synopsis: your father absolutely refuses to give martin his blessing for him to marry you, but fails to consider that martin just might marry you anyway.
word count: 3.0k
info+warnings: inspired by Rude, delinquent!martin, fluff, mild angst?, young marriage, sneaking around, climbing through windows, strict father, defiance, kissing
Martin should have known better than to believe that the man who hated his entire existence would suddenly change his mind.
"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."
The words still rang in his ears as he walked away from your porch, the door slamming shut between him and your father's scowling face.
He couldn't blame the man, really. Martin knew what kind of person he was: a teenage delinquent that only gets himself into trouble, and would likely drag you straight into it sooner or later.
He himself still couldn't quite understand what about him had actually managed to win you over initially. You were everything he was not: a rule follower, an academic, someone with a much more promising future than the one Martin possessed. So how you found him to be anything other than a walking red flag was a mystery that kept him up at night.
He remembered the first time you'd spoken to him behind the gym in your second year of high school, his knuckles were bloody and his temper was still running hot. You'd appeared out of nowhere, holding out a crumpled napkin from the cafeteria.
"You're bleeding," you'd said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Not your problem," he'd muttered, trying to brush past you.
But you'd grabbed his wrist before he could fully turn the corner and pressed the napkin into his palm. "Just clean it up," you'd said. "You'll get blood on your shirt."
You then walked away, leaving him standing there with a bloody napkin and a strange feeling in his chest that he'd never quite managed to shake.
Martin had tried to push you away at first. He knew what people said about him: the troublemaker, the burnout, the kid who'd end up in juvie before graduation. He'd heard your father's warnings from across the street, loud enough to carry, "Stay away from that boy, Y/N. He's nothing but trouble."
Despite all of that you kept appearing.
You showed up at the diner where he worked, sitting in his section and ordering coffee you barely touched, just so you could talk to him during his break. You showed up at the auto shop, claiming your car needed an oil change, even though it was perfectly fine. You showed up at his apartment after he got suspended the second time, bringing takeout and a stubborn expression that said you wouldn’t leave under any circumstance.
"Why?" He’d finally asked you, exhausted and confused. "Why do you keep doing this? You know what I am. You've heard what everyone says."
You'd looked at him then, really looked, and said, "I see something they don't."
"What?"
"Someone who's trying."
And that was it. That was the moment Martin knew he was a goner.
It hadn't taken long for your father to work out that you had ignored all his prior warnings, though truly he should have realised it sooner.
You had been staying out much later than before, coming home with an almost lovesick grin. Your father knew you were in love—that wasn't hard to tell. Just in his own mind, the thought of you falling in love with the one boy he had forbidden you from even talking to was a concept so foreign, so utterly incomprehensible, that he simply refused to entertain it.
But the signs were all there. You'd rush through dinner just to get to your room and stare at your phone, waiting for a message whilst also deflecting his questions about your day with vague answers and quick subject changes.
It was only when your father found the crumpled napkin in your laundry with Martin's name scrawled on it in your handwriting, surrounded by tiny hearts, that the truth finally crashed down on him.
He'd confronted you that night, voice shaking with barely contained fury.
"Are you seeing that Martin boy?"
You'd looked at him, and for a moment, he only saw defiance in your gaze. "Yes," you'd said quietly. "I am."
The argument that followed was the worst you'd ever had. Your father had shouted until his voice went hoarse, listing every reason why Martin was wrong for you: his record, his reputation, his lack of prospects. You'd shouted back, defending him with a passion that only made your father angrier.
"He's not who you think he is, Dad. He's trying so hard. He's working two jobs, he's studying for school as best he can, he's—"
"He's a delinquent, Y/N. He's always been a delinquent, and he always will be. I won't let you throw your life away for someone like him."
"He's not a delinquent. He's just... he's just someone who never had anyone believe in him. Until me."
Your father had gone silent at that. Not because he agreed, but because he realised something crucial: you were in too deep. No amount of arguing would change your mind.
So he'd done the only thing he could think of. He'd banned you from seeing Martin, forbade you from leaving the house except for school and work, and took your phone, your laptop, everything that connected you to the outside world.
For a few weeks, it seemed to work. You and Martin had never shared a class at school, so he didn’t need to worry about that. Additionally, with so much surveillance surrounding you, you had practically given up even thinking of trying to find a way around it.
That was until one night a few weeks later when you were laying under the covers of your bed, staring at the ceiling with not a thought on your mind when the sound of something knocking on your window echoed through the room.
You sat up, heart pounding, and stared at the window. The blinds were drawn, but through the slats, you could make out a familiar silhouette you knew all too well crouched on the fire escape.
You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your ankles, and yanked the blinds open. There he was—grinning like an idiot, dirt smudged on his cheek, a small bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He was wearing that worn leather jacket you loved with the torn sleeve he refused to sew back together.
"Hey, princess," he whispered through the glass. "You miss me?"
You fumbled with the lock, pushing the window open as quietly as you could. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and city streets.
"What are you doing here?" You hissed. "My dad could hear you!"
"Your dad's probably knocked out asleep right now." He climbed through the window with practiced ease, landing silently on your bedroom floor.
You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his jacket. "I thought I'd never see you again," you whispered, your voice cracking.
"Hey." He pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. "I told you. Nothing's keeping me away from you. Not your dad, not the cops, not anyone."
"Martin—"
"Three weeks, Y/N. I spent three weeks without you and I was going insane." He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to something raw and vulnerable. "I thought about calling your house, but I knew your dad would just make it worse. I had to wait until I could figure out a way to see you."
"You figured out the fire escape."
"I figured out the fire escape." He grinned, but there was something softer underneath it. "Took me two days to find the right route. Nearly fell off the third-floor landing, but hey—" He shrugged. "Worth it."
You laughed, a wet, shaky sound. "You're insane."
"Only for you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled back to hold up the takeout bag. "I brought food. Your favourite dumpling place with the spicy sauce you like. Figured you probably haven't been eating much."
You hadn't. The past three weeks had been a blur of forced dinners and silent meals, your father's disapproving gaze boring into you from across the table. You'd lost weight, and Martin had noticed it the moment he climbed through your window.
"You're too good to me," you said.
"Not possible." He set the bag on your desk and pulled you over to sit on the bed. "Now eat. I'll keep watch."
You sat together in the darkness, sharing dumplings and whispered conversations.
"One day," he said, "I'm going to have a real place with a good job and be something your dad can't complain about."
"I don't care about any of that."
"I know." He smiled, but there was something serious in his eyes. "That's why I want to give it to you anyway. You deserve the world, Y/N. I'm going to figure out how to give it to you."
"I just want you," you said softly.
"Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. "Because you've got me. For as long as you want me."
It was reckless and dangerous and every time you heard a floorboard creak, your heart stopped. But as you sat there in the dark, wrapped in Martin's arms, you couldn't bring yourself to care.
Your father never caught the two of you, and gradually he granted you back your privileges, though that also stemmed from your absolute refusal to even look at him until he did so.
A part of you secretly knew that your father had probably worked out you were still seeing Martin. He wasn't stupid—he'd raised you, after all. He knew the stubborn set of your jaw, the defiant glint in your eyes when you were hiding something. He'd seen the way you'd started leaving your window unlocked again, the way you'd come downstairs with pillow creases on your cheek and a sleepy smile that had nothing to do with a good night's rest.
But he never said anything and you remained in this strange stalemate situation for the following couple of years.
It was an unspoken agreement, really. Your father pretended not to notice the faint smell of motor oil that sometimes clung to your clothes in the morning. He pretended not to hear the soft thud of footsteps on the fire escape at midnight. He pretended not to see the way your eyes lit up whenever your phone buzzed. And you, in turn, pretended not to notice the way your father started leaving the back door unlocked, or the way he'd conveniently be in the living room with the TV turned up too loud whenever Martin was climbing the fire escape.
It was a strange kind of peace. Fragile, particularly tenuous. But it was peace nonetheless.
Then, finally, graduation day arrived.
You walked across the stage in your cap and gown, your father watching from the front row with a carefully neutral expression. Martin was a few students behind you, wearing his best clothes underneath the gown that you had bought for his birthday, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.
After the ceremony, you found him in the parking lot, still in your gown, your diploma clutched in your hands.
"We did it," you said, laughing. "We actually did it."
"We did." He pulled you into his arms, spinning you around. "High school graduates. Can you believe it?"
"I can't believe you didn't drop out."
"Me neither." He set you down, his hands still on your waist. "But I had a good reason to stay."
"And what was that?"
He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "You."
You and Martin had separated before your father emerged between the cars with the promise of seeing each other tomorrow, however you failed to fully notice the strange glint in Martin’s eyes as he parted with you
The next morning, Martin showed up at your door, his hands shaking as he knocked.
You answered, still in your pajamas, your hair a mess. "Martin? What are you—"
"I'm here to ask your father for permission to marry you."
You stared at him for a few seconds. "Now? At eight in the morning?"
"Time's ticking." He tried to smile, but it came out nervous. "I've waited long enough. Three years. I'm not waiting anymore."
Your father appeared behind you, coffee mug in hand. He looked at Martin, then at the suit, then at the determined set of Martin's jaw.
"Y/N, go to your room," he said, his voice flat as you gave Martin a wary look before retreating, "you again."
"Yes, sir." Martin straightened his spine, watching you disappear into the background. "I'm here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."
Your father set down his coffee mug, and for a long moment he just looked at Martin. "You must be out of your damn mind," he said slowly, "if you think I'd let you marry my daughter."
"Sir, I know I'm not what you wanted for her. I know I've made mistakes. I know I don't have much—"
"You've barely got a diploma, an unsecure job at an auto shop, and a reputation that makes me want to lock my daughter in her room until she's thirty-five."
"I know, sir. But I love her. I've loved her since I was fifteen, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life taking care of her."
"You think that's enough?" Your father's voice was rising. "You think love is enough? You have no future, no prospects, no—"
"I'm going to marry her anyway."
Your father stopped mid-sentence. "What?"
"I said I'm going to marry her anyway." Martin lifted his chin, his voice steady. "With or without your blessing. With or without your approval. I love her, and she loves me, and we're getting married. I'm just sorry you won't be there to see it."
"Get out." Your father's voice was ice. "Get out of my house before I call the cops."
Martin nodded slowly. He'd expected this. He'd prepared for this. It still stung. He turned and walked down the steps, the door slamming behind him.
Five hours later, Martin stood in front of you at the courthouse, him having snuck you out of your room through the very window he had spent years crawling through.
You'd changed into a simple white dress that you had worn a few times in the summer. Martin was in his navy suit from the graduation, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Dearly beloved," the officiant droned, "we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
Martin barely heard the words. He was too busy memorising the way you were looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
"Martin," you whispered, "you're crying."
"Am not."
"You totally are."
"It's allergies."
"You're such a liar."
He laughed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fine, maybe I'm a little emotional. You're marrying me, Y/N. Me. The guy who couldn't even pass English without your help."
"I think you're pretty great," you said softly. "I always have."
The officiant cleared his throat. "The rings?"
Martin fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the simple silver bands he'd saved up for. He slid one onto your finger—it was a little too big, but you didn't seem to care, you just stared at it like it was the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Martin’s lips were on yours before you could fully process the words.
He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. He was savouring the reality of this, you in his arms finally calling yourself his. Gradually it deepened, the years of longing and wanting pouring into every second your mouth remained on his.
When he pulled back, you were both breathless and grinning like idiots.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice rough and cracking. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. I love you more than anything. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."
You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you too. Even though you're insane."
A wet laugh escaped him, his shoulders shaking. "Especially because I'm insane?"
"Especially then." You smiled, soft and radiant.
He kissed you again, softer this time, because he felt he had all the time in the world, and, really, he did. Nothing else mattered to him except the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your heartbeat matched his own.
When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot, tears still tracking down his cheeks. "Mrs. Edwards," he said, testing the words. "That has a nice ring to it."
You laughed, bright and beautiful. "Mr. L/N. That would have an even nicer ring to it."
"Hey." He poked your side. "I proposed first, that means you take my name."
"Fine." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "But only because I love you."
"That's the only reason I need."
The courthouse was small and dingy, the officiant was already shuffling papers, clearly eager to leave, the neon sign outside flickered and buzzed. It wasn't the wedding either of you had dreamed of. There were no flowers, no guests, no white dress with a long train.
But it was yours.
And as Martin pulled you into his arms, his lips pressed against your temple, he knew he'd never regret a single moment of it. "I'm going to give you everything," he whispered against your skin. "I don't have much now, but I will. A home, a future, a life you can be proud of. I promise."
"I already have everything I need," you whispered back. "I have you."
He pulled back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, his smile shaky, his heart laid bare on his sleeve. "You really mean that?"
"Every word."
He kissed you one last time: deep, slow, full of all the promises he'd spend the rest of his life keeping.
Your father was going to be absolutely livid when he found out, though Martin didn't care.
Genre : Fluff, High School, Love hate relationship.
Summary : "Kiss me, or be my servant." She chose servant to protect her secret, only to realize the blackmail was a lie to get her attention.
Oneshot
"Are you eating that cigarette or smoking it?"
Y/n jumped so hard she almost dropped her bag. The white stick slipped from her fingers and fell into the dirt. She immediately started coughing violently, bending over as her lungs felt like they were on fire.
Ohyul was leaning against the dirty brick wall of the school gym. He had his phone out.
Click.
"Hey! Did you just take a picture?" Y/n yelled, wiping her watering eyes.
"Yep," Ohyul said. He looked at his phone screen and whistled. "Wow. Beautiful. The number one model student of our school. Smoking behind the gym like a gangster. Mr. Han is going to love this."
"Delete it!" Y/n walked toward him quickly, trying to snatch the phone.
Ohyul just raised his arm high."Nope."
"Please, Ohyul. I'm just stressed! It's midterm week. I don't even know how to light it properly!"
"I can see that," Ohyul laughed. "You were holding it like a crayon."
"What do you want?" Y/n asked, panicking now. "Money? I have ten dollars."
"I have twenty," Ohyul rolled his eyes. "I don't want your lunch money. But I will give you a deal. Two options."
"Tell me."
Ohyul pointed a finger at his own cheek. "Option one. Kiss me right now. I will delete the photo, and we forget this happened."
Y/n stared at him like he was an alien. "Ew. Gross. Are you crazy?"
Ohyul frowned. "Rude. Fine. Option two. You become my personal servant. You do what I say until I get bored."
Y/n did not even hesitate for one second. "Option two. Servant."
Ohyul actually looked offended. He blinked twice. "Wow. That was fast. Am I that bad to kiss?"
"I would rather clean the boys' bathroom everyday" Y/n said flatly.
"Alright, servant," Ohyul smiled, though he looked slightly annoyed. He threw a coin at her. Y/n caught it out of reflex. "Go buy me a cola from the vending machine. The cold one."
"Right now?"
"Do you want me to press 'send' to the principal?" Ohyul waved his phone.
Y/n gritted her teeth. "Fine."
The next day in class, Ohyul sat at the back. Y/n sat one row in front of him.
Ohyul kicked her chair.
Y/n ignored him.
He kicked it again.
Y/n turned around and glared. "What."
"I'm hungry," Ohyul whispered loudly. "Go to the cafeteria. Get me the pizza bread."
"Are you insane? It's lunch rush! The line is fifty people long!"
Ohyul just tapped his phone screen. "Tap, tap, tap. Oh no, my finger is slipping toward the gallery..."
Y/n stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor loudly. She stomped out of the classroom. Fifteen minutes later, she returned, sweating and looking ready to punch a wall. She slammed the warm plastic package on his desk. "Eat it and choke."
Ohyul calmly opened the bread. He took a bite. "Delicious. Thanks, servant."
Sitting a few desks away, Woojin and Louis watched the entire exchange with their jaws practically hitting the floor.
"Did you just see that?" Woojin whispered, rubbing his eyes like he was hallucinating. "The Y/n? The elegant, untouchable, top of the class Y/n just fought through the cafeteria lunch rush... for Ohyul?"
Louis nodded slowly, looking utterly bewildered. "And he just called her 'servant'. If anyone else even tried to boss her around, she would have destroyed them. Why is she being so obedient to him?"
"It has to be blackmail. Or dark magic," Woojin said seriously. Ohyul caught them staring. He shot his friends a smug, triumphant grin and took another bite of his bread, making the two boys exchange confused looks.
Y/n turned her back to him. Suddenly, something cold touched her neck. She flinched.
It was a can of cold soda. Ohyul placed it on her desk.
"What is this?" Y/n asked suspiciously.
"You look like a zombie. Drink it."
"Did you spit in it?"
"It's sealed, you idiot. Just drink it."
Y/n checked the seal. It was intact. She opened it and drank it. It was actually her favorite brand. She didn't say thank you, but she didn't throw it away either.
Two days later, in the library.
"Do my English worksheet," Ohyul slid a paper across the table.
Y/n whispered angrily, "I am studying for my physics test!"
"You have a big brain. Use it for me."
"I hate you."
"I know. Fill in the blanks."
Y/n snatched the paper. She aggressively filled out the answers, finishing in ten minutes. "Done. Here."
Ohyul looked at the paper. "Wow. You even copied my messy handwriting. You're talented." He pushed a small bag of gummy bears across the table.
"I don't want your pity food," Y/n whispered.
"Eat it or I'll yell 'Y/n is a smoker' in this quiet library right now." Ohyul opened his mouth wide.
Y/n quickly grabbed the gummies and stuffed one in her mouth to shut him up. "You are literally the worst person on earth."
Ohyul rested his chin on his hand, smiling. "You're welcome."
Thursday. School ended, and it was pouring rain outside.
Y/n stood at the front gate, checking her bag three times. No umbrella.
Ohyul walked past her, popping open a large black umbrella. He stopped and looked back. "No umbrella?"
"Mind your own business, Kwon Ohyul."
"Hey, servant. Go across the street and buy me potato chips."
Y/n stared at him, pointing at the sky. "It's a hurricane out there!"
"Chips. Sour cream and onion. Now." Ohyul grinned.
Y/n wanted to scream. She dropped her bag on the dry ground, took a deep breath and sprinted into the rain. The water was freezing. She ran across the road, bought the chips, and ran back.
She was completely soaked. Her white uniform shirt stuck to her arms, and her hair was completely flat. She shoved the bag of chips into his chest.
"Here! I hope you get a stomachache!"
Ohyul looked at her. His smile completely disappeared. He suddenly pushed his black umbrella into her hand.
Y/n blinked. "What are you doing?"
"You look stupid when you are wet. Take it." Ohyul casually opened the bag of chips.
"But you don't have another umbrella. You will get wet," Y/n said.
Ohyul just pulled his jacket hood over his head. He stepped out into the heavy rain. "Bye, servant. Thanks for the snack."
Y/n stood there, under the large umbrella. She watched him walk away in the rain. She was very, very confused.
Friday. The breaking point.
Y/n was completely exhausted. The exams were over, but her brain felt like mashed potatoes. She was packing her bag in the empty classroom.
Ohyul walked in. "Hey. Clean the chalkboard for me. It's my cleaning duty today but my arm hurts." He wasn't even rubbing his arm.
Something inside Y/n snapped. The string of her patience finally broke.
She picked up a heavy whiteboard eraser and threw it at him. Hard.
It hit him square in the chest with a loud thud. Chalk dust flew everywhere.
Ohyul looked genuinely shocked. "Whoa! What was that for?"
"I AM DONE!" Y/n screamed. Her face was bright red. "I am not your dog! Go buy bread, do my homework, run in the rain, clean the board! I am so sick of you!"
Ohyul took a step back. "Hey, calm down—"
"NO! You gave me soda and an umbrella, so what?! Do you think you are a nice guy? You are literally blackmailing me! I feel like a slave!" Y/n felt angry tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely. "Just report me! Show the photo to Mr. Han! Send it to my mom! I don't care anymore! Get me suspended! It's a million times better than seeing your stupid, annoying face every single day!"
Y/n was panting. She grabbed her backpack aggressively.
Ohyul stood quiet. The playful smirk was completely gone. He looked at her seriously. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and placed it on her desk.
"You know," Ohyul said, his voice much lower now. "The other option is still open."
Y/n frowned, her chest heaving. "What?"
"Kiss me, and I delete it."
Y/n stared at him. Her anger boiled over. Her brain completely shut off.
SMACK.
She slapped him across the face.
The sound echoed loudly in the empty classroom.
Ohyul slowly raised his hand and touched his left cheek. His eyes were wide. He looked completely stunned. "What the..."
He didn't even get to finish his sentence.
Y/n dropped her backpack. She grabbed his face with both hands, pulled him down to her level, and kissed him.
It was not a romantic or soft kiss from a drama. It was aggressive. Her nose bumped into his cheek, and her teeth clashed against his.
Ohyul froze completely. His hands stayed hovering in the air. He stood perfectly still, like a wooden board.
Then, he blinked. His eyes fluttered shut. He grabbed her waist to steady her, tilted his head, and kissed her back. And to Y/n's absolute surprise, he kissed her a lot better than she kissed him.
After a few seconds, reality hit Y/n. She pushed him away hard.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face was burning hot, redder than a tomato.
"There!" Y/n shouted, her voice cracking. "I kissed you! Now delete the damn photo!"
Ohyul was breathing a bit heavy. He touched his red cheek again, then touched his lips. He looked at her, then down at his phone on the desk.
He picked up the phone. He unlocked it, opened his photo gallery, and turned the screen around so Y/n could see.
Y/n looked at the screen.
It was a photo of her from the backyard. But she wasn't holding a cigarette. The cigarette had already dropped out of the frame. The photo was just a blurry, close-up shot of her face looking panicked, with her mouth wide open, coughing.
She looked absolutely ridiculous.
There was no cigarette. There was no smoke. There was absolutely zero proof of her doing anything wrong.
Y/n stared at the screen. Then she looked at Ohyul. "What... what is this?"
"The photo," Ohyul said. The corner of his lip twitched, and he started to smirk again. "I didn't capture the cigarette. It dropped too fast. I just got a picture of your ugly, shocked face."
Y/n's jaw dropped. "You... you didn't have proof?"
"Nope."
"There was no evidence?!"
"Zero."
"And you STILL made me your servant for a whole week?!" Y/n screamed.
"Yep." Ohyul nodded proudly.
"WHY?!" Y/n raised her hand, ready to slap him again.
Ohyul caught her wrist easily in the air. He laughed softly. "Because you are always studying. You never look at me. You never talk to me. I wanted an excuse to bother you."
Y/n stopped pulling her wrist. "Are you serious?"
"And honestly, it was really funny watching you run around for me."
"I am going to murder you," Y/n whispered.
"You can't. You just kissed me." Ohyul grinned. It was a genuine, happy smile.
"And you liked it."
"I did NOT!"
"You totally did. You grabbed my face like a wild animal."
"Shut up!" Y/n covered her face with her free hand. She was so embarrassed she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Ohyul laughed. He pressed the trash can icon on his phone screen. The photo disappeared. "There. Deleted. You are a free woman, Y/n."
Y/n picked up her backpack from the floor. She turned around and walked toward the door, ignoring her fast-beating heart.
"Hey, Y/n!" Ohyul called out.
She stopped but didn't turn around. "What now?!"
"Do you want to go get pizza bread? Together this time. I will pay."
Y/n slowly turned her head. Ohyul was leaning against the teacher's desk. He was still smiling. His cheek was still bright red with the handprint from her slap.
She sighed. She honestly couldn't believe she actually liked this annoying idiot.
"Only if you buy me soda too," Y/n said, trying to sound strict.
"Deal." Ohyul walked over to her. He easily took her heavy backpack from her shoulder and carried it on his own arm. "By the way, next time, don't slap me before you kiss me. It really hurts."
"Next time?" Y/n raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Tomorrow. Behind the gym. Same time." He winked at her.
Y/n pushed his shoulder playfully, finally giving up and letting herself smile.
"You're the worst, Kwon Ohyul."
"I know," he said, opening the classroom door for her. "After you, servant."
"Say that again and I'm slapping the other cheek."
SYNOPSIS :: Juhoon has spent months allowing the rumours on if he has a girlfriend or not to spread, hoping the endless barrage of confessions he faces daily would eventually stop. One day he decides he’s finally had enough and chooses to put the rumours to rest.
W.C :: 3.6k
CONTAINS :: popular!footballer!juhoon, high school au, established relationship, other girls like jju, secret relationship, angst if you squint, tiny jealousy, fluff, skinship, kissing
PLAYLIST :: Lover is a day - Cuco; Out of my league - Fitz and The Tantrums; Kiss me - Sixpence None The Richer; Cariño - The Marias
The first bell was mere minutes away when the main courtyard of the school turned into an utter circus.
Juhoon noticed this before he even stepped out of the bike shed. A girl he vaguely recognised from the dance department had planted herself directly in his path, flanked by two giggling friends holding a rather tragic handmade sign that read ‘BE MY BF, JUHOON?’ in glitter glue.
He stopped, blinking slowly before he let out an eventual sigh.
"Juhoon!" The girl declared, voice trembling but brave. "I've liked you since the winter recital. Will you go out with me?"
The crowd that materialised from thin air was a testament to his particular brand of fame: part football star, part unreasonably good-looking, all mysterious smiles and sharp jawlines that granted him endless unwanted attention.
"Sorry," he said, not unkindly, but with zero hesitation. "I'm not interested."
Her face crumpled slightly, he spotted the slight tremble of her lips but chose to ignore it, he had been asked out by far too many girls he didn’t even know the names of. To make things worse the crowd erupted and ooooh'd, Juhoon wanting the ground to swallow him whole just so he could escape.
And then—because this was always the follow-up, there was always a follow-up—she pressed further. "Is it because of that rumour? About you and that girl?"
Juhoon's expression didn't change an inch, he remained entirely neutral. He'd been asked this before, dozens of times actually. In classrooms, in hallways, in DMs he never opened.
"There's no rumour," he said carefully, calculated. "There's just me, and I'm not interested."
It wasn't a denial, but it wasn't a confirmation either. It was a door left slightly ajar, and he knew it. He'd learned, over the past few months, that saying too much would only make things worse. Confirming would bring a different kind of attention: the curious, invasive kind that might scare you away, and Juhoon was doing anything in his power to protect you from that.
So he stayed quiet and let people wonder and spin the rumour mill, but his gaze was already drifting, snagged by a flash of recognisable hair and chunky sneakers thudding against the floor near the iron gates.
He spotted you walking onto the school ground, plugged into the earphones you carried around like they were your own child. Your head was down and you were moving through the morning like water through rocks, oblivious and unhurried, having absolutely no idea that a crowd of forty people was watching a girl get rejected over glitter glue by your very own secret boyfriend.
His eyes tracked you as you passed behind the building, feeling something in his chest tighten once you disappeared from his view.
He should stay and let the crowd dissipate naturally, let the dance girl save face, let the rumours simmer without him adding fuel.
Instead, he decided to push through the people encircling him. An elbow here, a muttered apology there. By the time he broke free, he was almost jogging, passing the last few remaining students entering school grounds.
"Y/N!" He called out once he was sure the crowd was outside of sight, though you didn't hear him and kept walking forward.
Of course you didn't. Your world existed behind those headphones, tucked away somewhere he'd somehow wrangled himself into a few months ago. He quickened his pace, closing the distance between you just as you entered the doors to the humanities wing.
He reached out and tugged gently on the cord of your left earbud.
You startled, a tiny jump that made him want to apologise and laugh at the same time. Your eyes went wide for a split second before they registered who it was, softening immediately.
"Oh." You pulled the other earbud out, placing them into the same pocket as your phone. "Hi, Jju."
"Hey, yourself." He fell into step beside you, matching your pace like it was second nature. His shoulder brushed yours, sending sparks down your arm. "You planning on doing anything after school today?"
You looked up at him, seeing the slight smile resting against his lips that always seemed present when he was watching you.
"Why…?" You dragged out, but you knew all too well what he was about to ask. You'd had the same exchange many times before.
He tilted his head, that smile widening just a fraction. "My game’s at four. Home field. Against Busan."
"You play Busan every month."
"And every month I ask you to come." He shrugged, like it was obvious, though the slighting reddening of his cheeks gave far too much away than he would’ve liked. "And every month you say you'll think about it."
"Maybe this month I will."
He stopped walking and you kept going for two more steps before you realised he wasn't beside you anymore. You turned around, finding him standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, expression caught somewhere between hopeful and terrified.
"Wait," he said. "Really?"
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. The morning light was filtering through the hallway windows, catching the edges of his hair, and he looked so genuinely thrown off that you almost felt bad.
Almost.
"I said maybe," you reminded him, turning back around and continuing toward your classroom. You heard his footsteps rush to catch up and you attempted to suppress the smile crawling onto your lips.
"That's not nothing," he said, falling back into step beside you. "That's closer to a yes than you've ever given me."
"Don't read into it."
"I'm going to read into it so hard."
You laughed despite yourself, a quiet, breathy thing that you tried to hide by looking straight ahead though how could he not notice it? However, in your attempt at indifference you failed to spot the softening of his gaze as he watched you, the smile on his lips mirroring your own. His shoulder brushed yours again, and this time you didn't move away.
"Four o'clock," he said again, like he was making sure you remembered.
"I know you play at four o'clock, Jju."
"Just making sure."
You stopped outside your classroom. The door was still propped open, students filing in, the familiar chaos of first period settling into place. You should have gone in by now, you were already late by hallway standards, but he was still standing there, looking at you like you'd just offered him something precious and something in your chest twisted.
"I'll think about it," you said softly.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all I'm asking for."
Someone suddenly bumped into him from behind—a freshman who immediately turned purple and stammered an apology. Juhoon waved it off without even sparing the boy a glance, his attention not once wandering from your face.
"You should get to class," you finally said, maintaining eye contact despite the flood of heat rushing up your neck.
"I should," he agreed, though neither of you moved.
The bell rang, shrill and insistent. You watched his expression shift from soft to reluctant to something that looked almost like resignation. He wanted to say something—you could see it in the way his jaw worked, the way his lips parted slightly before pressing shut again.
"Go," you said gently, insistently.
He exhaled. "See you at the game?"
"Maybe."
"Y/N."
"I said maybe."
He shook his head, but he was smiling again. "Fine," he said, already backing away. "Maybe. I'll take maybe."
You watched him walk backward down the hallway for a few steps before he finally turned around, running a hand through his hair as he disappeared around the corner.
You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, your hand resting on the doorframe, feeling the ghost of his shoulder against yours. That boy had you completely wrapped around his fingers and you don’t think he even realised it.
The thought was quickly pushed aside as you entered the class, already wishing the day would just pass by faster.
By the time four o'clock rolled around you had already made up your mind.
You stood at the edge of the field, hands tucked into the pocket of your hoodie, watching the crowd filter into the bleachers. The sun was starting its slow descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The air smelled like grass and sweat and the faint sweetness of someone's overpriced coffee from the concession stand.
You entered the bleachers, your eyes trained on the field watching the players warm up.
You didn’t know if he had seen you yet, it was hard to tell from this distance, he was focused, sharp, his dark hair already sticking to his forehead despite the cool evening air. He moved across the field like he owned it, like the grass was an extension of his own body.
Someone bumped into your shoulder.
"Oh, sorry!" A girl with braces and a phone case covered in stickers smiled at you. "Are you here for the game?"
You hesitated for a brief moment. "I know someone on the team."
"Me too!" She grinned, gesturing toward the field. "I'm here for Juhoon. He's so cute, right? Do you think the rumour is true? About him having a girlfriend?"
Your stomach tightened. "I don't know."
"I hope it's not," she said, already turning toward the bleachers. "He never confirms anything, so there's still a chance, right?"
Right, you thought. There's still a chance.
You watched her bounce down the metal steps and settle into the front row—the fanclub row, you realised—spotting the familiar cluster of matching headbands and handmade signs. There were at least fifteen of them today, maybe more. They had a choreographed cheer that they practiced during warm-ups, their voices carrying across the field in a high-pitched chorus.
You found a spot midway up the bleachers that was off to the side: far enough from the fanclub that you wouldn't be lumped in with them, close enough that you could still see your boyfriend’s every movement.
The whistle blew and the game began
Juhoon was everywhere in the first half. He was in the midfield, then on the wing, then tracking back to defend, then sprinting forward again. His jersey was already dark with sweat, but he didn't slow down
The fanclub screamed every time he touched the ball, and you remained completely, and utterly silent.
He had a chance in the fifteenth minute: a loose ball that bounced his way just outside the box. He didn't hesitate, striking it first time, and the crowd held its breath as the ball curved toward the top corner.
The goalkeeper just barely got a hand to it and it deflected wide.
Juhoon swore, loud enough that you could just catch the sound of it from the bleachers. Then he turned and jogged back into position, shaking his head.
But in that moment—just before he turned—his eyes swept the stands.
And found you.
His whole body stilled for half a second and his expression flickered from frustration to something softer. He didn't smile nor wave but his hand came up, just briefly, and touched his chest, right over his heart.
Then he turned and disappeared back into the play.
Beside you, someone gasped. "Did he just—did you see that? Who was he looking at?"
You pulled your hoodie strings tighter and said nothing.
The score reached 1-0 by the second half when Juhoon stole the ball from a Busan midfielder.
It was a beautiful tackle: perfectly timed, perfectly clean. He won possession and burst forward, two defenders closing in on either side. The crowd was on its feet, the fanclub shrieking, the air electric.
He feinted left, went right, and suddenly he was through.
There was only one defender left, and the goalkeeper was rushing out toward him.
Juhoon didn't panic. He waited momentarily, and then he slotted the ball into the bottom corner, so casual it looked effortless.
The net rippled and the stands exploded.
Juhoon was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face in droplets before he looked up at the bleachers, directly to where you were, as though he had memorised exactly where you were positioned in the short second he had noticed your presence.
You had risen up the moment he scored, though your reaction was far less exaggerated than the fanclub that stood before you. Instead, when your eyes locked onto his, you beamed at him, a sight that was so rare to come by in public that Juhoon’s legs almost gave out.
His teammates mobbed him, pulling him into a group hug, ruffling his hair. but over their shoulders, you saw him grinning, that private grin that was just for you.
Quickly the team recollected themselves and continued the game, Juhoon’s eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer before he ran after them
The final whistle eventually blew indicating the end of the game, and Juhoon’s team ended up winning 3-1. He had scored twice, assisting on the third, and it was, by any measure, a phenomenal performance.
The crowd filtered out of the bleachers in waves. You waited at the bottom of the stands, pretending to check your phone, pretending you weren't watching the players pack up near the bench.
The fanclub was already there.
You saw them from across the field: a cluster of maybe fifteen girls, all wearing those matching headbands, all pressing forward like moths to a flame. They surrounded the bench area, calling Juhoon's name alongside the names of his many other teammates, waving their phones, jostling for position.
You watched one of them grab his arm before hgently extract himself. Another quickly pushed forward with a water bottle, and a third with a handmade card.
He was smiling that polite, practiced smile he used for people he didn't know, but his eyes kept drifting, scanning and searching, looking for you.
You shifted your weight from foot to foot, suddenly aware of how far away you were standing. How separate. How invisible.
You wondered what to do. The possibility of going over there and having to push through a stampede of teenage girls just to talk to your boyfriend made you feel sick. But you had also sat through the entire game and wanted to congratulate him on his plays, so leaving was out of the question.
A girl with pigtails grabbed his sleeve. "Juhoon! Is it true you're single? My friend wants to know!"
The other girls giggled, leaning in and waiting to hear his answer. Juhoon's expression didn't change. "I don't talk about that stuff."
"That's not a no!"
"It's not a yes either."
The girls laughed like he'd said something funny. You bit your lip, your hands curling into fists inside your hoodie pocket. You wanted to tell them that he’s yours, that they needed to back off, but the words got stuck in your throat.
Because you'd never said it out loud. Because you'd never claimed him publicly. Because for all these girls knew, the rumour was exactly that: a rumour, a ghost story, a maybe that didn't mean anything.
You couldn't blame them for trying.
Whilst lost in the maze of your thoughts, Juhoon's gaze finally found you.
You saw the exact moment it happened. His polite, practiced smile had flickered like a mask slipping, just for a second. His eyes locked onto yours across the field, and something in his expression shifted.
The girl with pigtails was still talking. Something about a photo, about waiting all season, about how her friend really liked him. But Juhoon wasn't listening anymore.
He was looking at you, and you were looking right back at him. Neither of you moved for a long, suspended moment. The fanclub chattered around him, entirely oblivious. The rest of the team packed up their bags whilst the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the grass.
Then Juhoon moved, just a shift of weight initially, a turning of shoulders. He gently extracted his arm from the girl's grip, murmured something you couldn't hear, and then he was walking straight toward you.
The fanclub turned, confused, following his gaze. One by one, they spotted you standing by the corner flag in your hoodie and sneakers, hands still buried in your pocket, heart pounding so loud you were sure everyone could hear it.
Whispers rippled through the group, likely questioning who you were and if you were the rumour girl, but you paid attention to none of it, your focus remained entirely on the boy appraoching you.
Juhoon didn't look back. His cleats squelched softly on the grass; his hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead; his cheeks were flushed from the game.
And his eyes—those dark, steady eyes you adored so deeply—were locked on yours, paying no mind to anything else around.
You should say something, you should smile, wave, do something normal. But your voice had abandoned you, and your feet felt nailed to the ground, and all you could do was watch him get closer.
He was ten meters away. Then five. Then—
"You scored," you blurted out, because the silence was too loud and your heart was too fast and you needed to fill the space between you with something. "Jju, you played so good today—"
His hands were on your cheeks before you could finish.
Warm palms with calloused fingers from years of gripping football balls, from hours of practice, from the way he'd been clenching and unclenching his fists all game, waiting. He cupped your face like you were something precious, something breakable, like you might shatter if he didn't hold you carefully enough.
And then he was pulling you toward him.
There was desperation in the way he closed the distance, months of restraint finally snapping. His fingers curled around the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his, and suddenly his lips were on yours.
The world stopped.
The field. The sunset. The fanclub. The whispers. The entire universe condensed into a single point of contact: his mouth against yours, soft and certain and hungry, like he'd been waiting all day for this.
He kissed you as though he was afraid you'd disappear. Like every time he'd watched you walk away to your classroom, every time he'd bitten his tongue when someone asked about the rumour, every time he'd wanted to reach for your hand in the hallway and stopped himself—it had all been building to this.
His lips slanted over yours, and you felt the sigh he let out, felt the way his shoulders dropped like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and could finally exhale.
Your hands came up automatically, fisting in the fabric of his jersey. The material was damp with sweat beneath your fingers, but you didn't care.
His nose pressed against your cheek, his breath was warm on your skin, he tasted like the mint gum he always chewed before games, mixed with something saltier, something that was just him, a taste you couldn't name but would recognise anywhere, in any lifetime.
One of his hands slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into the hair at your nape. The other stayed where it was, thumb still stroking gentle, absent arcs against your cheekbone. He wasn't rushing anymore, the desperation had softened into something else: something deeper, something that felt like finally.
Behind you, someone gasped. A phone clattered to the ground. Someone else whispered, oh my god.
You didn't care.
You couldn't care. Not with the way he was kissing you, slow and deliberate now, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your lips and tell you everything he'd never been able to say.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard.
Your eyes fluttered open to find his were still closed, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your breath. His hands were still on you—one in your hair, one on your cheek—and neither of you moved to break the contact.
"Jju," you whispered.
"Took me long enough," he murmured, voice rough.
You let out a shaky laugh. "Took you long enough to what?"
He finally opened his eyes. They were dark, intense, holding yours like he was afraid you'd disappear if he blinked. "To do that," he said. "To stop lying and pretending you're just a rumour."
Behind him, the fanclub stood frozen. Some had their phones out: filming, probably, or taking photos. Others just stood there, mouths open, processing the fact that the boy they had been daydreaming about just kissed a girl in a hoodie by the corner flag.
You should have felt embarrassed, even self-conscious.
But Juhoon was still holding your face, still looking at you like you'd hung the moon, and somehow that made everything else fade away.
"The rumour," you said quietly. "It's not a rumour anymore."
"No," he agreed. "It never was."
You looked at him, seeing how the tension that had previously been in his shoulders now dissipated and left a calmness that only appeared when you were within his reach.
"Juhoon," you whispered.
"Y/N."
"You should probably let go of my face now."
He smiled gently, his thumb tracing your cheek once more as his eyes tracked your features. "Probably."
Instead he pulled you towards him again, this time his lips lingered on your forehead, a soft comfort against the lingering stares of everyone watching the two of you.
Though you could only focus on the boy in front of you, holding you with so much love and care your heart wanted to burst. You didn’t have it in your heart to even pretend to complain about the secret being out now, not if it meant he could love you outwardly like this more often.
— ᨳଓ . pairings: keonho x fem!reader
— ᨳଓ . genre: beach day chaos, fluff, family bonding, soft romance, friends into lovers
— ᨳଓ . warnings: kissing wc: ~2k (?) idk i forgot
— ᨳଓ . synopsis: a beach trip with your chaotic family turns into something so unforgettable when your best friend, keonho, quickly wins everyone over, while you realize you're slowly falling for him too.
the first mistake you made was bringing keonho to a family trip to the beach.
the second mistake was introducing him to you mother. because now, somehow, after less than fifteen minutes, your own family had liked him more than they liked you.
"keonho, sweetheart, do you want some watermelon?" your mom asked gently.
you stared in disbelief. she had never called you sweetheart in your entire years of living.
keonho blinked, clearly caught off guard as well. "uh... sure?"
your mom handed him the biggest piece in the container. you recived a singular grape.
"this is favoritism," you muttered.
"correct," your sibling replied immediately from the beach chair beside you.
you threw sand at them. the beach itself looked straight out of a summer movie.
blue water stretching on forever, seagulls circling overhead like tiny thieves waiting for the perfect opportunities, kids running through the sand. your family had claimed an entire section near the shore because apparently nobody in your bloodline knew the meaning of packing light.
there were coolers, foldable tables, four umbrellas, a speaker blasting music very loudly. and somehow your uncle brought a portable fan.
"to fight nature," he exclaimed proudly.
keonho laughed so hard he almost peed himself. and that was the problem, everything he did made people fall in love with him a little.
your cousins attached themselves to him instantly, your aunt calling him handsome every three minutes.
even your grandpa, who distrusted nearly every human being on earth, nodded approvingly at him after keonho helped carry chairs across the hot sand.
"he has very strong shoulders," your grandpa whispered to you.
"what does that even mean?"
"it means survive apocalypse."
you rubbed your temples.
meanwhile keonho stood near the shoreline helping your little cousins fill a bucket with water. except one of them kept spilling on his feet accidentally.
"sorry!" she squeaked.
"it's okay," he said patiently for the sixth time now.
you watched him smile at her, hair blowing slightly in the wind, oversized shirt flowing against the ocean breeze.
unfair. actually unfair.
nobody should be allowed to looks that pretty while holding a pink plastic shovel.
he caught you staring. immediately a grin spread across his face.
"what?"
"nothing."
"you've been looking at me for about like ten minutes."
"i was judging your bucket technique."
"my bucket technique is awesome, actually."
"debatable."
he laughed softly before walking over toward you, feet kicking up sand. the second he stood beside you, your younger cousin gasped so dramatically loud, loud enough for the whole coastline to hear.
"they're standing next to each other!"
"thank you," your sibling deadpanned. "we are aware."
your cousin ignored them completely.
"you guys look like couples in those vacation dramas or whatever they're called."
you nearly chocked on air.
keonho looked so entertained.
"vacation drama?" he repeated.
"she watches too much tv," you mumbled.
"no, wait," he said thoughtfully. "do i at least have a rich energy?"
you stared at him.
"you absolutely do."
he placed a hand over his chest dramatically. "finally. recognition."
the afternoon drifted by in the warm waves of sunlight and noise. your family played beach volleyball.
well. tried to.
your uncle kept missing the ball while claiming "the wind was sabotaging his aim."
at some point your little cousin dragged keonho into the game, which instantly became the loudest even ever on earth.
"KEONHO!"
"I GOT IT!"
"YOU DON'T GOT IT!"
"WHY IS EVERYONE SCREAMING?"
you say nearby on the sand laughing so hard your stomach began to cramp. then keonho dove for the ball dramatically, missed completely, and face planted into the sand.
the beach went silent for one terrifying moment. then he lifted his head, sunglasses still somehow perfectly on. your family erupted. even strangers nearby started clapping.
"you survived!" your dad yelled.
"barely," keonho answered weakly.
later, while everyone recovered under the umbrellas, your mom insisted on taking some family photos for memories.
"family photo!"
groans echoed immediately. nobody moved.
"NOW."
suddenly everyone obeyed like soldiers. you stood awkwardly near the back until your mom frowned.
"no, no. keonho stand next to her."
your entire body combusted instantly.
keonho walked over beside you, trying and failing to hide his bright smile.
"this feels targeted," he whispered.
"it is."
your mom aggressively repositioned everyone for twenty full minutes.
"move left."
OTHER left."
"who blinked?"
"why does your uncle look so confused?"
"I AM confused!" your uncle shouted back.
finally the picture got taken, but the second afterward, your aunt grabbed your mothers phone.
"ooo, let me see!"
the photo then popped up on the screen.
and unfortunately...
you and keonho looked disgustingly cute together.
his shoulder leaned against yours slightly.
both of you smiling naturally.
like those couples people reposted online with captions about soulmates and summer love.
your cousins noticed immediately.
"WAITTTTTTTT."
"they look married."
"send me that picture."
"put it in a frame!"
"i hate this family," you whispered.
keonho laughed quietly beside you.
by evening, the beach softened into a gold color. the sky looked gorgeous, painted in streaks of peach and pink while ocean water reflected the sunset like melted glass.
your family settled around the blankets for dinner. someone passed around snacks. your grandpa fell asleep in a folding chair a few hours ago. and your little cousin sat next to keonho braiding tiny seashell slips into his hair while he accepted his fate quietly.
you started crying laughing.
"he looks so beautiful," your aunt said emotionally.
"i look so ridiculous right now," keonho replied.
"no," your cousin corrected seriously. "you look like a magically mermaid."
"and that's somehow worse."
you smiled into your drink. then quietly, while everyone argued about what music to play next, keonho leaned closer toward you.
"you family's fun," he admitted softly.
"they're insane."
"yeah," he said with a grin. "i like them."
the warmth in your chest returned again. the dangerous kind of warmth. the kind that made your heartbeat feel way too noticeable.
your little cousin suddenly climbed into your lap sleepily before looking up between the two of you.
then she asked the question.
"are you gonna marry keonho someday?"
absolute silence. you nearly wanted to throw yourself into the water to escape the question.
"OH MY GOD."
your sibling started choking on their soda. your aunt looked thrilled beyond humanity comprehension. and keonho? keonho looked at you first, smiling softly, then back at your cousin.
"maybe," he answered.
your brain turned off instantly.
"maybe?!" you repeated.
he shrugged innocently, through the corners of his mouth betrayed him completely.
"what? your family basically already adopted me."
your mom pointed dramatically. "HE'S RIGHT."
traitor. every single one of them.
the sky darkened slowly after that. small lights from the boardwalk flickered in the distance while the waves softly curled against the shore. you stepped away from the blankets for some fresh air eventually, walking closer towards the water.
the noise of your family slowly faded behind you, replaced by waves crashing and distant sound of music drifting from the boardwalk.
you wrapped your arms around yourself loosely as the cool evening breeze brushed against your sun warmed skin. for the first time all day, everything felt quiet. peaceful.
well... almost.
because without even turning around, you could already hear familiar footsteps following behind you through the sand.
slow. unhurried. and somehow unmistakably keonho's.
before you could stop it, a smile tugged at your lips.
"you know stalking is illegal, right?" you called out softly.
"i prefer the term emotionally attached," keonho replied.
you laughed quietly as he stood beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his swimming trunks.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
the waves rolled gently at your feet while the sunset painted soft gold across the entire ocean. then keonho glanced over at you.
"today was fun."
"even with my family bullying you all day?"
"they only threatened me twice," he said thoughtfully. "that feels like progress."
you laughed. "they liked you."
"i noticed."
"honestly, it's a little suspicious."
"what can i say?" he shrugged dramatically. "i have charming shoulders."
you nearly chocked on your saliva.
"that is still the weirdest compliment my grandpa has ever given someone."
keonho grinned before his expression softens slightly.
"but seriously..." he said quietly. "i'm glad you invited me."
something about his voice made your chest go crazy. you looked down at the sand for a second before smiling softly. "i'm glad you came."
silence settled between you once again, comfortable this time. your breath caught immediately.
the ocean breeze moved strands of hair across his forehead as he looked down at you carefully, like he was trying to decide something.
"you know," he murmured, "your family keeps looking at us as if we're already dating."
"they've lost their minds."
"mhm." his eyes flickered to your lips for half a second. "maybe they're onto something though."
your heartbeat went absolutely feral.
"keonho—“
he leaned in suddenly. slow enough for you to realize what was happening. close enough for your brain to completely stop functioning.
"FINALYYYYYY!"
the scream nearly sent both of you into the cold ocean water. you jumped apart instantly while keonho burst out laughing beside you. your entire family stood several feet away near the blankets absolutely losing their minds.
your aunt was clapping, your sibling had collapsed into the sand dramatically, even your grandpa pointed at the two of you like he'd just won a million bucks from the lottery.
"I TOLD YOU THEY WERE IN LOVE!" your cousin yelled
"oh my god," you groaned, covering your face instantly.
you mom looked seconds away from breaking out in tears of joy.
"WE WERE WAITING ALL DAY!" she shouted.
"YOU WERE WATCHING US?!" you yelled back.
"yes!" your dad answered proudly.
"we support romance in this family!" your aunt declared.
beside you, keonho was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. then he looked at you again, smile much more softer now.
"so..." he said quietly, taking one small step closer again, "should we give them the ending they want?"
a.n: guys im going to the beach tomorrow because it going to be hot as shit and this beautiful idea popped into my brain. 👀💪🙂↔️
The amount of Cortis fics I see when I'm on Tumblr reminds me that I have to actually start continue writing Ever After x Cortis part 3, and finish a hrtz.wav headcanon 😹😹😹🙂↕️🙂↕️😭😭😭😭
And the next 2 weeks is kinda like... exam week, end me rn bro😭😭😭😭
𓏲ּ𝄢… GRAVITY FALLS LOCAL BF MARTIN EDWARDS 𝔁 PINES READER # ─── headcanons (guys I love gravity falls sm this is literally just self indulgent, also kinda long)
♱ gravity falls local martin who grew up in the small strange town and was close friends with wendy and their other friends.
♱ gravity falls local martin who worked at a record store in town but always spent his time at the mystery shack.
♱ gravity falls local martin who didn’t pay much mind to wendy when she told him stan’s great nephew and nieces would be spending the summer in gravity falls. what was he gonna do with three kids that are like 12?
─── “dude, are you even listening?” wendy asked, leaning against the locker beside his while he untangled the cord of his wired headphones from the depths of his jeans pocket.
“not really,” martin muttered. “what am I supposed to do with a bunch of twelve year old triplets?”
“I don’t think they’re triplets,”
“doesn’t matter,” he cut in, finally slinging the headphones around his neck. “kids are weird especially the ones related to stan. that guy’s weird by association alone.”
wendy snorted. “you literally spend half your days at the mystery shack.”
“yeah, because watching tourists get scammed is funny.”
she rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder “all I’m saying is maybe try being nice when they get here.”
martin shut his locker with a clang, brows raised. “wendy corduroy asking me to be nice? who are you and what’d you do with the real wendy?”
“shut up.”
he grinned lazily, starting down the hallway while she followed after him. “seriously though, I work six days a week at the record store. I’m not spending my summer babysitting middle schoolers.”
wendy gave him a look that should’ve warned him.
because about a month we later, standing outside the mystery shack with the summer heat sticking to the back of his neck, martin would meet the pines kids and realize two things almost immediately.
first, they weren’t triplets, they were twins.
and second, the third one standing beside them was definitely not twelve.
and was definitely beautiful.
♱ gravity falls local martin who made the biggest switch up ever made to man when he laid eyes on the oldest out of the three and he all could do was stare while leaning behind the cashier with wendy who gave a nod towards them.
“you didn’t tell me one of them was our age.”
“dude, I literally said they weren’t triplets.”
“shut up, she’s coming towards us.”
───“hey,” you greeted with a small smile once you reached the counter, pointing your thumb behind you towards your younger siblings and great uncle. “stan told me to go ‘hang with my people,’ whatever that means, I’m yn.”
wendy instantly smiled back, leaning against the counter casually. “I’m wendy, and this is martin.”
she pointed beside her but martin just stared at you which only made your smile turn slightly awkward.
“dude?” wendy glanced at him.
nothing.
“martin.”
still nothing.
she finally elbowed him hard enough to nearly send him into the cash register.
“ah!” he snapped out of it immediately, shooting wendy an offended glare before turning back to you way too fast. “sorry uh, yeah. hey. welcome to gravity falls.”
“thanks,” you smiled. “definitely wasn’t my first choice for a summer destination, but who doesn’t love potentially helping their uncle with money laundering?”
martin snorted before he could stop himself and somehow that single joke made him look at you like angels had personally descended from the heavens and taken human form.
she’s perfect.
“wendy!” all three of you turned toward stan, who was halfway towards the back door.
“help yn bring her stuff to her room, will ya?”
“ugh, on it!” wendy groaned, pushing herself off the counter.
before martin could even open his mouth, “martin, watch the cash!” stan barked, pointing at him accusingly.
martin looked genuinely devastated.
“I don’t even work here!” he yelled back while stan went through the door without listening.
♱ gravity falls local martin who started spending more time at the mystery shack than he usually did, just to get a glimpse of you.
“martin I think mabel is dating a zombie!”
“cool man… look is your older sister here?”
♱ gravity falls local martin who suggested to wendy to invite you to their hangout with tambry, lee, nate, thompson and robbie at the cemetery.
♱ gravity falls local martin who awkwardly sat beside you on the grass not saying anything while you talked to tambry. (his mind was running miles trying to find a way to talk to you)
♱ gravity falls local martin who couldn’t believe his ears when you beat him to it.
───“so… martin,” you started, glancing over at him, “wendy told me you work at the record store. that’s pretty cool.”
martin leaned back on his hands, trying very hard to look nonchalant.
“yeah, uh,” he shrugged. “as much as I complain about it, it’s actually pretty sick. I mean, I love music, so it could be worse.”
your face brightened immediately.
“same!” you shifted a little closer to him, excitement slipping into your voice. “I love music. I collect cds actually, I brought some with me for the summer.”
martin was suddenly very aware of how close your shoulder was to his. “really?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested.
“yeah,” you laughed softly. “maybe I can drive with you this time on the way back and I can show you them in my room.”
oh.
oh you had way more guts than he did.
martin pushed himself up slightly on his elbows, quickly looking off to the side so you wouldn’t notice the way his entire face was practically red.
“cool,” he said, voice noticeably tighter than before. “yeah. that’d be really cool.”
“yn!” both of you turned toward wendy, who was waving dramatically from across the cemetery. “get over here!”
you laughed under your breath. “she’s probably about to show me some bullshit.”
you stood up, brushing grass off your jeans before looking back at him with another smile that martin was pretty sure was going to kill him one day.
“let me know when you’re ready to go, okay?”
then you walked off toward wendy and martin stared after you for a long moment.
how about right now? was the only thought left in his head.
♱ gravity falls local martin who waited about approximately 30 minutes before getting up and walking towards you, wendy and nate to let you know he’s ready to drop you home, ignoring all the groans and boos from everyone.
♱ gravity falls local martin who had to sneak into the mystery shack with you because apparently you weren’t allowed to bring the “male species” into the house at night.
“I don’t get it, he doesn’t give two shits about mabel’s failed relationship attempts but I can’t bring a boy home? I just don’t understand.”
“I can think of a few reasons”
♱ gravity falls local martin who was in awe at how you decorated your room, it felt more like your own bedroom than a room you’re just staying in for the summer.
♱ gravity falls local martin who sat on your bed scanning the posters of movies and bands on your walls before you plopped beside him with a stack of cds.
♱ gravity falls local martin who felt like he was going to explode as you leaned into his shoulder and showed him your cds.
♱ gravity falls local martin who’s gradually got more comfortable as he looked through your cds, dropping the nonchalant act and starting acting like himself.
“is that a several times cd yn?
“shut up! it’s mabel’s”
“right…right…”
♱ gravity falls local martin who doesn’t remember falling asleep on your bedroom floor beside you but he woke up just before sunrise even though he planned to only spend about an hour at the shack with you.
♱ gravity falls local martin who snuck out before you could wake up because you’ve mentioned that your family (who tend to always wake up before you) have a habit of bursting into your room to annoy you in the mornings
and who knows what would happen to him if it was stan’s turn to wake you up.
♱ gravity falls local martin who couldn’t stop the smile that made its way to his face when he got a text from you a couple hours later.
you: couldn’t wake me up to at least send you off?
martin: I was thinking about my safety hope u understand sweetheart
♱ gravity falls local martin who bumped into you at the carnival, you were standing beside stan’s rigged game, calling over people to play.
“helping stan rain havoc on the delightful community of gravity falls?”
“what else is there to do?”
♱ gravity falls local martin who talked to you the whole time, even started helping you call over people to play stan’s game.
♱ gravity falls local martin who couldn’t help but think hanging out with you (and unfortunately stan) at the carnival was one of the best days he’s had this summer so far.
♱ gravity falls local martin who after that day knew he had to do something about his crush on you.
♱ gravity falls local martin who stopped by the shack a couple days later to hopefully talk to wendy about how to ask you out.
♱ gravity falls local martin who instead of wendy he was met with you in her place at the cashier.
─── “oh.” martin stopped just inside the mystery shack entrance, one hand still on the door as he spotted you behind the register.
you were leaned back lazily in wendy’s chair, arms crossed over your stomach while you tried and failed not to yawn.
the second you noticed him, your entire face brightened. “martin! hey.”
you straightened immediately, waving him over like you’d been waiting for something interesting to happen all day.
martin tried not to smile too hard at that as he walked over to the counter, leaning against it casually.
“where’s wendy?”
“family trip,” you sighed dramatically, leaning closer toward him. “which means guess who got forced into covering her shift?”
you pointed at yourself with the most painfully fake customer service smile he’d ever seen.
martin had to physically stop himself from saying you’re so cute out loud.
instead, he nodded. “shit, right. I think she mentioned that.”
“yeah. thankfully it’s dead today.” you spun slowly in the chair again. “I’ve basically just been sitting here doing nothing.”
martin glanced around the shack.
for once, it actually was empty. no screaming tourists. no sticky kids touching everything. not even stan lurking around trying to scam someone.
“where is everybody?” he asked.
“dipper’s apparently about to fight robbie,” you answered casually. “soos went with him and mabel’s helping stan get over his fear of heights.”
“stan has a fear of heights?”
“apparently he does.”
you spun once more before stopping yourself with your shoe against the counter. “and I’m stuck here bored out of my mind,” you finished. “so honestly? pretty average day.”
martin laughed softly, shaking his head.
okay, this was it.
he didn’t need wendy there to save him from himself, he could do this. probably
“I think,” he started, trying to sound smoother than he felt, “I can help with your boredom problem.”
your brows lifted instantly. “oh really?”
“yeah.” he leaned forward slightly over the counter. “I say you close the shack early since nobody’s here anyway… and I take you to this cool spot I know so we can…” he paused. “hang out.”
you leaned forward too until you were both resting dangerously close across the counter.
“hang out?” you repeated slowly. “like… hang out?”
martin’s heart was beating so hard he was sure you could hear it.
“or,” you continued, eyes fixed on his, “hang out as in something else?”
his face absolutely felt hot now, but there was no backing out.
“maybe,” he murmured, voice quieter this time, “something else.”
“like a date?”
martin stared at you for half a second too long, completely caught in your eyes.
“maybe,” he admitted.
a smile spread across your face so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
“okay, edwards.”
before he could even process that, you hopped off the stool and walked toward the front entrance, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.
you came back over, grabbed his hand without hesitation, and started dragging him towards the back door that leads to the living area behind the shack.
“go watch tv or something while I get ready.”
martin let himself be dragged along in complete silence.
woah.
♱ gravity falls local martin who took you to this hill in the woods that had an amazing view of the sunset.
♱ gravity falls local martin who has never felt so comfortable just talking to someone and just being comfortable in each others presence.
♱ gravity falls local martin who froze when you leaned over to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek before turning back to look at the sunset.
─── martin was pretty sure his entire face looked like a fire truck the second your lips left his cheek.
the spot still burned pleasantly as he turned to look at you, completely speechless for once.
but you weren’t looking at him, you were staring out at the sunset stretching over the trees, gold light spilling across your face while the evening breeze moved gently through your hair.
and somehow that almost made it worse, because you looked unreal.
martin swallowed hard before letting out a sigh, “yn.”
he said your name quietly, almost like he was testing how it sounded when nobody else was around.
you turned toward him immediately, “yeah?”
the look on your face, soft and a little shy now despite all the confidence you’d had teasing him earlier.
martin didn’t think after that, he just leaned in.
slow enough for you to pull away if you wanted to but you didn’t.
his hand brushed lightly against your arm as his lips pressed against yours, careful and warm and a little nervous despite how badly he’d wanted to do this since the day he met you.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who snuck into the shack with you that night and watched movies with you on your laptop on illegal sites on your bed.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who made the mistake again of falling asleep but this time he didn’t wake up before sunrise, he woke up to stan standing above him at the foot of your bed while you still slept soundly.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who had to awkwardly sit beside stan while you made a presentation on why martin should be allowed to be your boyfriend with the help of mabel.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who loved when you would surprise him with a visit at work, immediately taking is break to eat with you in his car.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who realized that you were just as weird as your family at times but found it so endearing.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who sleeps at your house so much now that he’s also subjected to being annoyingly woken up in your room by your siblings and stan.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who laid beside you on your bedroom floor and listened to you talk about how rocky your relationship with your parents are back home and that you wouldn’t mind moving here.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who realized that you’re gonna have to leave at some point and that you were just a summer girlfriend but that’s something to worry about later. (he literally got a stomach ache thinking about it)
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who instead of going to a summerween party with wendy and robbie, he watched scary movies with you in the living room while stan tried to scare trick or treaters.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who loved going to the pool with you on hot summer days.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who brings you back cds from work after every shift he has. (he loves the smile you get everytime he slides one over to you)
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who only has morning shifts now so he can spend the rest of day with you.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who takes you out to eat breakfast at the diner every saturday when he has his day off.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who found your polaroid camera in your room and took a bunch of photos of you. and now he has a polaroid of you in his car, in his wallet and on the mirror in his room.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who for the first time had you sleep at his house after gideon took over the shack because you didn’t want to cry in front of dipper and mabel.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who sat beside you on his bed and listened to you talk to stan on the phone, while stan told you he’s sending you and your siblings home.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who then brought up to you the thought of actually living in gravity falls like you’ve mentioned before.
─── you were practically curled into martin’s chest, cheek pressed against him. the room was quiet except for the faint buzz of his old fan in the corner and the occasional sound of your sniffling muffled into his shirt.
“martin,” your voice came out small, exhausted from crying, “the tiny chance of my parents letting me move here is gone now.”
his hand moved slowly up and down your back, trying to soothe you even though his own chest felt painfully tight.
“they’d never let me stay after stan lost the shack,” you whispered. “there’s literally no reason for me to stay in gravity falls anymore.”
martin’s jaw tightened.
the thought of you leaving made him feel sick in a way he couldn’t even joke about.
“I thought we had another month to go through this… so what?” he asked quietly, fingers curling slightly against your hoodie. “you’re just… leaving?”
he tried to keep his voice soft, tried not to sound as upset as he actually was, but you still heard it.
“yeah,” your voice cracked as you buried your face deeper into his neck. “bro, I’ve literally been crying since yesterday.”
martin let out a weak laugh through the ache sitting in his chest, resting his cheek against the top of your head.
“I might start crying with you, to be honest,”
that finally pulled the tiniest laugh out of you, just enough to make his heart hurt even more.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who couldn’t bare to say bye to you the night he drove you over to soos’s house to pack your stuff.
“see you later.”
“martin…”
“I said see you later.”
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who laid in his bed the next day ignoring his parents who came to his door every now and then.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who couldn’t even look at his phone also ignoring every message you’ve sent him.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who finally let curiosity get to him and saw that your most recent message was you screaming how a giant robot of gideon was chasing you but that was about 40 minutes ago…
what…
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who definitely went over the speed limit as he drove over to mystery shack where the whole town was basically crowded and a giant robot gideon was laying on the ground.
♱ gravity falls local bf martin who pushed through the crowd to see you, mabel, dipper and stan getting your photo taken by the news with bright smiles.
───“yn.” martin practically breathed your name the second he spotted you through the crowd.
he shoved past people without apologizing, heart still pounding violently from the drive over, from the dozens of unanswered messages sitting on his phone, from the absolutely insane sight of a giant metal robot collapsed in front of the mystery shack.
none of that mattered now that he could see you standing there alive.
“yn,” he reached you quickly, hands immediately finding your arms like he needed to physically confirm you were real. “I saw your texts and what…what the hell happened?”
before he could say anything else, you wrapped your arms tightly around him and buried your face into his chest.
“this town is really weird,” you mumbled against him. “like… way weirder than I thought.”
martin frowned slightly, glancing over your head toward the destroyed robot, the crowd, the reporters swarming around stan and the twins.
“yeah,” he muttered slowly. “starting to figure that out.”
you finally looked up at him then, and despite everything, the chaos, the dirt on your clothes, the exhaustion, you were smiling.
a real smile this time. “but,” you said, eyes brighter than they’d been all week, “at least we got the shack back.”
something in martin’s chest loosened instantly, he pulled you closer again before pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead, his lips curling into the first genuine smile he’d managed since yesterday.
“so,” he murmured near your ear, “convincing your parents to let you move here back on the table?”
you grinned immediately.
“hell yeah.”
maybe you weren’t just a summer girlfriend after all.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Slight cussing, Reader is kinda stupid in Dane's part, Keiten calls reader a 'dumbass', Reader knows how to play trumpet and French horn in Keiten's part, slight angst in Keiten's if you squint hard, and lmk if I missed anything!!
ꜱᴏᴀᴘ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ: This is NOT how they actually act in real life, this is just fiction. Fiction ≠ reality. This is just something I made for fun and this is just an interpetation.
i had sm fun making this 😭❤️ and I've been listening to Hrtz.wav non stop lately and i LOVE them sm :( I also wanted an excuse to post Hrtz.wav lol. I got carried away with Dane's part, but oh well... Anyways I hope you guys like this as much as I enjoyed making it!!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── juhoon who was never good at telling his emotions started crying infront of you after a heated argument between you two
★ bf ! juhoon × fem!reader
word count ── 3.2k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! JUHOON GOTTA BE THE PRETTIEST CRIER IVE EVER SEEN LIKE WHY IS HE JUST SO PRETTY ALL THE DAMN TIME 😓😓😓 UGH MY AEGI HES SO PRECIOUS TO ME 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
The fight began the way most disastrous arguments do—not with screaming or shattered glass, but with something deceptively insignificant.
A forgotten text, a delayed response, a sigh delivered with the wrong tone. By midnight, however, the tiny fracture had widened into something jagged and catastrophic.
Rain tapped relentlessly against the apartment windows while the city beyond the glass dissolved into blurred streaks of gold and gray. The kitchen lights remained dim, casting amber shadows across the marble counters and illuminating the tension suspended thickly between the two of you.
You stood near the island with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, nails digging crescents into your sleeves as though physically holding yourself together.
Across from you, Juhoon leaned against the counter in suffocating silence.
That silence again. That unbearable, impenetrable quietness that made every disagreement feel one-sided, like throwing your emotions against a locked door and hearing nothing echo back.
His expression was composed in the infuriating way it always was—controlled, restrained, unreadable. Even now, during an argument that had your chest aching so violently you could barely breathe, he looked devastatingly calm.
You hated that, not because he was cruel, but because you could never tell if he cared as much as you did.
“You could at least look at me while I’m talking,” you said at last, your voice strained from holding too much emotion for too long.
His gaze flickered upward briefly before drifting away again. “I’m listening.”
“That’s the problem,” you replied bitterly. “You’re always listening. Never talking.”
His jaw flexed, a subtle reaction most people would miss.
You didn’t. You noticed everything about him because you had spent months teaching yourself how to love someone who communicated through fragments instead of sentences.
The way his fingers curled meant irritation. The slight tension in his shoulders meant discomfort. The silence meant he was overwhelmed.
Except tonight you were exhausted from deciphering him. “You always do this,” you continued, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. “Every single time we argue, you shut down and leave me to figure everything out on my own.”
“I’m not shutting down.”
“You haven’t said more than five words to me in ten minutes.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, already looking fatigued by the conversation. “You know I’m not good at this.”
A humorless laugh escaped you. “At what? Communicating? Having emotions?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No?” Your eyes burned. “Then tell me what is fair, Juhoon. Because I spend half this relationship wondering whether you actually want me here.”
That finally made him look at you directly, and the hurt in his eyes was immediate. But instead of softening you, it only made the frustration twisting through your ribs intensify. “You know that’s not true.”
“How would I know?” you shot back. “You never tell me anything.”
His patience began to fracture. You could hear it in the clipped cadence of his breathing. “I show you.”
“You show me in ways I have to analyze like I’m decoding some impossible language,” you said, voice rising. “Do you know how exhausting that is?”
He pushed away from the counter then, agitation radiating from him in restrained waves. “And do you know how exhausting it is feeling like nothing I do is enough for you?”
The words struck harder than expected. You blinked. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.” His tone sharpened. For the first time that night, genuine anger seeped through his carefully maintained composure.
“It’s always the same conversation,” he continued. “You keep asking for more and more and more from me like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.”
“That’s not what this is!”
“Then what is it?” he snapped suddenly. “Because apparently loving you quietly isn’t enough. Remembering everything about you isn’t enough. Being there whenever you need me isn’t enough because I don’t say pretty things every five seconds.”
The accusation stole the air from your lungs. “I never asked for perfect words,” you whispered.
“Could’ve fooled me.” The cruelty in his voice was subtle, not loud nor explosive. Which somehow made it worse.
Your throat tightened painfully. “I just want reassurance sometimes.”
“And I’m telling you I’m trying.”
“You barely talk to me when something’s wrong!”
“Because every time I do,” he said sharply, “it turns into this.”
Silence crashed between you again, only this time it felt vicious. Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs. “You know what hurts the most?” you asked quietly. “I feel lonely even when I’m standing right beside you.”
Something cold flickered across his face then. Exhaustion, the kind born from feeling perpetually misunderstood. “And you know what I’m tired of?” he replied. “Feeling like I have to become someone else just to keep you satisfied.”
Your lips parted. “That’s not—”
“No, listen,” he interrupted, voice rougher now. “I can’t love the way you want every second of every day. I’m not overly emotional. I’m not good with words. And honestly?” His eyes hardened slightly. “Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation, we wouldn’t keep ending up here.”
The sentence landed like a blade driven straight between your ribs. The room went completely still. Juhoon seemed to realize it immediately.
You saw the regret flash across his features the second the words left his mouth. But it was too late, because suddenly every insecurity you had buried deep inside yourself came clawing violently to the surface.
Too clingy, too emotional, too much. Your face went blank in the terrifying way heartbreak sometimes empties a person instead of making them cry. “Wow,” you whispered.
“Baby, I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Your voice sounded distant even to yourself. “You meant it.”
His expression crumpled slightly. “I was angry.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
“It’s not true.”
But now you couldn’t stop hearing it. Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation. The sentence echoed viciously through your head.
You swallowed hard, suddenly unable to bear the sight of him. Without another word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair.
Juhoon straightened immediately. “Where are you going?”
“I need to leave for a while.”
“It’s raining.”
“I don’t care.”
He stepped forward then, panic finally overtaking the frustration on his face. “Don’t do this.”
You laughed softly, but the sound was hollow. “Do what? Leave before I embarrass myself by begging someone to love me correctly?”
His face paled. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“I was frustrated—”
“And I was hurt.”
Your voice cracked at last. Raw devastation bleeding through the numbness settling over you. “You know what the worst part is?” you whispered, eyes glossy now. “I defended your silence for so long. To everyone. I kept telling myself you loved differently, that you cared in ways people couldn’t see.”
Juhoon looked like he physically couldn’t breathe.
“But tonight,” you continued shakily, “you made me feel stupid for wanting reassurance from the person I love.”
The apartment fell deathly silent. Rain battered the windows harder. His eyes glistened with immediate remorse “Please don’t leave angry.”
You stared at him for a long moment. At the boy you loved so desperately it frightened you. The boy whose quiet tenderness had once felt safe. Now it only felt unreachable. “I think if I stay right now,” you said softly, “I’ll say something unforgivable.”
Then you walked toward the door.
“Baby—”
But this time, when he said it, you didn’t stop, and the sound of the door closing behind you felt far too much like something breaking forever.
The night had become glacial by the time you finally wandered back toward the apartment. Hours had passed in a blur of rain-slick sidewalks, blurred streetlights, and thoughts so tangled they felt impossible to unravel.
The city was nearly silent now, stripped of its usual vibrancy, leaving only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rush of cold wind biting against your skin.
Your fingers were numb inside your jacket pockets. Your chest hurt worse. The argument replayed relentlessly in your mind no matter how hard you tried to outrun it.
Maybe if you stopped needing constant validation.
The sentence echoed like a bruise pressed over and over again. Part of you understood he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. You knew Juhoon better than anyone. You knew frustration twisted his words sharp sometimes, especially when emotions overwhelmed him.
But another part of you, the quieter, more fragile part—couldn’t stop wondering if there had been truth hidden beneath the cruelty.
Maybe you were too much. Too emotional, too needy, too difficult to love properly.
The thought hollowed something inside you, and somehow, despite all of it, despite the hurt still lodged painfully beneath your ribs—You missed him desperately, pathetically.
It had only been a few hours, yet every second away from him had felt profoundly wrong, as though some invisible thread tethered between your hearts had stretched too far without snapping completely.
By the time you reached the apartment building, exhaustion clung heavily to your bones. Your phone read 2:07 AM.
The hallway outside your apartment was eerily quiet. Even the usual flickering overhead light seemed dimmer tonight.
You stood outside the door for several seconds, staring blankly at the handle while anxiety twisted violently in your stomach. What if he was still angry? What if he regretted everything? What if—
You swallowed hard and unlocked the door anyway. The apartment was almost entirely dark. Only the small lamp beside the couch remained on, casting a muted golden glow across the living room. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls while rain continued murmuring softly against the windows.
And there he was. Your breath caught instantly.
Juhoon was curled awkwardly against the couch cushions, still wearing the same black hoodie from earlier. One arm lay draped over his face while the other rested limply against his stomach, like exhaustion had finally dragged him under after hours of waiting.
The sight alone nearly shattered you. He looked uncomfortable, restless. Like sleep had only claimed him out of complete emotional collapse.
Your chest constricted painfully. Slowly, carefully, you stepped closer. “Juhoon,” you whispered.
No response.
You crouched beside the couch quietly, your heart aching at how pale he looked beneath the warm light. Strands of dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, soft and disheveled in a way that made him seem unbearably vulnerable.
Tentatively, you brushed your fingers through it. “Baby.”
His eyelashes fluttered faintly. Then slowly, reluctantly, his eyes opened, and your entire body went still.
His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, wet. Like he had spent hours crying alone in the dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately. “Oh my god…”
The devastation on his face the moment he fully recognized you was almost unbearable to witness. Relief hit him so violently it physically altered his expression. His lips parted shakily.
Before you could even process it, Juhoon surged upright and wrapped his arms around you with desperate force, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs entirely, and then he broke apart.
A strangled sob ripped from his chest so abruptly that it startled you. His entire body trembled violently against yours while another shattered sound escaped him, raw and uncontrollable.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” you whispered immediately, climbing onto the couch beside him as your own vision blurred with tears. “Juhoon…”
He buried his face against your neck like he couldn’t bear to look at you directly, fingers clutching the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it almost hurt.
But you didn’t care, because Juhoon was crying. Juhoon, the boy who concealed every emotion behind silence and restraint—was sobbing in your arms like he had been holding himself together by a single unraveling thread.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly. Your heart cracked clean down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”
Another sob tore through him, rough and uneven. You froze for half a second, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his grief.
You had never seen him like this before. Never.
Even during the worst moments of his life, Juhoon had always remained composed in that quiet, self-destructive way of his. He internalized everything. Buried everything. Suffered in silence because vulnerability terrified him more than pain itself.
But now?
Now he was unraveling completely beneath your touch, and somehow that hurt more than the argument ever had.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered frantically between shaky breaths. “I swear to god I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. His breathing came unevenly, fragile hiccups interrupting nearly every sentence.
“You left and I just…” He swallowed hard, voice splintering apart. “I thought you were done with me.”
“Oh, Juhoon…”
“I called you like ten times,” he admitted weakly, words muffled against your shoulder. “I kept trying to figure out what to say, but nothing sounded right and I—fuck—”
His voice dissolved into another sob. “I can’t lose you.” The confession was so painfully sincere it made your own tears fall instantly.
You cupped his face carefully, forcing him to look at you despite the embarrassment flickering through his watery eyes.
And god, he looked devastated.
Wet lashes clung together while tears slid endlessly down flushed skin. His lips trembled uncontrollably, breath hitching every few seconds as though his body physically could not calm down now that the fear had finally escaped him, and beneath all that anguish.
Love.
So much overwhelming love it nearly stole the air from your lungs. “You’re not losing me,” you whispered softly.
His expression crumpled further. “I thought I already did.”
You brushed your thumbs beneath his eyes gently, catching tear after tear.
“I know I’m difficult,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know I make things hard because I don’t talk right, but I swear I love you more than anything.”
The sincerity in his voice shattered whatever remained of your anger, because he meant it. Every single syllable.
Juhoon loved with terrifying intensity. He just expressed it differently—through actions, through presence, through quiet devotion hidden in places words could never fully reach.
“I don’t know how to explain things the way you need,” he continued shakily. “But I need you here. I need you.”
Your chest ached so violently it almost felt unbearable. Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him softly.
The second your lips touched his, he melted completely. A trembling breath escaped him, shaky and uneven, before his hands slid around your waist with unmistakable desperation. Not possessive, but clinging, almost fragile, like he needed physical proof that you were truly there and not about to disappear again.
The kiss carried remnants of tears and exhaustion and unspoken apologies.
Juhoon kissed you like someone starved for reassurance, every movement hesitant at first before gradually deepening with overwhelming emotion. His lips trembled faintly against yours while his fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your hoodie, anchoring himself to you with quiet urgency.
You could still taste salt from his tears. Could still feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing brushing shakily against your skin, and somehow, that vulnerability shattered you more thoroughly than the argument ever had.
When you pulled back only slightly, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the small space between you.
His eyes remained half-lidded and glassy, lashes damp and clumped together from crying. There was something devastatingly defenseless about the way he looked at you now, like every carefully constructed wall he’d spent years building had finally collapsed under the sheer magnitude of loving you.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered against his mouth.
He shook his head immediately, brows pinching together. “No, don’t apologize.”
“I left.”
“You were hurt.”
“So were you.”
That alone nearly made him cry again. A shaky breath escaped him before he buried himself against you once more, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as though separation itself had become unbearable now.
This time, he didn’t fight the tears. He let them come. Soft, broken sobs trembled through him while your fingers combed gently through his hair, untangling the storm little by little.
“I love you,” you murmured repeatedly against his temple. “I love you so much.”
Every single time you said it, his grip tightened, as though he was memorizing the feeling of hearing it.
Eventually his crying softened into quiet sniffles and exhausted breathing. You pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead. “Come to bed with me?”
He nodded weakly. The two of you moved through the apartment in silence, but it no longer felt hostile. Now it felt delicate, tender. Juhoon never let go of your hand once.
The second you both slipped beneath the blankets, he immediately curled himself against your side, burying his face near your shoulder while one arm wrapped securely around your waist.
Your fingers drifted slowly along his back beneath his hoodie, soothing the occasional tremor still lingering through his body.
The room remained quiet except for rain tapping softly against the windows and his gradually steadying breathing. Then, after several long minutes. “I never think you’re annoying.”
Your heart squeezed painfully. You glanced down at him. His eyes remained closed, voice rough and sleepy from crying. “I like when you cling to me,” he admitted quietly. “Makes me feel… wanted.”
A weak, watery laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” His fingertips curled faintly into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant and delicate despite the vulnerability trembling beneath the gesture. “When you need me like that,” he whispered quietly, voice still rough from crying, “it reminds me I matter to someone.”
You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, because suddenly everything made sense. All this time, Juhoon had been loving you with the exact same desperation you loved him.
He just buried it beneath silence because he never learned how to voice it aloud.
Your expression softened entirely. The tension lingering in your chest melted into something overwhelmingly tender as your fingers brushed carefully along his cheek, your thumb grazing beneath his eye where faint traces of tears still remained.
He leaned into the touch instinctively. The sight nearly shattered you.
Slowly, you leaned down and kissed him again. This kiss was different from before, slower, sleepier. Overflowing with forgiveness instead of panic.
Your lips moved against his with lingering tenderness while his breathing softened gradually beneath the warmth of your touch. He kissed you back carefully, almost reverently, as though savoring every second instead of fearing its disappearance.
The room around you had become impossibly still. Only the rain tapping faintly against the windows and the occasional shaky exhale from Juhoon disturbed the silence.
One of his hands slid slowly upward along your side until it rested lightly against your ribs beneath your hoodie. The touch was featherlight, unhurried, his fingertips tracing absentminded patterns there like he simply needed to feel your heartbeat beneath his palm.
Yet even now, wrapped around you beneath dim bedroom lighting, Juhoon continued kissing you with heartbreaking sincerity, as if every unspoken emotion he’d buried for months was finally pouring out through touch instead of words.
Juhoon sighed softly against your lips before tucking himself impossibly closer, his face hidden safely against your neck now. “I love you,” he whispered once more, barely audible.
