the windows yet again, this time for a completely different reason than all the times before, he won’t complain.
The two of you will arrive spectacularly late for school looking under-rested. Fortunately, neither of your parents will have wandered upstairs to wake you. Finding their daughter sleeping peacefully, snoring even, on top of the neighbor’s son would’ve been a conversation with enough lasting psychological consequences that you absolutely did not want.
Boy next door! Martin, who believes that not every Beast is owed a Belle. Stories have been telling that lie for centuries. The lie that enough love could blunt the fangs off so much cruelty, or that it was a forbearing little chisel meant to sculpt monsters into men. It could be true for some people, but he’s been a hopeless romantic ever since he was a boy. And if there’s anything he knows about romance, it’s that surely, surely it would never begin with pain.
Perhaps, more importantly, not every Belle out there should have to wander into a forest hoping the next monster she meets will someday turn into a dreamy prince. Martin’s never liked those odds. Some girls deserve to arrive at a castle and find no curse waiting for them at all. Now, he can’t promise the cosmos will stop penning beasts into other people’s stories, and he can’t rewrite every fairy tale ever told, but he can decide what sort of man he’ll be in yours. And he wants to be a good one. Now that, Martin can make sure of.
Category: fluff, romance (maybe slight angst) 2000s
Info: flirting, kissing buddies, hugging, vulnerable moments, soft moments, tension
Other Cortis Members: Keonho
Illit Members: Iroha
Synopsis: Best friends for ages, until the flirting barrier starts to vanish and leads to something more vulnerable.
Song recommendation: Till I Hear It From You by Gin Blossoms
You and Martin have been best friends for ages. The meeting was pure coincidence, but there was an instant click. Now that click was still going on, but sometimes something shifted. When he would talk about having a new crush, you would slightly feel protective and maybe too glad when he got over it.
The same with him: when you found someone incredibly attractive, he felt a pinch of jealousy lingering in his mind before trying to push it off. It also wasn't unusual for the two of you to call almost every day. Just like now, as you were lying on your bed, the phone against your ear, while you and Martin would navigate through various subjects.
"I always wondered....if you would time travel to the past, with the same clothes one, would they judge?"
"Hmmm? What do you mean? Like seeing your clothes and thinking it's strange?"
"Yeah, I just wonder how they would react. Because imagine seeing someone in futuristic clothing, just walking so casually down the street. Wouldn't that raise questions?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, as he was reading a comic book, lazily turning the pages, "I guess that would raise questions."
"In which time period would you like to live?"
"Hmmm, that's a good question," he closed the comic, leaning back on his headboard, "I think....the sixties. Seems pretty fun to me. They also had way more vinyl stores and didn't think strangely about longer hair. Where would you go?"
"The sixties, so that we both could party together in one of those....rock and roll bars types of....clubs?"
"Ah, so you would especially for me follow forty years back? That's very sweet, sugar plum."
You laughed, "Sugar plum? What an old-ass nickname."
"I thought you liked it retro-style? Hmmm? Changed your mind?"
"Alright, don't get too cocky, time machines don't exist."
"How would you know? Have you ever used one yourself? Y/N? I didn't think so."
"You know...." You leaned your chin on the palm of your hand," ....how different were they back then? Like, how would their teenage years have looked?"
He sighed, "I don't know really, pretty much the same, but without the technology, I guess."
You scoffed, "Cmon you really think technology is the only thing that divided us from them? They were probably modest, like....caring and soft."
"Excuse me?" he said with a tint of annoyance, "I am also caring and soft for you."
"Alright, but that's not the same, okay? I bet they interacted so differently... like Romeo-and-Juliet type of stuff."
He laughed into the ear's phone, "Sure, sure. Place two teenagers together and you think they'll kiss oh so "softly". "
"Not everybody is rough like you."
His eyes widened for a split second before sitting up, "First of all, how would you know? Second of all, do you want to know it?"
"Do I want to know what?" you scoffed into the phone, placing your magazine on your nightstand.
"You want to know how I kiss? Want to feel it, perhaps?"
Your heart skipped a beat, just by accident. His words were so smooth, and they came out all buttery over the phone: "Uhhh....why do I need to know that?" Your question was answered with a light chuckle: "I don't know, you seemed interested in all that ' "romantic'"' stuff."
"Well, you ain't romantic, Martin."
"I can be romantic if I want to," he declared as if you personally spat in his face, "Actually...." he shifted from subject, "....you never had your first kiss, isn't that right?"
"Yeah...." Suddenly, the conversation intrigued you. But you could never have expected what he would say right now: "Why don't we just kiss?"
"What?" you laughed through the horn, "Are you insane? You want us to become some kind of kissing buddies?"
"I mean....If you want to call it that, sure." he bit his lip slightly, but of course you couldn't see that.
"Okay, but still, we are best friends. Wouldn't that change much? Like, couldn't that possibly ruin the friendship we had? Since when are you even into such stuff? Have you smoked something up there? And by the wa-"
"Whoa whoa," he interrupted you, "take it easy, will you? It was just an innocent question, no big deal." he let his head fall back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling as he could hear your breathing fasten just a tiny bit. It wasn't as if it was a hard decision to make, but still experiencing kissing....wouldn't that just be amazing?
All those stupid rom-com movies, all those stupid classics you had to watch with your parents; kissing, hugging, and just being with each other. But wasn't that called love? Instead of "kissing buddies"?
"It would be stupid to do so."
"That could be the case."
"And we have been friends for ages."
"Yes that is true."
"And I don't even know how to kiss."
"That isn't a big issue."
"It would create some weirdness."
"You know, Y/N, you are saying everything that could make it wrong, but I didn't hear any '"'no" fall off your lips."
"We are best friends....I don't know."
He propped himself this time on his elbow. "Is that the only reason that you won't kiss me? So.... you are actually saying that you find me attractive?"
"What did I say, Martin? Don't. Get. Too. Cocky. With. Me. Have you really learned nothing?"
"I'm just saying. It just sounds as if you wouldn't mind me kissing you."
"Your words, not mine. It really sounds more like you have a tiny crush on me."
He laughed, "If that makes you sleep at night, I'll take it."
"Okay," you laughed, "I got to go, it's time to sleep. For you too by the way."
"Wait, you haven't said y-" and you hung up the phone, your laughter breaking out in your bedroom as you put the lights off. Martin was left speechless, something in his eyes glinting as he thought about the conversation between the two of you. Really, kissing buddies doesn't sound that bad, just like a stress relief. You hadn't said no....but you did think about saying yes; that was the scary part.
There wasn't any time to think about it, since you and Martin saw each other the next day at his house. It was like a tradition to watch a film together every Saturday. His fridge would be packed with snacks, while you would be happily eating all those snacks. So it didn't surprise him that his doorbell rang.
And luckily, his parents were never home on a Saturday.
"Are you here for me or the food?" He leaned against the door frame at the front door, "Hmmm....both? Or do I need to choose one?"
"Maybe you could combine the two?"
"So you want me to eat you?" You gave a wink. "I'll think about it, Martini." The flirty banter would never vanish, never ever. It was always so fun that the friendship was so comfortable that you could do anything, and he wouldn't get the ick. Your eyes were locked onto his fridge, opening and seeing your favorite snack.
"You remembered!" you squealed in happiness. He leaned his hand on top of the fridge. "Well, I figured that you might need something to cheer you up."
You frowned, "Huh? Why would I be sad?"
He leaned in slowly, his lips close to your ear, "Because your lips are cold." He didn't even practice saying this; it just rolled out, and it was already too late to take it back.
"Maybe I like the cold, like a ....."
"A husky?"
"More like an ice bear. Are you that desperate for a kiss? Are your lips cooling off?"
"Maybe...." he smiled, "But you know....as kissing buddies....there are no responsibilities. It's just you and me in the heat of the moment. When you're frustrated, just....kiss it out."
"Hmmm....well I always come to you when I am frustrated."
"Exactly! But now....there are just lips connecting."
You leaned against the kitchen counter, looking up at him slightly. "I don't get why "kissing" is so addictive."
"That's because, my dear friend, you never experienced it before. And I can assure you that once you feel it, you can't escape it."
You rolled your eyes, "Why not. I don't care about it anyway. Besides, it's maybe good to start with, like a best friend, so you can like....practice."
"Exactly! Practice! I'm really a good teacher, just so you know."
He grabbed your hand softly, dragging you behind him as he ran up the stairs. Still holding your favorite snack tight against your chest as you basically flew behind him, "Sheesh, Martin, calm down."
"Sorry....sorry," he slightly panted as he fell back into his bed. He sat up straight, patting the spot in front of him. "Come here."
"You want to do this now? What about the movie?"
"First, we're going to kiss, then we can watch the movie. You can choose."
"Alright," you smiled, "I like the sound of that." You crawled onto his bed. Sitting with your legs crossed over each other in front of him. He was smiling brightly at you, but the stress rose when he realised what was about to happen. You saw him starting to slowly lean down towards you, but before his lips could touch yours, you covered his mouth with your hand.
His eyes widened, looking at you in confusion, "Wait....I just need a moment."
"Sorry...." The sound vibrated into your hand. He saw you slowly breathe in and breathe out, "....you know we don't have to do this right now." his voice feeling warm against the soft area of your hand, but it was also uncrackable, "What?" you said in confusion.
"I said...." he softly grabbed your wrist, letting your hand fall onto the bed, "....we don't have to do this right now."
"You sure? You won't be mad right?"
He shook his head. "Why would I be mad? This should be a stress relief, not a....stress maker." His hand found your hair, softly shaking it up before letting his back fall against a pillow. "Alright, choose a film." You looked at his DVD collection on his shelf, seeing various genres, from science fiction to comedies to rom-coms.
"It has been a long time since we watched 10 Things I Hate About You."
"You think? I thought we watched that a month ago."
"So if you didn't see me for a month, would you be okay?"
He frowned, "No, I wouldn't be alright," the furrowed eyebrows slowly disappearing, "Ahh, now I get it. Okay, fine, go put it on."
The movie started, and there was no problem. The opening scene with Bianca was nothing wrong. Everything went slowly and comfortably. You were lying next to Martin, his shoulder brushing against yours from time to time. It was something you two had done thousands of times, but this time you couldn't help but think back of that "almost kiss". A good kiss, like you had read in your teen magazines, always needs to be spontaneous. If not, it only makes the two people too aware, and it could fail. Now you were wondering if you shouldn't just fly onto him. Your legs were slightly twitching, your hands balled into fists as Martin was just relaxing.
There were a thousand things that could possibly happen right now, but now you just wanted to kiss him. Not because you liked him- he was just a friend- but you wanted to feel his lips on yours. The film wasn't even at its halfway point when you slowly turned your head to him. His eyes were still concentrated on the TV. You had to admit, his side profile was really handsome, and his lips seemed so addictive. So before you knew it, you slammed your lips onto his in a short, impulsive peck. Martin didn't even have time to move his lips on yours since you immediately backed out.
"That's not how you do that," he chuckled, "Come here."
Your eyes widened as you felt his hand cup your jaw, bringing you back to his lips. This time it was slow, his head angling to get a deeper taste. There was no tongue, but it felt so sensitive. You never realised how many nerves you had in your lips, since every move of his made you squeaky. Your little short breaths would swoop in between the kiss, before he slowly backed off.
You gulped, not uttering even a single word. "You alright?" he softly asked, his eyes searching for yours. "Yeah...." You cleared your throat. "I am totally fine...." Your fingers touched your lips, finally understanding how it may be addictive. Martin looked at you for a couple of seconds before leaning down against the pillow.
"Actually....I am not fine," and with that, you connected your lips together again. You didn't really know how to move, so you followed his lead as he straightened his back. He made you roll onto your back, pinning you down. Before you knew it, his hands were wrapped around your wrists, keeping you in place as there was a heat creating itself.
"You're pretty good at this," he said between kisses.
"Mhm....you too...." You slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. He was trying to get you out of breath, physically having to pull him by his hair to make him stop. Your cheeks were flushed, and that was the moment his heart took the biggest leap he ever felt, but he ignored it.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you panted, but he could only trail his fingers over your face, "No reason at all."
"That's the stupidest idea I have ever heard in my entire life, "Keonho said while he was slumping back against his chair. "Why are you doing this? Do you want to be heartbroken?"
"What do you mean? It's just kissing, nothing more."
Keonho rolled his eyes and crossed his arms on his desk. "You can't tell me that you didn't feel anything while kissing her. Not even a single emotion."
"I...." he looked at the floor, "....it just felt good. Just cozy, but nothing more."
"Oh, really. Then tell me exactly how it felt. I need every single detail."
"Hmmm...." he crossed his arms over his chest, "....her lips were surprisingly soft, gotta tell you that. Her arms....went around my neck, and it felt so warm. Practically in a sauna but without the sauna but the warmth."
"Yeah I got that."
"And she....I don't know her hands would sometimes linger in other places, like my jaw, or in my hair."
"So you're telling me....that you exactly know where her hands were, how her lips felt, but you don't have a crush on her?"
Martin scoffed, "Cmon a "crush'"' is a simple thing. It's just a stupid idealisation; it doesn't apply to this situation. By the way, Y/N hasn't had any deal with just kissing each other."
"That's because she probably think it's just a "friend" type of thing. I don't even understand how this buddy thing works."
"It's simple; if you feel frustrated or just extremely excited and you can't release it, you just come up to one another and put your energy into kissing."
"And that doesn't sound weird to you? What do you even stress about?"
"I don't know....maybe the math test for tomorrow. I really could use a kiss right now."
And Keonho jokingly leaned in, "No, not from you dumbass, I need her kiss."
"Well doesn't that explain a lot?"
Maybe he was right. Just a slight chance, but that chance only grew when he saw you through the window. Your hair was slowly moving with the wind; you smiled so brightly. Your hands were slightly fumbling, and then he looked closer.
You were talking to another boy.
His heart clenched, like a stab in his back. You looked so shyly at the ground that it hurt even more. His eyebrows furrowed, scoffing under his breath as he tore his gaze away. Even when the lesson started, you were still outside talking to this guy who was basically breathing the same air as you.
Martin Martin
"Martin. Attention to the lesson." he was shot awake by his teacher, slowly turning his head to the chalkboard.
Keonho looked over his head, looking what was the big deal outside, until he saw you talking to this guy, "Ahh I see...." he smiled brightly.
"Shut it."
"Are you jealous, maybe?"
"No, I'm not jealous....just interested in their conversation, that's all," he muttered under his breath.
"Okay....Oh look they are kissing!" he whispered shoutingly. Making Martin's head immediately swing towards you again, but you were still standing there.
"I was just kidding, and I guess you were too when you said you weren't jealous."
"Very funny. Maybe you can try to fill in the exercise right this time."
During lunch break, the tension was visible, but it was only visible on one side. You placed your tray on the table, just slowly sitting down with a relaxed posture as Martin was eating with his jaw clenched. Keonho was just smiling awkwardly at you, trying to eat.
Iroha was sitting next to you, looking strangely at Martin, then back at you. She softly kicked your leg, leaning at your ear, "What's going on?"
"Hmmm? What do you mean?"
She grabbed your shoulder, both turning your heads away from Keonho and Martin, "Why is he looking so tensed?"
"Who? Martin?"
"Yeah....it looks like gravity is trying to press him down."
You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Martin play with his food, his hand having a tight grip on his fork as he still didn't look up, "You're right, there is definitely something wrong."
"Hey, you guys....what's up? What's new? Something bad happened?" You rambled, and it got a soft murmur out of Martin, "Nothing....nothing much."
"Uhh...." Keonho swooped in, "What Martin meant to say was that we have a tough Math test tomorrow. And yeah he didn't study for it yet."
You laughed, "Are you serious? You are going to fail, but hey, no worries. Just come by; I'll try to help you, and if that doesn't work....we'll just try to relieve your stress."
Keonho's face scrunched up for a second before Martin finally broke his silence. "Who was that guy you were talking to?"
You furrowed your eyebrows, "What guy?"
Martin looked up from his plate. "On the sprinting track, you were talking to this weird guy, and I am just wondering who this guy is and why he was standing so close to you. That's all." The last words were mumbled, so you didn't catch them.
"Oh, that's just Sam, just a classmate. He was asking for some notes. Why?"
"Oh, nothing, I mean he can ask notes to everybody else, why does he have to bother you?"
Iroho and Keonho exchanged glances, their gaze staying at their plates, "He isn't bothering me. What's up with you?"
"Nothing. Nothing is "up" with me."
"Alright good."
"Good."
The silence fell. Now the two of you were tense. The grip on your spoon was so tight you thought it could possibly melt in your hand. Martin's grip on his fork tightened, and it was slightly bending. And too bad that Keonho and Iroha had to sit there in an awkward silence while their "just friends" were "arguing" about something so stupid.
Now was actually the perfect time for a kiss, but well, you two were sitting in a cafeteria filled with many students. Martin was thinking about it, though, grabbing your face and giving you one steamy kiss, and then just sitting down like nothing happened, but he had to keep himself in check. You did see him looking up at you, then back to his tray; again you, looking at your lips, back at his tray.
Suddenly, you stood up, letting your intrusive thoughts win over: "I am....going to get something from my locker. I'll be right back."
Not even two seconds later Martin stood up too, "I think I forgot something too....I'll be right back," and with that he rushed off, leaving Iroha stunned and Keonho in disgust. His face scrunched up in annoyance as he knew what you two could possibly be doing.
"Why are you looking so weird?" Iroha asked.
"You don't know?"
"No....?"
Keonho leaned closer over the table, "They have this weird pact, system, thing. That when one is stressed or something, they relieve their stress by kissing."
"....But they are best friends? How does that even work?"
"Don't ask me," Keonho sat back, "I'm just glad I don't have to see it."
"You think they are...."
"Oh, definitely, you don't really think they are getting something from their "locker"?"
They were right. Of course they were right, because as you walked off, Martin immediately ran after you. The moment he caught up with you, he twirled you around in the empty hallway, pushing you against a locker while slamming his lips against yours. They were moving restlessly, his mouth sucking on your bottom lip, pinching and biting. Luckily, everybody was having their lunch peacefully, unaware of the makeout session the two of you had against a random person's locker.
"Hmmm, are you that stressed?" you breathed out, cupping his face and stroking his jaw.
"Yeah, sure," he panted against your lips. He was partly stressed, partly frustrated, and one hundred percent jealous. His lips shushed you up again, now slowly moving his tongue around. Those kissing sounds were like your duo project, like a piece of art. Your eyes closed softly, letting him handle the rhythm.
His hands were keeping your face so close, but you noticed that he actually never dared to wrap them around your waist, even tho your hands could stroke his neck. But right now there wasn't the time to discuss that topic, since you two had been kissing for way too long.
"I am going back." you said while trying to catch your breath.
"What?" he softly panted, "You're going back already?"
"Mhm," you nodded, letting your hand go through your hair, "They'll be worried."
"No, no," he grabbed your hand softly, "Please wait....just....one more kiss. Just a tiny one; I won't get carried away."
"Martin....what are we going to tell when they see we take so long? What if they come looking for us?"
"They won't, cmon. Just one kiss, just a quick peck, that is all."
You grabbed his chin, "Alright fine, since you're so "stressed"." A soft, slow kiss lingered on his lips. It was a weird sensation, since it was so sensual. His stomach twisted, his body feeling a magnetic pull towards yours, again holding you hostage between his chest and the locker. "I'm sorry....it just felt so good...." he whispered.
"Okay," you laughed it off, but the way he was looking at you made you question so many things. You went back first, slowly sitting down, as if nothing had happened. Iroha saw how your lips were swollen, glancing towards Keonho, who just gave her that "I told you so" look.
Then Martin calmly sat down, not being able to keep a smile off his face. His ears had reddened in the shade, and he sometimes glanced up at you with that same smirk. This was starting to feel more exclusive than just a little "buddy" arrangement.
That same day, even tho something had changed, you still found yourself sitting on his bed whilst he was trying to find his math book. Back then laying in his bedsheets wasn't special, just almost a daily routine, but now you felt his body warmth wrapped around you.
"Aha, got it!" He smiled, placing the book on his desk. "You can do whatever you want; I just need to concentrate."
"Okay," you smiled, letting it falter quickly as you sat there, looking at the back of his head. He had put on his "super secret home-glasses" that he only wore when he wanted to feel smarter or just when he felt like putting them on.
It made him even cuter, and that's how you zoned out on him. He was tapping his pen on the desk, biting his lip, frowning as he was writing something, then taking his calculator. Now you just noticed how big his hands actually were and how plump his lips were under his teeth. You leaned your head against his headboard while observing him. Right now, you just wanted to cover his neck in love bites, even tho you had never done that before. It wasn't exactly "friendship-like" to think about that.
You slowly stood up, walking towards him and standing right behind him. He could feel your hands massaging his shoulders. "Is everything going well?"
"Mhm mhm," he leaned into your touch, letting his head fall back, "Yeah....everything is going just fine."
"That's good...." You smiled, looking down at him as his eyes were closed. Then, slowly, you leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes opened unhurriedly, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. His hand came up to your cheek, stroking the soft skin. "What was that for?"
"Just....for courage during your math thing going on there."
"Alright...." he made you lean in again, placing a soft kiss on your lips too. Your heart skipped a beat, feeling shy under his soft gaze, "Thank you...."
"You're welcome....now I am going to concentrate further on my math, is that okay?"
"Mhm...." You could only answer with those big eyes of yours, slowly pulling away from him and sitting back on his bed. As you wrapped his blankets around you, slowly laying your head on his pillow, you still looked at him. The last thing you saw before falling asleep was him writing something on the paper.
After maybe two hours, Martin had slowly lost his motivation. His head hurt from all the calculations. He thought you were maybe listening to music on his iPod, or just reading one of his favorite comic books. But as he turned around, he saw you all wrapped up, softly breathing while you had dozed off. He smiled as he approached you, kneeling next to you. His hand stroked your cheek, moving some hair strands out of your face.
His touch made you stir awake, well, not totally awake. You leaned into the familiar feeling of his hand, resting your head against his hand.
"Hello there...." he whispered, still letting his fingers trail. You mumbled in response, placing your hand on top of his.
"You are adorable....do you know that?" His eyes traced over your face and the way it softly smiled when you heard those words. His heart was melting at the sight, even if he had done this many times before with you. Mostly, you would have slapped his hand away, saying that he's a creep as you took his blanket away from him.
He slowly took off his hoodie, wearing a sleeveless top. You only heard his movement as he made his way under the blankets. His arms had wrapped themselves around your waist, stroking the soft skin as he placed his chin on top of your head. His chest moved up and down, following his breathing. You felt warm in his presence; it soothed you that you immediately fell asleep again.
Your eyes opened again. This time, his entire room was dark; the only light that went through the little gap in the curtain and window fell directly on Martin. It had been so warm that you couldn't contain his body heat anymore. You sat up straight, his arms still loosely wrapped around you. The entire time, you had kept wearing your sweater underneath your blouse; no kidding that you had felt incredibly hot.
You slowly threw your sweater off, letting his arms fall away. A little groan escaped his lips as he had nothing to hold onto. His facial expression was sour, which made you chuckle softly. You lay back, looking at the ceiling, when Martin was stirring awake. The absence of your body had shaken him up. He sat up straight, looking around with his eyes half open, before finally seeing you lying there further away on the bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the stickers he had stuck there.
"Y/N?" he turned his body to you. "Baby?" The nickname had just fallen so simply out of his mouth, like it was normal. All of this wasn't normal; two best friends, sleeping in the same bed, hugging, kissing, this was the dumbest way to jump into a relationship.
"What did you say?" you whispered, turning your head at him, "I said....baby. Does that bother you?" he leaned slightly over you, holding himself steady by placing his hand on the headboard, "No....no it doesn't bother me...."
"Okay....good...." he lifted your head up with his index finger, looking at your left and then your right eye, "I really want to kiss you...."
"Since when do you ask....?"
"That wasn't a question...." he smiled, "....but does that make it a yes?"
"Mhm...."
Martin leaned down more, his lips ghosting over yours more intimately. The two of you just stared into each other's eyes, just looking and admiring, before he slowly closed his eyes and planted his lips on yours. It was soft, his moves deliberate. His fingers trailed over your arm, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your other hand tangled into his hair, pushing his lips against yours harder. The strands were soft, and he couldn't help but let soft noises fall from his lips.
"Martin...." You broke the kiss. "....you aren't stressed....frustrated....or anything that needs stress relief."
"I know...." he looked at you, "....because I just felt like kissing you, right here, right now."
"Only this specific moment?"
"No...." he laughed, "....so many more moments, I can't even count them on my fingers." He planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "....and I know this maybe wasn't '"'the move'"' to make things....not friendship-wise between us."
"So....what are you really trying to say to me?"
He looked down, laughing nervously, but you took his chin between your fingers, "Tell me."
"I really, really want to be your boyfriend."
"Yeah? You really, really want that?"
He laughed again, burying his face in your hair, "Yes."
"Alright, because I feel generous today, I'll let you be my boyfriend," you said jokingly, before he leaned down again. Lips softly moving over each other, tongues twirling, and afterwards just holding each other close, already forgetting about the temperature.
synopsis: anton saw the way that guy looked at you. he just didn’t say anything — until he got home.
genres/warnings: anton x f!reader, smut (MDNI), fluff, possessive!anton, jealous!anton, tipsy!anton, doggy, light oral, aftercare, established relationship, one-shot
author’s notes: hai guys!! this has been sitting in my drafts since the youngji interview (not that long ago lol) but i hope you guys like it! pls ignore the typos (if any) :p comments/feedback are greatly appreciated :) thanks for reading! lmk who y’all want me to write about next 🫣
at the bar, the music was loud enough that everyone had to lean in to talk. you and anton were with his friends near the back, drinks half finished, just chit chatting like normal. after a while you stood up, touched his arm, and told him you were running to the bathroom. he nodded, soft eyes on you, and watched you weave through the crowd.
when you came back the guy who’d been next to your group for the last twenty minutes was already on his feet. he’d been glancing over more than once. now he stepped into your path just enough to ask where the bathrooms were. he held eye contact the whole time like he was trying something. you gave him a polite smile and pointed him in the right direction. as he thanked you he brushed your arm, slightly.
anton saw all of it from where he sat. he didn’t say a word. just took another sip of his drink and looked away.
an hour later you’d already gone home. the noise and the late hour had started weighing on you, so you’d kissed anton’s cheek, told him to stay and have fun, and left.
you showered and changed as soon as you got home, throwing on nothing but some panties and one of anton’s hoodies that smelled like him. you sat in the living room watching whatever was on tv, waiting patiently for him to come back safely. the apartment was quiet when the front door finally opened.
“hi babygirl… you still up?” his voice was lower than usual, a little slurry around the edges. he took his shoes off messy, almost tripping, then crossed the room in three long steps and dropped straight into your lap like his legs gave out. arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, breathing you in like he’d been holding his breath all night.
he stayed like that for a minute, just clinging to you, before the words started spilling out quieter, almost pouty. “i saw you talking to that dude at the bar…”
you sat there, confused. “huh?”
“that guy who was talking to you when you came back from the bathroom.”
you blinked. “oh, him? he just asked where the bathrooms were.”
“still. i didn’t like it. didn’t like the way he looked at you or how he brushed your arm. it was weird, like he wanted you.”
“anton, it was nothing,” you said, stroking his hair.
“tell me you’re mine. please.” his voice went softer, almost whiny.
you huffed a quiet laugh and kissed the top of his head. “i’m yours. you know that.”
he made another soft sound and finally lifted his face, eyes a little glassy, cheeks flushed. “say it again.”
“i’m yours, anton.”
that was all it took. he kissed you messy and deep, tasting like whatever mixed drink he’d been on, tongue sliding against yours like he was starved for it. one hand slid higher under the hoodie to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked. the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave little crescent marks.
“wanna take this off,” he mumbled against your mouth, already pushing the hoodie up. “i wanna see you. been thinking about you since you left and it was driving me crazy. kept getting hard just picturing you waiting for me like this.”
you helped him pull the hoodie over your head. he sat back on his heels between your legs on the couch and just stared for a second, chest rising and falling a little too fast. then he leaned in and sucked one nipple into his mouth, wet and warm, while one hand worked to circle your clit through your panties. he groaned when his fingers found you already a little wet.
“already?” he asked. he pulled the panties to the side and slid two fingers in, slow and curling. “been thinking about me too? thinking about how only i get to touch you like this?”
you nodded as he worked you open, thumb circling your clit in lazy strokes, watching your face the whole time. “good. ‘cause nobody else gets this. nobody else gets to feel how soft you are inside. how wet you get. this is only for me.”
when your breathing turned uneven he pulled his fingers free, sucked them clean with a quiet moan, then stood and guided you toward the bedroom, hands never leaving your body.
the second you were near the bed anton turned you around and pressed you forward so your hands landed on the mattress, chest to the sheets.
“like this,” he said, voice low and demanding
he pushed your panties the rest of the way down and helped you step out of them, nudging your feet apart so you were bent over the edge of the bed, ass up. his hands smoothed over your back, down to your hips, squeezing. you heard him shove his own clothes off behind you, only making you wetter, then felt the hot thick length of him rubbing between your folds, sliding through the wetness already gathering there.
“look at you,” he breathed. “so welcoming for me. so pretty like this.” he lined up and pushed in slowly until he was fully inside and both of you were already breathing hard. “fuck—baby—you always feel so good.”
he started moving in deep rolling thrusts, one hand on your hip, the other sliding up your spine to gently press between your shoulder blades so you arched more. the wet sound of him fucking into you filled the quiet room. every time he bottomed out you could feel how hard he was, how much he needed it.
“hated being out there while you were home alone. kept thinking about bending you over just like this the whole time that dude was talking to you.” his rhythm stayed steady but deep, the slap of skin getting louder. “this pretty little cunt is mine. these sounds are mine. the way you take me is mine.”
one of his hands slipped around to rub your clit in tight circles while he kept fucking you from behind. the dual sensation made your arms shake. he leaned over your back, chest to your spine, mouth near your ear.
“come for me,” he murmured, almost pleading. “wanna feel it. please. give it to me.”
you came with a broken sound, clenching around him hard. he groaned and fucked you through it, slower for a few strokes, then picked the pace back up once the shaking eased. he kept one hand on your clit, the other gripping your hip, holding you in place while he took what he needed.
“love how you look like this,” he said, voice breathy. “ass up, taking every inch. my good girl.” he said it soft, almost like he couldn’t help it. “gonna fill you up. want you walking around tomorrow still feeling me. want anyone who even glances at you to know you’re taken.”
his thrusts got a little more desperate, the wet sounds getting louder. he draped himself over you completely, kissing the back of your neck, your shoulder, whispering how perfect you felt, how tight, how he could stay inside you forever.
“you feel so fucking good. can’t get enough of you. never enough. need you like this every time someone even looks your way.” his rhythm started to stutter, hips pressing flush as the pleasure pulled tight. “fuck—baby—i’m gonna—”
he pushed as deep as he could go and came hard, a low drawn-out moan against your skin, pulsing hot inside you in thick waves while he kept grinding through it. he held you tighter, breathing hard, still buried deep as the last of it left him.
he stayed like that for a long moment after, just breathing against your neck. eventually he softened enough to slip out. he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your shoulder, then carefully helped you fully onto the bed, guiding you onto your side.
“stay right here,” he murmured, voice softer now. “i’ll be right back.”
he disappeared for a minute and came back with a warm damp cloth. he cleaned you up gently, wiping away the mess between your thighs with slow strokes, then tossed the cloth aside and crawled back in behind you. he pulled you flush against his chest, arm draped heavy over your waist, legs tangled with yours, pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck.
“you okay?” anton asked quietly, the tipsy edge fading into something warmer and careful. “wasn’t too much?”
you shook your head and he made a soft pleased sound, nuzzling into your hair. he kept one hand stroking lazy patterns on your stomach, the other tucking the blanket higher around you both.
“love you,” he mumbled eventually, already sounding half-asleep. “love having you like this. next time we just stay in. don’t even want to go out if it means someone else gets to look at you while i’m not right next to you. hate that shit. you’re mine and i want everyone to know it without me having to say anything.”
you laughed quietly and he smiled against your skin, tightening his arm.
“you love it when i get like this.” he pressed one more soft kiss to your neck. “my baby. always.”
and he kept you right there, clean and warm and held, until the haze pulled him under completely, still curled around you like letting go wasn’t an option.
synopsis . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. anton could never let you go to sleep mad at him.
ʚɞ pairing boyfriend!anton x girlfriend!reader - content couple arguement // fluff // drabble // imagines // established relationship // anton lowk pmo in the beginning but its ok cs that's dada - wc 1.2k
a/n: anton in lee youngji's video. that's it. (i need us anton biases to hide him.. everyone's been getting on him lately.)
~~~~
it was 7:42 PM.
you had just gotten off of your long exhausting shift from the hospital. patients all day had been yelling at you, demanding things you couldn’t even give them, and just being straight up rude— being home was the only thing that was on your mind the whole day.
as the door opened, you peered into the kitchen.
anton was sitting at the kitchen island on his phone— already in his pajamas. he immediately looked up and smiled at you.
“hi, baby girl.”
you gave a small smile. “hi.”
anton made his way over to you, hands soon finding the back of your waist to pull you into a small comforting hug. he had his chin pressed on the top of your head.
“busy day today?”
you nodded, sighing into his chest. “mhm..”
he then let you out of his grasp, watching you walk towards the pan on the stove.
but.. the pan was empty.
great..!
“where’s the food?” you turned your head back to glance at anton.
he stared back at you, “i ate it,” he let out a small chuckle. “what’s wrong?”
“what do you mean, what’s wrong? did you not care to leave me some?”
“i just got home an hour ago, it was something small.” he shrugged. “you can cook yourself, that’s why i left the pan there.”
you paused. did he really just say that?
"what did you say?"
"i said you can cook."
anger fumed in your mind.
seriously, what was wrong with him?
already being home from a hectic day at work, you were at your breaking point.
“i can cook?" you scoffed. "anton, you sound like a jerk right now.” before you could continue and explode even more, you stopped yourself. you took a deep breath, closing your eyes.
anton stood still in the same place, observing whatever was happening right now in this moment. you then walked off and took your bag into the bedroom you and him shared.
“w-where are you going?” he spoke, trying to follow you.
“i’m showering.”
before he could say anything, you shut the door to the room— leaving him now staring at the white door. he sighed, rubbing both of his hands on his eyes.
inside of the bedroom, you could feel the literal steam coming out of your ears and mouth.
after your shower, you had calmed down much more.. but you were still irritated from anton’s response. you opened the bathroom door to see anton laying on his side of the bed like always. he flicked his head up away from his book he was reading to look up at you exiting the bathroom. you glanced at him for what felt like two seconds, before you walked out of the room. he furrowed his brows and put his book down.
you laid onto the couch in the living room, pulling one of the big blankets you and anton had bought for the living room specifically. the big blanket was now pulled over you comfortably, making you now very sleepy.
before you could fully fall asleep, you felt a presence right next to you. you didn't have to look to know who it was.
anton crouched down beside the couch, resting one hand against the cushion as he leaned closer.
“.. are you actually sleeping on the couch?” he asked quietly.
instead of answering, you simply turned onto your other side, facing your back to him. you tugged the blanket up under your chin more.
anton let out the smallest sigh. ".. yeah," he mumbled to himself. "i deserve that."
a moment later, you felt the couch shift again.
his arms carefully wrapped around your waist from behind, hesitant at first, almost like he was testing whether you'd push him away. when you didn't, he slowly melted into you instead, holding you against his chest.
you felt yourself relax a bit, feeling the warmth of anton.
his chin rested lightly against your shoulder before he buried his face into the back of your neck, pressing the gentlest kiss there.
"hey.." his voice was barely above a whisper. "i'm sorry."
another soft kiss. "please don't be upset at me."
you stayed quiet.
he knew you were awake, and he also knew you needed time.
".. i know you had a tough day." he continued after a few seconds. "i should've known to at least make you dinner."
his grip tightened just a little around your waist. "i'm sorry for being inconsiderate.. and telling you that you could just cook your own food." he sighed against your skin. "i wasn't thinking clearly."
he paused, rubbing slow circles against your side with his thumb.
"you work so hard.."
his voice softened even more.
".. you deserve to be pampered when you come home."
he nuzzled further into the crook of your neck.
"i'm sorry.." he whispered. "i miss you a lot too. sleeping in an empty bed tonight wouldn't make anything better."
there was another stretch of silence.
".. do you forgive me?"
you stayed still for another few seconds, letting every word settle.
still tucked comfortably in his arms, you gave the tiniest nod— it was barely noticeable.. and to be exact, you were still just being a little stubborn.
anton couldn't help but smile.
his hand gently cupped your cheek, carefully turning your face toward him just enough for your eyes to meet.
there was nothing but guilt and affection.
he leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips before pulling back just enough for his forehead to brush yours.
"c'mon," he smiled hovering over your lips.
"use your words, baby."
".. yes."
his smile immediately grew. before you could say anything else, one arm slipped beneath your knees while the other reached behind your back.
"anton—"
you let out the tiniest laugh as he effortlessly lifted you into a princess carry. your arms naturally looped around his neck, your face finding its usual spot against him.
".. my poor baby," he murmured as he carried you down the hallway.
you smiled to yourself before leaving a trail of tiny kisses along his jaw, then another against his cheek.
".. there she is." he chuckled quietly.
by the time he carried you into the bedroom, the only light left was the little lamp on the nightstand. its warm, golden glow filled the room, making everything feel softer.
anton carefully lowered you onto the bed— pulling the comforter over you, making sure you were completely tucked in before climbing into bed beside you.
with one hand, he reached over and switched off the lamp.
darkness settled around the room, and almost immediately, his arms found you again. he pulled you against his chest until there wasn't even the smallest gap between you.
you let out the quietest sigh, your forehead resting beneath his chin as his hand slowly rubbed up and down your back.
maybe that was all you needed.
just your boyfriend holding you close after a long day, reminding you that no matter how stressful life became— you never had to carry it alone.
Genre: fluff, romance, comedy, jealousy, arranged marriage au, husband heeseung
WC: 1.56k Or 1,568 words.
Synopsis: Heeseung thought surviving another boring corporate gala would be easy. unfortunately, his wife decided to show up looking breathtaking, and an overly confident businessman made the mistake of flirting with her right in front of him.
Everyone in the business world knew Lee Heeseung.
Young CEO. Brilliant strategist. Cold in meetings. Ruthless during negotiations. The kind of man whose mere presence could silence an entire conference room with a single glance.
At least, that was the version the world knew.
The version Y/N knew was entirely different.
The Heeseung she knew was the one who buried his face in her shoulder the second he stepped through the front door after a grueling twelve-hour workday. The Heeseung who followed her from room to room like a lost puppy, completely discarding his sharp corporate persona the moment they were behind closed doors. The Heeseung who constantly flirted with her just to watch her blush, acting as if he couldn't survive a single day without his wife.
And tonight?
Tonight he was suffering.
"Absolutely not."
Y/N glanced up from the vanity mirror, adjusting a delicate silver earring. "Hm?"
Heeseung stood in the doorway of their bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring. Or rather, glaring.
At her dress.
The elegant black evening gown fit perfectly, hugging her curves in all the right places before cascading down to the floor. It was tasteful, elegant, and entirely appropriate for a high-profile corporate gala. Nothing scandalous.
Yet his expression looked like she had personally declared war against him.
"You're not wearing that out," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
Y/N fought back a smile, turning around on her stool to face him fully. "And why is that?"
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the exposed skin of her collarbones. "You know why."
She absolutely did.
Their marriage had started as a cold, calculated arrangement between two influential families. Neither had expected much from it besides polite coexistence. Yet somehow, somewhere between late-night conversations over takeout, shared quiet mornings, and countless small moments, they had fallen hopelessly in love.
Now, two years later, Heeseung was completely and utterly whipped. And he made absolutely no effort to hide it when they were alone.
"It's just a dress, Heeseung."
"It's dangerous."
"It's fabric."
"It's a public safety hazard," he countered, finally walking into the room. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin heavily on her shoulder. He looked at their reflection in the mirror. "Stay home with me."
"We have to attend," she reminded him, running her hands over his forearms. "You already promised the organizers."
"I can cancel. A sudden corporate emergency."
"You won't."
He let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh against her neck. "Unfortunately, you know me too well."
An hour later, their sleek black sedan pulled up to the venue. The grand ballroom sparkled beneath enormous crystal chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the crowd of executives, investors, and elite business leaders filling the space.
The moment the double doors opened and they were announced, countless eyes shifted toward them. More specifically—toward Y/N.
Heeseung noticed instantly. His jaw tightened, his hand smoothing over the small of her back in a gesture that was as protective as it was possessive.
Y/N noticed the subtle shift in his posture, which only made her bite back a grin. It was a bad idea to tease him in a room full of reporters and business rivals, but watching the unflappable CEO lose his composure over something so simple was entirely too entertaining.
For the first hour, everything went smoothly. They moved through the crowd seamlessly, engaging in the usual corporate routine of polite nods, business discussions, and networking. Heeseung was the picture of professionalism, answering questions with sharp intellect while keeping Y/N closely by his side.
Then, the peace broke.
"Mrs. Lee, right?"
A smooth voice interrupted their conversation. Y/N turned to find Kang Minho, a young representative from a rival tech firm, standing there with a champagne flute in hand. He was confident, charming, and clearly a little too comfortable.
Y/N smiled politely, out of pure instinct. "Yes, hello."
"I've heard a lot about you, but the rumors don't do you justice," Minho said, his eyes lingering just a second too long.
Beside her, the air around Heeseung turned ice-cold. His fingers tightened imperceptibly against her waist.
Minho, completely oblivious to the impending danger, continued talking, shifting his stance to step a little closer into Y/N's personal space. "I'd love to invite you to our firm's upcoming charity event next month. I think you'd find our latest projects very interesting."
Several nearby executives, sensing the sudden, suffocating drop in atmospheric pressure around Lee Heeseung, quietly took a step back. One by one, people cleared the immediate blast radius. Nobody wanted to be caught in whatever storm was brewing.
Y/N, however, decided to play with fire. "Oh, really? That sounds lovely."
Minho smiled, encouraged. "You're even more gracious than people described. I'd love to discuss it further over lunch sometime, if your schedule allows."
Clink.
The sound of Heeseung setting his glass down on a passing waiter's tray was sharp enough to cut through the ambient noise of the ballroom.
Done. Finished. Limits exceeded.
Before Minho could utter another syllable, Heeseung stepped forward, shifting his weight so that he effectively blocked half of Minho's view of his wife. His arm wrapped securely around Y/N's waist, pulling her flush against his side in a firm, undeniable statement.
Mine.
"I'm sure my wife appreciates the invitation," Heeseung said, his voice incredibly calm, smooth, and utterly terrifying. He offered a polite, practiced corporate smile—one that didn't reach his eyes in the slightest. "However, her schedule is completely managed through my office, and I can assure you, she is entirely booked."
Minho blinked, the charm draining from his face as he finally looked up to meet the eyes of the young tycoon. The sheer intensity in Heeseung's gaze made the younger man swallow hard. "I—of course, Mr. Lee. Just professional courtesy."
"Of course," Heeseung replied smoothly, his tone laced with a silent warning that needed no translation. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
"Right. Excuse me," Minho mumbled, backing away so quickly he nearly tripped over his own leather shoes.
The second the man disappeared into the crowd, Y/N let out a breath, pressing her face against Heeseung's shoulder to hide her laughter.
"You enjoyed that far too much," Heeseung muttered, looking down at her with a look of pure betrayal.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Lee," she teased, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I was just being a supportive spouse."
"You were encouraging him to walk straight into a lion's den," he corrected, though the corners of his lips twitched downward, trying to maintain his stern facade. "You're a menace."
The moment the clock struck ten, Heeseung practically dragged her out to the waiting car. The entire drive back to their estate was filled with playful teasing, mostly from Y/N's side while Heeseung leaned back against the leather seats, looking thoroughly exhausted by her antics.
"You should've seen your face," she laughed, leaning into his side. "I thought you were going to buy his company just to fire him."
"The thought crossed my mind," he admitted dryly, turning his head to look out the window. "He was standing too close."
"He was just networking."
"He was breathing my oxygen," Heeseung countered, which only made her laugh harder.
By the time they finally stepped inside the privacy of their own home, the heavy tension of the gala completely evaporated. The quietness of the house welcomed them, and before Y/N could even kick off her heels, Heeseung pulled her back into his arms, trapping her between his chest and the closed front door.
"You're impossible," he whispered, his eyes scanning her face, all the coldness from the ballroom completely gone, replaced by a soft, vulnerable warmth.
"You love me anyway," she smiled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.
"I unfortunately do," he murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. "It's a terrible weakness. The board of directors would be horrified if they saw how easily you ruin my composure."
"Good thing they aren't here then."
Heeseung looked down at her for a long moment, taking in the sight of her smiling up at him, entirely unaffected by the fierce reputation he held in the outside world. He sighed, a soft, defeated sound, and wrapped his arms tight around her waist, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"You're still jealous," she whispered into his chest.
"A lot," he confessed honestly, kissing the crown of her head. "And I don't care who knows it. Just don't wear that dress around anyone else again."
Y/N smiled, resting her head against his heartbeat. Let the business world think whatever they wanted about the cold, ruthless young CEO. As long as she had this version of him—the one who belonged entirely to her—she wouldn't have it any other way.
summary. headcannons of you and jay's arranged marriage.
wc. 347
contains. jay is coldish, fluff towards the end, plot? (it headcannons, don't ask why i needed plot)
tags. headcannons, jay x reader, arranged marriage, pregnancy for like one headcannon, not proofread
notes. some more enhypen headcannons!!! i wiped this up real quick and just wanted to get something out so, it is kind of rushed but wtv. i will also be doing a EVAN version just because i want to and i don't want ot7 engenes to get mad at me. ik jungwon has addressed it all, but i still wanted to include him, but not as enhypen. also I am really needing someone to proofread my longer fics so please dm me if you want to!
other. you can check out my other works on my master list. if you want to be tagged in future works then you can do that on my tag list. also my requests are open so puhleaseee request something!!!
versons. EVAN jay sunoo jungwon jake ni-ki sunghoon
disclaimers. this is all fictional, nothing in this work portrays the idols in it.
now playing :: married, but not to each other by barbara mandrell
arrangedmarriage!jay who only agreed to marry you in order to better the family business. if anyone asked he would say it was out of convenience.
arrangedmarriage!jay who despised you with everything in him. the feelings where the mutual.
arrangedmarriage!jay who always made sure to act like a loving husband in public but was immediately cold as soon as you got back home.
arrangedmarriage!jay who, for the first year, treated you as only a roommate and you did the same.
arrangedmarriage!jay who never expected you to reciprocate his feelings of wanting to start a family. of course, you needed to to continue the park family line and keep the family business alive.
arrangedmarriage!jay who took more care of you while pregnant. you didn't expect it to continue after you had his baby.
arrangedmarriage!jay who decided there was nothing he could do to get out of this marriage and so he should learn to love you. the women who he had a child with, his wife.
arrangedmarriage!jay who started doing small things he thought you didn't notice. you forgot to get a refill of your favorite moisturizer? jay noticed and refilled it. you noticed.
arrangedmarriage!jay who started talking to you more. he would update you during the day of what he was doing at the moment and when he would be home. he even started to get more involved with the baby.
arrangedmarriage!jay who broke down one night when you asked him why he finally started treating you as a wife. "i'm sorry, sorry for ignoring you forever. so, so, sorry." was all he could say while tears streamed down his face.
arrangedmarriage!jay who surprised you with how vulnerable he was while he cried in your arms. you had never seen him in this state and decided you never did ever again.
arrangedmarriage!jay who always made sure you knew how much he loved you from that day forward. he never wanted you to even think for a minute that he was going back to his old ways.
if you enjoyed, don't forget to interact! (like, reblog, comment)
synopsis, Martin needs to understand when he can power through, and when he needs some help from you.
genre, angst/hurt.
author's note, whenever i listen to this song, i think of him. honestly, i just projected my feelings in this fic lmao. i see myself in martin in a lot of ways I can't describe, especially in this. anyway, first martin fic!
listen to, juliet— cavetown.
Cavetown had uttered it first, long before it became everyone else's truth: humans tried to carry far more than they were ever meant to bear alone. The power to ask for help never seemed to rest in their hands. Instead, it belonged to the voice in the back of their minds, the one that insisted they swallow it down and endure.
But I need to understand/
When I can power through/
And when I need some help from you.
Atlas was condemned by Zeus to hold up the sky for eternity, keeping the heavens and the earth forever separated. He was deemed a personification of endurance, enduring the weight of the celestial sphere itself.
But Atlas was a God. What’s a human being to a God? What made people think that they could forever hold up their sky with no help? Martin was no better than a human. Only, he failed where most humans succeeded. He endeavoured to manage anything and everything. But that hardly gets you anywhere. It gets to a point of saturation, where your mind and body stop co-ordinating and you do things you never meant to.
No human is perfect. But in Martin’s mind, the people who willingly bore the burdens of another were pretty damn close. In Martin’s mind, you were perfect. Perfect in the sense no one understood, because you were always there. Always there to catch him when he stumbled, always there to push him back to his feet like a trampoline.
He knew he could never meet you where you always met him. He could see the glimmer in your eyes dim whenever he refused your help. It was an odd feeling, an empty sense of dread with lingering realisation. You wouldn’t stay forever. You wouldn’t stay for him to change.
“Martin, it’s been three hours. Why are you being like this?” Your voice filled the empty space of the studio as Martin listened to your voicemail with his head against the wooden table.
“I’d never do this to you. What kind of a fucking boyfriend are you?”
There was a long silence, as if you gave him time to gather his thoughts while you did the same. The latter part perhaps didn’t happen, for what you said next made Martin sit up straight.
“Martin… I think we should break up.”
His breath hitched and he leaned forward to grab his phone. The voicemail was from the day before. He would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn’t been expecting it. Hell, maybe he had wanted exactly that.
“I’m tired of always showing up. Always being there for you, just to be pushed away. I know you like being alone. You don't like sharing your feelings. You like standing your ground. I guess… I just want to give you what you want.”
Solidarity was something you believed in with all your heart. One for all, and all for one. You believed that everything everyone did was a futile attempt at living life. But life was bigger than itself. Life isn't lived, you are. You live life with the people you want to see when you look back all those years later. The people surrounding you help you build yourself, but you live on your own. That didn't mean you had to bear the weight of the world, all on your own. It hinted at quite the opposite.
Solitude was something Martin craved from the depth of his being. He was inclined to live a life which didn't incur someone's sympathy. His art was supposed to provide catharsis to his own heart. Maybe it felt better that way. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all. But what is art, if not grief persevering? Hadn't he felt an emptiness within him every single time he refused help? Help from you, the warm sunlight to his cold winter mornings?
Alone was peaceful, lonely was not. Martin Edwards was lonely.
“I’ve tried my damn hardest Martin. I’ve tried to give you space, I’ve… I needed you so many times. I needed a constant. You were never there, and I always was. That's not fair.”
Martin listened wordlessly. What could he say? He could spend the rest of his life doing penance for what he did to you. But he would do it alone, and that would prove that he would rather suffer in silence than the mere thought of letting people in.
He would deliver a eulogy for the feelings he omitted, that laid bare in his room because they won't decay enough to become waste.
“All I ever wanted was for you to be there. For you to let me be there. I wasn't forcing myself in your life, right? God, I’d hate myself if I was. Martin, I need you to understand that you don't have to deal with everything alone. I know, it feels heavy. It feels like you're being a burden. You'd never be a burden to me. You know that.”
Burden. The word itself made Martin recoil. His heart ached furthermore, your words slicing right through it. He stayed slumped against his chair, looking at nothing as he listened to your voice.
Frost’s ‘Acquainted with the night’ spoke of something similar to what Martin felt.
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong, nor right /
I have been one acquainted with the night.
The night came with an odd quiet, an empty space for emotions to be unraveled. The genesis of all things left unsaid. Martin often used this ephemeral period to reflect on everything.
Did he say too much?
Did he accidentally make someone uncomfortable by sharing his problems?
Did he make someone roll their eyes at his constant whining?
Sometimes, on rare occasions, he almost pressed on your contact. Almost called you, spilled his guts out and more, leaned on you. He never succeeded.
He couldn't commit heresy against his own beliefs.
“I don't want to do this over fucking voicemail, Martin. Please don't make me do this. I love you. Just call back, please?”
The long beep followed by silence meant the end of the voicemail. He sat in complete silence, unmoving. His arms that rested against the armrest twitched just one, as if he wanted to reach out for something.
After a few seconds, he reached for his phone. He pulled up the voice recorder, his muscles working before his brain could think. It was muscle memory. He clicked on the record button, then placed the phone on the table again.
“You finished the voicemail with pleas again. I don't know why you do that. I don't understand what makes you stick around.”
Martin had always wondered if Eleos, the goddess of forgiveness and mercy, sat on your shoulder. His voice carried a vestige of admiration.
“I know I’m not a burden to you. You don't carry my weight, you carry me. I know that I need to understand when to just sit down.”
Your best memory of him had been of the time when he had driven you home on a rainy evening. You had watched the misty wraiths of moisture on the window pane. He held your hand as he focused on the road ahead. The rain enveloped the car, forming a cocoon of white noise and warmth.
“You're thinking hard.” You looked sideways at him, gesturing towards his furrowed eyebrows. He glanced at you once, before letting out a soft laugh.
“You always have your eyes on me, don't you?”
“I wonder what Martin is thinking on this beautiful, rainy evening.” You sighed, leaning against your seat to look at him properly. That pulled out another laugh from him, as he shook his head.
“I’m not thinking about anything, baby.”
“You are. Just tell me.”
There was a long beat of silence. He looked at you once more, this time longer, looking away before it became hazardous.
“I…” He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about us. It's been bothering me for a while, how little I’ve been talking to you.” He said quietly, squeezing your intertwined hands once.
“What do you mean?” You cocked your head to the side.
“I mean, I’ve been feeling disconnected. I know it's my fault. I just want to promise you that I’ll be more present.” He looked at you for the third time, staring into your eyes with that intensity that always made your heart stutter.
There had been that time when he stared into your eyes while making promises. Now, he stared at the recording app on his phone, while doing the same. Both were futile.
“Sometimes I act like I know everything. Like I’ve dealt with enough to know what's good for me. But I’m really just a kid. I don't know any better. I don't foresee what's coming, the way I pretend to do.”
“You know, there are times when I just sit back and think about us from the past. All I used to hope was for you to look at me and think ‘Shit, he's so pretty’. I never believed it myself, until I heard it from your mouth.”
Loneliness had been the scourge of his life. Yet, he never seemed to learn. With you, he felt warm. He felt needed. He almost succumbed to the idea of letting you in. The idea of finally sharing his heart, along with the heavy burden.
His heart would open with a soft hymn, almost letting you in. But he would shut the door right in your face every time. He never wanted to be cruel. He was just scared.
In all his years of mortality, he never considered himself a view worth being admired. But when you looked at him with those eyes? As if he hung the stars in the sky? The way you called him ‘pretty’? His heart would lurch in the small amount of space he had left for it in its cage.
He loathed how he had become the reason for your crestfallen expression.
He could never escape the labyrinth of self doubt, of feeling like a burden. A labyrinth made of flimsy bushes, gilded with the one thing he never expected to find. Love.
“I love you so much. You've taken over my life. I know you're never going to hear this, because I won't let you. I wish I could be the person you wanted. But you deserve someone who can openly talk about his emotions. I can never be that man for you. I’m so, so fucking sorry. For everything. You'll rest in my heart forever. But I can't let you rest in my arms anymore. Not if it costs us both something we can't afford to lose.”
He'd say damn the world where he can't be hers, but no one listened, for the only person who ever had truly listened was out of earshot forever. He could never blame anyone else but himself.
Any man’s death diminishes me /
Because I’m involved in mankind /
And therefore never send to know /
for whom the bell tolls /
It tolls for thee.
‘No man is an island’ was felt spiritually by you. But it fell deaf on Martin’s ears. He didn't care for another’s bell. In his mind, no one cared for his either. He would die a lonely man, and his bell would toll louder than ever, for a lonely man is the loudest when he's dead.
⏜︵ ot5 cortis (individually) x reader
warnings :: not proofread, mentions of mental health ( its not bad, mainly just anxiety being mentioned ), half the members being oblivious
synopsis :: the realization that they're in love with you OR five down bad idiots seeing you as their soulmate 𓈒ੵ. ݂ .𓈒 ᩙ𑁬
disclaimer! :: all works are purely for entertainment, though i strive for accuracy that doesn't mean my words are fact, i do not know these people personally, i write for fun thank you.
hoonspeaker ॱ़۫. first official debut here....please be kind world
MARTIN ( 마틴 )
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ big freaking yearner , big hopeless romantic i'll preach this to my death. he overthinks alot and sometimes finds it really hard to settle himself into a situation and also fully adjust to it.
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ when it comes to how martin shows love in most cases it would be through acts of service, he likes doing things for you, anything that makes you happy automatically makes him feel like he's doing something right.
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he'll realize that he's an idiot for you when he constantly agrees to watching your favorite movie three nights in a row. he'll realize he's even more an idiot when the slightest reminder of you puts him in a good mood, like a simple notification will have him jolly for the rest of the day. ( bonus: IS the type to change his setting for ur notifs so he can tell yours apart from others. )
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he'll see you as his soulmate when he starts to really look at how you reassure him, the way how you will genuinely speak life into him, the way how you always go to him first to tell him about your day, the little notes/messages you'll leave for him and the way how you always keep up with your values and refuse to change for anyone, he really likes how authentic you are and that's a big reason why he fell in love with you.
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ being an idol means having to sacrifice his time and that means hardly seeing eachother. to make up for it he would take a day on his break and devote it entirely to you. alsoo he LOVES when ur wearing something of his, to him it shows just how comfortable u are around him. he always likes seeing u in his hoodies, jackets, jewelry or even his footwear (dont ask.) bro is js obsessed with seeing u in his things.
JUHOON ( 주훈 )
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ because he normally keeps to himself its actually very VERY hard for him to find someone to commit to, sure he's nice and all but thats just his polite nature showing. when he does find someone he wants to be with most people would think he'll be more extroverted around his partner, he wouldn't go through any major changes per say but there's thing he would subconsciously do that is noticed by his members.
ׅ ╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ juhoon doesn't realize he's in love until its pointed out. he'll do things for you that he absolutely would not do for anyone else without thinking twice about it. when it's finally pointed out he genuinely has to sit with that for awhile and adjust to it, he knows he holds you as a person important status but he never fully thought about the fact that he might be IN love with you.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ doesn't like pda, he hates it actually especially with his career where he knows that he's consistently being watched one way or the other. despite that he isn't afraid of physical touch when you really need it, he's also a big victim of being touched starved when you both are in a private space.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ a lot of talks about him mention him being someone whos not very talkative which i do agree on, however it's not as bad as they deem it. he finds it hard to continue conversations if he isn't acquainted with a person, he's more of a listener when it comes to his friends. there's a big difference when it comes to how he may be verbal. when its you and him he still doesn't talk much but there's that way how he'll look at you, studying every expression you make and fully memorising your words.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he likes acts of service either giving or receiving he literally adores it. handmade gifts are the key to this guy's soul, he very appreciative of thought process and dedication it takes for you to personally make his gifts, extra points if its out of nowhere. big pros of being a listener is that he'll know what you like but its more of a surprise for him to receive certain gifts from you as proof that you also listen to him and familiarize yourself with his preferences.
JAMES ( 제임스 )
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he's not friendly, very closed off actually unless he needs to be polite to you. very tough cookie over here, the way to get to james's heart is patience and a shit ton of it. its hard for him to open up romantically so when he finds someone who can confidently call his, he WILL be invested.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ once you past all of the walls he has built up, his love for you is shown in soooo many ways like every act he does when it comes to you all strives from the affection he holds. he doesn't necessarily expect anything in return because he know you truly care about him enough to be such an important part in his life and that alone is enough for him.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ adores how much effort you point into things, he's very much the type to watch you arrange your stuff in a certain way and claims it helps him relax. he also strongly adores how you friendly and patient you with everything you do, he likes seeing you bond with his members since they are like his second family.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ james will realize he's in love with you when he starts teaching you his first language just to throw random compliments your way, fully confident you'll know what he's saying to you.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he's very creative with how he plans things, mvs &͟& fits. his style will be shown in everything he creates, this greatly applies to planned dates which he doesn't even recognize he's planning with your interests in mind like one way or another you will slowly take over his thoughts.
SEONGHYEON ( 성현 )
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ he's introverted, clumsy, shy and awkward as hell we know this much. but beneath all that when it comes to someone he's aware he's slowly falling for it pushes him out of his comfort zone. in a way its more for his sake than it is an attempt to impress you, he likes things that push him to be more out there.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ pretty sure that its confirmed by the members that hyeon will keep his problems to himself so no one will worry about him. this is something he would seriously struggle with when dating, aside from being a good choice for a boyfriend ( said by martin ) if you squint you can see a couple things that would somewhat be a problem for him.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ all personal aspects aside, its actually very easy for hyeon to fall for someone if all his ideals are met. ten points if it’s someone that influences him to be more open. he takes dating very seriously so he’s quite picky about who he would be in a relationship with.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ speaking on him taking dating very seriously, out of all the members he would be the first to think of his partner as his soulmate. he’s guarded when interacted by a possible love interest then transitions into a lovesick idiot when his walls are broken down.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ seonghyeon is the literal epitome of anxiety, that being said please be prepared to reassure bro every now and then cause his overthinking is NOT something to take lightly. he wont need constant reassurance, more like a good talk about how appreciative you are that he’s in your life.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ hm :: a big lover of physical touch, every chance he gets he will have his hands on you one way or the other
KEONHO ( 건호 )
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ i’ve seen soooooo many post babying this guy that i fear he would not like AT ALL. he’ll boost it to a point sure but it would honestly annoy him when people act like he’s five and not his actual age. what would draw him into you is your sense of maturity. balancing maturity and child-like traits would genuinely captivate him.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ its easy for him to get close to people but like the others it would take awhile for him to develop feelings + he’s pretty dense when it comes to anything that has to do with love especially his own love life, boy is slow asf but we forgive him.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ acts of service mean a lot to him along with words if affirmation, just don’t make it weird or he’ll joke it off. when it comes to you however, he’s quite good at his words. he’s known to be goofy and he will put that to good use if it makes you feel better.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ when keonho gets called out on how he acts towards you that would be what makes him start questioning things between you both. figuring out that he thinks of you more than a friend is easy, finding things out about himself comes easily to him. the problem he has is how he would approach the situation, being aware of it also makes him hyper aware of your reactions.
╱❊ ᩙ𓈒݂ ׅ moving past the confessions and awkward start of your relationship, it would take keonho about a full two years to recognize how much he cherishes you and about six months for him to see you as more than just a partner but as someone who he wouldn’t mind sharing the rest of his life with.
Author’s note : FUCKKKK this was a request but the app tweaked and it’s gone now.. anon, hope you’ll be able to stumble upon it still. Not comfortable writing smut so that’s for now
The front door of their little house clicked shut behind them, sealing out the last of the afternoon light and the distant hum of well-wishers still lingering near the church. James set the small overnight bag down carefully, then turned to face you. His dark hair was slightly mussed from the drive, the white collar of his shirt open at the throat where he had loosened his tie the moment they left the parking lot. A faint flush colored his cheeks, and his eyes, usually so steady, held a quiet, almost disbelieving heat.
“We’re home,” he said, voice low. “For good.”
You stood in the entryway, still in your simple ivory dress, the soft fabric brushing your knees. Your braids rested neat against your shoulders and back, the ends brushing the fabric when you moved. The house smelled of lemon polish and the faint sweetness of the peonies James had brought home two days earlier, now arranged in a glass vase on the side table. Late sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, laying long gold bars across the hardwood floor. Everything felt both familiar and brand new, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
James stepped closer. His hands found yours, fingers threading together. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. “All day I kept thinking I must be dreaming. Then I’d catch your eye during the vows and know I wasn’t. Kept thinking about getting you back here. Getting my hands on you properly.”
You gave a small smile. “I kept waiting for someone to stand up and say there’d been a mistake.”
“No mistake.” He lifted one of your hands and pressed a slow kiss to your knuckles, then turned your wrist and kissed the soft inside of it. “You’re my wife. I’m your husband. That’s the truth of it now. And I’ve been waiting all day to show you what that means.”
The words settled between you like something solid and warm. James’s gaze drifted to the small gold band on your finger, then back to your face. He reached up and gently touched one of your braids, his fingertips lingering against your cheek afterward before sliding down to rest at the side of your neck, thumb stroking the pulse there.
“Come here,” he said.
He guided you into the living room, where the old couch waited beneath the open window. A soft breeze stirred the sheer curtains. Outside, a neighbor’s wind chime rang faintly. James sat first, then drew you down beside him, close enough that your knee brushed his. For a moment neither of you spoke. The quiet of the house wrapped around you both. No guests, no cameras, no toasts left to make. Just the two of you and the soft tick of the clock on the mantel.
James’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of your hand, then higher, along the inside of your wrist. “I kept thinking about this part,” he admitted, voice rougher now. “The drive home. Walking through that door with you. Having you all to myself. Wondering how long I’d last before I got to touch you like I’ve been wanting to.”
“Me too.” Your voice was steady. “I kept wondering what it would feel like. To be alone with you like this. Really alone.”
He turned more fully toward you, one arm resting along the back of the couch, the other already sliding to your waist. “And? What does it feel like?”
You met his eyes without looking away. “Like I can finally breathe.”
A small smile curved his mouth, but there was heat under it. He leaned in and kissed you, gentle at first, almost careful. The kiss deepened quickly, his lips warm and sure against yours, tongue brushing yours with quiet intent. One of his hands came up to cradle the side of your face, the other settling firmer at your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric. You felt the solid heat of him through the thin layers, the steady rise and fall of his chest. When he drew back just enough to speak, his breath brushed your cheek, warmer now.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he said. “Properly. Without an audience. Wanted to get my mouth on you and keep it there.”
You answered by kissing him again. This time the kiss held more urgency, more of the long day of waiting. James’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, drawing you closer until there was almost no space left between you. The soft fabric of your dress whispered against his shirt. Outside, a car passed on the quiet street. Inside, the only sound was the quiet catch of breath between kisses.
James’s mouth trailed from your lips to the corner of your jaw, then lower, brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He nipped lightly there, then soothed it with his tongue. You felt him smile against you when your breath hitched.
“That okay?” he asked, voice roughened.
“Yeah.”
He kissed the same spot again, slower this time, then found your mouth once more. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier. His fingers traced the line of your spine through the dress, pausing at the small buttons that ran down the back, then sliding lower to rest at the curve of your hip, squeezing once. He didn’t rush. He simply held you, kissed you, let the heat build in the quiet room until the air itself felt charged. When his hand came back up to cup the side of your breast through the fabric, it was deliberate, testing, thumb brushing slow over the peak.
When he finally drew back, his eyes were darker, his breathing uneven. “We don’t have to hurry anything,” he said. “We’ve got the rest of our lives. But I want you to know I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now. I want to learn every sound you make. Want to feel you under me. Want to take my time undoing every button and then take even longer with the rest.”
You rested your forehead against his. “I feel the same. It’s new for me too. All of this.”
Understanding passed between you without needing more words. James’s hand came up to cup your cheek again, thumb stroking gently over the warm brown of your skin, then down to your bottom lip. “Then we take it slow. We learn each other. There’s no one else here but us. But I’m not going to pretend I haven’t been thinking about this. About getting you out of this dress. About what you’re going to feel like when it’s just us.”
He kissed you once more, long and thorough, until the last of the day’s formality melted away. When the kiss broke, he stood and offered his hand. You took it. Together you walked through the soft afternoon light toward the hallway that led to the bedroom you now shared. The door stood half open, the white curtains already stirring in the breeze from the open window. The bed was made with the pale blue sheets James had chosen the week before, the ones he said looked like the sky after rain.
At the threshold he paused and turned to you again. His free hand found the small of your back, then slid lower, resting possessively. “Still with me?”
“Always.”
He smiled, that quiet, private smile that belonged only to you now, edged with something hungrier. Then he guided you inside, closing the door softly behind you both. The room smelled faintly of clean cotton and the lavender soap you’d left on the dresser that morning. Sunlight pooled on the floorboards. James’s hands settled at your waist, warm and steady, then pulled you flush against him so you could feel exactly how much he wanted this. Hard against your stomach. Unapologetic.
“I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times,” he murmured against your braids. “Coming home with you. Having the whole night ahead of us. Learning what makes you sigh, what makes you smile like that. What makes you grip the sheets.” His lips brushed your temple, then lower, along your jaw. “I want to take my time with you. Every button. Every kiss. I want to make sure you feel how much I love you. And how badly I’ve been wanting to get inside you.”
You turned in his arms so you could see his face. The late light caught the gold in his eyes. “I already do,” you said. “But I want to feel it again. And again.”
James’s laugh was soft, almost reverent, but his hands were already sliding up your back to the first of those small buttons. “Good. Because I plan on making you feel it all night.” He kissed you once more, deeper this time, the fabric shifting under his fingers as he worked the first button free. Outside, the wind chime sang again. Inside, the only world that mattered was the quiet space between your bodies, the shared breath, the promise of the long evening still unfolding.
He paused, forehead resting against yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Or slow down. Or anything at all.”
“I won’t want you to stop,” you said. “Not tonight.”
James’s eyes closed for a moment, as if the words had settled deep. When he opened them again, the look he gave you held equal parts tenderness and heat. “Then let me take care of you,” he said. “Let me show you how it feels to be mine. Properly. Completely. For the first time. I want to taste you. Want to feel you open up for me. Want to hear what you sound like when I finally get to have you.”
His mouth found yours again, and the kiss carried everything the day had built. The vows, the drive home, the quiet of the empty house. Hands moved with careful purpose, but there was no hesitation now. The soft sounds of fabric shifting filled the room as more buttons came undone. Somewhere beyond the window a bird called once and fell silent. The light continued its slow golden slide across the floor.
James guided you gently toward the bed, never breaking the kiss for long. When the backs of your knees met the mattress he eased you down, following, bracing his weight so he wouldn’t crush you. The sheets were cool against your bare shoulders. His body was warm above yours, hard where he pressed against you. One of his hands traced the line of your arm from wrist to elbow, then higher, as if memorizing the shape of you. Your braids spread across the pillow behind you. His other hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, and stayed there, gripping.
He rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, the hard length of him grinding against you through the remaining layers of clothing. The friction was sharp and sweet. He did it again, deeper this time, watching your face the whole while.
“You’re steady,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Even now. Makes me want to see how long that lasts.”
“So are you. Mostly.”
He smiled against your mouth, then kissed deeper, rolling his hips again so you could feel every inch of him. The dry drag of fabric between you, the heat building with every slow grind. “Guilty. I’ve never done this either. Not with anyone who mattered. Not like this.” His voice dropped lower. “I want it to be good for you. I want to get it right. Want to take you apart slow and put you back together. Want to be the first and the only one who gets to know what you feel like when you’re mine. Want to push inside you and stay there until you forget everything else.”
You lifted a hand to his cheek. “We will. Together.”
James kissed the palm of your hand, then your wrist, then the soft inside of your elbow. Each touch was deliberate, unhurried, but there was an edge to it now, a promise. He kept moving against you, slow grinds that made the bed creak faintly, the pressure building between your bodies until it felt almost unbearable. The air thickened with shared breath and the quiet rustle of clothing being set aside piece by piece. When at last there was nothing left but skin and the fading light, James rested his forehead against yours once more, one hand sliding between your thighs with careful intent, fingers finding the heat of you.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “I’m going to keep saying it until you get tired of hearing it. And I’m going to keep touching you until you forget how to say anything else. Want to feel you take me. Want to be the first one inside you. Want to move with you until neither of us can think straight.”
“I won’t get tired of it.”
He smiled, and the smile turned into another kiss, deeper, slower, full of the promise of everything still to come. Outside, the first hints of evening began to cool the air. Inside your shared home, the two of you moved together with the careful wonder of people who knew they were discovering something entirely new, something that belonged only to them, and would for the rest of their lives.
𑣲. tiny love letter :: it was then on a lovely saturday evening, on your lil picnic date, when you realized you fell deeply in love with the man in front of you, your boyfriend nicholas.
warnings :: pure fluff. — bf! 王奕翔 x gn!reader … sappy and sweet tooth rotting fluff, a bit of crying, intense emotions, sharing ice cream, they’re pure admiring and lovesick love birds, gentle kisses and soft nuzzles… >.<
sticky note :: happy birthday weno!! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ
sometimes you just wanna stare at his beauty, longing and full of emotions you can’t even define with literal words in the english language from how intense they were. sometimes you wish he could understand, indulge and acknowledge how heavy it all feels by just looking at the way your eyes gloss with an unspoken truth. maybe he understands.
nicholas does understand. he always does.
the gentle wind is billowing between you, speaking for you and filling in the silence. you don’t know where it came from, or how it conjured since all you’re doing is having a lovely picnic date he planned spontaneously. the ice cream is nice, cooling your already heated skin but suddenly you don’t have the strength to keep raising your small spoon to your mouth anymore.
it’s so heavy, weighing your limbs down, you have no other choice than to lower your gaze, letting the wind cover your eyes with strands of your hair over your face. the vanilla is still present on your tongue, but it feels too heavy to even formulate words right now.
and quietly, he sees it all, letting you sort out or soak in the experience with silence as he continues eating his mint chocolate treat. his eyes never once leave you because the sight of this happening was once in a lifetime, powerful since you’re allowing this to happen in front of him. he’ll never take it for granted, he’ll hold onto the moment.
it takes however long for you to finally yourself again, to sort through it all and realize what it was that you felt. a dense mixture of appreciation, intense longing, desire for connection, devotion, a yearning that seemed much farther than normal— it escapes you with a deep exhale, shaky because it was either that or just letting it fall down your cheeks in hot tears. you don’t want to alarm him, make him think that this date was a bad idea where you suddenly just melt in sparkly tears. you just feel deeply and … this time, you think he can relate. you know he can relate.
again, you don’t say anything afterwards, keeping your emotions tight within your chest, thrumming in your sternum and up your throat but you push it down by taking another scoop of ice cream passed your lips. you’re not alone in this, you fell hard. quietly, to not shake your softness, sometime amidst your silence he shuffled closer enough to close the wide space between you. sitting across from you, he settles down by your side, still facing you and still picking at his ice cream, but now raising his spoon to your lips.
share with me. a slight plea, a small opening.
unshed tears cling onto your lashes when they flutter open, meeting his soft gaze. heavy, you feel heavy, but your lips wrap around his spoon as your eyes start blurring and bridge of your nose starts stinging. it’s his way of letting you know he accepts your intensity, wants to see it, wants you to show him, that he’ll take all of it because he loves all of you. the small plastic slips out your mouth and he swiftly plants a small peck onto your burning cheek as you lower your gaze again, smiling softly when he slightly pulls away just to see what’s the next emotion to paint onto your pretty features. you burn bright, heated with his love and you feel it. his presence makes you ache, his touch, his sincerity. his thigh brushing against yours, his scent wafting into your twitching nose, his lips planted on your cheek still in a fantom kiss.
“you burned me, nicholas.” your words crumble him. you ruined me, your mind supplies but you wouldn’t call it ruined. he left his mark on your beating heart but in the most purest form. in a way that leaves you feeling fulfilled, cherished, devotedly full. his narrowed eyes stay softened, eyebrows twitching as you finally share your intensity— feeling it immediately affect him even more.
it was your turn this time, lifting up your spoon to his mouth, watching as the same emotions swirl in his eyes and full expression. his lips part, taking in the sweetness and the weight of your whispered words, leaving the spoon empty between your fingertips.
allow me to see, seeking for his intensity since you know he feels the same.
he feels it in the air, the charge of all the emotions you both feel meddling between your physical bodies, loaded onto his sharp features until they soften with the same ache. his expression visibly crumbles, and he finds it hard to swallow down the sweet with the ball of sentiment lumped in his jumping throat. can’t bring himself to look away, eyebrows furrowing upwards just the slightest. it hurts, but in a way he wants. in a way he has desired. he’s so thankful, so appreciative, you feel the same. you feel deep, but you’re not alone in this.
he nods his head once. wants you to know that he understands, he acknowledges, he agrees, he relates — in every sense possible.
a small chuckle suddenly escapes through his nostrils and his smile gingerly twitches at the curling corners of his pinkish lips. you’re both so lovesick, heavy with fever, in the way your gazes were heated. his lopsided smile makes yours grow, of course he’d understand. his lips press onto your cheek once more after your softening stare.
and when he pulls away again, all you see in his face was pure admiration. it sticks on even after he puts his attention back and smiling down at the half full cup of ice cream, scrapping out the rest on his spoon to keep feeding you. his cheeks rosy, tip of his nose pink, narrowed eyes glistening with sparkles and stars as they gaze over your beauty.
no amount of cool winds could chill your buzzing skin. no amount of ice cream can cool the burn you feel deep within for each other. he knows this. you know this.
it was just a soft picnic date in the neighborhood park, a cool chill settling in along the soft night, sunset painting the sky an array of dusk orange and pinks…
but being on any date with nicholas always turns into one of the most sacred experiences you can have. and it’ll always be with him.
