summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
a/n: I don't completely know what direction this story will take. However, forewarning, though I plan on keeping this mostly fluffy, I am a sucker for savior stories so expect there to be some sort of violence that the reader will need saving from. I will add warnings as the story progresses.
whats that kink called that you get from reading too much fantasy lit as a child that makes you want to be tortured in front of someone who loves you so you can see the pleading desperation in their eyes and hear how much they love you in between the cracks of their voice and really truly believe they would do anything to save you. also you get to look so cool and brave and covered in blood and soooo able to withstand pain haha no just me? ok
I got carried away again... this was supposed to be a stupid dumb drabble based on @yummyrevivalfluid 's YouTuber Senku post. but then I couldn't stop, and then I wanted to get some of my other senku ideas out of the way, and then it just spiraled into this long, semi-serious fic.... so yeah, enjoy!
cws: slow burn, strangers to partners to lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, nerds in love, social media stuff, reader is a flirt, eventual relationship, senku is lowk OOC, he's also down bad (#needthat), kinda cringe ngl...
nsfw cws: first times, emotional sex, switch dynamics, fingering, handjob, wrap it before you tap it (they do not...), hair pulling (giving), very implied voice kink,pillow talk, lmk if I missed anything major!
12.5k words
When you first stumbled across Mecha Senku, it was because your college chemistry professor couldn’t explain ionic bonding properly even if their life depended on it. And honestly? That would’ve been fine. You weren’t failing or falling behind on anything. You were the kind of person who took the time to color-code your notes. With pretty pastel highlighters and calligraphy titles like your professor wasn't speaking at 60mph.
You visibly got annoyed when someone asked a question that had already been answered. Five minutes ago. Word for word. And you weren’t subtle about it either. The eye twitches. The sigh. In fact, you studied chapters ahead for fun! Call it being a try-hard, but it was just how you functioned. So when something didn’t click? When you didn’t understand something?
You spiraled. Productively, of course.
So here you are. 1:34AM. Snuggled up in your bed, lights off, blackout curtains drawn, and laptop open at full brightness as you scrolled YouTube, bleary-eyed and annoyed. The only light in the room is the faint blue glow of YouTube’s homepage and your will to academically succeed (read: suffer).
You typed “bond angles” into the search bar. Hit enter, and scrolled. Then a thumbnail caught your eye.
“Predicting Bond Angles – (VSEPR Theory but not boring)” Channel: Mecha Senku Runtime: 5:28
And then you heard it.
That voice. you practically drooled at your screen. It was soft and deep, yet raspy, like he talked too much—which he did—or didn’t care if he wore out his throat explaining the same concept fifteen times. And when he rambled? Oh god. When he got caught up on a tangent about orbital hybridization—when his voice cracked just slightly because his brain was going faster than his mouth?
Yeah, you were soaked.
Kidding.
...Maybe.
You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders like that would protect you. Like you weren’t voluntarily listening to this man monologue about VSEPR models like it was foreplay.
You tried to focus on the science. Really, you did. He even had good diagrams—clean visuals, clear examples, actual accuracy. It was kind of annoying how helpful it was, actually. Like, did he have to sound hot while also being smart?
You watched the entire thing.
Then another.
Then another.
Before you knew it, you were five videos deep. At 2:11AM.
Your poor, old, worn-down laptop was probably overheating from the sheer amount of your spiraling. You didn’t even care.
And then… there was that video.
A short one. Barely three minutes.
“Iodine Clock Reaction – Visual Chemistry in Real Time”
You clicked on it like you were possessed.
It was simple—two clear liquids, a few drops of starch, and a timer. You knew the experiment already. You’d seen it done a dozen times in lab. You’d even done it yourself. But somehow, when he did it, it was a cinematic masterpiece.
The camera was angled just right—focused tight on his gloved hands, the faint clink of glass, the gentle pour of the liquid. His voice low, casual, like he was walking you through a magic trick instead of an actual chemical reaction.
And then—the clamps.
He adjusted the glassware with the same energy you imagined he’d use to unbutton his lab coat (which you have no idea why your thoughts immediately ran there)—methodical, focused, and totally unaware of the damage he was doing to your sanity. Forearms flexing, veins shifting, wrist angled just slightly—You blinked. Rewound ten seconds. Then watched it again.
Something dark and sinister bloomed in your chest. Something carnal. Unholy. You buried half your face in your pillow and made a sound that can only be described as a blowdryer on max output immediately followed by a deep, guttural moan. Like your soul was trying to evacuate your body in protest—but got stuck halfway out, sobbing.
You didn’t even know you had a thing for forearms.
Yet here you are. You were a mess. A high-functioning, academically driven, chemically confused mess, replaying a three-minute video about reaction rates like it was an award winning movie. Like it wasn’t educational.
“This is fine. I’m still learning.” You whispered to yourself
You weren’t.
At least, not about chemistry.
Extra notes about mecha senku!
Certified yapper; it gets so bad he just add timestamps to when he gets back on topic
Always says that stupid little catchphrase— “this is exhilarating, get excited” he can’t help himself, its like second nature
While editing his experiment videos, he add little text boxes that say “*item* acquired” ( like in the anime)
That comes in handy later
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
At first, it was a side project. Something to kill time between lectures, experiments, and tutoring sessions with students who couldn’t tell a mole from a molecule if their GPA depended on it. He kept the uploads short. Clean. No face, no fluff. Just experiments and explanations—combustion, osmosis, acid-base reactions. The basic building blocks of chemistry and physics, broken down in that signature tone of his: concise, confident, and just slightly condescending.
Naturally, people loved it.
Especially college students. Especially the ones who’d seen too many dead-eyed professors stumble through half-baked PowerPoints that they repurposed over the past 5 decades and somehow still made them boring.
He didn’t need gimmicks. Just science.
And, apparently, his voice.
The comments were... something. He ignored them, mostly. Or at least, tried to.
But even he had limits.
@lo1itado11: FLASH US!!!
@freakwy: ong WE all cracking
Username: i will combust and it won’t be a controlled reaction.
Anotherusername: i can literally get off to his voice rn bro omg…
He sighed, deeply. Then dragged a hand through his loosely tied-up hair, fingers threading through strands that refused to stay neat. He didn’t even bother hiding the twitch in his left eye.
Degenerates. All of them.
Still, every new upload got thousands of views in under an hour. Every deep dive request was more unhinged than the last. And while he could ignore the thirst comments, he couldn’t deny the numbers.
His channel was growing. Fast. And if someone asked him to demonstrate a specific experiment?
Well.
He was a scientist.
And who was he to deny a request in the name of scientific curiosity?
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
Now, Senku wasn’t exactly an avid social media user.
Sure, he had all the apps downloaded—after relentless badgering from Gen and Ryusui, who had both made it their mission to pressure him into being “normal” for once.
Senku used Instagram occasionally, mostly to lurk. To like Taiju’s blurry gym selfies. To comment “inaccurate” under Chrome’s chaotic science photo dumps—half of which somehow included a blurry photo of him.
Nothing on his own feed, though. His personal account was private, untouched, maxed out at like 26 followers—half of which were probably bots, and one was definitely just Ryusui’s alt.
However, he was used to getting notifications on his side account. His real one. The one that mattered.
@/mecha.senku.
So when he got a ping from TikTok, he didn’t think much of it. Just a red-and-white flash in the corner of his screen as he walked past a group of undergrads in the quad, huddled around a phone, laughing. Loudly.
Then it happened again. Another ping. Then another.
People tagging him in the same comment section. Spamming him.
Weird.
It wasn’t until after his lecture, holed up in the farthest corner of the campus library, headphones in, laptop open, coffee cooling rapidly at his elbow, half-forgotten.
The notification trail led to a single video.
At first glance, it was just a cake.
A badly decorated one at that—a war crime in the form of buttercream—uneven icing, no symmetry, and piped text that looked like it was written mid-seizure. He could’ve done better blindfolded. He was about to swipe away.
Until he saw the video thumbnail again.
He squinted. Froze. Looked closer.
It was you.
Holding a handful of what looked like paper-taped sticks. Your fingers curled delicately around them, like you’d spent time choosing each one. The video hadn’t even started yet and it was already climbing in views, the likes ticking like a metronome. The top comment had nearly eighty thousand likes.
@/semioli: “I KNEW YOU’D PUT HIM FIRST OMFG”
Senku blinked. Then, almost reluctantly, pressed play.
“Okay, so this is my ‘Hear Me Out’ cake,” you said with a breathless little laugh, voice rich with amusement and just the right touch of self-deprecation. “Please don’t judge…”
You laughed nervously at the camera, your voice familiar in the way ambient noise becomes addictive. He knew you—kind of. You were popular, at least on campus. Friendly with everyone. Smart. You asked questions in class that weren’t dumb, which was rare. People actually listened when you talked.
But he never—not once—imagined you listened to him.
Until the moment your fingers—painted nails and all—planted the first stick dead center into the cake. His channel logo. Bright. Unmistakable. Front and center.
Senku sat still. Very still. His breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
“I don’t know what it is about him,” you went on, eyes wide and glittering like you couldn’t believe what you were admitting, “but I feel a carnal type of desire whenever I hear his voice.”
Silence.
Real, gut-wrenching silence.
Senku just stared at the screen. One brow lifted. Lips parted slightly. Blinking. Nothing.
“…What.”
It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard shit like that before. He had. The comments under his videos were riddled with deranged confessionals and late-night voice-induced breakdowns. He’d seen them. Sighed at them. Maybe rolled his eyes on occasion.
But something about hearing you say that—out loud—while staring directly into the camera, shoving his logo into a cake like it was the most natural thing in the world…Now he’s reading the rest of the comments, most of which you had liked.
“his voice scratches my brain in just the right spot i can’t explain it.”
“if he ever does a face reveal it’s over for all of us.”
“whoever he is irl i hope he’s single bc i’m mentally married to him already.”
“i can’t even watch his videos in public anymore istg.”
A laugh, airy and sharp, passed out through his nose.
It was barely even a sound, just air. His head tilted back slowly against the chair, bones creaking lazily. One hand reached up, dragging through his hair—half-loose from the shitty tie job he’d done earlier. He didn’t even realize he was smirking. Eyes narrowed. Lashes lowered. Something wicked curled across his face, subtle but steeped in ego.
So.
You were into him.
And you didn’t even know that he sat two rows behind you in lecture. That the guy scribbling thermodynamic equations while you twirled your pen and tapped your knee was the same voice that apparently haunted your dreams.
Interesting.
Very, very interesting.
Senku closed the tab. Then reopened it not even ten seconds later, still somehow thinking his sleep deprivation was finally catching up to him. Big mistake.
You were still there—smiling at the camera, laughing like you hadn’t just shoved a stick into a cake bearing his logo and said you felt a “carnal desire” whenever you heard his voice.
He stared at the screen like it personally offended him. It didn’t. Not really. The offense was fake—just a weak cover for something worse, something much more humiliating.
You were attractive. That much had always been obvious.
He had eyes, didn’t he?
He wasn’t blind. He noticed things. Like the way you always had some elaborate doodle in the margins of your notebook that changed depending on your current hyperfixation. Like how you spoke with your hands, too fast sometimes, expressive. Like how your voice always had a bit of a lilt when you were excited about something, like you were trying not to talk over yourself. Like how you liked sitting near the window in lecture, even if it made it harder to see the board.
He noticed everything.
Which was the problem.
Because now he couldn’t stop noticing.
Your face. Your voice. Your laugh.
And the worst part?
You were smart.
Not smart like “gets good grades.” That wasn’t hard. No—smart like engaged. Curious. Your own brand of chaotic genius that showed up in how you argued with professors and picked at theories like they were complex puzzles meant for your hands alone.
You were confident. Passionate. Sharp.
You were…
Fuck.
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands, groaning.
He didn’t do this. He didn’t get… distracted. He didn’t get flustered. Romance wasn’t even on the table. It was too messy. Too emotional. Too inefficient. He had research. He had goals. The last thing he needed was—
Another notification.
He glanced over. More tags. More people replying to your video.
More people joking, “@mecha.senku bro SAY SOMETHING!!! WE KNOW YOU SEE THIS.”
He hovered. His cursor blinking over the comment section.
He shouldn’t. There was no reason to. There was no benefit. No scientific purpose. No—He cracked his knuckles once. Took a slow breath. And typed.
@mecha.senku: Just a hear me out huh?
He pressed enter, then shut the laptop.
And immediately regretted everything.
Because within 30 seconds, the comment had over 2 thousand likes. The reply threads birthing entire romance novels in real time.
“OH MY GOD HE COMMENTED OH MY GOD OH MY—”
“HE KNOWS. HE FUCKING KNOWS.
“NAH??? THE MAN HIMSELF??? NO WAY”
“@y/n GIRL U NEED TO WAKE UP RN”
Every five seconds, your phone buzzes.
Buzz.
Buzz.
BuzzBuzzBuzz.
It starts slow—innocent. A like here. A tag there. Then, as if the universe pulled a lever, it turns into an avalanche. Your screen lights up like it’s trying to melt in your hand. TikTok. Twitter. Instagram. Even people from your group project in history are texting you like girl what the actual fuck did you DO?
You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, charger barely keeping up, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like it can protect you from the moment. Your face is hot. Your jaw is slack. Your soul? Practically nonexistent.
You stare at the screen in disbelief.
Right there, in the comments, bolded like the laws of physics decided to write you a personalized romance book:
@/mecha.senku: just a hear me out huh
You blinked once. Then twice. Rubbed your eyes. Because—no. No way.
There’s absolutely no way that the literal voice of your academic downfall and emotional spiral just casually acknowledged the fact that you want to climb him like a fucking molecular structure.
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. You double-tap your phone by accident. Scroll. Scroll again. Scroll back. It's still there. You suck in a breath like it's going to help. It doesn't.
Your room spins a little—not in a dizzy way, more like the fabric of reality is reconfiguring around your phone screen. Like you’ve accidentally made a deal with a god and now the god is texting you back. Casually. In lowercase.
Your body chooses to react the only way it knows how—by laughing. Not normal laughing. That kind of panicked, unhinged, screeching laugh that sounds like it’s being wrung out of you like a wet rag. A noise clawing its way up your throat as you slowly tip sideways, dramatic as hell, into the mattress.
“Wow,” you say out loud to your empty room, chest rising and falling, heart jackhammering somewhere behind your ribs. “No way. This is such a crazy-ass dream…” Your voice cracks at the end. You sound borderline delirious.
But the comment is still there. Pinned by the original creator. Which is you.
You just close your eyes. Face-down into your pillow.
Your dignity? Gone.
Your supposed crush? Apparently omniscient.
Your life? Ruined. Maybe. Probably.
But your phone’s still vibrating under your thigh like it’s trying to combust.
And yeah. You’re never going to be normal about this again.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
It’s a few days later when you finally have biochem again.
Your professor had sent out an email at the end of last class—something about paying attention to the partner list for the next lab. You hadn’t even looked. Too busy hyperventilating over the Mecha Senku situation. Too busy swiping through your phone at 1 a.m., rereading that comment like it might suddenly disappear, or—worse—turn into something more incriminating.
You didn’t sleep much. Or at all. You just kinda laid there, vibrating at a frequency only dogs could decipher, while mentally reviewing every second of that video and every stupid thing you’d ever said about his voice.
So when your professor calls out your name and tells you to head to the back bench to meet your assigned partner, you’re still in a daze. You adjust your lab coat, swipe lip balm on with hands that are definitely not still shaking, and make your way to the station with the dull dread of someone walking to their own execution.
And then you see him.
Senku Ishigami.
Hair pulled into that slightly messy half-up style he always wears. Safety goggles already on, sleeves rolled up, already gloved. He doesn’t look up at first—he’s swabbing the inside of a petri dish with a level of focus you reserve only for exams and existential dissociations. Then he glances at you, just a quick flick of the eyes.
“Hey,” he says, voice low, casual. A little rough around the edges, like he just got over a cold or hadn’t talked to anyone in hours.
Your spine locks. You blink. Hard.
“Hi,” you manage, but it comes out thinner than you mean it to—stretched at the edges, fraying like an old thread. “You’re… my partner?”
He glances at the roster sheet clipped to the bench as if just now confirming something he already knew. “Looks like it.” There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—barely a smirk, more like a thought trying to become one. “Hope you’re decent with a microscope.”
You nod. Too fast. Too eager. Like your neck forgot how to move naturally. You try to smile like this is fine. Like this is normal. Like this isn’t currently short-circuiting every neuron in your academic-functioning brain.
You’ve never really spoken to Senku Ishigami before. Not really. Maybe a passing nod in the hallway. A blink-and-you-miss-it smile between lecture shifts. A polite “excuse me” when your bags bumped in the lab supply room once. But that was it. That was the whole sum of your direct interactions.
Everything else was observation. Safe distance admiration. Seeing him carry entire study groups with nothing but a half-dry marker and that ever-focused look in his eye. Taking note of how he argued with professors—calm, surgical, relentless—and somehow still walked out of every debate not only correct, but respected.
You admired him from afar. Kinda academically. Kinda not. (mostly not.)
But you’re a girl dedicated to her degree. A girl with goals, with caffeine basically in your bloodstream and deadlines stitched into the fabric of your week. You don’t get distracted. Not by things like this. Not by people like him. Or at least you didn’t. Until now.
Because working with him shouldn’t be this bad. Shouldn’t feel like the center of gravity shifted slightly under your feet, like the air got thinner and thicker all at once.
Except he rolls his sleeves up higher. Forearms peaking out. The lean muscle dusted in faint freckles, veins running like undercurrents
And then—God. The way he adjusts the microscope. Methodical. Controlled. His fingers moving like he’s done this a thousand times and still treats the equipment like it’s breakable—which it is, so you have no idea why him treating it as such is doing something to you—it all starts to blur together in your head.
You blink again. Swallow hard. And then you start to think back.
His voice.
That same voice. The cadence is exact. Steady and sharp with a rasp that scrapes along your spine in the worst/best way. A quiet breathless ramble as he explains the agar base—like the information is too much to simply stay in his head, like he forgets other people are listening. That subtle catch on certain consonants. That dry, low huff of amusement when your glove doesn’t go on right and you curse under your breath.
And then his hands.
Long fingers. Familiar motions. The way he handles the petri dish with practiced ease, adjusts the swabs like he’s composing something. You know those hands. You’ve seen them before. Over and over. In reaction videos. In slow motion clips, 0.25x speed. In the YouTube comments people timestamp for “scientific purposes.”
You freeze.
Fully. Completely paralyzed in real time like someone hit pause on your central nervous system. The classroom noise goes muffled. Muted. The hum of fluorescent lights above you turns sharp and migraine inducing bright. Your pulse is in your mouth now—behind your eyes, in your fingertips.
Because you’re looking at him. Really looking.
And it hits you like a truck doing 90 in a 60.
That’s him.
That’s him.
Your biochem lab partner. Senku Ishigami.
Is Mecha Senku. The, Mecha Senku.
And he knows. Oh, he knows.
He’s not even looking at you right now, but you swear—swear—there’s the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. A smirk barely there, as he slides a sample onto the tray like he didn’t just casually detonate your grasp on reality.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. Not loud. But not quiet, either.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t so much as flinch. But you feel it. The moment it registers. The moment he knows that you know. Because the corner of his mouth twitches higher. Just a little. Just enough to catch onto. And then—still not looking at you, still pretending to be invested in his perfectly aligned swab placement, voice smooth and clinical like this is just another lab session—he says,
“Something wrong?”
You want to bang your head on the table.
Instead, you choke, swallow whatever dignity you had left, and squeak out,
“No. Nope. All good. Just… thinking.”
He hums, low and amused, like he already knows what you’re thinking about.
You're going to die here. Right next to your science tutor YouTuber crush who is also your real-life lab partner crush—for completely unrelated reasons—who has definitely, 1000% seen the video where you said hearing his voice makes you feel like your guts are being spiritually rearranged.
God.
You are so unbelievably, irreparably screwed.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
It doesn’t happen right away.
In fact, it almost doesn’t happen at all.
Because after the Mecha Senku revelation, after the comment, after the lab, after the video—you basically short-circuit. You try to act normal in the days that follow. You show up to class. Try to pretend like it’s no big deal that your anonymous science tutor crush is also your lab partner who is also your mutual…acquaintence? Friend? You didn't know which term you fell under in this situation. You tell yourself it’s fine. It’s not weird. You’re being mature about this.
And then he likes one of your posts. One of your older ones. A video from 3 months ago where you’re ranting about a series that you were into at the time while getting ready for the day. It was a stupid, pointless video. One which he had no reason to like. But he did.
That’s when you panic.
Not in public. But you lie in bed again at 2AM, staring at your screen like it might suddenly catch on fire. He’s watching your content. On purpose. He’s scrolling. Deep enough to find something from weeks ago, which means he’s either curious, bored, or—God forbid—interested.
You stop posting for three days.
Not out of pride. Not even out of posting strategy. Just fear. Raw, buzzing fear that anything you say or do will somehow make this whole situation worse. You delete a draft. Then another. Then six more. Your camera roll becomes a graveyard of half-filmed attempts at being funny or cute or sweet or not on the verge of a breakdown. But nothing feels right.
And meanwhile, Senku is being maddeningly normal.
He shows up to lab on time. Speaks when necessary. Makes the occasional snide remark when a burner malfunctions or a pH test fails. He doesn’t bring up the video. Doesn’t mention the TikTok. Doesn’t acknowledge the fact that you both know that this is like some weird fucked up romcom scenario that immediately got put on Tubi for its low budget. He just acts like… himself. Detached, sharp-tongued, observant, and unbothered. You, on the other hand, are barely holding it together every time he passes you a report sheet.
The dam doesn’t break until two weeks later.
You’re walking out of lecture, halfway through stuffing your notes into your bag with a granola bar half-eaten in your mouth when you hear someone fall into step beside you. Quietly synced with your rhythm, like they’d been waiting for the right second to align.
You glance over.
Senku.
Of course it’s Senku. His sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Satchel strap slung lazy across his chest, and a half drunk energy drink swished in his hand. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between tired and calculating, but the fact that he’s here, walking beside you unprompted, is enough to make you question every single one of your life choices.
You’re not sure if you should say something first. Or if you should pretend not to notice the way your posture stiffens whenever he's in your general vicinity. You take another glance at him through your peripheral vision.
He still has that same unreadable expression on his face—bored, maybe. Or focused. Or just better at masking than you are. He doesn’t say anything right away, and you’re half-preparing yourself for some comment about glycolysis pathways or the upcoming quiz that you’ve been dreading over.
But then he exhales through his nose and says, “I’ve been thinking.”
Which is a terrifying sentence coming from someone who does more thinking in one day than most people do in an entire semester.
Your gaze doesn’t stray but you raise an eyebrow. “About…?”
He pauses for a beat. A way too long beat. Long enough to make your stomach drop. Then, casually: “A collab.”
You blink. “What?”
“A video,” he clarifies, like this is something completely normal that happens all the time. “A joint one. On your account. Or mine, doesn't matter to me. Mutually beneficial, wider audience reach, strategic engagement—pick whatever reason you want.”
You stop walking. He doesn’t.
“Wait,” you say, catching up. “You mean, like… a TikTok?”
He shrugs. “Sure. That’s your area. Whatever gets views. I figure if everyone is already suspecting something, I might as well do a face reveal while I’m at it.”
Silence. Pure, deafening silence. You can’t even think of what to say. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Because it’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it’s no big deal. Like the internet hasn’t been begging for a glimpse of his face since his third viral video. Like he hasn’t been a literal science cryptid for the past three years and now he’s just… casually deciding to unmask like it’s just something to check off on his bucket list.
“Why now?” you ask, finally. Your voice sounds weird in your own throat.
Senku lifts a shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth like he’s trying to suppress it.
“Felt like the right time,” he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, you’ve already done the hard part.”
You blink. “The hard part?”
He hums, nodding once. “Making me realize it’s not that deep.”
You blink again, brain buffering like it just hit a patch of missing code. “Wait… what?”
He shrugs again, like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t the culmination of literal years of silence and mystery and curated anonymity. “People’ve been asking for a face reveal since the beginning. I always told myself it wasn’t worth it. Kept saying it didn’t matter, that it’d just mess things up. But then you…” He pauses, and there’s this barely-there curve at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile—something quieter. More dangerous. “You made it feel kind of… harmless.”
Your pulse stutters. Your stomach flips. You don’t even have time to brace for what’s next.
“I mean, it’s not every day someone from your school logs online just to say she practically gets off to—”
You don’t let him finish. You physically can’t. Your hands are already flying up, face buried before your brain fully catches up, a sound of absolute mortification ripping out of your throat.
“Oh my God,” you groan, fingers pressing into your temples like you can massage the memory out of existence. “Please don’t say it like that. This is already, embarrassing enough as it is, The whole video was like a public humiliation ritual”
He lets out a chuckle at that. Way too satisfied with your reaction. Like he predicted it. When you don’t continue further he decides to speak up again.
“Think about it,” he says before splitting off toward his next class. “You pick the trend. I’ll show up.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
You kind of forget about the whole thing.
Not on purpose, of course. It’s just that coursework piles up, assignments stack on top of quizzes that stack on top of projects, and somewhere between stressing over due dates and wanting to evaporate from existence after another surprise pop lab, the entire conversation with Senku slips to the back burner. Not in a “never doing that” way, but more like… “I will emotionally process this after midterms or death, whichever comes first.” kind of way.
There’s just never a good moment to circle back and be like, “Hey… remember that video idea you volunteered for? Wanna hang out and pretend we’re not both chronically online and know what we’re doing?”
Yeah, no. No way.
But then the first break in your schedule opens up—a blessed, random Sunday with no looming assignments due at 11:59, no labs, no back-to-back lectures sucking the soul from your body—and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re typing a text.
It’s short, simple, and only took you about seven drafts before you finally sent it.
hey, i got a day off and i saw this new exhibit at the museum. thought it’d be nice.
You follow it up fast, like too fast:
for the collab that is!
Smooth. Very smooth.
He replies six minutes later.
sure. what day?
That’s it. That’s the whole text. Dry. Short. And so to the point it makes you start to question if he even wants to go, but you’ll take your chances. You send him the info—location, hours, all that—and hope for the best. Hope you don’t show up alone. Hope you don’t sit around pretending not to be stood up for a date that isn’t a date but still kind of feels like one.
But of course, who would Senku Ishigami be if not maddeningly consistent? If not a man ruthlessly punctual, stubbornly dependable, and irritatingly true to his word?
He’s already there when you arrive.
Not just there— but early. Waiting outside like it’s the most natural thing in the world, casually leaned against a concrete planter with one hand in his pocket and the other scrolling aimlessly on his phone. He’s not dressed up, exactly, but there’s something about his fit that feels intentional. Dark gray-beige slacks. Cream button-up shirt, top button undone. Black cardigan layered over it. Loose tie slung around his neck—totally optional, probably just for the aesthetic. Hair half-up in that signature man-bun style, the front strands framing his face.
You stop short a few paces away, your brain stalling mid-thought as your gaze continues to flicker up and down his form.
Because you? You are wearing a plaid skirt, a ruffled cream blouse, stockings, and boots that are way too tall to pretend you didn’t also plan your outfit, and a tote bag that’s got absolutely nothing useful inside besides your phone, wallet, lip gloss, and an emotional support water bottle.
Which is exactly when you notice it.
The colors. The textures. The vibe.
Oh my god.
You blurt it out before you can stop yourself, stepping the last few feet toward him like you weren’t just frozen in place two seconds ago. “We’re kind of matching.”
Senku glances up, and there it is. That thing he does. The slow, calculated glance from the hem of your skirt to your blouse to the edge of your bag and back up again, all while maintaining that unreadable expression. Like he’s gathering data. Like your outfit’s a puzzle he’s solving in real-time. His mouth twitches, just slightly, into something that toes the line between smug and genuinely amused.
“Yeah, I guess so…” He shifts his weight, pocketing his phone. “You look nice.”
You blink. Buffering. “You—uh. You too! I mean, not that I was—uh, yeah, thanks. You look good too.” You internally wince. Recover. “I hope you weren’t waiting out here long?”
He shakes his head, “Not really. Got here early on purpose.”
You nod, awkward and a little breathless, trying desperately not to read too much into it. You glance toward the entrance, mostly just to distract yourself in something that’s not his facial structure or the way the light catches on the slope of his nose.
“Should we… go in?” you ask, gesturing toward the doors. He hums, a quiet sound, like he's still mildly amused, and nods, stepping in beside you. Not ahead. Not behind. Right beside.
You scan your tickets at the entrance, hands just barely steady, and try not to overanalyze the exact distance between your shoulders. You try not to notice the faint smell of something clean and earthy—maybe his shampoo? Maybe something herbal?—that drifts off of him every time he turns to speak. You try, in vain, to be normal.
The museum’s quiet. Dim lighting. Cool air. Echoes of hushed conversations and soft-soled shoes against the polished floors. The first exhibit is drowned in amber lighting and filled with fossils in glass cases. You both drift to the same one without speaking, reading the plaque in tandem, standing so close your elbows almost brush.
He speaks first.
“Cretaceous, huh,” he says, voice low and a little warm, like he’s half-talking to himself. “Not exactly cutting edge, but still cool.”
You blink at him. “Are you—are you seriously judging the dinosaur bones right now?”
He glances at you. “Just saying, there’s been more interesting finds. I’d rather see a well-preserved stromatolite, personally.”
You snort. Actually snort, and he grins, which is possibly the worst thing he could do because now you’re staring at his lips and—
“God, you’re such a nerd,” you mutter, grinning before you can help it.
“And you’re not?” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to lie.
You scoff, turning back to the plaque like you can hide behind a block of educational text. “Yeah, okay, fair. But at least I pretend to be normal in public.”
“Mm. Is that what this is?” he says, and he doesn’t even try to hide the smile this time. It’s subtle, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it makes your stomach do a little flip anyway.
You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy trying not to combust.
You keep walking, slowly, drifting from case to case. The exhibits start to blur together after a while—early mammals, glacial imprints, fossilized flora—because your brain is short-circuiting every time his voice dips a little lower to point something out, or his hand lifts to gesture near your shoulder, or his sleeve brushes your arm.
You can tell he knows it, too. Maybe not the full extent of your internal spiral, but enough to sadistically enjoy how flustered you get. He’s not smug about it, nor cruel. Just quietly observant. Like he’s keeping a mental note every time your breath hitches a little or you laugh a beat too fast.
Somewhere between the meteorite collection and the preserved taxidermy wing (which he naturally had opinions about), you start filming. Nothing extravagant. Just quick clips on your phone—soft pans over the displays. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t shy away when the camera catches his shoulder or the back of his hand. Just lets you do your thing.
You’re halfway through the museum when your feet start to ache (your fault for wearing boots with no sole support) and your stomach lets out the saddest, weakest little growl. Senku hears it, of course. He doesn’t say anything—just jerks his chin toward the small, in-museum café tucked into the corner past the rotating exhibit, and heads that way without needing a response.
You order something simple. He does the same, and somehow, magically beats you to pulling out your wallet and paying. And then you both end up at a tiny table tucked near the window, warm afternoon light refracting through the glass and shining just right. You’re pulling your phone out again before you can really think about it.
He raises an eyebrow when he sees you tying—and failing—to discretely smile at your phone.
“I know that face,” he says, stirring his coffee. “What are you scheming?”
You grin, wide and sweet and a little mischievous. “You said I could pick the trend.”
“Unfortunately,” he mutters, setting down his cup.
You show him the audio.
He watches the sample once. Then again. Then nods. “Got it.”
You give him a quick breakdown anyway—“Ok so basically we just shake hands. So you would film me first to ‘My name is Pink, and I’m really glad to meet you.’ Then you do ‘You’re recommended to me by some people.’ Then back to me: ‘Hey, ooh, is this illegal?’ And you finish it: ‘Hey, ooh, it feels illegal?’ You got that? ”
Senku just gives you that flat, unimpressed look, the one that makes it impossible to tell if he’s judging you or already planning your execution in terrifying detail.
“Simple enough,” he says. “Let’s get it over with.”
You record it in pieces. The lighting’s good, the cafe’s not too crowded, and somehow, despite the secondhand embarrassment threatening to combust your entire being, you pull it off. You film each other, trade off holding the phone, and try your hardest not to start laughing as you record Senku's deadpan face. By the time it’s done, your face hurts from holding back a smile, and Senku looks a little too smug for someone who just debuted on the internet via meme format.
You save the clips to your phone, already planning how to edit it later.
You both take your time finishing your drinks after that—talking more now. About the exhibit, about the parts you skipped, about other museums you like. The vibe’s different. It’s looser, comfortable in a way you didn’t fully expect to get this quickly. He’s still sarcastic, still has that flat tone and know-it-all quips, but now he says your name a little softer. Looks at you a little longer when you talk.
Eventually, you both stand, a little reluctant but you both know you should leave before it gets too dark. The sun’s setting once you step outside the museum, casting everything in that amber-gold glow again, and it makes his profile look unfairly cinematic as he stretches.
“You’re surprisingly tolerable company,” he says as you walk out together.
You scoff. “Wow. Thanks. I’ll be sure to put that in my LinkedIn endorsements.”
“I’m just saying,” he replies, glancing at you, “You’re not as obnoxious as most people.”
You bump your shoulder into his. “Aw, you like me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
He doesn’t argue with that, which might be worse.
The walk back is slow. Neither of you really rushing, just sort of drifting through the early evening like you're trying to stretch out the time you have together. Somewhere between chatting about your favorite childhood shows and bickering over whose major has more long-term debt attached to it (his argument: “You can’t put a price on revolutionizing orbital propulsion”), it hits you how easy this is.
And more dangerously—how fun. You can’t remember the last time someone made you feel this keyed-in without even trying. Like your brains are constantly sparking against each other like flint and steel.
Then he says something offhanded. Something completely innocent. He’s explaining something about a propulsion system prototype—specifically, fluid resistance and force ratios.
“It’s all about tension and release,” he says, absently adjusting his sleeves as he walks. “That’s how you maintain velocity without risking collapse.”
You glance at him sideways, smile sinisterly curling at the corners. “Mm. I’ve got some tension I’m sure you could release.”
He stops. Stops walking. Like his operating system just force-quit.
“…What?”
You keep walking a few paces before turning to look back at him, mock-innocent. “What? I’m just being honest. You should be more careful with that mouth of yours, Ishigami. You’ll feed into the online delusions.”
He blinks once. Twice. Visibly buffering. You can see it—like the gears in his big science brain just misfired, unable to reconcile engineering terminology with whatever the hell that was. His ears go a little pink—barely there, but enough to clock if you’re looking for it. Which, obviously, you are.
He clears his throat, and mutters something under his breath about “not being responsible for your interpretations.”
But he keeps talking after that. He can't help it now. Neither of you can. The conversation never drops again, not even as you split off at the corner of campus, your fingers still curled around your phone like it's holding the rest of the evening in its little glowing blue-light screen.
You go home buzzing. Not from the caffeine. Not even from the TikTok you’re already editing. But from him.
Because if there’s one thing that’s true about you—it’s that once you start liking someone?
Oh, they never get to rest.
Extra notes time again! || Sorry I really didn't feel like writing out the trend and like the comments and stuff again… I physically cant think like that anymore
Anyway! Both your respective fans go crazy when the initial collab drops
Comments and dm’s begging you guys to post together more—and I mean, who are you to deny the fans?
You make appearances in all of his videos where he “needs” an extra pair of hands
And he’s always seen in your “what i do in a day” videos or weekly vlogs
The tension on camera is undeniable and everyone is always asking if there's something going on, but neither of you ever respond.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
After that, you two just… keep hanging out. Off campus, mostly. Call them dates, call them… whatever—no one’s really labeling it, but they keep happening. Even in a group, you and Senku have your own orbit. It starts with subtle things. Shared glances, half-smirks, a sarcastic “oh really?” muttered under your breath every time he says something too smug. He always responds with a coy, “Don’t look at me like that unless you want something,” and you always raise a brow and say, “Maybe I do.”
You’re both like that.
Witty. Sharp. Teasing.
During stargazing, you’re lying side-by-side on a scratchy old blanket, staring up at the sky when he starts pointing out constellations, spouting off facts like an open textbook. You interrupt mid-sentence with, “Is this your way of seducing me? Because it’s working.”
He glances at you sideways. Doesn’t even pause. “You’re the one lying next to me under the stars. I’d say the seduction’s mutual.”
And at the beach? The energy’s dialed up even more.
You’re in a bikini under his oversized button-up, hair still damp from taking a dunk in the ocean, when you say something cheeky like, “You’ve been watching me all day. Just admit it.”
He doesn’t even blink, much less looks at you. “I’m studying gravitational pull in action.”
“Oh?” you hum sweetly. “Like, my body’s gravitational pull?”
“I meant the tide,” he deadpans. “But your ego has its own orbit, so sure.”
You throw a handful of sand at him. He dodges. Barely. And then throws a precise, infuriatingly accurate clump right at your ankle.
Even when your schedules are packed, you somehow always find time to circle back to each other.
There’s never been a conversation about what it is between you, but neither of you need one. You’ve both carved a little space into each other’s lives now—distinct, irreplaceable, and entirely yours. No one else quite fits the shape.
So it’s no surprise that you spend a lot of time in each other’s dorm—or in this case, Senku’s off-campus apartment. Sometimes for studying when the library’s full, but mostly just to hang out in the comfort of each other's presence.
You’re dressed in low-rise sweats and a tank top, now buried beneath one of Senku’s old sweaters. The one he threw at your head earlier after you started loudly complaining about the cold. The sleeves cover your hands, and the collar’s stretched from years of wear. It smells like detergent and something vaguely medicinal—like tea tree or menthol or maybe him.
He’s at his desk, deep into some spreadsheet or CAD model, muttering to himself about air resistance. You’re flat on his bed, legs swinging, phone held above your face as you scroll through TikTok with the sound barely audible. Every now and then you giggle. Sometimes you send him one. Sometimes he looks away from his screen to actually watch it.
The silence isn’t awkward. It never is with him. Just the quiet clack of his keyboard, the soft hum of his laptop fan, and whatever sound bytes your phone decides to throw at you next. It’s routine by now. Domestic, in a weird way.
He leans back in his chair eventually, spinning halfway to glance at you. “Hey,” he says, like he didn’t just finish modeling an entire turbine blade. “In class the other day—when Takahashi brought up reward pathways—you didn’t say anything. You disagree with the textbook stuff?”
You glance over your phone, one brow raised. “What, the dopamine bit?”
He nods. “And the serotonin model. You looked like you were biting your tongue.”
You shift onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. “I mean, yeah. Kinda. The textbook oversimplifies it. Dopamine’s not just a ‘pleasure’ chemical. It’s tied to motivation, reinforcement, emotional memory—like, the anticipation of reward, not just the reward itself.”
He’s still watching you. “Go on.”
And that’s all the permission you need. You sit up straighter, words spilling out like second nature. You talk with your hands, tangents spiraling into other tangents—sliding effortlessly into a topic you’ve buried yourself in for years. Limbic circuitry, behavioral loops, cortisol inhibition. You explain how physical touch spikes oxytocin and drops heart rate variability, how endorphins are natural painkillers, how the brain is wired to crave proximity.
Senku’s not even pretending to work anymore. His laptop’s still open, screen glowing against the side of his face, but his eyes are all on you—sharp, focused, borderline amused.
He hums. “So… theoretically,” he says, tapping his pen against his lip, “if someone were, say, stressed. Touch could help regulate that.”
“Yeah,” you nod, without hesitation. “That’s why hugging works. Holding hands, even brief skin contact; it’s all connected to emotional regulation. Even something like—”
You pause. Shouldn’t say it. But do anyway.
“—making out.”
There’s a pause. One beat. Two.
You glance at him. He’s still watching you, face unreadable. “Making out?” he repeats slowly.
You shrug, casual. “I’m just saying. High dopamine, high oxytocin, a little adrenaline from the novelty? Basically a neurochemical cocktail.”
His head tilts, expression unreadable. Then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world:
“Wanna try it?”
Your brain blanks. “What?”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” He says it flatly. Almost like he’s bored. But there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes haven’t moved from yours once. “For science. Of course.”
You stare at him. “You’re not serious.”
He shifts to stand, lazy and unbothered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
And then he’s walking over, bracing a knee on the mattress beside you. You stay frozen. Your heart is in your throat. Or maybe your stomach. It’s hard to tell with the way it’s pounding. He leans in just enough that you can feel his breath, hovering, giving you a chance to pull away.
You don’t.
And that’s all it takes.
The kiss is warm. Careful at first. Testing. You breathe out against his mouth, one hand finding the front of his hoodie and fisting it without thinking. He shifts, deeper into it, his weight pressing into the mattress as he moves over you. Still careful, but less hesitant now. Focused. Like he's calculating every angle, and still surprised by the result.
His hand finds your waist. Yours slide up to his neck.
You’re not sure when it stopped feeling like a joke. But it doesn’t feel like one now.
He shifts again, weight fully settling over you, a knee anchoring beside your hip as he deepens the kiss. His hands are warm—calloused in the way only someone who spends too long with tools and lab equipment can be—sliding up beneath the hem of his own sweater draped over you. Fingers brushing your bare skin tentatively, like he’s cataloging each reaction, each hitch in your breath.
Your arms move to curl up around his neck, pulling him closer, and your fingers find his hair. Tugging gently, then a little harder. He exhales into your mouth like it startled him.
You smile into the kiss—just a little. And he kisses you harder.
There’s something methodical in the way he touches you, like he’s studying even now. Testing reactions. Adjusting accordingly. But it’s not the detached, cold type of analyzing. It’s quiet intention, attentive hunger. The kind that says he doesn’t let himself want things often. But he wants this.
Wants you.
The sweater slips slightly off your shoulder. His palm follows the curve of your spine like it’s a path he’s memorizing. You’re already pulling him back down the moment he shifts to rise, needing more—needing him. He goes willingly. He always does.
His lips hover near your neck, and when he finally presses them there, it’s with purpose. A mark, claiming. You feel the heat it brings you all the way down to your core.
“You react so easily,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, like he’s more fascinated than surprised. “Like your body’s just waiting for me to touch it.”
You hate how right he is. Or maybe you don’t. Not when his hands are gliding down, lower and lower, caressing the skin of your ribs to your hips.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
Senku almost feels bad for baiting you with that question earlier. Almost. If it weren't for the way you were staring up at him, all teary eyed, lips swollen and neck marked—courtesy of him, of course—he’d probably apologize. But he has you exactly where he's been wanting you, and you’re definitely not complaining, if the way you're squeezing around his fingers have any say in the matter.
“Fuck… you're tightening up. Are you close already?” he’s cooing down at you, eyes gleaming with a sort of sadistic look, his lips curled into a smirk.
You can't even respond, it's pathetic really, your brain is already turned to mush and he's barely even touched you. You tear your gaze away from him. Your legs are shaking, twitching uselessly at your sides, and you can feel just how wet you are, can hear it every time his fingers sink deeper into you.
Why did he have to be so good at this?
“You’re really that sensitive, huh?” he mummers, dragging his thumb just barely over your clit and he chuckles when your body jerks forward. Your thighs try to close but he’s already in between them, his other hand prying them open, keeping you exposed and needy under his touch.
He’s transfixed on the sight of you. Watching every twitch of your hips, every spasm in your thighs, every time your walls clench around his fingers, the way your eyes roll back when his fingers prod at a particularly sensitive spot. And, of course, the way you bite down on the back of your hand in an attempt to muffle the sounds spilling out of your mouth.
God, it turned him on in more ways than he possibly imagined.
Senku leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, just to watch the way you squirm. “C'mon,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, “don’t hide from me. I want to hear everything.”
You whimper at that—a soft, choked sound, and he feels it all the way down. His cock throbs in his pants, neglected, untouched, but he doesn’t care about that right now. Now when this is happening. Not when you’re this responsive, this wrecked just from his fingers. And so… Senku moans. Deep and guttural like your reaction does something to him. Like watching you get off is more satisfying than touching himself could ever be.
The way your body moves against his hand is erratic now, your hips shifting up to match the pace of his thrusts, trembling on the edge. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around him, can see it in the way your lashes are soaked with tears, the way you jerk with each slow curl of his fingers.
You’re close. So, so close.
So he gives it to you—just the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure, and that voice again, like a switch flipped inside of him:
“Go on, baby, it’s okay. Be a good girl and come for me.”
And you do. Practically sobbing into the sheets as your body shudders around him. Your muscles tighten,back arching off the bed, and breath hitching in your throat before it spills out in a loud, desperate moan. And Senku swears he almost loses it just watching you. Watching what he did to you.
“Fuck, that's it… just like that.” He’s a little breathless now, still working you through it, fingers moving gently as you shake and throb beneath him, blissed-out and absolutely ruined. Even as he pulls his digits out, and licks them clean, your body still hasn't stopped twitching.
You're sprawled out beneath him, brain soft and heavy, your thighs sticky, your chest heaving. There's a buzz under your skin you can't seem to shake—like your body hasn't figured out the comedown yet. Like you're still coiled tight, waiting to snap again.
Senku's still above you, propped on one elbow, eyes dragging slowly over your face like he's trying to memorize the exact expression you're wearing—ruined, flushed, lips parted, still trying to catch your breath.
And when he speaks again, his voice is low and rough, the edge of smugness barely masking the heat beneath it. "You should see yourself right now." He leans closer, nose brushing yours, lips just barely hovering. "You came so hard, baby."
You should roll your eyes. Should say something back. But instead, you kiss him. It's clumsy at first—your hands reaching for him, fisting into the front of his shirt, dragging him down with more desperation than you meant to show. But he goes down willingly, groaning into your mouth like he's been waiting for it, like he's starving for you.
His lips are warm and soft, and when his tongue brushes against yours, something in you snaps. You moan into it, tugging him down even closer, legs shifting to wrap around him until he’s fully on top of you, pressed chest to chest.
The kiss turns filthy fast. Sloppy. Hungry. You taste yourself on his tongue, feel his teeth graze your bottom lip, and when you break apart for air, there's a thin string of saliva still connecting the two of you.
Senku stares down at you, his lips pink and wet, eyes dark with an unmistakable desire. But you don’t say anything. You just drag him back down and kiss him again. And this time, you take control.
You find the strength to gently shove his shoulder. A silent request for him to switch positions, this time with you on top. Your hands slip between your bodies, fingers tugging at his waistband, undoing buttons and zippers with trembling precision. You don't rush it, you don’t even speak. You just stare down at him, eyes locked on his, and you let your palm glide over the front of his boxers—feel how hard he is. How long he’s been holding back.
"You didn't touch yourself," you whispered against his jaw, lips ghosting down to his neck. You kiss the column of his throat. You can feel his adam's apple bob under your mouth. "You just... watched me."
Senku shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he hisses through his teeth. "Of course I did," he says, voice low, breath hitching when your hand dips beneath the fabric and wraps around him. "You think I could look away from you like that?"
You smile into his skin, lips dragging over his pulse point, before licking a small stripe against it, warm and possessive. "Then you're gonna let me return the favor."
He tries to say something, probably a snarky comment, or some teasing remark, but it dies in his throat the second you stroke him. Thumb pressing over the tip, spreading the pre-cum, watching his face go soft and slack and honest. His cock twitches in your hand, and he groans-deep and low, like he's trying to keep quiet and failing.
"You're so responsive,” you murmur, voice dipped in faux sweetness. "Bet I could make you come just like this—barely even touching you."
His head rolls back as he nods.
"You'd let me?"
"F-fuck," he breathes, biting down on a groan as your pace picks up, "I'd let you do anything right now."
And there it is-that crack in his composure. The unraveling. You've got him now, pinned under you. Your hands, your voice, your mouth ghosting back up to kiss him again while you work him with steady, torturous strokes. And you swear he looks like he's about to lose it just from that.
"You're close," you whisper, forehead pressed to his, your hand never stopping. "Aren't you?"
He nods again, faster this time, eyes wide, and dazed. You find him beautiful like this.
“it’s okay,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Come for me, and don't look away."
He doesn't.
You watch each other the whole time-while his body tenses, his breath catches, and he spills into your hand with a whine—it’s with your name on his lips. And even after, when he's still trembling, breath ragged, forehead resting against yours, he kisses you again.
It’s softer now. Slower, more sensual. Like he’s trying to catch up to everything that just happened.
You climb up to adjust your position, shifting in his lap to properly straddle him, and feel him twitch beneath you. The air thickens again. You start to move—slow, subtle grind that makes both of you gasp.
“Is this okay?” you murmur, lips brushing his. “We don’t have to…”
His hands find your hips, tentative, but firm enough to tell you he doesn’t want you to stop. “Y-yeah,” he swallows hard. “Just—condom. They’re in the nightstand.” he adds, voice barely above a rasp.
You pause, looking down at him, your hair falling into his face as your lips curl in a slow, nervous smile. “I kind of just want to feel you,” you say softly. “Just you.”
His breath catches, and his grip on your hips tighten. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, tone somewhere between a joke and the truth.
“I’m on the pill,” you say, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “And I haven’t been with anyone. Not since we started hanging out…”
His gaze locks with yours—surprised, a little shy. “Me neither.”
There’s a beat. Neither of you says it—what this means, or where it’s going—but you don’t need to. Not right now.
You lean in and kiss him again, deeper this time, while he lets you settle over him fully. And when he finally lets go of whatever he’s been holding back, it’s not a fall. It’s a full body surrender.
You shift your hips, sliding your hand between your bodies. Senku watches you, wide eyed and panting, as your fingers wrap around him once more. He’s still hard, heavy and warm in your hand, and the sound he makes when you stroke him again makes your head spin.
His hands tense on your thighs. "God," he whispers, barely holding on. "You-you don't have to—"
"I know," you say softly, guiding him to where you want him. "I want to."
You angle yourself, breath catching as you line him up. He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, like he can't believe this is happening.
And when you start to sink down—inch by inch, taking your time—his head falls back against the pillow, lips parted, throat working like he's trying to remember how to breathe.
You stop halfway, adjusting your hips, one hand braced against his chest. He feels so good stretching you open like this. You look down at him.
He nods, frantic, his voice almost breaking.
"Yeah. Just—don't stop. Please."
You don't.
You ease down the rest of the way, and when you're fully seated, hips flush to his, both of you just stay there for a second, gasping, trembling, overwhelmed. And when you finally start to move; the slow, steady rolls of your hips—his hands come up to grip your waist like he's afraid he might actually fall apart under you.
At first, it’s easy to stay in control. You set the pace, savor the friction, chase the tension building in your belly.
But it doesn’t last.
Your thighs start to burn, trembling with the effort, barely cooperating anymore. Every bounce turns sluggish, your movements dragged down by the growing heat in your limbs—but you're still moving. Still trying. Because he's looking at you like that.
Senku's laid out beneath you, hair a mess, lips kiss-bitten, and pupils blown so wide there’s barely a sliver of red left. And he’s watching you. His gaze is steady, and intense—like he sees everything. Like he’s not the one unraveling here. You are.
And through the fog in your head, it hits you that he’s smiling.
Not mockingly, just this small, breathless grin, like you’re an experiment he doesn’t want to stop testing. And the way he says your name, low, and rough, like he’s been holding in his mouth for months, sends heat crashing right through your core.
You try to keep moving, but your body stutters. Your breath shudders.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to.
He just says, “You're falling apart, aren’t you?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. And then he speaks again, a little more sure this time.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good for me... just like that."
His voice—God, his voice. It's low and thick and soaked in wonder, like he can’t believe this is real. Like he can’t believe it’s you. You nearly fold right there.
The noise you make is somewhere between a sob and a moan, your hands scrambling against his chest like you need something to anchor you, or maybe just him. Your whole body pulses at his words like they hit deeper than anything else, heat unraveling inside you faster than you can hold it together.
"F-Fuck, Senku..." you whimper, blinking through tears, hips faltering as you try to keep the rhythm. "I c-can't—"
"Yes, you can," he murmurs, fingers tightening just a little on your thighs, just enough to remind you he's there, guiding you, grounding. Not pushing—never pushing. Just wanting. "You're already doing it.”
His voice dips again, breathless. “Look at you..."
It’s awe. Pure, undiluted pleasure. Every word that falls from his lips sounds like it’s unraveling him as much as it is you. And somehow, that’s what undoes you more than anything
You bury your face into his neck, because if you look at him again you'll crumble-and maybe that's the point. Maybe that's what he wants. To break you down, piece by piece, until you're too far gone to think about anything but how good he makes you feel.
And God, he is breaking you.
He drags one hand up your back, fingers threading through your hair, just to keep you close. He needs you close. Needs you to feel how much he's coming apart beneath you. He's grounding you, ruining you, worshipping you with every tremble in his touch.
"Just one more," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. His voice is strained, like he's barely holding on. “Just give me one more…”
He's losing control fast. Your soft, whiny little sounds are killing him. Every breathy moan, every gasp, every whimper—you're driving him insane, and maybe, just maybe, that's what gives him away.
The way his voice breaks when he speaks again.
"God-you feel so good," he chokes out, hips stuttering beneath you. "You're so—fuck, you're perfect around me, I can't—"
He whines-actually whines—a raw, desperate sound ripped straight from his throat, like he doesn't know how to hold it back anymore.
"I c-can't stop," he breathes, hips twitching up into you without rhythm now. "You're—you're making me crazy—how are you so fucking—tight—?”
You make another sound—desperate and broken—and he feels it. The way you clench around him, the way your whole body answers before your mind can even catch up.
And then, softer-almost pleading:
"Let me hear you when you come, yeah?"
You whine—God, you whine—and he groans, like the sound physically does something to him. His hands are shaking now, trying to hold you steady while everything inside him unravels.
The way you look, the way you sound, the way you're still trying to ride it out, still trying to give him what he wants even as you fall apart on top of him. It's too much.
And he wants more.
Your name falls from his lips again-raw, reverent, broken at the edges-and it hits you deeper than anything else has all night.
You try to keep moving, but your body betrays you. Your hips falter, your thighs tremble, and your forehead presses against his collarbone, like hiding might save you—but it doesn't. He's still looking right at you, and God, he's still talking.
"Just like that... you're so—fuck, you're so perfect like this."
His voice is breathless, thick with disbelief and need. "I can feel you... every time you move, I-shit—"
And maybe you don't mean to do it. Maybe you're just grabbing onto something—anything—to stay grounded. But your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just a little. And he moans.
Full-bodied. High-pitched, desperate, absolutely shameless. His eyes slam shut. His hips jerk up into you with no rhythm, just want. "Shit–do that again—" he gasps, voice cracking. "Please–fuck—!"
So you do.
You fist your hand in the mess of his pale strands and pull.
He falls apart.
"God—I'm–fuck, I'm coming—" The words are slurred, ruined, his face pressed into your hair as he bucks into you once, twice, and then spills inside you with a choked-off moan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping tight, like he's trying to keep you locked to him, like if he lets go for even a second he'll die.
You're already shaking, breath stolen out of your lungs, your own release crashing through you. You sob into his hair, overwhelmed, while he trembles beneath you, hands still gripping, body still twitching.
When you finally still, everything is quiet. Just your breathing, his heartbeat, frantic against your chest. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair. And he hasn't stopped shaking.
You don’t move for a long moment. You just melt into him, limp and boneless, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your chest rising and falling against his. He’s still inside you, still warm, still twitching faintly with aftershocks. And even though your muscles are shaking and your skin is flushed and sticky, all you can do is breathe.
Senku doesn’t speak right away either. He wraps his arms around you, his hold is loose at first—like he’s not sure he’s allowed—and then tighter, like he can’t help it. Like letting go now would undo him. His voice is hoarse when he finally whispers, “You okay?”
You nod into his neck, barely moving. “Yeah. You?”
He lets out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I think I’m still alive.” He says. “But barely.”
You smile, eyes closed, cheek pressed to his skin. “Was that…?”
“Yes,” he says instantly, like you needing to ask the question is absurd. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”
You laugh softly and feel him grin against your temple. There’s a pause—comfortable, heavy with the weight of what just happened—and then he shifts, brushing your hair gently away from your face.
“I didn’t… hurt you, or anything?”
“No,” you murmur. “You were perfect. Seriously.”
You finally lift your head, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, his cheeks are still flushed, and his eyes are glassy—but he’s smiling. Soft. Uncertain. Happy. And for a moment, he’s not the genius, not the scientist, not the voice behind a screen.
He’s just a boy, flushed and messy, still a little out of breath, and completely, irreversibly gone for you.
You lean down and kiss him once—just a press of lips. Nothing more. Then you collapse on top of him again with a soft groan.
“We should probably clean up,” you mumble into his chest.
He hums. “Eventually.”
Neither of you moves.
⋆.⌬ ˚𒉭 ⋆
Later, you do get up—clean up, change, all that boring post-mindblowing-sex routine—but it’s quiet. Natural. And once you're both back in bed, it’s like gravity pulls you together again without even trying.
The room’s quiet, warm, filled with the soft hum of your joined breathing. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, and your head is tucked under his chin, chest rising and falling against his.
Senku’s still. His hand hasn’t moved from your back, fingers lazily tracing the curve of your spine like he doesn’t know how to not be touching you now.
And then, without looking at you, he says quietly:
“…So is this the part where we pretend that never happened?”
You blink. “…Do you want to pretend that never happened?”
He’s silent for a moment too long.
“No,” he admits. “Not even a little.”
You shift just enough to look up at him. His hair’s still messy, cheeks still faintly pink,and there's a light trace of sweat on his temple, but his eyes are sharp, focused on you now in a way that makes your breath hitch.
“I’m not exactly…” He hesitates, frowning slightly. “Good at this stuff.”
You smile. “Sex?”
“No. Well—” His ears go red. “That too. But I meant… this. Whatever this is. Relationships. Wanting someone this much. Letting them in.”
You don’t say anything right away. Just reach up, gently brushing some of his hair out of his face.
“Senku,” you murmur, soft and certain, “you don’t have to be good at it. We’re figuring it out together.”
He swallows, throat tight. “…You’re not gonna run when you realize I’m not exactly the most conventional partner?”
You blink, lips twitching. “After what just happened? I’m definitely not running. I can barely walk.”
He huffs—almost a laugh. Then finally, finally, he meets your eyes again. Really meets them.
“And besides,” you add softly, “I knew how you were before all of this. I’m your friend first, always. I love you just the way you are.”
“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” he says, blunt in that way only Senku can be. You were just… there. Constant. Loud. Infuriatingly smart. Always messing with my things, always in my space.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re digging a really deep hole right now.”
He exhales—short, almost a laugh. “Yeah, well. Then one day I realized I didn’t want any of it to stop. I didn’t want you to stop. I think that scared me more than anything.”
Your lips twitch. “You call that romantic?”
“I’m a scientist,” he deadpans. “Not a poet.”
You grin, pushing up slightly so you can lean over him, your hands braced on either side of his head.
“Well,” you murmur, eyes soft, “guess I’ll have to be the romantic one.”
His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.
“You always were.”
You lean in and kiss him—slow, like it’s not a first or a second or a tenth, but something you’ve always had the right to do. He kisses back like he’s finally letting himself want you out loud. When you pull away, you rest your forehead against his again, noses brushing. His hands drift to your waist under the blanket, not trying anything, just holding.
“…So,” you say softly. “What do we call this now?”
He hums thoughtfully. “An unplanned but highly successful chemical reaction?”
You snort. “Try again, scientist.”
His mouth quirks. “Girlfriend acquired?”
You blink. “Did you just say that like you unlocked an achievement?”
“I say that every time I make something new in the lab,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Why would this be any different?”
You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing dangerous things in your chest. “God, you’re such a dork.”He shrugs under you. “Yeah. But I’m your dork now. Apparently.”
Ignore the lowk OOC last line… genuinely couldn't find another way to end this quickly
ANYWAY BACK TO THE EXTRA NOTES!
You guys both go kind of MIA for a while; one second you’re posting like normal, sometimes popping up on each other's page, then just… radio silence.
Fans lost their minds, and during your time away, they start making these crazy long theories trying to explain what they think happened to the both of you to fill the void.
Literally ranging from, "He's secretly a serial killer and she was the last victim so he deleted his digital footprint to evade capture.”
“They eloped in the mountains. She’s pregnant. They’re living off the grid with goats.”
“She accidentally killed him during an experiment and is covering it up.”
All of these are objectively incorrect.
In reality? You’re working through your first relationship, and when you’re ready, you’ll both be back.
an: can't blame anyone but yk I gotta be rude to my kitten whiskers bella... already tagged her though so sigh... anyways this was supposed be DAYS ago but I kept adding more stuff. this is the cycle of my life , I can not shut up for the life of me.
I also haven't written smut in a while (can you tell?) so if its bad.. yeah, I tried my best fr. lowk a closeted freak ONG do not leave me in a room with Senku he WILL end up pregnant.
The only thing that got me though bio last semester was imagining we were studying together and answering questions during class to make him think well about me 😭 bless this fic for getting me through it
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some one and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
a/n: Okay, I know posts seem to take longer everytime, but trust, it’s better to wait until I’m in the zone than to throw something together to try and meet a deadline. Should I do SMAU side stories for this??? Just a thought...
Sure, you wore one in the winter. A pink loose knit made by your youngest sister and given to you for Christmas one year when she was still too young to do most house chores or know to save her allowance.
But even that was only worn on special occasions.
For some reason, you decided to wear one now. Some sort of silk. Long enough to wrap around your neck and pretend it was a fashion statement.
When you went out it was a plain shirt and skirts of all kinds, sometimes a dress, anything to pair with it that wouldn’t have anyone close to you questioning what you were hiding underneath it.
Someone like Chan, who sat at your side in the waiting room of a doctors office. Quiet and awkward in a way that you didn’t expect after seeing him so lively just the other day.
Your heat had blown away on the wind, subsiding after one late night with your friend– host– situationship?
The sun had already begun its descent the next day when you finally woke up. The puddle of slick and sweat and cum almost completely evaporated beneath you and you had to fight the bile in your throat from surfacing, not believing the mess that you slept in.
Kangdae’s idea of morning aftercare being a slap on the ass. (You would talk to him about that too.)
So, you had to wash everything yourself. Clean up yourself, by yourself. Starting with the sheets and blankets and pillows. Holding them at arms length as you walked them through the apartment to the washer. You scrubbed your skin raw in the shower and bleached half the house, not remembering ever leaving the bed but finding evidence of your many rounds all over the place.
You kept the windows open during the day, cracking the one in the bedroom when Kangdae got back to keep his scent from lingering too strongly. After explaining to him that you presented while he was gone, he was quick to offer to tone down his own pheromones if it overwhelmed you. You were quicker to accept it with a desperate, “Please.”
You kept Changbin’s hoodie and Hyunjin’s sweatpants in the drawer of one of the night stands. Hugging them close as you went to sleep in fresh sheets the next night.
Those next few days were spent stuck in the apartment. Sticking through with your isolation from the outside world during what should’ve been an entire week in heat. After that first night it didn’t return. No longer did you feel hot, and shaky, and bothered. Your pheromones became softer, easier to control, the hint of your heat gone like it was never even there, though Kangdae had said he didn’t mind them, loved it even, your pheromones making the air he breathed sweet.
He was home more.
Surprisingly, becoming much more like the kid you knew in high school. He brought home take out or ingredients for dinner every night and you watched movies and cuddled like you used to. Talked like you used to.
He told you about work. Being an on-call photographer for one of the big three entertainment companies in Korea. He raved about all the places he got to go to over his long weekend and told you all the idol gossip. His hand hitting your shoulder and a sassy smile on his nodding head bringing you to tears.
You told him about the boys. Meeting Felix and feeling the mating bond click into place. Recalling the drama of going to his place and almost walking out before he told you about the others, falling asleep on his couch before you knew it and waking up to a whole new set of problems. He seemed concerned hearing how you had to sneak out a window and run home, surprised and almost jealous that there were eight of them, having always been searching for a mate himself, though never feeling that emptiness like most mated people felt.
“So, sex isn’t gonna work for us anymore then.” He almost seemed sad.
“Why?” The two of you sat on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangling together in the middle. You made a face. “Does me having mates make you uncomfortable?”
He looked at you like you were crazy. Sizing you up with a quirked brow before leaning in. “You’re not gonna move in with them?” He said it like it was obvious.
God, you wanted to. You still barely knew them. They were basically strangers. Hot strangers. Whose souls were literally bonded to your own. And they had been so sweet at lunch and so understanding back at their house. How could you not want to be closer to them?
Well… Common sense maybe? Not wanting to concern your mother more than you already do, perhaps?
Most soulmates were quick that way. It was a societal norm. But you grew up with beta’s, never experiencing that empty bond or normal omega traits. So it wasn’t a priority for you to rush off with your mates or seek the help from one of them during your heat.
After a lot of thought, and a lot of input from your friend, you’d decided it would be for the best to keep your current arrangement. Defining your relationship clearly as ‘Friends with Benefits’ just in case someone asked.
He could be a bit selfish during sex but it was a small price to pay for a free stay, and the sex wasn’t all bad either. The day before it was a bit of a surprise and disappointment, but your imagination had gotten the better of you. So, you’d stay with Kangdae and get to know the boys a bit more. Seeing where this whole mate thing would take you.
Which is why you were at the doctors now. A general check up really. But also a consultation for your heat cycles.
Chan had offered to drive you and you quickly told him you would be just fine on your own. Though you weren’t well versed in medical terminology in general, let alone in Korean. Chan could translate.
And Seungmin had pointed out that having an alpha with you during check ups was important. Knowing how to care for you as an individual was important. And as your alpha, it was his job to know how to care for you, however you needed it and whenever you wanted it. Even if you were deciding to get to know them some more first.
Begrudgingly, you agreed.
Regrettably, you agreed.
For your second time meeting, you were off to a rocky start.
He had shown up ten minutes early, the wide smile on his face fading when Kangdae answered the door. Chan was excited. It would be your first time one on one, and he was itching to see how you clicked, to find out how your brain ticked. He felt honored that you had trusted him enough already to let him join you on your trip to the doctor but now he was faced with this guy he didn’t know, tall and shirtless, and smelling like you. His brightness dimmed in Kangdae’s shadow.
You appeared before the two could even greet one another, fixing that silk scarf around your neck. “Chan, hi.” You had said, red in the face and out of breath. He thought you were adorable, all flushed and dressed up just for him. If only that blush was for him too.
Thankfully, he said nothing about it. Giving you a small wave in return before turning to leave with you at his side. Taking one last look at the man standing in the doorway who seemed just as curious by Chan’s presence as Chan was by his.
“Thanks again for coming with me.” You said in the car, buckling into the passenger seat.
The car ride was quiet. You tried making small talk every so often, eyes darting around to find something to fill the space. Awkward silence sucking the life out of you.
You had expected some hesitancy, some nervousness, but not full on silence. You wondered if he was shy. Maybe it was the boys who had brought out that energetic side of him that you had seen at lunch over the weekend. Maybe it was groups in general. Or just high energy people? Even side by side in the waiting room, checked in and ready to go whenever the doctor would come to grab you, and the silence continued.
Awkward was your default setting. You tried the small talk. That only ended with small yes’s and no’s. Detailed responses were an abstract concept to him apparently. There was nothing else up your sleeve.
You could embarrass yourself. That normally opened things up.
This time though, it was someone you wanted to impress. The thought of blurting out whatever garbage you had at the tip of your tongue had your stomach twisting, and it wasn’t with butterflies.
Chan wanted to talk to you. He did. He had been so excited. But he could smell the pheromones on you. Kangdae’s pheromones. And it burned. It was the only thing on his mind. Why did you smell so strongly of this other guy? Was he your boyfriend? Someone you hired to help you through your heat? Surely the friend you were staying with wouldn’t want any of that in their house. Or was he that friend? He just didn’t know what angle that guy was playing from. He didn’t know where he fit in your life. And he was so curious, trying to figure it out on his own, or at least figure out how to ask without being completely and utterly rude by bringing it up.
You are a stranger but his mate and he had been waiting so long for you that he could only imagine you falling into the pack quickly just like the rest of them did.
In reality, you were different. Resisting the temptations. Hiding away from them during your heat rather than spending it with them. Hesitant to meet them at all. Almost walking out upon finding just one of them…
Felix had said that you were willing to try. That you would start by meeting them and seeing where it went from there. Hoping to make a few friends if nothing else.
Friends was good.
Friends was great!
Chan could deal with that.
It was better than you leaving and never seeing any of them ever again, at the very very least.
Though, if you already had a boyfriend before meeting them what would that mean to the future of your interactions with them? Would he push you away from them?
Either way he didn’t like it, didn’t like him.
Kangdae’s very existence left a bad taste in his mouth.
So he sat quietly. Lost in thought. Not even registering his silence as awkward. Completely forgetting about his current objective. Missing the time passing him by. His body moving on autopilot to drive here, sign in, and sit down.
Though, when you were called in, it was like he snapped out of it. Chan was first to stand. Leading the way to the room that the secretary pointed to. Opening the door and letting you in first.
His eyes took you in for real once you were sat on the examination table. Going soft as he watched you twiddle your thumbs and swing your feet, biting your lip as you looked around the office. A plain black t-shirt and jeans, the intricacy of the scarf making your outfit seem classier than it was casual. Antiseptic and hand sanitizer filling the air, keeping you pinned in place. He thought your sweet little heart was probably racing in your chest with nervousness. It made him melt. You were so cute!
Facing you now, no longer at your side like in the car or waiting room, but in front of you. Forced to acknowledge you. He realised just how in his head he had been, there for you literally but somewhere else mentally, emotionally, the reason he had come going completely unaccomplished.
“You feeling okay?” He asked, a soft concern pulling at his eyes.
You straightened when you heard him, surprised he had said anything at all. Laughing at your own shock. “Yeah.” You looked at him and tilted your head. “I didn’t know you could talk.” You were trying to keep it light, playful, but you meant it a little bit too.
“Of course I talk.”
“You just haven't said anything since we were in the car. Even then you were quiet.”
“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” He defended, solemn.
Your mouth curved up in acceptance. Small and fleeting, but enough. “Wanna talk about it?”
He looked into your eyes and you looked at him like he was a child who’d scrapped his knees. Like you were worried but scared of getting too close, not knowing what else to do but ask and look concerned.
“You’re like the ‘therapist’ in your friendship groups, aren’t you?”
Now that got a chuckle. “You’re avoiding the question.” ‘Are you serious?’ written all over your face. “But yes I am. So Chris, what seems to be the problem?”
“Well doc, I’ve found my mate you see. She’s really pretty and funny too. I haven’t spent much time with her yet but I can already tell that she’s the overly considerate type, and she’s kind of accident prone, and can fall asleep anywhere! Like even in a house full of people she just met. So she trusts easy too.” You blushed at his praise. Confused on where this was going, but honored to be so well noticed already. You nodded along, pretending like he wasn’t making your heart race, and pretended to take notes like a therapist would. “I don’t know her too well yet personally, and I don’t want to offend her, but I’m curious by nature. There’s things I want to know but it feels too soon to ask. She’s kind of the reserved type.”
“I’m sure she’s the forgiving type too then.” You conceded. “Maybe you should just ask, if she’s your mate then I’m sure she’d let some things slide.”
He took it in, thought about it for a minute, like he was weighing his options. Risk offending you to learn something new… or wait?
Just as he went to open his mouth, to ask about what had been bothering him, the door opened, the doctor knocking as she came in. A smile gleaming on her face, “Y/N?” She slowly closed the door behind her, waiting for your nod. “I’m Dr. Maeri Jung, I’ll be the one conducting your check up today. How are you?”
You smiled back, polite, pushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m good. A little shaky, but good.”
She hummed, reaching for a chart in the corner of the room, your paperwork put there earlier by one of the secretaries. “So… it looks like you've just ended your first heat! You’re twenty?”
“Yes ma’am. When I was younger, I was told I’d never go through my normal cycles because I was infertile, but after coming to Korea I found my mate and all of a sudden they began.”
“Ah,” she nodded, writing something down on the clipboard. “So you’re mated. Was it automatic or you built the bond yourselves?”
“Automatic.”
“And so you must be the soulmate.” She turned to Chan.
He nodded his head in greeting, “One of eight.”
Your face grew hot in an instant. The doctor's head whips over to you before turning back to him, her eyes now wide with surprise. “So you must be-.”
“I’m the pack alpha.” She bobbed her head, looking at her clipboard again. Her expression was somewhere between pure delight and complete shock.
“Lovely. So you’re here to check up on your cycle, maybe see about fertility?” She drew out the last syllable, leaning side to side.
Already you were growing shy. Unsure of this whole process. You wished this was just something you could ask your mom about. “I guess so… I’m more concerned as to why it’s happening and what to expect in the future. Up until this week I’d never even sensed pheromones before or felt a tug on a bond. Even now, I don’t feel the emptiness that the others felt until this week. Two of the bonds still haven’t formed and I don’t understand that either.”
This was a surprise to Chan too. He never noticed. Him, Minho, Felix, and Seungmin for sure. Which bonds hadn’t clicked into place yet?
He thought that everyone had had that moment of stillness, like everything was in its proper place.
No one had mentioned anything to him. No one came to ask him why the bond didn’t click with Y/N or to beg to see her to make it or to complain about the hollowness that lingered.
As you continued your back and forth with the doctor, basic check up questions, he went through the numbers, counting the members, seeing who didn’t talk with you or didn’t have a moment of stillness. Who was it?
Then came the question you were most nervous to answer in front of Chan, “Are you currently sexually active?” Your face went up in flames but one quick glance and you could see Chan off in his own little world, his mind some place far away once again. So when you nodded, shyness compelling you to keep your eyes on your lap, you thought he wouldn’t notice. But just as he wondered which of his mates hadn’t felt the bond click with you, he listened to every question, noted every answer, storing every detail for a time when he might need it.
20 years old, 5’4”, 50 kilograms, AB-, no one else in your family was an omega, not currently on any medication, allergic to penicillin, and you were sexually active.
His eyes remained distant, his face one of pure calm and absolute peace, though he listened closer. Tuning in to hear just what would come next. Subtly, he sucked in a breath.
“With a mate?” The doctor asked.
You were growing more panicked by the second. Mortified with Chan sitting just across from you. What will he think of you after hearing this?
“What does that have to do with the check up?” You said, voice stern. Confused. Still unable to look anywhere but at your lap, at your hands that began to pick at your nails.
“Well, you’re freshly mated. This greatly affects your body in more ways than one. Your hormones and pheromones being the greatest example. Already it’s changed your brain chemistry enough to allow you to finally sense pheromones, to produce your own, and cause you to begin presenting. So being with a mate can help regulate your hormones and also your cycle.
“Before finding your mates, having sex likely didn’t affect you much physically, especially considering how you didn’t experience your heat cycles at all. A typical omega experiences their heat twice a year and hires a heat service. If you were still unmated this wouldn’t be a problem, having a partner wouldn’t be a problem. Now, your body will react differently, sending your hormones all over the place. I’m not saying you won’t be able to satiate that itch but it will prevent you from keeping a normal cycle. In most cases mated people often feel somewhat repulsed by others' pheromones.
“So I recommend that if you have a partner outside of your mates that you don’t continue to entertain that relationship. At least not in a romantic or sexual sense. It won’t be good for your hormones or your body in general.”
You looked up at her as if you hadn’t even heard what she had said. Your face is suddenly void of the embarrassment you felt answering her intimate questions. Looking at her through your lashes, suddenly bored, serious, like the flip of a switch, and Chan couldn’t tell what you felt. “But it won’t really hurt anything.” You stated, testing.
“Ms L/N, if the goal of this visit is to make sure that you’re healthy and to help you navigate through this new part of your life, then I must insist that you don’t pursue anyone other than your mates.” Your gaze didn’t falter. It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t take more than a second for the doctor to give in. “But no. It won’t hurt anything. Perhaps your body is easing into these new habits and systems but it will be increasingly difficult to keep up that relationship, not only will your cycles be unregulated but it will be uncomfortable to be with anyone other than a mate.”
You looked back at your lap, nodding.
Realistically, after meeting them all, and that one talk with Felix, you were kind of decided. You were only planning on pursuing your mates.
Once, a soulmate had been a dream. Now it was your reality and you didn’t plan on giving up on it so quickly as you did that first time, when it didn’t feel real, and you didn’t plan on it ever happening. Now you could feel the dull ache of your heart where two bonds had no end, no person who they connected to. Now, you wanted nothing more than to be with them. To dive in deep to this new chapter.
But that wasn’t reasonable. It wasn’t smart.
Your arrangement with Kangdae provided you with a free place to stay, constant access to a third perspective, someone who you could go to for advice without having to worry about them demanding you home or hopping onto a plane themselves to make sure you were okay, and he could scratch that itch for you even if his help meant not being able to get on a regular schedule. He didn’t seem to mind.
Your trip to the doctors ended with Chan pulling you away from the front counter so he could pay. The two of you giggled as you two fought to give your card to the secretary.
She laughed through her nose, her eyebrows raising as she shook her head and took Chan’s card, giving it back with a small goodbye.
In your purse was a new prescription, heat blockers, given to you after a long conversation about the side effects and your doctor’s avid advice to just let them come naturally and have a mate help you the next time. She explained how it was normal and natural to be with a mate during a heat even if it was early on in your relationship. People wouldn’t look at you differently, if that was what you were concerned about. Though you weren’t, you asked for them anyway, choosing to not push yourself into their well established group and get to know them more first.
Chan couldn’t hide the surprise on his face that time, so you knew he had heard. You made sure to note that it had nothing to do with how they had made you feel so far, it’s just how you were. He had nodded and kept things light despite the sting of his heart.
They weren’t like that. They would’ve helped if you had said the word. All of them already content in your presence, and though the shyness of getting to know someone new still lingered, you fit right in and made them feel comfortable. Like they would be able to tell you anything. Like you hadn’t just met days ago but had known each other for years.
For some reason, the two of you felt comfortable enough to hold hands on your way out. It was natural. Something you did without thinking and didn’t think about as you walked down the street towards his car.
“You have anything else planned for today?” He asked. That accent of his making your heart stutter in your chest.
“I thought about doing some adventuring now that I’m off of house arrest but that visit was so draining.” You pouted, shoulders sagging and head tilting so you could only look up at him if it was through your eyelashes. “So I’ll probably just spend the rest of my day laying in bed and watching tv.” You smiled now. “What about you? Any plans now that you’re about to be free of me?”
He chuckled as you both reached his car parked along the street, pulling your door open. “Well actually…” He ushered you inside, his hand holding yours a bit tighter as you took a seat, legs hanging out the door. “I was wondering if I could keep you a bit longer? Today’s my day off so if you want, we can lay back and watch tv together..?”
He really was just too cute. Of course, you nodded, a wide smile parting your lips as you gave his hand a squeeze. “Don’t go shy on me now Mr. Pack Alpha.” You teased. “That sounds even better.”
Relief and excitement flooded him. A small chuckle escaped him before he was letting go of your hand and moving your legs inside to close the door and make his way to the driver's seat.
“Is my dorm okay?” The one owned by the company. Five minutes away from Seunglix’s place, or so they had told you. If you remembered it right, they had to stay there during the week, it made their schedules easier, and caused less questions from their supervisors.
You nodded, leaning against the center console. “You guys stay there because it’s closer to work right?”
“Among other things.”
“I keep forgetting to ask what exactly it is you do for work.” He started the car, pulling into the street easily. “I can’t think of any jobs that provide housing for its employees. So you guys must be important in your industry.”
“We’re music producers.” He said easily, like it was no big deal just to throw you off.
“Felix said something like that. But what have you produced? Anything I might know?”
“Do you listen to K-Pop?”
You nodded, though he didn’t see it. Too focused on turning down the right roads. “A little. I’m a big fan of big groups over solo artists. It’s fun to see how members interact and I wonder a lot of the time if it’s all an act or if their friendships are true. Though, I hate how a lot of fans treat idols like circus acts.”
“What do you mean?”
You tilted your head up in thought. You supposed there was no easy way to describe it. It wasn’t pity but something else like confusion. “Like on game shows or behind the scenes footage, idols do things that make me wonder if they want to do it or in certain interviews if they’d rather just end them over answering. I think the industry can be kind of dehumanizing at times. Don’t you think?”
Chan couldn’t help but laugh. He thought back on his own experiences that were less than ideal. It was surprising that a fan could pick up on something like that. “That is why they’re called idols is it not?”
“I guess.”
“So, what groups do you listen to then?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“And which was that exactly?”
You blinked. “Have you produced any music I may know?”
He trusted you. You were his mate. And like you, he still knew to be cautious.
Strangers, remember?
Then again, you had just let him sit in on your check up. You trusted him enough to let him stay in the room through all the embarrassing questions and the physical part of the exam when doctors get just a bit too touchy for anyone’s comfortability, no matter how necessary. Even now, you were on the way to his apartment, a week after meeting, without having told you anything about it. He could be taking you to an abandoned warehouse to kill you and yet, you sat at his side confidently taking up the space.
He worried if it might scare you away. So instead of everything at once, he leaned forward, fishing his phone out of his back pocket. “Maybe? How about I put something on?”
You nodded, a content smile crossing your lips before you moved to turn on the radio. Chan enjoyed how you already seemed to own the space around him. Glad you felt safe in his presence, wondered if perhaps you were a naturally touchy person or if you’d just already grown this confident in the time he’s known you.
Your heart picked up pace as soon as the sounds hit your ears, your cheeks burning with the lippy grin that wouldn’t leave your face. The song was quick, with instruments that you’d never be able to name, creating a rhythm that just made you want to dance and bob along. Just like the song you felt your persona pulling apart at the seams, your true self reaching for the surface, like a maniac.
“You made this?”
He had the nerve to look nervous. “You like it?”
“Like it?” You fell back in your seat, staring out the window, a scoff came from deep in your chest. Looking at him like a crazy person after a second. “Are you serious? That was awesome! I wanna hear more!”
When you had made it back to his dorm he was quick to offer up his wardrobe, both of you ready to get comfy and find something to watch. You slipped into a pair of sweats and a tshirt, excited to finally be back in a pair of pants, pulling off your scarf without a second thought and unpinning your hair. You let it fall around you, scratching at your scalp to relieve it of the tightness from having it up all day.
You made yourself right at home, snatching a furry blanket off the back of the couch, and plopping down onto the black leather like you belonged there. In front of you was the t.v. and entertainment center, surround sound speakers making it feel like a movie lover’s dream.
The make up of the building was similar to Felix and Seungmin’s. The front door instead opened straight into the kitchen, bright compared to the depth of the living room, also separated by an island, bar stools lined along the living room side. The bathroom door was straight across from the entrance, broken up only by Chan’s door and then Jeongin’s door which was left cracked open, so you took the chance to get a peek into his life.
You couldn’t see much more than his bed, a shelf floating just above his pillows, displaying a picture and some trophies or figurines, you couldn’t tell from the crack of the door, and a stack of books. It smelled like cherry, sweet and fruity, you leaned into it for a moment before realizing just how creepy you must have looked.
Chan’s room was, for a lack of a better word, neat. Everything had a place and things were folded and lined up perfectly into it. You almost felt bad looking through his drawers for the comfiest outfit, just knowing it likely ruined some sort of order there. Quick to fold your outside clothes and leave them in an empty space on his desk, careful not to disturb anything else in his room.
His clothes left you swimming in a smokey pine, the scent overwhelming if you weren’t careful.
He could smell it in an instant. Glad to be rid of the lingering smell of tobacco and citrus, he was sure if he had been much closer to you throughout the day his eyes might’ve even started to water.
“It’s nice to see you in my clothes this time.” He winked at you, passing you to put his old clothes in the hamper in his room.
You giggled, “Sorry, I just thought taking clothes from one of the betas would’ve been the safe option then. If it makes you feel any better, your clothes are much more comfortable.”
“You’re just saying that.”
You shook your head, turning around on the couch to watch him close his door behind him, your lips cocked to one side. “You wear baggier clothes than Changbin and Hyunjin, baggier equals comfier.” You nodded matter of factly.
His heart swelled, a small grin reaching his own face. But then he saw your neck.
In your haste and comfort with Chan, you forgot about the bruising there. A hickey or two and he might have looked past it, jealousy would pull at his chest but he had heard you at the doctors office, decided not to ask about the roommate for now. However the mark of a hand taking up the entire expanse of your throat had his stomach dropping, his eyes widening, and anger consuming him.
Your brows furrowed at his sudden change. Confused. Worried.
You didn’t pull away when he brought a shaky hand up to your face. He cupped your cheek with the gentleness of someone holding an overfilled glass, knowing too much one way or the other would have it spilling all over the place. His saddened eyes looked into your lost ones and he asked, “Who did this to you?” His other hand feather light, ghosting over the bruise and bite marks.
Upon your slow realization you turned, eyes darting all over the place, searching for something, anything, to explain, to excuse or dismiss or— how could you forget? Couldn’t you have kept the scarf on or found a turtle neck or something! You couldn’t believe yourself. You let out a small nervous laugh, so small it was almost a cough. “I know it looks bad…”
“Y/N,” He stood tall. Demanding attention with his tone, cold and serious. “Who did that?”
You blew out a breath, avoiding looking in his eyes. “Listen. It’s not what you think. Or maybe it is? Listen. I’m okay, I’m just sorry you had to see it.”
“Sorry I had to see it?” His heart was breaking. His eyes were searching, scanning, looking for any other hint of bruising or hurt.
“Um…” You tried to clear your throat, mentally preparing yourself for the most awkward conversation of your entire life. “My friend, who I’m staying with, kind of has a choking kink…” It felt like you were choking on your own words. “We, ehm, um, have a friends with benefits thing right now. Just while I’m staying with him. And he just got a little bit carried away the other day. It’s really not a big deal. I just didn’t want to give you the wrong idea of who I am, you know, so I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you about it, especially if this is still the get-to-know-me stage of this.”
Chan was stunned. He had no words.
He walked around the couch to sit at your side, giving you enough space to breathe, but close enough to put a hand on your knee. Concern still flooding every part of his body. He just couldn’t understand how someone could get so carried away that they’d leave a bruise. Your pretty neck covered by the hand shaped spot and bite marks. It hurt him to see.
“You don’t think less of me do you?”
“No.” He answered before you could fully get the question out. “Of course not. I just don’t know what to say.”
So the two of you sat still for a while. Looking over one other, with him taking in the evidence of an assault on your throat, taking in your explanation, and you letting him, worried he would kick you out or hate you or cry. You wouldn’t know what to do if he cried for you.
“You’re really okay?” You nodded. “You can tell me if you’re not. We can find you a new place to stay where he can’t get to you. Really. If you’re scared, you can tell me.”
“I’m really okay. I promise.”
His eyes scanned you again. Head to toe and back again. You could tell he was searching for any other sign that you could be in danger. It was sweet but it only made you feel unsure and insecure.
Surely, he had to be thinking differently of you now. Not only did he get to bear witness to your entire doctor's visit but now he had seen the evidence of your relationship outside of the pack. It had your own mind swimming, your stomach turning, what was going through his head?
He was still pulling his heart out of his stomach and back to his chest, fighting the shake in his hands that itched to pull you close, he could keep you safe as long as you were in his arms.
He had wanted to dig deeper, ask everything he held back.
It was like you read his mind, putting your hand on top of his. “He’s just a friend, if that changes anything. I’m staying at his place in exchange for helping him… in this way. It’s not ideal considering I have you and the others in my life now, but until things solidify for us, I’m going to keep my situation as it is right now.” You were quiet as you spoke, slow, choosing your words carefully so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. Hoping it wouldn’t make it worse if nothing else. “I understand if this changes things and I’m sure it’s not necessarily happy information, but it’s the truth and I should have said something sooner but I just didn’t want to ruin anything before it could even begin.”
He tried to laugh.
It would be hard not to love you.
When he first saw you, Felix and Seungmin parted like curtains to welcome you into the room first, he thought ‘That’s really her. She’s beautiful. She’s here and she’s ours. I already know it.’ Then you introduced yourself and he just swooned at the sound of your voice alone. Your shyness was adorable and he wanted nothing more than to hear your laugh and watch you open up.
Since then you’ve talked about music and movies, your favorite foods, and all the surface level nice-to-meet-you small talk but this was personal, real, your first time confiding in him. Your eyes searching his for judgement or resentment, flittering all over his face looking for any sign of disapproval.
“I definitely don’t love the idea.” He looked between you, at your hand growing sweaty with nerves over his own. Looking back up at you while reaching with both hands to hold your one. Putting all of his emotion in his grip, “As your mate, but especially as an alpha, I want you to stop seeing him. Especially if he’d hurt you like this.”
His expression began to soften. You looked panicked, and he knew you still needed time.
“But… It’s not like I can stop you, so, I understand. We’re just friends right now, two strangers getting to know one another to see if you want to be something more. Until then, we can be patient.”
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some one and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
warnings: MDNI, humping, unprotected sex, p in v, reader's in heat, dub/con (somno)
a/n: To be honest, I haven’t read much omegaverse in general. So this universe is fully based on a single manhwa I read forever ago, though since starting this I’ve read a bit more and I think as the story progresses I would like to delve more into the omegaverse. If you have any reading suggestions, tips for the story, or things that might be kind of niche in this kind of writing please let me know! I’m wanting to learn and expand my story through the dynamics that change depending on the omegaverse.
You had taken the little blue pill. Just like Seungmin told you. Washing it down with water from an old bottle that Felix had found in the back seat of the car.
Only two hours had passed since then. The time flew by much quicker than you thought it was, but still, not enough time had passed for the pheromone suppressors to wear off. Yet, here you were, running too hot, chest rising and falling in an increasing panic, it was like you couldn’t breathe, and you struggled to keep your eyes open.
A movie played on the projector, surrounding speakers downed out any other sound, and so, thankfully, no one seemed to notice as you struggled to deal with your hormones.
They had all sat scattered around the living room. Sitting on beanbag chairs, cuddled up on the couch, and propped up on the floor by the coffee table that was full of all kinds of snacks. You had taken a spot on the couch, in the corner to stay out of the way and see how movies usually went for the group. But just like at dinner they had been so easy to fit in with, treating you like they had known you for years.
When they had welcomed you into their home you had been a bit intimidated. Unlike their company housing in the city, their home was further out in Sangsachangdong. Where the hustle and bustle of Seoul disappeared for a calmer neighborhood just outside, an area of farm land and housing complexes with a few shops dotting the community. Their home was quite big. It had to be, you supposed, to be able to fit all eight of them.
The front yard was gated, the house hidden by tall trees and a wall of shrubs. You almost wouldn’t notice it if you drove past. But they parked the two cars in their spots on the opposite side of the street before escorting you through their lushly green front yard to the front door.
The hyeongwan was clean when you had walked in, though as the group excitedly dragged you in, you all left your shoes behind in a mixed up mess behind you.
It immediately opened up to their living room, a big white couch stretching out to take up half the room, colorful pillows and blankets decorated its cushions, matching with the red and blue beanbag chairs that were left haphazardly in the furthest corners of the room. An entertainment center took up the front wall, lined with video games and different consoles. The walls were decorated with paintings and sculptures, each unique and colorful, and fun. The kind of space where creativity flourished.
To the left was the kitchen, mostly white with baby blue accents, and gold hardware. It was retro compared to the fun moderness of their living room. Though the windows that opened up to their back porch and garden had you gaping, surprised by how beautiful it was. It blocked out the other houses nearby bringing not only privacy but made it feel so much more intimate and free.
You loved it, your eyes shined with the wonder of it all, ready to see what was next. To the right of the living room was a hall with three rooms, first was the bathroom, dark compared to the rest of the house. Its walls were covered in stormy wallpaper and grey tiles. The lights were small, cleverly placed bolts of lightning and accent lighting around the top of the shower.
Then was Jisung’s room and across from it was Jeongin’s. You wanted to see what they would each be like inside but they had been quick to stop you. Warning against the mess and pheromones that filled the inside.
One look at Seungmin told you it wouldn’t be a good idea.
So you didn’t, following along the closed door tour, noting that Changbin, Felix, and Hyunjin’s rooms were upstairs, with another bathroom hidden at the end of the second floor. Along with the empty room that was set aside for you. Inside was a bed and nothing more. The sheets and pillows were as white as the walls. No color or decoration or things set aside for storage. Kept empty for you to fill it. They told you that you’d be welcome back whenever, and you could do whatever you wanted to the room.
You smiled at the thought. Not thinking much of it at all until you looked out the window, finding that it was on the same side as the kitchen, giving you a perfect view of the big beautiful backyard and you decided that you needed a desk here, or a bench. Somewhere to sit and write and look out the window for inspiration. The idea made a smile bloom on your mates faces, thankful that you were willing to progress with them.
You stopped in the basement to see the game room. A pool table in the center of the room, beige carpets making up the floors, the walls wooden panels that felt nostalgic. On one side was a library of sorts, books taking up every shelf that made up the wall, a lounge chair propped in the corner with a hanging light just above it. On the other side, closer to the stairs was a cabinet full of games and crafts that you promised to rummage through the next time you visited. On either side of the pool table were two doors, on one side, another bathroom and Seungmin’s room who you were allowed to see. He didn’t let his pheromones stick to everything like a crazy person, or so he had said, so it wouldn’t hurt you to look inside.
It was kind of small and dark. His bed was pressed into one corner, his comforter was a deep navy, though his pillows and sheets were striped and made it seem more personal to him. Beside his bed was a small wooden nightstand full of books and little nicknacks. A dresser pressed into the corner along the same wall. The top held trophies that you didn’t look too close at, to the relief of Stray Kids, and pictures you reached for, admiring with a sad smile. Pictures of the bunch of them, younger than they were now, and together, and you wondered why you had taken so long to find them. His desk was on the opposite side of the room, next to the door, clean unlike the other tables in the room though the wall above it was littered with art prints and photographs, a collage of all his favorite things. You made a mental note to take longer to look at it all the next chance you had.
Across from his room was Chan’s and beside his was Minho’s. You wondered if they found the basement stuffy, wondered if they ever switched rooms. And they had told you that they liked the peace of the basement. That they often spent more nights in other rooms than not, anyway, so there was no need for jealousy over rooms. They all agreed.
As the tour went on, you had lost people for a time, having them rejoin in new clothes. Comfortable, movie watching clothes. And by the end of the tour, you thought nothing of it. Appreciated their commitment to the full movie night experience.
You didn’t expect them each to bring you something to wear. Holding out different pairs of sweatpants and hoodies and t-shirts. You blushed, waving it off, telling them you’d be okay in your clothes. In your dress that was beginning to dig into your shoulders. In the dress that was starting to itch with its close attachment to your skin.
They were insisting.
You hesitantly took a hoodie from Changbin and sweatpants from Hyunjin. Thanking them with a sigh.
Perhaps that was why you were feeling how you were now.
Curled up in their clothes on the couch. Trying your best to follow along with the movie but missing all the main points. You looked through your lashes up at the projection, swallowing dryly as you contemplated your next move.
You couldn’t take more suppressors. That wouldn’t work. It wasn’t a pheromone issue, it was a full on heat. Your first heat. And you didn’t know what to do, thought to yourself that maybe you wouldn’t be able to handle it on your own after all. Your hands shook with a violent tremble, your body felt weak, like you hadn’t eaten in a long while and it was screaming at you to have something. Anything.
When Minho stood up no one looked twice, knowing he was probably headed for the kitchen or the bathroom and would be back soon. The movie was at a slow spot so no one moved to pause it for him and he didn’t ask them to. What they didn’t know, and what you didn’t expect was his appearance at your side.
He hopped over the back of the couch, quiet enough not to earn any curious glances and obvious enough not to startle you. His eyes stayed on the movie but his right hand reached for you, his other hand resting on the back of the couch beside you. Your eyes flicked from his face to his hand, unsure what he was doing, unsure if this was just him trying to get close to you or if he had noticed your situation.
When you put your hand in his he pushed it away and your fragile heart almost broke at the misunderstanding.
He looked at you now, a small, knowing glance. He waved towards himself, urging you to his side. You scanned him again, unsure if that’s what he really meant. Looking into his eyes you could feel the understanding and decided to trust it, scooting closer, fitting perfectly against his side. His arm behind you coming down to wrap around your shoulders and pull you closer.
Your head fell somewhere between his chest and shoulder, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ears. Your breath shuttered as you began to smell the lavender and mint in the air. His right hand reached for yours now, pulling your arm across his stomach, stroking the back of your palm with his thumb.
Normally you would’ve been in a panic. He had molded you to him so easily. Tucking you into his side and making you hug him. Heat would’ve bloomed across your cheeks and breathing would become difficult. Maybe you still would have, if he wasn’t your mate.
Everything about him calmed you. He knew just what to do, never letting his touch linger or making any moves to make you feel uncomfortable. He had been quick and certain in his pushing and pulling and suddenly the boiling under your skin tamed to a simmer, your mind was clear, and your body felt heavier, the shaky-empty feeling wiped out by Minho.
“Thank you.” You whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.
He didn’t say anything, just kept rubbing circles into the skin of your hand, his hold tightening once as if to say I love you. That’s what he meant anyway, though you just took it as a You’re welcome and that was more than enough for you.
>>---<3---->
It wasn’t long after that Minho brought you to his room, carrying you with one hand under your knees and the other behind your back. The two of you sneaking away before the movie was even halfway through.
His door had been left cracked open, an easy tap with his foot had it swinging open, and he smiled down at you as he welcomed you into his space. He set you down slowly, letting you wander, search, and inspect.
You quickly understood why you hadn’t been allowed in sooner. The room was filled with him. Smelled of lavender and mint and musk. Different from the calming thing he’d opened up with on the couch. This was strong and intimate.
You shuttered a breath as you looked around the room, stopping in front of his dresser. Admiring the pictures and taking in the coats that piled up on one end, a bowl on the other side holding jewelry that seemed too flashy for him and catching the faint smell of milk and honey you knew they were Felix’s.
His arms crept around your middle, pulling you into his chest and making your legs weak. Your head turned to him now, a small smile working its way onto your face. He was already there, waiting, leaning in so slowly it was almost like he wasn’t moving at all, leaving you an out, room to pull away. But you didn’t.
You leaned in, meeting his mouth in a whisper of touch. Breathing each other in. Slow to move, gentle in your touches. Parting before you even registered it happening.
Minho was diving back in. in an instant. His mouth pressing to yours, lips opening you up and swallowing you whole.
A moan poured past your lips before you could stop it, prying his hands away from you to turn and face him fully, never breaking this kiss. He stepped closer and you stumbled back into the dresser, one hand going to catch yourself against the edge while the other went to his chest, feeling the softness of his hoodie but the tightness of muscle underneath it. Feeling the heart that raced within it.
Tongues collided, lips smacked, upstairs, no one noticed the two people who’d gone missing from movie night.
Minho took another step forward, grabbing at your hips to lift you onto the dresser, the motion small, easy, effortless, and it made your breath hitch. He leaned in further, there was no ‘close enough.’ His right hand going to the wall behind you, his left pulling you close by the hips, right against his hardening cock, an outline already swelling against his sweatpants.
Heat rushed to your cheeks, feeling the slick in your own pants. If he pressed anymore, he’d be able to feel it through the fabric.
And he did, rolling his hips in small grinds against your own. Your arms slipped around his shoulders, one of them reaching for his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft locks. He let out a groan, pulling away from your mouth to kiss down your neck, pressing his nose into a sensitive spot under your jaw.
“This,” He licked at the spot, sending a shiver down your spine, “is your scent gland. Your pheromones pour out from here the most.” He kissed it, moving to the opposite side, kissing there as well. His voice dropped an octave, his eyes going dark. “It’s almost like I can taste the vanilla. You’re sweet.”
You panted along with his ministrations, not knowing where to focus. On his mouth traveling around your neck, sucking on your scent glands and nipping at your collarbone, or on his hand, now under your shirt, rubbing soft circles at your ribs. His feather light touch had your toes curling and your eyes began to burn.
He panted too, pulling away between kisses to watch himself rut against you. It was a challenge for him to not rip all your clothes off now and take you here on his dresser. Would you like that?
The ache between your legs screamed yes. The tears in your eyes begged for it. But you were lost for words. Only your heavy breathing remained.
“Sex is always good, but in a heat when it’s all you want, everything is sensitive. I could probably get you to cum just teasing you like this.” He smirked down at you, half tempted to when he saw just how adorable you looked all desperate for him. “Should I?”
His cockyness was hot. Part of you wanted to play his game. Maybe you would have, if it weren’t for your heat.
Instead you shook your head, eyebrows pinching together in worry.
Minho leaned back pulling away from the wall, looking you up and down, taking you in again. Looking at you like you were dessert. Biting his lip as if that would help him hold himself back.
The hand he kept on your waist left it to pull at the sweater, a silent question.
You pulled it off before you could think about it, realizing too late that you weren’t wearing a bra, left behind with your dress, folded and put under the bathroom sink upstairs. You threw the sweater away from you, not caring where it landed, and not caring about your first appearance to Minho, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him to you, pushing it to your chest, begging him to touch you.
By now he could feel your slick soak through your sweats and into his own, and now palming your tits like this was natural, like it wasn’t his first time with a woman, he let out a contented sigh rushing back to crush his lips against your own.
His free hand slid into your pants, already understanding your need, feeling it for himself against his hand, letting out a growl against your mouth. All of it made you whimper. A small brush of his fingers against your clit and your legs were shaking, so close already. You could’ve proved him right before if you weren’t so eager. If your scent didn’t draw him in, ready to fold to your every wish and command.
You grabbed at his shoulder and at his hand in your pants, pushing him closer, harder, faster, searching for release. You pulled away from his mouth with a whimper, “Minho, please.” His jaw dropped in exasperation, his boner pressing against your thigh while his hand swiped at your clit, coaxing moans past your lips, sobbing out as you came.
Minho pulled away, pulling off his own jacket before grabbing you again, lifting you off the dresser. Your arms and legs wrapping clinging to him quickly, pressing you chest to chest.
He pecked your lips again and brought you to his bed. Laying you down gently and pulling your pants and panties down in one motion. You clenched around nothing as air hit your core, slick already dribbling down your ass to the sheets.
“God, you’re gorgeous." He moaned.
And as he crawled between your legs, hoisting your ankles onto his shoulders and pulling himself free from the constraints of his boxers, you smelt a new smoke in the air. He leaned over and kissed you again, lining himself up before you had a chance to look, whispering sweet nothings as he began to push into you and kissed you again, eyes fluttering closed and tongues finding one another again. You didn’t mind, your mind blank of anything except Minho Minho Minho.
Wanting nothing but him. Nothing but this.
The smell of citrus and tobacco began to burn your lungs, swallowing you whole. You could almost choke if it weren’t for the easing ache between your legs.
When you woke up to Kangdae you didn’t know what to think.
He held your legs up as he thrusted into you. All moans and groans. The vanilla in the air making him crazy with lust.
“There you are.” He said in between breaths. Almost surprised to see you up. “I thought you said you didn’t get heats? God– I missed this cunt.”
You didn’t have the energy to care. How you had gotten home, you had no clue. When Kangdae got back, an even bigger mystery. You half wondered if you had even been with your mates for a movie this afternoon.
You didn’t have the energy to fake a moan. Kangdae only ever chased after his own high anyway.
You sighed, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your heart broke.
It was all a dream.
Before you had thought you didn’t want help with a heat. Before, you knew you wanted to handle it on your own and wait for Kangdae, knowing he would be happy to help with your little ‘problem.’ It was his only ask in return for your free stay anyway. Now you were in heat and soaking wet whether he was the reason you got there or not.
But now, you dreamed of going to their home. Of seeing the room put aside just for you.
Dreamed of quality time together. Of sweet gestures and heated make outs.
And that’s all it was.
A dream.
Your arms came to rest over your face, hiding your tears in the crook of your elbow, waiting for the sobbing to begin. Masking the intense pheromones ripping through your nostrils. Covered by almonds woven into the fabric and switching your arms around lavender and mint seemed spritsed along the arm, growing stronger at your shoulder. It was sweet and real and made your heart skip a beat. A groan from your chest like you meant it.
And it felt like everything was okay again. At least a little bit as you pulled Changbin’s hoodie tighter around yourself, inhaling the lingering scent of Minho’s pheromones on your sleeve. From where he really did hold you close to calm you, so much so you had fallen asleep.
You decided that they must have brought you home because you were coming off of your pheromone blockers and they would feel like they would have to help you if you stayed around too long.
They were too nice to wake you. And Felix and Seungmin knew their way around the apartment now. It wouldn’t have been hard to get you in. You were a heavy sleeper after all.
So you imagined the dick pushing into you was Minho. Moaned into your elbow as you breathed him in. And let it go on until he was long past spent, driven only by the effects of your heat, and you were happy and drunk on the scents on your sleeve.
summary: you meet this gorgeous angel boy named hyunjin in the dead of winter. cute right? turns out he’s a serial killer who’s been quietly removing anyone who so much as glances at your ass. and you… forgive him? wholesome! dumb hoe.
warnings: non idol au, graphic violence, blood, gore, homicidal behavior/psychopathy, attempted murder, toxic relationship, possessiveness, brutal codependency, major character death, both of u lowk die, suicide, obsessive love, masochist hyunjin, sexual content(unprotected p in v don’t try at home, blood, sum freaky shi)
word count: 14k
you’re walking in the city. snow is falling. the sidewalk is a skating rink. no doubt that you’re gonna fall.
but when you do, you’re… caught??
“whoa, hey, i’ve got you.”
he catches you mid fall. totally romantic. omfg hello.
you blink up at him. snow in your eyelashes. breath knocked out of you.
he’s pretty. beautiful. it’s unfair, you’re jealous. soft face, pretty eyes, hair dark but there are little snowflakes in it. what the fuck.
okay, rewind. actually just to about a minute back, but still. you were standing there in the snow, blinking, cheeks pink, eyelashes already wet with snow. you looked… stupid cute. like aggressively cute. like a kicked puppy.
hyunjin noticed you immediately.
he was leaning against a pillar, hands in his coat pockets, watching the snow, the street empty out. he likes empty places. fewer witnesses. fewer people.
then there were you. small. shivering. doing that thing where you hug your coat tighter even though it’s clearly not enough. adorable. devastatingly. you muttered “shit” under your breath, and he almost laughed.
almost.
that’s when you slipped.
and now we’re here. he catches you around the waist, steady, like surprisingly steady. he’s done this exact motion a thousand times. just… not usually to save someone.
“you okay?” he says, soft. calm. angel voice. he could sing you a lullaby like… right now. but instead, he helps you stand back up, stabilizing you.
you nod too fast. adorable. your nose is red. your eyes are wide. he could kill for eyes like that. he has killed for less.
“yeah. yeah. i’m just… wow. ice. fuck.”
he smiles. it’s gentle. beautiful.
“yeah.” he says. “it’s bad tonight.” his hands leave your arms immediately, which is polite and also a little disappointing.
you look around, then back at him. “when will this stop?”
“not till morning.”
you sigh. a little dramatic. very cute. hyunjin notices how your breath fogs, how your hands tremble. he hates the cold. not because it’s uncomfortable, but because cold makes bodies stiff. harder to move. harder to… work with.
he clears his throat. “there’s a cafe a block away. still open. if you don’t want to freeze to death.”
you blink at him. “oh. shit. yeah. that’d be—thank you. i mean. yeah.”
“i’m hyunjin.” he says, a little quick in the realization that he should’ve told you sooner.
“y/n.” y/n🥰🥰🥰😊😊😊😊
you smile at him. aww.
you walk together through the snow. he keeps to your left, taller than you. you feel.. so lucky. you chatter nervously. about the weather. about how your hands are numb and you can’t feel your toes and this is how people die, right? like this? slipping and freezing and being found later by a guy with a shovel?
hyunjin hums sympathetically. “yeah. probably.”
the cafe is warm and dim and smells so good. you look relieved the second you step inside. you shake snow out of your hair like a dog. hyunjin watches. fascinated.
you order hot chocolate. extra whipped cream. marshmallows. cutie. he orders black coffee. he doesn’t need it. he just likes holding something hot.
you sit across from each other. knees almost touching. you bounce yours when you’re nervous. it’s unbearable. he wants to tell you to stop because it’s distracting. he doesn’t.
he listens more than he talks. he always does. listening is how he learns people. how he learns their habits. their rhythms. their weak spots.
that’s how he kills too.
he plans. he watches. he waits.
he’s patient.
with you, he doesn’t feel patient at all.
you blow on your hot chocolate and get whipped cream on your nose. he laughs before he can stop himself.
you look embarrassed. “what?”
“nothing.” he says quickly. “you just—sorry. you’re just… cute.”
you blush a lil. it’s brutal. “oh. um. thanks?”
he nods, suddenly very interested in his coffee.
what is this… pushing feeling inside of his chest? is he sick? fuck, he can’t get sick now. he has a body to bury tomorrow.
you talk about how you love snowstorms. how they make everything feel quieter. how unique they are to you.
“yeah.” he says slowly. “i like that too.”
he doesn’t really, we just made that clear, but after all there are a few positive things about it. like how snow covers footprints. how it slows people down. how it hides things.
the storm is still going on outside. you yawn, tiny. he offers his coat when you shiver again.
you hesitate. “are you sure?”
“yeah.” he says. “i’m fine.”
you put it on. it swallows you. you look ridiculous. perfect.
a police car goes past the cafe window slow. lights on.
you frown, just a little, eyebrows knitting together. “oh.” you murmur. “that’s… not great.”
hyunjin turns his head, sees the car. the officers inside. the way one of them is already on the radio.
five hours ago, he pressed a man’s face into the snow until the kicking stopped. gentle about it, even. the snow did most of the work. it always does.
he hums now. angelic. “yeah.”
you watch the car disappear into the white outside. “whatever happened, i feel sorry. for… whoever, i guess.”
“me too.” hyunjin says.
you sip your hot chocolate, then grimace. “shit. i should be home by now.”
hyunjin perks up internally. home. information. he files it away.
you continue, oblivious. “my washing machine is definitely done by now. i left it running. if i forget my clothes in there overnight they’re gonna smell horrible.”
you live alone. good to know.
“that sucks.” he says gently.
you sigh. big sigh for such a small person. “yeah. i hate being out late like this.”
he hesitates. then, carefully, “if i had my car, i’d drive you.”
you look at him, surprised. suspicious, but not unkind. cute little head tilt. lethal.
“or…” he adds quickly, smoothly. “i could call a friend. he’s nearby. he could drop you off.” (he’s talking about chan. does this have any meaning to the story? no, absolutely not. zero. i’m just saying :P)
you pause. think. he watches your face work through it. you shake your head. “that’s really nice of you. i appreciate it. but i don’t accept rides like that from strangers.”
smart girl.
he smiles, beautiful. “yeah. that’s fair.”
you relax a little. “thanks for understanding.”
god. you’re cute when you’re relieved. like a weight visibly lifts off your shoulders. he wants to put it back just to take it off again.
instead, he reaches for his phone. pauses. then slides it across the table. it’s his instagram profile.
“here.” he says. “if you want. just… so i know you got home okay.”
you blink. look at the phone. then at him. you hesitate again.
“yeah.” you say. “okay.” you type your name in, nails clicking on his expensive phone. god, that’s hot.
“please text me when you get home.” he says, too quickly. then corrects, softer “if you want.”
you smile. small. adorable. he could just eat you up. “i will.”
outside, the snow keeps falling. somewhere a body is being zipped into black plastic. hyunjin feels oddly… distant from that version of himself.
he watches you finish your drink, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like a child. whipped cream smudge again. unreal.
interest, he tells himself. this is interest. he feels interest in art. in killing. in his friends telling stories. this is the same category. obviously.
you stand, tug his coat tighter.
“thank you.” you say. “you’re an angel. seriously.”
“anytime.”
you wave. clumsy. cute. then you’re gone, swallowed by white.
hyunjin sits there long after. phone warm in his hand.
interest.
yeah.
sure.
cutie.
you make it home with your fingers numb and your face aching from the cold. you kick the door shut, kick your boots off, and immediately go to your washing machine. when done with that, you shrug out of the coat.
hyunjin’s coat.
smells good.
you pull out your phone.
you: hey. i’m home. didn’t freeze to death
you: the washing machine smells but it’s okay
the typing bubble appears immediately. he was waiting.
hyunjin: good
hyunjin: i mean good that you’re home
hyunjin: not the washing machine part
you grin at your phone. like a loser. adorable.
you: thanks again
you: seriously
you: for the coat and the company
you: you’re sweet
hyunjin is smiling at his phone. if you could see him right now, you’d think he looks beautiful. typing with gentle hands that have done terrible things.
before he could text, you text again. fuck. he should’ve been quicker.
you: i should probably give your coat back to you
hyunjin looks at the wall of his apartment. at the faint reddish stain still there from earlier.
hyunjin: you don’t have to rush
hyunjin: but i wouldn’t say no
you hesitate. chew your lip. adorable habit. you do it when you’re thinking. hyunjin will learn every one of your habits. he always does.
you: maybe we could meet? soon-ish?
hyunjin: sounds good
you meet two days later. coffee again. daylight. people everywhere. you walk in wearing a scarf that’s too big for you, tripping slightly on the threshold. pfft.
hyunjin stands when he sees you. people glance at him, that’s how beautiful he is.
you blush when he smiles at you. you hand him the coat. “here. sorry it took a bit.”
he takes it. “no worries.”
your fingers brush. electric. stupid. he has killed men without his pulse changing. now it spikes because you touched him accidentally.
you get coffee. you talk. you laugh. you ramble. you apologize for rambling. you’re adorable. he watches the way your mouth moves. the way you tilt your head. the way you listen.
that night, he kills again. slits someone’s femoral artery in an alley and waits for the blood to slow before leaving.
he kills clean when he can. quiet. he talks to them sometimes. apologizes. thanks them for cooperating. presses their eyes shut afterward. always gentle at the end.
you don’t see any of that.
you go on more dates. too many. too fast. walks. food. movies. sitting on your couch with your knees touching. you curl in on yourself when you laugh. you tuck your feet under you. you make small, pleased sounds when you’re comfortable.
he learns all those habits of yours.
he’s creepy. let’s not pretend he isn’t.
you don’t notice how his gaze lingers a beat too long on the way your lips wrap around the straw. how he catalogs it. remembers it. the exact pressure. the little hum you make when the flavor hits right. he’s building a library of you in his head. every blink. every nervous laugh. everything.
last tuesday some asshole on the sidewalk catcalled you while you were walking home. you laughed it off, rolled your eyes, kept scrolling your phone. didn’t think twice. but hyunjin was there. two blocks back. hood up. the guy never made it to the next corner. they found him slumped against a dumpster with a knife still in his throat. clean. precise. no witnesses. hyunjin washed his hands in a public fountain three streets over, then texted you goodnight with a little moon emoji. you replied with a heart. he smiled at his screen for eighteen minutes straight.
he knows your shampoo brand now. not because you told him. he went into your bathroom just to take a picture of everything in there. from your hairbrush to pads, he’s got everything on picture. he bought three bottles of the shampoo. keeps one in his shower so he can pretend the steam is you. jerks off with his eyes closed imagining things with you. cums so hard he has to brace against the wall.
yesterday he “accidentally” bumped into your coworker at the grocery store. the one who always lingers too long at your desk. asked innocent questions. got a name. an address. a routine. that night the guy had a car accident. brakes sliced clean through. he died. hyunjin watched from across the street, heart calm. he means well. you deserve better friends. better everything.
he asks about your day like he doesn’t already know every detail.
you tell him anyway. sweet. completely fucking oblivious.
he listens.
later he’ll go home and add today’s notes to the locked folder on his phone. photos he took from across the street last week. a voice memo of you humming while you walked. the receipt from the latte he bought you today. he’ll stare at it all until his eyes burn.
because you’re perfect.
and he’s going to make sure nothing ever fucks that up.
not even you.
fucked up, right?
he stands outside your apartment one night, hidden by darkness and snowfall, just there. he can’t really see into your apartment from that spot, he just likes being near.
you text him ten minutes later.
you: what are you doing
he freezes. heart slams. instincts flare. he scans windows. doors. shadows.
hyunjin: uh
hyunjin: nothing
hyunjin: why
you: idk
you: felt like texting you
he sighs.
yeah. he gets weird like this sometimes. i mean those short words he answered with. sometimes he doesn’t answer for hours. sometimes when he does answer, it’s short.
“k” “yeah” “later” or he answers perfectly normal.
and then you see him in person and he’s flawless. beautiful. calm. gentle. smiling. it fucks with you.
so this time, you say something. you’re at his place. it’s clean. obsessively so. everything has a place.
you sit on the couch, knees tucked up, playing with the sleeve of your sweater. cute. nervous. honest. “can i ask you something?”
he looks at you immediately. full attention. predatory. “of course.”
you swallow. “okay. well. sometimes you just… disappear. you don’t answer for hours. days, sometimes. and when you do, it’s short. i know you don’t owe me constant attention, i just—i don’t know. it makes me feel weird. and i don’t know if i did something or if you’re mad or if you’re just… i mean, i’m not accusing you. i just want to understand. i care about you, and when you disappear, it messes with my head.”
he doesn’t answer right away.
inside his skull, his fucked up little psycho skull, alarms go off. everything collapses.
disappear. you noticed. you noticed the gaps. the missing hours. the blood time. the him time. the part of him he carefully keeps sealed off, hidden behind that beautiful face you like to touch.
“i’m not mad.” he says. “i just… get busy.”
you nod. you don’t fully buy it, but you don’t push. because you’re kind. because you’re trying. “okay. thanks for telling me.” you stand. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. then we can keep talking, yeah?”
he nods. “yeah.”
this is his first crush. he doesn’t know that’s what it is. he doesn’t have language for it. he just knows that when you’re upset, his brain screams fix it fix it fix it and when he imagines you leaving, something… explodes in his head.
the bathroom door clicks shut.
the second you’re gone, he loses his fucking mind. his breathing goes shallow. his hands shake. he paces once. twice. thoughts stacking on top of each other, loud. too loud for his liking. you noticed. you might leave. you might be slipping away already. you might see him.
no. no. no.
bathroom. locked door. distance. time for you to think. time for you to decide he’s wrong. weird. off. a creep.
no.
he doesn’t even realize it’s a crush. if he did, maybe he’d recognize the signs. the obsession. the jealousy. the way you’ve become a constant in his head. but he’s never had this. never wanted someone like this. never been scared like this.
you turn the sink off.
the sound jolts him.
his eyes flick to the hallway closet. without hesitation, he goes and opens it.
and grabs the shotgun that he keeps in there.
“fuck.” he whispers. “fuck fuck fuck.”
he’s not angry at you.
he’s terrified of losing you.
the bathroom door opens.
you step out, hands damp, swinging them lightly in the air to dry them off. you look relaxed. hopeful. cute as fuck. like you’re about to continue a healthy conversation with the man you like.
your smile is already forming.
then you look up.
the barrel aimed straight at you.
and hyunjin, standing there, beautiful and shaking and completely fucking gone.
you freeze.
gun. real. pointed at you.
“okay.” you say.
your voice comes out steady. which is insane. good job, y/n. very adult of you.
hyunjin flinches like you shouted.
“don’t—” he starts, then stops. jaw clenches. eyes blown wide. beautiful.
you raise your hands slowly. palms out. fingers still damp. you swing them once, awkwardly, because you don’t know what to do with them.
“hey.” you say. “hi. it’s me. it’s just me.”
he’s breathing too fast. you can hear it.
“why is there a gun, hyunjin?” you ask gently.
he swallows. hard.
“i just—needed it.” he says.
“for what?”
he opens his mouth. closes it. shakes his head. “you were going to leave.”
“i was going to pee.”
“after!” he snaps. then immediately softens, panicked. “not—i mean—eventually. you noticed things. you said things.”
you nod slowly. therapist mode. who the fuck let you have therapist mode. “okay but i didn’t say i was leaving.”
his grip tightens. you hear the faint click of something adjusting. your stomach drops.
“you felt weird.” he says. “you said i disappear. that means you were thinking about it.”
“thinking about what?”
“about me not being enough.” he spits. “about me being wrong.”
you inhale carefully. “hyunjin. i was thinking about communication.”
“i can’t communicate. i don’t know what to do.” he blurts. “you weren’t supposed to—this wasn’t—”
“hyunjin.” you say, firmer now. “put the gun down.”
“i can’t.”
“you know damn well you can.”
“why—why are you talking like that?” god, he’s pathetic.
“because i don’t want to die.” you snap. your voice raises just a bit.
his grip tightens. breath stutters. eyes wild. “don’t yell. don’t fucking yell at me.”
“then stop pointing a gun at me!” you shout.
there it is. raised voice. boundary. consequence.
his brain fucking shatters.
“i didn’t mean to!” he yells back. “i just—i just needed you to understand!”
“understand what?!”
“that i disappear because i’m busy! that i’m not ignoring you, i’m cleaning up! that sometimes i come see you with blood still under my nails and i have to scrub until my hands hurt because i can’t let you see it—”
“what?”
he stops.
realizes.
oh.
oh fuck.
“…hyunjin.” you say slowly. “did you just say blood?”
“i kill people.” he says flatly.
silence.
“…sorry.” he adds automatically.
you stare at him. “you—”
“kill.” he repeats. louder. “people. men. usually. sometimes women. not kids.”
“…you kill people.” you repeat.
“yes.”
“like. murder.”
“yes.”
“with the gun.”
“sometimes.”
you sigh, putting your hands behind your head in stress.
“don’t move.” he says, horrified.
“i wasn’t.” you squeak, putting your hands back in front of you. “i swear. i was just breathing.”
“okay. okay. good. keep doing that.”
this is the worst yoga class you’ve ever been to.
“and then… you come on dates with me?”
“i shower.”
that’s when you laugh. you can’t help it. it bursts out of you, loud and hysterical and completely inappropriate. “oh my god. oh my gooood. i knew something was off. i thought you were like. emotionally unavailable. or secretly married. not a fucking murderer.”
he looks offended. “i’m very emotionally available.”
“you pointed a gun at me!”
“because i panicked!”
“you panicked with a shotgun!”
“don’t!” he shouts. full panic now. raw. ugly. violent. “don’t raise your voice at me, i can’t—i can’t think when you do that—fuck—”
he backs up, then forward, then slams his shoulder into the wall. a picture frame crashes. glass everywhere.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you.” he says wildly. “i never meant to hurt you. everyone else, fuck, they deserved it, they were loud and cruel and they didn’t—”
“stop.” you say. “stop talking.”
“i can’t.” he sobs. “you’re the only good thing and now you’re scared and i ruined it.” he did. he really did.
you two stare at each other.
“this is not how i wanted to tell you.” he whispers, beautiful tears running down his cheeks.
you drag a hand down your face. your hands are still slightly damp. you notice this stupid detail and almost cry.
…why the fuck are you worried about him? he’s shaking. ugly, uncontrolled, teeth clenching shaking. the gun wavers in his hands. and something in you decides he looks more like a terrified child than a brutal serial killer. what the fuck is wrong with you.
“hyunjin.” you say softly.
he flinches again, it’s almost like your voice physically touches him.
“can i come closer?”
why would you ask that. why.
he stares at you. pupils blown. breathing ragged.
“…slowly.” he whispers.
you take one step. the barrel follows you. then lowers. just slightly. another step.
he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. he feels love for you, he just doesn’t know that. his brain doesn’t have a category for that. so it defaults to threat. even when you’re not one.
you reach him.
you’re close enough now to see the way his eyelashes stick together with tears. it’s heartbreakingly beautiful. i was going to say it’s a shame he’s a killer, but thinking about it… it might make him even more beautiful.
“it’s okay. i’m right here. can i?” you ask quietly, gesturing to his face.
he hesitates. then nods. the shotgun slips from his hands and clatters to the floor.
you don’t look at it. you don’t break eye contact. you step into him and cup his face.
he goes still.
your thumbs brush under his eyes. wipe tears away.
“you’re not okay.” you say gently.
he nods. his face crumples, the actual mouth frown and everything when we cry.
“i’m not excusing what you said.” you continue. mature queen behavior. “but i can see you’re not trying to hurt me right now. you’re just… fucking overwhelmed.”
his breathing slows. just a little.
you can sense how confused he is. pairing that with being a killer, your brain comes to the equation of him not being good with feelings. having none at all, even. so you say “i’m not going to leave because you have feelings. it’s simple. you’re scared.”
that’s it. that’s the trigger.
scared.
his entire body goes rigid.
in his mind, scared equals weak. weak equals prey. prey gets hunted.
you’re labeling him prey.
you’re mocking him.
you must be.
you have to be.
because the alternative, that you genuinely care, that you’re holding the face of a murderer and trying to soothe him, that makes no sense. that doesn’t compute. that’s not how the world works.
he jerks back. “don’t mock me.”
“i’m not—”
“don’t!”
okay. cool. awesome. you thought you were getting somewhere.
your instincts kick in.
the gun is three feet to your left.
he runs a hand through his hair again. pacing. back turned for half a second.
that’s all you need. you move. you scoop the shotgun up before your brain can even argue with you.
it’s heavier than you expected.
when he turns back around, you’re already holding it. pointed directly at his beautiful, shocked face.
silence. absolute silence.
his eyes widen.
“…oh.” he says faintly.
“calm the fuck down.” you say. your voice doesn’t shake. not even a little.
he stares at you.
this is new.
no one has ever done this.
no one has ever turned the equation around.
he’s used to fear. to begging. to chaos. he is not used to you. small. cute. hands still slightly damp from the bathroom. aiming a shotgun at him like you were born for this shit.
“you are not the only one who can escalate.” you continue. “and i swear to god, hyunjin, if you take one step toward me without thinking, i will pull this trigger and we will both have a really fucking bad night.”
he swallows.
you’re the fucking boss, y/n.
“okay. you’re going to use your big boy words, hyunjin.”
he blinks.
“clear your fucking head.” you continue. “man up. look at me. and tell me what you feel. now.”
“i—” he starts. nothing comes out.
you wait.
his mouth opens again. closes. his hands clench and unclench. hyunjin doesn’t feel feelings the way people are supposed to. he categorizes. he measures. he controls. emotions aren’t emotions to him, they’re something he sees on other people. you’re demanding something he doesn’t have. and pressure, especially emotional pressure, hits the same place in his head as danger.
“i don’t know. i don’t know what i feel, i don’t—why are you asking me that—”
“because i need to know what the fuck is happening.” you say. firm. shaking. brave as fuck.
“i can’t.” he yells. “i can’t do this, you’re asking the wrong thing, you’re— i don’t feel. i don’t know what you’re asking me for.”
demand + confusion = meltdown.
“don’t corner me.” he whines.
“i’m not cornering you.”
“you are. you’re making me—think.”
he grabs some stupid decorative thing off the shelf. ceramic. expensive looking. fragile. he hurls it at the wall. it explodes. ceramic shards everywhere. dust. noise.
he takes a step toward you. bad move.
your finger jerks. you don’t even mean to pull the trigger. you just want him to stop moving.
BANG.
the sound is huge. violent.
the recoil nearly knocks you on your ass.
the bullet slams into the wall behind him.
everything goes dead quiet.
you stare at the smoking hole in the wall.
he stares at you.
you stare at him.
“…holy shit.” you whisper. “i don’t know how to shoot.”
he exhales, shaky. almost hysterical. “i can see that. do you want me to teach you?”
“yeah, sure. why not.”
he steps closer. “okay.” he says casually. “first, safety. finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to fire.”
you do that. immediately.
“good.” he murmurs. “now, your stance.” he moves behind you. you can feel him. warmth. breath. his hands hover, then gently guide your arms. “relax your shoulders.” he says. “you’re tense.”
no shit.
“this part here.” he continues calmly, pointing. “that’s the—”
you freeze.
you realize what’s happening.
you turn, knee right into his crotch.
he lets out the most undignified sound you’ve ever heard. cursing so filthy it turns you on. before he can recover, you swing the gun back and crack it against his head.
he goes down.
you step back, gun raised, breathing hard.
he groans on the floor, curled slightly, stunned and wheezing, but not out. never out. you underestimated how fast he recovers. that one’s on you.
his fingers close around something sharp. ceramic. a jagged shard from the thing he smashed earlier.
you see it a half second too late.
the glass slices into the side of your lower leg.
“FUCK.” you scream, dropping hard to the floor.
your gun clatters away. useless now. fantastic. great job.
blood starts welling instantly. gushing. it hurts so much.
“shit. sorry.” hyunjin breathes.
“oh now you’re sorry?”
“i didn’t—”
“you CUT ME. with GLASS. what the fuck is wrong with you?
he scrambles backward on his hands, eyes big. “you hit me in the head with a gun!”
“AFTER YOU POINTED ONE AT ME.”
“YOU SHOT AT ME.”
“I MISSED, BITCH.”
you both freeze for half a second.
then you both move at once.
you crawl. he crawls. you kick out with your good leg. he dodges. you grab at his sleeve and miss. he grabs your ankle and you shriek.
“don’t TOUCH me.” you yell.
“stop MOVING.”
you try to scoot away. he grabs your shirt. you both roll.
somehow you end up face to face, breath ragged, both of you shaking and furious.
you shove him.
“get OFF me.” you yell.
he… actually does. crawls back a little, then looks at you with those angelic eyes.
“why?” you say finally, quieter. “why do you do this?”
“do what?”
“kill. what do you think, what? dipshit.”
he rubs his face with both hands. smears a little blood from his temple. doesn’t seem to notice. “…i don’t know how to stop.”
“what do you mean?”
he stares at the floor for a long time.
“when you asked me what i feel, my brain went blank. people say things like ‘i care’ or ‘i miss you’ and it’s like they’re speaking another language. i mimic it. i copy what works. but inside? it’s mostly empty. with you, it wasn’t empty. it was confusing. i didn’t know what to do with it. i think that’s why i got scared.”
you sit there. bleeding. shaking. listening. “…i wanted more. not like, marriage or whatever, just. more honesty. more you. i thought we were building toward something.”
“i liked you.” he says. “i still do. i think. as much as i can like anything.”
there’s a long silence. broken only by both of you breathing and the faint drip of blood onto hardwood.
“well…” you say. “this is not how i imagined you opening up.”
“…you shot at me.” he replies.
“and you look like a woman.”
he stares. horrified. “what does that even mean.”
“i don’t know.” you say. “i’m stressed.”
“that’s incredibly offensive.”
“you tried to kill me.”
“…fair.”
you both sit there.
you’re bleeding. he’s bruised. there’s broken glass and ceramic everywhere. the gun is just… there.
you look at him.
he looks at you.
“…so why don’t we do it?”
“…do what?” he asks carefully.
you gesture between the two of you. the room. the mess. the whole fucked up situation. “this. us. whatever the fuck this is.”
he watches you. his psycho brain all over the place.
“hyunjin.” you say. “i’m fine with you killing people.”
“you’re—what?”
“i mean, not like. yay murder. but i already clocked that you’re fucked up. that wasn’t the dealbreaker. i freaked out because you pointed a gun at me, not because you kill. i don’t want to be scared of the person i’m with.”
his mouth opens. closes. his eyes are glassy. “…i thought you were disgusted.” he admits quietly. “i thought you were going to leave because i was… wrong. i freaked out because i thought you weren’t fine with me.”
you scoot closer. slow. you watch him tense, then force himself not to pull away. he’s trying. badly, but trying.
your leg throbs.
“can you help me with this?” you ask, nodding at the cut.
he snaps into focus instantly. purpose. something he understands. “yeah. yeah. okay.”
soon, the cut is clean. the process was… brutally intimate, to be honest. i don’t have to write it because both of you were quiet, but… damn.
he wraps the bandage. secure. gentle. the gauze is hello kitty print because that’s all he had in the bathroom. you don’t ask why a serial killer owns hello kitty gauze.
“there.” he says softly. “it’ll heal.”
you look at him.
he looks at you.
you lean in. ugh, you’re not wise, y/n. but you kiss him anyway.
the kiss is awkward at first. hesitant. mouths barely touching. then he exhales. and it deepens. careful. hungry.
“next time we talk before the guns come out.” you murmur into his mouth.
he lets out a shaky laugh. “deal.”
kissing keeps on going. his mouth feels so good. he smells good. he’s so… unique.
“i wasn’t gonna actually shoot you.” he mumbles into your neck now. “just… scare you a little.“
“you’re so fucked up.” you whisper back, but you’re already kissing the corner of his mouth.
“mhm.” he agrees. kisses you harder. there’s blood transferring from your leg to his body.
he slowly leans you back so you’re on your back in the blood puddle. it’s warm. gross. kinda nice? you don’t have time to decide because he’s tugging your pants down your legs. underwear? who the fuck knows. probably already somewhere near his dignity when you kneed him in the balls. speaking of…
you palm him through his jeans and he hisses, whole body jerking.
“poor baby. still hurt?” you ask, way too sweet.
“like a motherfucker.” he grits out. but he’s already rocking into your hand, so clearly pain has not killed the vibe.
“should i kiss it better?”
“later.”
you start to pull his shirt over his head. it gets stuck on his ears for a second. he looks like a kitten. you cackle. he growls, finally frees himself, then dives back in to suck a bruise into the side of your throat.
you fumble with his belt. it’s one of those stupid skinny ones with the tiny buckle. fashion asshole. your fingers are slippery with blood. it takes forever.
“having performance issues?” he teases.
“shut up, killer.”
he finally gets it undone himself, one smooth yank, and shoves his jeans down just enough. then comes his underwear. he’s hard, leaking already, and you think jesus christ he’s been hard since he got hit in the head with the gun.
he holds your ass up, then he’s slowly, inch by inch, inside you and it’s… fuck. it’s a lot. he’s careful at first, mindful of the cut on your leg, the blood, the smoking hole in the wall ten feet away. but you hook your legs around him and say “harder, asshole” and whatever leash he had snaps.
he hooks your good leg over his hip. the wounded one goes on his shoulder, and he slams home in one brutal thrust.
you both yell, you because it stings because no prep no lube no protection no morality, him because apparently getting kneed in the balls earlier has after effects.
the floor is slick. every thrust makes this obscene wet slap, blood, arousal, sweat, whatever else is leaking out of both of you. your leg is still bloody. it’s dripping down your ass crack now. great.
when he shifts your legs higher, folding you basically in half, your bandaged calf ends up near his face. he pauses mid thrust, eyes flicking to the hello kitty gauze. then he leans down and presses the softest kiss right over where he cut you.
aw. you clench around him so hard he sees the light.
blood smears on his chest because it runs down your thigh, which touches him. his hands leave red prints on your hips. you’re both laughing between moans.
another thrust. your back slides through the blood puddle. it’s starting to cool. sticky. you don’t care.
when he starts to shake you remember. “pull out. when you’re close. pull out.”
he laughs, breathless. “after that kick? i’ll be lucky if i can feel my dick at all. but yeah. promise.”
he manages it though. heroic, really. pulls out at the last second with this strangled noise, hand flying down to fist himself twice before he cums messily across your stomach. ropes of it hit high enough that one almost lands on your tit. artistic.
he’s panting. collapses half on top of you, careful not to crush your bad leg. kisses your jaw, your collarbone, the underside of your chin, not caring that he got some of his own jizz on himself. then, because he’s nothing if not committed to the bit, he slides down your body, hands gentle on your thighs, and buries his face between your legs.
“what’re you—”
“gentleman.” he mumbles against your cunt. “finish the job.”
bitch u just tried to shoot me.
the tongue game is brutal tho. flat and broad and then pointed and flicking and jesus christ. he eats you like he’s starving. uses every trick he’s apparently been cataloging since the first time he smelled your shampoo. those kitten licks with actual force put into them??? out of this world.
that’s why you’re loud. embarrassingly loud. thighs squeezing his head, hands in his hair, pulling hard enough that he groans into you, hips grinding up. the bandage on your leg rubs against his back and it stings and it’s perfect.
the bullet hole in the wall watches as you cum. loud. embarrassing. back arching off the floor. he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, shoving weakly at his head.
he finally pulls back, chin shiny, looking so fucking proud of himself you wanna kiss him again. so you do. taste yourself on his tongue. taste blood. you don’t know who’s so you just deal with it.
“be my girlfriend.” he says. bold as fuck.
you blink up at him. brain still rebooting from the orgasm. “what?”
“girlfriend.” he repeats it slower, like maybe you got concussed in the fight on the floor.
you stare at him. he stares back. unblinking. earnest. fucking insane.
“yeah.” you say finally. “okay. sure. why the fuck not.”
he surges up to kiss you, deep, stupidly sweet for a serial killer, and you’re laughing into it.
he finally pulls away to kneel up to pull his pants back up. the second his ass is in the air you sit up fast and smack it. hard.
he smiles. sighs. finishes pulling his pants back up, not bothering with the belt now, then he tackles you back down to the floor.
you’re rolling now, laughing, cursing, blood everywhere. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding down to squeeze your ass. you bite his shoulder. he groans.
he starts kissing down your body again. you’re still giggling, half drunk on hormones and blood loss probably.
“wait wait wait.” you gasp, pushing at his shoulders. “stop. i’m gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow.”
he stops. pulls back. props his chin on your hip and looks up at you. “but only because you asked nicely.” then his gaze drifts lower. between your legs. he smirks, slow and filthy. “you shaved.” an observation. proud as hell. no, it’s not creepy, he’s just letting you know that he knows that if someone shaves, then they most likely expect something to happen. he has gotten enough pussy to have a good experience with that.
you shrug. “yeah. thought maybe i’d hit tonight. figured i’d be prepared.”
“and you did hit.”
“damn right i did.” you reach down, thread your fingers through his hair, tug him back up so you’re face to face again.
he kisses you again. softer this time. little fast kisses at the end of the big kiss.
“gonna take such good care of you.” he murmurs against your lips. “no more guns. unless you want ‘em.”
“we’ll see.”
he shifts down carefully, picks up your discarded panties from where they ended up halfway across the room. black lace. cute little bow. he slides them back up your legs slow, gentle.
then he notices you wince when you try to bend your knee.
“cut’s hurting?” he asks, instantly serious.
“yeah.” you admit. “stings like a bitch now that the adrenaline’s gone.”
he nods once. “okay. let’s go check it.”
you end up on the edge of the bathroom counter. in your shirt, panties, socks, watching hyunjin peel the hello kitty gauze off. it looks horrible but at least not actively bleeding anymore.
he hisses through his teeth. “fuck. i really got you good.”
“don’t say that.” you say immediately.
he huffs. “well, i’m not gonna lie to you.” not anymore.
he reaches for the cabinet. antiseptic.
no. absolutely fucking not.
“no.” you say, scooting back instinctively.
he pauses. looks up at you. blinks. “…yes.”
you plant your hands on the counter. “i’m serious. i’ll pass out. or scream. or throw up. or all three.”
“you’re not getting an infection.” he replies calmly, unscrewing the cap.
you try to slide away.
he firmly grabs your thigh. “don’t.”
you whine. actually whine. humiliating. “please don’t.”
he exhales slowly. “i know it hurts. i know. but i need to clean it.”
“need is a strong word.”
“beloved.” he says softly, and fuck you for how that nickname works on you. “look at me.”
you do. bad idea. his face is open. beautiful. he means this. it fucks with your head.
“okay.” he says quietly. “hold onto me.” he steps closer, pressing you against his chest. one arm around your back “i’m going to do it now.” he warns.
“wait—”
he pours.
you scream. there’s no dignity left in you. you clutch him, face buried against his shoulder. he doesn’t stop though.
“I know.” he murmurs, voice calm, not caring about that you probably just shattered his eardrums. “i know. you’re doing so good. just a little longer.”
you’re crying now. shaking. fingers digging into him. it hurts so bad your vision goes spotty.
and he feels… good. he feels powerful. needed. trusted. you’re clinging to him, sobbing into his shoulder, letting him hurt you even though he already hurt you once. his heart is pounding. his breath uneven. this, this is a sensation he doesn’t have a word for. it lights something up in his brain that has always been dark.
he finishes. finally. quickly bandages it again, hands gentle now. “okay.” he whispers. “it’s done.”
you don’t let go. your forehead is pressed to his collarbone. you’re still sniffing.
“you’re okay.” he says softly, holding you. “i’ve got you.”
“you’re kind of an asshole.”
“yeah. i know.”
god, he never wants this to stop.
and it doesn’t stop. you’re his girlfriend now, remember?
your leg heals slow after this. not infected, thanks hyunjin, but tender.
stairs? his arm is already there.
curbs? hand hovering at your waist, ready to catch you if you lean into him.
uneven pavement? “arm.” he murmurs.
and you take his arm. every time.
then there’s the feelings problem (or lack thereof) you notice that he still doesn’t feel like you do. you’ll say “i missed you” and he’ll pause just a second too long before answering. not because he doesn’t care, because he’s translating. what does that mean? what is the appropriate response? what does missing feel like in the body?
sometimes he mirrors you. sometimes he gets it wrong.
you learn not to take that personally.
though there are nights you cry quietly in the bathroom because you want him to ache for you the way you ache for him. because you want to be wanted without having to explain the instructions first.
but then he knocks on the door, opening it a bit, checking in.
“are you sad?” he asks.
you nod.
he sits on the floor with you.
he may not feel automatically, but when he chooses to care, he wants to. he finds that right. it’s sincere when he cares, and he cares about you. and suddenly you don’t mind what you just cried about.
he just… observes you. when you text him “miss u” he replies with a photo he took of you sleeping last week (you don’t ask when or how he got in)
but what makes this work, is that he never lies to you again. not about disappearing. not about why he’s off. not about the fact that he is what he is.
in return, you don’t try to fix him. you don’t say “therapy would help” or “have you tried journaling” because that would get you murdered in spirit if not in body.
instead, you set rules. no disappearing without warning. if he’s thinking bout weird shit, if he’s upset, he says so. if you say stop, he stops. if you’re scared, it matters.
he writes them down. not metaphorically. literally. in a small, neat notebook. his handwriting is brutally attractive.
he respects your boundaries. he tells you when he’s going to disappear. when he comes back, he showers first. always. long and thorough. sometimes he stands in the doorway afterward, towel around his waist, hair damp, looking… wrong. too quiet.
those are the nights you don’t ask questions. you just open your arms. he steps into them every time.
you learn the signs of when he’s dangerous to the world and when he’s dangerous to himself. they’re different. to the world, calm. focused. distant. to himself, restless. tense. touch starved.
you handle the second one.
the first one… you live with.
sometimes he watches you sleep and thinks about how fragile you are. how easily he could ruin this.
and sometimes you watch him wash dishes, sleeves rolled up, humming softly, and think about how strange it is to love someone who contains that much violence and that much care in the same body.
his art is where you really see it. he draws obsessively. sketches. charcoal. ink. sometimes paint. the same hands that do terrible things are capable of absurd tenderness on paper.
his work is intense. not violent, exactly, just exposed.
something is deep in him. it’s just buried under this constant… static in his heart. his art is where they leak out.
there are setbacks. days he goes cold. distant. locked inside himself. you learn the signs, shorter sentences. less eye contact. restlessness in his hands.
you call it out gently now. “you’re disappearing.” you say.
“i am.”
that honesty is new. hard, but a win. you learn quick that pushing him to “talk about it” makes him shut down harder. so you don’t. you just crawl into his lap and kiss his neck until he comes back to you.
sometimes he leaves. but now he tells you where he’s going. when he’ll be back. sometimes he doesn’t come home clean, and you don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.
that’s a choice you make.
and slowly, so slowly you almost miss it, he starts to feel more. not all at once. but he gets jealous one day and doesn’t understand why. gets anxious when you’re quiet. feels something sharp and unpleasant when you’re hurt and realizes, with genuine shock, oh. that’s mine.
that’s attachment.
that’s feeling.
he’s affectionate in bursts. sudden. intense. will pin you against the fridge at 3am and make out like the world’s ending then walk away to make tea like nothing happened.
sex is easy, because you two kind of started with that. sex does make dealing with this easier tho.
he still starts gentle because your leg’s fucked up for weeks. but when you’re finally cleared for “full activity” (his words, doctor just said “take it easy”), that’s when the freak shit ramps up.
it’s always his pain he craves. needs. he begs you to hurt him during sex. not playfully. seriously. gross serious.
first time it happens you’re riding him slow on the couch. your leg’s still tender so you’re careful.
he grabs your hand, guides it to his throat. “harder.” he whispers.
you squeeze. his eyes roll back. cock twitches inside you.
“more.”
wtf sure. you press until his face goes red, veins popping, beautiful even like that.
he cums so hard he blacks out for a second. wakes up gasping, smiling ear to ear.
you experiment. because why the fuck not. bite his throat, not just the side of his neck but throat. he cums untouched the first time you do it. just shudders and spills between you with this little whimper that shouldn’t be as pretty as it is. after that it’s game on.
he begs for your teeth on his nipples. your hand around his throat. slaps to his face that leave pink handprints on that porcelain skin. he likes the sting. the humiliation of it.
you call him pathetic once mid thrust and he cums so hard his vision blacks out for a second. you have to hold him through the aftershocks while he shakes and murmurs thank you thank you thank you against your collarbone.
he never asks you to take pain. not once. if you even flinch wrong he freezes. switches to soft kisses and slow rolls of his hips, apologizing with his dick. the gun’s unloaded and locked away. he learned. or maybe he just decided your skin is too perfect to mark again unless you ask. (you haven’t. yet.)
but for him? anything goes.
knife stuff. not on you. on him. he drags the blade across his own chest while you’re bouncing on his dick. shallow cuts. he smears it on your tits. licks it off. “look what you make me do.” he murmurs.
you tie his wrists once with one of your scarves. pink. cute. he could rip it in half if he wanted. he doesn’t. just lies there spread out and gorgeous, cock leaking against his stomach, pupils blown, begging you to hurt him more. you scratch down his chest. red lines come out. he watches them form with this shining look. then begs for your mouth on them. you oblige. he sobs when your tongue drags over them. cums again just from that.
aftercare is where the “no feelings” thing gets… hard to believe. he turns into this clingy, quiet thing. curls into you. lets you clean the bite marks with gentle dabs of antiseptic. kisses your palms after you wash your hands.
sometimes he just wants to be used. lies there passive and pretty while you ride him until he’s crying from overstimulation. sometimes he pins you down and fucks you lovingly.
one night after he’s come across your tits again (his favorite canvas apparently) and licked you clean like a gentleman(freak), he looks up at you with those big soft eyes and says, quiet: “i think this is what happy feels like.”
“yeah?” you card fingers through his sweaty hair. “congrats on discovering an emotion, babe.”
he smiles. small. beautiful.
and he’s there for you. in life. once you went to a job interview, which you were excited about. like stupid excited. when you got home, you were pacing around the apartment, talking with your hands, doing that little bounce.
you were good. you knew you were good.
and then the email comes.
you didn’t get the job.
hyunjin notices it on your face immediately. “you didn’t get it.” he says.
you shake your head. “no.”
he comes closer, slow, unsure because he doesn’t know how to comfort someone.
“i thought i did really well.” you say. quieter now. “i thought i was… good.”
“you are good.” he says.
you scoff weakly. “you’re biased.”
he frowns. “i’m very objective. you prepared. you practiced. you were excited. those are not things people do when they’re bad at something.”
you look at him. surprised.
he shrugs. “i read. a lot.”
you hug him.
then your roommate is moving. sudden. no real explanation. just lots of “it’s complicated” and “i need a change” and “it’s not about you, i swear.”
you’re panicking. you tell hyunjin that night. sitting on his couch, knees drawn up, fingers twisting together.
“so i guess i need to find a new place.” you say.
he looks at you like the answer is obvious.
“you could stay here.” he says.
you laugh. “that’s… not how that works.”
“why not?”
because it’s intense. because he’s complicated. because moving in with a man who once pointed a gun at you feels weird.
you don’t say any of that. “it’s a lot.” you say instead. “and i don’t want to rush.”
he nods. accepts it. but you see the way something tightens in his jaw. disappointment, maybe. or fear.
but you end up moving in anyway. you stay over sometimes as usual, one night turns into two. two turns into a week. your bag stays by the door. then your toothbrush appears in the cup next to his.
hyunjin wants it. really, really wants it.
“you don’t have to go back tonight.”
“your stuff would fit better here.”
“it’s better when you’re around.”
which, honestly, is terrifying coming from a man like him, but also… kind of devastatingly sweet.
when you finally say, “i think i’m just gonna bring the rest of my things over.” he goes very still.
“…okay.” he says. too calm. suspiciously calm.
then, ten minutes later, you catch him reorganizing an entire bookshelf to “make space for you.” which is his version of screaming with joy.
living with him is an experience. first of all, he is a neat freak. not in a cute, wipe the counter way. in a labels inside drawers, everything aligned way. his place has always looked like nobody actually lives there.
and then you arrive. your sweaters end up draped over chairs. your mugs migrate to random surfaces. you leave books face down, half read. your shoes do not line up perfectly and it makes his eye twitch.
but he never asks you to stop. instead, he adjusts.
you find him folding your clothes once and freeze. “you don’t have to do that.”
he looks up, confused. “i want to.”
he likes it. he likes your presence disrupting the system. likes seeing evidence that someone else exists here. likes your hair ties on the sink, your handwriting on sticky notes, your laugh echoing down the hallway while you’re talking to your friends on the phone.
sleeping next to him is another thing entirely. he doesn’t move much. stays perfectly still unless you move first. then he adjusts around you.
sometimes you wake up and find him awake, staring at the ceiling.
“can’t sleep?” you ask.
“just thinking.” he says.
about what, he doesn’t say. but you know.
he starts feeling things out of order. irritation when you’re sad. relief when you’re safe. something unpleasant when you talk about leaving the city for a week to go somewhere with your friends.
one night, he admits it. “when i imagine you not here, it feels… wrong.”
you smile softly. “that’s missing someone.”
he frowns. “i don’t like it.”
“no one does.”
that’s comforting. you’re good at comforting.
one day it’s raining. hyunjin’s in the alley behind that bar you like. hood up. knife already warm from his pocket.
the target is some drunk prick who bumped into you last friday. shoulder checked you hard enough your drink spilled. you laughed it off. hyunjin didn’t laugh, but that has no effect on you because you didn’t know he was there. watching out for you. and he memorized the guy’s face. jacket. laugh. the way he leered when you bent to pick up your phone.
now the guy’s pissing against the brick wall.
hyunjin thinks of you the whole time. how you’d look right now, probably curled on his couch in his oversized sweater that you like so much, scrolling tiktok. wonders if you’re hungry. pasta tonight? that creamy one you like. or maybe takeout. chinese. extra egg rolls because you steal his.
his knife slides in under the guy’s ribs. the guy shouts, hands flapping useless. hyunjin twists once. pulls. blood mixes with rainwater.
guy slumps. dies around for a bit. hyunjin wipes the blade on his coat sleeve. steps back. no rush. calm, like always.
except tonight there’s a flicker. tiny. annoying. he pictures your face when he gets home. you’ll smell the rain on him. ask if he’s okay. touch his cheek while checking for fever. you’ll never know this blood is for you.
and when your therapist cancels an appointment later, then another, then disappears entirely, you text hyunjin immediately.
you: hey
you: can u come home
he responds instantly.
hyunjin: always
you tell him how these things lately have been fucking you up. and about the therapist. he listens. eyes on you the whole time.
“you can talk to me.” he says when you trail off. “anytime.”
you hesitate. “i don’t want to… replace my therapist with you.”
he considers that. nods. “good. i shouldn’t be a replacement.”
you look at him. the angel face. the careful posture. the depth you keep discovering in the least obvious places.
“you help.” you admit.
he exhales. relieved. “i want to.”
a month later, hyunjin goes after a construction worker who catcalled you outside a cafe. loud. “nice tits, sweetheart.” you flipped him off and kept walking.
now it’s 1am in an empty parking garage. the guy’s fumbling with his truck keys. hyunjin comes up behind him quiet. plastic zip tie around the throat before the man even turns. pulls tight.
the man gurgles. claws at the tie. hyunjin thinks about that morning. you in his kitchen wearing nothing but his t shirt. hair a mess. making pancakes badly. you burned the first batch and blamed the pan. he ate them anyway. kissed the flour off your cheek while you complained about the smoke alarm. he remembers how you tasted like the pancakes. how you climbed into his lap at the table.
the guy stops moving. body slumps between two cars. hyunjin steps over it. thinks maybe he’ll make pancakes tomorrow. better ones.
next kill. apartment building. target’s the delivery guy who lingered too long at your door back when you two weren’t dating yet. knocked twice. smiled too wide when you answered in shorts. hyunjin was in the stairwell. heard it all.
now the guy’s in the basement laundry room. folding clothes. alone.
hyunjin steps in. door clicks shut.
this one he strangles. hands around the throat. personal. the guy thrashes. face purple.
hyunjin’s beautiful face is blank except for the eyes, soft, almost sad.
he thinks about your leg scar. the one he gave you. how it’s fading to pink now. how you trace it sometimes when you’re distracted. he wants to kiss it again. lick the raised line until you squirm.
the guy stops moving. hyunjin lets go. body slumps into the laundry basket. ridiculous.
next is some ex of yours from years ago. hyunjin found him on facebook. messaged you last month trying to “catch up.” you showed hyunjin and didn’t text back.
now the guy’s jogging at dusk. trail through the woods. hyunjin waits there. tackles him from the side. pins him face down in the dirt. knee on the spine. hand over the mouth. knife slides in between the little bones of the spine. paralyzing.
then he works. slow cuts. just enough pain to make the man understand that he’s going to die.
hyunjin’s mind drifts again. to last night. you asleep on his chest. breathing soft against his collarbone. felt so good.
maybe this is what people mean when they say love.
hyunjin finishes the guy. one last cut. throat. quick. merciful. almost.
he sits back on his heels. blood on his jeans. looks at the sky through the branches. it’s purple. sunset. you’d like the color.
he wipes his hands on leaves. stands. walks back to the car.
on the drive home he thinks about that the kills used to be empty. satisfying. now they feel… secondary. the real thing is waiting at home in his clothes. looking up when he walks in and smiling like he didn’t just end four lives this month.
he parks. sits in the dark for a minute. hands still tacky with drying blood.
he thinks maybe he’s in love.
he gets out. locks the car. heads upstairs.
you’re on the couch when he opens the door. hair up. legs tucked under you. bowl of blueberries in your lap.
“you’re late.” you say. grinning. “i saved you some.”
he looks at you. and for the first time in his life something inside him doesn’t feel hollow.
it feels full.
he crosses the room. kisses you slow. tastes the blueberry on you.
“sorry.” he murmurs against your mouth. “got held up.”
you laugh. pull him down beside you.
“s’okay. you’re here now.”
yeah.
he is.
you feed him a blueberry.
this is better than any kill.
this is everything.
even when you leave a mess at home. because you do that.
and as i said, hyunjin needs the cleanness.
you leave one (1) coffee mug on the counter? his eye twitches so hard you think he’s having a stroke. you drop a single crumb from your toast? he freezes mid sentence, stares at it before getting the vacuum. you kick off your shoes anywhere next to the door? he just… exhales. long. slow. then he picks them up, places them down neatly, and mutters “there we go”
you start doing it on purpose because the way he freaks out internally is hilarious. pathetic. hot, kinda, knowing that your ragebait was successful.
so you “accidentally” spill a single drop of orange juice on the pristine white countertop. he sees it. inhales sharp through his nose. doesn’t say shit. just grabs the microfiber cloth (he has seven) and wipes it in perfect circles until the spot is gone and the counter is shinier than before.
you watch him do it with this tiny smirk.
he notices. his ears go pink.
“you’re doing this on purpose.” he says. no anger at you. just… despair at the universe.
“maybe.” you say. lick the rest of the juice off your finger slow. his pupils dilate. pathetic.
another time, you eat chips in bed. just one bag. leave three crumbs on the sheet. he comes in to change for work, sees them, and his whole body locks up. cleans it. you lie there watching, legs spread just enough to be distracting, eating another chip loud.
he finishes remaking the bed. smooths it obsessively. then stands there breathing hard.
you crawl over, pat the spot next to you. “come here, neat freak.”
he does. because he’s pathetic for you.
you push him down. straddle his hips. grind just enough to feel how hard he is already.
“you hate mess so much.” you murmur. “but look at me. i’m a mess. crumbs on my tits. juice stain on my shirt.”
he whimpers. “stop.”
“no.” you lean down. kiss him messy. get chip dust on his perfect lips. he licks it off.
sometimes it ends in sex like this, you torturing him lovingly.
you make him watch while you “accidentally” knock over his perfectly aligned stack of books on the nightstand. pages splay. bookmark falls out. he makes this noise, half sob, half moan. you pin his wrists above his head. “look at the mess.” you say. “look what i did.”
he stares at it. chest heaving. cock throbbing against your thigh. “fix it.” he begs. “please.”
“after.”
you ride him slow while the books stay fucked up. every thrust makes his eyes flick to the disaster. he whines. actually whines. “it’s wrong. it’s all wrong.”
“yeah.” you breathe. “and you’re hard as fuck because of it.”
he cums embarrassingly fast. shaking. you don’t let him up. keep him there. pinned. messy. until he’s soft and oversensitive and still staring at the chaos.
only then do you let him go. he scrambles. pulls his underwear up. fixes the books in thirty seconds flat.
you watch from the bed, laughing. he crawls back. kisses your faded scar from calf to ankle. (that’s about how big it is)
sometimes the rage ends in him on his knees. you make him clean you up. tongue only. after he’s already came on your stomach. he licks every drop. precise. thorough. while you card fingers through his hair and say “good boy. make it spotless.”
he does. then he bandages any tiny mark he left on himself during (because he always hurts himself a little, nails in his palms, teeth in his lip, whatnot)
then he vacuums. because crumbs.
you lie there post orgasm, watching your tall, beautiful, neat freak boyfriend vacuum around you. you grin. throw a pillow at him. it lands crooked.
his eye twitches again.
you laugh so hard you almost cry.
he sighs. picks it up. fluffs it. places it at 45 degrees. perfect.
or another time he’s on his knees scrubbing a nonexistent spot on the floor (you may have flicked a pea there earlier just to watch him get like this) and you’re horny and evil.
you slide up behind him. reach around. palm his dick through his sweats. he freezes. sponge still in hand. dripping.
“what are you—”
you squeeze. slow. “keep cleaning.”
he tries. god he tries. scrubs in furious little circles while you stroke him. he’s rock hard in seconds. whimpering. “the floor… it’s still… fuck—”
you yank his sweats down just enough. wrap your hand around him. jerk slow and mean.
he drops the sponge. catches himself on his palms. head hanging. breathing ragged.
“don’t stop.” you whisper. “you’re so close to getting that spot.”
he groans. pathetic. beautiful. tries to grab the sponge again. hand shaking. you rake your nails down his lower back. just lightly, the way we humans like it so much. that tickling one. he bucks. almost collapses forward. catches the edge of the coffee table. knuckles white.
“fuck—please—”
you speed up. twist at the head. he’s leaking all over your fingers. trying to thrust into your hand while simultaneously reaching for the fucking sponge like his life depends on it.
“the table.” he gasps. “there’s… a smudge—”
you laugh. cruel. hot. “then clean it, baby.”
he grabs the cloth that he bought along with the sponge. swipes at the invisible smudge one handed while you jerk him faster. his hips jerk erratic. he’s moaning, soft, pretty. “gonna—shit—gonna—”
you dig your nails into his ass. pull him back against you. “not yet. finish the table first.”
he sobs. actual tears. swipes the cloth again. misses completely. cums anyway. hard. ropes of it hitting the floor he just fucking scrubbed.
he collapses onto his elbows. shaking.
you lean over him. kiss the back of his neck. pat his ass. “look at that. you made a mess again.”
god, he loves this.
later he’ll clean the cum off the floor with the same focus he uses on everything else. you’ll watch from the couch. eating something. throwing little crumbs from it on purpose.
he’ll glare at you. never at you really, just at the mess.
but you like him this way, after all.
and when you’re standing in the quiet apartment, alone for once, and you see it. your mess. the mug you forgot. the sweater slung wrong. the drawer that never quite shuts.
and for the first time, instead of thinking he’ll fix it, you think, maybe i can.
it won’t be perfect. it won’t be his perfect. but it’ll be an attempt. and god, attempts matter to him.
so you pick things up. align them the way you think he would. you hesitate before putting something down, adjust it, adjust it again. you laugh under your breath because wow, is this what it’s like inside his head? exhausting. genuinely exhausting.
you’re mid clean when you open a drawer you don’t usually touch. it’s one of his drawers. inside are neatly stacked papers.
you lift the top stack to slide something underneath, and you see… a photo of your therapist?
you freeze.
her face. printed. on a paper of files. session notes. intake forms. dates. nothing extra.
the address is neatly highlighted.
your stomach drops.
you don’t flip through more. you don’t dig. you don’t confirm the worst thing your instincts are telling you.
because you already know him.
and you already know what this probably means.
your hands are shaking when you put the papers back exactly as you found them. exactly. same alignment. same stack. same order.
you close the drawer.
and you act normal.
he comes home later. he kisses you hello. he notices the place almost immediately.
“you cleaned.” he says. there’s something in his tone. surprise. appreciation. something close to pride, maybe.
“i tried.” you say lightly. “don’t look too hard.”
he does look. of course he does. but he doesn’t correct it. doesn’t move anything back.
“it’s good.” he says. “thank you.”
he suggests a shower. you go with him. the water is warm. his touch is gentle. would be the dream boyfriend if he wasn’t a… killer. yeah. but you got over that by now. this is actually pretty fucked up from you too, but if you want him like this, then you want him like this. that’s it.
in bed, he pulls you close. presses his face into your hair.
“you did good today.” he murmurs.
you almost laugh. you almost cry. you lie awake for a while after he falls asleep, staring at the ceiling, listening to his breathing.
your mind keeps circling back to that paper. that highlighted address. your therapist who vanished without explanation.
the next day, you go to the address highlighted in that paper.
a man answers the door. you ask about your therapist.
“she’s dead.” he says. he’s repeated it too many times. “who are you?”
your stomach drops through the floor.
you stammer. apologize. say you were her client. you trail off, because what the fuck do you say after that.
he sighs. rubs his face. opens the door wider anyway. “come in.” he says.
you sit at their table. her table. he pours coffee he clearly hasn’t tasted in weeks.
“it was violent.” he says. “police say it was… targeted.”
targeted.
you leave twenty minutes later. thank him. apologize again. your hands are numb.
outside, you stand on the sidewalk and stare at nothing.
okay.
so.
she’s dead.
time to move on.
you call your friend. the one who moved away.
she answers on the second ring, breathless. “hey, are you okay?”
“i need to ask you something.” you say. “and i need you to not lie to me. please.”
pause.
“did someone tell you to leave me.” you ask. “and not tell me why.”
silence.
then a sharp inhale.
“…yes.”
your heart sinks, but there’s also this horrible clarity. the world snapping into focus.
“what happened?” you ask gently.
she tells you everything. about a random number. a calm voice. the details they knew. her parents’ address. her sister’s school. how they told her exactly what to do and exactly what not to say.
when she finishes, her voice is shaking. “i’m so sorry. i was scared.”
“i know.” you say immediately. “it’s okay. i get you.”
she sobs. you let her. tell her it’s okay. tell her she did the right thing. because she did. because anyone would have.
after you hang up, you sit in your car and just… think.
you don’t have proof of that. but you have pattern recognition.
you go home instead.
he’s there. folding laundry. your laundry.
“hey.” he says, smiling when he sees you. “i was thinking we could—”
you look at him. the angel face. the hands. the man who hates crumbs but fucked you in a puddle of blood.
you smile back.
“sounds good.” you say.
everything hyunjin did, he did because he needs you dependent on him. he wants a world where choosing him isn’t even a question because there are no competing variables left.
he doesn’t want you torn between him and a job, him and a therapist, him and a roommate, him and a future that might not include him.
he wants him to be the constant.
the safest option.
the only option.
that’s love, to hyunjin.
or at least the closest approximation his brain can produce.
yes, he killed your therapist. and yes, he threatened your friend. and dare i say cherry on top, he absolutely blackmailed the company that you wanted the job at so much. a job would mean coworkers. ambition. confidence. financial independence. a life that didn’t revolve around coming home to him. so he made a few calls. dug up some dirt. applied pressure. the rejection email wasn’t random. it was meant to be. and he felt relief when it came.
because hyunjin is a fucking genius.
so people just… drift away from you. opportunities evaporate. paths close.
and hyunjin is there every time, arms open.
of course you lean on him.
that was the point.
he doesn’t believe he’s doing anything wrong. that’s important. in his mind, he’s protecting you from stress, instability, disappointment, abandonment. he’s reducing harm. optimizing outcomes. making sure you don’t have to choose between him and anything else, because choices hurt you.
he’s seen you hurt.
that’s intolerable to him.
it’s intimate. every decision is for you. your habits. your fears. your soft spots.
and he removes anything that might compete with his role in your life.
once, back when you didn’t suspect that he did this yet, you were sad. just sad. nothing new had gone wrong. that was almost worse. just… job rejection, your friend gone, your therapist mysteriously unavailable, the quiet sense that the world was shrinking around you and you couldn’t tell why.
so when he came home, you hugged him. buried your face in his chest. and then you sobbed. ugly, shaking, hiccuping sobs. really letting it all out.
“i’m sorry.” you choked. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me. everything just keeps going wrong and i thought i was doing everything right and…” you started crying completely.
you were so fucking adorable it hurt him.
hyunjin didn’t say much. words aren’t his strength in moments like this. instead he pulled you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other at your lower back. he rocked you slowly while you clung to him, fingers digging into him.
“it’s okay.” he murmured. “i’ve got you.”
he kept swaying. side to side. back and forth.
your sobs slowly turned into shaky breaths. your body loosened against his. you went pliant, trusting, exhausted.
hyunjin felt something click into place.
this was better than anything he’d ever known.
better than the clarity of killing. better than violence. better than the cold, perfect focus he used to chase like a drug.
holding you while you fell apart in his arms made him feel. the world finally made sense.
you needed him.
you needed him so much.
he rocked you and felt powerful. felt essential. irreplaceable.
he realized, very clearly, that he had never actually enjoyed life before.
not food. not sex. not art. not even killing, not really. those were just mechanisms. stimuli. ways to feel something.
this was different.
he pressed his cheek to your hair and breathed you in, eyes half lidded, mind already working, already adjusting the world around one terrifying conclusion, that this feeling, he couldn’t give it up. and if the world kept hurting you, if people kept disappointing you, if anything tried to pull you away from him, he would remove it.
because you crying in his arms wasn’t just something he tolerated.
it was something he loved.
and hyunjin is a sick fuck like that.
now it’s a stupidly nice day. sun is coming in through the kitchen window, warm on the counter. weekend.
hyunjin is cleaning the shotgun. standing between your legs because that’s just where he ended up, his hips between yours. he’s focused, head slightly bowed, sleeves rolled, looking adorable tbh.
you’re sitting there swinging one foot lazily, hands on his shoulders. you’ve held him like this a thousand times.
and god, you just can’t keep your fucking mouth shut.
“hey.” you say.
he hums.
you swallow. “i talked to her.”
“who?”
you tilt your head, studying his face. “my friend. the one who moved.”
“okay.”
you feel your heartbeat in your throat now. “she told me why she left.”
his jaw tightens. once. there we go. a reaction.
you lean forward slightly. “she said someone threatened her. told her to move. told her not to tell me.”
silence. the gun is reassembled piece by piece. click. click.
you inhale. look straight into his eyes when he finally lifts his head.
“was it you?”
the air changes.
hyunjin swallows.
you feel it through your hands, through the way his shoulders rise and fall.
“…yes.” he says.
“…why?”
his hands come to your hips. “she was an exit.” he says calmly.
“a what?”
“an option.” he clarifies. “if things went wrong. if you got scared. you could go to her.”
“that’s my friend, hyunjin. what are you even talking about?”
he looks genuinely confused by your anger. not offended. just… trying to understand. “you were hurting.” he says. “she couldn’t help you the way i could.”
“so you threatened her? do you hear yourself?”
“yes.”
you shove lightly at his shoulder. he doesn’t move. doesn’t let go of your hips either.
“you don’t get to decide who’s in my life.” you say. louder now. “you don’t get to scare people because you’re… because you’re scared.”
“i wasn’t scared.” he says. then pauses. corrects himself. “…i was.” it’s brutal development, the fact that now he can admit he’s scared.
“fucking hell.”
“i don’t want to lose you.” he says. “and people kept putting themselves between us.”
“she wasn’t between us.” you say, bringing your hands up now to gently hold his neck. not choke, just your palms on either side of his neck. “she was beside me.”
he shakes his head. “that’s still too close.”
you stare at him. “i choose you. or i don’t. you don’t rig the game.”
his breathing is heavier now. psycho brain firing, you can tell. logic tangling with attachment.
“i wasn’t trying to control you.” he says, sounding defensive. his little brain doesn’t know how to deal with this.
his hands stay on your hips. yours stay on his neck. it’s intimate, close enough to feel every shift, every breath. just as intimate as it was fucking in a puddle of blood.
“i need you to tell me.” you say, softer now. “are you going to keep doing this?”
he hesitates.
that’s the real answer.
“…i don’t want to.” he says carefully. “but my instincts are… aggressive.”
lies. he wants to.
“no shit.” you mutter.
“you’re being dramatic.” he says lightly.
you stare at him. “oh my god.”
“i’m serious.” he continues, tone almost amused. “no one got hurt in that situation.”
“you threatened her family.”
“and she’s alive.” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “see?”
you shove his chest harder this time. he stumbles back half a step but doesn’t let go of your hips until the last second.
“you keep saying you’re protecting me, but you’re just deciding things for me. you’re deciding who stays, who leaves, who dies. like my fucking therapist, hyunjin.”
the words hang there.
heavy.
he freezes.
and that’s it.
that’s your answer.
you slide off the counter slowly, feet hitting the floor. “that was you.”
“okay.” he says lightly, too lightly. “let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“don’t.”
“i’m serious.” he continues, calm, almost playful. “you’re upset. you’re connecting dots emotionally.”
“you froze.” you shoot back. “you fucking froze. that’s for a reason, baby. i know you.”
he smiles thinly. “people freeze for lots of reasons.”
“oh my god.” you mutter. “you’re unbearable.”
he steps closer, hands open. “listen. even if, hypothetically, i was involved, it wouldn’t be as simple as you’re imagining.”
“no, don’t… tell me like that.”
“i’m telling you why it made sense.”
“it didn’t make sense. it made you feel safer.”
“yes.”
you shake your head, backing away. “no. i can’t, i need space. i’m leaving.”
you turn toward the hallway.
you barely take two steps.
click.
your blood goes cold.
you stop.
slowly, you turn around.
he’s standing where you left him, shotgun raised, barrel pointed right at your chest.
his face is calm. too calm. voice level. “you’re not going.”
“…put that down.” you whisper, heart picking up.
“no.” he replies gently. “you’re emotional. you’ll say things you don’t mean.”
“you’re pointing a gun at me.” you say. “again.”
he sighs, almost fondly. “and you’re still standing there. see? you trust me.”
“that’s not trust.” you say. “that’s shock.”
he tilts his head. “same outcome.”
you feel sick. furious. terrified.
“hey.” he says. “breathe.”
you are not breathing. your hands are shaking. everything feels loud and wrong and holy shit he’s pointing a gun at me.
“put it the fuck down, hyunjin.”
“you’re safe.” he says gently, smiling a little, beautiful. “i would never hurt you.”
“you already did. you killed my therapist. you threatened my friend. you’re holding a gun to me.”
“i’m talking.” he says mildly. “listen.”
“we’re done.” you say. “i’m breaking up with you. this is over. you’re fucking insane.”
that… that snaps something. inside him. you see it in the way his eyes go distant for half a second.
“no.” he says.
he takes a step closer.
the barrel lifts.
presses under your chin.
you freeze. your breath stutters.
he tilts the gun just enough to make you look at him.
“we were going to be married.” he says softly. “you know that, right?”
“get that away from me.”
“you and me. i’d cry at the altar. not even try to hide it. people would think it’s sweet.”
you stare at him. say nothing.
“then the house.” he continues. “not too big. three bedrooms. one for us. two for the kids we’d make right away because you’d want to start early. you’d be showing by christmas. i’d build the crib myself. sand every edge so it’s safe. paint it whatever color you pick. blue or pink or yellow. doesn’t matter. i’d do it perfect.”
you shake your head, tears running. “stop.”
“you’d be a good mother. i know you would. i’d keep them safe. i’d keep all of you safe.” he says. his face is getting more red, beautiful lips plumping up. he’s crying too. “you’d read to them every night. i’d listen from the doorway. pretend i’m not obsessed with how good you are at it. we’d fight about stupid shit. dishes. laundry. you’d leave crumbs again and i’d lose my mind.”
his grip on the gun is shaking.
“you’d hate how neat i’d be.” he adds, lips shaking as he cries. “they’d be messy. you’d defend them. i’d pretend to be annoyed.”
you’re sobbing now. silent, panicked.
“you’d plant flowers. mess up the rows on purpose just to watch me fix them. we’d fuck in every room. slow in the kitchen at dawn. hard against the hallway wall after a fight. gentle in the bedroom with the lights off so i could feel every inch of you without seeing how perfect you are. i’d go down on you every morning. you’d ride me on the couch while the kids napped. we’d be quiet. careful. laughing into each other’s mouths.”
this isn’t a fantasy. it’s a plan.
“summers at the lake. you in that red bikini. me pretending not to stare. winters with hot chocolate and your cold feet on my legs. anniversaries where i take you back to that coffee shop. same table. same hot chocolate. i’d get down on one knee again just to hear you say yes twice.”
he’s shaking now. whole body. barrel presses harder into your skin.
“you’d grow old first. women do. i’d hate it. but we’d grow old together. you’d get gray streaks and still look like the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. i’d still trace your scar from that first night. kiss it every anniversary. we’d die close. maybe in the same week. i’d go first. so i wouldn’t have to live without you.”
silence. his sobs hitching.
you look up at him. “don’t cry, hyunjin. this is your fault. you did this.”
“that’s not why i’m crying.”
he closes his eyes. tight. he can’t bear to see what comes next.
his finger tightens on the trigger.
the shot is deafening.
your body slumps. blood sprays. hot. everywhere.
he flinches. but the neat freak doesn’t reach for a cloth. he just drops the gun. lets it clatter. kneels. gathers what’s left of you into his arms.
he curls around you on the floor. wrapped tight. face tucked into the ruined curve of your neck. under what used to be your jaw. blood soaks his shirt. his hair. the rug he spent three hours shampooing last week. he doesn’t care. for once the mess doesn’t register. the only thing that matters is you. still warm. still smelling like you.
he cries into what’s left of you. deep, ugly sobs that shake his whole body. he never had feelings before, and now he’s crying, blood soaking through his shirt, into his skin, sticking his hair to his forehead in sticky strands. he’s already swimming in it. doesn’t matter. the neat freak is gone. there’s no cloth, no bleach, no circles to make it right. just red. everywhere. pooling under you both. he doesn’t care.
he loved you so much.
his face stays buried. breathing you in one last time even though all he gets is iron and gunpowder and the faint ghost of your shampoo, still the same one he used to buy for himself.
he loved you so much.
after a while, minutes, hours, who fucking knows, he lifts his head. slow. eyes swollen. lashes clumped with tears and blood. he looks around. the apartment he kept so perfect. now a slaughterhouse. the rug ruined. walls spattered. the coffee table knocked sideways. your blood on the couch you used to curl up on together.
he loved you so much.
his gaze lands on the shotgun. still warm. lying a foot away like it’s waiting. innocent almost.
he loved you so much.
he sits up. careful. gentle. god, he can’t scare you now. he slides one arm under your shoulders. the other under your knees. lifts what’s left of you into his lap. cradles you against his chest. your head, more like what’s left of it, lolls against his shoulder. he doesn’t fix it. just holds. rocks a little. the way he used to when you fell asleep on him during movies.
he loved you so much.
he reaches. fingers brush the the shotgun. he pulls it closer. slow. no rush. no panic.
he loved you so much.
he hugs your ruined body tighter to himself. one arm wrapped around your waist. the other maneuvering the barrel. he presses it under his own chin. the same spot he held it to yours. mirrors it.
his thumb finds the trigger. steady. no shake now.
he loved you so much.
then the second shot cracks the quiet. into flesh and love that never got to be anything else. his body jerks once. slumps back with yours. arms still locked around you. shotgun clatters sideways. blood mixes. his with yours. indistinguishable now.
the apartment goes still. blood keeps spreading. on every inch he once kept so clean.
two bodies tangled on the floor. his arms still around you. yours limp at your sides.
holding each other even after everything.
he loved you so much.
and this is the end of the two of you.
together.
close.
bloody.
dead.
the apartment stays quiet after that, except for the drip of blood from surfaces it splattered onto.
Hyunjin x Reader (but also kind of Minho x Reader, Jisung x Reader, and Chan x Reader low-key)
Synopsis: You definitely have a stalker, but they're pretty nice, they just seem to tidy up after you and keep your flat clean. . .if only you could figure out who it was (spoiler, it's your maintenance guy)
Warnings: minors DNI!! This is a stalker fic so DO NOT READ if you're uncomfortable with the subject matter!! dubcon, brief handjob (if we can even call it that), halfway conspiracy where multiple people may be stalking you, you're a little off your rocker too
This is fiction!! I do not condone stalking or anything like it
3.7k words
You had a feeling someone was stalking you.
It just sort of made sense -- either you were being stalked or there was a ghost moving shit around your apartment. Lotions and perfumes that you left in the bathroom would be in your room when you came back from work. Dishes you'd left in the sink would be washed, dried, and put back in the cupboards. Mail that you'd left in a pile on your coffee tables full of ads and junk, would be sorted, and neatly filed from most important to least important. Little things that, if you weren't paying too much attention, you probably wouldn't have noticed. You're a bit air headed sometimes, you forget a lot of things, misplace things, and aren't the most observant in the world. But you also knew yourself, and you were nowhere near productive enough to never have dishes in your sink. That had been your first inclination that something was going on.
There was other things too. A bill paid before you'd ever received the notification it was due, new flowers in the vase on your counter, blankets folded, floors swept, candles burned lower than they had been before. Again, it may have taken you a while to notice, but when you finally did, you realized just how much was getting done around the flat without you doing it.
You were a little confused, sure. In media, stalkers were scary -- they leave blood stained, cryptic notes, and body parts from undisclosed people. They were threatening, and creepy, and were a nuisance to your life rather than any sort of beneficial part to it. They were frightening -- something to be afraid of.
But your stalker just seemed a little kinder than that. Like they wanted your life to be a little easier. And when you came home to a bed tidy and remade despite leaving it a mess that morning, or your laundry already folded and put away -- well, it was hard to dislike it. Especially when you're someone who doesn't get much attention from people to start, this was sort of. . .nice. You liked it, as crazy as that sounded. Or, at least, you appreciated that they weren't leaving dead rats in your mailbox like a deranged cat.
Still, this left you to wonder who could possibly be stalking you. How were they getting into your flat? And was it someone you knew or was it some stranger that just happened to see you one day? You really couldn't decide. There was your cute neighbor, who had big wide eyes and soft cheeks that you struggle not to dig your thumbs into when you see him. He's always staring -- like, always. He's definitely got a staring problem, level 100, second only to the babies in strollers that stare at the store. Every time you greets him, he flusters, his face flushes hot, and he trips over a reply.
Then there was your coworker, Minho, who admittedly also had a staring problem. He at the very least spoke to you rather often, but mostly to tease and fuss at you, until you grumble and whine at him to stop. He's hot -- even when he's zoning out, looking at you, and seeming deeply lost in thought. One time he accurately guessed your entire commute home and what you do as soon as you get there, which at the time had just seemed like a very intuitive reading into your character but now seems a little suspicious. Like, how did he know you have to cook dinner as soon as you step in the door or otherwise you won't cook at all? And how had he hypothesized that you were bad at using your fancy new rice cooker, with too many buttons that wasn't entirely user friendly?
Your landlord, maybe? He would have a key to your flat and could come and go as he pleased. When you think of a landlord, you think of an old man, weathered and grouchy, with glasses dirtied by grimy hands. Your landlord, however, was very nice -- his name was Chan, and he had dimples, and always comes to check on his residents weekly with treats. You think that maybe he spends a little extra time at your flat, and always gives you extra cookies. He even told you that if you wanted to get a cat, he'd wave the monthly pet fee for you, and you were left wondering how he even knew you were thinking about getting a cat. Maybe he went on your computer while you were gone? Did he look through your history? If so, then the porn delicately titled Hot landlord stuffs tenant is really embarrassing.
It could've been any of the three, you think. Maybe your neighbor a little less so, because his only crime is staring really hard -- and that time he had your welcome mat in front of his door, for some reason. Still, you chew over the prospects and come up short -- it just wouldn't make sense for any of the three to be stalking you. Honestly, it wouldn't make sense for anyone at all to be stalking you -- you're quite boring, really. You don't do much but sleep, work, roll around in your bed, wash, rinse, repeat. When you do go out, it's mostly just to live vicariously through Felix who does just about whatever he wants, when he wants to. He's your best friend, has been for years, and still you're amazed by the ease in which he navigates social situations.
You hadn't told Felix because. . .well, you don't know why. He'd probably tell you to do the smart thing, which was file a police report. You don't know why you hadn't, though you knew that was the right move. Maybe you just wanted to see where this went. Really, this stalker was just making your life a whole lot easier -- why wouldn't you let him do his thing? If he wants to fold your laundry, have at it!
You don't figure out who it could be, until one day you come home early from work. It was rare this ever gets to happen, but every so often, everything fits into place just so perfectly that you can escape at 4PM rather than your typical 6PM. The commute home is cut in half too, just barely missing the evening traffic, so you arrive to your complex chipper as can be. You mean to send Minho a message wishing him a good rest of his day, since you didn't get the chance to say bye before you left, but you decide you will when you get upstairs. In the elevator, you see your cute neighbor, he's leaving while you're stepping on, and he is all wide-eyed at the sight of you. Which isn't new, necessarily, but the way he blurts out, "You're home early!" is. You didn't even know he knew when you came home from work, really.
"Oh, um, yes!" You smiled, "I am!"
"Oh!" But that was all, because the door closed and you were riding the elevator up.
You get to your flat, but just as you were about to open the door, it opens before you get the chance to. You squeal, startled, and the person who opens the door also startles and squeals. You recognize him once the surprise wears off, that he's the maintenance man Hyunjin.
He's the type of beautiful that it's actually sort of hard to look him in the eyes, or at his face at all. Part of you wants everything in your flat to break so you can submit a ticket and see him, and the other part of you would rather exist with a broken heater in the middle of winter so you didn't have to embarrass yourself in front of him. It's actually impossible for you to be normal around him. The first day you met, he was fixing a leaky faucet for you, and you offered him a popsicle because, "You look hot. Like -- I mean, you look sweaty. Or -- like, hot like sweaty, like it's warm -- I think it's warm, so do you want a popsicle, or I could turn on the AC or. . .uh, I'm -- I'm actually going to go in my room, please help yourself to my freezer. Or anything in it, I mean --"
Usually, that's how their interactions go. You can't help it though, like -- he seriously might be the most perfect, beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. And even when he's sweaty and working hard, he still smells like something flowery and sweet. You had never been so interested in shoving your nose into someone's crotch and huffing it like a dog in your life.
"Oh!" You laughed, still rather bright and happy from being able to leave work early, a hand held to your chest, "You scared me!"
He laughed too, his eyes wide as your neighbors were, "I'm sorry," he scratches the back of his neck, "Our timing was perfect to freak each other out, huh?"
"Yeah," you could seriously probably get lost in his eyes. You don't know his full name, and thank god you don't, because you think if you had access to any of his social media you'd be worse than your own stalker. His hair has grown out a lot since when you first met him, and it looks soft, you want to comb your fingers through it. Plus he has this boyish charm and giggle that makes you want to bite into his cheeks or something.
"I have to head out," he told you, waving, his arms covered today rather than the tank tops that he usually wore while he was working. The sleeves are stretchy and skin tight, stretched over his palms like sweater paws, and his fingers are decorated in rings. His pants are low on his hips, loose, baggy denim with holes at the thigh and knee. He looks like he stepped out of a shoot. God, he's gorgeous, seriously. "But I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay," you wave, then step inside your flat, and appreciate the lingering scent of his that stays in his wake. He was a good maintenance man -- one of the best you've experienced, actually, and not just because he was beautiful. He was good at what he did, and he was prompt in showing up whenever you submitted a ticket.
And then, you realize, that you hadn't submitted a ticket since, like, a month ago.
So why was he in your flat?
Hm.
Your bed was made, your mail sorted, new flowers on the dining table, only this time there's a little ripped piece of paper beside it with a doodle. It's silly and cute, a cat holding a bouquet. There's a plate of cookies on the counter, and everywhere you walk you can smell traces of Hyunjin.
So, it was him? Really? That's kind of crazy -- not to fall into stereotypes, but he was so beautiful, what the fuck was he doing stalking you? You're confused, a little alarmed, not nearly as concerned as you should be, and a little turned on. What was he doing in here, hm? Was he being creepy? Or did he just see the state she was living in one day and decided to come in here and try and make it a little better? Because, objectively, he really wasn't making her life hard at all.
You'd like to talk to him, but you knew if you opened the door to look for him, he would be nowhere to be found. You wonder if he would admit it if you asked him. Maybe he wouldn't -- maybe he would. You aren't sure, but you think right now, he's probably worried, right? Like, he surely doesn't think you were that stupid that you didn't finally piece it together? Or maybe he did -- it's been a while of this and you hadn't figured it out.
Still, you extend your hand. The next time you're leaving your flat, you leave a little note besides your vase. It's simple, not a whole lot, just a Thank You with your own silly little doodle that wasn't half as nice. But when you come back from work that day, the note is still there, it hadn't even moved an inch. You found yourself pouting, huffing a breath through your nose -- that's annoying.
You don't see Hyunjin for your air filter change out either, he sends someone else -- Changbin is sweet, sure, and his biceps are the size of your head. He usually takes care of the other side of the building, while Hyunjin mans this one. You like Changbin (who always tells you to call him Changbinnie) but he really just isn't who you want to see that Saturday morning.
You must have spooked him though, because you don't know if you'll get to see Hyunjin for a while. Your flat isn't being tampered with anymore either -- the clothes in your hamper stay in your hamper until you do them, your bed stays messy until you make it, your mail is still a clutter on the counter, and the flowers that have wilted haven't been discarded and replaced. It sucks, really, you hadn't realized just how nice it was having someone do stuff around the flat like that until it was gone.
Minho has started acting sort of weird too, at work, he's less fussy with you and seems surprised when you talk to him first. He's being way too nice, actually, but also more distant than he's ever been and it's starting to bum you out. Your landlord does still show up for his monthly check-in and gives you an extra cookie, but he doesn't linger for longer than he probably should talking about how good it smells in your flat compared to some of your neighbors. And, speaking of neighbors, even your sweet, puffy cheeked, wide-eyed one beside you (you find out from Changbin, that his name is Jisung), doesn't stare as long anymore. His eyes dart away from you quicker than they ever have.
Was this some huge conspiracy? Or did everyone just sort of stop caring about you at once?
Seriously, your feelings are starting to get kind of hurt, if that's the case.
So, when you finally come through your flat in search of hidden cameras (probably later than you should have -- this would have been something to check for from the very start, but again, that would have been something Felix suggested and you still haven't told him), and find one in your light fixture that Hyunjin came to replace several months ago -- you talk to it. It feels weird, and awkward, and a little pathetic as you twist it so that the lens is facing you.
"I'm not mad," you say honestly, "I'm more confused than anything, and my feelings are a little hurt. Everyone's been acting so weird towards me, and now even you aren't coming around anymore, so I've just been. . .I don't know. It makes me kind of sad. Is that weird? I guess I shouldn't feel weird about being weird when you're the one sneaking into my place, but -- well, yeah. Just so you know, I'm not going to tell."
You dance with the idea of putting the camera back in your light, but decide against it. Wouldn't the be kind of rewarding bad behavior? Not that you already aren't -- you definitely were, all things considered, but. . .you just feel like he didn't deserve to see you going about your day. At least before he was putting some work in.
It was a Saturday morning that you did this, so you really weren't expecting anything until maybe Monday, when he would be in the building. You don't know if he lives on site or not, now that you think about it. He seems like he would live somewhere far more bougie, despite working here, so you'd always kind of imagined him somehow living in a penthouse suite, walking around in Dior diamond encrusted house slippers or something.
Only 10 minutes after speaking into the camera, there's a knock on your door. You're in the middle of washing your own dishes (which sucks, by the way) when you hear it, so you towel off your hands and go to answer. You aren't sure who it could be -- you certainly didn't think that you were being responded too so quickly, so you thought maybe it was a package. Sometimes they'll drop off bigger boxes at your door.
Instead, when you open it, Hyunjin stands there all different shades of pink and looking guilty. He looks softer today than usual, like he may have just woken up a little bit ago. He's in a tank top, like how you typically see him, but with a soft, grey cardigan pulled over his shoulders. His hair is sort of every which way, but somehow still looks like he'd done this stylistically. His body was empty of any jewelry, and his sweatpants looked soft and baggy, worn in.
"I'm sorry," he begins immediately, sighing, "I -- this all got so messed up."
Why did you want to comfort him? You don't know. You should be pissed off and yelling at him. You should be calling the cops. You should slam the door in his face and call him a creep, but. . .you don't. You open the door and usher him in to your living room, sitting him on the sofa, and try not to take a deep breath in when he walks by. He smells so good, even if he just woke up. This is ridiculous.
"I -- at first, I really wasn't trying to be creepy," he explains, "Um, but I came by one morning when you were on your way out the door, and you seemed so frazzled and overwhelmed. I think you were late for work or something, and your flat was a mess," your face gets hot, "So I just thought maybe I'd clean up a bit for you. I only meant to do it once, but then I -- you know. I kept doing it."
Which sounds innocent enough, and pretty sweet, however, "What about the camera?" You ask, "You're clearly watching it, if you saw me."
His face, once again, bright red, extending to his ears, "Uh -- yeah."
That's all he says; he offers no more explanation and you don't really ask for it, at least as far as the cameras are concerned. You point to the unit next door, "Jisung has been acting weird," you tell him, "My coworker Minho, and even the landlord, Chan -- which all kind of coincided with me catching you. . ."
You leave it open ended, and it seems like that's his preferred method of questioning, because all he says, with wide eyes is --
"Um, yeah."
You take a deep breath, nodding, "Okay," you reply, "Is it like a pervy thing? Or are you interested in me, or --"
"All of the above," he nods, leaning forward, and you lean back just a little, not enough to put much distance between you -- he doesn't seem to mind, or he doesn't care. His hand stretches to the spot on the cushion right next to where you're sitting, his palm flattened to it. He's resting his weight on his arm, you can tell. It's warm where he accidentally (or maybe it wasn't an accident) touches your thigh. "I don't mean to be weird, but from the moment I met you, I thought you were so beautiful. You were all I could think about."
"Really?" You ask, brows raised, "That's -- I mean, I don't think I'm ugly, but have you seen yourself?"
"You're beautiful," he repeats, shaking his head, "Your heart, and your soul, your eyes are beautiful, the shape of your lips, your ears --"
"My ears?"
"--And I'm not the only one who thinks so! I just think you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."
He might be a little crazy, sure. Or really crazy. The look in his eyes is definitely off, but you don't mind. You must be a little off too, because you are by no means having an appropriate reaction to this.
"Thank you," you blink at him, and it only takes a brief flicker of your gaze down to see that he's hard. You weren't expecting that, not at all, and when he follows your line of sight, he at least has the decency to act embarrassed about it, though he doesn't cover himself.
"Sorry, you just -- you smell really good," he admits, "To be this close to you, like this, is something that I've been dreaming about. The others are going to be so jealous, Hannie might cry."
You're confused, but he gets closer, practically crawling into your lap and you let him. You make a confused sound in your throat, sure, but you readily accept the additional weight when he sits, knees astride your thighs. You don't know if you're expecting him to kiss you or not, but he surpasses your lips entirely, instead burying his face into your neck. It feels a little weird, especially when you can both feel and hear him breathing in deep, sucking in with his nose tucked just behind your ear. He shudders as he exhales, a sound like a moan leaves his mouth.
"Is this okay? I hope this is okay?" He asks, a little too late considering he's already there -- its perfunctory at best, "Sometimes I get in your bed and rub against the mattress but --"
"Oh, wow," you cut him off, "You were doing way more than just cleaning then."
"I never came though!" He promised earnestly, "At least not in your bed, that would have been rude."
You laugh -- this is all almost sillier than it is scary. A lap full of a hot guy with a hard on was not how you expected this Saturday to go. But, well, you might as well make the most of it. When you skate your hand from where it had been on his thigh, to the very clear bump in sweats. He sucks in a sharp breath, ruts his hips against your palm twice, and then shudders again, this time with a loud, wanton moan in your ear. You feel the wetness against your hand, seeping through the material of his clothes. He's panting against you, dragging his lips along the skin of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.
"Did you just cum?" You asked.
He nodded, "Yeah. I can cum again for you."
You peel the sweatpants down as much as the stretchy fabric will allow you to. You reveal his cock, the tip flushed pink, wet, and dripping messy with cum. It looks sticky, he's still hard, twitching just under his gaze. He's big too, the base is soft tufts of groomed hair, and what you can make out of his balls, are swollen and full, "You're very pretty," you tell him, "All over, but down here too."
"It's yours," he tells you, tilting his hips forward, "It's all yours, I promise."
Synopsis: Seungmin goes into a spiral trying to figure out what he could have done wrong to make you so upset that you're giving him the silent treatment.
Word count: 2,5k
Genre: fluff
ENJOYYYYY!
Oh, this is no good. Nuh-uh. This cannot be happening.
Seungmin must have seriously pissed off the big boss upstairs because there is actually no way his favorite person—his baby, his little love—is giving him the silent treatment today.
After a 12-hour bender of a filming session—one that included all those stupid games where he and his bandmates have to manhandle each other, nearly kiss during an impromptu Pepero challenge with disgustingly dry, tasteless rice cakes, cook for STAY aaaaaaaand, on top of that, perform four songs while constantly plastering on a happy face despite the exhaustion, seeing the same faces in the crowd that follow them around like they’re some kind of circus attraction—it’s easy to say that taking a quick shower and cuddling up to your side while he passes out until late afternoon, tangled up with you, sounds like a dream.
But noooooooooo. You have to give him the silent treatment for absolutely no fucking reason. Or at least Seungmin hasn’t been able to find one in the 15 minutes he just spent spiraling in his own head, searching vigorously through his memories for a single moment where he could have possibly upset you enough for you to not only refuse to speak to him, but to not even glance in his general direction.
Absolute abomination. This should be considered a hate crime against baseball-addicted, puppy-like, exhausted, overworked idols.
He has to lock in now. Focus. Strategize. This is not the time to panic—this is the time to deploy countermeasures.
Clearly, something has gone terribly, catastrophically wrong, and as the devoted boyfriend and self-appointed Minister of Domestic Peace, it is his civic duty to identify the offense before this escalates into a full-blown Cold War. He needs intel. A timeline. Witness statements. Was it something he said? Something he didn’t say? Did he forget to send the “text me when you get home” text right before you were supposed to finish work? Rookie mistake. Unforgivable. But sadly, that's not it. He made sure to call you during one of their breaks.
He has to figure out what upset you so he can escalate properly—because this is all about balance. Too little groveling? Arrogant. Too much? Suspicious. He needs the perfect ratio of yearning to dignity. A carefully calibrated blend of soft apologies, dramatic sighs, and just enough pathetic whimpering to communicate: I am but a humble man, undone by your silence.
Maybe he should call his PR manager. Surely there’s a damage control protocol for this. A flowchart. A pre-approved statement. Step one: Admit fault (even if fault is currently theoretical). Step two: Express deep emotional devastation. Step three: Offer snacks. Step four: Initiate physical affection, proceed with caution.
He is aiming for a full de-escalation by bedtime. Desired outcome: cuddles secured. Bonus objective: soft morning in bed, limbs tangled, sunlight filtering through the curtains as you forgive him wordlessly by pressing your face into his chest. Ideal endgame: natural migration to the couch by noon, where he can pretend to watch baseball highlights while secretly memorizing the exact way you breathe when you nap on him.
THE CALL - he suddenly remembers. You didn't seem like you had any issues during the call; quite the contrary. You were chipper, excited to have him at home, wishing him to have fun, like you do every single day when they have long hours of both physical and mental work. So whatever offence caused this cold-shoulder escapade must have occurred after the phone call.
Think Seungmin, think!!!! What could have resulted in your bubbly, loving, attached, clingy in the best way girlfriend to not be able to look at you?
He got into the company car and rushed back to the dorm with Felix to grab your laptop charger—the one he accidentally took a week ago, and you were in desperate need of. Then he drove home to you in a hurry, because despite the exhaustion, seeing you was the real end-of-day reward.
You were still out to get groceries when he arrived, and you let him know about that in text, still sounding chipper and excited to have a night in with him. No red flags. No passive-aggressive punctuation. No suspiciously dry “k.” Nothing.
Since you weren’t home, he hopped in the shower. He got dressed in record time afterward, did his skincare so he wouldn’t break out from the industrial-grade makeup they plastered on him all day, and mentally prepared himself for the grand reunion.
He walked into the kitchen to greet you — and you did not greet him back.
In fact, you had a pout. Not a cute one. Not a teasing one. A full-blown sad, disappointed to the core of a pout. Your eyes very clearly communicated: Do not step into my two-meter radius.
So he retreated. Strategic withdrawal, he called it.
He relocated to the living room, confused and utterly defeated by the surprise blow—one that, if not handled with extreme precision, otherwise, this could lead to being banned to the couch indefinitely. The absolute worst case scenario here.
He has to look for evidence. Any tiny sign that could hint at what went wrong between the cheerful grocery-run text and the moment he stepped out of the shower.
He starts at the entrance, scanning the area carefully. Did he leave his shoes or backpack in the way? Could you have tripped over something he absentmindedly dropped? But as he usually does—because he is, unfortunately, a clean freak—everything is perfectly aligned. Shoes tucked away. Backpack hung properly. The floor spotless. No bunched-up rug, no spilled groceries, nothing that suggests you stumbled the second you walked into the apartment.
The bathroom is immaculate, too. He even left the fan running so the fog would clear faster. He deliberately didn’t use your favorite moisturizer—despite being tempted—because it’s your favorite, and you mentioned it’s impossible to find lately. Ever since he used it in a SKZ-Talker a few weeks ago out of pure reflex, it’s been sold out everywhere.
For a moment, he starts to think his detective work is futile.
And then he finds the crime scene.
In the bedroom.
PuppyM—the teddy bear version—is lying face down on the floor. Lifeless.
You are usually very particular about where he sits. Either perfectly centered on the bed when it’s made during the day or carefully placed on your vanity chair while the two of you sleep. It matters, because this PuppyM plushie is the one you cuddle on the nights Seungmin is away—which, unfortunately, is often. He brought it home for that exact reason: to soften the blow of not being able to offer the comfort he wishes he could most days of the year. A consolation prize in plush form.
And PuppyM is not on the floor because he knocked it down.
You threw it there.
He distinctly remembers it sitting in its rightful place when he first walked in. Which means this happened afterward. While he was in the shower.
Oh. This is bad-bad. Worse than he expected.
He has to call in a lifeline. So he reaches for his phone, dialling your best friend, questioning her like a key witness, trying to find out if she got any information on why you could be mad at him. By the end of the call, he concludes that either:
a.) you didn't tell her about the offense.
or
b.) she is withholding key information that would help his investigation.
But then, something peculiar happens. A text comes in, from none other than Hwang Hyunjin.
"You're the worst boyfriend, Kim Seungmin."
He dials instantly, demanding information.
"Oh, you don't even know what you did!" Hyunjin laughs out loud, clearly amused by Seungmin's desperation.
"No, I don't. So please tell me before I go ballistic, I need my cuddles, I don't want to spend the three days I have off being ignored by my girlfriend," he implodes, and he's not far from begging.
"I will tell you on one condition." Hyunjin says, empathetic to the situation. He would be the same if he were in the same boat, finally able to spend time with his significant other, but unable to enjoy it due to some dispute or misunderstanding.
"I'll do anything, just please tell me."
"One word: Daengmo."
"...Daengmo??!!!!" now Seungmin is even more confused. What does a stuffed animal from Ikea have to do with his girlfriend being mad at him?????
"Yes. You didn't get her one." Hyunjin exlains and Seungmin is still stunned.
"Why would she want a Daengmo? I got her all versions of PuppyM and we already have a Daegmo here at home."
"Yeah, but think about it: you gave everyone at today's shoot one, besides your girlfriend, the person you're away from for two-thirds of the year, the person you've abandoned all day, who wanted you to remember her love for plushies and get her one from the dozens you purchased for STAY, as a sign you thought about her too." Oh. This makes sense. But Hyunjin continues. "And the one you have at home, you keep it on a shelf, as a relic from an old shoot, that's not for her. She wants her own."
Seungmin goes quiet.
Okay. Yes, going nonverbal over this sounds childish on paper. But he gets it. He understands how it feels like a betrayal.
He was attentive all day. Warm, generous, smiling for STAY. Thoughtful enough to prepare gifts and make everyone feel special.
And you—who can’t attend these shoots because the company deemed it too risky—you show up differently. You cook dinner. You grocery shop so he doesn’t have to leave the house during his days off. You keep up with news about him. You read his Bubble messages. You support him quietly, constantly, even when it hurts not to be there in person.
You just wanted him to show up for you today. To prove that even when you’re not physically there, you’re still on his mind. And he failed you. Oh yeah, he messed up big time.
“What do you want in return for this information?” Seungmin asks after a few seconds of processing the damage.
“My own Daengmo. And if I don’t receive it tonight like she will, I will personally make sure she stays mad at you. We’re in an alliance. These are the terms we established for peace.”
“I hate you,” Seungmin mutters.
Hyunjin laughs and tells him he’s lying before hanging up.
Seungmin throws on a hoodie, grabs his keys, and shouts a rushed, “Be right back!” before bolting out of the apartment.
He drives back to the JYP building, knowing there were a few plushies left over from the shoot. Staff had set them aside to give to Felix, who’s scheduled to visit a pediatric ward at a nearby hospital. The puppy plushies would offer at least a little comfort to the kids there.
Once inside the building, he heads straight to the Div1 floor and storms into the storage room assigned to their group’s belongings. He practically turns the place upside down searching for the box. Eventually, he calls his manager—apologizing profusely for the late-night call after such a long day—but once he explains the situation, the manager is more than willing to help him remove the metaphorical brick wall currently standing between him and a peaceful night with his girlfriend.
When he finally finds the box, he pulls out two plushies. There aren’t many left, so he immediately texts his manager to order two more boxes to ensure there’s no shortage for the hospital visit. He also asks to be scheduled for a visit himself once he’s back from fashion week.
With the goods secured, he rushes to his hyungs’ dorm and throws one of the plushies at Hyunjin the second the door opens. A very confused Changbin watches from the hallway, rubbing his eyes after being woken up by Seungmin’s aggressive massacre of the doorbell—ignored on purpose by Hyunjin to slow him down. Some friends he has.
On the way home, he stops by a convenience store and grabs a small bouquet. It’s nowhere near as grand as he originally envisioned, but it will have to do. He steps back into the apartment, peace offering in hand, and is immediately greeted by the unmistakable scent of kimchi fried rice lingering in the air.
Maybe this isn’t as catastrophic as he feared. Because if you were truly, inconsolably mad at him, you wouldn’t have cooked.
He finds you still in the kitchen, stirring the stew and tasting it, adjusting the flavor one last time.
He walks up quietly. He’s sure you’re aware of his presence—you glanced at him from the corner of your eye the second he stepped into the room. Your lips even twitched upward at the sight of him… but you quickly masked it with that sad expression.
Now that he’s looking properly, he can tell it’s forced.
Bingo.
Without a word, he gently places Daengmo on your left shoulder. Then he starts moving the plushie around as if it’s alive, making it gesture dramatically while he switches to a high-pitched voice, imitating a tiny, distressed puppy.
“Woof, woof, little love! I am Daengmo, and I am here to mend your broken heart, which was tragically wounded by your idiotic boyfriend. He was very busy and very ignorant today—so ignorant that he forgot to bring me home to you. But now I am here! I will love you and cuddle you to sleep. However,” the plushie turns slightly toward him, “it would be very nice if you made amends with Seungmin Oppa. He is very sorry and wants nothing more than a quiet night with you.”
You break.
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, the hurt completely dissolving from your face. You spin around and snatch Daengmo from Seungmin’s hands, clutching it dramatically to your chest.
“Don’t worry, Daengmo,” you coo, “I wasn’t even that mad at your Oppa. I just heard him muttering about ‘diplomacy,’ ‘crisis management,’ and a ‘thorough investigation,’ and I wanted to see what he would do to figure out what was wrong.”
Seungmin’s jaw drops.
For a full second.
Then the shock melts into pure amusement as he bursts out laughing and pulls you into his chest at the same time. He buries his face in your hair, still chuckling like a maniac, pressing small kisses to the top of your head as the tension finally drains from his body.
“God, I love you so much,” he says into your hair, grinning at your antics. You keep him on edge in the best way—exactly how he does with his bandmates. You really were made for him.
“I love you too, Minnie. Welcome home,” you whisper, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, your face tucked into his chest.
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some one and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
warnings: suggestive
a/n: After being exhausted and sick all week (missing homework to write this) with nothing but inspiration floating in my head, I lost it. Well, some of it. I was hoping to release a longer chapter this week but ended up forgetting some of my initial ideas for this chapter. Though I could take an extra day to extend it, I think it was best left off where it is.
Also, do you guys enjoy fewer long chapters or many short chapters? Just curious.
Please let me know what you think! Your comments really get me fired up! Thank you guys so much for the support on this story and I hope you'll continue to enjoy it!
You were mesmerized by the color that shifted off of you. The sweet vanilla scent of your impending heat long since replaced the burning smell of citrus and tobacco of Kangdae in the apartment. Like a child, you ran your fingers through the particles in the air. Mystified by how your fingers seemingly phased through it, similarly to how one would reach for a ray of light and meet nothing but open air.
You lay back on the leather sofa. It was still just you. Your sponsor had messaged you just that morning to let you know he’d be a few more days. Something about meetings getting pushed back and whatnot, though you didn’t even think to ask him where he even was. Normally you’d be saddened, lonely even, but now you had better things planned.
You left the windows open and the summer breeze to send the curtains fluttering every now and then. The apartment was clean, from the made up bed to the vacuumed carpets, it was spotless.
You had guests visiting soon but you weren’t in a rush to get ready for them. You had time. Time to worry and time to primp which you set aside for later. For now, you were content in your own presence, a small satisfied smile curling on your lips as you thought of them and the perfect scenario for the afternoon.
Felix had been right. Everything would be okay, and you would figure it all out together.
When you had gotten home Friday morning, after out running your mates and dodging all the alpha’s in the neighborhood, you called him, to let him know you had made it back safely.
Seungmin had snatched the phone as soon as he heard your voice and you could almost hear his heartbeat through your speaker. Shouting his concern through the receiver and marching his way to his room just to get away from the curious looks of the others.
By then they had already been caught up. From your talk with Felix the night before about your hope and hesitancies to the minute you ran away. So Seungmin didn’t need to run for privacy for your call but it had come on so automatically. Felix didn’t even chase him for the device, the group silently agreeing that he needed this, knowing how upset he had been during the ordeal. Chalking it up to an omega thing.
Once you had caught your breath and you could hear your thoughts over your own heartbeat you realized just how scary it must have been for him too. To know exactly what you are going through and not being able to walk you through it because it would be better for you mentally to not have to deal with the others too. He told you as much as he poured his heart out, quietly asking you to forgive his hostility.
You nodded even though he couldn’t see it, telling him in your softest loving voice that it was okay. That you were okay and after talking with Felix the night before and seeing how deeply Seungmin himself had cared for you after only just meeting only solidified your resolve to see where things would take you.
All of you.
The two of them had visited you towards the end of that day, having run out of practice as soon as Minho decided to end it early. They brought you food and Seungmin started walking you through some of the omega basics.
“The hormone blockers will only work so well. It’s not really the healthiest option especially if you have a mate to ride out a heat with.” Seungmin was the blunt type, you had quickly noticed. “I understand wanting to take things slow, but really, the quickest way to get over a heat is to sleep with a mate.”
He seemed confident, just telling you like it is, but his red ears betrayed him. Even Felix’s face began to flush at the thought.
Not you though, you expected this much. It’s just how it is. Even taught in schools that mates had it in their very DNA to know just how to take care of one another, during their partner’s heat or rut they could balance them out and make it easier. You wouldn’t be used to having mates for a while yet, let alone having them work you through something like a heat.
Ever since you were little you insisted on staying as independent as possible. Choosing to be the kind of person who helps others rather than asking for it yourself.
You were the firstborn. The oldest. A natural leader and a loner, sometimes it was easier to suffer through a thing than get bad help for it. It wasn’t some isolating sad thing, it's just how you preferred things. It’s just easier to take things in on your own than having to rely on someone else to get the job done for you. At least, that’s how you felt.
“Can’t I just wait it out? How do omega’s without mate’s deal with their heats?”
You knew that things could be different now. With eight mates there would be no gaps in logic or understanding. You had eight different people you could depend on in more ways than one but you still hadn’t met them all.
Still didn’t know how well you could trust the ones you did. I
t had only been a day after all, they were still strangers. There was no way you’d learn to depend on them so quickly.
“It takes about two months to see the real effects of suppressors. So those pills I gave you should be good for calming you down for a while but they wear off pretty quickly. After another cycle or two you won’t have any problems. Most omega’s start those when they’re kids. You get to skip a week of school once every month for a few months and then they don’t worry about it anymore because it’s finally set in. I don’t know how an omega would get through it otherwise.
“I suppose you could wait it out. But you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere while you’re in heat and you’ll be very uncomfortable without someone to take care of you.”
You had understood perfectly, decided then and there that it was your only option. You already had to deal with a period once a month so a little discomfort from a heat would be nothing.
Days later now and you felt just as you did on the first day, a little flushed maybe but fine otherwise. Just unable to control your pheromones. Seemingly endless.
The two of them had visited a time or two over the weekend, checking in, bringing you take out, and leaving before your scent could do more than make their mouths water. And they texted you lots. Together and on their own. Both eager to learn more about you, longing to see you again, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were feeling the same.
Nerves still nipped at your confidence but you wanted to get to know them and see what being a part of their lives would be like. To see what the others were like too. To see how you would fit into their dynamics and what it would be like having so many partners.
You’d done some research since meeting them. How mating bonds worked and why they attached in the first place. What did it mean to be someone’s mate? What responsibilities would you have to that person, or in your case, people?
The answers were many and few.
Mates came in all kinds and shapes and forms. Some bonds appeared platonically, others were purely sexual, for those who had fated matches there was no telling what kind of relationship your mate would be found for. Simply a unity between souls.
So while you laid back on the couch, enjoying the way the sun beams bounced off your pheromones, enjoying the breeze that tickled your exposed skin, enjoying being able to lounge in nothing but panties and a tank top, you were getting excited for your lunch date with your mates and slowly losing the ability to hold it all in.
>>---<3---->
The boys were beginning to grow impatient.
Minho especially so. He had terrorized everyone the entire weekend.
On Friday, he had been nothing less than a drill sergeant. Barking orders and issuing punishments for small mistakes.
The rest of Stray Kids endured. They tried not to let his bad mood weigh on them too much. They knew what he was probably going through mentally, from the hurt and betrayal to the suffocating call of his instincts to track you down and find some way to help.
They all wanted to help, but they knew better and continued on with practice anyway.
They were startled to find Minho so distraught on the steps that morning. His eyes still looked past them, in the distance at someone who wasn’t there anymore. Han held him by the shoulders as he huffed with a new fire in his eyes.
Seungmin had hid away in his shower while Felix explained the situation after pulling them inside. Even after Seungmin came out and apologized, Minho fumed. Grinding his teeth and poking his cheek with his tongue. His glare never faltered.
He accepted the apology. He understood why. He did. It didn’t calm his screaming mind. Didn’t make him any less anxious to be by your side. To make sure you were okay, even though Seungmin and Felix told him time and again that you were, he needed to see for himself.
In the few seconds that he had seen you, he could see the stutter in your step, the fear that bloomed on your face as vanilla filled the air, and the surprise of being pulled back. And then, you had jumped out a window and ran, rather than face him, and though he knew it wasn’t, it felt personal. In that moment his instincts roared at him to go after you. Subconsciously, he feared he would never see you again.
No one had told him of your lunch date. Completely forgot to mention you would be joining them. Perhaps if they did his mood might have changed over the rest of their weekend.
He had stayed glued to the couch for most of it, only leaving for bed or to use the bathroom.
Changbin and Jeongin joined Minho on the couch, both scrolling through their subscriptions on the t.v. (for too long) in search of something to pass the time, only to fidget on their phones when they finally found something. Not even their socials could keep them distracted. Their feet tapped against the floor and hearts hammered in their chests. Minho only stared into the distance, ignoring the antics of his mates and not even questioning their impatience.
Hyunjin tried painting. But the paint on his palette remained untouched as he stared at the canvas.
He wondered what you would look like. How you would smell when you were calm and at his side. Unlike the others, he only got to see your shadow wiz past, having still been getting out of the car himself. The form of his muse was unknown, her name was all he had, and nothing solid was coming to him. He couldn’t get anything out onto the blank surface.
Chan had woken up much earlier than he meant to. Knowing he would just be anxiously waiting for time to pass once he was up, he set his alarm for the closest time possible that would allow for him to get ready before walking out the door.. Yet, he woke hours before his alarm. Wide awake.
This never happened to him. Normally he could just turn over and find sleep again but it avoided him now. So he laid there for a while, hoping it would come back around anyway.
Restlessness took over soon enough, sending him padding around the house to check in on everyone. He made sure the house was clean and that everyone else was ready and went over the things they’d all need to be mindful of once they met you. Things like suppressing their pheromones in case it made you react badly, which had been Seungmin’s biggest concern, and not saying anything about being idols.
It was more of a suggestion coming from their leader. They all would have to tell you sooner or later but for now you needed to earn their trust just as much as they needed to earn yours. Though, the company would probably have more things to say about it than they did. Their excitement was so electric that even that wasn’t a guarantee.
Jisung had been the only normal one. Going to the gym in the morning. Sitting on the couch with his mates for a bit after, seeking cuddles and attention. Checking in on Chan when he hadn’t seen him back out of his room in a while.
He was excited. But he didn’t feel impatient as the others did. He knew he was going to love you. You were his mate. Their mate. You would fit in just fine. You would be beautiful just as they all were, and kind, and the perfect piece to their puzzle. He hoped that you were happy and healthy and that you could make up for what he and the others lacked. That was all.
For now, he was willing to wait.
As for Felix and Seungmin… You got to host them at Kangdae’s for the final hour until lunch. They had come to the apartment of their own volition. Offering to help you get ready and prepare to go out in public.
By now you were already dressed. No longer in your home alone ensemble.
The dress you wore was green. A color you didn’t wear so often but after getting a professional color analysis during your first time in Korea you liked it a lot more. Knowing now what shades washed you out and what made you feel pretty. Confident. The straps were thin and tight at your shoulders, the hem ending halfway down your thigh.
You painted your nails the night before, shaved your legs, and slept with curlers in your hair. You put on your best makeup and smiled in the mirror.
You hadn’t been trying before, found by accident and spontaneously met again late that same night. Discovered on their couch the next morning in sweats and wild hair.
You wanted to impress them. And now, with the lunch date, you had an excuse to try.
When you opened the door for them Felix was quick to compliment you, his smile shining bright. “Wow.” He gasped, eyes wide as he took all of you in. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you,” you smiled sweetly.
Seungmin nodded, unable to look you in the eye. “What he said.” And he passed you, tone quiet and stale. You watched as he welcomed himself in and looked back at Felix for answers.
“You’re so pretty you’re making him all shy. If you smile and call him by his name he might combust.” Felix whispered in your ear.
You giggled, looking back at your fellow omega.
He was already sitting on the couch, his legs crossed in front of him, eyes already closed, his face pinched. Before you could open your mouth he held up an accusatory finger. “Don’t.”
You sighed with a smile, stepping aside to let Felix in before sitting at Seungmin’s side.
You took a suppressor when you had first woken up, determined to hide your heat for your first introductions. It made it easier on the boys. When they came in they didn’t say anything about the smell or how they wouldn’t be able to come in. You left the windows open the whole day so the place could air out and now that the suppressor was working they didn’t need to worry about the place filling up with it again.
You took another when Seungmin told you to. Hoping up from your spot in an instant, downing the thing and making your way back to the couch, asking if they wanted anything to drink before you did. They didn’t but Seungmin pressed on, telling you just how the supressors worked, and how to ensure your pheromones wouldn’t start back up again mid meal.
Together you practiced breathing control and meditation. It was odd at first. Something new with someone new. He said it would help you learn to control your pheromones.
Felix joined in. Sitting cross legged on the floor across from the two of you, admiring your patience and effort. No matter how many times Seungmin corrected your posture or did that thing where he exaggerated something to make fun of a person, you just nodded, trying again.
And after a little while you didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Not about the pheromones or meeting everyone, you felt so good you couldn’t even imagine the mating bonds snapping you out of your high.
The eight of them decided on Korean barbecue, you’d had it a time or two back home but you wanted the real Korean experience, eating good quality meat with a beer and friends to enjoy it with. And since you’d never had that experience, it was a no brainer that it was what you were going to do.
What you hadn’t expected however was the fancy place they had brought you to.
You expected something small, like a mom and pop shop with only one table big enough for the bunch of you, with another customer or two, but no.
The restaurant was huge.
It took up an entire floor of one of the many sky scrapers in the center of Gangnam. Classy black titles ran up the walls with mirrors going from floor to ceiling along one side, making up the walls of a private room in the back. The floors were marble as any fancy restaurant is and they sparkled to as shine as if they were just cleaned. Wooden chairs and bar stools took up every table, matching the accents along the trim and at the fancily carved frame of the bar.
It was popular. Known for their amazing beef and mystic atmosphere, and many idol sightings. JYP artists frequented the place. Stray Kids especially.
They sat in the back room, double sided mirrors silenced the chaos outside but allowed for them to see what it was like. Two doors sat at either side of the big room, one to the main lobby and the other along the back hallway where the kitchen and bathrooms were.
It made them feel a sense of normalcy. Like they weren’t world wide pop stars just trying to eat a nice lunch together. Like they were equally part of the chaos. And they were chaotic.
Minho still didn’t understand why they were here. He would have rather stayed home. But Chan patted his shoulder with a small smile, urging him to cheer up.
The table on its own had to have been a hundred thousand dollars. It was small things like that, that could bring them back to reality. That they were in fact not out in the open like all the other groups in the main lobby were, but instead in the fancy private room, with the giant antler chandelier and resin coated slab of a giant tree, probably divided amongst the other fancy rooms of the small restaurant chain.
Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung sat on one side, a seat open between the oldest of them and to Jisung’s left. And Jeongin sat on the other next to Chan with an open seat at his right, hoping it would soon be taken by you.
They all tried to talk. Their conversations, usually so natural, felt awkward and heavy. Fingers tapped along thighs and on the table, hands grasped for one another, for some sense of stability. It felt like their hearts were in their throats.
Jisung stayed watchful. He had been running to the door when you had opened it that day too long ago. He had seen the color of your hair, the silhouette of your side profile. He had smelled the fading scent of vanilla as the door slammed. He didn’t get to fully see your face, or hear your voice without the muffling caused by the door.
But he knew what to look for, his eyes trained on the host stand.
His breath hitched when he saw Felix and Seungmin, knowing them even under the masks they wore. He’d know those faces anywhere. Their clothes too.
Felix wore his normal jean shorts, and one of their band tee’s.
Han had to physically restrain himself from facepalming. How obvious could he be? Ah yes, there goes that freckled fellow that looks like that one guy from, oh yeah that band that’s on his shirt, ‘Stray Kids.’
Seungmin was at least a little more subtle. Wearing shorts and a sweater that he wore less than a week ago on his most recent V Live. Stays had filled the comments with their adoration and confusion as to why he was wearing a sweater in the middle of summer. Surely someone could notice him. Especially with the walking advertisement beside him.
As they got closer, escorted by Yoonah, a hostess sworn to secrecy, their regular waitress, he could see the beginnings of the top of your head. And then your hands as they wrapped around their biceps, tugging them apart and pushing yourself between them.
Han didn’t know if he was breathing anymore. Silently he tapped against Hyunjin’s side, asking if he was seeing the same thing.
You were gorgeous. The cutest thing in that little green dress with your hair styled so perfectly. He would have thought you an idol as well.
When you looked up at your companions, hands holding their arms close to you, a question, a statement, something came from your lips and Jisung could only think, ‘I wish that was me right now.’
Yoonah pulled open the door, bowing as she gestured you inside, and the boys found themselves behind you now, letting you in first. You had thanked her with a big smile, bowing back a bit as you made your way inside.
The room stopped. Everyone looked up at you, a new shake in their hands as they took you in.
“Hello.” You swallowed, your own heart picking up the pace, your smile falling to something smaller. Shyness taking over. “I’m L/N Y/N. It’s nice to meet you all.”
Behind you Felix pat your back in reassurance. Tracing circles there that were slowly becoming your favorite thing. “That was good.” He whispered. “Just go sit wherever you want. They need a minute to come back to Earth.”
You sparred a second to glance at him over your shoulder, looking back at the table only long enough to see what spots were open before your eyes went back to the floor, the walls, anywhere but at them.
A spot on one of the ends looked like the safest. You could stay on the edge and find your bearings, it would be easier to listen to the conversation than have to lead it. Though before you could make it, the seat you aimed for was taken.
Seungmin plopping down beside Han before you even had the chance.
There was another corner seat by Minho. You remembered him from that morning. You could feel the tug of a bond already set between you.
You remembered the yelling and his fist wrapping on the door. One look at his neatly folded hands in front of him told you it was enough to hurt. His knuckles were covered in red bruises.
You couldn’t tell what he felt now. His eyebrows scrunched together in a way that made you worry you already upset him enough to dislike you by running away that day.
But he knew as well as you did how hard it was not to open that door. You had instincts in one ear and logic in the other. He wouldn’t hold it against you, though you didn’t know that yet.
There was another corner seat by Jeongin. It was further from Minho which was space you kind of wanted right now but he’d already caught you looking. You were feeling shy, nerves coming back faster than you expected, but you weren’t scared enough to be so openly rude.
Instead you found the seat diagonal from him.
You could tell, even through his long sleeved shirt, that the guy next to you was well built. His broad and sturdy shoulders gave him away. You placed your hand there as you sat, you didn't mean to, didn’t even realize you had, pulling your hand away to push yourself in. It made him snap out of his staring, though, that didn’t stop the pounding in his chest. Your embarrassment deepened when you realized, but he didn’t mind. He just wished that you would look at him.
To your left was a taller guy, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans like many of the others. With his build you wondered if he was into running or dancing or swimming. His hair long and half in his face, staring off into space like he’d just seen an angel.
You wondered if they each acted like this when they had all met for the first time.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” You were shocked to hear more English, looking up from your lap to the man in front of you. He was the only other person who dared to wear sleeves, a black jacket, over a wifebeater. His smile was vibrant, small dimples poked at his cheeks, his shining eyes turning to crescents. “I’m Chris.”
For the first time, the dizziness you felt was a welcome feeling. The waves of the mating bond locking into place made your head spin. This time you reminded yourself to breathe, coping with the exercises you’d practiced earlier.
As you came back down from the effects Chris did too, everyone's gaze shot back and forth between the two of you before the bunch of them began shouting out their names in introduction, vying for your attention, hungry for that bond with you as well.
“You don’t want to make her pass out do you?” Minho said, his tone serious and quiet. Under all of the ruckus they had all heard him, felt the dark caress of his pheromones pull them back to peace, and settled back into their seats.
He was right, you had the entire day to bond with each of them. If they all made it click too quickly it might become too much all together.
“I’m Lee Minho. We met briefly back at Seunglix’s place.”
Seunglix? You thought, laughing internally. Of course they have couples names. How cute!
“I remember.” You struggled to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry for how things went that day. I-.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” He said, tilting his head. A smile grew where a frown once lay. His intimidating aura turned into something sweet. “I know things were tense that day but it was worth the wait to meet you officially. Here and now.”
“Yeah, you passed us by so quickly that day we didn’t even get to really see what you looked like. We were all still in our pj’s. It’s nice that we all get this chance to meet you looking our best.” You turned to the guy at your left.
“I’m Hyunjin.” He introduced himself with a wave, a cheeky smile lighting up his face.
And again you felt the waves of bonding wash over you in time with your anxiously racing heart.
You let out a sigh, closing your eyes to reel yourself in.
The boys let you, keeping silent as you worked through the effects. Though some of them had half the mind to yell at their mate for the unfairness.
Hyunjin bounced back almost instantly, looking over at the other bonded members, his heart finally full. They all understood, nodding along.
“Same.” Your eyes remained closed, your head tilting down to hide the smile on your own face. “I was a mess that morning. So I’m glad I could dress up for this.”
“You look beautiful Noona.”
Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes turned to stars. Looking up towards the new voice almost instantly.
No one had ever called you that before. Mostly because you didn’t have any younger Korean friends. But you loved it.
“Thank you..?”
“Jeongin.” He said quickly. “Yang Jeongin. Or I.N. whatever is easier for you, Noona.”
You nodded, a small bit of confidence returning to your grin.
“Well actually-.” Seungmin began, stopping himself at the sight of your glare. He could feel the holes being burned into the side of his head.
Felix leaned against the maknae, stifling his laugh into the younger man’s shoulder. The only other person to notice your warning.
You were the youngest of the group. A year and some few months later than Jeongin, Felix had told you on your way over while going over some things about each of your mates.
“Thank you, Jeongin.”
His ears went red under your gaze, dimples on full display as he tried to stifle his smile.
“So, Noona,” Seungmin mocked, dragging out each syllable. You soaked it up anyway, a sugary sweet smile warming your pink cheeks. The others couldn’t see the silent words that floated between you, though knowing Seungmin, something had to be going on under the surface. “Care to guess who our betas are, oh great beta detector?”
“Beta detector?” Chan asked, his smile going flat, chin dipping in as his brows raised. Holding in a laugh.
“You’re an omega though.” Changbin noted, leaning forward against the table.
You ignored them, focusing on Seungmin’s taunting. “I haven’t even matched names to faces yet.”
“You don’t need to know their names to know if they’re a beta or not do you?” You were beginning to realize he was nothing but trouble. “Y/N here was born and raised by betas so she thinks she can pick em out.”
“Oh, really?”Hyunjin said, resting his cheek on his fist, elbows propped up against the table, blocking your view of Seungmin. Your playful banter now screeched to a halt, interrupted by a new challenge.
One by one the others leaned in so you could scan their faces. You took in their sitting heights, builds, and watched their expressions closely.
These were your mates, probably your most important guesses yet. But probably the easiest guess to date.
Just as you were going to open your mouth the back door opened, Yoonah walked in with a polite nod of her head, customer service smile wide, and her voice cheery despite the likely hectic day she was having. One look through the doublesided glass told you that much. You’d only been seated for, what, ten- fifteen minutes, and somehow, if it was even possible, it had gotten busier.
There was barely an empty space outside. With the door propped open you could finally hear the cacophony of conversations, clinking glasses, and sizzling of grills.
The waitress seemed unphased, greeting everyone again as she moved to turn on the two griddles in the center of each half of the table, a tray of water glasses balanced on her shoulder. It was then that you realized you hadn’t had a second to even look at the menu.
The room lightened a bit, any tenseness from your challenge faded as everyone began placing their orders. Well, more like shouted out what they wanted.
After Yoonah had gone around the table with the waters she pulled out her tablet and was quick to press its buttons as Chan had started, ordering a plethora of things that seemed to be within their usual order before Jeongin and Jisung shouted out a thing or two, Seungmin mentioning veggies, and Hyunjin asking for an extra side of japchae.
You didn’t see a menu anywhere. Not on the table or on the wall, even out at the front desk there weren’t any booklets or signs. So instead you searched for your safe person, who had been the most attentive during all of this.
Felix was already looking at you, ‘What do you like?’ he mouthed the words and over all the noise it took you a second to understand. With a raised brow, both in question and answer, you replied. He nodded, winked back at you, then shouted out when he had a turn, ordering for the both of you.
Yoonah left with a promise of bringing the food out shortly and you worried if they had ordered too much. Wouldn’t they get tired of grilling it all?
“This group is a bit beta heavy, no?” Returning to your conversation.
You had enraptured their attention once again, smirks popping onto many faces, all of which were betas. This was your trick, the easiest way to tell.
Starting from Hyunjin at your left you pointed around the table. “You look like an alpha but you’re a beta.” His smirk dropped in an instant.
“Beta.” To Jisung, whose name you still hadn’t caught just yet.
Then to Seungmin with a roll of your eyes. “Omega.” You didn’t give him a second to interrupt, knowing he would out you for your earlier mistake back at his place. Though looking at him now, he didn’t even really look like a beta or an omega, it was surprising how both physically and personality wise he gave off an alpha vibe.
Felix sat across from him, forgetting he had already told you that first day, it was one of the first things you’d learned about him. “Beta.”
Then your finger skimmed over the rest of the table, unsure of the three across from you, stopping at Changbin who still leaned forward in his seat. His elbows rested on the table, his hands folded, holding his head up at his temple. The way he looked down at you made you feel small. The smirk across his face sent butterflies to your stomach before you could feel your heartbeat in your brain. The world thumped along with you as another bond clicked into place.
“Beta.”
Changbin sucked in a breath and let out a sigh, “Wow.” He shook his head, clearing the haze. “Ah, how did you know? Everyone always says that my muscles make me look like an alpha.”
“It’s not muscles that define alphas Changbin.”
“Damn right it isn’t.” He shouted, standing up fast enough to make his chair rattle behind him. “Cause if it was we all know who’d be number one around here.”
He broke out in a show of flex poses, knowing full well no one could see what he was talking about under his baggy clothes. Though you supposed the others probably had a better idea than you did at the moment.
Everyone in the room began laughing, even you, especially as his poses became progressively more ridiculous.
These moments were the ones he lived for, to bring his mates to tears though laughter. Only now, you were here too, completing his perfect picture. His heart skipped a beat as he understood just what it meant to feel complete.
As they all calmed back down and Changbin sat back in his seat, the mystery trio creeped closer, chins in their palms as they asked what you thought they were. “What about us?”
“Care to guess?”
You were startled. Their expressions were exactly the same. Your tactic to pick out the betas becomes your downfall when guessing for the other genders.
You studied them closely, pinching your eyes to a squint as you thought about it, wondering if they caught on to that last little trick.
Four beta’s, two omega’s (including yourself), and three alpha’s? It almost felt like a trick. Especially since minutes before you would’ve thought Hyunjin was an alpha too. And Felix was a beta with an omega’s persona. You wondered if maybe it was similar for these three as well. They all looked like alphas. And Minho’s reaction back at the house had to be one of those big bad territorial alpha things Seungmin had mentioned before.
“I really don’t know.” You said finally, shrugging your shoulders and leaning back into your chair. “You guys are all so small and cute though, so perhaps you’re omegas like me!”
You were only teasing. Half expecting them to laugh and shake it off, but instead they gaped at you. A simultaneous “Huh?” flowing from the three.
Around you, everyone seemed to catch a bubble, grins going wide enough to burn while they did their best not to give in and laugh in their mates faces. It would only make it worse for you. But it had been so smooth. And they really dug the hole themselves. If you were this quick to start teasing them, there was no doubt you’d fit right in.
“You know Y/N,” Hyunjin said, putting a hand on your shoulder. “These three are the real deal.”
And there Changbin was at your other shoulder, “Yeah, don’t let their height fool you.”
Jisung had flopped forward against the table, smiling wide and hand hitting its surface, fueling the others' own laughter. There was no stopping it now.
The alpha’s sighed, rolling their eyes at all the taunting. Choosing to smile along until the food would arrive.
If they were any younger they may have been offended. Things like that just bothered them back in the day. Maybe it was an insecurity, something that made them feel like less of an alpha especially when their peers just loved to point out their loss in inches. But now they knew who they were. Felt more comfortable in their own skin. But without it they may not have been the perfect size for their mates. Mates who didn’t see things like that until later, mates loved and respected them, even through their teasing.
The food came soon after, filling the table. And for the first time talking quieted as they moved things around and began grilling. Chan and Minho had taken to caring for one of the grills while Hyunjin and Jisung watched the other. Changbin ordered the dishes into what should be cooked first and Felix copied him on the other side. Seungmin began picking through the veggies and sides, making sure everyone could reach them and had at least one on their plates. Jeongin was already sneaking pieces of cooked meat into his mouth, pretending to do nothing but watch.
It was nice. The food was delicious, and outside of conversation you could see how well they all worked together, catching small comments and observations from them. Taking it all in.
You waited until everyone had taken a bite before diving in yourself. The grill masters kept track of what they made and who still needed some, and some of the others reached over to shove things onto your plate.
Maybe they thought you would be too shy to grab it yourself, or nervous to try something new. So they gave you all of the best pieces. Letting you try all of their favorite things and hoping you’d like them too.
“So, how long you staying in Korea?” Minho asked in between bites.
“The plan was three months. Just a little summer vacation treat for myself before getting back to school.” Your answer was quick, smooth. It was all your travel visa could cover, though now, you didn’t know how that plan would change. Around the room heads nodded.
This time it was Jisung, whose name you’d only caught in conversation. He seemed very spirited though didn’t talk to you much yet. It surprised you that he was the one to ask, “Where are you staying again?”
“A friend of mine’s apartment, a few blocks away from Seunglix’s place.”
More nodding.
“I thought it was an AirBnB.” Felix said.
“Yeah, you’ve been alone every time we’re visited.” Seungmin chimed in.
You took another bite before answering. “He’s on a work trip right now, should be back in a few days.”
It was difficult to feign nonchalance. If they asked a bit more you’d have to lie. Like with your mother. Kangdae was an omega, you told her, just a friend. You didn’t want to lie to them. They didn’t know you well enough for you to tell them the truth so openly. Because how would they think of you if they found out? And how would they feel later if they found out you lied?
You prayed the conversation would move along.
“Does he know about your situation?”
You didn’t know what he meant.
“About presenting? You should make sure to tell him if you’re staying with him. It wouldn’t be a welcome surprise for most to find an omega friend in heat at your place.”
He didn’t know Kangdae. If your half of the deal put you there for sex then Kangdae would be overjoyed to find you so needy by the time he got back.
Though you didn’t intend on asking for his help anyway. You were going to swallow pills through your entire heat whether you liked it or not. They only lasted for a few days and you already decided to deal with it on your own. A little discomfort would be nothing.
You nodded anyway, in hopes of shutting him up. Digging back into your meal. Focused enough to miss the way the boys all exchanged glances.
They could sense you were leaving something out. Dodging an unasked question. And if something was making you uncomfortable they surely wouldn’t ask but that didn’t stop their concern or curiosity. It didn’t stop the pang of jealousy from knocking through their chests.
Another thing it was too soon for. Seungmin had said it before, about territorial alphas. Though when it came to their mates, any of them were fair game to jealousy. More than that, possessiveness. And they weren’t going to scare you away. They weren’t going to declare that they didn’t like that you were staying with someone they didn’t know because they still didn’t really know you.
“So how did you guys meet?”
Now it was their turn to fidget and rack their brains on how to avoid the obvious answer. Some just took another bite, leaving it to someone else.
“We all met around the same time.” Chan started. “We all work for the same company and met there in different areas. Once you find one, it’s kind of hard to stop the domino effect. So it was confusing for a long time why we hadn’t found you.”
“Felix told us that you never experienced the gap.” Changbin added.
“Up until this weekend I’d been missing out on lots of experiences.”
He softened. “It must’ve been hard.”
“Just a little lonely.”
“Well you’re not alone anymore.” Jeongin said immediately.
“You sound so sure.” You laughed, it sounded like a joke but they had caught the way your smile faltered when you thought they weren’t looking.
“We haven’t waited our entire lives to meet you just to leave you alone once we did.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“We know you want to take things slow and we will, but…”
“You already have a room at the house.” Minho said without looking up, another bite already on his lips.
A heavy hand found the back of his neck, both in surprise and a warning. “We’re not crazy.” Chan said through his clenched teeth, eyes wide in a half glare staring at Minho, looking up at you after getting his face back under control. Minho had been unphased, chowing down like he hadn’t just said something he shouldn’t have. “For us, things moved quickly. We worked together, and soon the company had set us up with a place, and we all clicked. There was a time when things were awkward and new but things were also quick and automatic. And the house we bought was an impulse thing between us… that just so happens to have an extra room that’s been set aside for you…” He seemed to shrink the longer he spoke. Embarrassment evident on his reddened face.
Your hands in your lap and face flushing just like Chan’s.
“We’re all men so it made something like that easy.” Jisung nodded in thought. “Being a late bloomer is already kind of scary enough as it is but being the only woman in a bond with eight guys? I think it would be natural for you to want to take things at this pace. Maybe most couples do. So none of us think less of you for it, it’s just new to us.
“There are some things that I think will come naturally with time, but already we are yours as much as we are each others. You are one of us, and nothing could ever stop us from being there for you one way or another.”
“We’re one hundred percent certain, you’re not alone anymore.”
You didn’t know when the tears had begun to fall. You didn’t think some small speech like that would ever make you cry. But here you were, your heart warm, surrounded by mates that already cared for you more deeply than you could comprehend just yet, with tears falling down your face.
“Hey!” Changbin said when he noticed.
The others peered closer, and you hurried to wipe the fallen tears with the back of your hand, your lip wobbling with your attempt to smile. “That was sweet.”
And as if he had read your mind, Changbin leaned closer, “Can I hug you?” You huffed a laugh, leaning into his warm embrace.
“Hey! Me too.” Hyunjin yelled. Your grin only grew as you extended your open arm, welcoming him into it.
“And me.” Felix said, jumping up and making his way to your huddle.
Like it was a game, they all joined the hug. A cocoon just for you. And they laughed, squeezing in close and wobbling to stay balanced.
The rest of lunch was less tense. Easing into getting to know each other. Simple things like where you grew up and what you did as a hobby.
They were surprised to hear you enjoyed dancing, even more so when you told them about the classes you were taking at 1 Million Dance Studio. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix all perked up, asking to join you sometime. And you nodded happily, excited to show off and spend more time with them.
When it was time to go, the meal was over and paid for, Seungmin was quick to grab your hand as you walked out. It was the first time you had expressed real skinship with any of them but it wasn’t unwelcome. Hesitantly you held his hand back, shyly peeking up at his face. “You doing okay?” He whispered. “Not feeling too overwhelmed?”
You gave his hand a squeeze. Pulling him along, the two of you leading the pack. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Well, the others were thinking it might be fun to go back to our place and watch a movie, if you want to join us..?”
Your heart flipped, the sadness of lunch ending left you. Your day with them didn’t have to end yet. You nodded quickly, another smile pulling at your face. “Can I?” and he smiled back. Admiring your trust and excitement. Ecstatic that you wanted to spend more time with them.
“Of course. But you have to take another suppressor, the one you had earlier is going to start wearing off soon so unless you changed your mind about what we talked about earlier…”
“I left the bottle in the car, so I’ll just take one when we get back!”
Hearts melted in your guy’s wake. The others smitten with their cute omegas who already seemed so close. They noted the banter at the start of lunch and snickered at Seungmin’s babying of you, loving how despite usually being so reserved he was quick to find your hand.
In part they wondered if he was just excited to not be the only omega anymore or if it was because you were a woman. The others didn’t have much experience in dating before meeting one another. Seungmin on the other hand had exclusively dated girls before finding them. Though without him saying so, they would’ve never known.
To Stay, Seungmin was a prankster. The member who mercilessly teased his bandmates and killed it on stage. He was all competition and smiles.
Behind closed doors, Seungmin was sweet. Quiet most of the time but still playful when he wanted to be. He paid close attention to the others' interests, kept a close eye on their current favorite things, and was always the first person to initiate a cuddle session. Intimate only one on one, treating them like it was the most natural thing in the world, even in the beginning.
He could be rough around the edges, especially so openly, but already with you he was soft. Attentive and adoring. And it made the rest of them melt at the sight.
: ̗̀➛ synopsis: you’ve trained with felix forever. but when the national showcase spot comes down to a match between you two, he refuses to spar. you can’t help but think he’s underestimating you.
pairing: ~11k words, taekwondo au, non-idol!felix x fem!reader, best friends 2 lovers
warnings: this fic deals with sensitive topics! fluff, angst, attack scene, violence + physical assault, mentions of blood + injury, profanity, mentions of sexism, first kiss and confession
smut warnings: descriptive sex scene, dirty talk, oral (fem! receiving), praise kink, soft dom!felix, inexperienced!reader, corruption kink, unprotected sex, creampie, no minors. pls consume responsibly 💌
you’ve known felix since before he could tie his own belt.
before he even had a belt, actually. back when his dobok was two sizes too big and he tripped over the pant legs during warm-ups. back when he had a baby lisp and freckles.
by the time you’d figured out how to break a board clean down the middle, he still hesitated before every stomp, wincing like the wood might fight back.
when you earned your yellow belts, you both bragged to anyone who would listen. even your moms, even though they were the ones sewing your name tags onto the belts the night before.
when you got your blue belt, he high-fived you so hard your palm stung. he was starting to get faster by then. taller, too. his kicks had rhythm, and his eyes stayed locked on his targets like he actually meant business.
by red belt, you were the unofficial captains of your respective brackets. everyone at the academy knew who you were—the dynamic duo, the two best students who never got to fight each other.
because boys and girls didn’t spar together. at least, not officially.
so instead, you cheered for each other from the sidelines. when he won, he looked for you first. when you won, he was already on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth, screaming your name like it was the final bell at the olympics.
and you love him.
you’re not sure when it happened, only that it did. somewhere between his first growth spurt and the day he started tying his belt without asking for help. somewhere in the million hours you’ve spent beside him, laughing at his jokes, rolling your eyes when he winked at you after a clean landing, pretending your heart wasn’t pounding.
but you’ve never dared to say anything.
because as close as you are, as easy as it is to be next to him, you don’t know if he’s ever looked at you and seen more than just you. his best friend. the girl that was like family to him.
and that was your normal.
after training hours, the gym was mostly empty, lights buzzing overhead. most students had gone home, lockers clanged shut. the floor was quiet, eerily so. you were toweling off, expecting to head out like always.
felix was beside you, lacing up his shoes. his locks were damp from sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his white t-shirt was clinging to his back where his chest protector had been. he looked just as exhausted as you felt, but in that floaty way he always did after training. meanwhile, your limbs felt like noodles, and your ankle still throbbed from that one unlucky pivot during drills.
“let’s get out of here,” you muttered, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “my legs are literally going to give out in the middle of the crosswalk.”
felix glanced over with a tired smile. “want me to carry you?”
you rolled your eyes, bumping his arm lightly. “not unless you wanna get kicked in the shin.”
“guess you’ve still got some energy, then.”
you let out a breathy laugh. this was the part of the day you always looked forward to, just you and felix, winding down, teasing each other, walking home under streetlights like nothing outside the dojang existed. you’d already turned halfway toward the doors when you heard it:
“y/n. felix.”
your heads turned at the same time.
your coach stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed, that sharp look on his face. the kind you and felix both knew too well. he always had it on when something serious was about to drop.
you straightened instinctively. felix rose from the bench, blinking in surprise.
“over here.”
you exchanged a quick look before stepping forward together. your body ached, and your brain was already half in the shower, but something about his tone snapped you back to focus.
felix followed without hesitation, shoes squeaking faintly on the polished floor. he stood just to your right, where he always stood.
the coach began. “the national showcase is restructuring this year. there’s a new format which means one representative per academy. one. that’s it.”
you blinked.
“it’s mixed gender. they’re making it a headline match. top student from each school, regardless of gender.”
you swallowed, hard.
“i’ve narrowed it down to you two,” he continued. “it’s obvious. you’re the strongest candidates.”
you didn’t mean to feel surprised—but you did. you’d always known you were good. competitive. consistent. but felix was… felix. stronger. faster. a cleaner record. everyone said it. you’d said it, even.
your coach glanced at you, his expression suddenly a little sharper, like he could read your thoughts.
“and before you start thinking it should automatically be him,” he added, “don’t.”
you blinked again.
“you’re both black belts,” he said simply. “both leaders in this academy. you’ve trained just as long. and frankly?” his eyes met yours. “it would be damn good for people to see a girl out there. especially at a showcase like this. i’ve seen how the crowd reacts. half of them still think this sport belongs to the boys. i’d like to shut them up.”
a flush crawled up your neck.
you felt your chest lift slightly, adrenaline rushing through your veins again despite the fatigue.
“so i need to see you spar,” he said.
your stomach dropped.
felix’s head turned toward him slowly. “sir…?”
the coach clarified. “doesn’t need to be long. maybe a few rounds. show me who’s sharper right now. whoever proves it gets the spot.”
you nodded, already adjusting your grip on your bag. “yes, sir.”
you were tired, sure, but this was the moment. you weren’t going to say no to this.
coach waved a hand. “get changed.”
you turned, already opening your bag when felix’s voice cut through the air:
“we’ve just had a long day.”
you stopped moving.
coach blinked. “what?”
felix didn’t raise his voice. he never did. but there was slight bite to his words. “we’ve been at it all evening. we’re not going to give our best right now. i think we should wait.”
you straightened slowly, hand frozen at the zipper.
“tomorrow, then?” coach asked, tone stiff.
there was a pause. too long of one.
felix’s throat worked. “i… don’t think that’s a good idea either.”
silence.
you turned your head toward him like you hadn’t heard him right. “you don’t want to spar for the spot? at all?”
the coach’s expression darkened. “this isn’t optional.”
“i know,” felix said quickly. “i’m not refusing training. i just… i’d rather not do this particular match.”
the coach stepped forward slightly, voice calm but commanding now. “is this personal, lee felix?”
felix bowed his head. “no, sir. it’s not.”
“then what is it?”
he hesitated. “i’m sorry.”
that was it.
no explanation. no excuse. no real answer.
the coach stared him down for a moment, visibly irritated now. “we don’t withhold effort when we’re tired. we don’t back out of challenges we’re prepared for. you know that.”
felix kept his head down. you gave felix a look—sharp. say something, your eyes seemed to ask.
but he didn’t. he stared at the floor like it might open up and swallow him.
coach let out a tight breath through his nose. “lee felix, i’ve never had to ask you twice. you’ve trained through sprains, migraines, stomach bugs—and now you’re telling me you can’t manage five minutes with the student who’s been your equal since day one?”
felix didn’t move.
your coach’s voice cooled. “maybe i should stop wasting time. if she’s ready, and you’re not, then maybe the decision’s already made.”
you straightened, taken aback.
he was serious.
your heart jumped—because the spot was right there, within reach.
but it felt… wrong. like someone handing you a gold medal after you’d tripped halfway through the race.
you took a step forward. “sir, i’d prefer if this was fair,” you said quietly, tightly. “i don’t want the slot just because he won’t step in. i’m willing to do the match right now.”
the coach looked between the two of you. “it’s no good if only one of you is. i’ll find another way to make the call.”
he turned and walked off, footsteps sharp on the mats.
you were left standing beside felix, still gripping your duffel, heart pounding—not from nerves, but from frustration. from how fast he’d shut it down. from the fact that he hadn’t even looked at you.
you turned to him. “what was that?”
he didn’t answer.
“felix.”
still nothing.
so you pushed him.
not hard—but enough to make his shoulder swing back. enough to demand a reaction.
“what the hell is going on with you?” you asked, voice low and furious. “you could’ve at least tried. you didn’t even try.”
his mouth opened, then closed. he looked away. and that’s when the edge of your anger faltered—just a little. because he looked off. not tired. not pissed. just… like something inside him had short-circuited.
“are you sick?” you asked, eyes narrowing. “did you pull something? what’s going on?”
he shook his head slowly. “no.”
“then what is it?” your voice dropped, a thread of confusion laced through your frustration now. “you never talk back to the coach. so why now?”
“i couldn’t make him do something i didn’t want to do,” felix said, voice low but steady.
you blinked, hard. “i thought you’d take it,” you went on, the words coming faster now, all the confusion folding in on itself. “haven’t we always talked about this? since we were kids? that one day we’d face off for real? no bracket rules, no holding back?”
silence.
“and now we get that chance, and suddenly you’re… what, backing out because you don’t feel like it?”
his head finally lifted.
and this time, when he met your gaze, there was something fractured in his eyes. something like guilt.
“that’s the problem,” he said.
you blinked. “what?”
he exhaled, like the words were fighting their way out.
“that’s the problem, y/n. i can’t go against you.”
your breath caught.
he didn’t say it like a choice. he said it like a confession. like it physically hurt to even consider it.
you blinked. “what—what do you mean you can’t?”
“i mean i can’t step onto that mat and treat you like—like just another opponent.”
you stared at him, stunned. “so… what, you think i’m too soft? too weak? you think you’ll hurt me?”
he went silent. just stood there, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
that was louder than any answer he could’ve given you.
you stepped back, chest tightening.
you’d always known people would see you that way. you’d heard it from opponents. from judges. from random boys at tournaments who asked if you needed help tightening your gear.
but you never thought felix would be one of them.
never thought he would look at you and see someone he couldn’t even be bothered to fight.
your mouth was dry. you could feel the heat crawling up your neck, the burn behind your eyes rising faster than you could blink it away.
“i can’t believe you,” you said, quietly at first.
felix’s brows drew together. “y/n—”
“no.” you shook your head, backing up another step.
“i wasn’t trying to make you feel—”
“like what?” you snapped. “ like i’m only strong when i’m not standing across from you?”
he winced.
and for a second, you hated that it still hurt to see that look on his face.
you reached down, fingers trembling slightly as you picked up your duffel, slinging it over your shoulder with more force than necessary.
“well,” you said, voice tight. “i hope you have a great time at the showcase.”
felix blinked, eyes narrowing.
“coach is going to end up picking you anyway. let’s not pretend this is still a decision.” he opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could say a word. “so thanks for at least giving me a chance,”
you turned on your heel, your shoes squeaking faintly on the mat.
“y/n—” he called, stepping after you. “wait—let me walk you home.”
you froze with your hand on the door. “right. because i can’t even handle the sidewalk alone now, right? because that’d be too dangerous for someone like me?”
“that’s not what i meant,” he said, quickly. “i just—”
“i’m fine, felix,” you bit out. “i’ve always been fine.”
you yanked the door open. it slammed against the wall with a heavy, echoing thud.
and then, without waiting for him to try again,
you walked out.
the door shut behind you with a hollow click.
the night air hit harder than you expected.
cooler than it was earlier. sharper, too.
you tightened your grip on your duffel strap and kept your head down, letting the fluorescent gym lights fade behind you. the quiet was jarring after hours of shouting, movement, sweat hitting the mats. now it was just your footsteps on concrete. just the sound of your breath, still not quite steady.
you walked fast. because you were mad.
mad at felix. mad at yourself. mad at the fact that you’d even thought today could end differently.
your ankle ached with each step, a dull throb from sparring earlier, but you didn’t slow down. you didn’t want to give yourself time to think. not yet.
the sidewalk curved near the intersection—past the convenience store, a shuttered nail salon, and a tiny karaoke bar squished between two office buildings. the place you’d passed a hundred times with felix. usually loud, full of students after school, music bleeding out through the door.
but tonight, it was nearly empty.
just one guy outside, leaning against the side wall with his hoodie pulled up, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.
you wouldn’t have looked twice, except—
he turned slightly when you passed. like he heard your footsteps and recognized them.
and then he said your name.
“y/n?”
you slowed instinctively, brows furrowing as you turned.
he looked familiar. familiar in the way a name itched at the back of your mind.
you squinted in the glow of the pink neon light overhead. “sorry, do i know—”
“minjae,” he said, giving you a small, unreadable smile. “you probably don’t remember me.”
but you did. sort of.
you’d seen him at the academy when you were younger. he was a bit bigger. older. one of those students who always kicked a little too hard. you didn’t know much about him—just that one day, he was gone.
no warning. no goodbye.
and no one talked about it.
you’d asked once, and someone said, “he had issues.” that was it. like the words were enough to shut the whole thing down. now he was standing three feet in front of you, hands in his pockets, watching you with a look that made your spine go stiff.
“didn’t think you’d be walking alone,” he said. “not after hours.”
“i’m not far,” you replied, trying to keep your voice casual. “i live close.”
he nodded like he already knew that.
“i can walk you,” he offered. “if that’s okay.”
you hesitated.
everything in your gut told you to say no. but something about the way he said it—like he expected you to agree, like he was giving you permission to feel safe—froze your voice in your throat.
“…sure,” you said. “if you want.”
you hated the way it sounded when it left your mouth.
he smiled again. the two of you fell into step. the night felt quieter than usual—like the world had ducked out early, leaving you behind.
“so you’re still with the academy?” he asked, his voice easy. too easy.
you nodded. “yeah. still training.”
“and felix?” he asked, his gaze flicking sideways.
you paused for half a breath. “he’s good.”
minjae hummed. “still coach’s favorite?”
you didn’t answer.
“thought so,” he muttered. “guess nothing’s changed.”
you tried to shift the conversation. “what about you? where do you train now?”
he didn’t answer right away.
then: “i don’t.”
you looked at him. “oh?”
“yea, your dojang was the last one i went to. i got kicked out,” he said. like he was proud of it.
your stomach tightened. you slowed slightly, just a step, but he matched your pace without missing a beat.
you forced a laugh. “really?”
“mhm. put some kid in a coma.”
your blood ran cold.
“he didn't tap out,” he said. “at least not fast enough. or maybe i couldn’t stop. it’s kind of a blur.”
you stopped walking.
he didn’t.
he took another slow step toward you, and when he noticed you’d fallen behind, he turned—still smiling.
“you didn’t hear that part, huh?” he said.
your legs felt rooted to the pavement, your breath shallow in your chest.
minjae tilted his head, hands still shoved casually in his hoodie pocket like you were just two old friends on a walk.
“i’ve seen you walk home, you know,” he murmured. “after training. you always think no one’s watching.”
your blood ran cold.
“but you’ve always got felix on your tail,” he added with a crooked grin.
your jaw clenched. “you’ve been watching us?”
he smiled wider. “not always. just… when it felt right.”
your fingers itched to move, to reach for your bag, your phone, something—but your feet still hadn’t moved. you didn’t want to provoke him. didn’t want to show fear. but your heart was thudding against your ribs so hard it felt like it might crack through.
“i mean, i get it,” he continued, ignoring you completely. “obviously, felix has to make sure no one gets too close, right? can’t have anyone messing up his little golden girl. not when he’s the only one who gets to keep you all polished up.” he mimicked the voice mockingly, then took another step toward you.
“i think you should back up,” you said, voice low but steady. at least, you hoped it sounded steady.
he let out a quiet laugh, like your warning actually amused him. then he took another step. and another. and before you could even fully shift your stance, his hand shot out and he slammed you back against the wall. your shoulder cracked hard against the brick, and before you could react, his hand came up, flat against your mouth.
it was fast. brutal.
the street behind you was quiet, the sidewalk barely lit. no one around. the alley between the buildings was narrow—tight enough that it felt like a trap. and he knew it.
panic flared sharp in your chest—but not enough to drown you.
because your body moved on instinct.
you brought your knee up hard, hitting groin, enough to make him grunt and lose balance for a second.
you twisted your wrist, yanking it free just enough to slip your hand up and drive your fist straight into the side of his face—knuckles connecting just beneath his eye.
he stumbled and swore.
you ducked, slipped out of the corner, and dropped your duffel bag in the same motion.
he came at you again.
no control. just pure aggression.
you blocked the first wild punch. dodged the second. landed a kick to his ribs—but he recovered too fast.
he lunged, grabbed the front of your jacket, and shoved you again. your head hit the wall this time,.
“bitch,” he spat, eyes dark, wild. “you think you can fight me? you think that fancy footwork means anything out here?”
you tried to move—tried to dodge—but he was heavier, and faster than you expected in that moment. all that training, all that discipline, and it still didn’t matter when someone was wild enough to throw everything out the window.
his other hand reached up, fumbling along the ledge just above your head.
you didn’t realize what he was grabbing for—until your eyes followed the motion.
there. a broken brick, half-buried in dust, tucked between chipped plaster and rusted railing. left behind from old construction.
his fingers curled around it.
and your blood ran cold.
you thrashed, feet scraping against the wall, heart slamming in your chest—but his arm reared back.
he swung.
and missed your head.
the brick slammed into your shoulder with a sickening sound, and your body jolted with the force of it. pain shot down your arm—sharp, white-hot, paralyzing for a second. you gasped, as you crumpled slightly, the impact stealing your breath.
debris rained down—bits of plaster and grit stinging your face.
“shit,” minjae muttered, stumbling slightly.
you barely had time to blink before his arm went up again.
but he didn’t get the chance.
because something ripped him off you.
he was yanked backward so hard, he stumbled—crashed into the opposite wall. and then fists.
fists everywhere.
not wild like minjae’s. not undisciplined. but brutal.
felix.
minjae tried to stagger upright, off-balance, swaying like alcohol was finally catching up. he barely got his hands up before felix spun—one fluid motion, clean and fast—and landed a roundhouse kick to the side of his face so hard it echoed down the alley.
minjae’s body dropped like dead weight—slammed to the pavement, dazed, bleeding, barely able to move.
but felix didn’t stop.
he grabbed the front of minjae’s hoodie, dragged him halfway up, and punched—a sickening thud of knuckles on bone.
“you’re mental,” felix spat, voice shaking with fury. “you’re absolutely fucking mental—what the hell is wrong with you?”
another hit.
“you psycho piece of shit—”
another.
minjae gasped something. a plea, maybe. slurred and broken. but felix didn’t hear it.
or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.
you pressed yourself against the wall, breath shallow, shoulder throbbing, the cold concrete biting into your back as the shock finally started to settle into your bones.
you’d never seen him like this.
you didn’t know anyone could look like this.
minjae was barely conscious now—his body limp in felix’s grip, blood dripping from his nose, lip split, one eye already swelling shut.
“felix,” you croaked.
he didn’t move.
“felix,” you said again, louder this time—your voice breaking.
still nothing. his jaw was locked, his body coiled, eyes wild and fixed on minjae like he hadn’t quite realized the fight was over.
you pressed your palm against the cold ground, tried to push yourself up, wincing as your shoulder flared with pain.
“lixie,” you shouted, panic rising in your chest now. “stop! you have to stop—he’s done, you’ll get in trouble—”
still no reaction.
so you did the only thing you could think of.
you reached up with your hand and yanked the back of his hood. hard.
felix spun around, eyes wild, breath ragged.
“what the fuck are you doing?” he barked. “you shouldn’t even be—don’t touch me right now,”
his hands twitched at his sides, fists still clenched.
you felt him shudder.
his eyes darted down, finally seeing you—really seeing you— the dust on your face, the way your arm was wrapped around your shoulder like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
and that’s when minjae started to crawl.
slow.
stumbling. bloody. but not unconscious.
felix moved like he was going to lunge again—but you caught his wrist.
“don’t.” you said softly.
you then looked at minjae dead in the eye—every nerve in your body on fire.
“leave,” you said. “now.”
his jaw clenched like he wanted to say something—wanted to blame, defend, spit—but nothing came out. just a nod. slow. he stumbled to his feet, swayed, and started limping down the alley without a word.
and he didn’t look back.
not once.
as soon as minjae disappeared around the corner, your body finally gave out.
the adrenaline drained like water from a cracked glass—fast, all at once. your knees buckled, and the sharp pulse in your shoulder flared violently.
felix moved faster than gravity.
he caught you before you hit the ground, arms wrapping around you like instinct. one arm cradled your back, the other held your good side carefully—like he was afraid if he touched too hard, you’d shatter.
“i’ve got you. you’re okay,” he murmured, breath still coming fast.
your head dropped to his shoulder, dizzy, lightheaded, but finally still. you could feel his heartbeat through his hoodie—racing, unsteady.
he opened his mouth to speak—
“stop,” you whispered.
his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “y/n—”
“no,” you said, weak but clear. “you’re gonna say ‘i told you so.’ you’re gonna say, ‘i told you not to come out here alone.’”
you felt his jaw shift where your forehead rested against him.
but he didn’t say that.
“i was so scared,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “i thought—” he broke off, his breath catching. “when i turned the corner, and i saw him over you—”
you felt his grip tighten, just slightly. not enough to hurt. just enough to make sure you felt it.
“i thought i was too late.”
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your cheek brushing his as you moved.
your voice was quieter now. “now you really think i’m weak.”
his eyes snapped to yours—wide, startled, like you’d just said the most backwards thing he’d ever heard.
“no,” he said immediately. “god—no.”
you looked away. “you saw what happened. you saw what i let him—”
“i know you fought,” he said, cutting you off, voice firm now.
he cupped your jaw gently, guiding your gaze back to him.
“i’ve never thought you were weak.”
you blinked, throat burning.
“not once.”
“then why—” you started, voice raw.
but you didn’t get to finish.
because felix leaned in and kissed you.
right there.
on the dirty, cracked pavement of an alley that still smelled like dust and blood and fear.
his lips crashed into yours with something desperate, something breaking—like he’d been holding it back for too long and couldn’t keep it down another second. it wasn’t perfect. it was messy and trembling and full of all the things he couldn’t say.
and for a second, you froze.
caught between pain and shock and the wild, spinning realization that he was kissing you.
then—
then you melted.
your fingers twisted into the front of his hoodie, and you kissed him back with everything you had left. because felix was holding you like you were something fragile and powerful all at once.
and for the first time all night, you didn’t feel broken.
you felt wanted.
felix pulled away first, barely—his forehead still pressed to yours, breath shallow, like he was scared the moment would vanish if he let it go too fast.
your eyes stayed closed for a second longer, lips parted, heartbeat still stuttering in your chest.
then you whispered, “come over.”
he blinked, just enough space between you now to see the confusion flicker in his eyes.
you swallowed. “to my place. so we can get cleaned up.”
you let out a shaky breath, and slowly, with his help, pushed yourself off the cold pavement.
the walk home was quiet.
your shoulder throbbed with every step, and felix stayed close the whole way, not touching you unless he had to, but always near.
by the time you reached your front door, your hands were shaking too much to get the key in on the first try. felix took it gently from your fingers and opened the door himself.
your family was away—out of town for the weekend—so the house was still, lights dim, the kind of hush that made every sound feel louder. you motioned toward your room and he nodded, heading down the hall while you slipped into the bathroom.
the adrenaline had long since worn off.
you changed into a loose cami top, careful with your movements, but still winced when the fabric brushed your shoulder. then you caught sight of it in the mirror.
a bruise, already darkening, was blooming across your skin—spreading like a storm cloud across your collarbone and creeping toward the edge of your chest. a band aid stuck on where the brick had torn through skin.
then turned off the light and walked back down the hall.
your room was quiet when you stepped in. felix was sitting on the edge of your bed, hoodie discarded, head in his hands. he looked up when he heard you—eyes flicking quickly to your shoulder, then back to your face.
and he looked like he’d just been punched again.
you crossed the room slowly and sat down beside him.
“i cleaned it up a bit,” you said, voice low. “disinfected it, but… i’ll go to a clinic in the morning. just to be safe.”
felix didn’t respond right away.
he was staring down at your hands now—resting in your lap, still faintly trembling. his own were curled together, clenched so tightly his bandaged knuckles had gone pale.
“felix,” you said gently.
still nothing.
so you turned to look at him fully.
his jaw was tight. his throat moved like he was trying to swallow words that wouldn’t go down. and his eyes were glossy, wide, swimming with something awful and barely contained.
you reached out, hand brushing lightly over his clenched fist.
“it’s okay,” you said softly. “it could’ve been much worse.”
his shoulders slumped at your words, like the weight of what didn’t happen was finally crashing down on him. he let out a shaky breath, and your heart ached just watching him unravel—still so tightly wound even in your room, even after everything. you leaned forward and kissed him again.
not desperate like in the alley. not rushed, not trembling.
just full of love.
his lips met yours like a reflex. his hand lifted slowly to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned into you, like he didn’t know how to stop once he started.
“i’ve wanted you,” he whispered against your lips. “for so long.”
you smiled into the kiss, brushing your nose against his. “me too, felix.”
you kissed him again, a little deeper this time, and he breathed out like he’d been holding it in for years.
“you deserve everything,” he murmured between kisses, his forehead pressed to yours. “every chance, every opportunity. you were always so strong, always learned so quick.”
you stilled.
the words landed quietly in your chest, like a gentle weight settling where doubt used to live.
“you’re not weak.” he added. “i just… i couldn’t go against you because…”
he swallowed, voice barely a breath now.
“if i saw you as an opponent… then maybe i could’ve done it,” he said. “maybe i could’ve stepped on that mat and said yes.”
he looked at you then—really looked. eyes shining with something that had nothing to do with tears now. something heavier. deeper.
“even if i saw you as a friend i could have done it. but i don’t see you that way, y/n.”
your heart beat once—loud.
his voice dropped, low and unguarded. “i see you, and all i can think is how badly i want to kiss you. how badly i want you to want me like that, too.”
his hand found your knee, tentative but deliberate, fingers curling slightly like he wasn’t sure how far you’d let him go.
“i want to kiss you ‘til you forget what it felt like to be scared,” he said. “i want to feel you underneath me, all of you, every part—because i’ve never wanted anyone like this. not once.”
your breath caught.
“i couldn’t do it, not because i think you’re incapable,” felix continued, his voice rough with something barely held back. “but because i love you.”
he didn’t flinch when he said it—didn’t stammer, didn’t hide. just looked at you like he’d already known it for years, and tonight had finally broken the last wall between knowing and saying.
your lips parted, but no sound came out.
so he kept going.
“i think i’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen,” he whispered. “and i just… kept hoping you’d figure it out first. because i didn’t want to lose what we had. i didn’t want to screw it up.”
you blinked hard. once. twice. the tears were already gathering. your throat felt tight.
“i didn’t know,” you said, voice cracking, small and trembling. “i mean—i think i did. i just didn’t want to ruin it either. i didn’t want to be wrong.”
felix exhaled—relieved, pained, everything at once.
“i love you too,” you said, barely above a whisper. “god, i think i always have.”
and then it broke.
you folded into him, and he caught you like gravity, arms wrapping around your waist, your hands finding his shirt, clutching at him like you couldn’t get close enough. you buried your face in his neck and tears spilled.
and he held you.
held you like you were something sacred.
like everything he’d ever wanted had been right in front of him all along.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes wet, your mouth trembling.
and then you whispered, “you can have me.”
felix didn’t speak. he didn’t need to.
his lips pressed to yours again. his hands cupped your face first then slid down, fingers brushing the curve of your neck like he was memorizing the shape of you.
your hands moved too. hesitant at first, but then bolder, threading through his hair. it was still damp in places, soft between your fingers. you tugged lightly, and he let out a breath against your mouth that was half a moan, half a surrender.
his tongue swept into your mouth and you gasped softly against his lips, body tightening instinctively at the heat curling low in your belly. you hadn’t expected it to be like this—every kiss landing like a jolt straight down your spine, your hips shifting without thinking, seeking friction that wasn’t there yet.
and he noticed.
he pulled back a little, breathing hard, lips pink and swollen, eyes searching yours. his gaze dropped—slow, deliberate—and lingered.
he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. not the uniform. not the sweat. not the bruises or the pain. just your body—loose cami thin against your chest, nipples stiffening beneath the fabric, your thighs bare where you’d changed into sleep shorts, your skin still marked faintly from the alley and the fight. and somehow, he looked at you like you were untouched. like you were the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
your breath caught.
he touched the hem of your top gently, then looked up at you again. “have you ever done this before?”
you opened your mouth to speak—but no words came out at first.
instead, you shook your head once, slow. “not very much.”
you remembered his story. he’d hooked up with someone in his last year in highschool. you didn’t ask for details back then because it hadn’t been your business.
felix’s eyes stayed on yours, never darting away, even as his hand traced the hem of your cami, his fingers brushing just above your navel like he was testing how much of you he could touch without making you flinch.
“i’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered. “don’t worry.”
you nodded, breath shallow, chest rising fast beneath the thin fabric. the heat between your legs had returned tenfold, thick and pulsing, almost unbearable now that his mouth wasn’t on you. your thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to chase that pressure again.
felix noticed. he always noticed.
he leaned down and kissed you once—slowly, a kiss that lingered at the edges of your mouth like he didn’t want to leave any part of you untouched. his tongue slipped past your lips again, coaxing yours out with him, kissing you deeper until you whimpered against him.
his voice was barely audible. “can i take these off?”
he gestured to your shorts.
you nodded, heart pounding.
his hands were steady as he slid them down—past your hips, your thighs—until you lifted one leg, then the other, and they were gone. his eyes flicked up your body again, drinking in every inch. you could feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, between your legs—hot and wet now, your core aching with anticipation.
his breath warmed the skin of your inner thigh as he sank down between your legs, his broad palms gliding slowly up the outside of your thighs to your hips, then back down again, deliberate and steady like he was grounding you, like he wanted every nerve in your body humming in anticipation. you were down to just your panties now—thin, soft cotton clinging wet between your legs, the fabric nearly translucent in the low light.
felix settled between your knees, kneeling at the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, jaw tight with restraint. his hands curled around your thighs and gently pushed them wider, the mattress shifting beneath your hips as you let him spread you open. you bit your lip, your heart hammering. his eyes never left your body.
then he leaned in.
at first, it was just his breath against your core—hot and steady, making your thighs tremble. and then his nose nudged gently against the damp spot between your legs, his mouth still just hovering, teasing. he inhaled, a sound low in his throat.
“mmm.” his eyes fluttered shut for a second. “you’re soaked,”
his fingers slid up the inside of your thighs again, brushing the elastic edges of your panties, then tracing along the drenched fabric—one stroke, featherlight, straight over your slit. your back arched instinctively, a gasp catching in your throat.
felix looked up at you again, eyes dark.
“yes,” you breathed. “please.”
his fingers curled around the sides of your panties and began to pull them down—inch by inch, excruciatingly slow. the wet fabric peeled away from your heat, sticking slightly before slipping down your thighs. you lifted your hips to help him, and he slid them down past your knees, your calves, and finally let them fall to the floor.
and then he just stared.
like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
“fuck,” he whispered, blinking slowly, almost dazed. “look at you…”
you flushed under the weight of his gaze, instinctively starting to move your legs to close—but his hands came up immediately, pressing gently on your thighs to keep them open.
“no. let me see you,” he said, his voice low and thick. “you’re perfect. so fucking perfect.”
his fingers ghosted back up your thighs, then parted you gently, and his breath hitched again.
“you’re dripping,” he said, almost to himself.
and then he leaned in.
he kissed your pussy—lips plush against your folds, his tongue just barely tasting at first. you gasped at the contact, your hips jerking, thighs tensing under his hands—but he moaned in response, hands tightening just enough to keep you steady.
“oh my god, felix—”
he didn’t answer. he didn’t need to. his tongue dragged up from your entrance, slow and sure, then circled your clit in gentle, teasing flicks. your back arched hard, and your hand flew down to his hair again, gripping the strands tight. he moaned when you did it—like the taste of you and the feeling of your fingers pulling at his scalp were driving him insane.
felix’s tongue was still moving, slow and insistent, when he suddenly paused—pulling back just enough to lift his face from between your thighs, his mouth slick with your arousal, lips parted, chest rising fast.
“you okay?” he said, voice low and rough, almost hoarse.
the absence of his tongue made your whole body twitch, your hips instinctively lifting like you could pull him back by gravity alone. your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, breath catching as you blinked down at him, cheeks flushed and heart pounding.
“yes,” you whispered. “i’m good—i’m… so good.” your voice wavered slightly, thick with need, but the truth burned behind every word. “i’ve wanted this for so long, felix.”
his eyes lit up—hungry, molten, tender.
“yeah?” he murmured. “been thinking about me down here?”
you whimpered, thighs trying to close from the ache. he grinned.
then he dove back in.
no hesitation this time. he tilted his head, shaking it just slightly side to side as he pushed deeper—his nose pressing tight against your mound, his tongue flat and wide as he licked straight up through your folds, deep and slow and relentless.
“ah, fuck—!” you cried out, hips lifting again.
and then—he pushed his tongue in.
he fucked you with it, wet and slow, making obscene, soaked sounds as your pussy clenched around nothing but his mouth. the tip of his tongue flexed as he pushed in again and again, steady, deliberate, your breath breaking on every push.
“felix—”
he groaned in response, and the sound vibrated through your whole core. his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you wide and open while his face stayed buried in your cunt, his jaw slick, tongue working like he was obsessed with the way you tasted, the way you moved, the way you shook every time he stroked just right.
he pulled out, licking a long, slow path all the way up your slit.
when he reached your clit, he swirled his tongue in perfect circles—each one just slightly firmer than the last. your fingers yanked his hair hard again, but he only hummed and pressed deeper.
he latched onto your clit again and sucked.
your entire body bowed off the bed with the force of it. his tongue flicked beneath the suction, hot and wet and insistent, your entire world collapsing to the point of contact between his mouth and your pulsing clit.
and he didn’t stop.
he moaned into your pussy, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through every inch of you as he kept sucking, kept devouring, his tongue flicking in tight, practiced strokes. you could barely breathe, your hips rolling against his mouth, thighs trembling so hard you thought you might snap in half.
then he did it again—shook his head side to side, slow at first, then deeper, rougher, like he was trying to burrow into you, nuzzling against your pussy with pressure. your voice cracked open while your vision blurred.
that knot you knew too well from your own fingers under the covers, from those nights spent grinding into your palm with the lights off and felix’s name buried in your throat—was back. but this time, it wasn’t your imagination. it wasn’t your hand. it was him. his tongue. his mouth. his everything.
and it was so much better.
the feeling was sharp, coiled, rising fast. you gasped, moaned, writhed under him, the sweat slicking your chest, your hands sliding from the sheets back into his hair again, anchoring yourself to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“felix—” you panted, voice breaking, hips arching, “i'm gonna— i'm so close—”
so he didn’t speak. he didn’t risk it.
because if he said a word, if he so much as whispered your name, you’d lose it completely. and he wanted to guide you through it. wanted to feel you come undone beneath him.
so he just stayed right there, face buried in your cunt, lips suctioned around your clit with steady, maddening precision, tongue flicking faster now in that exact rhythm that had your whole body twitching. his hands gripped your thighs tight, grounding you, holding you open, thumbs brushing your skin in strokes—soothing in contrast to the ferocity of his mouth.
you sobbed—high, strangled.
your fingers clutched his hair like a lifeline, but you didn’t pull. you couldn’t. you were too far gone. your eyes rolled back as your vision blurred and your back arched, heels digging into the mattress, body drawing taut like a bow.
he felt it.
felt you tighten. felt your cunt pulse.
your orgasm ripped through you like fire.
you convulsed under him, crying out loud and broken, your body seizing in wave after wave of climax that felt like it would never end.
he guided you through it and stayed steady. his hands never let go. his tongue never missed a beat. and when your cries turned to gasping whimpers, when the shudders slowed, when your limbs finally collapsed back into the mattress, trembling and spent—
only then did he lift his head.
his lips were swollen, slick with you, chin wet, cheeks flushed. he looked at you like he’d just seen something holy. his eyes met yours.
your chest was still rising in quick, shallow breaths, your whole body humming with the echoes of release. muscles twitching, skin flushed, your legs limp where they’d once locked around his head. you felt wrecked—completely, thoroughly undone.
but when he leaned back in—his tongue sliding gently over your folds again, licking up the mess he’d made—you gasped, hips flinching. it was too much. the heat, the slick softness of his mouth against your overstimulated clit. your fingers twitched on the sheets, not from want but sheer sensitivity. and still, you didn’t tell him to stop. you whimpered instead, high and breathless, body twitching as he licked you clean.
you whimpered again when his tongue passed over your clit—just a brush this time, a flick more tease than touch.
you looked up at him through your lashes when he came back up to your level. he was gorgeous like this—his face flushed, his hair mussed where your hands had tangled in it, his mouth swollen.
“you were so good,” he said in awe. “so good for me.”
your cheeks burned at the praise. your body ached. but underneath the exhaustion, something else was burning now.
because you wanted more.
you wanted him.
you bit your lip, your voice barely a whisper. “felix…”
his brow furrowed gently, and he dipped lower, brushing his nose against yours. “yeah?”
you swallowed. your legs shifted beneath him, and the motion dragged your thigh against something hard.
oh.
he was hard—so hard, so ready, the press of him against your hip hot and solid and impossible to ignore.
and you wanted it. desperately.
“i want you,” you breathed.
his eyes darkened instantly. his jaw clenched. “yeah?”
you nodded, slow and steady, heart pounding all over again. “i want you inside of me.”
he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for hours. his hips rocked against you once—barely controlled—and you felt the full length of him, thick and pulsing, pressed against your thigh through his boxers.
“you sure?” he asked, voice husky.
“i’m sure,” you whispered. “i want it. i want you.”
he leaned in and kissed you again—slower this time, more grounded, but still with that same edge of hunger curling just beneath the surface. his lips moved against yours like he already knew what came next. like he was already imagining it.
felix pulled back just slightly, just enough to see you fully, his eyes scanning your face like he was checking every breath, every signal, every heartbeat.
“you can do it.” he murmured,
but then you followed his gaze—down to where his hips hovered just above yours, the hard line of him straining visibly against the fabric of his sweatpants, the tip already darkening the cotton with pre-come.
your mouth parted. and slowly—your hands moved.
he didn't flinch when your fingers found the waistband of his sweats, didn’t stop you when you pushed them down inch by inch, the elastic dragging low over his hips, revealing skin, then more, then—
you swallowed hard.
his cock sprang free the second you tugged his boxers past his thighs. thick. hard. long and flushed and glistening at the tip. he was perfect—desperately hard and twitching in your palm before you’d even touched him properly.
you looked up at him once, silently asking.
he nodded, jaw locked, chest rising.
so you wrapped your hand around him.
he shuddered the moment your fingers closed around his shaft—his whole body jolting like he’d been electrocuted, breath catching sharp in his chest.
then—like he was pulling himself out of a trance—he shifted, reaching one hand blindly toward the floor, fingers groping for the edge of his jacket. he pulled it closer, found something in the zipper pocket—a small foil packet.
you stopped him.
your hand curled around his wrist, gentle.
“it’s okay,” you said softly.
his eyes locked on yours. “y/n—”
“i’m on the pill,” you murmured. “i trust you.”
his lips parted. for a second, he didn’t speak—just stared at you like you’d said something sacred. something that made his whole body go still.
and then he dropped the packet to the floor.
he hovered over you, breath hot and trembling against your lips, one arm braced beside your head while the other reached down, steadying himself. but he paused, just barely, the tip of his cock resting against your soaked entrance, heat pulsing between your bodies like a current too charged to touch.
his eyes locked on yours again—wild, tender, reverent.
“are you sure?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, like asking cost him.
you nodded.
slow. certain.
your hand rose to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his flushed cheekbone. “i’ve never been more sure.”
he inhaled sharply—and let it out in a broken moan. not quiet. not restrained. just raw, honest sound spilling from somewhere deep inside him.
“okay,” he breathed. “okay. then you go for it, baby.”
his head dropped for a second, forehead pressing to yours, his whole body shaking with the force of trying to hold back. you felt him twitch against your entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging just slightly into your folds, dragging through your wetness.
you blinked up at him, dazed. “what?”
he pulled back just slightly, his hand guiding himself again, lining up with your pussy, the swollen head pressing flush against your entrance. and then he looked you dead in the eyes.
“you take me,” he said. “however slow you need. however deep you want. you do it.”
and he meant it. his voice didn’t shake this time. his gaze didn’t falter. he wanted you to be in control. even now—especially now.
so you reached down with one trembling hand and wrapped your fingers around his cock again, guiding him back down between your thighs. you could feel the heat of him, the size of him—heavy and thick and so fucking real.
your breath caught as you positioned him, the head of his cock pressing right against your entrance now.
he moaned again—guttural this time, a sound pulled from deep in his chest.
“god, you feel so warm already,”
you pushed your hips up, slow, and felt him begin to breach you.
just the tip.
the stretch burned.
sharp, but not unbearable. not when he was watching you like that—eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
you gasped, and he stilled.
“you good?” he whispered.
you nodded—bit your lip, adjusted, let yourself breathe.
then you did it again. this time he met you halfway
pushed up another inch. took more of him.
and he groaned—low and long, head dropping to your shoulder as his arms tensed beside you.
“oh my goodness, y/n—”
you were so wet, so tight, every inch of him dragging against nerves you hadn’t known could feel like this. the pressure was intense, dizzying, your body opening inch by inch to take him in.
and he let you do it.
let you set the pace.
let you guide him in, until you were gasping and whimpering and his cock was buried almost halfway, throbbing and hot, your walls pulsing around him like your body didn’t know how to handle it all.
“you’re doing so good,” he breathed, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your temple. “so fucking good—keep going, baby, if you can.”
you braced your hands against his shoulders, breath shallow, thighs trembling. the last stretch was the hardest—your body pulsing around the thick base of him, nerves lit up everywhere, tight and aching, every part of you drawn taut with the strain of holding him there.
but you wanted this. all of it.
you shifted your hips, exhaling slowly as you pushed upward—one more inch. then another. until he bottomed out.
he was buried to the hilt now, thick and hot and pulsing inside your cunt, your walls stretched around him so tight he could barely breathe. his hands trembled where they gripped your waist, holding himself still—barely—like one more twitch would break the world in half.
“y/n,” he choked out, voice guttural. “you’re so tight, baby, so tight—i can barely—” he bit down on the inside of his cheek, jaw clenched like a vice.
your fingers flexed against his back, and you nodded, panting through the ache, through the pressure. “it’s okay,” you whispered. “you can move. please—move.”
his eyes snapped open. he searched your face, breath still ragged, and nodded slowly.
then he pulled out—just an inch, then another—and pushed back in.
the drag of him inside you, even that small motion, lit your body up from the inside. the friction was perfect. unrelenting. he filled every inch, stretched you to your limit, and your pussy clung to him like your body didn’t want to let go.
felix whispered. “i can slow down.”
he pulled out again, just enough to make you feel empty, then slid back in deeper. you cried out, clinging to him now, hips tilting up to meet him, chasing it.
“faster, you can go faster,” you gasped.
he obeyed.
his pace quickened, still careful but less restrained now—his cock thrusting into you with a slick, wet rhythm, your soaked pussy gripping him like a vice with every motion. the room echoed with the sound of your bodies—flesh on flesh, breathless cries, the obscene, soaking drag of his cock through your tight cunt.
“fuck,” he growled. “this pussy is taking me so good, like it was made for me.”
your head tipped back, a fresh moan spilling from your lips. “it was—”
his hips stuttered.
something flickered across his face then—darker, hungrier.
“you don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmured. “you think i haven’t thought about this? all those nights jerking off with your name in my throat.”
you whimpered.
he leaned over you more fully, chest brushing your breasts, one hand sliding up to cradle your face while he kept thrusting into you—slow now, deeper, grinding into you with each roll of his hips.
“you’re letting me ruin you,” he whispered. “god, you’re so wet for it.”
you moaned—high, trembling, helpless. “i love you—”
his rhythm faltered, but only for a second.
“say it again,” he demanded, voice thick.
“i love you,” you sobbed, clinging to him as your body started to coil again, pressure building low and hot and desperate. “i love you, felix, please don’t stop—”
he didn’t.
he fucked you harder now—not rough—but deep, fast, each thrust grinding right into your tightest spot, your pussy clenching around him like you couldn’t bear to let go. he shifted his angle slightly, driving into you from just a little lower, and your whole body jerked.
your breath tore out of you. "felix—!"
this wasn’t the soft spread of orgasm he’d coaxed out with his mouth. this was different. sharper. hotter. it burned from the inside out, like he was hammering that sweet bundle of nerves over and over again, your orgasm uncoiling too fast.
and he saw it.
he felt it.
his hand dropped between you, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, two slick digits rubbing tight little circles as he thrust deep, dragging your soaked pussy right against his knuckles every time.
“give it to me, y/n,” he growled, voice raw and low in your ear. “come on. i know that look—you’re right there. like when you break that last board—focus. let go. fucking give it to me.”
you couldn’t hold back.
it slammed into you—fast, sharp, blinding—your entire body locking, then releasing, the pleasure exploding out of you with a cry that tore your throat raw.
your orgasm ripped through your pelvis.
a hot gush of slick pulsed out of you, soaking his cock, his fingers, the sheets beneath you. you cried out, shaking violently, back arching off the bed, vision going white as your body convulsed through it.
felix choked on a groan, grinding his hips deep into your trembling pussy as he held you there, watching it happen, feeling you squirt on him.
“fuck, baby—oh my god—”
he didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop working your clit, didn’t stop fucking that spot, chasing every last drop of that orgasm.
your breath was ragged, your voice barely there, but the words came anyway—raw, open, needy.
“come inside me, felix,” you whispered, your nails dragging lightly down his back. “i want to feel it. i want all of you.”
he growled—actually growled—a sound ripped from deep in his chest, something dark and unfiltered and desperate.
“you want my cum, baby?” he panted, hand sliding down to grip your thigh, holding you wide open beneath him. “you want me to ruin you for everyone else?”
“yes,” you gasped. “yes, felix, please—do it, come inside me—”
that broke him.
he fucked into you hard—once, twice, three more brutal strokes—and then froze, every muscle in his body locking as he buried himself to the base.
he groaned loud into your neck and you felt it.
felt the heat flood inside you, pulse after pulse of release spilling into your still-clenching pussy. he rocked through it, hips twitching, groaning your name as he filled you completely, your slick and his cum mixing deep inside you, dripping between your thighs.
he stayed like that, chest heaving, cock twitching, holding you close as the last waves of it ran through him.
you lay there, breath shallow and scattered, limbs trembling beneath the weight of everything. you felt him still buried inside you, twitching gently, his length softening but still locked within your body like he couldn’t bear to leave just yet.
you were dazed.
and when you blinked up at him—his hair sweat-damp and wild, his chest rising fast, his eyes fixed on you like you were everything—he smiled, slow and aching.
“my girl,” he whispered, voice rough. he pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. your heart thudded.
and when he leaned back just enough to see your face, brushing a thumb down your jaw. “i love you.”
the words cracked something wide open in you.
you reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him back down into a kiss—lips barely moving because you didn’t have the strength to make it anything more. but it said enough.
you pulled back, breath caught, eyes wide and glassy.
“i love you too, felix.” you touched his cheek. “stay over?”
his answer came without hesitation.
he nodded.
then pressed another kiss to your lips—brief, tender—before slowly, carefully pulling out. you winced slightly, and he soothed you immediately, whispering quiet things under his breath.
“sorry, baby, i got you, just relax.”
you felt him drip out of you and you shivered at the sensation, more from how intimate it felt than anything else.
felix padded to your bathroom and when he came back, he was gently kneeling beside the bed and wiping between your legs.
he kissed your knee, then slipped out quietly. you heard the bath running. when he returned, he lifted you gently from the bed, carrying you into the bathroom. later, he curled into bed beside you.
arms around your waist. breath on your neck.
the world faded.
only him. only you.
you were breathing hard—sweat dripping down your temple, your pulse pounding in your ears, muscles burning from effort. the match had dragged longer than expected. every counter was faster, every feint smarter. your opponent wasn’t backing down.
and neither were you.
a front kick met your side—hard but clean. you spun with it, dropping into a low stance to recover, your feet sliding against the mat. a beat passed. then another.
your opponent came at you again. you blocked, pivoted, struck out with a side kick, but he ducked low and swept your leg—not enough to knock you down, just enough to unbalance. you hissed through your teeth and shot forward, aiming a punch straight toward his ribs.
suddenly, he shifted left.
and his arm hit your good shoulder.
your breath caught as you staggered back half a step.
and that’s when he moved in.
one clean motion. a grappling combo you’d seen before—but rarely felt like this.
your opponent took you down.
and suddenly, the world tilted. you were flat on your back, shoulders pinned, your breath knocked clean out of your chest.
you stayed still for half a second, blinking up at them, the lights glaring in your peripheral.
then you tapped out. quick, three times.
the pressure eased immediately.
he rolled off with practiced ease and leaned over, hand rubbing your back softly.
“good match,” he murmured.
you pushed up slowly, breath still shallow, shoulder aching just a bit where the blow had landed. but you couldn’t help the half-smile that pulled at your lips.
coach stepped forward from the sideline. “nice takedown, felix.”
you huffed a short laugh. “finally,” you muttered, shooting felix a sideways look.
he grinned sheepishly, cheeks pink. his hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead, and his uniform clung to his back with sweat. but his eyes were sparkling.
coach added, “that’s the only one you’ve taken so far.”
felix scratched the back of his neck. “yeah, well. i’m pacing myself.”
you chuckled and reached out, smacking his arm lightly. “i let you have that one.”
he caught your hand before it dropped, squeezed it once.
then let it go.
the coach stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest, gaze unreadable as it flicked between the two of you.
you both turned toward him, sweat still clinging to your necks, uniforms rumpled and streaked with dust from the mats. you and felix both reached up and took off your helmets.
the coach paused for a beat. then:
“i’ve made my decision.”
your heart jumped into your throat. felix straightened beside you, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.
the coach looked at you. “y/n.”
there was a pause.
“sir…?”
coach nodded. “you’ve been consistent. adaptable. fast. you held your ground every time. you’ve proved yourself.”
“i was holding back in the others,” felix said quickly. “can we have one more match?”
the coach didn’t soften. “you gave your best in that last one. and so did she. decision’s final.”
felix didn’t argue. just stood there, chest rising, then falling, as something in him settled.
he turned to you.
you were still staring at him with a worried expression. but he smiled.
small. honest.
“i’m not gonna lie and say i’m not crushed,” he said, laughing under his breath. “because i am.”
your lips curled into a smile.
“but,” he added, eyes locked on yours, “i’m also really fucking proud of you.”
your throat was tight, but the smile pulled at your face anyway, a little shaky. you turned to the coach and bowed.
“thank you, sir. really.”
coach gave a short nod, then glanced down at his clipboard. but not before you caught the faintest curve of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
you turned back to felix and threw your arms around his neck without thinking. his hands came around your waist instantly before he lifted you.
your feet left the mat, your arms tightening in surprise as a small yelp escaped your lips. “felix!”
he laughed, that full-throated, breathless sound you hadn’t heard since you were kids.
as felix set you down, you caught it.
the coach.
still watching.
his eyes flicked from you to felix, then back again.
you furrowed your brows. “what?”
“nothing,” coach said, too quickly, a smile tugging at his lips. “just… you two make a good team.”
your eyes narrowed. “no, what was that look?”
“look?” he repeated, feigning innocence like a man who definitely was not innocent.
you glanced at felix. he was already biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh, failing miserably. his ears were turning pink.
you turned back to the coach. “sir—”
“good work today,” he said, backing off. “see you both tomorrow.”
and he disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him.
you stared after him, then slowly turned to felix.
you groaned into your hands. “god.”
felix laughed, gently peeling your hands away from your face as his eyes flicked past you for half a second. a little group of junior belts was trailing through the far hallway, chattering and bouncing off the walls like they’d just mainlined sugar.
he looked back at you, mischief blooming across his face. his hand still held yours.
and then—without warning—he kissed you.
right there in the middle of the mats, with the scent of floor cleaner and sweat still in the air and your chest protector half-hanging off your side.
your eyes widened.
you made an undignified squeak into his mouth and instantly melted against him.
then you grabbed his hand.
felix barely had time to register it before you were tugging him down the hall, past the main mat, into one of the empty practice rooms. the second the door shut behind you—
click.
he had you against the wall.
your belt hit the floor.
and there was nothing gentle about the way you kissed each other this time.
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some one and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
warnings: light angst?
a/n: I feel like this part took forever and it still wasn't as long as I was hoping it would be! Though I did also go back and revise the previous parts so maybe that's why.
I am going to try and post another chapter tomorrow but first I'll have to see how my day goes. Anyway, let me know what you all think! I hope you enjoy!
The feel of his hand on your arm was nothing compared to the feel of his words on your soul.
Unlike the first time, at the cafe, Felix didn’t reach for you. He didn’t panic when you turned to leave. He was quiet when he spoke. So quiet it was almost a whisper.
“Don’t you want to know what I have to say?”
You were already halfway down the hall. You had bowed after your apology, so deeply it took his breath away. He didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t find the words when he saw the fear and pain so clearly on your face.
But he couldn’t just let you leave without at least throwing in his side of things as well.
You tried not to let him stop you. You tried not to listen. You tried telling yourself that you didn’t care, that you didn’t want to know what he had to say.
You did more than you needed to already. You owed him nothing.
Your body stopped anyway, your head turning to hear him better but your eyes stayed down. Scared that if you looked at him you might just take it all back.
“There are others.” He began, gentle as he spoke. “Bang Chan, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin. It’s not just me. You have eight mates, all of whom have always felt that emptiness. All of whom still mourn the gap in their hearts while they wait to meet you.” His disappointment was clear.
He stood now. Facing you completely as if it would get through to you any better. To make you see things from his perspective. Your head was already spinning, almost unbelieving of his claims. He alone had filled you with such sadness, the thought of the other seven, of letting them down, your grief could consume you. You just wanted to maintain your peace. To live the life you wanted and expected. There was no reason to try, to get your hopes up, and have them crushed again, you couldn’t risk it.
Your heart was breaking more and more at his every word. Your resolve unwavering.
“I won’t pretend to know what growing up like that was. To feel isolated due to something you couldn’t help. But in all fairness we can’t help who we bond with, whether it’s on purpose or by accident, these things just happen.
“Maybe you imagined a life where you could date someone before settling down with them and develop a mating bond.” He scoffed, growing louder. Angry now. “Why does it matter which comes first? It’s not like you’re obligated to skip the dating stage altogether. We could just—.” He stopped to reel himself in, your explanation made his blood boil, but it wouldn’t solve anything. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat in hopes that you might be reasoned with. “We could just let the bond be, just how everything else in life simply is, and date. We could get to know each other and become friends and see where we go from there. But if you’d rather run away again, go ahead. You’ll only be hurting us both.”
You didn’t know what he meant by hurting you both. Perhaps he could see the pain you were already enduring, the guilt that burned at your ears.
The two of you were quiet for a while. Standing in the otherwise empty home, processing.
He stared at you, his face pinched in anger and upset, waiting for you to say or do anything. Would you walk out or confront him?
On the other hand he had half the mind to call the others, if not to come and change your mind then to at least allow the bond to click into place. Tears stung his eyes at the thought of losing you just as quick as he found you and not being able to release his other mates of their heaviness simultaneously.
There wasn’t anything to say for a while. You had said what you needed to and so had he.
Then again, you had never considered being his friend. It had only been a day, you hadn’t given much time to consider other options.
“I don’t know what to say.” You admitted, looking at him for only a second, choosing to stare at the wall, hoping if you listened close enough that it would tell you the answer. “I— I know it’s not right. It’s not natural for someone to want to get away from their mate. But all of sudden I’ve been thrown into this world of mates and pheromones and have no clue how it’s going to affect me. It’s scary.”
His gaze softened. You were right. It was scary, but if your instincts told you yes then why would you fight them and say no?
With the others it all came so easily, as soon as the bonds locked into place they each had been excited to embrace one another. The experience was intense but immediate. Then again, they all grew up knowing they were meant for someone.
He couldn’t understand what it was like. He was excited where you were frightened and there was nothing he could say to ease your frantic mind.
You didn’t want his mating bond or pheromones, it would only push you further away. He could only nod as you let it all out.
“I jumped to conclusions. And you’re right. We can always just be friends. I think I just have had this idea in my head how mates were supposed to be in my head that, when it was sprung on me so suddenly, I freaked out instead of thinking it through.” You faced him as you apologized. The regret and anxiety bringing tears to your eyes. “I don’t want to run away.”
His chest swelled, anger eased into acceptance, and he held himself back from hugging you. “If you’re willing, I'd like to figure this out with you.” And if you didn’t accept his offer then who else would?
You nodded, moving to sit back down on the couch. Your body was rigid, your eyes on your hands, clasped so tightly together, you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself as the tears fell. “I’m so pathetic. Can’t even handle one conversation before breaking down.”
Felix took the spot at your side. Closer this time but not enough to touch you. “You're not pathetic.” He was back to whispering. Worry and regret pulled at his heart. “I’m sorry for yelling.”
“I deserved it.” You were quick to counter. “I’m sorry. For deciding on my own and not talking to you first. I just didn’t think anything like this would ever happen to me.”
For a while, things were quiet.
You cried and he listened, coming to understand your anxiety. You told him you weren’t a beta like he thought. That really, you were a late bloomer and an omega. Having all these new feelings and things were affecting you differently than they would affect a beta.
It was scary to think that these things could awaken a side of you that you never had before and it scared you most to think that you were only getting your hopes up by even telling him.
That you still might not fully blossom as all omegas do. But you really hope you would, you really hoped that having a soulmate wasn’t the only thing your mom was wrong about.
By the end of the night you were comfortable having him rub circles on your back. You let his pheromones wash over you completely for the first time and fell to sleep as they eased your nerves and he assured you that being a fully realised omega wouldn’t keep him or any of the others from falling for you.
>>---<3---->
Weekdays were always the busiest, from meetings on themes and concepts to dance practice or workouts to time in the recording studio, there was almost no time left in the day to just relax.
Friday’s were the only day of the week that the boys didn’t have to be at the studio until noon.
Weekends were for the group home but Thursday nights were for sleepovers. They had to keep some face with the company, staying in assigned dorms during the week. But on that one day when they could sleep in, they’d often rather spend it together, impatient to go to their real home over the weekend.
No one had to rush to get ready before racing to the company. On Fridays they could take things slow, wake up beside their partner and get ready together.
Seungmin however hadn’t planned on staying out. He understood that he couldn’t be at his dorm while Felix filled you in.
Even for him it had all been so quick. One day he was walking into JYP, the next he had eight mates and that was that. He remembered how intimidating it had been at first, so he was willing to wait, so that you might not be so suddenly bombarded as he was.
He was willing to sacrifice his alone time if he could still have his Friday morning in his room, with his things, and his products. Chan and Jeongin laughed at his impatience, dropping him off before heading to pick up Changbin and Hyunjin. Deciding to all pile into Felix and Seunmin’s dorm to hear how it went with you before heading to the company.
“Seungmin, in the building!” He half-shouted as he came in, expecting to hear Felix’s small laugh or even a snore from his bedroom. He was quick to put his keys on the counter and check on Felix before getting in the shower.
What he didn’t expect however, was to find a girl sleeping on his couch. Her shoulders rose and fell steadily, her mouth open just enough for him to hear her sigh, and her hair sprawled out behind her in waves.
You had no clue. Still fast asleep despite his previous shouts. Instead it was the dizziness that stirred you from your sleep.
Like one of those dreams that make you really feel like you're falling so you startle awake. Except it didn’t stop when you opened your eyes. Everything faded in and out like waves and it was then you realized that you had felt it only once before.
When your mind settled, you sat up looking every which way for who you assumed would be Felix, only to find someone new looking down at you.
The two of you said nothing. Simply scanning one another. Observing. He knows who you are and you can only assume who he is.
You notice first how he looks just as shocked as you are. Second, how mesmerizing his eyes were. They caught your own in an instant, neither of you daring to pull away, or say anything, forgetting the world around you as you fell into them. Last was how he smelled of orange and cinnamon. Smooth and relaxing, like the candle from the front bedroom.
You realized after a moment that it was his pheromones. Laughing internally at how you didn’t think of it on your way in last night. You didn’t shy from it this time, knowing now that it was just the natural state of things. It wasn’t suggestive or invasive, it was just him, his aura, you continued to think.
“Hi.” You said at last.
He blinked and wondered if that truly was the first thing you would say to him. “Hi.” He cleared his throat, eyes dropping before meeting your gaze again. Suddenly he was nervous. “I’m Seungmin.”
“Y/N.” He looked away again, smiling under his hand at your open admiration.
Felix hadn’t told him how beautiful you were. Well, not to this extent. A blush creeped up his neck, turning his ears red.
This shook some sense into you, realizing you were staring and then that you had never left the apartment.
Seungmin was not only another of your mates but Felix’s roommate as well. You sprang up, looking around for your shoes. When had you fallen asleep?
“I’m sorry.” You looked back up at him between your sentences. “I don’t think I was supposed to meet you yet. And to be honest I don’t remember how I even ended up falling asleep.”
To yourself this time, just under your breath, “Shit. He probably thinks I drank and passed out or crawled in off the street or something. Where are my shoes?”
He looked down the hall and laughed with a scoff, partly at you, partly at how he didn’t notice before. “They’re by the door.” You jolted at his English. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think anything weird. Surprised, but that’s all. I’m glad I got to meet you before you could run off like a one night stand.”
His tone was so ridden with sarcasm that you didn’t know whether he was serious or not. Either way, your eyes widened. “We didn’t do anything.” You said in a panic. Hoping, praying he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. You were already nervous enough, you didn’t need him thinking you crossed a line.
“It would be okay if you did.” He said. Crossing his arms with that cocky smirk that suddenly etched permanently on his face. “You’re one of us and we’re not always the jealous type.”
“Not always?” It didn’t make sense to you. In the past, you couldn’t even hug your friends for fear of upsetting your partners with the scents you’d picked up. Now, you’d be able to see how it was for yourself but you didn’t understand how something as grand as sleeping with someone wouldn’t upset their mate. Then again Seungmin was your mate too.
He did say not always. Maybe it just depended on the day. Your heart raced at the uncertainty of it.
“The alphas can get kind of territorial during their ruts.” He said. “Though being a beta should make things a bit easier on you if you eventually want to help them through that too.”
Felix must have told him after leaving the park yesterday.
“Are you a beta?” you asked.
He shook his head, “Omega.”
“You don’t look like it.”
“I get that a lot. A lot of people think Felix is an omega when they first meet him too.”
You nodded, seeing how that could be. “I didn’t. I’m a natural beta detector.”
He raised a brow, “Then why’d you ask me if I was?”
You moved to the door, sitting on the step as you slipped on your shoes, brushing out your hair with your fingers when you saw it in a mirror. “This whole mate thing is messing with my senses. I was born and raised by betas so I can usually spot them anywhere.”
“You might have some trouble with our group then. When you meet them you gotta tell me your guesses.”
“Maybe my powers are fading.” You laughed. “I’m an omega actually, so this new mate business is making me feel all kinds of things that I couldn’t before so I can’t guarantee my accuracy anymore.”
The boy across from you froze, realising the others would be arriving soon and he still had to wake Felix and get ready. “You’re an omega?”
You nodded, not thinking anything of it.
Seungmin’s heart stopped, the sudden truth meaning he wasn’t the only one anymore, but more importantly that the alphas would be all over you in a second.
He could still remember his first time meeting them. Each one of them reacted so differently but treated him just the same. Too quickly they were protective and overbearing, jealous over the smallest of things for what felt like forever.
It was different for the betas in the group because they didn’t have to worry about heats or other alphas stepping in when they smelled just a little too sweet on any given day.
In the past six years he had broken them of their small habits but had no clue how it would affect you. Would all of his progress reset? Or have they truly grown past their instincts to just be normal.
He remembered Felix telling him just how scared you had seemed when you met, almost like meeting him had been your worst fear. And Felix was the gentlest of them all, surely the only reason you could stand here in front of him so confidently now was due to whatever it was that the two of you talked about the night before.
The alphas would be too much for you right now. He could feel it in his bones just how badly it could go if you dove in without a warning.
“You need to go.” He said in a hurry.
Your brows furrowed, the offense showing clearly on your features.
“It’s not like that, it’s just the others will be here soon and we really shouldn’t have you meeting all of us so quickly.”
“Ah,” you nodded, understanding. “No problem, I was just leaving anyway. It was nice to meet you Seungmin.”
“You too, Y/n.” He smiled despite himself. You needed to go now, before they could even see you leaving.
They were all so curious, they wouldn’t be able to help themselves, probably able to guess who you were immediately.
You opened the door to a man leaning against the frame. His arms crossed at his chest, his gaze out at someone else walking up the street, turning to meet you when he heard the creaking of the hinges.
He had a cat-like smile, curling at the corners. It barely faded as he looked from the man to you, only his eyes widened, as the two of you felt the waves of the bond snapping into place.
You could smell the mint and lavender roll off him and as you came to something sweet seized the air around you.
Before you could blink a hand pulled you back by the scruff of your hoodie, slamming the door closed in front of you.
“What the hell was that?” Seungmin said, locking the door as he turned you to face him. “You can’t just let something like that out the first time you meet someone!”
You didn’t understand. Barely had the time to wrap your head around meeting the third of your eight mates. Your mind was still spinning, coming down from the waves of the bond clicking into place. “What?” You squinted at him, trying to understand.
“That!” He yelled, gesturing to the pheromones that leaked from you.
You looked down at your hands, watching as a golden kind of aura floated off you. First, you could sense them, now you were producing them, “I can’t control it.” You looked up at him with fear in your eyes. “Make it stop. How do I make it stop?”
Seungmin almost couldn’t believe it. His eyes wide and darting all over the place thinking ‘What the hell is she talking about?’
The stranger on the other side of the door gave a small knock. “Seungmin, let me in.” He had said so nicely. You had half the mind to do it.
“Don’t!” He yelled, pulling you away by the wrist. “Listen, I was trying not to freak you out, but especially if you can’t control yourself, you can’t meet the others today. At least not Minho.”
Felix had finally made it out of his room. The sudden commotion stirred him awake. “What’s going on?” He said with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head.
You looked to him for help, guidance, anything. Even just to explain what the hell was going on.
When his eyes landed on the two of you in the hall, Seungmin angry and pulling you by the arm, he straightened. And then he smelt it, something so sweet it almost made his mouth water, and then he saw the fear in your eyes, and realized it was you.
“Minho and Jisung are already here and saw her, now she won’t stop releasing her pheromones.”
“Hey it’s okay.” He said, and Seungmin thought it was to him, but Felix came closer and patted your head, shrinking down to meet your eyes. “This is great isn’t it? You’re getting your heat. We’ll get you out of here and figure out how to handle this okay?”
Didn’t Felix understand how detrimental this was? Couldn’t he see the danger?
Seungmin only glared.
“She’s never gone through this kind of thing before.” Felix said after another minute, his own pheromones spreading in hopes to calm you down, even just a little bit.
And it did. A little. Felix explained your situation to Seungmin, who’s eyes kept darting back and forth, his fear becoming more and more evident by the second.
“It isn’t that you aren’t safe here,” he told you in return, his grip on your wrist loosening so he could hold your hand as you worked through it. “Or that it isn’t safe for you around the mates you haven’t met yet, but you were still on the fence about the whole thing and I don’t want the others to scare you away. Especially with something as big as the signs of your first heat appearing so suddenly. You need to get out of here first and then we can figure out how to help you, either to deal with it or control it. But it can’t happen here and it can’t happen now.
“So I need you to take a deep breath and be brave. We don’t have a back door but I have a window, and that will just have to be good enough. Can you run?”
Your legs felt like jelly. You didn’t even know how much longer you’d be able to stand. You nodded anyway.
“Listen, we’re gonna have to sneak you out the window and you have to run home. Run. The whole way. I’m sure you’ve heard stories but I need you to understand just how dangerous it is for an omega to be out and about without being able to control their pheromones.
“If you stop running, someone will stop to help you. I promise, you do not want their help. So run home and don’t stop until you’ve made it in and locked the door behind you.”
If your heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now. You nodded again, doing your best not to cry.
Seungmin let go, holding up a finger and stepping into his room. You could hear him rummaging through his doors as Minho began banging louder on the door.
Felix grabbed you by your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes, sympathy wasn’t enough but it’s all he had to give at the moment. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” His thumbs rubbed circles into your skin. “I know you’re scared, and this is all happening so fast, but meeting the others while you're like this really isn’t going to make for great first impressions.”
You chuckled.
When you get home, you’d be thankful for all of his soothing and all of Seungmin’s worrying. Now you still had a tremor in your hands that you couldn’t stop but they were helping you. You didn’t know what you would be doing right now without them. Probably lying in a puddle of tears and pheromones, with an anxious alpha investigating you.
Minho called through the door again. “Was that Y/N? Seungmin! Let me in!”
“In your dreams old man!” Seungmin shouted back as he peeked out of his room, waving you in.
All too quickly he handed you a bottle and shoved you towards the window. “It’s hormone blockers, they’ll keep your heat from coming on too strong and suppress the pheromones. Take two when you get home and not a second before. They’ll make you too tired to keep running so just wait until you’re home.”
“Message me when you’re home.” Felix chipped in. “We can come to you later if you need us. Just got to handle the other guys first, okay?”
You nodded, gathering what confidence you had left, adrenaline causing your heart to leap to your throat. You took a final deep breath and opened the window with a sharp thud, leaping out before you had time to second guess yourself.
You flew down the street, catching the way Minho yelled after you, “I knew it was her!”
You passed another group of four, keeping your eyes down in hopes that if they were the others Seungmin was waiting on, that they wouldn’t notice you until you were already darting around the corner.
And they didn’t.
They all heard Minho’s shouting, looking over at their mate as they all got out of the car, Chan and Jeongin at the front, immediately catching the scent of sweet vanilla in the air. Everyone’s heads darted down the street, once they realised it was you, following as you disappeared, they wondered why they wouldn’t get the chance to meet you too, and were quick to join Minho with his banging against the door.
Felix opened it with a fake yawn, “Why is everyone so noisy this morning?”
summary: after getting your name in the secret santa draw, seungmin prepares your gift and accidentally wraps his feelings for you with it
day 22 of The 25 Days of Stay
a/n: i'm so sad that there are only four fics left of this event but also so nervous and excited because this one is my favourite one and i hope you like it as much as i do 🩷
seungmin sits on the floor of his bedroom, his legs folded beneath him, a roll of wrapping paper unspooling slowly across the carpet. he presses the edge down with his knee so it doesn’t curl back up, concentrating like he’s handling something fragile, priceless, which in a way, he is.
the gift sits in the middle of the paper, small, simple, but chosen with a level of care no one would guess from the outside. he turns it over once more, checking that everything’s perfect even though he’s done this five times already.
his fingers hesitate before folding the paper. he wants it to look nice. he wants it to feel special. but most of all, he wants you to smile when you see it, really smile, the way you do when something touches your heart without warning.
his chest tightens a little at the thought. he shouldn’t think about you like that. or maybe he should, he doesn’t know anymore.
but he knows this: it’s been almost two weeks since he picked your name from the basket during the group’s secret santa draw, and no one else seemed even remotely suspicious of the way his ears turned red the second he unfolded the slip of paper.
he forces himself to breathe out slowly, tugging the tape closer. he wraps the first edge neatly, then the second.
“okay”, he mutters under his breath, “don’t mess this up”
he folds the corners with surgeon-like precision but his hands still tremble slightly, because he keeps imagining your hands touching his, holding the gift, unwrapping it, discovering what he’s spent so long choosing.
it’s not expensive or flashy. it’s not something anyone else would guess means anything.
but it’s so perfectly you.
he found it tucked on the bottom shelf of the tiny shop you love - the one with the warm yellow lights and the soft music that always plays in the background. a place that for him is basically made of your smile now. the shop that you always drag him into every time you pass it saying “seungmin, look at this, isn’t it cute?”, and he always replies something like “it’s okay”, while secretly thinking that nothing in the shop is as cute as you and the way you say that.
he told himself he wouldn’t get too sentimental about a secret santa gift.
he told himself you’d never notice the meaning anyway.
so why is his heart beating so fast now?
he ties the ribbon carefully and when he finishes the bow, he stares at it for a long moment. he wants to believe you’ll like it, he wants to believe it’ll make you happy in the way he’s always trying to without ever saying too much. but that’s the thing: you’re just friends. best friends. close enough that sometimes he forgets you’re not his, not really, not in the way he dreams of when he’s stupidly tired or overly sentimental.
he catches himself smiling and looks away as if the walls might judge him for it.
“you’re ridiculous”, he says quietly, tugging another piece of tape, fixing one last edge that didn’t need fixing.
ridiculous for caring this much.
ridiculous for hoping this hard.
ridiculous for loving you like this while pretending everything’s normal.
ridiculous for hoping you would ever feel the same way.
he adds a little tag with your name in it and then places the gift gently beside him, his thumbs brushing the ribbon once more, almost nervous to let go of it now that it’s done.
“i hope… i hope she likes it”, he whispers to the empty room.
he lets out a slow breath, a breath that deflates his whole chest, and finally pulls his hand away from the wrapped box. leaving it there on the carpet feels strangely difficult, like walking away from something delicate. but he does it - carefully, reluctantly - and pushes himself up to stand up.
the room is quiet, dim except for the desk lamp glowing in the corner. he crosses over to it, dragging his sleeves over his cold hands as he sits down. the chair squeaks softly under him, familiar, worn in by nights he spent writing, thinking too much.
usually, before bed, he reaches for his diary and writes a few lines about his day. simple, neat, controlled, the way seungmin likes things to be.
but tonight is different.
his fingers hover over the drawer, then pause. instead of taking out his diary, he reaches for a blank sheet of paper from the stack beside it. he doesn’t know why he picks it. maybe he’s too full tonight, maybe the wrapping, the ribbon, the thoughts he tried not to think… maybe all of it has cracked something open.
he sits there for a moment, staring at the empty page, waiting for the usual logic to settle back into place.
it doesn’t.
his pen touches the paper before he even decides to move it. one sentence. then another. then one more. words spill out of him quietly, the way snow is falling outside his room - soft, steady, without fanfare, no way to stop them.
he writes about you.
about the first time he met you, when you accidentally bumped into him and apologised four times, your cheeks warm, your smile shy, and he tried to pretend his heart didn’t stop for a full second.
he writes about your laugh, the loud one you let out only when you’re with people you trust, the one he secretly tries to make happen because it feels like being let into a part of you not everyone gets to see.
he writes about your kindness. how you notice small things, how you listen, how you are there whenever he needs you, how you make him feel seen in ways he doesn’t think he deserves.
he writes about how scared he is. how long he’s been scared. how he loves you more than he should, more than he ever planned to, more than he knows how to handle.
the words come faster, truer, and by the time he sits back, his fingers trembling around the pen, he realises he’s written far more than a simple entry. the page is filled from top to bottom, messy in a way he never allows himself to be, raw in a way he never admits out loud.
his heart stutters.
because it’s not a ramble or a diary entry.
it’s a confession.
a full, unfiltered confession letter. every memory. every feeling he’s tried to hide.
“what… what am i doing?”, he breathes out, his eyes widening at the page.
he reads the first lines again and his stomach twists. he doesn’t know whether to laugh or panic. maybe both. because for one single second - just a tiny, foolish, painful, hopeful second - he imagines himself giving it to you. imagines you reading it. imagines-
no.
no, no, no.
the hope surges too quickly, too recklessly, and he forces himself to shut it down before it grows sharp enough to hurt.
you’re friends, that’s all you’ll ever be, and you’re too important to lose.
he swallows, pressing a palm to his forehead.
“i can’t”, he murmurs to himself, shaking his head, “i can’t give her this”
but still… he can’t throw it away either.
after a long moment, he takes an empty envelope, carefully folds the letter, his hands slow and gentle, and slides the paper inside. he doesn’t seal it. he just closes the flap and places the envelope on his desk, face down.
out of sight but not out of mind. never out of mind.
he exhales shakily. the gift still sits where he left it. he walks over, kneels to pick it up, and for a moment, his eyes flicker to the letter again. for a heartbeat, he wonders what would happen if they stayed together. gift on top, letter underneath. the truth tucked somewhere beneath your gift.
but the thought hurts too much.
he places the gift gently on top of the letter anyway - not because he intends to give you both, but because somehow it feels right for tonight, like these two pieces of him belong in the same place, at least for a while.
“good night”, he whispers softly, not to the room, but maybe to the letter, maybe to the feelings he doesn’t know what to do with, maybe to the image of you glowing in his mind.
he turns off the desk lamp.
the room falls into darkness except the faint glow of the streetlights outside, painting thin lines across the walls. he climbs into bed slowly, pulling the blanket to his chest, curling onto his side.
he closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t come right away. instead, he thinks of you and the soft sting in his chest settles into something quiet and familiar. he wishes, foolishly, that you could love him back the way he loves you. he also wishes he didn’t wish that.
as he finally drifts, weakly fighting it, the letter on his desk stays under the wrapped gift, a hidden truth lying still in the dark.
thinking of you is the last thing he does before sleep pulls him under.
the days slip by faster than he expects - recordings, rehearsals, meetings, practices stacked one over another - and the night he wrote that letter feels strangely far away now. he hasn’t looked at the letter since, hasn’t touched it, hasn’t even let himself think too much about it.
maybe that’s why it’s so easy to forget it’s still on his desk, under your gift.
the day of the secret santa dinner arrives before he’s ready for it. he rushes back to the dorm he shares with felix after some outfit test at the company, for which he was the last member, which means he’s in a rush now.
“you’re late”, felix calls from the living room, sprawled on the sofa with half a cookie in his hand.
“i know”, seungmin says, already passing him and heading straight to the bathroom, “i’ll try to be quick”
the shower is quick and hurried. he dries his hair as fast as he can, throws on a soft sweater and jeans, and checks the clock. felix appears at the bathroom door with a dramatic sigh.
“they’re already texting. you know how han gets when he has to wait for us to eat”
“i know”, seungmin says, biting back a smile as he pats his pockets, “i’m almost ready”
he hurries to his room, scanning the desk. the gift is there, neatly wrapped, exactly where he left it.
he grabs it, but not carefully, not in the gentle way he handled it days ago. tonight he’s rushed, distracted. his fingers close around the box and he shoves it inside a gift bag felix hands him without really looking.
felix claps his hands once, “okay, let’s go, come on”
they escape into the cold evening, driving to han and minho’s dorm. when they get there, the lights glow from the windows, and christmas decorations spill out onto the hallway before they even enter their dorm.
inside, warmth hits them instantly, soft lights, the smell of food, the sound of laughter and chatter coming from the kitchen.
“you’re late!”, han shouts from somewhere behind a pile of snacks.
“you’re impatient”, seungmin replies without missing a beat, slipping off his coat.
felix darts forward to greet everyone, already chatting, already glowing the way he always does around people he loves.
seungmin steps inside slowly, scanning the living room - instinctively, unintentionally - for you.
but you’re not here yet.
he clears his throat and tries to look normal, neutral, completely unaffected. he fails immediately.
“y/n’s not here yet”, minho teases him from the sofa, one eyebrow raised in a way that tells seungmin he’s been caught.
“i didn’t ask”, seungmin deadpans.
“no”, felix says sweetly as he joins them again, “but you didn’t have to”
seungmin glares at him and felix beams. the christmas tree stands in the corner, lights blinking soft gold, a small pile of gifts already forming beneath it. everyone is putting their gifts there, laughing, making guesses about who got who.
he walks over, trying not to be too careful or too fast as he sets his gift down among the others. the bag lands lightly on top of the pile and for a moment he stops, wondering if the ribbon survived the sprint here, if the wrapping is still neat enough.
but then han yells something about the cookies almost burning, and someone else calls for help, and seungmin lets out a breath and steps back. he takes a seat between felix and changbin, crossing his arms lightly, pretending he isn’t quietly checking the door every few seconds.
he’s not obvious, he tells himself, but felix snorts as if reading his mind.
he’s extremely obvious.
and yet seungmin keeps doing it - glancing at the entrance, his heart giving a tiny, involuntary lift each time someone laughs on the hallway outside.
he keeps waiting for you, but he also keeps trying, and failing, not to show it.
he sits there, pretending to listen to felix and changbin’s conversation, pretending he isn’t imagining how you’ll smile when you walk in. and the only thing he can think, over and over again, is “please come soon”.
changbin notices everything. he’s been watching seungmin tapping his foot restlessly, glancing at the door every time footsteps sound in the hallway.
“ah”, changbin hums under his breath, leaning closer, nudging seungmin’s shoulder with obnoxious purpose, “romeo are you waiting for juliet?”
seungmin glares at him, but it loses all its power the second the door opens and you step inside.
it’s instant.
the noise of everyone talking, laughing, it all drops away, muffled, like someone pressed a pillow over the world. his heartbeat, though? that stays loud, thudding against his chest while he hopes no one else can hear it.
you’re brushing snowflakes from your hair, your cheeks pink from the cold, wrapped in a soft scarf he recognises, because he helped you pick it out last winter. your eyes scan the room and the moment they meet his, they light up like you’ve just found something you were looking for.
and seungmin is gone, hopelessly gone.
“seungmin!”, you beam, crossing the room faster than he expects.
he barely has time to stand up before you’re wrapping your arms around him, warm and soft and exactly what he’s been daydreaming about for a long time. he hugs you back without thinking, his hand settling between your shoulder blades, holding you just a second longer than he should.
“you made it”, he says, his voice embarrassingly soft.
“of course i did”, you say into his shoulder, like the idea of missing this - missing him - was absurd.
you pull away, smiling up at him, and he’s suddenly thankful the room is warm enough that everyone would assume his flushed cheeks are from the heater.
“hi, everyone!”, you turn to greet the others.
as soon as you move and your back is turned, seungmin sits again and changbin elbows him with zero mercy.
“wow, subtle”, changbin whispers, his eyes glinting, “really subtle. i couldn’t even tell you love her, not at all”
seungmin gives him a deadpan look, but the tips of his ears betray him, turning pink.
“shut up”
“no, seriously”, changbin continues, lowering his voice to imitate seungmin, “‘you made it’”, he whispers dramatically, clutching his chest, “i’m sure you were seconds away from saying ‘i thought my heart was going to give out from waiting-’”
“i’m going to switch seats with hyunjin”, seungmin threatens flatly.
changbin gasps, “you wouldn’t”
“watch me”
“okay, okay, i’ll be good”
you finish hugging chan, laughing as he spins you lightly, and seungmin’s gaze softens in spite of himself. when you turn back to him and smile again, it hits him all over again how stupidly in love he is.
soon the rest of your friends arrive and minho announces that dinner is ready, and everyone gathers around the long table. without question, without hesitation, you slide into the chair next to seungmin. you don’t even look around first, you just sit right beside him like it’s the only place that makes sense for you to be.
your knee bumps his under the table. you don’t move away. seungmin doesn’t either.
“comfortable?”, changbin says from beside seungmin.
seungmin shoots him a look sharp enough to cut through steel.
but when you lean a little closer to ask him, “you okay? i’m sure you had a long day today”, his entire expression softens like melting snow.
“i’m okay”, he says, “better now”
changbin nearly chokes on his water.
dinner is loud, everyone talking over each other as if you haven’t all spent countless nights like this already. bowls are passed around, chopsticks clatter, han drops something twice, and minho threatens him with dish duty if he does it again.
you’re laughing, leaning into seungmin when hyunjin reenacts a dance mistake felix made earlier, and seungmin doesn’t even pretend not to smile when he catches the way your shoulder rests lightly against his. it’s casual, friendly, completely normal.
still, it makes something warm bloom inside him.
“here, try this”, you say suddenly, picking up a piece of chicken with your fork and holding it out to him.
he blinks.
“i can take it”, he says, reaching for his own fork.
“no, come on”, you insist
his ears burn but still, he leans forward and takes the bite from your fork, trying very hard to act like this isn’t making his heart sprint.
from his other side, changbin makes a low whistle that only seungmin hears.
“you two are unbelievable”, changbin whispers, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
“eat your food”, seungmin mutters, not even bothering to deny anything, not when you’re right next to him, smiling at him like you didn’t just casually feed him food in front of everyone.
conversation flows from topic to topic - felix’s latest baking attempts, hyunjin’s story about losing his headphones for two days only to find them in his pocket, chan ranting about cable management, han doing impressions, jeongin judging those impressions - everything easy and familiar.
every so often, you look at seungmin and every time, he looks back.
maybe no one else notices. maybe no one else sees the way your foot brushes his lightly under the table, or how he shifts so your knees touch, or how he listens more carefully when it’s your voice filling the room.
but changbin sees. oh, he sees.
while the others talk, he leans over again, whispering only loud enough for seungmin to hear.
“you two are sitting so close you’re basically sharing oxygen”
“i swear i’ll switch seats with hyunjin”, seungmin whispers.
changbin snickers, satisfied. eventually, dinner winds down, plates empty and bellies full. han claps his hands loudly.
“okay! time for secret santa!”
felix cheers and chan tries to gather the dishes but is promptly told to sit down because it’s christmas eve, for fuck’s sake, leave the leader mode for a night.
everyone starts moving to the living room, crowding around the tree piled with colourful bags and boxes. you stand up, brushing crumbs from your sweater, and instinctively grab seungmin’s sleeve.
“come on”, you tell him, tugging gently.
like he would ever resist that.
you lead the way, weaving through the others. seungmin follows you, his heart embarrassingly light, and when you sit on the sofa, there’s no hesitation - your hand pats the spot right beside you, already smiling.
he takes it.
your legs press together easily, comfortably, and you lean against him as everyone settles around the room, laughter filling the room again.
the secret santa chaos begins and the first few rounds are a mess of laughter and wrong guesses.
hyunjin gets a set of glittery hair clips and immediately points at felix.
felix gasps, offended, “why is it automatically me!?”
“because you literally bought the same ones for you, i’ve seen them”, hyunjin says.
everyone cackles.
jeongin unwraps a ridiculously fluffy blanket and after five minutes of interrogation, he correctly guesses han.
when it’s seungmin’s turn, he unwraps his box with neat precision, and inside there is a sleek, shiny coffee machine.
han whistles, “wow, that’s expensive. who’d you bribe for this?”
chan grins like a proud dad, “i have to keep him alive somehow”
seungmin hides a shy smile behind the box, “thank you, chan”
“you’re welcome. now you have to bring us coffee to the studio every day”
everyone laughs, and seungmin relaxes a little, his shoulders loosening until minho says:
“y/n is your turn”
your turn.
you perk up, a little excited bounce in your seat. the gift bag sits under the tree and you take it, walking back to the sofa and placing the bag right between your leg and seungmin’s.
you take the gift from the bag and open it gently, careful not to rip anything and when your fingers brush what’s inside, something softens in your expression, like you already know the gift is from someone who sees you deeply, someone who really knows you.
you pull out a camera bag.
a vintage, worn-leather style, perfect size, the exact brown tone seungmin remembers you lingering on once in the shop window months ago.
your eyes widen.
you don’t even need to ask, don’t even need to look around the room for suspects. your smile gives you away.
“seungmin…”
he laughs, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck, “you figured it out fast”
“you’re the only one who’d know exactly what i wanted”, your voice is gentle and grateful.
he looks down at his hands, hiding a smile he can’t stop, shy in the way he always gets when it comes to you.
and then-
his stomach flips.
because inside the bag… there’s an envelope.
a very specific envelope.
the letter.
the letter he wrote and swore he would never give you. the one he tucked under the gift, on his desk. the one he completely forgot about in the rush to leave the dorm.
panic hits him like cold water.
his heart stutters, his breath goes thin.
his eyes snap up instinctively to you, your attention fully on the camera bag, completely unaware. he forces his face into something calm and normal.
around you, the gift exchange continues but seungmin hears none of it, his pulse drowns everything out. he can’t let you find the letter. he can’t let you read the words he wasn’t brave enough to say. he needs to get it out of the bag, quietly, without you or anyone else noticing.
he sits impossibly still beside you, his heart racing, his mind running in frantic circles.
how can i grab it? when can i grab it? she can’t see this. she can’t see this. she can’t.
and all the while, you sit so close to him with the gift he chose so lovingly, and with the letter that could ruin everything between you.
once all of the gifts have been opened, everyone starts putting them back into their respective bags to keep things organised. everyone, including you. you tuck the camera bag back inside the gift bag, humming happily to yourself.
seungmin watches with a frozen smile, his throat tight, because now, the letter is unreachable. he swallows. this was his chance. this was the moment he needed. and it’s gone.
the letter is sealed in there, with your gift, with you. and he has no way to get it out now, not without ripping the bag open in front of everyone.
he sits there, his hands clasped too tightly in his lap, listening to conversations he can’t follow. you’re laughing with minho, chan and changbin are bickering about who gets the last sweets, hyunjin is taking pictures of everyone.
and seungmin just sits, quiet, distant.
he doesn’t mean to be, but panic keeps crawling up his spine in waves he tries and fails to steady.
you notice, so you gently nudge his elbow with yours.
“are you okay?”
he blinks, startled, then forces his expression into something more relaxed and normal.
“yeah”, he lies, his voice low, “i’m fine”
you look unconvinced, your eyes searching his face, but before either of you can say more, someone calls your name to show you something funny on their phone.
the night goes on like that and seungmin tries to blend into it, to not let the fear show in the tightness of his shoulders or the way his fingers keep curling into fists. but he feels you glancing at him from time to time. checking on him, worrying. and it only makes his chest ache more.
eventually, around midnight, you stretch your arms over your head and let out a soft sigh.
“i think i’m gonna go”, you say, gathering your things, “i’m a bit tired”
you grab your gift bag, with the gift and the letter, and seungmin’s pulse jumps all over again.
he stands up quickly, “i’ll drive you”
you blink at him, “what? no, you don’t have to. you and felix came together, and you-”
“it’s fine”, felix cuts in from across the room, waving his hand like he’s been waiting for this moment all night, “i’ll stay here a bit longer, chan and jeongin can take me home later”
chan gives a thumbs up with a mouth full of food and jeongin nods from his hiding place under the blankets.
you look between them, then at seungmin.
“are you sure?”, you ask softly.
he nods, “yeah, let me take you”
you smile, gentle and grateful, completely unaware of the storm inside him, and get your scarf and coat. he grabs his coat, trying to steady his breathing. he doesn’t know how tonight will go. he doesn’t know if he’ll get the letter back before you see it. he only knows one thing:
you’re walking out the door with the most fragile piece of his heart tucked inside a gift bag.
and he has no choice but to follow.
seungmin drives quietly, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his thigh like he’s reminding himself to breathe. the streets are washed in yellow lights and soft christmas decorations, and beside him, you hum along to the song on the radio.
you keep stealing glances at him and he notices every single one. when he pulls up in front of your apartment, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn towards him, your eyes gentle in the dim light.
“thank you for driving me”, you say softly, “really”
he forces a smile, “of course”
you study him again and he tries not to flinch under it.
“do you… want to come in for a bit?”, you ask, “you seem… i don’t know, tired or something”
he hesitates for half a second, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s terrified of being near that bag, but saying no would worry you even more, so he nods.
“yeah, i’ll come in”
you smile, relieved, and both of you step out of the car. inside your apartment, the warmth hits him instantly. soft lights glow from the tree in the corner, and the faint smell of vanilla from an old candle lingers in the air.
it feels exactly like you.
you take your coat and scarf off and hang them on the hook, and he follows your movements automatically. you place your gift bag on the floor next to the sofa, like it’s the most harmless, normal thing in the world, and turn back to him.
“tonight was fun, right?”, you say, standing in front of him, smiling that sweet smile that always softens him.
he swallows, “yeah, it was nice”
you tilt your head a little, “you were… quiet though. after we opened our gifts”
his throat tightens.
“just… tired, it’s been a long day”, he says, hoping it sounds believable.
you nod slowly, but your brows pinch with that familiar concern.
“i’m gonna make hot chocolate”, you say softly, “do you want marshmallows or-”
“marshmallows are fine”, he replies too quickly.
you blink at him, a bit confused, “o-okay, i’ll be right back”
you disappear down the hallway towards the kitchen and he exhales, shaky and sharp. his eyes immediately lock on the bag near the sofa, the bag with the letter. this is his chance. this is the only chance.
barely breathing, he steps forward and crouches beside the bag, his hands trembling as he reaches inside. his fingers brush the edge of the envelope and he takes it out.
“seungmin?”
your voice freezes him like a splash of cold water. his blood runs cold, and slowly, too slowly, he lifts his head.
you’re standing in the doorway of the living room and your eyes fall to his hands, then to the envelope in his fingers, then back to him.
“w-what… what are you doing?”, you ask him, confusion laced in your face.
the silence stretches and the letter feels heavier than it really is.
seungmin realises, there’s no excuse, no way out.
you caught him.
your question hangs in the air, soft but sharp enough to slice right through him.
“seungmin…”
he opens his mouth.
nothing comes out.
his pulse is pounding in his ears, drowning out every rational thought he could reach for.
“i-”, he tries, “i was just- i thought maybe-”
you take a slow step forward, your eyes narrowing with worry more than accusation.
“seungmin”, you say quietly, “what’s going on?”
he could lie, he knows he could. he could say it was a receipt, instructions, anything, but his mind is blank, wiped clean by panic and the sight of you looking at him like that.
you move before he can react. in two quick steps, you’re in front of him, and before he even realises what you’re doing, your hand slips past his and you take the envelope right out of it.
the world stops.
“wait-”, he finally moves, panic shooting through him as he reaches out for it, “no- don’t- give it to me, please”
but you dodge his hand easily, your fingers already sliding under the flap.
“y/n”, he pleads, his voice breaking, “please- please, just- don’t-”
but then you see it.
your name, written in his handwriting, careful, unmistakably intimate, and you freeze.
your eyes lift to his, wide and stunned and soft, and he stops reaching for it, because now he knows there’s no escape, no explanation, no lie that could undo this.
you move a bit further away from him, just enough to read the letter, and his breath shatters in his chest, while he watches helplessly as your eyes scan the paper.
he recognises every line from the way your breath catches.
your lips part in a tiny, broken inhale and you look up at him, your eyes glistening.
“seungmin…”, your voice is barely a whisper, “what… what does this mean?”
he closes his eyes for a second, his shoulders collapsing in defeat. when he opens them again, they’re full of raw honesty, fear trembling underneath every word.
“it means…”, he swallows hard, “that i’m in love with you”
your breath stutters but he keeps going, because now that the dam has broken, he can’t stop it.
“i’ve been in love with you for… for a while, i don’t even remember when it started”, he says, his voice fragile, “but i didn’t want you to know. i didn’t want to make things weird. i didn’t want to ruin everything we have just because i can’t control my feelings”
his eyes drop to the floor, shame tightening every line of his body.
“i didn’t want to lose you”, he whispers, “so i kept it to myself. i wasn’t even going to give you that letter. i just… wrote it, and put it on my desk, under your gift. and when i saw it in the bag tonight, i panicked. i didn’t want you to find out like this. i didn’t want you to hate me or-”
“seungmin”
your voice is soft, trembling.
he looks up.
your eyes shine with unshed tears.
“stop”, you whisper.
he swallows and nods, feeling his heart breaking, before he hears you say,
“i feel the same way”
his whole body goes still, frozen, like your words hit him so softly and yet so powerfully that his mind can’t catch up fast enough to believe them.
“you…”, he whispers, his eyes wide, “you what?”
you take a tiny, shaky step closer, clutching the letter against your chest.
“i’m in love with you”, you say, your tears spilling now despite your smile, “i’ve been in love with you for so long, seungmin. i didn’t say anything because i didn’t want to lose you either. i thought… i thought you didn’t see me that way. i thought i was imagining it. i thought telling you would ruin everything and-”
he shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to wake up from a dream or keep himself from sinking into one.
“no”, he whispers, stopping you, “no, don’t- don’t say that, just… you… you’re in love with me?”
you laugh softly through your tears, brushing them away.
“yes, i’m in love with you. with your smile, with your stupid teasing, with how you always remember the little things about me even when i forget them myself. i’m in love with the way you laugh when you’re tired and how you’re always pushing yourself to be better and how you pretend you don’t care but you really, really do. i’m in love with every version of you and-”
you don’t get to finish because suddenly his hands are on your cheeks, warm and trembling, and he pulls you towards him as if instinct takes over faster than his thoughts can.
your breath catches, the letter slipping from your fingers to the floor as he kisses you. it’s not gentle or hesitant. it’s raw, urgent, like he’s been holding it in for too long and finally can’t anymore.
your hands immediately slide into his hair, your fingers tangling, pulling him closer, grounding both of you in the moment neither of you ever thought you’d get to have. he breaks the kiss only for the briefest second, his forehead pressing against yours, your breaths mingling, both of you shaking.
“you’re in love with me”, he whispers, still sounding breathless and disbelieving.
you nod against him, your noses brushing.
“and you’re in love with me”, you say softly.
a tiny, helpless laugh escapes him before he kisses you again, slower this time, but deeper somehow, his hands cradling your face like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. your fingers slide down to the back of his neck, holding him close to you, feeling the warmth of him, the shudder of his exhale, the way he melts into your touch.
“i love you”, he says between kisses, the words falling out of him like he can’t keep them in anymore, “i love you, i love you”
you smile against his lips, whispering the same words back, again and again, your hands cupping his jaw, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, his breath trembling every time he says it.
two people in love, finally saying everything they’ve been holding in, wrapped in each other, in your living room, with his letter on the floor and his heart in your hands.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. you just stay there, your foreheads pressed together until seungmin laughs. a soft, shaky, disbelieving laugh that breaks on his breath. his thumbs swipe under your eyes, catching the tears you didn’t realise had fallen again.
“we’re idiots”, he says, his voice warm and fond and still trembling, “we wasted so much time”
you sniff, half laughing yourself, “we really did”
his smile softens, small, tender, so full of emotion it makes your chest ache.
“but it doesn’t matter now”, he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, “we have time now. all the time in the world”
you lean in and kiss him again. his hands slide down from your cheeks to your jaw, your neck, your hair, holding you so securely, as if he’s afraid to wake up and find out he imagined this entire moment.
you feel him smile against your lips, and you can’t help but do the same.
“i can’t believe you love me”, he whispers when he pulls back just enough to speak, his eyes searching yours like he still needs to see the truth there.
you touch his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eye, “i love you so much, seungmin. you have no idea”
he shakes his head slowly, swallowing hard, “i’ve-”, his breath catches, his voice breaking in the softest way, “i’ve been so in love with you it hurt. every time you smiled at me, every time you called me just to say hi… i thought i was going insane”
you let out a watery laugh, “you hid it well”
“the boys would disagree”, he says laughing.
you laugh and he looks at you like the sound is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. his hand slides to the back of your neck again, his fingers threading through the hair at your nape, pulling you closer until your lips meet again.
you kiss him back with everything you’ve kept quiet, every longing glance and unspoken feeling, every moment your heart ached for him.
when you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours again, your noses brushing. he moves his head, brushing his lips over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, little kisses that make your heartbeat flutter.
your hands slide down from his hair to his shoulders, when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him fully, and you melt into the embrace like you were made to fit there.
“we really should’ve told each other sooner”, you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder.
he hugs you tighter.
“maybe. but… maybe this was the right moment. maybe we needed to be brave enough for it”
you close your eyes, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself believe his words - maybe it’s true that you needed to be brave enough to admit your feelings to each other, even if it was with the help of his letter.
“i love you”, you whisper again, just because you can now.
you feel him smile against your hair.
“i love you too”
you stay like that for a while - just wrapped in each other, gentle touches, quiet laughter, stray tears wiped away with soft hands. the world outside your living room feels far away, unimportant. everything you ever wanted is right here, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.
finally, he pulls back slightly, looking at you with that soft, warm smile that only ever appeared when he thought you weren’t looking.
“we have so much time to make up for”, he says.
you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks.
“then let’s start now”
he leans in and kisses you again, slow and sweet, and this time, you know you have all the time in the world to keep kissing him.
event masterlist | the library
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💜
˚ ༘ 🎞️ ⸝⸝ ⋮ in which a makeup artist recently got fired from her four year job and her boyfriend, kim seungmin, puts all his efforts into comforting her.
kim seungmin x makeup artist f!reader · category : angst & fluff · contents : feat. itzy’s yeji & original characters. established relationship. mentions of alcohol. emotional distress. unhealthy lifestyle. overall, kim seungmin being a great boyfriend. reader’s discretion is advised. · word count : 8.9k
💬 … lynsbng speaking ⸝⸝ another anon request! i really enjoyed writing this story and i hope you’ll like it as well! i created three characters for this fic and they might appear again in future fics 😛 requests are open.
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SPENDING FRIDAY NIGHTS WITH YOUR GIRLFRIENDS HAD BEEN A TRADITION SINCE FIRST YEAR ORIENTATION, when you were fifteen and terrified, and minhee had found you hiding in the bathroom during the icebreaker game.
you remembered crouching on the floor behind the handicap stall, your brand new uniform skirt pooling around your thighs, trying extremely hard not to cry. approximately 237 students packed into the gymnasium, all of them strangers, all of them somehow already familiar to each other. you had never felt so alone in your entire life.
your thoughts were instantly interrupted as the toilet door swung open.
“oh, thank god,” a feminine voice came from the doorway. you could hear her footsteps approaching, hesitant at first, then more certain. “i’m not the only one.”
slowly, you looked up to find a girl with messy pigtails, along with a name tag that read ‘song minhee’ in slightly crooked handwriting. she was holding a crumpled orientation schedule, her knuckles white around the folded paper. a soft smile bloomed across her lips, genuine.
she seemed friendly at first sight.
“hi, the name’s minhee.”
“..hi,” you croaked, hastily wiping your tears with the back of your hand. sniffing, “i’m y/n..”
“y/n… that’s a cool name,” she then carefully slid down the wall, sitting beside you on the floor. “you wanna talk about it?”
and that was how it started.
eleven years later, you were still talking about it.
not the icebreaker game. not the terror of being the new kid in a sea of strangers. all of that had faded into the background, replaced by seven years of accumulated history: shared lunches and late-night study sessions, first heartbreaks and failed exams. after that day, you and minhee became inseparable in the way that only people who’ve seen each other at their most vulnerable can be—technically, sisters.
minhee introduced you to her favorite tteokbokki place. you helped her study chemistry. she cried on your shoulder when her first boyfriend broke up with her. you cried on hers when your pet dog passed away.
and somewhere along the way, the two of you became four.
yoon chaerin found you at the chicken place near the station, three weeks into the school year. she had returned your lost pencil case, and minhee had immediately invited her to join your table. you could still remember the glare she shot towards the both of you, unimpressed, before eventually giving in to minhee’s relentless pursuits. she sat rigidly at first, arms crossed, as if daring you to try and make her stay. yet, she stayed, she kept staying. seven years later, she was still here, still sharp-eyed and composed, still pretending she didn’t care as much as she clearly did.
hwang yeji joined last, recruited via minhee’s relentless campaign to “collect all the cool girls before anyone else does.” she was a natural beauty, an extremely talented dancer on top of that. you were not surprised to find out that she was a trainee. what did surprise you was how easily she settled into the rhythm of your friday nights. she was quiet at first, watchful, before slowly unfolding into someone who would steal your chips, wear your shirts, and call the group at 10 pm with life updates.
oh, fun fact!
you met your boyfriend through her. kim seungmin.
it happened nine years ago, at jyp’s trainee showcase.
yeji had invited all three of you to watch her performance with her fellow trainees. you remembered the venue being smaller than you had expected. it was an intimate theater tucked away in gangnam, the kind of place that could only hold around two hundred people. you had sat in the third row, squeezed between minhee’s excited bouncing and chaerin’s usual composed stillness, watching yeji command the stage like she was born to do it.
hell, she was born to do it. you remembered your throat being sore afterwards from cheering so loud, your palms red from clapping. minhee had cried actual tears, and chaerin had a tiny, yet proud smile on her lips.
after the performance, yeji had found you in the lobby, still glowing with post-stage adrenaline. both minhee and chaerin left for the restroom, leaving you alone in the corner. noticing the other two’s absence, she grabbed your wrist with both hands, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled you towards the backstage area.
“yeji–”
“come on, come on,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, already dragging you through the crowd. “i need you to meet people!”
backstage was absolute chaos. trainees rushed past in costume changes, staff members shouted instructions through headsets, and somewhere in the corner, you could see a man was running scales with a group of nervous-looking boys. the air smelled of hairspray and sweat, along with the particular electric energy of about 50 young adults riding the high of performing.
you tried to stay close to yeji, tried to stay out of the way, tried not to knock over any of the equipment piled precariously in the narrow corridors. you remembered apologizing to a staff member whose phone you had nearly sent flying, remembered yeji laughing and pulling you forward, remembering turning a corner and–
thud.
you collided with a boy coming out of a dressing room.
“oh my god, i’m sorry–” you started, stepping back quickly.
“no, it’s fine. i’m sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going–” the boy had stopped mid-sentence, blinking at you. his cheeks were flushed from performing, his hair slightly damp at the temples, and he was holding a half-empty water bottle as if it was glued to his hand.
“oh, seungmin! there you are! i was looking for you,” yeji grinned proudly, appearing at your side. her hand was still holding yours. “y/n, this is seungmin! i’ve been wanting to introduce you to him!”
you awkwardly bowed at him, “hi…”
seungmin would blink at her, then at you, then back at her. he then returned the bow, his ears turning a shade of pink.
“hi,” his voice was soft, a stark contrast to the voice you had just heard an hour ago, on that same stage. it felt as if he was afraid of speaking too loud and scaring you off–or he was just simply, shy.
“seungmin’s one of the best vocalists in the trainee program,” yeji continued, her grin showing no signs of fading. “and y/n here, is my best friend. she’s a makeup artist—well, she’s still in school for it but… she’s really good! she does my makeup most of the time, actually. you should let her do your makeup sometimes, your skin is always so dry.”
“my skin is not—” seungmin huffed, now touching his cheek self-consciously. “i use moisturizer, okay?”
“not enough, apparently,” yeji was already tugging you away. “anyway, we have to go! there are like, 13 more people she needs to meet. see ya!”
you barely had time to register everything. as you were pulled away, you peered over your shoulder, locking eyes with him for a brief second.
he was still standing there, watching you go. you couldn’t forget the smile he gave you. it was genuine, charming, and cute.
that was nine years ago.
nine years of chance encounters at yeji’s events, brief conversations that grew longer and more deliberate. nine years of him debuting, of watching his face appear on billboards and his voice play from radios, of feeling a small, personal pride every time you heard someone compliment his vocals. nine years of friendship that deepened slowly, imperceptibly, like the changing of seasons.
three years ago, he had asked you out properly. it happened during a casual game night, with just the two of you.
the game lay forgotten between you. uno cards were scattered across the low table, snacks half-eaten, drinks had gone lukewarm. the rest of the apartment had emptied out gradually, with yeji called away to a sudden schedule, minhee needing to catch the last train, and yongbok offering to drive her to the station. one by one, they had disappeared, until it was just the two of you in the living room.
you remembered him being a nervous wreck the entire time, his fingers drumming against his pants in a frantic rhythm, his ears tinged pink. he hadn’t looked at you for the past five minutes, his gaze fixed on his soda, his breathing shallow and uneven.
then slowly, hesitantly, his hand moved across the table.
his fingers brushed yours–barely a touch. he paused, waiting, giving you every opportunity to pull away.
you didn’t move.
his hand trembled slightly as he curled his fingers around yours. his palm was warm against your cold skin, a gentle, enveloping heat that seeped into your bones and spread slowly up your arm. he held your hand like it was something precious, something vulnerable, something he had been reaching for six years and was only now courageous enough to touch.
“i…” he swallowed, then started again. “i really like you, y/n.”
thump. your heart stumbled over itself, a clumsy, surprised beat.
“i don’t want to just be your friend,” he whispered softly.
thump. thump.
“i want to be your person, if you’ll let me,” his thumb moved across your knuckles, a gentle caress. his eyes were fixed on your joined hands, exhaling a deep breath. “i want you to be the first thing i wake up to and the last thing i see before i fall asleep. i want to learn all the things you love and all the things you don’t talk about and everything in between. i want to be there when you have a bad day, and i want to celebrate with you when you have a good one.”
thumpthumpthump.
his eyes finally lifted from your joined hands to meet yours. they were bright, vulnerable, completely open.
“will you be mine, y/n?”
and you remembered being on the verge of tears, nodding your head as he pulled you into his warm embrace. it was one of the moments you continued to cherish as life went on.
as of now, you both shared an apartment. his toothbrush lived in your bathroom, his puppy plushies had slowly migrated onto your shelf, taking up residence among your books and skincare bottles. his hoodies had become your default loungewear, soft, worn, and smelled like his cologne.
and every night, when you came home from your girlfriends, along with him coming home from a busy schedule, he would find you on the sofa; sometimes laughing, sometimes tired, and sometimes, completely undone.
TONIGHT, THE FOUR OF YOU WERE SPRAWLED ACROSS CHAERIN’S APARTMENT, the fairy lights she had inherited from minhee casting everything in warm amber. the chicken tower had been demolished, reduced to a graveyard of bones and crumpled napkins. beer cans sweated condensation onto the coffee table, and sauce stains covered nearly every available surface. the four of you were going to have a fun time cleaning the apartment. later. much later.
minhee was spread across the larger section of the couch, her maroon hair fanned out against the armrest like a splash of paint, her legs draped over chaerin’s lap with casual entitlement of an eleven years of friendship. she was gesturing wildly with her beer can, sloshing a little onto the cushion with each dramatic wave. no one moved to clean it. no one ever did.
“and he said, and i quote, ‘i don’t usually date women who wear makeup, but you’re so naturally pretty that i barely notice yours.’” she paused for dramatic effect, the can suspended mid-air like a conductor’s baton. “barely, he said barely–ugh, i swear! men never fail to disappoint me.”
chaerin didn’t look up from her phone. “should’ve dumped your drink on him.”
“i did! i dumped my entire iced americano. on his shirt.” minhee dramatically sighed, her head resting against her palm, her elbow propped up against the couch frame, “and he was wearing white!”
yeji gasped from the floor, the single fry on her fingers left uneaten. “you did not!”
“i absolutely did,” minhee’s grin was sharp and satisfied. “you should’ve seen the look on his face!”
“what did he do? what did he say?” you asked, leaning forward from your corner of the couch.
minhee flipped her hair dramatically, “he just stood there, dripping, completely speechless. his mouth was opening like a fish–like this!” she demonstrated, and yeji snorted. “and then he called me crazy and walked away. worth it, honestly. he didn’t really have the face card anyway!”
“either way, you’re doing him a favor,” chaerin half-heartedly commented, still scrolling on her phone. “now he has stories to tell at parties.”
“my heroism knows no bounds,” minhee winked, pressing a free hand to her chest, “i sacrificed my dating prospects so others may learn.”
“learn what, exactly?” you asked.
“don’t comment on women’s faces. literally, the bare minimum.”
“pfttt–” chaerin had finally set down her phone, giving minhee her full attention. she was finally smiling, that rare, genuine smile that made her sharp features go soft. “so you’re never dating again? that’s your solution?”
that earned chaerin an eye-roll, “i’m taking a hiatus! from men. from dating apps. from the entire hopeless romantic agenda.”
“and how long will this ‘hiatus’ be?”
“um… at least a week. maybe two.”
yeji snorted, “girl, be for real. you lasted three days last time.”
“because he had a dog! a really cute dog! god forbid a girl living her life.”
you laughed, the sound joining the easy rhythm of their voices, this was the thing about friday nights; the way the conversation drifted and circled and never needed to be profound. they way you could talk about nothing for hours and still feel fuller than you had all week.
outside, seoul was doing what seoul always did on friday nights. it was always pulsing with neon and exhaust fumes, along with the collective exhale of millions of people who had made it through another week. the traffic on the main road was a constant hum, punctuated by occasional blare of a car horn. you would often find yourself overwhelmed by the city’s relentless energy, its refusal to slow down or rest.
but here, the world was soft. manageable. yours.
“okay, serious question,” minhee announced, finally abandoning her dating horror story in favor of something more pressing. she sat up, tucking her legs beneath her, carefully moving her beer can away from the edge of the cushion. her expression shifted into something serious (and failing completely). “if you had to marry one of the stray kids members, but you also had to divorce them the next day, who are you picking?”
“girl, my boyfriend is literally in the band.” you glared at minhee. unbelievable.
“okay and?” minhee waved her hand dismissively, “come on, y/n. it’s just a question!”
“nope–”
your phone buzzed against the wooden table.
the vibration was sharp. insistent. it cut through the warmth of the room like a blade.
you glanced at the screen. unknown number.
something cold settled in your stomach. you didn’t know why. it was just a phone call. you got unknown numbers all the time, whether it was about schedules, confirmations, or some silly trolls. however, your hand hesitated over the phone. a beat too long. a breath too shallow.
“y/n?” yeji was looking at you, head tilting in confusion. “you gonna’ get that?”
you picked up the phone, standing up. your legs carried you away from the couch, away from the warmth, the laughter, and the sauce-stained coffee table, towards the glass door that led to chaerin’s tiny balcony.
“i’ll be right back.”
the door slid shut behind you, and the silence of the balcony swallowed you whole.
you pressed the phone to your ear, “hello?”
“y/n? it’s yurim—from the agency. i changed my phone number.”
you knew her voice. you had answered to that voice for three years, had received tasks and feedbacks, and once, a brief “good job” comment that you immediately told seungmin about it at least 36 times. choi yurim, your employer, the person who hired you.
“hi, yurim,” your voice came out steady. professional. the same voice you used when confirming schedules and sending portfolio updates. “is everything okay?”
a pause.
that pause.
it stretched too long. you watched a taxi crawl through the intersection below, its orange light a smear against asphalt. someone was laughing inside the apartment—minhee, probably, her particular high-pitched giggle that always made chaerin roll her eyes.
“i’m calling because there’s been a decision made,” yurim’s voice sounded careful, measured. the voice of someone who had made these calls before, who had learned exactly which words to use and which to avoid. "about the artist roster. we’re bringing in someone new.”
the taxi disappeared from view. you watched the empty space where it had been.
“a new artist…?” you repeated. your voice came out light, almost curious.
“for next week’s schedule?” you continued, unconsciously tilting your head despite her not being able to see you, “oh, cool. is it because we’re understaffed? because honestly, it has been a hectic season for us… i don’t mind having a new teammate.”
the other line went silent.
you filled the silence easily, comfortably, the way you always did when you were nervous about something and trying to pretend you weren’t.
“who is it? do i know this person?” a small laugh escaped you,” not that i’m picky–”
“y/n.”
“i can show her around–”
“y/n,” yurim’s tone was stern now. cutting. “she’s not joining you. she’s replacing you.”
the words landed in a tumultuous, aching crash. you felt them land, somewhere deep in your chest, in your stomach, in the marrow of your bones.
and this time, they didn’t bounce off. they stayed.
your mouth was still open, still forming the next sentence, the next deflection, the next bright yet empty reassurance that everything was fine. however, the words died on your tongue, curled up and expired before you could push them out.
she’s replacing you.
“...oh.”
it was the only sound you could make. just that. just an empty ‘oh’.
yurim didn’t speak. she knew there was nothing left to say. maybe she was waiting for you to catch up to your own life, to the moment it had just veered off a cliff.
your grip against the railing tightened, knuckles white. you held on like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “i…”
you stopped. started again, “i don’t understand.”
“what part?” yurim’s voice was then gentle. careful.
“any of it,” the words came out raw, scraped. “i’ve been there for three years. i’ve never been late. i’ve never complained. i’ve done overtime without asking for extra pay, i’ve covered other’s shifts when they were sick. i’ve–”
you felt your throat closing. the words got stuck somewhere between your chest and mouth, lodged behind the pressure building in your sternum. you swallowed, tried again, and nothing came out.
“...i’m sorry, y/n. it’s not my decision.”
you wanted to respond. you wanted to say something, to be able to defend yourself–anything that would fill the silence, that would push back against the weight pressing down on your chest.
your lips parted. closed. parted again.
nothing.
below, another taxi passed. its taillights blurred and stretched as tears began to pool in your eyes.
breathe. just breathe. don’t cry.
“about your final paycheck and severance package.. they’ll email you the details by monday,” yurim continued, her voice shifting into something more administrative, more detached; as if she was reading from a script.
you could imagine the disappointed look on her face.
“...i understand,” you eventually managed.
the words came out wrong. too steady. too calm. they belonged to someone who was fine, someone who hadn’t just had four years of their life dismantled in four minutes, someone who wasn’t standing on a freezing balcony with their heart caving in.
a light chortle escaped the depths of your throat–airy, dismissive, completely at odds with the devastation sitting within your chest. it bubbled up from somewhere you didn’t recognize; a survival mechanism. “thank you, yurim. for telling me this. i wouldn’t prefer other people to tell me.”
another feigned laugh. you heard it come out of your mouth and hated it, hated how bright it sounded, how casual, how fine.
on the other end of the line, yurim was yet again, silent for a moment. you wondered what she was thinking–if she felt anything at all, if she had already moved on to the next call, the next termination, the next stranger she would have to deliver this same script to.
“...take care, y/n.”
the line went dead.
you lowered the phone from your ear. for a moment, you didn’t move on. you stood there on chaerin’s balcony, the phone pressed against your thigh, your other hand had frozen on the railing. the frigid wind cut through your sweater, yet you couldn’t feel it. couldn’t feel anything except the echo of her voice.
she’s replacing you. she’s replacing you. she’s replacing you. it was played on a loop within your cranium.
breathe.
you tried. you really tried. you pulled air into your lungs, held it, released it–it didn’t work. the oxygen didn’t seem to be reaching anywhere important. your chest was too tight, too heavy, as if someone had placed a stone directly on your sternum and was leaning their full weight into it.
breathe.
another breath, shallower this time. your vision wavered at the edges.
it then came suddenly–a wave of nausea so intense you had to grip the railing with both hands to stay upright. your stomach lurched, your mouth flooded with saliva, your knees went weak. for a terrifying second, you were certain you were going to vomit right there, twenty stories above the street, with your friends still laughing on the other side of the glass.
you swallowed and swallowed again. the feeling receded, just barely, leaving behind a hollow, churning emptiness.
you couldn’t stay there. you couldn’t stand on that balcony for another second, pretending to be fine.
your body moved before your mind caught up.
the glass door slid open. you didn’t look at them–you simply couldn’t. you walked straight to the couch, to your bag. your movements were almost mechanical, the steps of someone who had disconnected from their own body and was simply watching it perform functions from a great distance. your hands found the zipper, pulling it open. your keys were inside somewhere, your wallet, your phone charger–none of it mattered. you just needed to leave. needed to get out. needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, where the walls weren’t closing in and the air wasn’t so thick you could choke on it.
“y/n?”
minhee’s voice, bright at first, still carrying the tail end of her laughter, still floating in the warm amber space where everything had been fine just minutes ago. then shifting, softening, the laughter dying in her throat as she registered something wrong in the way you were acting, the way you weren’t looking at any of them, the way your hands were shaking as they fumbled with your bag.
you didn’t stop. you slung your bag over your shoulder, your fingers clumsy, your whole body vibrating with the effort of holding yourself together, of keeping the cracks from splitting wide open right there in front of them.
“hey,” minhee’s voice was closer now. you heard the couch creak as she sat upm, heard the shift of her weight as she swung her legs off chaerin’s lap, “what’s going on?”
you finally looked at her. it was a mistake.
her face, worried, cracked something open in your chest. you felt it happen, felt the fissure spread, felt everything you were trying so desperately to contain started to leak through the gaps.
you looked away. fast. focused on the door, on the escape room, on anything except the three people who knew you better than anyone and could already see you falling apart.
“..something came up at home,” your voice sounded strange, eerily distant. you could see the evident confusion in her gaze. “an emergency… i have to go.”
“what kind of emergency?” chaerin was now on her feet, her phone forgotten on the armchair, her sharp gaze cataloguing everything; the pallor of your skin, the tremor in your hands, the way you weren’t quite meeting anyone’s gaze. chaerin had always been an observer. it was what made her so good at her job, what made her so impossible to lie to, and what made her such a dangerous individual. you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, instead, at the floor.
“just–” the word came out cracked, split down the middle. you were already moving towards the door. “i’ll explain later–sorry, i have to go.”
the silence that followed was the loudest thing you had ever heard.
you could feel their eyes on you, their concern radiating like heat, their care pressing against the walls you were trying so desperately to keep upright. you could feel them exchanging glances above your head, having one of those wordless conversations they had perfected over eleven years; the ones that could communicate entire paragraphs within a single look.
you could feel them deciding, in unison, to let you go.
chaerin stepped aside.
she didn’t say anything. she just moved, creating a path to the door, creating space for you to leave. you could her hand brushing yours as you passed; a brief, deliberate, whisper of contact that said ‘i’m here and i’ll always listen if you need anything.’
yeji’s hand caught your wrist. gentle, also brief. just a touch, just long enough to say everything she couldn’t put into words. a genuine smile on her lips, “text us when you’re home, okay?”
you nodded, once, hoping they would understand you.
you couldn’t speak anymore, couldn’t trust your voice to form words, to sound normal. you felt your throat clenching further shut, felt the tears pressing harder against the back of your eyes, felt the cracks in your facade spreading wider, deeper, and impossible to contain.
as soon as her grip no longer encircled your wrist, you were moving yet again.
the door was right there. three steps. two. one.
you pulled it open. the hallway air hit your face in an instant–cold, fluorescent, sterile. it smelled like nothing, like the absence of warmth, like the hollow space between where you had been and where you were going. the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that made skin look sallow and shadows look deep.
you stepped through, the door closing behind you with a soft click.
and you were alone.
the sound of it seemed to echo in the narrow hallway, bouncing off pale grey walls and fluorescent light fixtures, settling into your bones like a verdict. click. you stood there for a moment, frozen, your hand still on the doorknob. through the wood, muffled and distant, you could hear them: minhee’s voice, low and worried, chaerin’s quiet response, and yeji’s soft murmur. they were all talking about you–of course they were. they cared about you, and they were worried.
exhaling a deep breath, your hand fell from the doorknob. your feet carried you forward, down the hallway, towards the elevator. each step felt wrong–too heavy, too slow, too disconnected from the rest of your body. you were there, but you were also still on that balcony, still hearing yurim’s words echoing through empty space.
she’s replacing you.
the elevator button was cold beneath your finger. you pressed it once. twice. thrice, as if that would make it come faster, as if that would speed up the process of getting away, getting out, getting somewhere you could finally fall apart.
the door eventually opened. you stepped inside, turned, watched the door slide closed. you watched as the numbers started to descend.
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED EXISTED IN A FOG… you went through the motions of living because there was no other option. you woke up, stared at the ceiling, checked your phone, ignoring most of the messages. you ate when your body reminded you that food was necessary, which wasn’t often. you slept.
that was the thing about grief. it exhausted you in ways you couldn’t explain, pulled you under without warning, left you waking hours later with no memory of falling asleep. you slept because it was easier than being awake. you slept because when you were asleep, you didn’t have to think about anything. you slept because your body didn’t know what else to do with the weight sitting in your chest.
monday came and went. you don’t remember most of it.
tuesday. wednesday.
the days blurred together, indistinguishable, marked only by the changing quality of light through your curtains and the increasing frequency of messages from your friends.
mother minhee : @ y/n u ok girly?
mother minhee : we’re here if u need someone to talk to
mother minhee : ik i sound so annoying rn but i’m worried bff
rinnie : correction. we are.
mother minhee : girl im this close to coming over and break ur door down if u dont answer
miss worldwide star : bitch bffr leave y/n alone
mother minhee : god forbid a woman to be worried of her bff
you stared at the screen for a long time. your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your heart pounding against your ribs as if it was trying to escape.
i’m ok guys :)
you sent it before your brain could process your actions. three words, simple–clean. a lie wrapped in a smile you didn’t have to show.
the responses were immediate.
mother minhee : OH THANK GOD
mother minhee : u had us so worried like actually worried worried
mother minhee : are u sure ure ok? like really ok??
rinnie : glad that you responded.
miss worldwide star : just let us know if u need anything ok? love u babe ;)
you put the phone down. you couldn’t look at it anymore. the lie sat in your chest next to the grief–heavy, scorching, and wrong. you told yourself it was necessary, that they didn’t need to know. you told yourself that you could be a better person, that you’re not putting your burdens on them.
you closed your eyes and let sleep pull you under again.
thursday arrived the same way wednesday had–gray lights through the curtains, the muffled sounds of the city waking up, the familiar weight of your phone in your hand.
more messages.
mother minhee : @ y/n are u rlly ok
mother minhee : sorry i know im being annoying but i cant help it
rinnie : hey, she must’ve been busy lately. let’s not.
miss worldwide star : a daily reminder that we’re here for u @ y/n <3
you read them all, and you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.
instead, you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, your fingers gripping the worn fabric like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. your other hand held your phone, thumb moving on autopilot, scrolling, scrolling, and scrolling.
instagram. x. tiktok. then back to instagram. then back to x.
you weren’t looking for anything, reading anything. you were just… scrolling, letting the endless stream of images and videos wash over you, none of it sticking, none of it meaning anything. just motion, just noise, just something to do with your hands while your mind stayed elsewhere entirely.
a video of someone doing a makeup tutorial. you scrolled past it.
a photo of a girl group at a music show. you scrolled past it.
a brainrot meme. you scrolled past it.
then, a new video of seungmin. your thumb paused mid-swipe.
it was a fan edit–the kind that flooded your timeline whenever he did anything remotely interesting. a fan had compiled clips from his recent fansign in japan, set to soft music, captioned with kind remarks you didn’t bother to read. the words blurred at the edges of your vision, just white text on a black background, meaningless noise.
but his face. his face was everything.
the video opened with him laughing. that was how so many of these edits started–with his laughs, with his smile, with the particular way his whole face transformed when he was genuinely happy. he was tilted towards a fan, his head slightly cocked, his eyes crinkled into those crescent moons you had always fallen in love with.
your thumb hovered over the screen, frozen.
then the clip shifted. he was signing an album, his focus absolute, his tongue poking out slightly the way it always did when he concentrated. you had teased him about that a thousand times. he would always deny it, claiming that he had no idea what you were talking about. you would then show him a photo, and his ears would turn that particular shade of pink, muttering his usual ‘mean’ remarks.
the thought made something twist in your chest.
another shift. he was waving goodbye now, his hand moving in that small, shy way he had–not the practiced idol wave, but something smaller, more genuine. his smile was soft, he looked tired yet happy. he looked like someone who was loved by thousands of people, none of whom were you right now.
thirty seconds. that was all.
you watched it once. then again, and again.
on the fourth loop, the tears started.
without warning, the tears came silently, sliding down your cheeks while your gaze remained fixated at his smile frozen on your screen. he looked so alive, so present, so completely himself in a way that made your chest ache with missing him. you could almost hear his laugh, even with the sound off. you could almost feel the warmth of him beside you, the comfortable weight of his arm around your waist, the soft press of his lips against your forehead.
however, he wasn’t here. he was in japan, in some hotel you had never seen, on the other side of a sea you couldn’t cross. and you were here, on this couch, in this dark apartment, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of his cologne and couldn’t seem to find your way out.
during the week, he had sent you life updates:
puppym<3 : just landed in osaka! the airport is so crowded
puppym<3 : rehearsal went well. tired but good. miss u.
puppym<3 : [attached image: his dinner]
puppym<3 : thinking of u. hope ur sleeping well.
puppym<3 : bought u some souvenirs! cant wait to see u baby
puppym<3 : 3 more days
puppym<3 : 2 more days… the fansign was rlly crowded
puppym<3 : 1 more day... can’t wait to annoy u all day… this is a threat
you had responded to all of them. short messages, mostly.
miss u seungie <3
can’t wait until ure home
i’m sleeping well! don’t worry about me
love u, can’t wait to see u <3
lies wrapped in hearts, delivered with the kind of casual affection that had once come so easily–before. before the phone call, the balcony… before the world had tilted on its axis and left you here, stranded, unable to find your way back to the person who used to send those messages without thinking twice.
you missed him. so much.
you missed him in the way you missed breathing when your lungs were full of water. you missed him in the way you missed sunlight after weeks of rain.l you missed him with every part of yourself, and the worst part was that he didn’t even know.
he didn’t know because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him.
not over text. not when he was so far away, so busy, so needed by thousands of people who had paid money to see him. your problems felt small compared to that. insignificant. replaceable.
just like you.
the thought landed heavily in your stomach. you pressed your palm against your chest, as if you could physically hold yourself together, as if you could keep the cracks from spreading any further.
your phone buzzed.
puppym<3 : landed. grabbing coffee then heading to u. see u soon
you stared at the message. 7:43 am. he had been travelling all night.
and you immediately found yourself moving.
you didn’t know where the energy came from. maybe ot was the thought of his face when he walked through the door. maybe it was the desperate need to feel like a person again, even just for a moment. maybe it was simply that your body remembered what it was supposed to do, even when your mind had forgotten.
you showered.
the hot water burned against your skin, then soothed. you stood under the spray for a long time, watching the days wash off you–the grief, the fog, the weight, they didn’t disappear. yet when you finally stepped out, your reflection in the mirror looked slightly more like the person you used to be.
you dried your hair, put on real clothes–a soft sweater, paired with your favorite jeans, and the earrings he had given for your birthday. you even applied a little concealer under your eyes, trying to hide the evidence of your miserable five days.
it barely worked. you still looked pale, too thin. your cheekbones were more prominent than they had been a week ago, your collarbones sharper. the jeans hung slightly looser on your hips.
you tried.
you cleaned, too. not everything, you didn’t have the energy for that, yet, but you cleared the worst of it. the empty tissue boxes went into the trash, followed by the beer cans. you opened the curtains to let the light in. and the apartment felt slightly less like a tomb.
by the time 9:30 am rolled around, you were sitting on the couch; same couch, same corner, but this time in better clothes, with your hair styled, with the apartment looking almost normal.
almost.
you sat there, hands folded in your lap, waiting.
your heart pounded, stomach churned. you didn’t know what you were more afraid of–him seeing you in this state, or him not seeing it at all.
THE DOOR OPENED AT 9:47 AM. you heard it before you saw him. the soft beep of the keypad, the gentle click of the lock, the soft thud of his bag being set down. his footsteps in the entryway, then a pause.
he was looking at you.
you looked up.
he was standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers–pink tulips, your favorite, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. he was wearing his airport clothes, slightly rumpled from the flight, his hair pushed back from his face. he looked tired, worried, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
and despite everything that had happened, you smiled.
“seungie,” you were first to break the silence, your voice steadier than expected. it wasn’t normal, not the way it used to be, but definitely steadier. you had practiced in the shower, rehearsing how you would greet him. hi. welcome home. missed you, baby. simple words, words that didn’t betray anything.
however, one look at his face told you he already knew.
he crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. he set the flowers on the coffee table, before standing before you, close enough to touch.
“...baby,” there was something in his voice, a question he wasn’t asking, a concern he was trying to hide.
“i cleaned everything up,” your smile wobbled,” didn’t want you to come home to a shipwreck.”
his eyes didn’t believe your smile. they moved past it, cataloging everything–the pallor of your skin, the tissue filled trash cab, the dishes in the sink, the scent candles–trying too hard to cover up the smell of alcohol and grief. you found yourself trembling under the pressure of his scrutiny.
then, they came back to you.
“baby,” he breathed. just that. one word, heavy with everything he was too gentle to say.
your throat tightened, “i’m okay.”
“you’re not.”
it wasn’t an accusation. it wasn’t even a question. it was just a statement, soft and certain, the way he stated facts about the world–the sky is blue, water is wet, and you are not okay.
he sat down beside you on the couch, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. he didn’t reach for you immediately, didn’t push. he just sat there, present, waiting.
“i missed you,” he uttered gently, “the whole time. every day, i kept thinking about you.”
a tear escaped, despite your best efforts, “i missed you too.”
“i brought you some souvenirs,” his voice was soft, almost conversational, “keychains, your favorite snacks, some makeup products,” a pause. “ i was going to surprise you with them when i got home.”
you laughed, a small, watery sound. “that’s very you.”
“i know,” he turned to fully look at you, his gaze warm and steady. “but i think maybe you need something else first.”
you didn’t answer. couldn’t. the tears were coming faster now, spilling over one after another no matter how hard you tried to blink them away.
his hand found yours; soft, warm, careful. his fingers slid between yours, fitting perfectly like they had always belonged there. his thumb traced a slow line against your skin.
“i’m home now,” he murmured, “i’m here. and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. but i want you to know that, whatever happened, whatever’s been going on while i was gone, we’ll figure it out–together.”
the words cracked something open in your chest–not in a bad way, not the way the phone call had cracked you. this was different. this was the feeling of something breaking so it could heal.
“...i got fired,” you whispered.
his hand tightened around yours.
“yurim called me on friday,” the words came faster now, tumbling out of you. “found a replacement… they didn’t even give me a notice. four years, seungmin. four years of my life, and they just–called me. like i was nothing. like i didn’t even work there.”
he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fix it. he just held your hand and listened while you told him everything–the balcony, the drive home, the days that blurred together, the messages you couldn’t answer, the fog that wouldn’t lift.
“i didn’t know how to tell you,” you finished, your voice cracked and raw. “you were far away, and you were working… i didn’t want to burden you with–”
he moved then, shifting closer, his free hand coming up to cup your face. his thumb brushed away your tears, gentle and tender.
“listen to me,” he said quietly, “you’re not a burden. you’ve never been a burden. you’re my person, the person i chose, the person i keep choosing every single day,” his eyes held yours, steady and sure, “and when my person is hurting, i want to know. i need to know. even if i’m on the other side of the world. even if it’s just texting.”
you shook your head, a small, hopeless motion. “but you were busy–”
“i’m never busy for you,” his thumb traced the curve of your cheek. “never. that’s not how this works. that’s not how love works.”
the word hung in the air between you–love, warm and true, undeniable. he loved you. he loved you even like this, broken, hollow, and barely holding together. he loved you not despite it, but through it, because of it.
“i don’t know who i am without that job,” you admitted, “i don’t know what to do now.”
“you don’t have to know right now,” his voice was gentle but firm, “you don’t have to figure anything out today, or tomorrow, or even next week. you need a break, and you need time to process this. and let me be here while you do.”
he pulled you closer, his arms opening wide, “come here.”
and you went.
you fell into him, into his warmth, into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. his arms closed around you immediately–one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spanning across your shoulder blades, holding you like something precious, something worth protecting; you were his treasure.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered against your hair, pressing his lips against your scalp, “i’ve got you.”
you cried into his chest. not the silent tears of before, but real sobs–ugly, raw, and releasing. you cried for the years that felt wasted, for the person you used to be and weren’t sure you could find again, for the week of loneliness, for the fog that had wrapped itself around you and wouldn’t let go.
and through all of it, he held you. his hand never stopped moving–slow circles on your back, gentle strokes through your hair, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your shoulder blade. he didn’t try to silence you or soothe you with empty platitudes. he just held on, steady and sure.
“i’m sorry,” you gasped between sobs, “you just got home, you must be exhausted, you don’t need to deal with–”
“baby, stop,” he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face, his thumbs yet again brushing your tears. “you’re my home. coming home to you is the whole point. if you’re hurting, i want to be here. that’s all i need.”
a fresh wave of tears spilled over. however, these felt different–warmer, lighter. less like grief and more like gratitude.
“i don’t deserve you…”
“you don’t get to decide that.” a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “that’s my decision. and i’ve decided you deserve everything.”
he leaned back into the couch cushions, guiding you gently until you were nestled against him, head on his chest. his hand resumed its slow circles on your back. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. the clock continued its patient ticking, the refrigerator hummed its familiar rhythm. outside, the city carried on, indifferent to the small miracle happening on this couch–lovers, holding each other, finding their way back.
you lay there for a long time, just breathing with him. the weight in your chest hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted, settling into something you could carry, something you didn’t have to carry alone.
his fingers traced lazy patterns on your spine, and you could feel the exhaustion radiating from him–the long flight, the early morning, the emotional weight of walking into his apartment and finding you in that state. yet he didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t do anything except holding you and wait.
“you must be so tired,” you murmured against his chest.
“mmm,” his voice was soft, drowsy. “tired. not moving.”
“you should sleep.”
“i am sleeping.”
“you’re talking.”
“talking in my sleep,” his fingers kept moving, slow and soothing. “very common, very normal.”
you chuckled, a small huff of air against his hoodie, “you’re weird.”
“your weird,” he corrected you without missing a beat, “mine.”
the possessiveness in his voice made your heart stutter. yours. you were his, and he was yours, and nothing could change that.
you pressed closer, if that was even possible, and felt his arm tighten in response.
“seungmin?”
“mm?”
“i love you.”
he was quiet for a moment. then, so softly you almost missed it: “i know. i love you more.”
another beat of science. then, with a hint of his usual playfulness, “but, if you’re trying to make me cry, it’s working–just so you know.”
you lifted your head just enough to look at him. his eyes were bright, suspiciously bright, and he was blinking too fast.
“are you crying?”
“no.”
“you’re totally crying.”
“jet lag,” he sniffed, turning his face away, “allergies. the air here is dry.”
“seungmin.”
“stop looking at me and just hug me.”
you laughed–actually laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere you thought had dried up days ago. and then you reached up, cupped his face in your hands, pulling him down into a kiss.
it was soft. gentle. just a press of lips, really, barely anything at all. but it said everything you couldn’t put into words: thank you, i’m sorry, i love you. so much.
when you pulled back, his cheeks were pink, and he was smiling like you had given him the sun after a long rainy day.
“what was that for, huh?”
“just felt like it,” you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.
“just felt like it,” he mimicked, pitching his voice higher in an exaggerated impression of you. a teasing smile tugged at his lips, “just felt like it, yeah? you just felt like kissing me senseless?”
“ugh, shut up.”
you tried to turn away, yet his fingers found your chin, turning you back to face him. his eyes were sparkling with that particular mischief you had fallen in love with years ago.
“shut up?” he repeated, mockingly offended. “that’s how you talk to the man you just kissed? the man who happens to be your boyfriend? the man who–”
“the man who’s currently being insufferable.”
“insufferable,” he playfully scoffed, “me? kim seungmin? insufferable? you–”
you kissed him again, just to shut him up.
it worked. for about five seconds.
when you pulled back, he was already smiling. “wow, rude.”
“do you want me to take it back, kim seungmin?” you rolled your eyes, yet you were smiling. you couldn’t help it, he had always had that effect on you–the ability to make you smile even when you didn’t want to.
“not the government name,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his mouth in mock horror, “ you can’t just do that, y/n y/l/n!”
“oh yes, i can!”
“really?”
“yeah–”
before you could answer, he closed the distance once again.
the kiss felt different–slower, more deliberate. like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the feel of your lips against his, the way you sighed into him like a promise. his free hand held the back of your neck, fingers threading gently through your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss without rushing.
you melted.
there was no other worth for it. you melted into him like ice under spring sun, like sugar in warm tea, like everything rigid and frozen inside you finally allowed itself to soften. your hands found their way to his chest, then his shoulders, then wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer because no distance, not even this small, perfect distance, felt enough.
his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, eliminating any space that remained. you could feel his heartbeat, rapid, strong, matching the rhythm of your own. you could feel his breath, warm and uneven, every time you broke apart for the briefest second before coming back together.
when he finally pulled back, it was only by a centimeter. his forehead rested against yours, eyes remained closed, lashes dark against his cheeks. his breath came in soft, uneven paths that fanned warm against.
“you were saying?” his playful nature crept into his voice, even as he struggle to catch his breath.
you blinked, still dazed. “what?”
“you were saying something,” he opened an eye, peeking at you with obvious mischief. “before i so rudely interrupted you. something about how you could totally full-name me whenever you want?”
you stared at him for a moment, your brain slowly catching up to the present. then you let out a laugh, the sound bright and warm in the small space between you.
“you’re impossible.”
“oh yes i can!” he echoed, parroting your words back with a soft grin. both of his eyes were now open, that familiar teasing glint back in full force, “that was very bold of you, baby.”
“you’re annoying, you know that?” followed by a soft giggle.
“i’m charming,” he corrected, tapping the tip of your nose. “there’s a difference.”
“sure, whatever you say–”
he kissed you fully, cutting off whatever insult you were about to throw at him. it was soft, sweet, full of laughter, and love. when he pulled back, you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“you love me,” he simply said.
you shook your head, still smiling. “i do. even though you’re the most annoying person on the planet.”
“the most annoying person on the planet who happens to be your boyfriend.”
“my boyfriend,” you repeated, letting the word settle warm in your chest. “unfortunately.”
“wow, unfortunately?” he scoffed, “i’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“... you’re certainly something.”
“you can’t deny it, baby,” he grinned, victorious. “i’m the absolute best. the absolute best. top tier boyfriend material.”
“top tier, huh?”
“top tier,” he nodded firmly, “certified. verified. award-winning.”
“hmm…” you hummed, finding yourself back into his arms. “sure–fine, you win.”
you nestled into his chest, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a blanket. his arms came up automatically, circling you, holding you close like his body had been designed specifically for this moment.
“seungie?”
“hm?”
“i’m really glad you’re home.”
a kiss to your temple, “me too, baby, me too.”
“for the record,” you added quietly, “you are top tier. even if i don’t say it enough.”
a pause.
“say it again?” his voice was now softer, devoid of mischief.
you titled your head up to look at him. his gaze was warm, soft, full of admiration that made your heart swell in the best way.
“you’re top tier,” you whispered. “the best boyfriend in the world. certified. verified. award- winning.”
his smile spread slow and wide, like a sunrise. “that’s more like it.”
“i love you.”
“i love you more.” he kissed your forehead, long and lingering. “so much more.”
you settled back against his chest, feeling completely, utterly at home. the clock ticked, your phone buzzed, the city carried on outside.
but here, in his arms, there was nowhere else you would rather be.
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
warnings: slow burn-ish, suggestive, night terrors
a/n: Hello Lovely. Very proud of this after some editing and revising. Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!
Ever since you were little you swooned at the idea of a mate. You imagined how it would be, perhaps running into him in the school halls, your books going all over the place while he rushes to pick them up and apologize, the bond locking into place as your hands touch over the same book. Maybe it would take a while to lock in, and for some reason after another late night at the office, your biggest enemy would go soft and it would click into place turning your rivalry upside down.
According to your mother it wouldn’t be like that for you. She was quick to break the news when you had told her.
“Soulmates are rare.” She told you. “If you had one you would have a mark or a feeling, like a part of you was missing. I’m glad you are whole. It means you get to choose. That you can find your mate in whoever you fall in love with and who loves you just as much. Like your father and I.”
She was trying to cheer you up. To make you proud of your ability to choose. In a way, it did. Though some part of you felt broken and alone and you’d hoped with all her heart that she was wrong, that one day you’d meet someone and the bond would just click.
Time seemed to freeze, everyone and everything going still except for your racing heart. “What?”
It couldn’t be true.
You had grown so much from the little girl you once were. No longer hopeful for ever finding your fated match. You knew now that your mother was right. That it was freeing to be able to choose. You wanted to choose.
Felix squeezed your hand a little tighter. Scared that if he let you go you would disappear like a dream.
He had waited so long for this moment, when he could finally feel full. His heart beat in his ears and a smile bloomed on his flushed face. “You’re my mate.” He said again.
Another rarity you possessed it seemed. Most people nowadays get to choose their mate. Some small evolution that occurred after the decline in omegas over the decades. You convinced yourself that you were the same, just searching for the right person to settle down with and call your other half.
Tears welled up in your eyes. ‘This isn’t real.’ You told yourself.
Others were born into the world with empty hearts, left to search for not just any one but the one right person. Studies found that many of these types lived unfulfilled lives without their partner there with them. Finding that one true match is difficult, even rarer than being fated to someone else.
That just couldn’t be you. You almost laughed at the thought. You’d never felt like your heart was empty. Taking up a partner here and there to fulfill societal loneliness? Sure. But a deep longing for someone that you didn’t know whether or not they’d ever find you? Never.
Your hand shook in his grasp, not believing it. Not letting yourself believe it. You couldn’t get excited about it, your heart would break if you let yourself get carried away.
You shook your head again, clearing the fog, and finally letting go of his hand. “I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong idea.” You stepped back. Not scared of him, just everything that would surely come if he was right. “Thank you for returning my pencil. It was nice meeting you but I’m gonna get going.”
You turned quicker than you meant to, rushing out of the alley. Felix was faster, catching up in an instant, grabbing your arm in a panic. “Wait!”
When you turned back with your eyes wide in fear, trembling like a leaf, he was quick to pull away, raising his hands in surrender. He couldn’t just let you leave but he didn’t mean to corner you either.
That sweet smell seemed to grow stronger, almost enough to consume you, it eased your shaking enough to allow him a second to speak. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know this can all be a little overwhelming.” He didn’t know the half of it. “Can we just… Can we talk? Or can I get your number? I just found you. I don’t want my one chance to be wasted. Please.”
He almost looked as desperate as you were scared. His eyes pleading with you, for just a moment of your time.
You hadn’t wanted a fated mate, hadn’t known you even had one, but maybe he did. Maybe he’d spent his whole life waiting to find you. You could at least give him a moment to talk.
You looked him up and down. You didn’t know what to do, or what to say. This was so all consuming.
You could already feel yourself giving into him. Subconsciously you prayed it was real.
“I was just heading to the park.” You said after a while, clearing your throat. Your hesitation was evident in the way your eyes darted away from him but he could tell you were trying. Hope sparkled in his eyes. “We can talk there if you want.”
Guilt creeped up your neck. You wouldn’t be able to handle this, you could already tell.
Before you guys made it to the main street he had pulled a mask over his face.
He said he was sensitive to the smell of others and usually kept like this.
Pheromones were naturally abundant in big community areas like parks or shopping malls. Though the scents only lingered near their owners, something small and clinging like an aura around a person. When many people got together it could be overwhelming if enough of them didn’t keep themselves in check. Or so you had heard.
When you were younger you used to ask your mother what each person smelt like or how their pheromones looked. You’d draw pictures of your friends and family with their special color surrounding them. It was funny to you now how melodramatic you were as a child, never putting any color around yourself.
The smells of others that he referred to were a foreign concept to you yet you understood him all the same. Following it up by asking if he was an alpha. Most alphas you knew always struggled with that kind of thing. At least that’s what Kangdae told you.
And if you were an omega, your mate had to be an alpha right? That’s what you had always been told anyway.
“Beta actually. Can’t you tell? Since you are too, I thought it would be obvious.” His laugh sounded again behind the mask. You almost laughed too, at his mistake. It would have been easy to correct him. To tell him you were an omega. But it was so easy to pass off, you didn’t have omega pheromones and you were born and raised by beta’s, it would’ve been a surprise if he had thought otherwise. “How old are you? I’m twenty-two.”
The conversation flows to where exactly you’re from, how you grew up, why you were in Korea. You couldn’t help but return his curiosity, leaning in when he spoke, stars flashing in your eyes when he told you of his travels and his dreams.
When you asked about his job he froze.
Did you seriously not recognize him?
He told you he worked in music and didn’t elaborate much past that.
Instead he gushed about how excited he was to meet you, to finally feel complete. Something inside him told him to hold back, to wait to tell you about the seven others who would share this bond with you.
You were already so quick to run away, he didn’t think telling you about them so soon was the right call. So, he would wait and get their opinions.
Felix spoke proudly of his progress with his band, how singing and dancing were his greatest passion, taekwondo being an old dream, and how you would just love his current work. Though when you asked to hear something, or who he worked for, he waved it off, promising to show you sometime later. If you’d be willing to see him again.
Despite your nerves, despite the shake in your hands that persisted at this new found mate, you really liked talking to him. His presence alone put you in a trance, his eyes capturing yours time and again, his voice sending shivers down your spine. But you knew it was all fake. Some small instinctual part of yourself that urged you away from him, that made you want to hide, like this was all some big prank that would surely end with you getting your heart broken.
When his phone rang and he realised he had to get going, you gave him your number, and promised to see him again. Though you didn’t know whether or not that was the truth just yet.
You breathed a sigh of relief, anxious to get back to the apartment where you could cuddle up and find a movie and forget all about this ‘mate’ of yours.
>>---<3---->
When you returned to the apartment there were no wandering hands reaching for you. No one around to watch as you calmly set down your bag and keys on the table by the door, pull out your phone to turn on music, and collapse to the floor.
Gone was the dread that loomed over your head.
You were home, safe and alone.
No one to judge as you thrashed around, curing yourself of the left over nerves and adrenaline that threatened to do something you’d regret. You screamed internally when you realised there was nothing you didn’t like about him and again when you thought about how awkward you had been.
Felix had been so patient. Letting you take your time to warm up to him.
Opening up had always been easy for you but suddenly you didn’t know how to react. Some voice in the back of your head yelled at you to be perfect for this guy you had just met. If he really was your one true match you needed to be perfect for him.
Yet, he didn’t judge either. If anything he shared a lot of your interests. The ones he didn’t, didn’t make him grimace or disagree. He was very agreeable, actually. Charming even. And god was he beautiful.
You kicked your feet and shook your arms against the tile until the feelings subsided and hunger creeped in.
You made stovetop ramen, eating it quick, shoving the noodles into your mouth over the span of a short video message from your parents. They missed you already and hoped to hear from you soon.
For a long while you sat there, at the kitchen island, with a crushed carton of banana milk and the now empty bowl laying in front of you.
What could you possibly say to them? They had known you were going to stay in Korea over the summer, knew of the friend you were staying with (an omega, you told them), and they knew that you were ecstatic to fulfill part of your teenage dreams. Your parents had always wanted you to go after what you dreamed of but babied you despite being the oldest due to your stunted development.
If they knew you had found your mate upon your second week of being away from home they would demand to meet them, tell you to end your trip early and bring them along.
So, you told them the truth. “I just spent the past few days getting used to the area around Kangdae’s place. And I went to the coziest little cafe today. I think my Korean is getting pretty good because no one has corrected me yet!” You stopped to laugh at yourself before continuing. “Ah, and I made a new friend today. We met at the coffee shop. Though I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”
You sent the video with a small ‘good night <3’ message.
You breathed deeply now, mindful. Everything is fine. You told yourself. I don’t have to figure this all out right now. I just need to forget about it, and if he messages me I’ll take it one step at a time.
>>---<3---->
The shadows looming over you never seemed to leave. Like smoke on the wind given shape. Watching and waiting.
For what? You didn’t know.
They didn’t bother you.
Like a mole, they were just there. Always one step behind you, looking after you in a way.
Sometimes you would sit and stare back. A quiet thought asked if they could be malicious, though they’d been there all your life. They couldn’t be.
Now, they hovered. Crowded around your bed to watch you sleep. You knew they were there, like always, yet this time felt different.
Your heart sank to your stomach as you felt them get closer.
Before, they were nothing but air.
Even with your eyes closed you could feel them come alive. Figures became more defined, still shrouded in their mystery. Judging you. Pulling you in every direction. Now, they needed something. They commanded your eyes open, peering into your soul.
It was like you couldn’t breathe. Stuck in your spot with no way out. Your eyes being the only thing able to move, darting from one shadow to the next, hoping your screams for help weren’t just all in your head.
Then suddenly, like a whisper from a lover, milk and honey.
You shot up out of bed. A sob poured past your lips before you could catch your breath. Your throat stung, vocal cords shot, you really had screamed out in your terror. A night terror. You’d never had one of those before.
You looked around for the shadows, expecting them back to their peaceful places but one was gone completely.
As the memory of the calming smell of milk and honey dissipated the sharp smell of citrus and tobacco began filling the room, or more accurately, began filling your senses. It had always been there, Kangdae’s pheromones, only now could you smell them. See them. Like a pink and orange mist that wove its way through the air.
It had you feeling weak, heat rising to your cheeks. When you started to sweat you jumped up. Rushing to the windows to air the place out. You pushed them open, falling halfway out with them, sighing in relief.
The fresh air brought you back to yourself. Irritation evident on your face.
It was all his fault. You were supposed to choose your mate.
Now you could suddenly sense Kangdae’s pheromones. There was no other logical reason this would start.
It had to be his fault. The bonding that caused it.
You weren’t ready for this. Not at the beginning of your summer vacation. Not in a foreign county. Not now. Not ever!
Pheromones no longer hid from you. Their presence no longer a sixth sense but a complete overtaking of your other senses. Their effect, however small, controlled the dormant omega side of yourself.
You hated Felix for awakening it. How were you supposed to navigate this new world, without knowing how it would affect you?
What if something triggers a heat? Your eyes widened at the thought and you reached for your phone.
Felix wouldn’t be of any help. Maybe he’d even make it worse.
You were twenty years old, had gone your whole life without ever going through your normal omega processes, never sensing another person's pheromones, and without the prospect of a soulmate.
Your mom wasn’t an option either. She would just nag and worry. Or worse, make you come home.
Your world was turning on its axis. You were all on your own for this one and it broke your heart.
>>---<3---->
Felix was quick to make it back to the studio. His break was only supposed to be an hour. Just enough time to grab a coffee and come back to rest a bit before dance practice was meant to continue.
However when his manager had called in a panic he knew it was time to say goodbye. He ran back to the studio with a smile on his face. Finally his heart felt full.
He was excited to tell the others.
“I found her.” He declared upon opening the door.
The rest of Stray Kids sprawled out all over the studio. Chan on the couch in the corner, his laptop in his lap, his work paused upon the appearance of his fellow Aussie. Minho and Hyunjin forced Changbin into extra stretches and the rest laid out on the floor, phones casting white lights on their faces.
“Where were you?” Chan questioned angrily, shutting his laptop and standing to examine him. He was half worried he had been found by saesangs, kidnapped, or lost. The others had messaged him a few times when he had taken longer than normal. With no response what else was he supposed to think.
“I found her,” Felix repeated. Looking from his leader to the others. “The missing piece. Our mate.”
For a moment, they froze as they processed what he’d said.
Their last soulmate was found.
They were on him in an instant, swarming Felix like bees to honey. Questions shouted out left and right.
“What’s her name?”
“What’s she like?”
“Is she an omega?”
“Alpha?”
“Beta?”
“Don’t we have enough of those in this polycule.”
“You got a problem with beta’s?”
Hyunjin and Seungmin bickered long enough to shut up anyone else’s questions. The group enjoyed the playful discourse.
Their manager didn’t dare make his presence known as he opened the door behind Felix, choosing instead to slowly back away. This was mate business. Practice could wait a bit longer. He was just glad Felix was back safe and sound.
He began to ramble, wanting to share every detail, itching to see her again, to introduce her to the others. “Y/N’s beautiful. Shorter than the rest of us I think. Maybe she’s tied with Binnie. And she wants to be a writer. But she likes music and dancing too. She didn’t recognize me though. I think she was more focused on the bond locking into place. We had just introduced ourselves and shook hands, then that wave washed over us and I could tell she was scared. Like she didn’t expect to find her mate in Korea-.”
“She’s not from here?” Jisung interjected.
“She’s from the U.S.”
“Does she speak Korean?” Everyone seemed to worry almost immediately. Their happy faces shifted to anxious ones, not knowing how this new mate would affect them, what new challenges they would have to overcome just to communicate with you.
Before Felix could answer Jeongin jumped in, “I think my heart might break if you tell me you found our mate and I won’t be able to talk to her.”
Felix laughed. A sharp exhale while he smiled. “To be honest, I don’t know. We only spoke in English.”
“Even if she does only speak English,” Chan cut in. Soothing his mates was as easy as breathing after so long together. He wrapped an arm around the youngest’s shoulders. “I’m sure she’d be willing to learn Korean after finding us here. And maybe it will make you guys want to take your English lessons more seriously.”
They all nodded along. You had been found at last. That void they all held could finally be filled. That in itself was enough.
Later, their manager would return and congratulate them on their news. Followed by a question the others didn’t even think to ask, “Did you tell her about the group?” And Felix could only shake his head, remembering that he also did not bring up the others at all. Should he tell you? If not about their idol group, that you have other mates? Surely you felt that emptiness too.
He’d purposely avoided saying anything before so as to keep you from running away. But now you would have the rest of the day to think about it, surely becoming as excited about it as the rest of them. He’d make sure to text you once they were done for the day.
[Unknown Number]
Hello Y/N! It’s Felix.
11:13 p.m.
Are you free tomorrow?
11:13 p.m.
I’d really like to see you again
11:13 p.m.
Also, there’s something I forgot to mention today
that I’d like to talk about. Just let me know! Thx ; )
11:21 p.m.
You had tossed your phone on the couch when you had rushed to the window for air. Now though you sat on the floor, looking into the dark void of the livingroom, only lit by the street lamps outside. It was to keep you from making any rash decisions. It buzzed on, lighting up for a second before shutting off again. You couldn’t help but reach for it. It was so late and you were so alone, anything to take your mind off of it all.
You stared down at the message, unsure of what to do. You had already told yourself that you wouldn’t look to him for help. Didn’t want to risk him awakening some long lost omega side that you had already mourned.
The crisp night air sent up the curtains around you. It had still been difficult to breathe in the apartment. The scent clouds thick. Your back pressed into the wall behind you. The cold kept you alert, hyperaware of your every feeling. Its solidness grounding you. You could still see the shadows lurking over you behind your eyelids. Sleep would surely evade you for a while longer.
With a deep breath and a leap of bravery you replied:
I can meet now if it’s not too late for you.
11:34 p.m.
I have something I’d like to talk about as well.
11:34 p.m.
And of course it wasn’t too late for him. He sent his address without a second thought and you worried he might have the wrong idea.
A late night visit meaning something physical. Something you were trying to detach from.
His first reply put your fears to rest easily.
My roommate is going to be out tonight,
but you can bring a friend if it makes you
feel uncomfortable being alone.
11:35 p.m.
Or we can go somewhere else completely!
11:36 p.m.
A convenience store?
11:36 p.m.
Maybe that would have been the smart option. Meeting somewhere more public made more sense. For your safety.
His place had been so close though.
A white condo complex that blended in with the smaller apartment buildings and stores along the street. The small staircase leading to his door was simple, decorated with a simple black iron railing and potted plants on either side of the entrance. You knocked on the door before you could back out.
It was a quarter to one and as you waited for Felix to answer the door you wondered what in the hell possessed you to go this far.
As the door opened sugar and spice spilled out of it.
It was curious how it dissipated at Felix’s realization. His eyes widening as a smile took over his face, “Y/N.” His voice was love itself, his words caressed the soul. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled back as he welcomed you in.
The entryway was small, a white tiled area where you slipped off your shoes before stepping up onto the wood floor of the hallway. The walls, much like the outside, were painted white, black framed photos lining the path to the kitchen like an art gallery, stopping only for the bedroom door that was left cracked open. You could smell the autumn candle burning from within it.
The kitchen was small as well, counters took up only a corner of the room before opening up to the living room. The spaces separated by the kitchen island in the middle.
It was clean, the only sign of life coming from a blanket thrown half haphazardly over the back of the black leather sofa that was positioned in the middle of the room, to make a small hallway to both the bathroom and another bedroom, and the few dishes that soaked in the sink.
The decor was very simple, classy, but not cold. The space welcomed a bit of chaos. Dance parties in the living room and late night baking followed by a movie. You could see it now. A person couldn’t help but feel welcome in the space.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
You shook your head, choosing to head straight for the couch wanting to get straight to business. It was odd how at home you already felt. Tis’ the curse of a predestined mate.
Felix brought you a fresh glass of water anyway, setting it on the side table before taking a seat on the couch opposite of you. “So, you had something you wanted to talk about?”
Shadows flashed past your eyes. A shiver wrecking down your spine and you winced. “You know, today was the first time I was able to smell another person's pheromones.” As if in response the milk and honey smell rolled off him like a whisper. There one second, gone the next.
You didn’t know if that was the right way to start things but Felix didn’t seem to mind. Only interested in hearing what you had to say. He wanted to learn everything about you.
“I’ve lived my whole life in the dark. Unable to see it or smell it, it’s just been a feeling, an unconscious knowing that it was there. And suddenly today, after meeting you, it all became clear. Already my body has begun reacting to this thing that has never affected me before.
“When I was younger I mourned it. Not being able to fit in with everyone else. Like a secret kept only from me. But I’ve grown, and gotten over it. I’ve enjoyed my life without them. It kept me from having any issues controlling my own and now I’m scared that’s going to change.
“And before, at the park,” you rambled on, “you said you’d always felt like your heart was only half full. That you knew something was missing. That you knew I was out there waiting for you too. But to be honest, maybe I had been born without a heart at all, unable to scent pheromones and unable to feel just how empty it was, because I wasn’t waiting for you.
“I thought if anything I’d find someone one day who I got to choose and get chosen by. But now here you are, our ‘bond’ snaps into place and already it feels like so much is being sprung at me. I just– I’m sorry. I just wanted to explain myself first. I hope you understand.”
You stood on shaky legs. You didn’t know if it was right but it was all you could come up with. You couldn’t let hope creep back in just to have it torn away from you. To protect yourself and your fragile heart.
summary: Some get to pick their mate, an emptiness left by the divine to be allowed to get to know some and choose each other. Others are pulled solely by destiny, spending their lives looking for their one true match. A hollowness filled only by your missing half.
You never knew which it was. There was no intense pull guiding you to search for a match or a shared longing with any of your partners. Until one overly considerate guy turns your world upside down.
warnings: slow start, sex scene (p in v), friends with benefits, reader is a late bloomer
a/n: Suddenly, after a long time, I've been thrown back into Stray Kids and have come across many an omegaverse au. I've never written anything like this before but I am excited to see where it goes! I hope you enjoy!
Moving to Korea for the summer was a dream come true. Like living out a childhood dream.
You remembered your first time visiting. It was a short week spent running from place to place, an attempt to soak it all up before having to come back home. “A vacation” you called it. But it was fitful, stressful, so much so that you thought you might never come back.
Originally the plan was to attend university in Seoul, you had spent your entire four years in high school planning, prepping, and rushing to graduate early so you could attend a school the following spring semester; allowing yourself one year to really study the language and culture.
You didn’t go to Korea that year. Not for college. Not for a visit. Not even online to make a new plan. Senioritis hit after graduation, making you a lazy complainer for a long while. Only visiting after another year spent working and regretting your choices, still not changing a thing.
You were older now, twenty, and somehow worlds wiser.
College still loomed over your head but you just completed your first year. Leaving for Korea with the excuse of using it to fuel your writing, your true passion, and as a reward, to encourage you to keep going.
It was a plus that you had a friend who was willing to let you stay with them. For free. Well, mostly…
Your mouth hung open, huffing out your breaths, staring up into his eyes as he pounded into you. Your eyebrows pinched together in a way that made you look nothing but desperate, moaning out when he managed to hit that spot deep inside.
Sweat clung to your bodies, muscles wound tighter by the second, both of you so close to your climax. His brow furrowed in focus, his hips meeting yours in wet slaps that jerked you closer to the headboard that he gripped with an iron fist.
When his breath hitched in his throat you knew he was close, pulling a hand away from holding his face to rub at the bundle of nerves in between you. You flicked down at your clit in time with his thrusts, eager to come together.
Kangdae didn’t care either way. You both would finish one way or the other, so why did it matter? The two of you weren’t attached in that way, this was just your exchange, a friends with benefits kind of situation.
Despite this you had still asked him to try, promising that the finish always felt so much better when you did, he had rolled his eyes, forgetting about it by the next time the two of you went at it.
Still you raced to keep up, a whine pouring past your lips when you could finally feel the heat burn to its peak. Your eyes rolled back to a close, panting out as the waves of release washed over you, just as Kangdae’s hips shuttered to a stop, and his heat poured into you, coughing out whines of his own. When the twitching stopped he was quick to pull out, backing away to look at the mess he made before getting to his feet, pulling on his pants like he was getting ready to go.
And he was.
You understood the agreement. Didn’t allow yourself to get attached, not even interested in the thought. You used him for the free room and he used you for a quick fuck. Something that kept getting more and more expensive in Seoul, he had told you in the beginning.
The two of you met back in high school when Kangdae was nothing more than an exchange student and you were the only girl in his home room who knew any Korean, as little as it may have been at the time. Back then Kandae was sweet and much smaller than he was now. His alpha blossomed by the end of his year in the states and he was full fledged, attracting young omega’s all over the school.
You kept in contact over the years that followed. A birthday text and Christmas card was about it. When you had mentioned in your last letter that you were planning on spending the summer in Korea he was quick to message you, proposing this trade.
“Do you think I’m attractive?” He had asked out of the blue. Getting a phone call from him had already been startling enough. To be completely honest your heart stopped, “I think you’re beautiful, though I really only see you as a friend.” As if to clarify. “But in Korea alphas are finding it more and more difficult to find rut services for a decent price. If I let you stay at my place for your trip, do you think you could help me out?”
He had known of your situation. It had never really been a secret, though you didn’t really shout it out either. You were born an omega but were completely infertile, never once going through a heat, or producing pheromones, or even sensing them for that matter.
So, with nothing to really lose, you took him up on the offer.
Your heart sank when you saw him reach for his phone and keys, shirt balled up in his fist as he made his way to the door.
The first few days with him had been nice. Just like old times, you spent all day and night laughing and catching up. He had been excited to show you some of his favorite places around the city and ready for you to really dive into life here.
If only it could have lasted.
After those first days he was more of a business partner than a friend. Only talking to you in greeting or when he needed something. It wasn’t like it broke your heart but at the same time you were expecting to have a friend to turn to at the end of the day, not whatever dry, dead thing it was becoming.
“Oh-” he stopped just before the door closed, poking his head back through. “I’ll be on a work trip for the next few days. Should be back… Tuesday?” His uncertainty made you wonder if it was even a work trip at all. He shut the door without a goodbye.
You laid there for a while, a deep sigh came from deep within you. At least you would have a free weekend, no stress about coming back to being nothing but a body for his use and pleasure..
And it was only Thursday, a whole four days to do as you pleased.
You sat up in a rush, a smile spreading across your face as you planned the rest of your day. A trip to that cafe you passed on your first day. Hidden between big business buildings along a back road, the street only big enough for the road and a sidewalk on one side. The store had looked so warm and welcoming from the street, the perfect place to practice your Korean and maybe even get a few pages of your novel written.
Before you could make it to the bathroom to wash up you could hear him from the living room. The wheels of a suitcase dragged against the floor, following in his footsteps. “The keys are by the door. Don’t invite anyone over and keep the place clean.”
With that, he was gone. And you were finally completely alone.
>>---<3---->
You expected the cafe to be warm and welcoming. It was filled with the smell of coffee and fresh pastries, lights casting an orange glow over each booth and table, with books lining the library walls. It was dark and mystical in the best way and for a moment you felt like you could be the main character in a dark academia novel.
Customers sprinkled in every once in a while, whispering their orders over the counter to the old woman who only seemed to know how to nod. The old man, her husband you assumed, was quick to start on the orders, pushing to go cups and bagged sweets over the counter before a customer could finish paying.
You sat at the table by the store window, the logo plastered in gold overhead. Latibule. You didn’t know if it was English at first, let alone how to say it in Korean. A hiding place, the definition read, of safety and comfort.
Your mouth curved at the edges, bringing your drink up for a sip. ‘How perfect.’ you thought.
In the opposite corner, across from the register sat a group of friends who all chatted about this and that, notebooks and loose sheets of stickers and other paper scattered under their plates and cups. Most of which lay completely forgotten by the trio.
At first they had all been quiet, whispering only when they got to a particularly good part in their journaling or scrapbooking, whatever it was that they did. Keeping it silent for the most part, never loud enough for you to hear. Like quiet buzzing in the background.
It added to the ambience. It felt almost like you too had someone there with you, writing with you, the silence was comfortable, companionable.
The silence went stale after one particular customer came in. A tall man, his chest heaving like he had been running, yet his face portrayed nothing. He went to the counter and whispered to the woman like every person before him, smiling at the old man when he was passed his drink, calm as he left even with his heaving chest. You almost thought to stop him and ask if he was alright but convinced yourself it was nothing.
Though even you knew it wasn’t his appearance that had made the group of girls go quiet. You could sense the cloud that followed him in, rolling off him like a smoke set to attract anyone who might dare look too close, breathe in too deep. However, you couldn’t see it, couldn’t smell it, or even taste it like others could. You just had a vague feeling of something lurking just under your senses.
You didn’t know for sure until after the door had clicked shut, bells ringing like a signal that things could continue, that he was an omega. The girls at the other side of the store all sighed out, one even gasping, like it had all been a close call.
“People sure are getting brave these days, walking around with their pheromones all out in the open.”
You wondered what it was like, how someone could even control the scent of their pheromones in the first place. It wasn’t like after putting on perfume you could just intensify or minimize its potency.
“Another minute and I would’ve had to do something.” Another said. An alpha by the sound of it. Her chest rising and falling in quick breaths, her alpha instincts urging her to help the man who freely wandered the city in heat. “You don’t get like that do you?”
The two turned to the smallest of them, who could only gulp as she stared out the door. As if wishing for the omega’s return, to help him or prevent him from getting into trouble. She turned to her friends, eyebrows bunching in cocky disbelief. “Not all out in the open like that. Poor thing is probably a late bloomer, doesn’t even realise what he’s carrying with him.”
A late bloomer. Right. Most know better by this age, how to control their pheromones, when to go on blockers or when to stay home. Some, luckily, already finding a mate to ease the pains of heats and ruts.
You couldn’t help but look out the door too, wondering for a second if maybe you could catch up with him. To ask him what it was like, to be going into heat for the first time so late in life.
Instead, you kept your head down, staring at the work in front of you.
When would you finally begin to show?
Would it ever happen?
When you were born the doctor had given you to your mother declaring happily to her that you were a healthy baby girl, and an omega. She told you she had wept at the news, already so happy to have another girl in the family but an omega? It was like a dream to have another omega in the world, “Omega’s are so rare already.” She had told you when you were twelve and supposed to start showing. Your period had already begun the year before, so she was so excited for you to grow into your second gender, to get the awkward business out of the way and to help you find other omegas to learn from.
But you didn’t show that year, or the year after.
By the time you were sixteen doctors had started to tell you that it may never show. Perhaps you were infertile and there was no use worrying about it. You could still have a normal sex life and adopt in the future if you wanted to, but you would never be able to smell a person’s pheromones like everyone else, or go into heat like other omegas, they told you, “really it’s not a big deal.”
So you watched your classmates pair off.
The omegas distanced from everyone but themselves, trying to learn about their cycles from one another as the alphas doubled in size, many of them having to take a leave from school to figure out how to deal with their ruts.
You on the other hand did your best to stick to the betas when you were in school. Except for your inability to smell as they could, you were the same. Pheromones affected them more subtly compared to everyone else so it was easier to blend in.
You grew, developing the way that all boys and girls do. Clumsy. Curious. Sex drives being more like an on and off switch, natural in the same way your mouth waters when you smell good food, easier to control compared to the alphas and omegas.
It took a long time to grow comfortable with your difference. You thought maybe sex would be more painful since your body wouldn’t react to another person's pheromones or you might become an outcast if others knew. Just wishing to fit in within your gender but even so, it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things you wanted to learn about yourself. Being an omega without a heat was the least of your problems.
Now though, your heart raced faster in your chest. A fear you hadn’t had for a long time creeping in. What if the signs suddenly begin to show? What would you do? How would you react?
The sounds of the cafe pulled you from your thoughts, the bell chiming as the door opened and another customer came in. “Maybe it just started? Just came in to grab a coffee before rushing to his mate.”
“I hope so.”
“The poor thing can come back if he needs help. I’d be happy to lend a hand.” You couldn’t see her face but you heard the smile in her voice. A shiver ran up your spine.
The omega in the group swung an arm back to hit her friend upside the head. “Don’t talk like that. It’s gross and impolite.”
“This whole topic is kind of impolite, Hyuna! That hurt.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, covering it up with a cough so as to not draw any attention to yourself. Unknowingly catching the attention of the man at the register.
With a deep breath you stood, finishing off your latte and leaving it on the counter for the old couple, before closing your notebook and filing it into your bag. With the new shake in your hands it was time for a walk, to clear your head and adventure a bit. To see the sights of Seoul.
You turned to the owners one last time, bowing with a thank you, then went on your way. Smiling at the ringing of the bells as you went.
Only halfway out of the quiet street and you could hear footsteps pounding the pavement behind you. A man ran from the cafe straight for you, meeting your eye just as you turned to see what was going on. When he stopped in front of you it seemed like his breath had caught in his throat.
He loomed over you, a half embarrassed smirk lifting half his face, panting and holding out a pencil. One of yours from the looks of it, a yellow wooden one, the only kind you’d dare use, the end with the eraser had been all chewed up, a small habit you picked up when you were deep in thought while writing.
“You dropped this on your way out.” His voice was deeper than you expected. It made your heart race in a new way. Like he was handing out a compliment rather than a pencil. Your cheeks grew red either way. Who would even bother chasing after a person to return a pencil?
In your shock you didn’t even realise he said it in English. “Thank you.” you said after a moment of taking him in.
He wore a black track suit, his hair matched in its darkness, yet he himself glowed brightly. Freckles dotted his cheeks, half concealed under his makeup which also meant to make him look mean and intimidating. You just couldn’t see it. He seemed soft. His eyes crinkled at the sides under his smile, almost laughing under your staring. He looked so familiar yet you could’ve sworn you never met him before.
“You speak Korean? Sorry for assuming.”
Ah. You realised it now, his English. You wanted to hear it again. Figure out the accent.
You took the pencil, smiling. “Only a little. I understand more than I can speak.”
“You're an American?”
“Unfortuneatly,” you joked, a solemn nod following. “You’re… Australian?”
He let out a half laugh, like a puff of air let out in spurts. “Can’t tell, can you mate?”
“Not really… Is it Jersey? Is that what accent I’m hearing?” Now that really got him laughing. You soaked it in, thinking to yourself that you might never get enough of his voice. “I’m Y/N.”
“Felix.” He reached his hand out for you to shake.
“Felix.” You repeated, just to see how it felt on your tongue. When your hand met his it was like a reality shift. Your heart beat loud in your ears, taking your breath away, and for a moment you thought you’d black out.
It was like you had been drugged and you hated to think it was his fault. This guy could’ve spotted you at the cafe and made you his next target. Lacing your pencil with something that would put you to sleep. It would be so easy to get the foreign girl, all on her own and in some quiet back street too.
With a shake of your head you were out of it, focusing back in on the man in front of you. Your hand still held tightly in his. In a panic you looked from your hands back up to his face and you would have yanked away, started screaming even. If it weren’t for the look on his face.
His smile was gone, replaced by a shocked expression. His lips parted just slightly, eyes wide and darting everywhere, as if making sure you didn’t drug him.
Something sweet began to fill the air between you, like milk and honey, easing your nerves and bringing you back to Earth. When your eyes met again it was like seeing color for the first time. At the same time you shuttered a gasp, his in understanding, yours the lack of.
He cleared his throat only to whisper, more to himself as if confirming it was real, “We’re mates.”
genre: soulmate au, Christmas train setting, fluff, mentions of anxiety
wc: 3.6k
summary: Some people got names scrawled on their bodies. Some people got timers, numbers ticking down to the enviable conclusion. Others still saw red threads, a thin line connecting you physically to your fated other, no matter the distance.
You? You got linked dreams but only for 31 days of the year.
a/n: day 29 of the A Very Merry KPOPmas! thank you to @breakmeoff and @angel-writes-skz-here for running the event! i had a lot of fun writing this one - my first SKZ fic! if you enjoyed this, please like, reblog and comment 💕
The shoulder you were resting on shifted and the hand around your waist tightened. You blinked up at Changbin, who had already turned to look down at you with a delighted grin.
He looked the same as the last time you saw him. The same soft eyes, the same sweet smile, the same bronzed complexion. You couldn’t help but take time to watch him, to soak in every pore, every perfectly imperfect feature of his face. It was fine because he did the same, watching you like you were a second from disappearing.
“You dyed your hair,” you finally said.
Changbin huffed a laugh, his free hand coming up to play with the copper strands that fell over his face. “Do you like it?”
You hummed approvingly. “Love it.”
And when he smiled, he bared his teeth and you fell in love all over again.
“Where are the others?” You asked.
Changbin nuzzled his face into your cheek. “Late schedules,” he murmured, “they’ll be here soon.”
You turn your head until you can brush your lips against his. His breath hitched, surprised, excited, just like it always did.
“I missed you,” you whispered, “all of you.”
Changbin kissed back, firmer, trying to pour a year’s worth of affection into one single touch. You relaxed into him instinctively, eyes fluttering, lips parting to accept anything he wished to give you. You were flushed and trembling when you parted, not too far, not wanting to physically separate more than necessary. It had been so long since you had been kissed properly, even if it was just a dream.
“Us too,” he replied quietly, “so much.”
-
When you were younger, you didn’t think too much on soulmates. They were something the grown-ups spoke about, not something you concerned yourself with.
All you knew is that on the first of December, your dreams would change and you’d see your friends. Eight of them, a few older than you, a few younger. You didn’t speak the same language as most of them (only Chris and Felix spoke English and as a child, you had zero knowledge of Korean) but you didn’t need that to be able to play.
You got very good at gesturing to get your point across.
It was always the same place - a train that seemed to chug endlessly around a snow-covered landscape. It never stopped anywhere, never slowed down, never sped up, but it was always on its way.
To where? None of you knew.
You and your friends had free run of the corridors, playing hide and seek between plush seats and drinking endless amounts of hot chocolate that always seemed to appear as you thought about it.
And when new year stuck, your dreams would return to the empty slate they were before and you’d have to wait another year to see them again.
You were eight when you mentioned it to your mother, exclaiming your determination to go to bed early, and she carefully explained what a soulmate link was.
Some people got names scrawled on their bodies. Some people got timers, numbers ticking down to the enviable conclusion. Others still saw red threads, a thin line connecting you physically to your fated other, no matter the distance.
You? You got linked dreams but only for 31 days of the year.
As you got older, into your heartbroken and dramatic teenager years, you’d hated it. Why did everyone else get to have this consistent link to the ones that they were destined to be with? Why were you and your soulmates relegated to this short burst of joy before it gets yanked away from you for another year?
“No one gets a choice of how it presents,” your father had tried to console.
“I’m sure your soulmates feel the same way,” your mother added, as if that would somehow help.
One tearful 31st December, when you were fifteen and emotions were increasingly too much for you to handle, you’d sobbed and told them that you hated that this would it for another 11 months.
“I’m going to miss you,” you’d cried.
Chris, already sixteen and acting like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, had gathered you close in gangly teenage arms and promised they’d miss you too. Changbin, more stotic in those times than he was now, kept a hand on the small of your back, expression set in grim sadness that matched your own.
Jisung, smaller, leaner but oh so sweet, had brushed away tears from your ruddy cheeks, even as his own eyes swelled. Minho said something, no doubt mocking, to him in Korean that you couldn’t understand yet, but never let go of Jisung’s hand.
Seungmin, quieter, shy with his affections, had looked away so you wouldn’t see the heartbreak in his eyes, but he’d held your hand until the last moment, pressing sweet kisses to the back. Jeongin, the youngest, excited but shy, offered words of comfort and demanded that Chris translate them exactly as he said them.
Felix, pretty even when flushed with tears, asked you to smile, not cry. “I want to remember your smile for the year,” he’d said earnestly. Hyunjin agreed and tried to make you laugh as best he could with a mix of broken English and Korean.
The joy you felt at the beginning of the month to the heartbreak at the end was hard, but that year, to fullfill your promise to your boys, you tried to be positive.
You threw yourself into Korean studies so that when Minho or Changbin or Jeongin spoke to you next December, you’d be able to answer them back. You had a notebook specially for writing down things you wished you could share with your soulmates. You filed away every piece of information they gave you over the month, hoping it would lead to something. Some way of finding them, of staying connected with them over the long period of emptiness.
It never did.
They all found each other in the end. Your talented, handsome soulmates. They were idols now, these famous figures that you could search for whenever you wanted.
And you did, frequently. It made your heartache and burst with happiness to see them together, whenever you wanted to.
“When we’re rich,” Jeongin had promised back when they’d debuted, his baby face just beginning to become more grown up, “we’ll fly you to Seoul.”
“I have university,” you’d shaken your head.
“School’s important,” Chris agreed.
Felix pouted. “But we want you with us.”
“When I come to Seoul, I need to know it’ll be forever,” you had confessed, “let me be equal to you.”
“You’re always equal,” Hyunjin had been quick to say.
You weren’t, you knew that. At that time, you were a debt-ridden second year, and they were making money you couldn’t begin to dream of, flying to places all around the world. Walking catwalks for designer labels and having fans who screamed their names daily.
You, with your literature degree, couldn’t match up.
But you would. You worked hard to get a first class, to join a publishing company as a translator, to build a name and a career for yourself. In the end, you didn’t need to be flown out to South Korea by your famous soulmates- you did that on your own, your company accepting your transfer to the Seoul offices.
You’d be moving before the new year, areas of your apartment already filing away into boxes, some already in transit to be at your new place when you arrived. It was a whirlwind, especially with the holiday season, but it felt like your life was heading towards an enviable conclusion.
You in Seoul with your soulmates.
Now you just need to tell them.
-
When the others arrived, it was like their bodies slipped from behind chairs or down corridors. As if they had always been there, just waiting for you. Sometimes, on the gentle rocking of the train carriage, it was hard to imagine them anywhere else.
Changbin had been giving you updates on the last year, as if you hadn’t been tracking their every public appearance. Still, you hummed and replied as if it was the first time you’d learned about it. Jisung’s shout of your name, full of excitement that he had every year, without fail, and you sat up straighter to see.
You caught him over the seats. He’d gotten broader of the last year, seemed to hold himself with more confidence that made your heart swell to see. His grin was blinding when his eyes landed on you.
Changbin made a show of holding on to you for a moment longer, mock whining about not wanting to share you just yet, before letting you go with a kiss and a soft smile.
You didn’t run to Jisung, but you did slam into him, fingers gripping at the back of his sleep hoodie, face pressing against the comforting warmth of his bared neck. His hands were under your thighs, lifting you up as you squeaked your complaints and tightened your legs around his waist.
God, he was stronger than last year. He was beaming at you, face bright and eyes warm, and you bumped your nose against his.
“I missed you, love,” he breathed, and you whispered it back, heart pounding in your chest.
Behind you both, someone made a noise of objection. “Ya! Put her down, I don’t want you to drop her.” Minho scolded.
Jisung huffed in disagreement, grip tightening. “I won’t,” he argued, “we’re in a dream. I’ll carry her forever.”
The declaration made you laugh, just it made Minho sigh fondly. You turned your head to watch him approach, each movement languid and relaxed, like you had all the time in the world. He smirked when he saw you looking and pressed in close to you, brushing your lips with his.
“You look good baby,” he whispered.
You hummed. You released one hand so that you could trace along his cheekbones. “How’s your ankle?”
Minho’s eyes flickered with surprise and then melted into affection. “Doesn’t hurt,” he promised.
“Between you and Minnie, I was worried you were working yourselves too hard,” you admitted.
When the news from the latest performances had come out to fans, you had admittedly panicked. Made you wish you’d asked for their numbers in the real world so you could reach out and soothe your own concerns. Hyunjin had offered them to you before, but honestly, you’d been afraid to accept it, as if they spent more time in your company, they’d somehow come to regret having you as their soulmate. An irrational fear born from distance.
It was hard to think that now, with Jisung’s forehead resting against your temple and Minho looking at you like you were the world.
“We are,” Jeongin stretched in the aisle, rolling tightness in his hips before grinning widely at you. “I need a holiday. Preferably on a beach with Noona.” He winked, and you flushed, charmed.
“Confident now, aren’t we daddy bread?” you teased, delighting in the way he went deliciously red.
Innie had gotten surer of himself, of his love, over the last few years but you enjoyed that he still folded under the lightest push back. You couldn’t wait to kiss the blush from his cheeks when you were alone – he wasn’t big on displays of affection in front of the others, each of his relationships with his soulmates private and personal. You appreciated that about him.
Unexpectedly, hands – slender fingers, cold metal of rings biting into the soft flesh above the band of your trousers – wrap around you securely and lift, much to Jisung’s vocal objections. You yelped when you dropped unexpectedly into a warm lap, but when your limbs were manhandled to turn, straddling someone’s lap, you knew exactly who it was.
Even messy with slumber, Hyunjin was sultry. The discovery of his sexual expression had been a delight for all who got to be on the receiving end of it as much as it was headache-inducing. Bare-faced, he looked at you with a sly uptick at the corner of his lips and intensely focused eyes. He was like that, you knew, his sole focus narrowed in on whoever he was talking to. He breathed your name and tugged you closer to put his lips on yours, a sensual slide that made your toes curl and a contented hum rise at the back of your throat.
“No fair,” Jisung pouted and then draped himself dramatically against Minho’s side.
Hyunjin pulled away, lips wet and pupils blown. “Sharing is caring,” he shot back.
“Says Mr Possessive,” Changbin teased. He had shifted so his legs were stretched out in the aisle between seats, arms crossed over his chest.
Hyunjin shot him a grin. “I don’t mind sharing you,” he said, “I’m sure baby doesn’t mind, do you?”
There was heavy implication in his words and heat curled up your neck.
A hand reached between seats and clapped Hyunjin on the back of the neck, making him yell in surprise. Chris stuck his head around the seats, an amused mix of interest and disapproval on his face. “Let’s keep it PG, Jinnie,” he ordered, “it’s only day one.” Then he looked at you, eyes softening with deep affection, “we have a lot to catch up on.”
Familiar paint chipped nails curled under your chin and urged you to look up. Felix’s smiling face was there, bare and flushed, nose wrinkled so cutely. “We missed you, darling,” he said.
“Missed you too,” you replied. Your eyes danced across your boys and frowned slightly. “Where’s Minnie?”
As if on command, the carriage door swung open and Seungmin stepped inside, hands in the pockets his sweatpants. You watched his gaze dance across them all before they landed on you and relaxed.
“Noona,” he smiled, that wide gummy smile that only seemed to wear when he was truly happy, “You look pretty.”
And it was like the world righted itself. Like the eleven months of the year without this were the real dream, the dimmed nightmare of life, while here, amongst the snow and your beloveds, you were finally alive once more.
Hyunjin must have felt you relax into him before his hands stroked a love heart into your hip. A silent mark upon you.
It was the evening of December 1st and you were finally happy again.
-
“If you get drunk in a dream, do you have a hangover in real life?” Jisung wondered out loud, staring into the depths of his mug of spiked hot chocolate.
“Haven’t we tested that one already?” Jeongin asked.
Changbin groaned dramatically. “Don’t remind me. We had dance practice the next day. Instructor-nim was mean.”
As you got older, the dining cart had expanded, adding floor tables and blankets that you would all huddle around. You were under Seungmin’s arm, who had dragged you close and refused to let go, no matter what his hyungs' said. Felix had squashed in on the other side of you, one of your hands tugged into his lap so he could trace the smooth edge of your Christmas nails.
Jisung was resting against Hyunjin, who initially loudly complained but now sat with his free hand under Jisung’s hoodie, fingers splayed across his stomach. Minho and Chris were shoulder to shoulder, brushing each other when they moved. Jeongin was braced up against the wall but had his bare feet under Changbin’s wide thighs, who was happily keeping them warm.
It was cozy, comfortable, building a sense of peace that you had almost forgotten could exist around you. You hoped it would feel the same way when you met in person.
Your stomach clenched nervously and made you feel momentarily sick. Alone in your apartment, the excitement for the move, for finally getting the chance to stop this horrific loneliness, your future had unfolded like a fairytale in front of you. Prince Charming (or eight of them), the princess and the happily ever after.
But now, for a terrifying moment, their bodies felt too warm. Too real. And you felt like one wrong word would ruin everything. It was an anxiety that you had to push down, because you knew it was just you imagining the worst-case scenario.
These boys, your soulmates – you’d known each other since you were all children, unaware of the way your lives were connected, unaware of what destiny dictated you to be. They’d seen you at your snotty childhood and your bratty teenage years; they’d cheered you through restless December nights of university. They’d seen your worst.
Yet they were still here. Holding on to you as tight as they held on to each other.
You grasped that precious knowledge tightly, unwilling to let it shatter.
“I,” your voice went dry. You cleared it and let your eyes dance just above their heads. If you didn’t look at them, you could be brave, you reasoned. “I have something to tell you.”
There was a weighted pause, the kind that wrapped and sunk you with anticipation. It wasn’t until Chris’ hesitant, worried voice said your name that you realised how it must have sounded to them.
You shook your head. “No, wait, it’s not bad. At least, I don’t think it’s bad. I hope you don’t think it’s bad.”
“Darling,” Felix said softly, raised your hand to press a kiss to the knuckles.
You shuddered a breath. “Okay, so I’m moving.” You licked your lips nervously, “to Seoul. I’m moving to Seoul.”
There was quiet for a moment and then –
“Wait, really?” Jisung sat up straight, eyes wide with unconcealed hope.
“How?” Minho demanded. His expression was fluxating between excitement and disbelief, like all his dreams were coming true.
Seungmin’s fingers flexed around your shoulder. “What about your job?” he sounded worried. He knew how much you loved your job at the publishing house, had spoken to him for hours about it one Christmas. He wanted you with them – god, did he want you there - but not at the expense of giving up something you adore.
You smiled up at him shyly. “They have a Seoul branch,” you explained, “They approved my transfer a few months ago.”
“When do you move?” Jeongin was practically vibrating.
“My flight is December 28th. I wanted to go earlier, but my parents demanded we spend one last Christmas together,” you said bashfully.
They had been so proud of you, always had been, but they knew, once you boarded that flight, once you were in the same space as your soulmates, it would be a while before they saw you in person. It both broke your heart and comforted you to know that.
“28th? Hyung, do we have a schedule?” Hyunjin asked.
Chris hummed thoughtfully. “One performance before our break, I think.”
“Do you have a ride from Incheon?” Felix asked eagerly. “Should we come?”
You laughed, joy and love overwhelming. “Babe, you can’t come and get me. What if people see?”
Changbin made a show of pouting. “But I want to see my baby as soon as she lands.”
Chris cooed and pinched his soulmate's puffy cheeks. “So cute,” he teased and laughed when Changbin whined in complaint. Then he looked to you with soft eyes, “We’ll ask someone from the company to come and get you, okay? And we’ll come to your new apartment, whenever you want us.”
“Immediately,” you answered honestly.
Seungmin brushed his lips against your cheek. His whispered voice was raw, honest and trembling. “Is this real?” he said, “you’re going to be with us? Really be with us?”
You turned so that you could kiss him, a firm touch of lips that still made your head spin like the first time. He let out a shaky breath against you, arm slipping to move around your waist, holding you closer. “It’s real,” you promised, “I'm so excited.”
“Us too,” Seungmin swore and kissed you again.
Later in the evening, just before the sun began peeking over the snowy mountain caps, and you knew that it would soon be time to return to the living world, Chris crowded you against a carriage door. He held you close, head dipped so you could feel his breath against your lips, the heat of his hand on your hips holding you still.
“This will be the best Christmas you know,” he confessed, “with you as our Christmas gift.”
Your fingers curled in the front of his hoodie. “I can’t wait to touch you for real,” you admitted, “to have you all on January 1st.”
Chris brushed a finger along your jaw. “You always have us,” he said, so sure, “Every morning, every evening, January to December. We’re yours. God, I can’t wait to see you outside of a train.”
You laughed. “It’ll be weird. Like you’re real people.” You joked, “I’ve seen you in pyjamas for the last twenty years. Do you even have normal clothes?”
“I bet you’ll look cute in our clothes,” Chris bumped his nose with yours.
You exhaled softly. “I can’t wait.”
“28 days,” he murmured.
“28,” you repeated.
You could feel the lightness in your head, the sign that it was time to wake up, to return to your normal life. This time, it didn’t feel devastating, like you were losing a part of yourself.
Because there was a countdown to when it would no longer just be a dream. Come the end of December, your boys wouldn’t fade away into greyness, wouldn’t be a wish for the entire year.
Come the end of December, you’d open your eyes in the morning, and they would still be there.
