ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， you're on the verge of failing and your only chance not to flunk is asking for help from the golden boy, the school’s star student, choi beomgyu. but nothing in this life is free and in the end you also have a few things to teach him.
pairing: golden student! beomgyu x fem! reader
genre: fluff
warnings: lowercase, slowburn ish, cursing, kissing and i think its all <3
wc: 8k
author's notes: english is not my first language — based on this request. i don't know who asked for this one, but it took me forever to write. it turned out way longer than i expected and i think i lost my way a bit, so i'm really sorry for that. it was originally supposed to have smut, but when i start writing, the story just takes its own path, so i hope you guys are okay with some innocent fluff <3 sorry if anything doesn't make sense, i'm terrible at math lmao
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the humming of the overhead lights in the classroom felt way too bright today, almost like they were mocking the heavy pit in your stomach. you stared at the paper on your desk, the bold, red "f" circled at the top looking like a crime scene. you’d studied for weeks – late nights in the library, caffeine jitters, the whole deal – and yet, here you were, failing again.
"that's bad," your friend ryujin muttered, leaning over from the next desk to give your shoulder an encouraging tap. you felt the weight of that red letter in every fiber of your being, like the word "failure" was tattooed on your forehead. "another one for the collection?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood with her signature lopsided smirk, though the flicker of concern in her eyes gave away that she knew how much this hit you. "relax, we'll figure it out. it's not the end of the world."
"you’re dismissed for today, class," mr. kim announced, and the sound of backpack zippers and chairs scraping filled the heavy silence of the room. everyone was getting ready to head to their next period, the chatter about how the weekend went was already starting up in the hallways.
you packed your things dejectedly, hands shaking a bit as you shoved the test into the bottom of your folder, when the teacher’s voice cut through the noise.
"yn, can you stay behind for a moment?" mr. kim called out.
you felt your heart drop to your shoes. ryujin gave your shoulder one last sympathetic squeeze before heading out with the rest of the group, leaving you alone in that room that suddenly felt way too big and way too quiet. you walked up to the front, clutching the failed exam to your chest as if it could somehow hide your shame.
you approached his desk, your hands trembling as if you were a child about to be scolded. mr. kim didn't look up immediately, he just kept organizing his stack of papers, the silence between you stretching thin and uncomfortable. finally, he let out a heavy sigh and leaned back.
"you realize that if you keep going like this, i won't have any other choice but to fail you, right?" he asked, his voice flat but not unkind.
your eyes stung, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep it from wobbling. you weren't lazy. you weren't skipping class. you were just... lost. "i know, mr. kim. i'm really trying, i promise. i stay up every night studying, but it's like my brain just shuts down during the actual tests."
he looked at you for a long moment, the disappointment in his gaze making you want to disappear into the floor tiles. he sighed again, reaching into his drawer to pull out a single sheet of paper.
"i'll give you one more chance to at least pull a b and save your grade," he said, sliding the paper toward you. it was a list of topics for a makeup exam. "the test is in two weeks. if you pass this, you stay in the clear. if not... well, you know the drill."
"thank you, thank you so much," you said, bowing your head quickly as you grabbed the paper like it was a lifeline.
"don't thank me yet. you need to actually pass this time," he warned, grabbing his briefcase. "i highly recommend you find a tutor. someone like choi beomgyu. he's easily the best in the class. he’s got the brains and the discipline. think about it."
as mr. kim walked out of the room, you stood there staring at the syllabus in your hand. everyone knew choi beomgyu. he wasn't just smart, he was the president of the student council, the face of the school. he belonged to that elite group of six that everyone looked up to. he and his friends soobin, yeonjun, taehyun, and kai were all seniors, just like you, ruling the hallways with a mix of effortless charm and perfect grades. they even had lia from the junior year in their circle, making them the ultimate "it" group of the school. they were popular, they were incredibly hot, seemingly perfect at everything they did, and felt like they lived in a completely different world than yours.
you couldn't imagine someone like beomgyu spending his free time helping someone like you. you were just a girl who barely scraped by, while he was probably busy running the school or being the main character of someone else's story.
you let out a long, shaky breath and turned to leave, your mind racing through a million ways to approach him. you were so lost in thought, checking the list of topics one more time, that you didn't notice the figure standing right outside the door.
thud.
you walked straight into someone's chest, the impact sending your folder slipping from your hands.
you looked up, still a bit dazed from the impact, and your heart nearly stopped. it was him. choi beomgyu was standing right there, his expression unreadable, almost serious, as he looked down at you. he didn't wait for you to react before he was already on his knees, his long fingers moving quickly to gather your scattered papers.
"i should've been looking where i was going," he added, his voice low. "i just realized i left my book inside and-"
he paused, his eyes landing on the sheet of paper he had just picked up. it was the makeup exam syllabus mr. kim had given you, with the big, circled “f” from your previous test still visible on the folder underneath. beomgyu’s gaze lingered on it for a second too long, – not with pity, but with a sharp, observant look – and you felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up your neck.
you scrambled to help him, your fingers brushing against his as you both reached for your last worksheet. the contact felt like a tiny electric shock, and you quickly pulled your hand back, clutching your folder to your chest like a shield.
"thanks," you muttered, looking anywhere but at those sharp, dark eyes. "it's fine. it was my fault, i was distracted."
beomgyu stood up, handing you the rest of your things with a certain poise that only someone in his position could have. he didn't leave immediately, though. he tilted his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, and gestured to the papers in your hand.
"mr. kim can be pretty brutal with those makeup exams," he said, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "you're yn, right? from the art club?"
you blinked, surprised he even knew your name. "yeah. how did you..."
"i'm the student council president, remember?" he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he straightened his posture. "and you're actually really good at what you do."
you felt your cheeks burn even hotter at the unexpected compliment. you weren't exactly the shy, invisible type. you had your small circle of friends and people knew who you were, mostly because the school frequently recruited you to design the posters for pep rallies and seasonal festivals. you were the girl who could turn a boring announcement into a work of art, even if you couldn't solve a simple quadratic equation to save your life.
he let out a short, breathy laugh, his posture relaxing just a bit. he looked down at his heavy textbook and then back at you. "look, i've gotta grab my book before kim locks the room, but... good luck with those topics. they're a pain in the ass."
he started to brush past you into the classroom, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air for a split second. this was your moment. mr. kim’s recommendation rang in your ears. choi beomgyu is easily the best in the class.
"beomgyu? wait," you called out, turning around before you could lose your nerve.
he stopped mid-stride, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. he turned his head slightly, giving you a look that was half-curious and half-expectant, waiting for whatever you had to say.
"look, i know you're busy, but mr. kim told me i should find a tutor for this makeup exam," you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could overthink them. "and he said you're the best in the class. would you... could you help me? just for these two weeks?"
beomgyu turned fully toward you now, letting out a long, weary sigh. he adjusted the strap of his bag, his expression shifting into something more professional, the council president persona coming back in full force as he walked toward the desk to finally grab his book.
"yn, i'd love to help, really," he said, and for a second, he actually sounded like he meant it. "but have you seen the school calendar lately? we've got the winter formal coming up, council meetings every afternoon, and i'm already drowning in my own prep for finals. i barely have time to breathe, let alone teach someone else's entire semester in fourteen days."
he gave you a sympathetic, yet firm, closed-lip smile. "try asking taehyun. he’s just as smart and probably has more patience than i do."
he reached down, finally gripping his calculus book, but you weren't ready to give up. you knew taehyun, and while he was brilliant, he was also terrifyingly blunt. beomgyu was your only real shot.
"i'll do anything," you blurted out, stepping closer into the room. "seriously, beomgyu. i can't pay you but i can do your coffee runs, i'll help the council with all the banners for the formal. anything you want. just please don't let me fail this class."
that seemed to do it. beomgyu froze, his hand tightening around the spine of the book he just picked up. he didn't turn around immediately. instead, he stood there for a few seconds, as if he were debating something internally. when he finally turned back to face you, that confident, perfect mask had slipped, replaced by something much more human and much more nervous.
he scanned the hallway through the open door, making sure no one was within earshot, and then he approached you, leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice.
"anything?" he repeated, his eyes searching yours.
"anything," you confirmed, though a small seed of doubt started to grow in your chest.
his ears began to turn a deep, unmistakable shade of pink, contrasting sharply with his dark hair. he looked down at his shoes, then back at you, biting his lip. "okay. fine. i'll help you. but in exchange... there's something i need help with. something i'm... not exactly an expert at."
you felt a sudden chill. you'd heard the stories: popular guys, desperate girls, and favors that went way beyond coffee runs. you took a sharp step back, your eyes narrowing as you clutched your folder even tighter.
"look, beomgyu," you said, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and disappointment. "i'm failing a class, not my life. if you think i'm going to... you know, sell my body just for some math help, you’ve got the wrong girl. i thought you were better than that. you're such a creep"
beomgyu’s eyes went wide, and his entire face exploded into a shade of crimson that was honestly impressive. "what? no! oh my god, no!" he hissed, waving his hands frantically in front of him as if trying to swat away your words. "what kind of guy do you think i am? it’s not– it’s not that! at all!"
"then what is it?" you asked, still holding your ground.
he groaned, covering his face with one hand, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. "i can't say it here. just... meet me at the library tonight. 8 pm. the very back tables near the historical archives. i'll explain everything then. and don't be late."
he didn't wait for your answer. he tucked the book under his arm and practically ran past you out into the hallway, leaving you standing there completely confused. and a little bit intrigued.
the silence of the local public library was almost deafening, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of pages. you sat at the very back, near the dusty historical archives, practically chewing your fingernails into nothing. on the table sat a plastic cup of iced americano, the condensation pooling at the bottom. you’d bought it on the way, a small peace offering, but now you were staring at it with intense anxiety. does he even like black coffee? what if he hates iced drinks? what if he thinks i’m being a suck-up?
you checked your phone for the tenth time. 7:59 pm.
at exactly 8:00 pm, the heavy wooden chair across from you scraped against the floor. you jumped slightly, looking up to see beomgyu sitting down. he was punctual to a fault, exactly what you’d expect from the student council president. you only knew he was on time because you’d been sitting there since 7:30, too nervous to do anything else.
"you arrived early," he muttered, pulling a notebook from his bag. he looked exhausted. there were faint shadows under his eyes that weren't there this morning, probably from a long day of meetings and senior-year stress.
"i brought you this," you pushed the coffee toward him, your heart hammering. "i didn't know if you liked it, but..."
he glanced at the cup, then back at you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "it’s perfect. thanks." he took a long sip before gesturing to your folder. "let me see the damage. what did mr. kim give you?"
you slid the syllabus across the table. he scanned the list of topics, his brow furrowing as he leaned his head on his hand. "okay. so, which of these sections are you having the most trouble with?"
you bit your lip, looking at the floor. "honestly? all of it. everything."
beomgyu let out a slow, heavy sigh, but he didn't look annoyed, just resigned. "fine. we’re going to have to meet here every single night, except weekends. 8 pm sharp. no excuses. i’ll draft a study schedule for us tonight so we don't waste time." he began scribbling in his notebook, mapping out the next fourteen days with terrifying precision.
you felt a wave of genuine relief wash over you. "thank you, beomgyu. seriously. you’re saving my life."
but then, the air in the room seemed to shift. you remembered he wanted something in exchange. you watched him take another sip of the coffee, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and you cleared your throat nervously. "so... what do you want? you said there was something i could help with."
beomgyu froze. he slowly set the coffee down, his ears immediately beginning to glow pink again. he looked around the empty aisles of books, leaning in across the table so his voice was barely a whisper. "you can't tell anyone."
"i won't," you promised, leaning in too.
"there's... there's a girl," he confessed, his voice cracking just a tiny bit. "i’ve liked her for a while. we’re friends, we get along great, but i... i have no idea how to actually get her. how to talk to her without sounding like i’m reading a council report."
you stared at him, completely blindsided. choi beomgyu? the guy who had half the girls in the hallways tripping over their own feet just to get a look at him? he was attractive, popular, and carried himself with so much confidence that you just assumed he was an expert. he spent all his time with the most notorious flirts in school, after all. yeonjun was the openly flirtatious type, always charming someone; soobin was the quiet one, the "silent but deadly" type who everyone knew was a heartbreaker behind closed doors; and taehyun was a perfect, terrifying mix of both. then there was kai, who was reserved and focused on his studies, but still highly desired.
you figured beomgyu would be just like them.
"i know what you're thinking," he said, reading the confusion on your face. his ears were now a deep shade of red. "you expect me to be like them. but i've never actually had to pursue anyone. people usually come to me, and when i'm the one who has to make a move... i just freeze. i don't know how to be... natural."
"but why me?" you whispered. "why ask for my help?"
beomgyu looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "there was that party last time. i saw you and yeonjun in the backyard. you guys were just... talking. flirty, open. it looked so simple for you. and then you guys ended up making out and it didn't even seem like a big deal."
you felt a bit of heat hit your own face as you remembered that night. it was just a party thing: a few drinks, some fun banter, and a quick make-out session with yeonjun before you both went your separate ways. it hadn't been deep, just a natural consequence of the atmosphere.
"you're just like him," beomgyu continued, finally meeting your eyes. "you have that energy. but i can't ask yeonjun for help. he'd never let me live it down. he'd tease me for the rest of my life if he knew i was struggling."
"so you want me to teach you how to flirt?" you asked, a bit of a laugh escaping your lips.
"basically," he groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "because the girl i'm into... it's lia. and i really don't want to mess it up.”
"oh," you murmured, the single syllable hanging in the air as you processed the news. lia was stunning, sophisticated, and possessed a quiet elegance that made her seem almost untouchable. it made sense why beomgyu was so stuck. "she's beautiful. i can see why you're stressed."
beomgyu shifted in his seat, his posture stiffening as he gave a small, almost shy nod. "she is. and she's smart. i don't want to come off as... i don't know, a dork."
"well, consider me your new secret weapon," you said, leaning back and trying to project a confidence you didn't entirely feel. the stakes were high for both of you. your graduation and his heart. "i'll help you. we'll start with the basics."
he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "fine. where do we even start? i've tried talking to her, but it always ends up sounding like i'm asking her for a committee report," he admitted, leaning back and looking at you with a serious, focused intensity. "it's not that i don't know how to talk, i just don't know how to... pivot. to make it obvious that i'm interested."
"well, you're not going to figure it out by overthinking," you said, reaching out. "we're starting with messaging. hand me your phone."
he blinked, looking genuinely confused as he clutched his device. "my phone? why?"
"to give you my number, dummy," you whisper-yelled, reaching across the table. "we need to be able to coordinate these study sessions anyway. and besides, you're going to need a safe place to practice."
he handed the phone over, his brow furrowing. "practice? you mean i show you what i’m going to send her?"
"no," you said, quickly typing your digits into his contacts and hitting save. you slid the phone back across the table with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "you're going to train with me. you're going to text me like i'm her. i'll tell you when you're being too formal, when you're being too weird, and when you're actually getting it right."
beomgyu stared at his phone, then at you, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and pure terror. "you want me to... flirt with you? as practice?"
"exactly. consider it a simulation," you teased, finally opening your own textbook. "but for now, we have a way bigger problem than your love life, choi beomgyu. we have two weeks to make sure i don't fail mr. kim's class."
he stared at you for another second, the blush still lingering on the tips of his ears, before he cleared his throat. "right. open to page forty-two. let's start with the basic functions. if you don't get these, the rest of the makeup exam will be impossible."
the next two hours were a blur of numbers, variables, and the scratching of pencils against paper. every now and then, you’d catch him stealing a glance at you – probably wondering what he’d gotten himself into – but then he’d dive back into the math, explaining things with a clarity and patience that mr. kim never managed. as the library lights eventually flickered, signaling closing time, you realized that for the first time in months, the equations actually started to make sense.
the next day followed a predictable routine of classes and catching up on projects. after that brief "goodnight" text the previous evening, you hadn't talked much, and the day went by normally without any notifications from him. you were far too preoccupied with your own sketches and the looming retake to spend much time staring at your phone anyway.
by the time you got to the public library, beomgyu was already there. he looked a bit more dressed down today, his school tie loosened and his blazer tossed over the back of his chair. you set the iced americano in front of him without much ceremony, a quiet, automatic gesture.
"thanks" he said, his hand already sliding the cup toward him as he looked over his notes.
you shrugged, opening your messy notebook. "i need you sharp if i’m going to survive this chapter, beomgyu. consider it an investment in my passing grade."
he let out a short, genuine laugh. "fair enough. let’s get to it, then."
the session was much smoother than the first. since he’d realized you were a visual learner because of your art, he started explaining the equations using analogies of perspective and proportions. you found yourself leaning in closer to see where his pen was pointing, and for the first time, the quiet of the library didn't feel heavy, it felt comfortable.
"so," you murmured while switching highlighters, "so far you're the only one keeping up your end of the deal. i was waiting for a text to practice with. did you give up already?"
beomgyu’s pen froze on the paper, but he didn't look up. "i was stuck in board meetings all day. and honestly... i ended up deleting about ten versions of a "hey" today. it feels harder when i know you’re the one judging the draft."
"it’s a text, not a graduation speech," you teased, a small smirk playing on your lips. "lia isn't going to grade you if you miss a comma, and neither am i."
"i know that," he muttered, finally meeting your eyes. his gaze was focused, but there was a flicker of something different there, a break in the polished armor he usually wore at school. "it’s just... with her, i feel like everything has to be calculated. i feel like i have to be perfect to be on her level, and i end up not being able to just be myself."
you felt a strange tug in your chest, a bit of empathy for the guy who always had to be the best. "well, you don't have to be perfect with me. here, you’re just the guy who happens to be annoyingly good at calculus."
he stayed silent for a heartbeat too long, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. he cleared his throat, adjusting his posture and turning his attention back to the textbook.
"right. less talking, more derivatives," he said, his voice sounding a bit grainier than usual. "if you mess up this negative sign one more time, i’m charging you double for the coffee."
"scary," you joked, but you were already focusing back on the numbers, feeling the distance between you starting to shrink.
the first week had been a blur of intense focus. by wednesday, beomgyu looked like he was running on nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower, his eyes bloodshot behind his glasses as he tried to explain trigonometric substitutions. seeing him like that, you were the one to suggest moving the sessions to his place – it was closer for both of you and at least he could crash the second you finished.
studying at his house changed everything.
his mom was surprisingly sweet, instantly liking you because, in her words, you and the boys were the only ones who could actually make her son take a break from his "president duties" to laugh. you’d quickly become a regular fixture in their kitchen, often trading diy crafting tips for her stories about beomgyu as a kid.
it was at home that the "perfect council president" mask finally shattered for good. away from the hallways of the high school, beomgyu was loud, spontaneous, and honestly hilarious. he had this goofy, high-energy side that he kept locked away behind his blazer, and you found yourself looking forward to his bad jokes just as much as his math explanations.
now, it was thursday of the second week. your retake was already tomorrow, and thanks to beomgyu, you actually felt ready.
you were sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, leaning against his bed while taking a massive bite of a ham and cheese sandwich his mom had brought up earlier. the room was a mess of crumpled scratch paper, textbooks, and beomgyu’s discarded hoodie. he was sitting at his desk, spinning his pen between his fingers as he stared intensely at his phone.
"i can't do it," he groaned, dropping his head onto the desk with a dull thud. "every time i try to type something flirty to her, my brain just defaults to professional mode. i literally almost signed the last draft with "sincerely, choi beomgyu"."
you snickered, swallowing your bite of sandwich. "to be fair, that would definitely get a reaction from lia. she’d probably think you were inviting her to a gala."
"not the goal," he muttered into the wood of the desk.
the "simulation" hadn't really worked out. whenever beomgyu tried to flirt with you as practice, it felt too weird, neither of you could take it seriously. eventually, you’d both agreed it was easier if you just became his unofficial ghostwriter. for the past few days, he’d been texting lia more casually, and things were actually moving.
"okay, let's look at the actual chat," you said, shuffling over to sit on the floor next to his chair. "what did she say last?"
beomgyu lifted his head, sliding the phone toward you. lia had sent a photo of her cat sprawled out across her open textbook.
lia: i think she’s staging a protest against my midterms.
beomgyu bit his lip, looking at you like you held the secrets to the universe. "okay, she sent the cat. what’s the move? do i tell her the cat is cute? ask what the cat's name is?"
"way too basic," you countered, scrolling through their recent texts. "you need to make it a conversation, not an interview. here, send this," you typed quickly under beomgyu’s curious gaze. then, you handed it over for him to read.
me: at least yours is just sitting there. my parrot, toto is currently trying to shred my study guide because i’m not paying enough attention to him. i think we should have a talk about boundaries.
beomgyu’s eyes went wide. "why mention toto?"
"it’s a perfect opening," you encouraged. "it’s funny and it shows you actually have a life outside of school, and you share interests. just send it."
with trembling fingers, beomgyu stared at the "send" icon for a solid ten seconds before finally tapping it. the second the message bubble turned blue, he tossed the phone onto his bed like it was a live grenade and buried his face in his hands.
"i'm going to die. she’s going to think i'm the weird bird guy," he muffled through his palms.
"relax," you laughed, reaching out to give his shoulder a reassuring shake. "give it a minute."
not even thirty seconds later, the phone buzzed. vrrrpt.
beomgyu scrambled for the device, nearly falling out of his chair. he unlocked it, his eyes scanning the screen before a massive, genuine grin broke across his face, the kind of smile he never wore in the school hallways.
"she said... 'toto sounds like a handful. i didn't know you had a pet! i'd love to meet toto. are you free on saturday?'," he read aloud, his voice rising in pitch with excitement. "yn! she asked me out! well, she asked me and the bird out! she’s free on saturday!"
"holy shit, she totally just made a move!" you cheered, jumping up from the floor. “i wouldn't normally invite myself over to someone's house on a first date, but a win is a win, right?” you laughed.
without thinking, beomgyu stood up and grabbed your hands, jumping up and down with you in a burst of pure, uncoordinated joy. "it worked! it actually worked! you’re a genius, i swear."
he was laughing, his dark hair messy and his eyes sparkling with a relief that had nothing to do with student council drama or final grades. in that moment, standing in the middle of his room with his hands holding yours, the council president felt like a million miles away. beomgyu just felt like beomgyu.
"see? i told you," you said, breathless from the sudden celebration. "you’ve got this."
he didn't let go of your hands right away. he stayed there for a second, his smile softening as he looked down at you, the high-energy excitement fading into something a little quieter, a little more grounded. the silence in the room suddenly felt different – not awkward, but heavy in a way that had nothing to do with calculus.
"yeah," he whispered, his thumb grazing the back of your hand for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. "i guess i do."
the energy in the room shifted instantly. the loud, jumping celebration died down into a thick, heavy silence that made the air feel twice as dense. your hands were still in his, and you could feel the warmth of his palms, the way his pulse was still racing from the excitement.
beomgyu was the first to realize how close you were standing. he let go of your hands as if he’d been burned, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable crimson. he stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you.
"right," he muttered, his voice a bit strained. "saturday. she's coming over. okay."
you felt a strange, sharp pang in your chest, a cold flicker of something you couldn't quite name. it wasn't exactly sadness, but it wasn't the pure happiness you expected to feel for someone who was now your friend. you cleared your throat, the sound loud in the quiet room, and started shoving your pens into your bag.
"yeah, saturday," you repeated, keeping your head down. "you’re gonna do great. the bird-guy charm is irresistible, apparently."
"i hope so," he said, though he sounded a lot less certain now.
the awkwardness followed you both down the stairs as you packed up for the night. thursday was over, and the reality of the exam tomorrow was finally settling in. his mom met you at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the kitchen counter with a knowing smile.
"leaving already, sweetheart?" she asked. "i thought you’d stay for dinner."
"can't, mrs. choi," you replied, smiling affectionately. "tomorrow is the big day. i need to get some sleep or i'll forget what a derivative even is."
"she's right," beomgyu added, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. "i'm gonna walk her home."
"gyu, seriously, it’s not that far. i can manage," you insisted, already heading for the door.
he just opened the door and waited for you to step through. "it's dark out, i’m walking you. let’s go."
the walk was short – just a few blocks through the quiet, suburban neighborhood – but it felt much longer than usual. the crisp night air helped clear your head, but it didn't do much for the tension between you.
"you ready?" he asked after a while, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets. "for the test, i mean."
"i think so. thanks to you," you said, looking at your shoes as you walked. "i actually understood the practice problems today. i might actually pass this thing."
"you'll pass," he said firmly. "you're smarter than you give yourself credit for."
another stretch of silence followed before he spoke again. "and... thanks. for the help with lia. i wouldn't have even known where to start a conversation with her."
"don't mention it," you said, feeling that weird pang in your chest again. "it’s a deal, right? i get a grade, you get a girl. everyone wins."
he didn't respond to that. he just hummed, a low sound that vibrated in the quiet street.
when you reached your porch, you turned to face him. for a second, it felt like he wanted to say something else. his mouth opened slightly, his eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the porch light, but then he just sighed.
"good luck tomorrow," he said softly.
before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a quick, tight hug. he stiffened for a fraction of a second before his arms came around you, pulling you in. he smelled like laundry detergent and the faint scent of the cake his mother baked earlier that day. for a moment, you didn't want to let go.
you pulled back first, giving him a small, awkward wave before ducking inside. "see you tomorrow!"
you didn't wait to see him walk away. you went straight to your room and threw yourself onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. the math notes were still in your bag, but your brain was elsewhere.
i'm so screwed, you thought, pressing your palms against your eyes. you were finally going to pass the class, but you were starting to realize that the price might be a lot higher than a few iced americanos.
the silence in the classroom was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic tick of the wall clock and the aggressive scratch of mr. kim’s red pen. you sat at your desk, heart hammering against your ribs, staring at the empty seats around you. you were the last one left.
"y/n," mr. kim finally called out, not looking up from his desk.
you stood up, your legs feeling like lead as you walked toward him. he slid the paper across the mahogany surface, face down at first. when you flipped it over, your breath hitched. a bright, circled grade stared back at you. it wasn't just a pass, it was a solid a-.
"i don't know what clicked for you this time," mr. kim said, finally looking up over his glasses, "but keep it up. i've updated your final marks. you’re in the clear."
"thank you, sir. really," you whispered, clutching the paper to your chest.
the relief was overwhelming, a literal weight lifting off your shoulders. but as you stepped out into the hallway, that dizzying high was immediately met with a cold realization. the deal was over. no more library sessions, no more sandwiches in beomgyu’s room, no more beomgyu.
you walked down the corridor toward the lockers, the noise of the afternoon rush echoing around you. as you rounded the corner, you spotted him. he was standing with his usual crowd, the it boys of the school. kai was rambling about something, his hands moving everywhere while soobin, yeonjun, and taehyun paid attention to him. lia was nowhere to be seen, and beomgyu stood in the center, looking every bit the composed, untouchable president.
you stopped a few feet away, the paper still crumpled in your hand. for a second, you didn't have the courage to actually walk into that circle. he looked so different here, so far away from the guy who jumped for joy in his bedroom last night.
you caught his eye from across the hall. you didn't move toward him, but you offered a small, hesitant tilt of your head. a silent signal for him to come over.
beomgyu didn't hesitate. he murmured something to the group, cutting kai off mid-sentence, and began walking toward you. as he got closer, his serious expression started to crack, replaced by a look of genuine, focused concern.
"so?" he asked, his voice low as he reached you, ignoring the curious glances from his friends behind him. "the suspense is killing me. please tell me you didn't fail.”
you took a deep breath, looking down at the floor and letting your shoulders slump. you kept the paper folded tightly so he couldn't see the ink. "beomgyu..." you started, your voice trailing off, sounding as dejected as possible.
his face dropped instantly. the confident, composed face vanished, replaced by a look of pure devastation. "no way," he whispered, stepping closer, his brow furrowed in genuine distress. "we went over everything. how did–"
you couldn't hold the act for more than three seconds. a grin broke across your face as you flashed the paper at him, the bright grade circled in red. "gotcha! i passed, beomgyu! i actually passed!"
the relief hit him like a physical wave. beomgyu let out a loud, breathless laugh, and before he could think about his image or the crowd of people watching, he lunged forward. he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you slightly off the ground in a tight, spinning hug. "you absolute brat! i actually thought for a second that i was a terrible teacher!"
the hug lasted a heartbeat too long. as he set you back down, the reality of the crowded hallway rushed back in. beomgyu cleared his throat, his hands dropping from your waist as if he'd been caught doing something illegal. his ears turned that familiar shade of deep pink.
"right," he muttered, stepping back and smoothing out his blazer. "i mean, obviously. i knew you had it in you."
"obviously," you teased, though your own heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with math. the awkwardness was thick now, the deal being officially over making every word feel heavier. "i guess i'll let you get back to your fans. and... good luck tomorrow. with the date."
beomgyu bit his lip, his eyes lingering on yours for a second. "yeah. thanks, y/n. see you around."
you gave him a small wave and turned to walk away, your chest feeling tight despite the passing grade.
beomgyu stood there for a second, watching you go, before turning back to his friends. the boys were all wearing various smirks. yeonjun had his arms crossed, looking between beomgyu and your retreating figure with a knowing glint in his eyes.
"wow, beomgyu-ah," yeonjun started, his voice loud enough to make beomgyu wince. "you two looked pretty cozy. i didn't know the president was spending so much extracurricular time with the artsy crowd."
"it was just tutoring, yeonjun. relax," beomgyu snapped, though the blush on his neck betrayed him.
"hey, no judgment here," yeonjun laughed, nudging beomgyu with his shoulder. "she’s great. and honestly? she’s a really good kisser."
the air seemed to leave beomgyu’s lungs. he stiffened, his jaw tightening as he looked at yeonjun, who was just grinning like it was a casual comment about the weather. beomgyu didn't say anything, but the sudden, sharp twist in his stomach was a lot more uncomfortable than any calculus problem he’d ever solved.
saturday morning arrived with a heavy sense of irony. beomgyu stood in front of his bedroom mirror, fixating on his hair for the twentieth minute in a row. he was wearing something casual, something that looked effortless but had taken him an hour to pick out. this was it. she was going to arrive any minute.
but every time he looked in the mirror, he didn't see himself, he didn't feel like he was winning. he kept hearing yeonjun’s voice echoing in his head from the day before.
“she’s a really good kisser.”
the words felt like a physical itch he couldn't scratch. it made his blood boil in a way he couldn't explain. he had spent two weeks helping you pass your exam, seeing your messy hair, your ink-stained fingers, and your genuine, tired laughs. he thought he was the one who had seen the "real” you, but yeonjun had seen a side of you too, and the thought of it made beomgyu want to throw his phone across the room.
he slumped onto his bed, staring at the empty space on the floor where you usually sat with your notebooks. his room felt too quiet.
without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened your chat. he knew he should be texting lia to confirm that she was coming, but his fingers moved to your name instead.
me: i think i’m actually going to throw up.
me: toto is sensing my anxiety and he won't stop screaming.
he waited, his heart thumping harder than it had during the entire retake week. a minute later, the screen lit up.
y/n: wow, dramatic much?
y/n: you’ve got this, just be yourself, do what your heart desires. you're actually a nice guy.
y/n: and keep the bird in his cage.
he stared at the text. do what your heart desires. he wanted to ask you about that night at the party. he wanted to ask if yeonjun was right. he wanted to ask if you actually liked guys like yeonjun, flirty and confident, or if there was any room for someone who was loud, but had to calculate every move.
instead, he typed back:
me: can you stay by your phone? in case i say something stupid and need a rescue script?
y/n: i’ll be at home working on a project, but i’ll keep it nearby.
y/n: go get ‘em, gyu.
he let out a long, shaky breath, closing his eyes. he was supposed to be excited about lia. he was supposed to be happy.
but as he heard the doorbell ring downstairs – signaling that she was finally here – he took a deep breath and put his phone away. he walked downstairs to open the door, plastering on his best, most polite smile. but as he let her in, the only thing he could think about was the way you’d hugged him the other night, and how much he wished today was just another study session in his room.
the doorbell rang, loud and persistent, cutting through the low hum of the music in your room. you groaned, pushing your project sketches aside. your parents were, as usual, at work. they lived at the office most weeks, leaving the house feeling cavernous and quiet.
you figured it was a delivery or maybe a neighbor, but when you pulled the door open, your heart did a violent somersault.
beomgyu was standing on your porch. he was still wearing that casual, carefully picked-out outfit, but his hair was a bit windblown and he looked completely drained.
"gyu?" you blinked, leaning against the doorframe. "what are you doing here? how was the date? did you say something stupid already?"
he didn't laugh. he just looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "it didn't go how i imagined," he said quietly.
you softened, stepping back to let him in. "come in. tell me everything."
you led him up to your room, a space he’d never seen before. it was bigger than his, filled with the smell of graphite, acrylic paint, and something that was just you, with half-finished canvases leaning against the walls along with posters of your favorite boygroup. he sat on the edge of your bed while you pulled up your desk chair.
"so, what happened?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. "did you get nervous and freeze up? did toto poop on her?"
"it wasn't that," beomgyu murmured, laughing slightly and staring at his hands. "the date happened. she came over, we sat in the living room, we talked... but it just felt wrong. my mom was polite, but i could tell she didn't take to her the way she did with you. and toto? he pecked her and she asked to put him back in his cage. toto didn't like her right away like he did with you."
your eyes widened slightly. "maybe they were just having an off day?"
"no," he snapped, finally looking up, his dark eyes searching yours. "i was the one having an off day. i spent the whole morning trying to be the guy she’d like. but then you texted me. you told me to do what my heart desires, and i realized while i was sitting there with her that my heart didn't desire a perfect date or a perfect girlfriend. it just wanted to be back in my room, arguing with you about silly stuff. i didn't feel the same with her. not even close to how i feel when it's just us."
the room went silent. you could hear the distant sound of a car passing by outside and the low music you were listening to that was still playing, but inside, the air felt like it was buzzing.
"i found out it wasn't what i wanted," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "i didn't want the girl i’d been chasing from a distance. i wanted the girl who saw me when i was exhausted, who brought me coffee without me asking, and who made me feel like being the council president was the least interesting thing about me."
he stood up, taking a small step toward you. "yeonjun said something yesterday. about the party. and it made me feel like i was losing something i hadn't even gathered the courage to claim yet. it made me realize that even while i was sitting right next to her today, i was just spending the whole time wishing she was you."
you stayed silent for a long moment, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it felt like it might break through. the jealousy that had been simmering in your chest for days suddenly evaporated, leaving behind a terrifying, beautiful clarity.
"you're an idiot, choi beomgyu," you whispered, a small, shaky smile finally breaking across your face.
he blinked, looking slightly hurt. "i know, i–"
"no," you interrupted, standing up so you were level with him. "you're an idiot because i spent this whole week thinking i was the only one feeling like this. i was sitting here trying to work, but all i could think about was you in your living room with her."
you looked down at his hand, then back up at him. "i feel the same way, gyu. i was scared by how fast this feeling evolved and i know it’s only been a few days since we got close, but i like you too."
beomgyu’s entire posture relaxed, a massive, shaky breath leaving his lungs. he didn't waste time. he reached out, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. too close. but this time, he didn't pull back.
"good," he breathed, a genuine, spontaneous grin spreading across his face. "because i really didn't have a plan b if you said no.”
he didn't say anything else. he just leaned in, closing the small gap between you. the kiss was soft, a little hesitant at first, but it felt like the natural conclusion to every late-night study session and shared coffee over the last two weeks. it wasn't calculated or perfect. it was just you and him.
when he pulled back, he didn't go far, resting his forehead against yours while his hands stayed tangled in yours. beomgyu let out a low, relieved laugh, the kind that made his eyes crinkle in that way you’d grown to love.
"so," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, a playful, familiar spark returning to his eyes. "what do you think of my move now? was the approach good enough for the perfect president?"
you rolled your eyes, a genuine smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to fix a stray strand of his hair. "it was okay. i guess you had a pretty good teacher."
beomgyu let out a soft laugh, pulling you closer by your waist. "the best," he murmured, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "though i think i'm going to need a lot more practice. you know, for research purposes."
you leaned your head against his shoulder, finally feeling the weight of the week disappear completely. "shut up, gyu."
"make me," he countered, kissing the top of your head as the silence of your room finally felt comfortable
summary. choi soobin works at the university café, often running the whole place by himself. y/n—a regular—decides to try something new on the menu, not knowing she was minutes away from biting into something that shouldn't even be considered food... just who baked this?
tags. soobin x reader university au grumpy x sunshine cliche fluff txt ft. le sserafim
a/n. fyi this is just something i’m making for fun…
🏹 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝑅𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴄᴜᴛ (co-written with @moesthinking)
director! park sungho x f! goddess of love reader (ft. EVERYONE!)
[ ▸ ] SYN: As the goddess of love, it's your duty to be kind, be patient, and above all things, to find it in your heart to forgive mistakes. But when self-proclaimed genius director (and infamous pain in the rear), Park Sungho decides to botch your entire personality for his tacky K-Drama, you decide to give the human world a little visit to show them exactly what it means to be at the mercy of a god's wrath.
[ ▸ ] GENRE: romcom, fantasy, crack, ensemble sitcom
[ ▸ ] WARNINGS: crude language, depictions of smoking/drinking, mature humour and themes, borderline crackfic, side-ships, inaccurate mythology [READ BEFORE PROCEEDING]
[ ▸ ] FORMAT: SMAU + written prose + scripts
[ ▸ ] NOTES: to no one's surprise, my semi-hiatus will be ending sooner than planned, woohoo! i'm happy to announce that i will be joining forces with the god of smaus, moe @moesthinking for this fic hehe. we have been cooking this idea up meticulously and with love; needless to say, a lot of hardwork went into creating it. also, shoutout to our dearest kati @ilysungho who fuels us with her ardent passion for all things sungho-related <333 also pls be warned that graphic design is not my talent but my passion...
stay tuned for updates! [do read warnings before clicking on episodes]
loosely inspired by Down to Earth (1947)
not just anyone.
ꨄ.. ⠀⠀woonhak x f! reader. superhero au.
synopsis: woonhak is eager, hard working, and wants to do good. he also cannot get a grip on his powers - which is where you come in, unfortunately. (wc 14.3k)
a/n: happy birthday hakhak! THEE grumpy x sunshine trope. heavily references x-men, but you don't really need to know a ton about it to read this fic! just understand the 'mansion' is something akin to a boarding school for superpowered people. also i didn't watch wandavision i just like the quote. mhm. thank you to rosy who beta read for me! couldn't have done it without you <3 @taestulipss
the danger room is a maelstrom of simulated chaos.
drones whizz through the air, lasers pointing with calculated accuracy. the terrain beneath woonhak’s feet shift as he runs away from the rubble, jumps out of the way of a falling tree, and manages to shove a simulated enemy into a wall before tripping on his feet.
woonhak is having a very bad day.
“sentinel approaching from your six,” sakura’s voice cuts through the chaos, crackling over the comms. woonhak spins to see just that - a giant robot stomping its way across the room to him, repulsor rays pulsing.
panic runs through him and his powers flare to life - he can feel it, an electric tingle dances under his skin and he knows something is about to happen -
and suddenly he’s phasing through the floor.
“no, no, no, not intangibility! i need something that can help punch -” his voice is muffled by concrete because he’s currently waist-deep in the floor, and the sentinel is still stomping across the floor. this is not how woonhak imagined he would die - stuck in the ground like the world’s worst lawn decoration.
he feels the tingle in his nerves change slightly and now he has a new power. telekinesis? maybe? he throws out a hand like he saw the other telekinetics do but nothing happens and his power changes before he can even attempt another fancy hand move.
super speed? he feels his feet kick at inhumane speeds and he vibrates so hard his teeth chatters, but he’s also still halfway into the floor so he’s now just stuck and nauseous.
the sentinel brings its fists down and woonhak squeezes his eyes shut.
“terminate the simulation.”
sungho’s voice cuts through the comms and immediately the room stops whirring. drones stop dead in their track and the form of the sentinel shimmers before it disappears. woonhak finally becomes tangible enough to pull himself out of the concrete floor before he becomes a permanent tripping hazard.
woonhak slumps to the ground (solid!) in an undignified heap. he lies there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. his powers are still flickering through him like a broken radio - for a second he has enhanced hearing (he can hear sungho sighing in the observation deck), then night vision (useless, the lights are on), and what might be echolocation (also useless).
“third time this week, woonhak,” sungho says, the door to the danger room opening with a soft hiss. he doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and that is somehow worse.
“i know,” woonhak says, still on his back, “i’m sorry. i just panic - and everything goes crazy, and then i panic more because it’s crazy, and -”
“and you create a feedback loop,” sungho extends a hand, pulling woonhak to his feet.
“yeah, that.”
woonhak clasps his hands and allows sungho to haul him back onto his feet.
“your powers are manifesting your subconscious needs and emotional state. fear creates chaos, and chaos creates even more fear.”
“so i just need to be… not scared when a giant robot is trying to turn me into a woonhak flavoured pancake?”
sungho gives him what can only be described as a ghost of a smile, “you just need… targeted advice. someone to tell you what your subconscious is trying to do before the fear takes over.”
woonhak’s power flickers through him again - this time it feels like electricity. he shakes it out of his hands and shudders.
“does someone like that exist?”
“i’ve learnt that there’s a person for everything,” sungho checks his watch, “get cleaned up. we’re taking a field trip, and our advisor does not like sweaty teenage boys.”
you’re on the beach, not the nasty kind where sand gets everywhere and sticks to your skin, but a beach where everything is perfect and there are no responsibilities and no one is asking you to carry their emotional baggage and codify it into helpful advice for them in the world’s worst therapy session.
your phone is ringing. you ignore it. the beach is more important. there’s a pineapple drink with a little blue umbrella in it.
the phone keeps ringing.
“go away…” you mumble into your pillow. your dorm is blessedly dark - you’ve duct-taped blackout curtains over the windows after your roommate moved out last semester. the aircon is blasting and no one is around to judge you for napping at 2pm on a tuesday.
the ringing stops. precious silence.
then it starts again.
“my god,” you lurch up and grab the phone and stab the accept call button, “who’s dying?”
the person on the other end clears their throat, “no one… yet.”
you frown at the voice you don’t recognise and pull the phone away to stare at the caller id. ‘big s’. ‘encrypted call’. whatever that means.
“who are you again?” you ask, trying to clear the grogginess in your voice.
“it’s sungho.”
“oh! sungho. hi. great. love this for me. who’s going on a rampage this time?”
“no one. we need you to come in for a consultation.”
“i’m in… in the middle of something.”
“you sound like you just woke up.”
“yes, exactly. i was in the middle of my nap,” you rolls your eyes and pull the covers over you and pray this call takes less than five minutes, “get jiwoo to do it. or lily. you know, the actual telepaths.”
“this isn’t a telepath situation. it’s a… you situation.”
you groan, “sungho. i have a biochem lab tomorrow. you can’t do this to me.”
“listen -”
“- i already helped you last time when you called me to help diffuse the situation with a guy who could only speak in colours.”
“and you did a wonderful job.”
“and i missed my organic chemistry test because of it,” you drag a hand down your face, “i’m trying very hard to maintain a normal life here, sungho. and normal lives don’t include ditching class to translate emotions for literal walking talking bomb threats.”
“i understand, and i apologise. but this is important. we have a new recruit whose powers we believe will thrive with the right guidance. your guidance.”
“get someone else, sungho.”
“there is no one else.”
there’s a deep seated hatred for sungho growing in your soul right now as you suck a deep breath in. calm. ocean waves against sand. pineapple drink with a blue umbrella.
“what’s so special about this new guy?” you sit up in your bed.
“his powers manifest randomly based on emotional need, but, as you might expect, he has no understanding of what they do or how to control them. he needs an interpreter, and you're the best interpreter we have.”
you stay quiet for a long moment, weighing your options. you could say no, go back to your delicious nap, and pretend this conversation never happened. but there’s something in sungho’s voice - he wouldn’t be asking you this if it wasn’t a last resort.
“this is a consultation, right? quick evaluation, i give you my professional opinion, and i’ll be back for lab tomorrow?”
there’s a pause that’s a few seconds too long.
“sungho.”
“we’d prefer you to run some preliminary field tests with him.”
“you lost me.”
“[y/n]-”
“fields test equal danger room. equal at least a whole day. equal barely anytime to prepare for lab. equal my gpa falling. equal -”
“i understand,” sungho interrupts, “we’ll compensate you for your time.”
“i don’t want compensation. i want a degree!”
“what if,” sungho says carefully, “we arranged for… academic support? professor xavier has connections with the university. he would ensure your professors are understanding about your absences.”
“that’s called academic dishonesty.”
“it’s accommodations for a student with unique demands on her time,” sungho corrects.
you flop back onto your bed, you can feel the beginning of a headache forming - not from your powers, just from sheer annoyance of the conversation.
“you’re not going to let this go, huh?”
“no.”
at least he’s honest.
“his name is woonhak. he’s eager, well-meaning, a quick learner, and also currently a danger to himself and others because he can’t predict what his powers will do. yesterday he manifested laser eyes and put a whole through the entire left wing of the mansion. last week he phased through five floors and ended up in the sewers of chicago,” sungho says, like he’s pitching you a ikea put-it-together-yourself! project instead of a person.
you feel a flicker of sympathy. you remember being new and young, being uncertain about her powers, not knowing what exactly you could do.
“you think i can help him?”
“i think you’re the only one who can.”
you sigh. long, loud, and exaggerated, to make sure sungho can hear how deeply inconvenienced you are from the other side of the line.
“fine. but compensation. and i bill by the hour and by cups of coffee from my favourite spot.”
“deal.”
“and professor owes me a personal apology letter to my biochemistry teacher.”
“i’ll draft it myself.”
“and i want -” you try to think of something to demand in the exploitation of this unfair power dynamic, but you blank - “whatever. i’ll be at the mansion in an hour.”
“actually, we’re outside already.”
“you’re what?”
“in the parking lot. blue car. thought it would be more efficient.”
“you don’t have a license,” you mutter suspiciously.
sungho laughs nervously, “nobody needs to know that.”
you look around your room. laundry everywhere, books opened and furiously coloured with highlighters, three coffee mugs on the table.
“give me twenty,” you mutter.
“understood. thank you, [y/n].”
you hang up without responding and drag yourself out of bed. you look like a mess - because the better the nap the more wild you look.
“normal life,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair, “i could have a normal life. be a chef. work at a bookstore. but no, i just had to have weird emotion-reading powers.”
you finish in eighteen minutes, a new record. the air outside is warm and sticky as you push open the doors, autumn’s humidity clinging to you like a second skin. your biochem book is in your hands, because you’ll study in the car, and your shoelaces are untied. the campus is busy - students chattering everywhere, heading to classes, laughing with friends, living normal lives. you weave through them, gritting your teeth at how suddenly it’s everyone's first day on a university campus and no one knows how to act. you think about how nice it would to be worried about nothing more than exams and which party to hit up next.
you spot the blue car immediately. it’s ugly, as you expected. no superpower could fix bad taste. sungho sits sprawled out in the driver’s seat, and in the passenger seat is a guy around your age, all nervous energy and fidgeting hands. you watch how he keeps checking himself in the mirror every few seconds. you catch his eye in between blinks and your eyes meet.
even from a few feet away, you can feel the absolute chaos of his emotional state - anxiety, excitement, hunger, fear, determination. all swirling together like a storm in human form.
“wonderful,” you mumble, wrenching open the passenger door, “this is going to be a disaster.”
you fling your book into the backseat and slide in after it.
“hi!” the guy twists around to face you, his smile bright and genuine and way too energetic for 3pm tuesday, “i’m woonhak!”
“noted,” you say curtly.
“it’s so nice to meet you. sungho told me about your powers and i just think its so rad that you can -”
“coffee first,” you interrupt, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the headrest, “talk later.”
sungho starts the car, “there’s coffee at the mansion.”
“are you trying to poison me?” you scoff, “i want the expensive coffee. from my favourite place.”
sungho sighs, “we’ll stop on the way.”
woonhak is still turned around, still looking at you with those earnest, eager, hopeful eyes. you can feel his emotions without even trying - he’s nervous about making a good impression, excited at the prospect of maybe making sense of his powers, anxious about how it entirely works, hopeful this might be the answer he’s been looking for.
it’s exhausting.
“you can turn around now,” you remind him, eyes still closed.
“oh, yeah,” he faces forward, clicking his seatbelt into place, but he’s still vibrating in his seat and you’re pretty sure he’s peeking at you through the mirror.
“coffee. now. and get woonhak a doughnut. he’s practically broadcasting hungry.”
you made the right decision to detour for coffee. you clutch the latte in your hands like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to the normal world as sungho pulls through the gates of the mansion.
woonhak hasn’t stopped talking, not since he’s finished his doughnut.
“- last night, i dreamt that i was floating, and when i woke up - bam! i really was! my nose was touching the ceiling and everything. but i got scared and i immediately fell down and i got even more scared so i manifested, like, absorption impact. it was weird. i ended up blasting a hole into hyung’s room and -”
you wonder if he ever stops talking. you think you prefer your lab partner, who’s biggest flaw is that he doesn’t wash the beakers properly and you have to go back to the sink every time to do it yourself. you take a long, deliberate sip of your coffee.
sungho ushers you inside, and you’re immediately hit with the familiar sensation of the mansion - dozens of emotional signatures layered on top of each other. students worried about controlling their powers, teachers stressed about lesson plans, heroes anxious about their next mission, and the constant, buzzing fear that comes with being a superpowered mutant.
you’ve learnt to filter it out over the years, like white noise, but woonhak emotions cut through everything else like a siren - wee woo wee woo-ing his excitement and fear.
“[y/n]!” sakura appears in the hallway, “sorry for such short notice! thanks for coming.”
“i go where i’m needed,” you grumble.
“the professor is waiting in his office. we need to brief you on the situation before we begin the comprehensive tests.”
“comprehensive tests?” woonhak perks up, “i thought we were just doing an evaluation?”
sungho and sakura exchange a look.
“no - i agreed to preliminary field tests, only. the one day type situation. comprehensive tests means multiple sessions and i’m not -”
“let’s just let the professor handle it,” sakura interjects smoothly, already guiding you down the hall.
you shoot sungho a withering look, at least he has the decency to look somewhat apologetic.
professor xavier’s office was always too tacky for your liking. too many old books and it always smelt like tea - deliberate ambience. it couldn’t deceive you. you know he’s a complete fool.
“[y/n],” the professor greets you warmly, “it’s wonderful to see you again. how are your studies progressing?”
“would be progressing better if i wasn’t here,” you mumble, xavier gives you the textbook definition of a tight smile.
“i apologise for the sudden summon. i’ve already sent a notice to your professors explaining you’ve been called away for a family emergency.”
“a family emergency,” you repeat, “is that what we’re calling this?”
“well, in a sense, we are family here,” xavier gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, “please, sit. both of you.”
woonhak practically throws himself into a chair, still alight with nervous energy. you hope you’ve achieved more grace with the way you take to your seat slowly.
xavier steeples his fingers, his expression losing that hint of warmth and more serious, “woonhak, i understand sungho has explained why we’ve asked [y/n] to consult on your training?”
“yes, sir,” woonhak quickly replies, sitting up straight, “because my powers manifest randomly and i don’t know how to control them. and [y/n] can read emotional intent and translate it into… um… instructions?”
he glances at you uncertainly as the ending of his sentence falters.
“close enough.”
“your power is quite unique, woonhak,” xavier nods knowingly, “we’ve seen adaptive powers before - minji absorbs abilities through touch, and yunah can copy powers, but your manifestation is different. you don’t copy or absorb. you generate entirely new abilities based on your subconscious emotional needs in the moment.”
“right. so, to summarise,” you set down your coffee cup, half empty, “you don’t know what you’re doing half of the time.”
woonhak slumps, “yeah, it’s like, i’m just constantly surprised by what my own body is doing.”
“precisely,” xavier turns to look at you, “and that’s where you come in. your ability to sense and interpret… emotional intent - makes you uniquely qualified to help woonhak understand what his subconscious is trying to accomplish before the power fully manifests.”
woonhak perks up, “it’s like your power is made for mine!”
you ignore him, his relief and excitement stinging over you like electrical signals.
you take in a deep breath, “so i’m basically going to be his instruction manual.”
“think of it more as… a translator,” xavier suggests gently, “his powers speak a language he doesn’t yet understand. you can interpret that language for him.”
“and you believe this will help control his powers?”
“we believe, with proper guidance and experience, woonhak’s powers will stabilise. it wouldn’t eliminate the randomness - that appears to be intrinsic, but it will give him the tools to work in tandem with his powers rather than fight a battle against them.”
you roll the suggestion around in your mind like sisyphus pushing a stone up a hill. you can feel woonhak’s hope radiating off him like a heat from a furnace, his desperate desire for this to work, for someone to finally put sense to his chaos.
“let me ask you something,” you finally say, turning to woonhak. he straightens at your voice.
“what do you want to do with your powers?”
“i want to help people,” woonhak answers without hesitation, “i want to be good.”
“define good.”
“like, doing the right thing,” woonhak says, less confident than before, you feel hesitation trickle down his spine, “saving people.”
you frown. unconvincing.
“please,” woonhak says quietly, desperation rolling off him in waves, “i just want to be useful. i can’t be useful if i’m falling down sewers or floating away every time there’s a threat. i just want to protect what’s important to me.”
he looks down at his hands like he’s mourning what he could do. regret pings off him in sparks and shame fills your lungs - his. you watch as he flickers between them and your figure - hopeful, but also telling himself he can’t be.
“how long?” you finally ask, the question directed back at the professor, “i can do a one-time evaluation, maybe a few trial tests. but i can’t put my life on hold for - for a guy.”
xavier and sakura exchange looks. you’re starting to hate these looks. just pretend you don’t acknowledge each other like normal telepaths do.
“we were hoping,” sakura says carefully, “that you might consider more… ongoing arrangement.”
“define ongoing?”
“a few sessions per week. possibly more if it's urgent.”
“a few sessions per week,” you repeat slowly, “while i’m a full-time student, with a course load that people without a secret superhuman consulting job find way too much already.”
“we will take the necessary measures,” xavier suggests, leaning forward in his wheelchair.
“like what?”
“providing academic support, and i have connections with several of your professors -”
“so you’re gonna bribe them or do your telepathic mumbo jumbo to them. got it.”
“i prefer to think of it as letting them know you’re doing valuable work outside of the classroom.”
you breathe in, “and what if it doesn’t work?”
“it will,” sakura says firmly, like she has complete faith in professor xavier’s brainwashing capabilities.
you look at the two of them skeptically, “this is insane. you’re asking me to drop everything.”
“you have a gift, [y/n]. a gift that could help someone who needs it. is that so insane?”
“it’s like a full-time job,” you say.
“we’ll try to be understanding of your other commitments.” keyword: try.
you look at woonhak, who has been uncharacteristically quiet through the whole exchange. his emotions swim around him in a miasma - guilt that he’s causing problems, hope that you’ll say yes, fear that you’ll say no. and under all that, a deep, aching loneliness he thinks no one will understand.
the stone rolls down the hill.
“damn it,” you mutter.
“is that a yes?’ xavier asks, the slight smile on his face suggesting he already knows the answer, probably because he saw your metaphorical sisyphus rock roll down the hill through his telepathic bullshit.
“yes, maybe,” you grumble, “one month. if it’s not working and woonbaby over here doesn’t improve, or my grades slip, or your connections with my professors aren’t connecting - i’m out. no guilt tripping and no ‘but he needs you!’ speeches. and no puppy dog eyes.”
“that seems more than fair.”
“and a better coffee machine. the mansion coffee tastes like it's been there since the 1980s.”
“understood. i’ll speak to the kitchen staff,” xavier says, amusement clear in his voice.
“and if we’re going to do this, woonhak,” you turn to him and he jumps at his name, “you need to be honest with me. about what you’re feeling, what you’re struggling with, all of it. i can’t help you if you’re hiding things.”
“i can do that,” woonhak says immediately, “i’m an open book. way open. people tell me i overshare sometimes and -”
“great. perfect. wonderful,” you cut him off, “when are we starting?”
“how about now?” sakura suggests, “the danger room is unoccupied.”
you look at your half empty coffee cup. you think about your untouched biochem textbook and your comfortable bed back at dorms.
you look at woonhak, who is looking at you with said puppy dog eyes and like you just offered him a life raft in the middle of an ocean.
“fine,” you sigh.
“okay,” you say, inserting your data into the computer, “let’s establish some ground rules.”
you hold up a finger, “first, when i’m reading your emotions - it’s not telepathy. i’m not in your head. i’m sensing what the purpose of the emotions are, which means -”
“you experience my emotions secondhand,” woonhak finishes, “but unlike me, you also know what i’m actually feeling and what my emotions are manifesting into.”
“look at you, clever kid.”
“feeling other people’s emotions all the time - it must be painful. is it painful?”
“sometimes,” you admit, because you’re too lazy to lie, “but that’s not your concern.”
“it feels like it should be my concern,” woonhak frowns.
“just trust me,” you breathe in, “this is about you working with me, not worrying about me. concentrate on yourself.”
woonhak nods, but you can feel his anxiety spike anyways, leaving you with goosebumps down your arm. great. thirty seconds in and everything’s already worse than when you walked in.
“second,” you try to recalibrate, redirect - “when i give you an instruction, you follow it immediately. no ums and ahs. no hesitation, second guessing, or talk backsies. your power responds to emotion and intent - if you doubt yourself, you’ll lose the power.”
“okay. trust you. don’t doubt myself. got it.”
“third, if at any point you feel like you’re losing control. you tell me. immediately. no dilly dallying. don’t push through it, don’t try to be tough. just tell me.”
woonhak fiddles with his fingers, “why?”
“because your powers are connected to your emotional state. if you’re spiraling, you’re losing control, and i can’t help you. i need to know so i can help you course correct before something explodes.”
woonhak eyes widen, “explode? me?”
“it’s just a figure of speech, let’s hope it stays that way.”
you press your palm against the scanner on the door to the danger room, and the panel slides open. you can feel sakura and sungho’s simmering anxiety when you step closer to the observation deck. the danger room whirrs to life around you, but it doesn’t change appearances - baby mode, you deduce, for dummy testing.
“let’s start simple,” you step away from woonhak, “i want you to try to manifest a power. any power. just focus on needing something and see what happens.”
“er,” woonhak stands in the middle of the room, looking like a lost baby chick, “like this?”
“like… that,” you wave non-committedly at him.
woonhak closes his eyes and concentrates. you watch him, extending your power carefully. you feel his emotions shift - determination, focus, performance anxiety.
and then, like a switch flipping, you feel his power activate.
it hits you like a wave of vertigo. the world suddenly has too many dimensions, space folding in on itself in ways that makes your stomach lurch. spatial manipulation? reality warping? something that fundamentally breaks geometry and laws -
“got it,” you press a hand to your forehead.
woonhak’s eyes fly open, “what? did i do something wrong?”
“no, you did something right,” you hiss through teeth and wait for the sensation to pass, “i’ll give you a gold star sticker later. right now, concentrate on the power. probably some kind of spatial distortion ability. do you feel it?”
woonhak looks down at his hands, confused, “my hands are kinda tingly.”
“that’s it trying to activate. your subconscious generated the power, but you don't know what to do with it, so it's just sitting there.”
“then what should i do?”
“think about what you need.”
“i don’t know? to understand what i’m doing.”
“deeper, woonhak. be more introspective. your subconscious manifested spatial manipulation for a reason. think. what do you need space for?”
woonhak is quiet, thinking. you can feel him sorting through his emotions like a stack of cards, trying to identify the source.
“i need room,” he starts, quiet, “i feel… cramped. like my powers are too big for my body and i need more space to contain them.”
you blink, “good.”
“what now? how do i use it?”
“can’t. too advanced for day one,” you step closer, watching him carefully, “i want you to let it go. release the power.”
“i can do that?”
“letting go is part of control, woonhak. you need to learn when to hold a power and when to release it.”
he looks uncertain, but he closes his eyes again. you feel him struggling with it - his instinct tries to hold on, and he tries to force it out in a push, like it could pop out of his body if he clenched hard enough.
“don’t force it,” you bark, “think of it like releasing a breath, not forcing out a stool.”
woonhak snorts, but slowly, gradually, you feel the spatial distortion power face. the vertigo eases and the world returns to normal geometry.
“did i do it?”
“you did,” you give him a small encouraging smile, “first lesson - manifestation and release. you’re going to practice that until it’s second nature.”
“when’s that?”
“when i say you’re done.”
he groans but nods.
“its nice. having someone who understands what’s happening. usually i’m just flailing around hoping i don’t phase through a wall again.”
“don’t get used to it. you need to learn to rely on yourself, too. one month, remember?”
“right. trial period,” he nods furiously, but his emotions tell a different story - like he’s already hoping you’ll stay longer, already imagining what it would be like to have someone who actually understands.
but you love to disappoint.
rule two: never question me. always trust me.
woonhak’s room is quiet except for woonhak’s occasional frustrated breathing. you’re nestled on woonhak’s bed - on your laptop that you’re supposed to be taking notes about organic chemistry on.
“again,” you say, without looking up.
“but i’ve done it fifteen times already!”
“you’ve only done it fifteen times,” you correct, “you need to hold your power for at least two minutes. you’re only at forty-five seconds.”
woonhak sighs like a kid being told he has to finish his homework before he can play on the ipad and closes his eyes. you watch as his power activates again - it’s like a buzzing under your skin, an emotion sharpens into focus.
alertness, tension wound tight around awareness. a strain and desperate need to not miss a single thing.
“heightening perception,” you say slowly, “hearing? other senses?”
woonhak’s eyes open in surprise, “yeah! i can hear… everything. like taesan’s record player from upstairs.”
“makes sense,” you say, highlighting a word on your document, “some part of you is probably afraid of missing something important. now, the critical part is not fighting it, acknowledge the need and let the power do it’s job.”
you can feel him trying, holding onto his power but not tugging on it. his feelings stabilises slightly as his frustration mellows out.
forty-five seconds.
fifty seconds.
a minute.
“new record,” you whisper.
one minute fifteen.
one minute thirty -
the power flickers out like birthday candle. woonhak slumps to the floor, shaking his head like an oversized dog.
“minute thirty seven,” you announce, “good job.”
“really?” he lights up immediately, all exhaustion forgotten, “that’s like two minutes!”
“it’s like one minute and thirty-seven seconds. you do know how time and minutes work, right?”
woonhak rolls with it, unperturbed, “i’m celebrating!”
he sprawls onto his back, grinning at the ceiling, teeth and all, “minute thirty-seven, that’s like, way better than yesterday.”
“uh huh. yesterday you managed fifty-two seconds before you put your hand through the wall because you accidentally manifested super strength.”
“in my defense, i panicked and got too excited.”
“i know,” you deadpan, “i was there, and you panic a lot. that’s your default reaction to everything.”
“i’m working on it,” he looks at up at you curiously, “how do you deal with it? all those emotions at once.”
you consider the question, "learnt to tune it out. it feels like background noise now - irrelevant, uncessary. like when you’re at a party and twenty different conversations are happening around you but you gotta concentrate on the desperate guy trying to tell you about his vhs collection in front of you.”
"i’m never been to a party,” woonhak mumbles.
"you’re not missing much,” you stab a key on your keyboard, "practice. you still haven’t reached minute two yet.”
"okay, okay,” he sits up and closes his eyes again, and you scoff at how he never questions you - what a rule abiding goody two shoes.
rule three: always tell me if something is wrong
"i can’t do it.”
you look up from your biochemistry notes, because your life isn’t complicated enough by basically being an emotional sponge, and squint at woonhak, who’s sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.
"tell me,” you prompt.
"i can’t do anything of it - the powers, the control drills. they just keep shifting before i can figure out what they are! i’ve been at it for an hour!”
you lean forward in his chair - elbows on your knees, "what happened?”
"i don’t know!” he stares down at his fingers, "i was doing so well yesterday! i was hitting three minutes consistently - sometimes even four! but i can’t even feel it today. it’s like - like my own body doesn’t want to listen to me!”
you push his sweaty hair out of his eyes with a delicate finger and a feeling pops out from where your skin grazes his skin. it’s gnaws at you like a dog with blunt teeth - it doesn’t hurt, but it chews.
"homesick?” you say softly, "a call from home?”
woonhak’s swallows harshly, "i can’t hide anything from you, can i?”
"nope,” you lean back in his chair, wiping your finger against your shirt, "tell me.”
woonhak is back to fiddling with his fingers, because he can’t sit still and his brain runs a mile a minute like he’s trying to break the record for world’s most anxious marathon.
"my mom called, said she misses me. asks if i’m eating well and if training is too hard. i told her i was learning to control my powers and everything’s great. but - but i don’t know if that’s the truth.”
"you held a power for five minutes yesterday,” you point out, "i know you’re bad at maths and telling the time, but do you know how many things you can do in five minutes, woonhak? a lot - you can do so much.”
"but what if that’s just a fluke? what if its just a lucky try?”
you’re quiet for a moment, "come on.”
"where are we going?” woonhak asks as you stand up.
"training room.”
"i told you. i can’t do it today -” you shush woonhak.
"i’m hearing a lot of this chattering but i want,” you clap your hands together, "silence."
woonhak nods dumbly as he stumbles to his feet.
"trust me."
you back out into the hallway of the mansion and woonhak patters after you like a sad dog in pouring rain, confusion radiating off of him. you can practically see the question mark over his head.
the training simulation is simple. a few swaying targets, a basic obstacle course.
"manifest something,” you stand back, "anything.”
woonhak frowns - "can’t.”
"don’t talk back,” you snap, and woonhak straightens in attention. you watch as he defeatedly sighs and closes his eyes. something flickers through him - anxiety? but it’s gone as soon as it comes and leaves the lingering bitterness of doubt.
powers swing through his body, his feet is alight with super speed and next it’s anchored down by metallic armour. his fingers tingle with telekinesis until it shatters into time manipulation. he doesn’t even have a second to manipulate, though, but it’s just replaced with simple super strength.
"see?” he sighs, "can’t.”
"again.”
you say forcefully.
"it’s not going to -”
"again.”
he tries again to the same results.
"[y/n] -”
"again.”
"i can’t do it!”
"again!”
something in him breaks and frustration bursts out of him like water breaking through a dam. a target explodes into smithereens and both of you cough as fine dust spreads through the room.
woonhak stumbles back, eyes wide, "what was that?” he manages through his coughs.
"frustration,” you say, wiping at the tears that gathered at the edge of your eye. the training room’s machine activates as it starts cycling clean air back in - never a stranger to unintentional simultaneous combustion.
"you’re trying to control it - but you can’t. that’s a feeling too. it manifested as a spark - an explosion, because that’s what you feel. there’s no specific manifestation, just pure power.”
woonhak frowns, "but that’s not useful, making things explode is not handy at all.”
you tap your head, "first of all, many problems can be solve via explosion. secondly, your powers aren’t failing. you’re just anxious, scared, which makes your power unstable.”
you place a hand on his shoulder, "you can’t let your anxiety control you, woonhak.”
"i don’t trust myself,” he’s trembling under your touch.
"then trust me. lean on me. but also learn to accept yourself, and the fact you’ll make mistakes, and the fact that it’s okay.”
"you’re really bad at bringing the mood up. no wonder you don’t like parties,” woonhak laughs wetly.
“excuse me. my kindergarten teacher told me i was a joy to have in class,” you squeeze his shoulder as your tone softens, "do you know what i feel from you right now?”
"failure?”
"no, fear. you’re scared of disappointing your mom, you’re scared of wasting peoples’ time. but do you know what else i feel? determination.”
you poke him in the chest, over his heart, "it’s just so teeny tiny down here that you want to ignore it. but it’s there. i know you want to try - so hard. that’s all you need, woonhak.”
“is that enough?”
“of course. trust me.”
rule four: let’s be open to each other.
you twist and turn around in the bed. the pillow smells like a garden after rain, which of course it does, because that’s the perfume woonhak uses. he insisted you take the bed (you wrinkled your nose when he said he had a sleeping bag) and demoted himself to the floor. you pull the blanket up as your cheeks heat up at the fact that you are wrapped in his scent and it just makes it worse. it smells like him but sweat free, and it smells comforting, like cool dew dripping from leaves and the earthy tones of dirt.
"are you asleep?” you whisper softly, muffled by feather down and soft moonlight.
you hear woonhak’s sleeping bag shuffle before a zipper gets pulled down.
"no,” he whispers back, speaking into the cool midnight air. you can feel his anxiety hum through the air.
"you should sleep,” you frown.
"but you’re awake.”
"no talking back,” you grumble, and woonhak chuckles.
"why are you still awake?”
"exam in four days,” you stare out into the darkness, "i don’t think i know the content.”
"i’ll quiz you tomorrow. you should sleep.”
"quiz?” you scoff, "woonhak, you don’t even know which blood cell carries oxygen.”
"i can still read from your textbook!” woonhak defends himself, his sleeping bag rustling more now. you can imagine the wide eyed look he always gives when he thinks he’s been wronged.
"tomorrow, you can try,” you let scepticism bleed into your voice.
"i want to help you too,” woonhak starts playing with the zipper on his sleeping bag. it makes a clinking noise, "you’re doing so much for me.”
you let silence consume the room.
"can i tell you something?”
"always.”
you take in a deep breath, "my first mission. i was fifteen, fourteen? it was supposed to be a simple undercover mission at some company building. the goal was to get in, disable some security codes for the main team, and get out. but somehow they found out about it - the enemy. they ambushed us. we were completely caught off guard. i don’t remember much - just suddenly the entire building exploded into intense panic. i felt like i had ants crawling all over my skin, i’ve never been burnt but i guess it would be something like that. it was so scary. my brain completely shut down and i would’ve died if my partner didn’t drag me out.”
you grab a fistful of blanket - "the worst part was - was there were injuries. we couldn’t prevent them. for some people it might have just been a temporary upset, or a guilt - because injuries heal and it wasn’t our fault, however they justify it. but - but i wasn’t for me. i felt their fear, panic, and pain. it felt like i broke every bone in my body. you can’t forgot emotions like that.”
you bury your face into woonhak’s pillow, "i was so scared of my powers afterwards. quit the institute and packed my bags to go home. i kept thinking about what would happen if i failed one day, if someone died, and what would happen to me if i could feel that. i could live with background noise emotions, but i had nightmares about what ifs. i never linked myself up so - so closely up with other people like that ever again.”
you sprawl out, suddenly feeling too hot and the bed too small for your big feelings. the slight breeze cools the heat that pools in your palms, "i don’t do this for just anyone, woonhak. you’re helping me already - just by being yourself. i’m learning to not let my powers control me, too. i’m trying to be brave again.”
you hear him shuffle before a warmth envelopes your fingers. you realised he’s grabbed your hand that dangle over the edge of the bed when a flurry of emotions - not your’s, settles like a light layer of snow over you. nervousness at his actions, sadness at your story, gratitude that you trust him enough to let him know.
"i’m sorry that happened,” he picks his words carefully. you still can’t see him over the edge of the bed and the darkness, "you’re being really brave. thank you for telling me.”
he squeezes your fingers.
"you were vulnerable this morning,” you let out an unamused huff, "it’s my turn. relationship economics.”
"okay,” he whispers, "let’s be open to each other, from now on.”
"okay,” you move your hand so you’re gripping him too, "deal.”
"thank you for not giving up on me.”
"oh, no, don’t mistake me. the paperwork would be a nightmare if you quit.”
woonhak chuckles, "you’re honest, even if you wound me.”
"i’ve learnt that hiding emotions don’t actually do much in the end,” you give his hand a squeeze, this time, "that’s why i like you. you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
"you like me?”
"you’re easy to read,” you correct.
"i’ll take that as a compliment,” his voice drops into a quieter volume, "you should go to sleep. we still have training tomorrow.”
"okay,” you settle back into the mattress, "goodnight, woonhak.”
"goodnight, [y/n],” his thumb rubs comfortably across your knuckles as you finally let sleep take over.
"are you ready?”
sakura appears in the door of the danger room. woonhak has suddenly taken to doing push ups on the floor while you chug your water, exhausted by the recent training session. woonhak can consistently hold a power for five minutes now, and he’s becoming overly self-confident - he thinks doing push ups makes him look sexy. you’re still thinking how best to humble him.
"ready?” you look up at sakura as woonhak claps dirt off his palms, "woonhak can do five minutes now. we’re working towards six.”
"that will have to do,” sakura purses her lips, "what about you?”
"what about me?” you ask, before realisation dawns on you when you feel sakura’s hesitance dance across the room.
"oh. oh no. i am not field mission material.”
"you’re field mission material for this mission alone,” sungho appears behind sakura, tablet in hand, "we need you two specifically.”
woonhak jumps to his feet, suddenly on high alert, "we’re ready!”
"no - no we’re not. don’t listen to him,” you’ll let him do as many push ups he wants to do, "i’m not ready.”
"i’m afraid you’ll have to be,” sungho shakes his head, "it’s a situation i believe only you two can handle.”
"what situation?” woonhak blurts, he avoids your burning stare - you didn’t raise him to have free will!
sungho crosses the room in easy strides while tapping on his tablet. he stops in front of you two and you groan as you pull yourself up to your feet. the screen shows aerial footage of a small town shrouded in thick mist.
"mist,” you say flatly, "you’re worried about mist? just uncondensise it with your powers or something. you can literally control the weather.”
"no, that’s not it,” sakura cuts in, tapping the screen so it zooms in. you watch as silver flashes under the mist, curling and unnatural.
"the mist appeared two days ago in millbrook, approximately forty miles north. population of about 3000, now completely cut off from outside contact,” sungho finishes.
he swipes to another video - one taken from the edge of the phenomenon. buildings are visible through the fog, but they’re… wrong. twisted. you watch a particularly thick patch of fog temporarily covers a building and when it drifts away the roof is angled in the opposite direction. a street sign is readable but the letters keep moving and glitching like a computer screen.
“it doesn’t comply with normal physics. space and logic break down inside it. we’ve sent in reconnaissance drones but they either stop functioning or come back with stuff that looks like this.”
“sounds like a job for not us,” you say flatly, tugging down your sweater sleeve, “woonhak barely has any field experience. send someone who can, like, punch the weird mist away.”
“we’ve tried,” sakura’s expression is grim, “lily attempted to enter telepathically. she said the emotional landscape inside is too incomprehensible, too chaotic and layered. everyone who’s tried to enter physically has been turned back within minutes, disoriented.”
“so naturally you’ll send in the reserve member and the rookie,” you nod, “makes total sense.”
“we want to send in the adaptive power manifester and his emotional interpreter,” sungho corrects, “[y/n], if the mist is responding to emotional states, as lily’s analysis suffests - you’re our best chance at understanding it, and woonhak’s power will adapt to need. inside the mist ,he might manifest exactly what you need to navigate it.”
woonhak is vibrating with barely contained energy. he’s jumping on his heels when he responds; “we can do this. we’ve been training. i’m so much better than i was -”
“- three weeks ago you could barely hold a power for thirty seconds,” you interrupt.
“and now i can hold one for five minutes! that’s a thousand percent improvement!”
“that’s not how percentages work.”
“what i mean is - we’re ready! put me in, coach!” woonhak stares pleadingly at you. you look at him, then at sakura, then at sungho - both of whom are strangely very calm about this situation, or maybe woonhak’s excitement is so overwhelming to your senses that everything else seems baseline and normal. you stare at the video on the tablet - thick smog churns and swirls like it’s alive - and waiting.
“what about the people inside? the 3000 residents?”
“we don’t know,” sungho admits, “no response when we tried to make contact. but we need to assume they’re trapped and need help.”
“you want to do good, right?” you turn to woonhak and he nods furiously, “are you sure you’re ready?”
“i am!” he insists, “you said all i need is determination! and - and i’m determined!”
you’re quiet for a long time. three week ago you would’ve said no immediately. found an excuse to pack up your bags and go back to normal life again. said you couldn’t use your powers properly anymore. even though you could. what were you scared of? yourself? the pain of others? you play with a loose thread from your sleeve. you could turn away - sakura and sungho couldn’t force you into doing something you didn’t want to.
woonhak’s hand find yours, clasping around your fingers gingerly again, like he’s too scared to actually commit to holding your hand and settled for the next best thing.
“it’s time to be brave, [y/n],” he says quietly, soft enough only you can hear.
you’ve gotten soft.
“if i die in weird mist,” you say finally, “i’m gonna be so annoyed.”
woonhak’s face lights up like bright red lights on a christmas tree, “is that a yes?”
“and for the record, i never said determination is the only thing you need. it’s just something you need.”
you say gruffly, slapping your water bottle into his chest, “when do we leave?”
“two hours,” sakura says, a relieved smile breaking over her face, “we’ll brief you on everything we know right now on the flight.”
“not much, i suppose,” you grumble, “fantastic. great. love this for me.”
you look at woonhak, “go get your gear. and maybe do some breathing and meditation exercises. your excitement is going to make me throw up.”
woonhak rushes out, stilling grinning like an idiot and clutching your water bottle, leaving you alone with sakura and sungho.
“he trusts you,” sakura observes.
“well, yeah. he’s an idiot,” you swipe your training equipment off the floor.
“no,” sungho says, with a far too serious tone than the situation called for, “he’s someone who finally found someone who understands him. that’s not stupidity, that’s hope.”
for once, you don’t have a response.
woonhak’s leg bounces with nervous energy as he sits next to you in the small cockpit in the x-jet. your hand shoots out to settle on his knee, forcing him to still.
“you’re going to burn yourself out if you spend all your energy worrying about something,” you say, “do the breathing exercises i taught you.”
“okay,” woonhak says, somewhat breathless, he sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes as he exhales with the force of a rocket taking off into space.
“now listen while i go over the protocols,” you pull out a notebook from your suit - you haven’t worn it in years, and it’s just as uncomfortable as before.
“we have protocols?”
“we have now,” you huff, “i made them up on the way to the jet.”
“one. stay within ten meters of me at all times. i am squishy and also i need to be close to read what’s happening.”
“copy.”
“two. when i say do something, you do it immediately. do not second guess me. we worked on this in training but it’s real now.”
woonhak lets out a particularly loud exhale, “i understand.”
“three. if at any point you feel like your powers are not under your control or if i am in distress, you pull us out. it doesn’t matter if the mission isn’t complete. you get us out.”
“but -”
“no buts. i’m serious, woonhak. i know how much you want to help, but if i’m compromised, i can’t help you, which means you’re like a blind rat in a maze full of cheese. you’ll be disoriented and flying solo in a place that literally doesn’t follow physics. that’s how people and rats die.”
he’s quiet for a moment, his emotions dulling from a bubbling excitement to something more somber.
“okay. rule three. if you’re in trouble, we extract.”
“good,” you snap your notebook shut, “now let’s lay out what we do know. the mist appeared suddenly, two days ago. no warning or building. that suggests -”
“a trigger event,” woonhak interrupts, “something happened that caused it.”
“glad you’ve been paying attention. pop quiz - since lily said the emotional landscape is chaotic and layered, this implies -”
“multiple sources? one really confused source?” woonhak scrunches up his nose in confusion.
“trick question. could be either,” you tap your pen against the cover of your notebook, “the fact that space and logic breaks down inside suggests reality manipulation - or something like that. perception alteration. your powers might adapt to counter, or they might get weird because rules don’t function the same in there.”
“weird?”
“yeah - code for ‘i don’t know’.”
woonhak laughs, “three weeks ago i would have been terrified to do this. but now? i mean, i'm still scared, but i also feel like... like maybe we can actually handle it?"
you glances at him. his emotions are steadier than you’ve ever felt them - still anxious, but grounded and determined.
"we will handle it," you say, steady and convincing, “you’re gotten better at control, and i’ve gotten better at reading you specifically. we’re functional.”
“functional,” woonhak repeats, grinning - all of his teeth showing, “you believe in me.”
“of course i do,” you snort, “if i didn’t - i wouldn’t have come here.”
“you complimented me.”
“don’t make me regret it,” you cross your arms.
“too late. it’s imbedded in my brain forever,” woonhak sits back in his chair with a grin that makes him look like a kid who got into the candy jar.
sungho clears his throat awkwardly from his co-pilot seat, “we’re approaching. town to your two o’clock. you should be able to see the mist in about thirty seconds.”
woonhak’s eyelids fly open as he presses his face into the window, you settle for a peek that doesn’t scream eager and desperate.
the mist rises like a wall, perfectly vertical and straight. it stretches as far as the eye can see in either direction. it’s churns and drifts between white and gray, other colours swirling through it that definitely makes it not normal fog.
you extend your awareness carefully, trying to grasp some of the emotional signatures pinging off the fog.
pain, confusion, fear, loneliness. all twisted together in a horrible stew that makes her head spin just by touching the edge of it.
“someone’s hurting,” you supply.
“who?”
“won’t know until we find out,” you look sideway at woonhak, “are you sure you’re ready for this?”
he takes a deep breath, then nods, “ready.”
sakura sets the jet down in a clearing about a hundred meters from the mist wall. as you disembark, you can feel the discord from even there - dancing like static on your skin and a pressure in your ears.
sungho hands you both a small disc, “stay in contact. this is a tracking device. if it stops moving or loses signal, we’re coming in after you.”
“with what?” you stare at it with an eyebrow raised as woonhak attaches to his wrist, “you said drones don’t work, and everyone who tried got turned around.”
woonhak salutes, which is dorky but somehow appropriate. you just nod.
they approach the mist together, the air growing warmer as they step closer. you can feel woonhak’s anxiety spike in real time - a blood rushing through your ears suddenly - his powers start pinging in response.
“hey,” you say quietly, just before the wall, “look at me.”
woonhak turns.
“you’ve got this - we got this,” you try to keep your voice as steady as you can - because in a duo mission, one person freaking out is the limit, “you trust me to read you, i trust you to manifest what we need. that’s the deal, right?”
“right,” his voice is steadier than his emotions.
“then let’s go find out what is making this mist and stop it.”
you offer him your hand, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he takes it.
together, you step into the mist.
and everything goes sideways.
your stomach flips, like the world’s most dangerous rollercoaster. once that settles the first thing you notice is the noise. each footstep you take returns three echoes, one from your feet, one to your side, and one echoes from faraway, like it didn’t come from you but another person, far far away. woonhak’s breathing is inside your head. in the unexplainable and illogical, woonhak’s hand in your’s seems like the only real thing in this world.
"okay,” you say, your voice rippling out like skipping a stone across water, "this is strange.”
"[y/n],” woonhak says, his voice tight, "i - i can see buildings. but they’re not right. one’s - one’s turned upside down, and the building that was on our right is now on the left, but we didn’t move.”
you look. he’s right - the pink building that was on your right hand side has suddenly plopped itself onto your left, in between the upside house and the house that’s l shaped. you’re pretty sure the yellow house wasn’t there either.
"architecture playing musical chairs,” you mumble, "how wonderful.”
"what - what should we do?” woonhak loses all the confidence he has before, leaving only nervousness.
you squeeze his hand, "power check?”
woonhak shuts his eyes, "feels kinda dizzy.”
dizzy. you shift through woonhak’s feelings. peeling back a layer of nervousness and a tinge of panic, you find an intense curiosity.
“spatial manipulation? does your hands feel tingly?”
woonhak shakes his head, “no, not like last time. it feels more like a humming under my fingers.”
“time related, then. chronokinesis, i’m thinking something like psychometry.”
“that’s a big word,” woonhak laughs nervously. the chuckle echoes back at him through the mist a few seconds later and the both of you jump.
“you’ll be able to see the historical memories of objects,” you touch the lamp post that suddenly sprouts up from the ground next to your feet, “you should try it - like, before it disappears.”
woonhak slaps his free hand against the cold metal and winces, but his eyes instinctively shut. you feel his emotions dip out of your awareness, like his existence isn’t completely on the same reality as your’s. it’s suddenly quiet. you’ve been connected to him for three weeks now, and the sudden feeling of emptiness leaves you cold and nervous.
“woonhak?” you try, and he gasps as his eyes fly back open and he folds onto himself like he has a horrible tummy ache.
“did you see anything?” you prompt as his emotions - loud as ever, flood back into you through your hands - panic, disbelief, disorientation. it makes the world in front of you spin for a moment - or maybe it actually has, seeing that the lamp post has completely disappeared out of view after woonhak pulled his hand off it.
“yeah,” woonhak looks winded, “i saw… things.”
you sigh. it sounds like a trumpet blaring.
“did you see where the mist came from?”
“oh, yeah,” woonhak finally straightens up - maybe the trumpet reignited the marching band kid in him, “that way.”
he gestures towards a thick wall of mist.
you gulp. for once, you don’t know what will happen and where you’ll end up.
“lead the way, then,” you try to sound confident, but woonhak squeezes your hand like he’s trying to remind you he’s right here, next to you.
he starts walking, still holding your hand, and follows. you walk toward the wall of mist, and just when you’re sure they're going to hit something solid, the mist parts and you’re on a street that shouldn't exist.
there’s people here.
but they’re frozen mid-motion, like a video that someone hit pause on. there’s a kid jumping off a curb, a woman reaching for a car door, a man with the trash bag he was throwing out suspended in mid-air, and an elderly man watering a potted plant that has spiraled impossibly through the air.
“are they,” woonhak swallows, “alive?”
you extend your powers out cautiously.
“they are,” you gestured to the woman by her car, “she’s anxious about being late for something, but it’s looping - like, like a broken stereo.”
woonhak winces, “that sounds like it sucks.”
“yeah,” your head is starting to pound - there’s too many emotions, too many people, too much of one thing is never good, there’s at least a dozen knots of emotions on this block alone.
“we should move. the sooner we find the center, the better.”
you walk through the frozen town, the pavement twisting right before your eyes, and woonhak’s power shifts.
you feel it like a key turning in a lock - the psychometry fading and being replaced by something else. this one is more obvious - it hits you harder. your eyes water as your vision blurs.
“enhanced vision,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to blink away the sensation, “can you see the pattern of the mist? signals?”
“there’s a path,” woonhak says, wonder tinges his voice despite the hellscape, “like - like a river. if we follow it upstream -”
“we’ll find the source,” you finish, “let’s go.”
you move faster now, woonhak pulling you along the invisible current only he can see. his power shifts again and this time it makes your muscles vibrate at the wrong frequency. his urgency is palpable - it singes like friction. enhanced speed? teleportation? time dilation? whatever it is, you’re covering ground faster than you should be able to.
the frozen people dot the path. they become more frequent, popping up like weeds that refuse to go away. a bunch of kids mid tumble, a couple whose fingers just about graze each other, a dog suspended mid bark.
then you turn the corner and find the town square. there’s a foundation with water that’s frozen but still flowing - huddled up near it, a girl, with mist pouring off her.
she can’t be more than fourteen. her eyes are closed and her face is peaceful despite the chaos that surrounds her. the mist swirls around her, curling up her legs and weaving inbetween the strands of her hair. you can feel the wisps trouch you - and its like emotion made visible, friend and confusion and fear and loneliness spiralling outwards in waves.
“found her,” woonhak breathes.
you extend your powers towards the girl and immediately regret it.
the emotional impact is like being hit by a truck - hell, actually being hit by a truck would probably hurt less. you feel the pain cut through your flesh like a knife and it worms into your bones - deep and absolute. death in the family? you vaguely wonder. recent - someone she loved more than anything. it broke her and her mutation activated in her grief - stopping time like all of us wished we could.
“[y/n]?” woonhak's voice sounds far away, “[y/n], you’re shaking.”
you realise it when he says it, your entire body trembling from the force of the emotions that latched onto you. it’s too much, your head screams, you’ll overload your brain and explode. it’s too raw and too -
woonhak’s power shifts again, but this time it feels gentle and soothing, like you were suddenly slathered in a thick layer of aloe vera gel.
it dampens the overwhelming input of emotions just enough so you can breath. emotional buffer? psychic shielding? you gulp down air and focus on the feeling of your hand in his - whatever his power is, it’s grounding you so you don’t turn into a pile of emotional slop.
“i’m good,” you gasp out.
“what do we do?” woonhak asks, worry etched into his brow, “should we wake her up?”
“can’t. not too suddenly,” you force yourself to think through the pain, to recalibrate, “could make it worse. her mutation is reality manipulation, i think, emotion - shit. she’s trapped in her grief, mist is a physical manifestation.”
“so what? do we just - leave her?”
“no -” you look at the girl, at the mist pouring out from her, “we need to go in.”
“in… in her brain?”
“her emotional space,” you force out over the pain that’s building again, “i need you manifest something - something useful. if we connect our powers i might be able to create a bridge into her consciousness.”
“that sounds dangerous.”
“it is.”
“is it the only way?”
“i can’t think of any other way that’s quicker,” you offer.
woonhak frowns, “and what if we fail?”
“then we’re stuck in weird mist town forever, and i fail my midterms,” you try for humour, but your voice cracks on the word fail, “woonhak. i can feel what she’s feeling. she doesn’t want this but her mutation kicked in instinctively - it’s protecting her but its trapping everyone else. we have to help her.”
woonhak is quiet for a moment, his emotions cycling through fear and uncertainty and then settling on determination - growing by the minute.
“okay,” he says, taking both of your hands, “tell me what to do.”
“i need you to trust me. no hesitation or doubt. your powers respond to emotional need - i’ll try to extend it towards her’s.”
“i’m nervous,” he admits, his teeth catching his bottom lip.
“i know. but i’ll here, i’ll guide you through it,” you squeeze his hand, “i won’t let you get lost in there.”
his eyes meet your’s, and for a moment, there's nothing but trust between them. pure, absolute trust.
"okay," he says softly. "let's do it."
you close you eyes and extend your awareness towards woonhak. you feel his emotions like it’s your’s - determination, fear, hope… you feel his power stirring, responding to his desperate desire to help, to connect, to understand.
the power blooms under your hand like a flower. it’s not flashy or obvious, but subtle, intimate. a psychic bridge forms between you two and you gently nudge it towards the girl. woonhak’s consciousness slips in and out of your’s, beside you. you feel the moment the both of you reach the edge of the girl’s mindscape and -
you fall in.
“i want to barf.”
woonhak’s voice echoes and it makes you even more nauseous. you hold your breath until you can get your bearings, and breathe out once you do.
“not right now,” you shake your head, “i don’t know the effects of psychic vomit.”
you look around you - you’re standing in what looks like a living room that’s fractured. the furniture exists in multiple states at once - a couch which is pristine but covered in dust and scratched up on the other end. the coffee table switches between intact and shattered, a cracking sound accompanying it everytime it glitches. the frames on the wall show smiling faces that disappear the longer you look at it.
but, god, the space is alight with emotions, like a fire tearing through the room.
you can barely stand under the weight of them. every surface is slick with grief, every object screams loss. woonhak makes a pained sound next to you, he can feel it too - through your connection.
“stay with me,” you say, though you weren’t sure to him or to your soul that’s threatening to drift away any moment, “we have to find her.”
you slowly move through the living room - a feat that is harder than twenty rounds of sungho’s training regiment. it’s a house - you realise, a house that radiates grief and absorbs sadness, a collection of items that scream despair. you push open a door to another room - it’s the same. every room exists in multiple states, caught between before & after, unable to move forward but also impossible to return to what once was.
“[y/n],” woonhak says, his voice strained. you look at him and his face is screwed up in hurt and worry, “your nose is bleeding.”
you touch your face and your fingers come away stained red. the strain of being this deep in someone else’s emotional space while also channeling woonhak’s manifested power is taking a toll.
“it’s okay,” you lie.
“it’s not,” woonhak stops walking, turning to face you, “this is too much. we should -”
“we need to keep going. the people outside are trapped. she’s trapped. we’re really close, woonhak. come on.”
his face projects conflict - caught between concern and his need to help the girl. you feel his power shift again.
this time, you feel strength flood into your limbs - endurance of some kind. his subconscious is trying to help you - give you what he thinks you need to continue.
“thank you,” you breathe, and woonhak just wipes the blood off your face with his sleeve.
you climb the stairs together and stall at the door at the top. unlike everything else in the house, the door is real - solid, unchanging.
behind it, you can taste the bitterness of concentrated grief.
“she’s in there,” you say, trying your best not to let nervousness bleed into your words, “behind that door is where she’s hiding from her own pain.”
woonhak reaches for the doorknob and hesitates, “what should we say to her?”
“i - i don’t know,” you admit, “let’s just be honest - we’re not here to fix her… just talk to her.”
“okay,” woonhak nods, “when all else fails, try honesty.”
he pushes open the door.
inside is a bedroom - there’s posters on the wall and books on the shelves and a desk covered in textbooks and homework. sitting on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, is the girl from the town square.
but this time, she’s wide awake, and crying.
“go away,” she says thickly, “this isn’t real.”
“we’re real,” you step forward, slowly, “we’re here to help you.”
“i don’t need help, i need -” her voice breaks, “i need my mom.”
the words chokes you, her grief becomes clearer. mother died - suddenly, recently. mutation activated in response to grief and pain.
“i’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it, “i’m so sorry you lost your mom.”
the girl finally looks up, her eyes red, “you don’t understand anything.”
“no,” you agree, “i don’t understand, not completely - but my powers let me feel what other people feel. i can feel you’re sad, and that you loved her so much.”
the girl’s face crumples, “it hurts. it won’t stop hurting.”
woonhak moves forwardly, slowly, inching closer to the girl, “i know what it feels like - to have emotions that feel too big for your body. like they might tear you up and eat you alive.”
“you do?” she looks up.
“yeah,” he nods, “my powers - they’re super random, manifests based on what i’m feeling. i couldn’t control it at all in the beginning. everything i felt suddenly was dangerous - chaotic. i wished i’d stop feeling things, at one point, because i didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“does it ever go away? this feeling?”
“it gets better,” he gently says, “it’s hard but it gets easier to control.”
the girl is quiet for a long moment.
"i didn't mean to do this. to trap everyone. i just - when mom died, i felt like the whole world should stop. like nothing should keep moving when she's gone. and then my power activated and-" she gestures helplessly, "and now it won't stop."
"because you won't let it," you say gently, "your power is responding to what you need - like, you need everything to stop because moving forward feels like leaving her behind."
"isn't it?" the girl's voice is small. "if i let go, if i move on, doesn't that mean i'm forgetting her?"
you move closer, until you’re standing at the edge of the bed. you’re sure you look like a mess with blood running down your face - you can taste the copper on your tongue and your head is pounding like the world’s loudest rock concert.
“moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting,” you say, “it means carrying her with you instead of being buried by losing her. i know it sounds hard, and i know it feels like the pain might never end. but we have to be brave now - we can’t let this drown you, and everyone else.”
the girl looks around the room, at the fractured house beyond the door, "i don't know how to let go."
"that's okay," woonhak says, "nobody really does. but you don't have to know how. you just have to want to. and we'll help you."
"how?"
you extend your hand, "by feeling what you're feeling, and showing you that you can survive it. that's what i do - i translate emotions, i help people understand what they're experiencing. and right now, you're experiencing grief. real, terrible, overwhelming grief. but you're also experiencing love. so much love for your mom. and that love doesn't go away just because she did. you can remember her - but it doesn’t have to be painful."
the girl stares at your hand for a long moment.
then, slowly, she reaches out and takes it.
the moment your fingers connects, you feel everything.
grief hits you like a tidal wave. quite literally. you feel like you’re drowning, like water is filling your lungs and you’re being pulled under a wave that’s too strong to fight. her pain is everywhere, in everything, an unhealable wound.
you struggle to breath. as you start doing your own breathing exercises you can feel her overwhelming grief - and under that, even more overwhelming love. it’s blinding and heavy and unexplainable. memories of her mother flood your brain, it sounds like laughter and feels like safety. it tangles into grief - inseparable, because you can’t have one without the other.
“it’s not just pain,” you rush out, “do you feel it? love?”
the girl is crying harder, but she nods, “i forgot. it hurt too much.”
“that’s grief,” you can barely hear yourself over the thunder in your ears, “grief is love, your love has always been there.”
woonhak moves closer, pressing his shoulder against your’s. you can feel his power activating again, dully, it feels like emphatic healing or something - you can’t think straight, but it’s flowing through your connection to the girl, stabilising.
“your mom loved you,” woonhak says softly, “your grief - it’s your love persevering. its all the love you never got to tell her.”
the girl’s grip on your arm tightens, “but the town - the people. i trapped them because i -”
“they’ll understand,” you say, “you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. your power was just trying to protect you. but now you can let them go. you can let yourself move forward.”
“i’m scared,” she whispers, “what if i forget her? what if moving on means she’s really gone?”
you think about how you spent years trying not to feel too much of anything, put up a wall between your normal world and the world you left behind. then you think about your past three weeks with woonhak. how you tried to not care. how that failed spectacularly because you couldn’t help but fall in anyways. how you started to care - for god’s sake.
“you won’t forget her,” you say, “i promise you won’t. emotions like love and care never goes away.”
the girl takes a shuddering breath. then another. and slowly, gradually, you feel the grip of the grief starting to loosen. not disappearing, but no longer drowning.
"okay," the girl says, "okay. i'll try."
"that's all you need to do," you said, "just try."
the girl closes her eyes, and you feel her reaching for her power. it releases like an exhale - the fractured house around them starts to solidifying and the mist starts to thin. woonhak squeezes your hand in careful excitement.
and then you start feeling something shift wrong inside your own body.
the strain is catching up to you. holding woonhak’s power and emotions that made an entire town freeze in time. you realise in horror that blood is dripping onto the bedsheets and you can taste iron in the back of your throat. you cough - once, twice, and your vision drifts in between black and blurry.
“[y/n]?” woonhak’s voice echoes in your brain and is muffled like he’s underwater, “your nose!”
you can’t find the strength to respond. you hold the girl’s hand tighter - you can’t severe the connection now, not at this moment. you need to help her find her way back.
you register the faint chirping of birds, and everything goes white.
you’re on the beach. there’s a pineapple drink with a blue umbrella. you pick it up and it’s delightfully chilly. the sun is beaming - literally, it feels like heaven on earth.
“[y/n]! come on - please, [y/n]!”
someone is calling your name. you peer over your sunglasses around the sandy beach but there’s no hot beach boy calling for your attention. you settle back into your beach towel.
“[y/n]!”
someone shakes you and you gasp as your beach dissipates like a popped bubble.
“w - what?”
the sky above you is clear - no mist, no fractured reality, just a normal sky with normal clouds.
“[y/n],” someone curses under their breath as their hand slaps your cheek gently, “over here.”
“ugh,” your head pounds as woonhak’s face swallows the blue of the sky - he looks terrified.
“please tell me it worked,” you croak.
“you literally stopped breathing for at least a minute,” his voice is rough and wild, “i thought you died on me!”
“woonhak,” you touch his arm, “answer the damn question.”
he sits back on his heels, looks around at the normal town with normal cars and normal plants, “yeah. yeah - it worked. the mist is gone, people are unfrozen. the girl - her name’s ellie. she’s okay, just disoriented.”
“good.”
you try to sit up and immediately regret it. the world spins violently. woonhak lets out a worried squeak when you flop back against the concrete - “okay, maybe i’ll just stay down here for a bit. i did die for a minute.”
woonhak’s face scrunches up like he’s about to cry, “the x-jet is coming. sungho’s coming with medical.”
his hands hover over you, like he wants to help and doesn’t know how, “you scared me. like, really, really scared me.”
“sorry,” you close your eyes - maybe that will help with the spinning, “occupational hazard.”
“don’t - don’t say that. you - you were convulsing, your body shutting down from the strain, hell - you stopped breathing for a really, really long time! i could feel it - but i couldn’t stop it. i - i didn’t know how to.”
“you’re being overdramatic,” you force your eyes open again, finding his face, “it was just a minute - not a really, really long time. besides. you did help. your powers - you were manifesting exactly what i needed. if you hadn’t been there, i wouldn’t have made it that deep.”
"if i hadn't been there, you wouldn't have been hurt! the only reason you had to push yourself that hard is because you were connected to me and my chaotic powers while also dealing with ellie’s emotions."
"woonhak -"
"no."
his voice is firm in a way you’ve never heard before.
"no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to act like you being hurt is just part of the job. every time my power shifts, it hurts you. and today it literally - " he stops, voice breaking. "it literally killed you."
you’re quiet for a moment, processing his outburst. you can feel his emotions even now, even though you’re barely holding onto consciousness - you can taste the fear, the guilt, the desperate need to protect you, even from himself.
“hey,” you say softly, “look at me.”
he does, and he sniffles, his eyes wet.
“it’s not your fault. i chose to go that deep. i chose to hold the connection. that girl needed help, and we’re the only ones who could help her. you get it - right? you said you wanted to help people.”
“not if it means you die!”
“i didn’t die,” you hold up a finger, “okay, i technically did. but i’m alive again - so it’s not that bad.”
“you’re trying to be funny,” he frowns.
“listen, i’m just stating the facts here.”
“[y/n] -”
“woonhak,” you interrupt, “when i agreed to this whole arrangement, i knew this was a possibility. your powers could push me to my limits. but in the end, i think it was worth it. you’re worth it.”
he stares at you, “what?”
“don’t make me repeat it,” you grumble, “i am very injured and it was embarrassing enough the first time.”
but you let a slight smile ghost over your face, “you’re worth it, woonhak. these past three weeks, watching you grow, seeing you learn to trust yourself - it's been worth every headache and nosebleed and death - well, one death.”
“i don’t -” he stops, swallowing hard, “i don’t know what to say.”
“you don’t have to say anything,” you throw an arm over your eyes, “just keep manifesting those healing abilities. i might pass out again.”
as if on cue, you feel his powers shift. a familiar, gentle energy washes over you, numbing the worst of the pain. it smells like a garden after rain. he's getting better at manifesting specific powers when he needs them. the control they've been working on is paying off.
“see?” you murmur, “we’re a good team.”
"the best," he says, and there's something in his voice - something warm and soft and impossibly fond - that makes your heart do a complicated flip that has nothing to do with the strain of the mission.
fuck, you thinks distantly. when did that happen?
but you don’t have enough time to think about it too deeply because the x-jet is landing nearby and sungho is running towards you with a medical kit and suddenly there are people everywhere checking and prodding and asking questions you’re too tired to answer.
through it all, woonhak doesn’t let go of your hand. you realised he’s never let go since you two stepped into the mist hours ago.
and, well, you didn’t let go of his.
the bed is comfy, and you’ve managed to bribe sungho into installing blackout curtains. you’ve been in the hospital wing for two days, recovering from what has been clinically described as "severe neurological strain from prolonged psychic bridging while experiencing secondary power manifestation feedback”.
you just called it “pulling an empathetic hamstring and now everything hurts”.
you’re sitting up in bed, shifting through your biochem notes because your exam is in three days and extenuating circumstances doesn’t cover ‘injured because of mindscape deep dive’. your head still pounds if you concentrate too hard, and you’re not allowed to actively use your powers for at least a week, but at least you’re not a permenant stain on the street of millbrook.
there’s a knock on the door.
“come in!” you yell, expecting sungho with more medication.
instead, it’s woonhak. he hovers by the door, a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries and a face of uncertainty in tow.
“hey,” he says, “is this a good time?”
"is any time a good time when you're stuck in a hospital bed?" you jest, "get in here."
he enters, setting the coffee and pastries on your bedside table, “i got it the way you like it, and the cookies you always order.”
“you remembered!”
“i watched you order it, like, fifty times.”
he sits down in the chair besides your bed, and passively you can still feel his emotions seeping out of him - concern, relief, and something else.
“how are you feeling?”
“better than yesterday,” you reach for the coffee and take a grateful sip, “god, that’s good. i swear, the mansion coffee is actively trying to make me worse.”
“okay,” woonhak laughs, “no mansion coffee.”
the room is quiet for a moment, the comfortable kind of quiet you’ve developed over weeks of training together.
“i talked to ellie,” woonhak says finally, “says she wants to say thank you and sorry, and she’s in therapy now.”
“oh, good. that’s good,” you set down your coffee, “and the people?”
“better, still processing, but no one was hurt. just confused and scared,” he pauses, “she asked if she could come say thank you in person - when you’re better.”
"she doesn't need to thank me. we were just doing our job."
"see, that's what i keep saying! but everyone keeps insisting what we did was extraordinary."
he grins, but it fades quickly. "i've been thinking."
"uh oh. that's dangerous."
"i'm serious." he leans forward, elbows on his knees. "i've been thinking about what you said. about how working with me pushes you to your limits. and i don't - i don't want to be the reason you get hurt."
you raise an eyebrow. you know where this is going.
"woonhak -"
"let me finish." he takes a breath. "i talked to sungho. and i just - just wanted to let you know that if you don’t want to work with me anymore it’s okay."
he fiddles with his fingers.
“no, it’s okay,” you say simply.
“what?” he blinks, “you - you aren’t going to go away? but - but you literally died and -”
“and i’d die again,” you interrupt, “pop quiz! do you know why?”
“because you’re really stubborn.”
“no, dumbass,” you sit up straighter, “because you’re worth it.”
you hold his gaze, “i said it on the field - and i can’t believe you’re making me say it again, but i meant it. yes - working with you is hard, but woonhak - seeing you go from someone who couldn't hold a power for thirty seconds to someone who can manifest healing abilities to save people? that's not something i want to give up."
“even if it hurts you?”
“i told you -” you take his hand, “i’m being brave. i don’t want to live in constant fear of what i can or can’t do anymore, and how am i supposed to do that if i keep doing what makes me comfortable?”
“are you sure?”
“yes. a thousand percent,” you squeeze his hand, “you might drag me into weird mist towns to save people, but i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
woonhak’s emotions wash over you - relief and delight and something deeper - something that makes your pulse quicken.
"you really want to keep working with me?" he asks quietly.
"yes - i want to keep working with you. and i like you. as a partner. as a... friend."
the word friend sounds weird on your tongue. you don’t really want to dissect why just yet.
woonhak's face breaks into that bright, genuine smile - the one where his eyes disappear and his teeth show.
“i like you too, even when you’re grumpy and sarcastic and pretend you don’t care about things.”
“harsh, but okay,” you roll your eyes and he laughs.
“so,” he fiddles with your fingers, carefully, “if you're willing to keep putting up with me and my chaos, i promise i'll do everything i can to keep my powers from hurting you. i'll train harder, focus better, manifest that healing ability more consistently -"
"woonhak."
"- and i'll carry extra tissues if you have nosebleeds again, and i'll make sure we always have coffee that won’t kill you nearby, and -"
"woonhak."
he stops, looking at you.
"you're rambling," you say softly.
"i ramble when i'm nervous."
"why are you nervous?"
he's quiet for a moment, his emotions swirling. "because i almost really lost you. and i realized that somewhere in the past three weeks, you became really important to me. and i don't know what to do with that."
your heart is doing that complicated flip thing again, and this time you can't blame it on coming back from the dead.
"you became important to me too," you admit, "which is inconvenient, because i was trying very hard not to get attached."
"how's that working out?"
"bad."
you both laugh, and the tension breaks slightly.
"so," woonhak says, "partners? still?"
"partners," you confirm, "but i have conditions."
"of course you do."
"one: you have to stop asking if i'm okay every five seconds. i'll tell you if i'm not okay."
"copy that."
"two: you have to actually study the emotional manifestation triggers i wrote up for you instead of just saying you'll memorise them later."
"ugh, fine."
“three: you have to deal with my grumpiness in the mornings, because i hate getting up.”
“got it,” he nods, “i’ll get used to it”
you're both smiling now, hands still linked.
"when you’re better… would you take me to the coffee shop?”
he scratches his cheek.
"like a date?”
embarrassment washes over him, "y - yeah. something like that.”
"hmm,” you tap your chin, "i think i can fit you into my schedule.”
"really? you can?!”
"i’m a very busy woman, woonhak. i don’t do this for just anyone.”
"i know,” he grins, "but i’m not just anyone, right?”
"no, you’re just someone very special to me. that’s all.”
♡ or ↻ if you enjoyed, support your writers, thank you!!
what did you think? drop your thoughts in my inbox!
i think i’m falling for you, i’m falling for you . — the 1975 🎵
៸៸៸ SYPNOSIS 𑂅 maybe being paired with your “ex” for a project isn’t a bad thing.. or so you thought
✧ ex! riwoo x fem! reader ꪆ ex2__ fluff, comedy!use of foul language, a bit suggestive i’d say..? (yes they kinda made out.), sudden timestamps (sorry.. kinda messy!), riwoo kinda redflag before… BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT. hes a changed man and i love my baby!! , reader lowk downbad, use of petnames ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀) 🍰 HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIWOOOOOO !!!!! i worked on this smau and posted it on the same day…. last day of exams tmr!! #WatchMeCook 🔥
✧ ft. moka!illit (is it obvs shes my bias.) jongseob!piwon — as yn’ s bestfriends 🪽 jaehyun!boynextdoor as riwoo’ s bestfriend
💬 first time writing a kiss scene… how did i do.
you made your way to riwoo’s apartment, clutching a small pack of medicine in your hands. your heart was racing—you were worried sick about him.
you gently knocked, waiting. the door creaked open, revealing riwoo’s pale face. he definitely looked sick.
“ynn~” he said happily, wrapping his arms around you before you could even say hi. your face turned red—way too red—as you awkwardly patted his back. “is this one of the side effects of being sick?” you asked teasingly.
“no, shut up..” he mumbled, collapsing onto his bed, clearly exhausted. you poured him a glass of water and held out the pills.
“come on, take these,” you said softly, helping him sit up. he slowly swallowed them, coughing a little. a faint smile tugged on his lips—but you didn’t notice. he always used to text you whenever he was sick, back when you two were still together.
you brushed your hand lightly against his thigh before walking over to place the glass in the sink. when you turned back, he was watching you.
“feeling any better?” you asked. he just nodded. you reached out, pressing your palm to his forehead—burning hot.
“i’m fine, baby,” he said.
“stop calling me that…” you muttered, flustered.
he giggled, the sound light and warm, as if the pills had magically cured him.
the room fell quiet. it was getting late. “i think i’ll go now—”
before you could finish, riwoo caught your wrist, shaking his head. “no, please.” his voice was soft, almost pleading.
you swallowed hard, trying to avoid his gaze, pretending not to notice how close his face was to yours. his hand brushed against your cheek—and then his lips met yours.
you didn’t mean to kiss him back… but you did. when you tried to pull away, the kiss only deepened, your hand finding its way around his neck.
when you finally broke apart, the air felt thick. neither of you could look at each other.
“can we go back to how we were two years ago?” riwoo asked quietly.
“we literally just kissed, riwoo,” you said flatly.
“righttt… so, does that mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend again?” he grinned.
“do you want me to shove these pills down your throat?” you threatened.
riwoo held up his hands in surrender. “sorry, baby!”
“were you even sick in the first place?!” you asked.
“of course i was!!!” he said defensively, pulling you onto his lap.
you ended up cuddling there, even though you’d been arguing just a week ago over your project.
“i missed this,” he murmured.
“quiet,” you said.
“okay, ma’am…” he replied, and you both giggled.
maybe being paired with your ex wasn’t so bad after all.
or… your boyfriend.
💬 note -> didn’t rlly proofread this… sorry if this seems rushed hihi.. okay i gotta study now!!!!!
+ HOLY BUM I JS REALIZED I FORGOT TO ADD A SLIDE . 🙂🙂I CANT EDIT IT OMG… sorry slide 16 looks awk now but its js riwoo posting a selfie tagging yn💔💔😭😭
i luv ur whk fics!! can u maybe write about him having a significant other with glasses and they're making out and he makes fun at her fogged glasses or whtvr? thanks <3
omg tysm!!! and yes<33 imma make a short drabble cause i broke a knuckle so i can't write much please forgive..><
Foggy glasses in locked rooms. K.WH
university au!, established relationship, making out, fluff, teasing || 517w
Woonhak and you had different classes, but he always came to pick you up for lunch break, at the end of class or at times like this when he was just needy.
He took your hand guiding you away as you just followed with a small smile on. You got to the third floor and into the janitor's room which was always empty on classes hours. He made sure no one was around when he pulled you in and locked the door quickly.
pressing your body against the door with his hands on your waist as he leaned down to kiss you. You wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him closer as you tip toed slightly trying to ease it up on him too. The kisses were soft at first, slow and gentle, but as soon as his hands started roaming on your back he got more needy. Bringing you even closer
'woonhak' you murmured against his lips as you saw how your glasses were starting to get slightly foggy at the lower corners. You both had other classes in like 10 minutes, but it didn't seem like your boyfriend wanted to let you go anytime soon. He shut you off biting your lip which earned him a small gasp off your lips.
His kisses getting more needy and messy after that, which ended up filling your glasses with fog because of both of your heavy breaths, the closed small space and your boyfriend not letting go of you or your lips which were getting more plump thanks to the neediness.
'my.. glasses' you tried to say and your boyfriend now pulled a bit back to take a breath. Finally seeing how foggy your glasses had gotten because of his desperate kisses and heavy breaths.
'sorry, pretty' he said as his hand cupped your face, his thumb going to your lower lip to caress it, they were red and fuller now. Your glasses were completely covered in fog so he just reached out to take them off you as he chuckled.
'you know, maybe we should get you lenses you little four eyed monster' he teased as he pulled his shirt to clean your glasses with it.
'stop calling me that!' you whined hitting his arm a bit making him laugh again
'you're my cute four eyed girlfriend'
'yeah, and you're my annoying needy boyfriend who keeps fogging them' you reproached and he just stole a kiss
'i'll get you a little windshield so they clean automatically every time we kiss' he teased as you hit his chest gently.
You took your glasses off his hands to clean them properly 'that's it, no more kisses for you today'
you reached for the door handle but Woonhak just spun you around, caging you against the door. Grabbing your chin and keeping you in place as he started kissing you again. Your hands going to rest on his chest as you kissed him back for some seconds before pushing him away.
A big grin on the taller guy's face while you just rolled your eyes and walked away.
🔪 in a city drowned in rain and neon, you hunt a killer who’s always two steps ahead— Leehan, a man as precise as he is unnervingly captivating. each encounter pulls you deeper into a dangerous game of obsession and desire, where the line between justice and temptation blurs, and the chase becomes far more personal than either of you can admit.
GENRE : dark
PAIRING : serialkiller!leehan x detective!reader
CONTAINS : graphic imagery (violence, blood, death), psychological tension, manipulation, stalking themes, moral ambiguity, mild romantic/sexual tension between detective and killer, obsession, please read at your own risk!
WORD COUNT : 2.9k
NOTE : first fic w the new layout! and happy birthday my pretty ihannie!! (even this is super late) [written 19 oct]
Rain fell like shards of glass against the asphalt, jagged and relentless, pooling in the cracks of the uneven street. Streetlights flickered weakly, their light fractured across the wet concrete, scattering into glittering shards that danced like phantoms in the darkness. You pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders, the fabric sticking slightly from the moisture, and pressed forward through the alley, the badge weighing heavy against your chest. Every instinct screamed that tonight, like every night lately, something was off.
The alley was narrow, hemmed in by brick walls streaked with grime and the faint glimmer of faded graffiti. The smell hit you before you saw it—damp, metallic, the faint sting of something older, something rotten. A body lay twisted against the far wall, limbs splayed at impossible angles, eyes wide, unseeing. You crouched slowly, the gravel crunching beneath your boots, studying the scene with the precision you had honed over years of chasing monsters. Every cut, every arrangement of the limbs, every subtle smear of blood spoke volumes about the mind behind it: meticulous, deliberate, and terrifyingly confident.
And then—through the blur of rain, the distant hum of neon signs, the endless night—you saw him.
Leehan.
He was leaning casually against the wall at the end of the alley, his silhouette nearly swallowed by shadow. But even in the dim light, his presence was impossible to ignore. There was a stillness to him, the kind of calm that felt unnatural, predatory almost, as if the rain itself parted around him in deference. His eyes caught yours—sharp, calculating, unnervingly aware—and for a moment the rest of the world dissolved. The corpse, the slick cobblestones, the oppressive drizzle—it all became background noise.
“Detective,” he said, voice low, smooth, like silk sliding over steel. “I wondered when you’d show up.”
You felt a tightening in your chest, a mixture of dread and something else—something you weren’t accustomed to feeling while standing over the work of a killer. Every rational thought screamed to reach for your gun, to assert control, but your body betrayed you, frozen in the magnetic pull of his presence. His movements were deliberate, minimal but precise, as if he could command the space around him with sheer force of will.
“I’m here,” you said, forcing your voice steady, though the words trembled beneath the weight of your heartbeat, “to stop you. Whatever you’re planning next.”
Leehan tilted his head, and the motion was slow, calculating. His dark hair clung to his forehead from the rain, framing his face in an almost impossibly perfect way. The corners of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more a challenge. “Stop me… or understand me?” His gaze pierced through you, intimate and unnerving, like he could read every hidden thought, every suppressed impulse. “There’s a difference, you know.”
The tension in the alley was almost suffocating. The scent of wet brick, iron, and something sweeter, more intoxicating—him—hung in the air. Your pulse raced, the rhythm of your heartbeat clashing against the patter of rain, a discordant symphony of fear and something dangerously like desire. He stepped closer, slow enough to seem casual, but close enough that the heat radiating from him brushed against your arm. The proximity made your breath hitch, unbidden.
“You’ve been following me,” he murmured, voice dropping to a near whisper, and it sent shivers down your spine. “And yet, you’ve never truly seen me.”
The words were a touchstone, teasing, challenging, daring you to admit to something you didn’t even fully understand. Your hand twitched near your holster, but your gaze remained locked on him, because moving away felt wrong in a way you couldn’t explain.
Leehan’s eyes softened for the briefest instant, almost imperceptible, before sharpening again with that predatory gleam. The rain ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t seem bothered. His presence was overwhelming—both terrifying and intoxicating. Then, as if the night itself claimed him, he was gone.
All that remained was the faint echo of his presence, the soft whistle of the wind through the alley, and something left deliberately in his wake: a single playing card, the ace of hearts, lying delicately atop the slick asphalt.
You bent to retrieve it, fingers brushing against the wet surface, heart hammering. The card felt heavier than it should, laden with promise and threat all at once. And in that moment, you understood with stark clarity—the chase was far from over. He had pulled you into his world, and whether you wanted to admit it or not, you had no choice but to follow.
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle by the time you returned to the precinct, but the chill lingered in your bones. The ace of hearts sat on your desk, stark against the pale fluorescent light, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from it. Someone had planned this—Leehan, of course—but the intention behind it was tantalizingly opaque. Was it a warning? An invitation? Or both?
You ran your fingers over the slick card, tracing the embossed heart at its center. The thought of him smiling when he left it made your chest tighten in a way that was almost unbearable. You told yourself it was ridiculous. He was a killer. A brilliant, dangerous predator who toyed with his prey. And yet, the part of you that hated monsters—hated the way they taunted—found itself inexplicably drawn to his shadow.
Case files littered your desk, photographs of previous victims arranged like a morbid mosaic. Every angle, every smudge of blood, every subtle pattern: it was Leehan’s signature. He wasn’t sloppy, and he wasn’t careless. He was meticulous, theatrical even, leaving clues like breadcrumbs—but breadcrumbs only you could follow. That was what made this so infuriating, and yet, impossibly compelling.
Your phone buzzed. A message, unsigned, but unmistakably from him: “You’re closer than you think. Don’t blink.”
Your stomach dropped. Every rational part of your mind screamed to alert backup, to reinforce boundaries, to follow protocol. But another part—a part you refused to acknowledge—felt your pulse spike in anticipation, as if the thrill of his presence was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.
The next night, the chase continued. A call from a witness led you to a deserted warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Your flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating dust motes suspended in the stale air, and the faint smell of iron and damp concrete. Every footstep echoed, a stark reminder that you were alone—or perhaps, not.
“Detective.”
The voice was soft, intimate, and it made your skin prickle. Leehan emerged from the shadows, his movements smooth, deliberate. He leaned against a rusted support beam, arms crossed, watching you as if you were the puzzle he’d been waiting to solve.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” you said, voice steady, though your hands were slick with sweat. “It’s dangerous.”
He smiled faintly, tilting his head. “So are you.”
The words made something stir inside you—a thrill, sharp and electric, that had nothing to do with fear. He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint sheen of rain on his cheekbones, the way his eyes held both amusement and calculation.
Your gun was in your hand, though you didn’t raise it. He didn’t reach for one. And yet, you felt the tension, thick and tangible, wrapping around you like a vice.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you said, voice lower now, almost a whisper.
“So are you,” he replied, stepping even closer, close enough that his shadow fell across your chest. “But you’re curious, aren’t you? That’s why you came.”
The air between you was charged, oppressive, a storm in itself. Every instinct screamed to pull away, to enforce boundaries, to assert control. And yet, a small, foolish part of you—horrified at the thought—wanted to lean in.
He disappeared then, without warning, leaving nothing but the faint scent of him in the air. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps. The warehouse was empty now, but the echo of him lingered, like heat after a fire.
And you knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.
Days blurred into nights. Every case file, every photograph, every fragment of evidence seemed to pulse with his presence. Leehan had a way of threading himself into your life, leaving traces that were impossible to ignore. A misplaced object, a faint perfume that lingered on the wind, a note scrawled in precise handwriting: “I see you even when you’re looking away.”
Tonight, you followed a lead that had taken you to the rooftop of an abandoned apartment complex. The city sprawled beneath you, neon bleeding into the fog, traffic humming far below. Rain slicked the concrete, turning it silver under the sparse moonlight. Your flashlight cut through the darkness, hands tense, breath shallow. Somewhere in the shadows, he was watching, as always.
A soft laugh drifted from the edge of the roof, warm and deliberate, and your pulse jumped.
“You always come alone,” Leehan said, stepping out from a corner so smoothly it was almost impossible to see him until he was right there. Rain glistened on his hair and the sharp line of his jaw, his coat clinging to him, each movement fluid, controlled.
You tightened your grip on your gun, though the rational part of you knew it was useless. He was always two steps ahead, a predator in every sense of the word. Yet… there was something else, something you couldn’t name, that pulled at you. Something magnetic, impossible to resist.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, voice firmer this time. “It’s not safe.”
“Neither is this,” he murmured, stepping closer, the faintest brush of his sleeve against yours sending a shock through your skin. His gaze held yours, steady, unflinching, and for a moment, the rain, the city, the darkness—all of it—faded away. It was just him, and you, and the thin line between control and surrender.
“You’re dangerous,” you whispered, though part of you wanted to add and irresistible.
Leehan’s lips quirked into a faint, almost predatory smile. “I’ve heard worse.” He leaned just slightly closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that the scent of him—smoke, rain, something darkly sweet—filled your senses. “And yet… you keep chasing me.”
The sound of your own heartbeat filled your ears. Logic screamed at you to step back, to draw the line, to call for backup. But your body betrayed you. The pull was magnetic, intoxicating, terrifying.
“I don’t chase monsters,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I catch them.”
“Do you?” he asked softly, tilting his head in a way that made your stomach lurch. “Or do you chase me because you… want to?”
The words hung between you like a promise—or a threat. A gust of wind swept across the rooftop, and he vanished again before you could answer, leaving nothing but the faint trace of him in the wet night air.
And yet, even in his absence, the world felt smaller, tighter, impossibly charged. You knelt to pick up a small object left behind—a single glove, black leather, faintly scented with him. Your fingers trembled as you held it, your pulse still hammering, and you knew with terrifying clarity that this was no longer just a case. He had ensnared you, body and mind, and whether you admitted it or not, you were hooked.
Tonight, like every night, the chase was far from over. And deep down, you wondered—not for the first time—if you even wanted it to be.
The city sprawled beneath you, a web of neon and shadow, as though the skyline itself held its breath. Rain had slowed to a fine mist, leaving the rooftops slick and glistening, reflecting every distant light in jagged shards. You had tracked him here, to the edge of the tallest building in the district. The wind whipped your hair into your eyes, but you barely noticed, heart hammering against your ribs.
“You’re predictable,” a voice said—low, smooth, and impossibly close.
Leehan emerged from the shadows, his coat clinging to him, rain droplets glistening along the sharp planes of his face. The city seemed to bend around him, shadows deepening wherever he moved. He was calm, poised, every movement precise. And yet, there was something in the tilt of his head, the curve of his lips, that set your pulse racing in ways you didn’t want to admit.
“You should’ve stayed back,” you said, gripping your gun, knuckles white. “This isn’t a game.”
“It’s never a game,” he replied softly, stepping closer, slow, deliberate. The faintest brush of his sleeve against yours made your breath hitch. “But it is… exhilarating, isn’t it?”
Your stomach twisted, part fear, part something far more dangerous—desire. You wanted to step back, put space between you and him, but your feet were rooted, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes.
“You’ve killed,” you said, voice shaking despite yourself. “People. Innocent people. I can’t let you—”
“Stop me?” he interrupted, voice dropping lower, almost a whisper meant only for you. “Or do you… want to?”
The words hit harder than any bullet could. A gust of wind swept past, tugging at his coat, and for a brief moment, you were painfully aware of how close he was—close enough that if you reached out, you could brush against him, close enough that your breaths mingled.
He stepped closer, deliberately slow, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cold drizzle. The line between predator and prey blurred, each of you circling the other in a dangerous dance.
“You think you understand me,” he murmured, voice almost tender, and the softness made your chest ache. “But you don’t. You’ll never understand what it’s like… to be untouchable. Untamed. And yet… here you are.”
A thunderclap rolled across the skyline, echoing your racing heartbeat. Your hand tightened on the gun, but you didn’t raise it. He leaned just slightly closer, eyes dark and unreadable, close enough that the scent of him—smoke, rain, something dangerously sweet—was overwhelming.
“You shouldn’t—” you started, but the words faltered, drowned in the tension crackling between you.
Leehan’s lips curved in a slow, almost predatory smile. “I won’t be caught. Not tonight. Not by you. But I wanted you to see me… like this.”
Before you could respond, he slipped back into the shadows, vanishing as suddenly as he appeared. The city returned to its normal rhythm, neon bleeding into mist, traffic humming below, but the emptiness around you felt heavier than ever.
Your hands shook, gripping the railing, and you knew with chilling clarity: he had drawn you in, closer than anyone ever had. You were tethered to him, whether you wanted to admit it or not, and the thrill of the chase had become something far more dangerous—far more personal.
The night stretched on, silent and unyielding, but you knew he was still out there, waiting, watching, leaving a trail only you could follow. And part of you, terrifyingly, couldn’t wait to.
You didn’t sleep that night.
The precinct felt impossibly quiet when you returned, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The ace of hearts from the first encounter sat on your desk, the black glove from the rooftop folded neatly beside it, both tokens of a game you didn’t want to play—but already had. Your fingers brushed them absently, tracing the sharp edges, the faint scent of him lingering like a shadow you couldn’t shake.
Every sound—the hum of the coffee machine, the distant footsteps in the hallway—made your pulse skip. You kept replaying the rooftop confrontation in your mind: his eyes, dark and unreadable; the brush of his sleeve against yours; the soft, teasing murmur of his voice. Every memory burned through your chest like fire, impossible to ignore.
You told yourself it was fear. Rationality. Obsession with catching him before he struck again. But you knew it was more. Something dangerous. Something you weren’t supposed to feel for a killer who toyed with you as effortlessly as he did.
And yet… part of you wanted to feel it.
You stared at the scattered evidence on your desk, every photograph, every note, every piece of the puzzle, and a part of your mind whispered the truth you wouldn’t admit: you were tethered to him now, caught in a web of shadows, desire, and danger. The chase had begun, and whether you were ready or not, it wasn’t going to end.
Outside, the city throbbed with rain-slicked neon and distant sirens. Somewhere, Leehan was out there, watching, waiting, leaving his marks, pulling you further into his world. You clenched your fists, heart hammering, and knew—terrifyingly, exhilaratingly—that you would follow him, every step of the way.
Because even as every rational fiber of your being screamed to stay away… you didn’t want to.
And maybe, one night, you wouldn’t.
A week later, your desk was quiet—too quiet—but you weren’t alone. A new envelope sat in the center, pristine and unmarked, except for a single line scrawled in precise handwriting: “You almost caught me. Next time, I’ll make it harder… and maybe more… personal.”
Your fingers hovered over the paper, heart hammering. You didn’t know if it was a threat, a promise, or both. But somewhere deep down, a shiver of anticipation ran through you—a pull you could neither resist nor fully understand.
Leehan had left his mark, and you knew, with every instinct screaming in your chest, that the game was far from over.
creds: lace by @uzmacchiato, heart by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more ♡
tags: @ilysungho @rustypink @taestulipss @g4z0oz @pupillary @k-records @daydreamnet @blossomnet [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the reader registry to be added!!]
YOOOO THIS IS GOOD AS HECK “I won’t be caught. Not tonight. Not by you. But I wanted you to see me.. like this.” GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE leehan indeed left a mark i fear in a scared and amazed sense 😮💨
studying at bnd university was great for you. well, that is, if we ignore your sudden loss of socialisation once you started your education there. you have not kept in touch with any of your friends from high school and somehow everyone at your university has already formed friend groups and doesn't seem to want to converse with you. until you accidentally get invited to a marine biology major's birthday party.
fem! reader, university au, birthday oneshot, reader is lowk a total loner but also observer, leehan is the son of a celebrity + his mother is missing, strangers to ? ( not exactly because leehan is kinda a celebrity on campus ) WARNINGS. some swearing / profanity, use of leehan's real name WC. 4k
۶ৎ A/N. here i am w leehan's bday oneshot yayyy! and surprise.. this is based in the same alternate universe as the jaehyun series that's currently being written in my drafts heh ;)) leehan is actually a character in there as well so while i was thinking what genre and stuff to do for his bday oneshot i decided it'll be a good idea to give yall some hints for that jaehyun series bcs im trying so hard for it to be fun .. but then again this is kind of buns FORGIVE ME P.S. im also sick af rn i feel like imma die
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YOU HATE BEING ALONE. During high school you had a relatively large friend group, people you used to rely on. You had felt them drifting away more with every day graduation came closer but you hadn't expected their presence to completely disappear in your life after you all headed towards different universities and paths.
You had recently found out you're the only one they gradually cut contact with. A girl from your high school, one that wasn't your friend but apparently felt bad for you, had decided to disclose to you a rumor that was going around a little before graduation. "I'm not sure how it never got to you.." The girl had started, the tone in her voice so soft, possibly attempting not to sadden you, "I don't know who started it either. But words about you.. not earning your grades in Literature were being told.." Her explanation was vague. Vague usually meant the person felt uncomfortable to tell further but you had to know— "What are you implying..?" You had asked her. A sigh had come next. "They were basically saying you were sleeping with Mr Kwon.." When the words had left her mouth, you weren't able to do anything but stiffen. You had quieted down, registering the actual truth behind your odd loss of friends. "I'm sure that wasn't true!" The girl had said after noticing your sudden lack of speech, most likely an attempt at cheering you up. Of course, it wasn't true. You have always been a student that works hard when it comes to your grades. Sleeping with a teacher is.. way below your level. This discovery had happened last year. And ever since the said discovery, you've been hesitant to approach anyone.
You've been observing the people on BND university's campus. You have noticed some students that caught your attention, that you'd wanted to become friends with, but then, you'd always get reminded of the situation and back off. Not to mention, you were never even that social of a person and now suddenly you're supposed to just approach people like that? No, never. Even if your heart aches every time you remember you basically have no one to rely on anymore, you get over it. You might be in a slight phase of denial, swearing to yourself you don't need other people but you tend to ignore those thoughts. "Just focus on your education." You tell yourself, "It'll get better." You always tell yourself that. Despite not really believing it.
Today doesn't seem to be any different than the rest of the days you've spent in university. You're sitting on a bench located on the large campus, the smell of gingerbread cookies coming from the cafe near you, filling up your nostrils. You have your headphones on, like always. You reach for your phone with the intention of switching the song, that's playing, except suddenly a ding! sound occurs in your ears. Messages. Who would be texting you? Maybe that one guy that assigns the dorms needs some help from you again. You open the messages with dread and.. are left with surprise. The person who has texted you goes by the name Kim Seungyoon. Once realisation hits you, you're unable to do anything but gasp, your eyes widening more and more with each second the passes. Kim Seungyoon, the CEO of the corporate company for real estate Haebit. One of the largest ones in SK. But the message leaves you even more confused:
If you're reading this, you have been invited to Donghyun's birthday party! It'll be held on October 19th (a day before the actual birth date) at the Kim Mansion (Street XXX 123 in Cheongdam-dong) at 7pm. See you there!
What in the hell is going on? You know Donghyun, of course you do. He also studies in this university and it's not like he isn't famous on campus. But why would he invite you, a person he hasn't exchanged even a word with. Seems like your mind will be overworked with thoughts today.
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DONGHYUN HATES THE 19TH OF OCTOBER. People would ask "Why would someone hate the day before their birthday?" and in Donghyun's case, the culprit is his father.
Don't get him wrong, the boy doesn't hate his father. But he definitely hates some of the things he does for work. Seungyoon, his dad, believes that his birthday is a great occasion to make deals with business partners and all of that. Of course, he isn't that cruel to do that on his actual birthday when he celebrates with his friends, so every year he does it the day before. He says it's a "birthday party", however he only invites people he'd like to talk business with. And his son despises that. Donghyun hates how every year his father texts people, inviting them to a business meeting disguised as his son's birthday party with these corny messages that appear as if a five year old's mother wrote it for her little child's birthday cards that are going to get sent out to his other five year old friends, as if Donghyun isn't literally an adult. And that said adult is being forced to sit around other workaholics, just like his father, and act polite for hours every 19th of October.
Lost in thinking about potential attempts of how to be able to sneak out of the "birthday party" this year, he bumps into a girl. Well, fuck. "Oh, I'm so sorry-" Donghyun says, his hands' placement naturally becoming your shoulders.
Your eyes widen. Donghyun? As in Donghyun whose father texted you earlier to come to his birthday? "No, don't worry, it's okay!" You say, dismissing his words and trying to make an effort not to freak out over his hands being on your shoulders. Donghyun's still making sure you're okay but your mind is somewhere else. Should you ask him about this? I mean, clearly if you somehow managed to bump into him out of all the other people on campus, that's got to be the Universe's sign right? You barely gather up the little courage that's left in you to ask him— "Oh, also, sorry but.. I believe your dad texted me earlier to attend your birthday party or something? I'm not sure if it's a scam or anything, so yeah.."
Donghyun freezes at your words. His dad invited you? What's the point? The more the guy thinks about it, the more he starts to believe it might have been an accident. "Uhm, it's real.." He says, to which you're a little surprised. You never really expected this to be legit. "It isn't my actual birthday, it's more of gathering my father does with his business partners but I guess he accidentally invited you? I'm not sure either.." The guy in front of you says, his tone suddenly charging a rather different energy than the one you caught on when he apologised. "Oh, so I technically don't need to go? Since, you know.. it was most likely an accident." You say and for some reason, you are a tad bit disappointed at the possible outcome as you were looking forward to the event, at least a little bit (even if you were around eighty percent sure it was a scam). "Well, yeah but.." Donghyun starts, seemingly hesitating and carefully choosing his next words, "If you want to you can come." After he says that, he immediately catches on the surprise on your face, making him elaborate—"I mean, because every time it's just full of elders that work in my father's business sphere and I don't really have anyone to talk to, so uhm, if you're actually free, I'd like you to come. Make it a little less boring, I guess." After his explanation you almost think you might be dreaming.
You haven't been invited to an event such as this in so long, let alone by someone near your age range. Donghyun was just a year older— you had observed him, of course. He was practically a celebrity on campus anyway. "Uhm, sure. I'll come!" You end up saying because you decide to just do something different for once, give someone a chance. You could make yourself a friend, maybe. Only time will show.
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PANIC IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT FOR WHAT'S GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD. You're supposed to go to Donghyun's birthday event, or whatever the hell that get-together even is, in around two hours and you're freaking out. The boy mentioned that the function was more like a gathering for people that work in his father's business sphere. And knowing his father's wealth.. that was definitely going to come closer to a rich people's assembly than any kind of other normal meeting. You are aware for this kind of thing you're practically obliged to dress formally. The problem? You do not own any formal clothes. The only clothing piece of yours that could lean towards the more official dress style is this tight black dress, its hemline ending daringly high on the thigh. A little too daring, if you're being honest. But do you even have any say in this? You can't pull up to a literal mansion with jeans and whatever else you find in your wardrobe.
You style it with some gold jewellery you find abandoned on the bottom of a random cupboard and it looks unexpectedly good. It is still slightly too revealing for what you'd usually wear but fuck it. It's not every day you have the chance to attend an event like this. You do your make up a little bolder than your usual daily look, take up a little more time on your hairstyle and finally, as you're looking at yourself in the mirror you think—Why are you even taking this so seriously? Is it because it feels as if you have an actual chance at making a friend since what appears to you as forever? Or is it because the possible friend is a certain someone? You end the question by convincing yourself it's due to the prosperous nature of the gathering. Sighing, you take one last look at yourself and leave your place. The sound of the keys locking the door feels more major than it ever did.
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DONGHYUN IS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY TENSE. When he basically invited you himself to come to whatever was happening tonight he wasn't thinking this much. He just thought that having someone around his age would make this dreadful day a little better and his father had accidentally messaged you anyway, so it shouldn't cause a problem. He wasn't thinking that the said person around his age is a gorgeous girl he's practically never talked to. Which lead to him now pacing around the massive mansion, wondering whether a sip of soju might at least slightly cure his overthinking. However, after a few more thoughts passed through his head, he decides not to drink—he can't leave a girl alone in this enormous of a place full of only dizzy people because somehow none of them could hold back the drinking. Even so, he doesn't know how to act around you. The two of you basically know nothing about one another (or at least that's what he speculates) and he fears he might bore you out if he starts randomly talking about species of fish. "Also what kind of music are you into?" He whispers under his breath, acting out what questions he should ask you, "No, that sounds so stiff... By the way, I never got your major. Not that bad.." But his next sentence gets interrupted—the doorbell has rang.
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"HOW LATE IS CONSIDERED FASHIONABLY LATE?" you type out in the search bar and press go. Unfortunately the results you get are too wide of a range—people are saying five minutes to an hour and that it could vary depending on the event, so that does not exactly help you. You walk around the street at Cheongdam-dong, where the Kim Household is located. It's not possible for anyone to miss it—its size speaks for itself. It's currently 6:50pm and you could basically walk in right now but you don't want to be the only person in there as it might make the whole mood awkward, plus, you'll need to converse with Donghyun's dad and that's way too much of an intimidating experience for you to initiate. Not to mention that if you enter while it's still rather empty, there's a bigger chance the accident of your invitation gets revealed and you don't want an uncomfortable atmosphere settling over the whole place. So you wait. You spot a few people entering the mansion, all dressed so formally, their clothes screaming abundance of wealth. By the time you're sure at least ten people have been welcomed you decide to walk in as well.
Breathe in. Breathe out. You tell to yourself before knocking on the door. You're mentally praying that Seungyoon won't be the one to open the door—and thank God, your prayers are met. Donghyun is the one who opens the door. You can see his father is deep into a conversation with some people a little further into the house, must be the reason he wasn't the one to welcome you in. "You came." The guy in front of you says, making you snap back into reality. "Oh, uhm, yeah.. You said having someone to talk to might make this whole thing a little better, so.." You mumble, suddenly embarrassed for whatever reason that is. He lets you in, leading you a few rooms down the residence and with every step you take you're even more surprised by how large this property is.
He finally stops at a rather small room compared to the rest in here, still bigger than all the ones at your apartment. "This is one of the smaller rooms in this place, so I doubt many people will come here." Donghyun explains his choice of settling here and you murmur an agreement to his words—better being alone with him than having to exist in the same room as all of these rich businesspeople. The guy sits down on the comfortable-looking sofa and you would too, if it wasn't for your choice of clothing. Well, technically it wasn't even your choice, as you were basically required to dress formally even if it wasn't officially stated. Almost like a silent rule for these kinds of get-togethers. "Oh, don't worry, make yourself at home." Donghyun says, "And also, I swear my dad isn't as intimidating as he appears, he won't say anything even if he realises you technically weren't supposed to be here. So uhm, yeah. You can sit down!" His tone is so friendly and welcoming, but what the hell do you do in this kind of situation? You can't sit down, the hem of your dress will ride up too high. "I'd love to sit down but uhm.." You start, not sure how exactly to proceed with the rest of the sentence and just hope he understands what you're talking about. Donghyun blinks a few times, expecting you to continue your sentence, but once he realises you're not about to do that it takes him barely a few seconds to catch up on what the problem is. He hadn't taken a look at your outfit before. And now that he did? Poor boy has lost all of his composure. Not that it was a lot in the first place, anyway. His cheeks warm up a little bit as he thinks of what to do— "Oh, uh, right-" He stands up from the sofa, taking of the coat he had on before handing it over to you, "You can cover yourself with that. I'm sorry, I didn't realise at first-" Donghyun says, apologising but you're the one, who feels sorry to have put him in this kind of uncomfortable situation. You noticed his cheeks becoming a tad bit pink—well, even if you feel bad, you can't deny that was adorable. "No, don't worry at all," You say, holding back a tiny smile because the more you look at him, the cuter his behaviour appears to you, "And thanks. For the coat." He murmurs something along the lines of no problem, before sitting down on the sofa, you doing the same now, immediately placing the coat over your lap.
The two of you sit there for a moment, the only sound being the muffled hum of his father's conversation with the other guests. "So, your dad always does this?" You start, deciding to be brave and initiate a conversation yourself this time, "Like every day before your birthday." To your question, the boy nods, lowering his head faintly enough not to be noticed by someone, who doesn't pay as much attention as you do. "He does. And it's not like I haven't told him that I dislike it, I have. But he always claims that it's a great way to make business deals. Thankfully, he's at least stopped bothering me to converse with these businesspeople this day every year." You nod in an understanding matter to his words. "What about your mum? Does she also work in business like him, so she doesn't mind this whole.. gathering? I don't think I've seen her here today.." You ask, completely unaware what feelings you've dug up. Donghyun stays quiet for a little longer than he did when answering the last question, which makes you realise you fucked up your choice of words— "You don't have to answer if you're not comforta-" "No it's fine. I just haven't talked about her to lots of people, but uhm, she went missing, a few months ago." He says, and even though you knew this would be a deep topic you still can't hold back the widening of your pupils, "My dad hired these two private investigators to work on the case. One of them is my friend actually, I put her on. I'm glad she was able to immediately start working, since she recently officially became a PI. So uhm, dad's been drinking, quite a lot ever since this whole thing happened. He doesn't want to reveal to me what the PIs have found out or any of that but.. I hope he tells me soon. I hope he realises that wasn't just his wife, it was also my mother." You don't know how to reply to that. This is clearly a sensitive topic both to Donghyun and his father but then again, you don't want to be ignorant and simply nod to this kind of revelation. It's not easy to reveal so much to someone you barely even know and you're aware of that. You doubt you'll ever find the perfect words to form a response but thankfully, speech isn't the only way to reassure him. A little hesitant at first, you place your hand on his, an attempt at soothing him. You can tell he's taken aback by your action, however it doesn't take him long to melt into your touch. In fact, he's the one who ends up lacing your fingers together and letting that hesitation slip into firmness. "Thank you.. for this." Donghyun says, his voice smaller than earlier, easily fitting into the soft ambience of the rather cozy surroundings, "Also, you don't have to feel sorry for me." He says, you catch on a slight melancholy tone in his voice, "Almost all the people I've talked to about this whole.. situation with my mum have felt sorry for me. And I really wouldn't want you to pity me." You take a moment to form your words before replying, feeling a need to be careful with your speech— "I don't pity you, not at all. Honestly, all you've said to me tonight just made me perceive you as a stronger person." You reveal, being a hundred percent sincere about your utterances. "Having gone through something so major, and yet, you've remained unbreakable. Because longing for her and missing her does not mean you're weak or supposed to be pitied, it's something natural. But the fact that you're here right now, living your life, despite it, that's what makes it truly unbreakable." The words you've just emitted felt like a trance. At one point, you simply started speaking your completely raw truth but honestly? Looking at Donghyun now and sensing the firmness in his hand not get lost makes you not regret it. Not even a little bit.
As nighttime crawls closer, the two of you don't stop talking. You found out he never even got your major—well, now he knows you're studying vocal performance. He talks to you about fish, he is a marine biology major after all, and you find out about his favourite type as well. Corydoras, apparently. He feared he was making you bored by talking about "such borings things like fish" but even if you knew nothing about them before and never really had an interest, hearing him talk about it so passionately made you fall in love with listening to him. At one point, the mansion started quieting down a little. There were still some people but due to the time becoming rather late, guests were starting to leave. Even though you didn't want to go and would prefer to talk with Donghyun all night (you would never admit that out loud), you had to. Walking home this late was already risky, let alone if you didn't leave now. "I should probably go.." You mutter, even if you have no real desire to. The guy beside you immediately understands. You stand up, attempting to give him back the coat but he refuses— "Keep it. It's probably so cold outside, no way I'd let you go in simply that dress. Come on, let's go." He says, standing up as he puts the coat over your shoulders, serving a purpose to warm you. Even as you walk to the entrance of the accommodation, Seungyoon pays no attention to you. He seems to be drunk, his cheeks a peachy shade of pink as he giggles and slurps over his words. Donghyun opens the door for you and you're ready to say your goodbye but he walks out as well. "Where are you going?" You ask, emphasising on the you. "Walking you home, obviously. What kind of man am I if i don't walk a girl home, especially this late at night?"
The walk home is quiet. Except it's a certain kind of quietness—the comfortable one. The only light is coming from the streetlights, illuminating your face. When the two of you were passing a large street, an enormous amount of cars driving along it, he held your hand. And since then? He hasn't let it go. When you arrive at the flat, where your apartment is located, he seems readably hesitant to leave, let alone untangle the two of yours' fingers. "Well. I should get going." You mutter and just when you think nothing else major will happen tonight, he proves you wrong—"Oh, uhm, also. I never got your number."
You exchange numbers. Of course, you do. He left after that—even as he was letting go of your intertwined fingers, you could feel that wasn't his true wish. You're now sitting home. The clock will soon turn midnight, 20th of October. Donghyun's birthday. You started thinking about it the moment you got home. Is it too much to text him at midnight, when you just became something along the lines of friends? But at the end, you decided to go with the flow. This whole day, you've been doing things you wouldn't have usually done and it has been working out for you. So why not give it a try?
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12:00AM, 20TH OF OCTOBER. Donghyun immediately resets his messages, hoping a new one might pop up on his screen. And it does, making him instantly open a certain chat. A chat, with no previous texts. The boy smiles at his phone as if he's looking at the love of his life. And who knows? Maybe he is.
KISSING IN THE BATHROOM -> 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒
( ♡ ) ft. athlete!leehan & manager!reader
BACK 2 SHELF ─── ### the two of you shouldn't, but you can't help it. you're only his manager, and he's only an athlete, and yet, you find yourself in the same spot for a second time. ✶ cw: drabble private relationship au professional athlete x manager au ⧽ mention of blood well kissing! idk ✉️ 360 words
[ >ᴗ< note ] . long awaited short ass drabble ooooo 👻👻👻 tbh take this as a leehan bday work cs im not posting tmrw…
“We can’t.” The words leave your lips in a breathless manner, still recovering from the from kiss earlier as you push the brunette off of you. He looks at you—eyes hazy and doe-like. The ones you can’t ever seem to resist. The skin of your bottom lip hooks underneath your teeth, harsh enough to nearly draw blood.
There are only five minutes before his match starts. Five minutes before he has to walk onto that court as if nothing ever happened. The only thought racing through your head is the possibility of someone catching the two of you.
Even worse, a reporter.
Leehan exhales as if he had run a marathon. “There’s nobody here.” He says, leaning forward, closing the so-called gap between your lips and his, but it only grows.
You lean back.
“Leehan, we can’t.”
“Yes we can.” He breathes again. “Nobody will catch us.” Leehan replies, his hand cupping your cheek. As reassuring as Leehan wants his words to feel, it doesn’t reach such a level. They feel empty, but not in a bad way. You’re just too in denial to take them how he means them.
It’s not his fault, it’s yours. You’re the reason the two of you are kissing for a second time. The reason he’s pressing up against you as a hand slips behind your head, preventing the two from ever colliding. The reason you’re angling your head for him to get better access elsewhere.
And most importantly, the reason he’ll be late on the court where millions of fans are waiting to watch him and an opponent ready to verse.
He says nobody will catch the two of you. You hope nobody catches the two of you. Yet, Leehan thinks the opposite. There’s a slight bit of hope that fuels his system. A slight bit of hope that someone will knock on the unlocked locker room door and catch you two in the act. He wants everyone to know what it’s like behind the scenes of your relationship.
He doesn’t want to hide it anymore.
Hide what you are to him.
Seriously, he really hopes someone catches the two of you.
kinktober day 17 :: mini ✩*°࿐ contains: dom & sub riwoo x reader links, fingering, suffocation, handjob, penetration (p in v), dry humping, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator, fleshlight "body"), masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!
getting suffocated while riwoo fingers you without end because hearing you after accidentally choking you while cuddling turned him on
making riwoo fuck into your fist because he still has to earn being able surrender himself to you so he can simply lay back and relax
riwoo taking his time while fucking you because he’s mesmerized by your body beneath him
dry humping with riwoo just because <3
getting overstimulated as riwoo uses your vibrator on you, sweetly talking in your ear to tell you to just take whatever he gives you
riwoo releasing his stress with a toy because you’re not there to guide him through pleasing himself
thank you for reading! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms!
want more? check out the masterlists -> kinktober, main
want to be notified when something drops? join taglists -> kinktober, main
──── MALE IDOLS
2025
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janainaart
areudirty
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