[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks. WC: 6,244 AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU GENRE: Smut RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper. A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!

MAIN M. LIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT

ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.

The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.

You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.

A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.

You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.

You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.

The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.

Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.

A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-

No. 

You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.

For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.

Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."

"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.

The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.

Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.

You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.

Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.

"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."

You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.

Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger. 

"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”

Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.

When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.

"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."

Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.

"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."

You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.

"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."

You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."

A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.

"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.

"You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."

Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.

"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus. 

"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."

You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.

As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.

"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"

"You see nothing, jester."

"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.

Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze. 

"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"

You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.

"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."

Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.

"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.

"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."

Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.

When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?

"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."

When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.

You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.

Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.

You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.

Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.

Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-

"Running away, Your Highness?"

You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.

"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."

You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.

"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."

"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”

His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."

The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.

"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."

"You don't know anything about me."

He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

"I already proved that isn't true, love."

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."

"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"

"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."

Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."

The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.

"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."

"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."

You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.

"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"

You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.

It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"

His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.

"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."

“I can’t.”

"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.

His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.

"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."

His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.

"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"

You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand. 

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."

His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.

He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.

It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.

"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."

He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.

"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree. 

"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."

His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.

"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."

His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.

Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.

Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."

Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.

You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.

When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.

"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.

You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.

"No," you admit. "No regrets."

Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.

"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.

Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."

You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."

"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."

The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.

He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.

"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ more than prepared ⋆⭒˚.⋆

summary: you never thought you'd be the one asking your boyfriend to take your virginity but after so long getting wound up and pushed to the point of madness, you're the one who has to make the move

word count: 5.2k

cw: MDNI 18+, f!reader, the plot is porn, virgin!reader, a little dry humping/grinding, dirty talk, praise, oral f!receiving (all my fictional men are munches idc), fingering, handjob, protected sex, p in v sex, multiple orgasms

a/n: feedback is very much appreciated :)))

dividers from cursed-carmine!

There couldn't possibly be another man on the face of the planet that made you feel the way Johnny Seo did. Sure, you were inexperienced. Sure, you'd had crushes before, but none of that compared to being with Johnny. Despite your sexual and romantic naivete, he never made you feel like it was a hindrance. In fact, nearly a year into your relationship, 10 months to be exact, you hadn't done more than make out with some heavy petting.

He was so pleased to go at your pace, that you were beginning to think you were the only one with sexual needs. You were a virgin, but you weren't dumb. You had assumed that he would show how much he was affected just based on his basic bodily responses, but that only happened once in a blue moon.

In less than a year, you'd gone from having never been kissed to ending make out sessions half way through because you just couldn't handle how hot everything became. There was a mix of arousal and nerves that would sit heavy in the pit of your stomach and make you stop what you were doing. A tiny voice that was just loud enough to make itself known over fuzziness in your head that told you you weren't ready for more.

For months, you let yourself be controlled by that tiny voice until you decided to take charge for yourself. Johnny made you feel safe, cared for, beautiful, and he made you feel good. Even if the extent of the pleasure so far was tingling lips and a hand up your shirt. You were proactive and you wanted to be prepared, so you started to do your research: best birth control methods, different birth control pills and their side effects, lube, condoms, best positions to lose your virginity in, everything! You were basically an expert in sex without even having it yet. You just needed to build up the courage to make a move…

Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long. The universe sends you the best opportunity there is to offer: your ovulation window, Johnny laid beneath you in your bed in gray sweatpants, a rainy day, and no commitments for the rest of the day.

Your knees cage him in on either side of his waist, your sheets tangled beneath the two of you already from your passionate exchange. Somewhere on the floor your shirt has been tossed aside in favor of less boundaries between your bodies. His lips taste sweet like the vanilla flavored chapstick he religiously swipes on, hands warm and firm on your hips. The sound of your lips against his own is only rivaled in volume by the sound of the rain against your window.

The familiar buzz of barely controllable arousal starts to set in, making your skin feel alive and your hips begin to rock slowly, experimentally. Johnny's grip tightens and you breathe out a soft whine against his lips, turning your head away for a second to fill your lungs with fresh air.

His lips trail down your neck, finding the spots only he knows about, the spots that drive you crazy with wanton need. You begin to rock against him harder, nothing crazy, but enough to show you need more. At least, you hope it's enough.

You tilt your head back, granting his mouth further access, as his lips travel south, mouthing at the exposed skin of your collar bones when your oversized t-shirt shifts. You feel like you're being driven insane, taking minute moments of pleasure while he hardly reacts.

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair as bites a mark beneath your collar bone. "Johnny," you breathe out shakily, earning a distracted hum in response, "I want to have sex. With you. Right now."

He tenses beneath you, pulling away from your chest as he meets your eyes with a look of concern, "are you sure, honey?"

You nod, "John, I've been sure for almost two months now. I was waiting to see if I'd ever see you as wound up as I always am, but it hasn't happened yet and I'm going crazy."

He lets out a low chuckle, "I have to force myself to remember the periodic table when I feel myself start to get hard. I wanted you to tell me when you were ready, didn't want you to feel pressured at all."

You swear you feel your heart skip a beat, "and I really appreciate that, but I think if you don't have sex with me soon, like in the next few hours, I'll have to be locked away for my own sanity and your safety. Only if you want to of course."

"Of course I want to, I'd be crazy not to," Johnny replies, a gentle hand tucking your hair behind your ear, "but I don't have any protection. I wasn't expecting this."

You feel your face burn with embarrassment, ready to reveal just how eager you've been for this. You climb off his lap, standing and pulling open the top drawer of your bedside table to reveal the multitude of items you've been collecting. You wring your hands together nervously, "I've been on the pill for just under two months but I bought condoms too. There are different sizes and features to them, I guess, since I didn't know what you preferred."

"This stuff has been here all this time?" Johnny asks incredulously with his brows raised in surprise.

"A couple weeks. Ever since I decided I had to say something and make a move. I'm not sure if I got everything right though," you mumble shyly, avoiding eye contact.

"We're more than prepared," Johnny reassures warmly, reaching for your hand. You let him tug you back onto the bed with a teasing smile with a box of XL condoms in his free hand, "how'd you know my size?"

"I had to guess based on your stature," you reply, suddenly feeling your heart jump up into your throat, "are you actually extra large?"

"My dick or the condom? Because the answer to both is yes," Johnny states with a deadpan expression before bursting into laughter.

He pushes you back onto the mattress, peppering your face with soft kisses that start to chip away at the nerves that have begun to build up. "Don't worry, honey, I'll make sure you're well prepared and try to make this the best experience for you possible. Make sure you tell me what you like, what feels good, or any changes I need to make."

You allow yourself to get lost in the familiar, addicting feeling of his lips against your own. Maybe you're in your own head again, but these kisses feel different— hungrier and unrestrained. You can hear him now over the pounding of your heart in your own ears, his soft grunts and growls as his hands slide their way to your waist. His fingers dip beneath your waistband and his hot breath fans over your face, "can I take these off?"

You nod dumbly, intoxicated by the kiss. He taps your hip and you blink, clearing your throat before answering, "yes."

"Good girl," he breathes out, sending a wave of arousal through your body as he tugs your cotton shorts down your legs, "using your words."

He focuses his lips on your neck next, nipping and sucking marks into your soft skin as you throw shame and shyness out the window, mewling wantonly to voice just how much you like what he's doing. Your hands wander across the broad expanse of his back, your whole body feeling hotter and more tightly wound than ever. Still, you find enough sense to mumble, "can you take your shirt off? Your pants? Something— god— I don't feel close enough to you."

He nods jerkily, peeling himself away from you to pull his shirt off, the bunched up fabric joining your discarded clothes on the floor in a heap. Soon enough, the gray cotton of his sweatpants joins the rest of the mess on the floor.

With his pants on the floor, there's nothing hiding the tent in your boyfriend's boxers. He's hard, tenting the fabric that covers his dick, but there's still no denying just how big he is. You can't tear your eyes away from the view, a mix of nerves and excitement building in your veins, still, you gulp.

A gentle hand on your chin breaks your gaze and a warm, familiar brown eyes look down at you, "we can stop anytime you want. You say the word, you tap me— whatever. If at any point you change your mind, we will stop. Alright?"

"Yeah," you breathe out shakily with a nod.

He nods decisively in return, hands on his knees as he sits back on his haunches, "I want this to be as good for you as possible, so I'm going to warm you up a bit. Are you alright with me eating you out?"

"You want to?" You ask with genuine curiosity, cocking your head to the side. Alright, so a lot of your research was made up of watching porn of all kinds within the virgin category and most your research led you to the assumption that he would finger you for a bit before fucking you. You seldom came across any videos —amateur, virgin, or otherwise— that started with the guy eating his partner out.

Johnny smiles, endeared as he reaches for a throw pillow, nearly pushed off your bed in your passionate exchange, "penetration will more than likely feel more comfortable if you're wetter and more relaxed. If you don't like it, we can stop."

"What if you don't like it?" You shyly respond, lifting your hips enough for Johnny to wedge the pillow beneath your hips.

He shakes his head, "not possible. Is it okay if I take you panties off?"

You're stuck in the heart racing realization that you've managed to bag a munch. You've heard stories about this, watched TikToks and read comments all about men like this and how lucky the women felt, but you never expected it for yourself. You bite the inside of your bottom lip, thankfully feeling more aroused than self-conscious, "that's fine."

You lay your head back against the pillows against your headboard and force your body to relax, though the drag of your panties down your legs makes your heart pound loudly. Johnny's hands are warm as they finds your knees and gently pry your legs apart. He whispers a drawn out, "fuck me," before lowering his body to be eye level with your center.

For just a second, your bare ceiling is enough to hold your interest. Just a second though. Suddenly there's the feel of Johnny's mouth in places it's never been. A trail of kisses up your right thigh, then up your left, a smattering of kisses over the bottom of your stomach and right back to either side of where you need him most, where you're already dripping for him. It draws a long breathy moan from your lungs that heightens in pitch at the sharp bite of his teeth on your right inner thigh.

"John—" you barely get a chance to breathe out before there's a sensation unlike any other against your clit. He swipes his tongue in a slow, teasing drag against the bud before sucking with a pleased hum. He sounds pleased, hands gripping your hips tightly while you feel like you're already on the brink of melting into your mattress.

You let yourself get lost in the mind-melting swirl of his tongue on your clit. His lips suck slowly, creating a pleasurable suction feeling as he bobs his head, burying his face into your cunt like he can't get enough of you. You bury one of your hands in the silky strands of his hair, thighs instinctively clamping on either side of his head as if your body already knows he doesn't belong anywhere else. Months ago the idea of being intimate with Johnny brought you anxiety, you were nervous about how you'd look, or sound, or act. Now, those things are the furthest things from your mind as you wantonly mewl beneath his expert tongue.

Just when you think it can't get any better, there's a new sensation dragging down your sex and slowly circling your entrance. "Can I finger you?" Johnny asks in a husky tone.

Even as quickly as he asks it, the brief loss of his mouth against you draws a whine from your mouth, "yes. Don't stop using your mouth though."

He chuckles in amusement, taking your consent and pushing his finger into you with a playful tsk, "bossy Bee."

You don't have any fight left in you when your body focuses instead on the curling, calculated thrust of his thick finger and how it curls against that spongy spot inside you. It makes your walls clench, eager to suck him in and keep his digit inside you. It's good, it's so fucking good and then he returns with an impassioned drag of his tongue against your clit before sinking another finger into your heat.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your free hand finding purchase in the messy sheets beneath your writhing body, looking for anything to keep you steady and anchor you to your sanity. There are mindless moans and whines of pleasure escaping your lips as the ecstasy grows past anything you've ever felt before.

It's the rhythmic pumping of his fingers against that sweet spot inside you that has the knot in your stomach tightening to its breaking point and your leg flying up to dig your heel between his shoulder blades. A gasp mixes with a shriek, your head thrown back pure, white heat begins to spread from your center and spread outward.

Gone is the languid lap of his tongue against your clit and the slow thrust of his finger in your heat. You can hear him growl as his tongue speeds up, circling the pads of his fingers against the gooey spot inside you as his tongue flicks rapidly against your clit.

You pull helplessly at his hair, tears of overwhelming pleasure building at the corners of your eyes, "Johnny! I— fuck!"

His hot breath fans against your sex as he devours you. With one more calculated curl of his fingers and a sharp rub against your inner wall, you curl forward with a scream of pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you in a way you've never felt before. None of your toys or even your own hand have made you feel this good. You never even dreamed that being with Johnny would be this good.

Your heart is still racing in your chest, pounding in your ears when the pleasure stars to ebb away, leaving you feeling like a shell of yourself. When all your senses have returned, there's the sudden realization that Johnny hasn't moved. His head is still buried between your legs, lapping at the excess wetness with his hands gently, but firmly holding your legs open.

You moan lowly, loosening you grip on his hair to a soft rub of your fingers against his scalp, "if you don't stop, I might cum again."

Johnny laughs against you, his mouth slowing until he stops completely. He props his chin up on your thigh, chin shiny with the evidence of your release and a frustratingly handsome cocky grin stretched across his lips, "would that be such a bad thing?"

You roll your eyes playfully, reaching out to wipe at the wetness coating his chin with your thumb. He pushes your hand away gently, "I'm saving that for later, Honey."

You lie back with your hands covering your heated cheeks, hating how his crude comment is making you smile. He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your hip, "what did you think?"

"I couldn't think," you mumble shyly, "is it always that good?"

"Sure, if I have any part in it. Which I will," he stresses before asking carefully, "you good, Honey?"

You sigh wistfully, uncovering your face to look down at him with a nod, "I feel really good."

"Good," he smiles in return, surging forward to press a loving, wet kiss to your cheek before laying beside you.

For a few minutes, only the sound of rain hitting the windows can be heard. Johnny's fingers trace circles on your hip as you trace mindless shapes over the expanse of his abs. You feel comfortable and warm, closer to your boyfriend than ever before and glad that you chose the right person to trust with this experience.

It's there that your mind begins to wonder. Of course, the oral sex was good, but what would actual sex feel like? Would it feel as good? Would you cum? Before you can begin an anxious downward spiral, you pick your head up, resting your chin on his pec, "can we have sex now?"

"If you're ready," Johnny replies, a gentle hand pushing your hair out of your face.

"That's why I'm asking," you giggle, sitting up to tear into one of the boxes of condoms. You tear a packet off the strip and pass it to your boyfriend while arching a brow, "are you ready?"

"I'm leaking in boxers like a damn teen again. Yes, Honey, I'm ready," he borderline growls, large hand finding your cheek to draw you in for a kiss. The kiss is sloppy. There's more teeth and tongue than have ever been present in any of your shared kisses. There's a striking new flavor on his mouth, the taste of you that he pushes past your lips with every prod of his tongue and breath against your mouth.

You hear the crinkle of the foil and tear yourself away from the kiss with pleasantly tingling lips as you pant, "can I put it on you?"

Johnny gulps, nodding fervently. "I'm gonna take my boxers off now Honey," he tells you, waiting for your nod before he pulls his underwear down his legs and throws them onto the floor.

There's an excited static in your fingers as you drag our tongue up the length of you fingers before spitting into your palm. You lift your eyes, innocently asking, "like this, right?"

"Holy shit," Johnny breathes out, "you have no idea how fucking sexy that was— fuck. Yeah, Honey, that was perfect."

Confident with his approval you reach for him and tentatively trace the prominent vein that travels up the underside of his cock. You suck your bottom lip in and trap it between your teeth, swiping your thumb over the pearlescent wetness at his tip.

His hips buck with a choked back moan and you smile proudly, gripping his length, slowly pumping him. His thighs tense, hips jumping off the mattress before he manages to hiss out, "you can grab me harder. And twist your wrist a little."

You nod, following his instruction as you twist your wrist and grasp him more firmly. He reveals the delicious length of his throat when his head falls back with a deep groan, "Just like that, Honey. Shit!"

You hum giddily, speeding up your movements before his hand clamps down around your wrist, halting your movement instantly. Your eyes widen, cheeks burning hot with the idea that you were doing something wrong. Johnny, as if he can read your thoughts, shakes his head with a hard swallow, "if you make me cum like this, I don't know if we'll get to the actual sex any time soon."

"Oh," you breathe out, relief and bashfulness flooding your veins and you release him from your grip and reach for the condom. You rip the foil between your teeth, listening to Johnny walk you through how to put the condom on, step by step.

With proper protection applied, you find a comfortable spot against the mattress, the same throw pillow from earlier beneath your hips as your heart thrums in your chest. You feel nervous, of course you do, Johnny is fucking hung, but you also feel so happy. Your face shows as much as you beam up at Johnny, puckering your lips to accept a chaste kiss before whispering, "I love you so much, Johnny."

His smile makes your heart skip a beat, "I love you too, Honey. You have my whole heart."

Johnny reaches for the lube you'd purchased weeks ago and spreads it over the condom thoroughly before taking the excess on his fingers and spreading it over your center. You gasp, hips bucking involuntarily which draws a look of concern from your boyfriend. "I'm still sensitive," you mumble sheepishly.

His hands press into the mattress on either side of your head, your legs already spread wide enough to accommodate the width of Johnny's body. "I'll take it slow," he reassures, one hand tracing down your thigh before gently lifting your leg and hooking it around his waist.

"Wait!" You suddenly exclaim, a hand on his bare chest with gentle pressure as you lift yourself onto your elbow.

"What's wrong? Did you change your mind? We can stop," Johnny immediately responds.

"No," you answer almost shyly, "I want to take my bra off. I don't want you to be more naked than me."

"That's not an issue for me," Johnny promises with a sweet quirk of his lips.

"I want to take it off," you assure, hands shakily reaching back to unclasp your plain bra. The darkened pupils in Johnny's eyes makes you feel hot, skin prickling with arousal as you lay back down, bare to his hungry, appreciative gaze. "I want to feel as close to you as possible, Love," you add quietly.

Johnny feels his heart grow 10 sizes at your comment. All he wants to do is hold you close and cover your face in kisses or adoration, but he knows there's other business to handle.

He presses his lips against your own and you lose yourself in the sensation. Soft lips moving in perfect unison like you've done a thousand times before. It's a kiss of reassurance, a promise that you're safe and loved here with him.

You barely notice the absence of his right hand beside your head. It's when there's the weight of him at your entrance and his breath fanning your face that you realize that this is actually happening.

"Breathe for me, Honeybee," Johnny instructs softly, waiting until he hears you exhale before he presses his tip into your entrance.

You tense, eyes clamping shut at the pressure of the intrusion. Your breathing becomes more rapid, your chest rising and falling in quick succession.

"Honeybee," Johnny croons, a gentle hand cupping your cheek, "you have to relax, pretty girl. We'll take this as slow as we need to, but it won't feel good if you can't relax."

You nod shakily, keeping your eyes shut as you force yourself to take deep, calming breaths. You focus on Johnny's warmth with every inhale, filling your stomach rather than your chest, and exhale while allowing yourself to be soothed by the gentle rub of his thumb against your cheek.

After what feels like forever for you, you open your eyes and nod, "I'm ready."

"It might hurt, you'll feel some pressure and stretching. Just remember to breathe, focus on me and not my dick that's hurting you," he says with a small smile, "remember, we can stop for any reason, alright?"

You nod, lifting your chin to press a kiss against his mouth, hooking you hand around his neck and nervously playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. You keep your breathing calm, body relaxed as he sinks in another inch.

"You're so beautiful. Most beautiful woman I've ever seen. You have the most beautiful heart too. No one knows me like you do."

Another inch and a hitch in his breathing, "best woman I know. So smart and kind. You put up with all my shit and all my dumbass friends when you don't have to."

"Are you all the way in yet?" You ask breathily, voice soft and nearly shattering Johnny's resolve.

"Barely halfway Honeybee," Johnny chuckles, choking back a grunt before continuing his praise with another inch sunk into you tight heat, "you take care of me. Take care of everyone around you. You're so generous."

He gives a soft thrust, pushing himself in further, "you don't even know how crazy you drive me. Love when you send me those selfies of you in bed before going to sleep." Another push in, "those god damn sundresses you wear when it's hot."

A grunt and increased pressure as he's almost fully hilted inside you, "those tiny ass fucking shorts you go to bed and laze around in all the time."

His breath trembles and you whimper as he presses his body against yours, as close as they can be. "Just you, Honey. Fuck— everything about you," he rasps out as his hand flexes on your hip to stabilize himself. He stays frozen for a minute or two, eyes tightly shut as you accommodate o the feeling of him inside you. He has to breathe deeply, remind himself that this needs to be good for you, but damn it, the feeling of your slick walls clenching around him is going to make him finish faster than he wants to.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, a barely audible "move please" heard, and it's like something breaks in him. His constraint is gone, leaving behind a steady rhythm of his rolling hips and breathy curses whispered right into your ear.

You moan, your free arm wrapping around his shoulders, feeling your eyes roll back as pleasure begins to build, erasing any trace of pain you felt before. He shimmies his hips, finding a new angle that has your nails sinking into the muscles of his back with a wanton moan.

"Oh, Johnny," you whimper, body shaking with every snap of his hips, "I— feels so good."

"I know, Honey. Fuck, I know" he growls, his hands gripping your hips to keep your body still as he carves himself into your tight heat like a man possessed. The sound coming from your bodies is obscene, wet skin slapping and heavy panting that causes your window to become fogged up, obstructing the view of the storm outside.

"Can feel you so deep inside me," you keen drunkenly, feeling him rock up against your cervix with every push of his hips, "you're so fucking big."

He grunts, releasing your right hip from his grip while trailing his fingers over your abdomen before his palm settles just a few inches below your navel. Before you can even begin to question what he's doing, he presses the heel of his palm down, adding pressure to increase your pleasure.

You throw your head back with a high pitched moan, thighs tightening around his hips as your fingers helplessly trail down his back. The euphoria you were feeling before no longer comes in slow waves, the once soft, steadily building laps of pleasure now come like a tidal wave. You get pulled under, overwhelmed with pleasure and unable to catch your breath as Johnny maintains a maddeningly steady pace.

At least, that's what you think until his pace falters and becomes erratic. Curses fall freely from his lips, sweat trailing over his hairline, down his neck as he fights hard to send you over the edge before following you into the descent of ecstasy.

"I wanted this, wanted you so badly," you hiccup weakly, the sound mixed with a shattered moan. Your nails rake down his back, landing on his ass in the hopes that your grip there would keep him lodged inside you, keep you from going crazy, be an anchor in your downward spiral into pleasure unknown. It doesn't help. Instead, your orgasm finds you before you're ready, stronger than the previous one as it smashed through you. You toes curl, shoulders shake, trembling with a force you can't even dream of controlling.

Above you, it takes all of Johnny's willpower to keep the rocking of his hips even semi-steady with the vice grip around his length to allow you to succumb to your orgasm. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, a throaty groan sounding out as his own orgasm pulses through him, causing his muscles to tremble and his grip on your hips to tighten— no doubt leaving some finger-shaped bruises on your waist. He's dizzy, unable to control the ecstasy that leaves him feeling weak and powerless as his hips rut, slowing into weak grinds of his hips until he feels his release flood the latex.

He has just enough strength to stop himself from crushing you, but still he settles onto your sweat slick body. For a few minutes, your room is nearly silent save for the heavy rainfall against your window and you and Johnny trying to catch your breaths. His breath is hot against your neck, your fingers gentle as the trail over his back and through his dampened hair. He lets his eyes flutter closed for a few moments, lulled into peace by the sound of your heart and the feel of your body pressed against his own.

He sighs dreamily, propping himself up on his hands with a tired grumble you barely register as, "I'm gonna pull out now." You whimper at the sensitivity between your legs, pushing his hips away with a pout. He tsks with a weary smirk, a swift pat on your thigh before he disappears into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with his boxers on and a wet washcloth. He wipes you down carefully, his heart constricts at the sight of you so worn, relaxed, and messy because of him. "You feeling alright?" He asks with concern.

You hum softly, nodding your head. You let him pull a T-shirt over your head before you ask, "I know I don't have a lot to compare to, but that was amazing."

Johnny's heart skips a beat, kneeling on the bed to cup you cheeks in his hands. Adoration floods his veins at the sound of your giggles under the flurry of his kisses. He's breathless and smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, "it's never felt that good for me with anyone. You have a magic pu—"

You clamp a hand over his mouth with your eyes wide and cheeks burning with bashfulness, "John! We were having a cute moment!"

"I was going to say that you have a magic… puppy," he trails off, confused by his own word choice.

You roll your eyes and let out an amused huff, "Right. Because of that, you can put my sheets to wash while I shower."

"There goes shower sex," Johnny playfully grumbles, wordlessly holding a hand out to help you off the bed.

"There's no way we were having shower sex right now, John. God, your monster sized dick just tore apart my fucking insides, was that not enough?"

He cackles loudly, leaping off the bed to tug you back into his chest with your sheets tangled around his feet. He smacks a loud kiss to you cheek, "I love you my Honey. And seriously, thank you for trusting me with this."

You smile up at him brightly, making Johnny's heart skip a beat, "thanks for being so amazing. I love you, Johnny."

a/n pt2: if you're here and interested in the love island au, please vote here if you haven't yet! Don't forget to let me know how you liked the fic!

[star-suh]

Rockstar Suh

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: pwp, unrealistic amounts of cum.

an: this is a draft i have saved i think like more than a year ago.

towards the end, it becomes unserious cuz why not.

—

johnny suh is a flamboyant rockstar, he has something magnetic, something that pulls everyone in when they watch one of his performances. his stage presence is no joke either, his voice, his sensual moves –everything from him leaves the audience hooked, wanting to know more about such a charismatic singer and performer. that’s how yn got to know about him, he accompanied one day his friend, karina, to one of his performances in a beach festival and immediately it clicked –the why he’s so famous. like in one of those rom-coms every time yn looked at johnny the world around them faded, everything moved in slow-mo –yn becoming infatuated with him every passing second and since that day yn became johnny’s number one fan, like any other fan claimed to be. also it existed the possibility of meeting him personally –backstage– with one of those passes that yn was willing to buy to meet the man of his dreams. so one day, during johnny’s sold out show on seoul yn bought the backstage pass and a vip sit, to watch him perform on first row.

when the time came, johnny hopped on the stage and the show started, while up there sometimes he would steal glances towards yn, such a cute pretty boy –the chemistry between them sparkled, there was no communication there but the tension lingered, something about johnny keeps pulling yn in and vice versa.

the show ended, so it was time for the one with the backstage pass to go there and talk some minutes with their favorite singer, the line was long and yn, unfortunately, was the last but he kept his hopes up. in front of him there were more women than men, hell he even would swear he’s the only man on the line –something that intimidated him a bit but still he wanted to meet him and at least receive an autograph. after a few minutes, his turn came.

the conversation between them was flirtatious, after all there was some sort of tension between them, johnny was the one flirting the most, it came naturally for him. soon this would escalate into something more, that aforementioned tension needs to be broken and the rockstar knows how –he invited yn to ride on his private tour bus. yn’s heart pounded uncontrollably, at any moment it could burst out of his chest, even more now that the johnny suh is leaning closer to him, his eyes scanning yn up and down, a smirk plastered on his face. “you’ve been staring all night, boy. think you can handle me?” he said as his hands grabbed yn’s hips to push him flushed against himself. their lips connecting into a messy kiss, saliva splattering here and there while johnny’s hands took care of removing yn’s clothes –the latter doing the same too. “i’ve been dreaming this for so long, you’re so fucking sexy” yn confessed, the heat that johnny’s body irradiates and his thick length poking at his thigh making his head spin.

the kiss became hot and intense, a hunger they needed to satiate right now, yn’s hands roamed around the other’s body that was a work of art, the muscles, the skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. meanwhile johnny’s hands sneaked down yn’s bottom, each hand grabbing a fistful of his ass and then one of them going down to feel his warm, pulsating hole. “let me take care of you” he stood up leaving yn with his legs spread wide open on the seat, his chest heaving after the intense kiss sesh, johnny grabs a bottle of lube and a condom packet of a nearby table –his length resting on top of yn’s eager hole while he poured some lube on his digits that teased the other’s entrance with slow circular motions, yn whimpering with each touch until one digit entered, it was gentle yet delicious –sensation that amped up when the rest of his fingers entered him, yn begs for johnny to do more than that, “please i want you” he gasps. “be patient, pretty boy. we don’t want you to get hurt, do we?”, yn shocked his head, holding back the chain of moans that came when johnny kept working on his hole, stretching him open so his massive cock could enter easily –he continues working him open until he’s a trembling mess, his cock leaking on his stomach, a pool of precum forming there, “please johnny put it in already”.

johnny chuckled, tearing open the packet, rolling the condom down his thick, big length. yn was impressed by how massive it is, his eyes widened at the sight that made his mouth water, and even something else. the condom stretched taut over his girth, “it’s been hard to find ones that fit me perfectly” his throbbing cock aching, wanting to be inside someone. the top lined himself up, pushing past the other’s rim slowly –yn choked on his words, feeling the overwhelming stretch– johnny filled him up completely, “fuck you’re so tight” he murmured staying still for some minutes until yn’s adjusted to it, his hands gripping hard johnny’s shoulders. johnny’s head tipped back when he finally bottomed out and then it slung down admiring how a bulge formed on yn’s stomach –he was really that deep inside him.

the slow thrusts became hurried, almost sloppy, johnny’s hips pistoning forward with such a force that it rocked the seat, making it creak. yn’s body arched down johnny’s, the pleasure is indescribable –the atmosphere got filled of a sinful melody composed of yn’s moans, the wet slide of both bodies, the gushy hole of yn swallowing such a massive dick, skin on skin sounds and johnny’s low guttural growls. when the climax was near yn’s legs wrapped around johnny’s hips to push him deeper –he panted, his vision becoming blurry, eyes becoming glassy, the orgasm building up on his core– “i’m so close” yn spoke in between pants. johnny’s thrusts became erratic and harder with each passing second, his hand pumping yn’s dick while leaning down to bite on yn’s collarbone, leaving the mark of his teeth there, a mark that would make him remember this night.

“cum for me yn” he commanded, his voice rough and demanding. yn’s body spasmed in pleasure with every rope of cum coming out of him accompanied by his cries, some of it dripping on the other’s hand who continued jerking his sensitive shaft despite cumming already then he licked the liquid out of his hand immediately afterwards. “so hot yn” he panted following yn, coming with his dick still inside the other. his orgasm seemed to last forever as the condom got filled up with an impossible amount of semen, the latex stretched tight trying to contain such a quantity of cum apart from the thick monstercock that’s wearing it. it felt heavy and taut against yn’s walls.

yn can feel it inside, it’s like a balloon filled with water –it made his already softening cock twitch and get a bit hard– johnny rested his forehead on yn’s, “that was so fucking good and intense”, he muttered, his voice a bit hoarse. he pulls out, but the bloated condom didn’t, it was caught against yn’s rim, the size of it making it difficult to withdraw it. yn whimpered, feelings of discomfort and some pleasure mixing as the condom tugged at his sensitive abused hole. “shit” johnny cursed as he tried to pull out slowly, but the weight of his cum made it stick there. the sensation overwhelmed yn, “it’s stuck” johnny chuckled, “i filled you up too much, huh?” he added, trying to make a joke out of the awkward situation.

an idea popped on johnny’s mind, “hold on” he says, he grabs the base of the condom and slowly slid off his still hard cock out of it –yn can’t believe he’s still hard after cumming that much– “are you even a human?” yn questions him, “in my life i have never seems someone with such a massive dick or that cums this much” he points at the stretched condom bloated with johnny’s seed that he finally managed to pulled out, he makes a knot to it to avoid the content to spill out. “sorry” johnny awkwardly laughs, scratching the back of his neck, “i should’ve told you about it before”, “it’s okay” yn uttered, soothing the ache of his abused hole but his eyes still lingers on the bloated condom, it’s obscene yet… horny? it made him horny –and it seems that the same happens to johnny. and then another idea popped into johnny's mind.

“let’s play a bit more” he makes yn to open wide his legs again, grabbing them by the back of his knees while johnny played with his ass a bit more. he carefully pushed the condom inside of him again, his own handcrafted anal bead, he push it inside and pulls it outside –staring at the hungry hole shamelessly swallowing it every time, his oversensitive walls twitching at every thrust, “so fucking filthy” johnny laughs, licking his lips. he continues pushing it deeper and deeper, yn’s head hanging back, trying to contain his moans, breathing heavily while feeling a second climax coming. with a mischievous grin and suddenly johnny put his cock inside him, raw, the warm of it making the sensations go to the max, the tip of his cock squeezing the cum-filled latex with the risk of it to burst inside yn and… as expected the condom broke–yn’s inside being flooded by the the warm fluid of the rockstar, it was nasty but intoxicating in a way. “fuck johnny” yn cries out, cumming a second time, his body shuddering.

johnny pulls out, his cock coated in thick cum, the knotted end of the condom peeking out of the wrecked hole so he takes it out and watches how his cum slowly leaks out, leaving johnny with the need of more. “you look so fucking hot like this, full and leaking with my seed” the rockstar growled, leaning down to suck some cum out of yn’s ass and then kiss him hard –letting yn taste himself– the bottom’s body quivering at the feeling of johnny’s cum on his mouth and inside him, filling him up so well. strings of cum and saliva connecting their mouths when they stopped the kiss to breathe, they stare at each other’s eyes and laugh, like a couple who just fell in love, “looking forward to your next show” yn says, “hope to see you there then” johnny responded, slapping his cheek lightly and putting his thumb inside yn’s mouth for him to suck it, like the whore he is.

[jenorotic]

brat tamer : nct dream

nct dream mlst

pairing — yandere!ot6 x f!reader

warnings — punishments, mentions of blood and bruises, choking, implied non-con

syn — how each member would handle a brat

「 jeno. 」

⤷ he may seem like a patient man, but when it comes to you being a brat... he's fed up in the minute. so he's 100% going to punish you and he's gonna make sure it's efficient because there's no way he deals with your attitude again. so like some choking... and jeno’s not stopping until you're literally drowning in your own tears, ass hurting because yes, he's gonna do some unprepared anal.

「 renjun. 」

⤷ would probably hate brats because he doesn't have the patience. wants to be obeyed at anytime, he just expects you to listen to him, but he's kinda taken aback when you're being bratty or refusing to listen. he's confused because why would you want to disobey him? he'd get into a fight with you at first, arguing and cursing, renjun would tell you “it's your fault... should've listened to me, you brought this onto yourself”.

「 haechan. 」

⤷ really evil and heavy on the humiliation. like his punishments are sort of unexpected — and sometimes come out of nowhere... he lets it cool off for a day or two, making you think he's over it, but then suddenly he locks you up in his studio and leaves you there for the night until he comes back in the morning. i know, it doesn't involve sex, but i said he was evil!!

「 jaemin. 」

⤷ omg yeah so... he enjoys dealing with brats because he's a real sadist. it's kinda like... he prefers good girls, he wants to be obeyed whatever the circumstances are, but if he has to punish you, he absolutely will. jaemin could go on aaaall day. you're gonna bleed and have bruises, let me tell you that. you just had to be a good girl if you didn't want it to happen!

「 chenle. 」

⤷ i wanna say all of them prefer good girls (because i hate writing bratty characters so much) but tbh chenle likes brats. he has a primal kink, like idk having a brat just wakes up something in him... everything turns him on but like you being angry and cursing him out, he has a boner instantly. he has the urge to pin you down and take you right then and there and bonus points if you start crying and telling him to get off — he won't, but chenle loves hearing you cry.

「 jisung. 」

⤷ he wouldn't put up with your attitude. not on purpose, but just because he really doesn't care. i know it's quite specific but i can't see him otherwise... jisung is just indifferent because he really sees you so low, so under him that your antics don't bother him so much. he notices that it frustrates you, that you're not getting the attention that you want, but what are you going to do? say no? it's not like he cares anyway.

© 2026 JENOROTIC all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred! i don’t take requests.

[jenorotic]

july is the hottest month : na jaemin

nct dream mlst

pairing — na jaemin x f!reader

warnings — smut, thigh kink, spanking, thigh & ass appreciation, light choking, heatwave

syn — jaemin is a thigh guy what can i say :)

on a serious note — this mf heatwave is actually no joke

it was hot.

sweltering actually.

the kind of humid, hundred degree weather that made you strip down to nothing and lay in bed all day with the fans on.

and that's exactly what you and jaemin had decided to do.

the blankets had long been thrown to the ground and the two of you lay head to toe, melting against the mattress in nothing but your underwear. you groaned and positioned the fan closer to you, letting the air dry the sweat droplets and cool your burning face.

“i don't think i've ever been this hot in my entire life.” you complained, letting your head flop against the mattress. jaemin hummed and looked up, admiring the view from his end of the bed. your body flushed slightly from the heat and a sheen of sweat covered your thighs. he cocked an eyebrow, his eyes tracing up from the tip of your toes to the nape of your neck.

“i don't think so either.” he hummed contently, his eyes burning holes into your back. you roll your eyes, lolling your head back to cool breeze coming from the fan.

“don't make me come back there.”

“would you?” he mocked, a smile playing at his lips.

“you know, i would but i'm currently fucking frying so maybe another time.” you slurred, the heat zapping any energy you previously had. jaemin laughed and let his head fall against the back of your thighs.

ew.

“god. you're so sweaty. get your head off of me!” this only made him laugh harder and bury his face in the softness of your thighs, shamelessly rubbing his excess sweat on you. “that's actually disgusting.” you groaned. you could feel his smile against the back of your thighs. it didn't seem like he planned on moving.

“it's so nice right here.” he whispered, placing a kiss on each of your thighs, sending a small shiver up your back.

“i'm glad you're having a good time.” you grumbled sarcastically, wiggling a little to shake him off but he was latched on.

“that was cute, do that again.” he grinned, watching your thighs and butt ripple and jiggle at the attempt to shake him off. his fingers ghosted up your thigh, teasing the skin, sending gooseflesh rushing every which way. they trailed up, finding the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down to rest right below the curve of your ass. “show me again.”

“fuck off, jaemin.” you smiled, hiding your satisfactory grin in the mattress. it was a short lived victory as you felt the bed shift underneath you and a sharp sting land on your left ass cheek, making a yelp leave your throat. you turned to see jaemin straddling your legs so you couldn't move and both of his hands gripping a cheek, the biggest shit eating grin you had ever seen painted on his face. another blow was delivered, to your right cheek this time, stinging more than the last. you could feel your thighs tremble under the impact and jaemin’s satisfied groan as the shape of his palm began to form in your skin.

“you should just sleep naked.” he continues to squeeze your flesh, voice husky.

you snort. “doubtful. you know how much i love my pajamas! besides, sleeping naked is your thing.”

“then do you have any better ideas to cool off?” he asks as he starts kissing the small of your back and then moves up your spine. the feel of his lips on your skin instinctively turns you on, but if there was anything that made you feel un-sexy, it was heat and humidity.

“yeah, one,” you try to swat his hand away, unable to tolerate his current body temperature, “how about getting off of me. you’re too hot.”

jaemin chuckles lowly. he didn’t care. the way he touched and kissed your body, he only had one thing in his mind and he was determined to make it happen.

“god, you have the most gorgeous thighs i've ever fucking seen,” you could feel yourself getting hotter from his praises, the warmth creeping up your legs and finding it's way between your thighs. “the things i would do…” jaemin trailed off, dragging his nails from the base of your back down to where your backside formed crescents, tugging your underwear down to your ankles. “could you imagine, these beautiful thighs, smeared with my cum?”

“no, we’re already gross and sticky.” you protest.

jaemin leaned over, his lips kissing the shell of your ear. “aegyia, do this one thing for me. you don’t need to do anything. just lay there and i’ll do all the work.” he whispered then added a, “please.”

in this heat, any excessive movement that’ll make you more hot and sweaty was enough to refuse him. but still you give in, losing any resolve and self-control you had possessed earlier. “fine. but only because i don’t kink shame.”

“sure,” he laughs at your joke before finally climbing off of you and turning you on your back to face him. you watched as he peeled off his boxer briefs, the only article of clothing he had on, and tossed them off to the side of the bedroom.

jaemin grabs your legs and held them up together with one hand wrapped around your ankles. he let your legs rest on one side of his shoulder so he could look at you. his other hand digs into the soft flesh of your thighs. he groans deeply at the sudden warmth he is welcomed by, your plush thighs that caress him so deliciously when he push his cock between them. with his lips kissing around you calf, he slowly began to rock back and forth. he drinks in every soft sound you make, whether it is intentional or not.

you let out a low moan-mangled version of his name, which he seems to like because he applies a bit more pressure while keeping his eyes on your expression. you still hadn't managed to catch your breath and he didn't give you the chance as he picked up the pace, the sounds of wet skin on wet skin echoed obscenely through the room.

is the wetness between your legs from his cock or from sweating? this is a very important question, but you don’t have enough braincells to properly process it because of how good it feels. all coherent thoughts have melted out of your ears and are replaced with the melodious moans jaemin makes.

your lips parted in the shape of an ‘o’ when he leaned forward, folding your knees to your chest, as he pounded between your thighs mercilessly.

“jaemin— just fuck me.” you whined, your hands holding onto his shoulders in a vice grip.

your boyfriend tilts his head to the side with a smug smile, “i am fucking you.”

“you’re fucking my thighs.”

“why? is your hole getting jealous, baby?”

you should have known better than to say anything to jaemin, because he immediately found a weak spot to poke at. this masochistic ability makes him an absolute tease, so there is no winning in sight. jaemin’s hand sneaks around your throat. the friction is dangerous and makes your breath leave your lungs. gasps fought their way out of your throat as he tightened his fingers ever so slightly.

“are you going to cum just from me fucking your thighs?” jaemin moaned.

there he goes using your words against you. and the most you could do was tap his arm in response.

“come on, use your words, aegyi.” his hand loosened its grip, hanging loosely around your throat.

a weak “yes” fell from your mouth as your head began to swarm with that familiar buzzing and electricity, your eyes fluttering closed. his hand left your neck and he peeled back, squeezing your thighs even tighter around his cock.

the sheets beneath you are drenched at this point. you let yourself finally cum. he kept going, desperate to reach his own high.

“i’m almost there, baby.” with a shaky breath, jaemin tenses his muscles and bucks back and forth, bringing himself closer and closer to an orgasm. heat pools between your thighs as he groans, streaks of cum shoot across your stomach.

jaemin collapsed next to you, his face flushed and sweatier than it was before.

“god…” he muttered between catching his breath, his eyes tracing your cum splattered thighs, “that’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”

you groaned. sure, it was fun for him but you had cum drizzled all over you and it was still hot.

“fuck jaemin. it’s hotter than it was before.” he grinned ear to ear, his sweat matted hair flopping in front of his eyes.

“you’re wearing less clothing than you were before, i don't see the problem.” his cheshire cat smile erasing any irritation.

“i hate you.” you sighed, suppressing a surfacing smile, rolling out of bed to take a well-deserved cold shower.

“love you too, naekkeo.”

© 2026 JENOROTIC all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred! i don’t take requests.

[boolioo]

​🇸​​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇪​​🇹​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​ ​🇩​​🇮​​🇦​​🇲​​🇴​​🇳​​🇩​​🇸​

​🇴​​🇻​​🇪​​🇷​​🇻​​🇮​​🇪​​🇼​ ​: to be honest, you're used to being ignored. it's unfortunate, but it's true. fortunately, though, you've got minghao to remind you how much he sees you.

🇵​​🇦​​🇮​​🇷​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​: minghao x gn!reader

🇬​​🇪​​🇳​​🇷​​🇪​ : established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

​🇼​​🇨​ ​: 2k

🇹​​🇦​​🇬​​🇸​ ​: reader has a rough time ngl, feelings of isolation and loneliness, negative self-talk, the world is overwhelming and exhausting, but hey at least we can delude ourselves w/ minghao, soft boyfie hao, hella unrealistic but idgafffffff

🇸​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇩​​🇹​​🇷​​🇦​​🇨​​🇰​ : summer depression - girl in red | sorry haha i fell asleep - egg | raindrops (seungkwan solo) - seventeen

​🇦​/​🇳​ : vent fic who? damn, what i would've given to have a boyfriend like hao instead of having to therapize myself in the mountains (not clickbait). also, i completely forgot he covered raindrops for caratland when i wrote this, so that made this pairing all the better thank you my dear @noniesgummysmile for betaing and helping me mutilate the darling. i love you soooososo much <33

{ your boyfriend is not a replacement for a therapist, so please still seek a professional <3 }

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Shut up.

Comfort them. They’re hurting.

Get over yourself.

Support them unnoticed.

Don’t sound like you’re trying to one-up them; be quiet.

They didn’t mean it, they just weren’t paying attention.

Not like you do.

Suffer in silence.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

The bus was dark. A ghostly glow emanated from a small light at the front signalling for seatbelts–not that anyone was using them anyway. Bright streaks of white flew by outside as cars passed at this ungodly hour.

You stared bleakly out the window beside you. Not that there was much to see other than the pitch black landscape and the subtle reflection of the bus’ interior provided by that one, lonely light. The occasional lightning struck along the horizon; no doubt emulating the turmoil still storming in your head. You could only tell it was raining if you looked to the front windshield to see if the wipers were moving.

You weren’t really tired, yet your eyes drooped from exhaustion nonetheless. It felt like someone had shoved your face into molasses and left you suspended in limbo. The tear tracks on your face had long since dried, but you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away the lingering drops lining your jaw.

Until a light touch cleared them for you before they could drip into your collar.

You turned your head, casting your gaze onto the one thing holding you steady: your boyfriend, Minghao. Even in the dark of night, illuminated in a soft blue from the lone fluorescent light, he still looked ethereal. And he only had eyes for you. Soft, concerned eyes, but still.

Your shoulders sagged, the weight of memories consuming your thoughts. The isolation. Guilt. Self-loathing. A constant search for what the point was anymore.

You didn’t know. Did you even care at this point?

Too much; and that’s the problem.

The trip was over. You were headed home, back to regular life, even settled in Minghao’s arms ever since he arrived with the bus.

So why did you still care?

Maybe it’s because, while you were used to the occasional ignorance, it’d never been to this degree. You’d always coasted through life, a subtle support that keeps things running in the background. Sometimes people acknowledged your effort. Sometimes they didn’t. You didn’t mind. 

But loneliness was hard to shake, you supposed.

You sighed, leaning your weight onto Minghao, your head slotting perfectly onto his shoulder, and his own coming to rest upon yours. His slender fingers curled loosely around your hands in his lap, the painted digits fiddling with your own as he breathed next to you.

“You want to talk about it?” he murmured, slowly tracing the spaces between your fingers.

He’d asked something similar when he first saw your strained face upon reuniting. What’s weighing on you, my love? he’d said.

What isn’t? you’d wanted to respond. 

But it was all too much; the people, the chatter, the heavy humidity. The promise of home after so long was all you wanted to focus on at that moment. So, you’d just shaken your head and pulled him onto the bus.

And now, with your thoughts numbly settled, you could only sigh again and nuzzle further into him.

“It wasn’t even that bad,” you began, “just one interruption here, another dropped topic there, little subtle things that started chipping away at me.”

Conversations were supposed to be give and take, right? Some would start well, enjoyably, even. Words formed sentences that elicited smiles. Laughter rang through the mountains. But then they’d stop paying attention. Another person would join in and the energy would shift, ostracizing you until you could walk away and they wouldn’t even flinch, carrying on like you were never there in the first place.

Nothing but a passing breeze in the cool mountain air.

Strike one.

You could feel Minghao’s head dip in a nod, imploring you to continue as he softly drummed along your knuckles.

“But then… I had no one to turn to. My entire focus was on keeping others afloat; and when I turned around, there was no one doing the same for me.”

You wanted to be mad. You wanted stew in complacent rage as the world passed you by without a care. But you couldn’t; too many people were being affected by the change in atmosphere and you were their support. Comfort in the strange new environment. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? It was all you could do, and it eventually worked because–due to your influence or not–people started feeling better.

Meanwhile you just felt… worse. You slowly deteriorated until your body and mind slipped into autopilot if you weren’t actively doing something.

And no one noticed.

Why would they?

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They did notice, but by then it was too late; and they didn’t even do… anything?

No one cares when the ordinary people crack, do they?

Strike two.

“I missed that. Having someone to rely on, someone–anyone–who cared… at least when they could…” Your eyes fell on your intertwined hands, and the new tears that fell onto them.

You didn’t wipe them away. Neither did he.

“I missed you,” you mumbled.

His hand squeezed yours, and his lips met your temple as he echoed your thoughts.

“It feels like I’m a petulant child who’s whining for attention. Like I’m just digging up old skeletons to be bitter about when they don’t matter anymore.”

You could almost sense Minghao’s eyeroll on a spiritual level.

“You know that’s not true.”

“I know that, I just can’t seem to convince my emotions to think otherwise.” Your voice wavered as more water leaked out. Your nose was starting to run, too. How unpleasant.

“That was the loneliest I’ve ever felt. And no one seemed to care.”

You knew they cared. How could they not? What screw would you have to knock loose in order to not feel a sliver of concern at the sight of someone crying?

But the truth of the matter was, you weren’t their top priority. You never had been, and you were okay with that… right? 

You were strong. You didn’t let yourself reach your lowest point, ever. Not for yourself, but because you couldn’t bear to make it someone else’s problem. Especially when they had so much going on already, and what you’d deluded yourself into being upset about was nothing in comparison.

You knew you shouldn’t compare burdens, but there really was no reason for them to worry about you.

It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. You’d done so in the past just fine.

You’d be fine.

Strike three.

You brought your head up to look him in the eyes, the dark voids that they were in the late hour. “It all just feels so inconsequential in the long run. I want to be crying for things that actually matter, not some childish complaint that no one's paying attention to me.’”

Minghao’s eyebrows drew together, the creases in his frown amplified in the blurry shadows.

“But it still hurt you. That matters, doesn’t it?”

He shifted to face you fully, dropping your hands in favor of cupping your face and wiping away the tears. Your eyes slipped closed for a moment as your entire body relaxed into his hold. This was what you missed. The ability to just… be. That was easy with Minghao.

“You put so much pressure on yourself to be a support to others, you know?” He shook his head, his dark hair swishing in front of his face momentarily. “I don’t even think you do it consciously at this point; that’s just the role you take upon yourself. Some people see that and are grateful, but others aren’t.

“You need to protect that heart of yours too, darling. It’s never unwarranted to be upset by things that hurt you, however trivial they can seem.”

You sniffed, a reluctant smile gracing your features while his own glowed brighter than the small seatbelt light.

“The world can try to break you down and make you forget your place in it,” he hummed, “but you’ve never let that stop you, and I’m confident you won’t now.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, and that’s why I love you.” He paused. “One of the reasons I love you, anyways.”

You couldn’t contain the wet giggle that slipped out, causing the corner of his mouth to tick up.

“I know you’ve helped me so much when I’m struggling. Remember that one brutal choreo week a while back?”

You would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t still an uncomfortable stone weighing in your chest. How could you forget? That was the time Soonyoung thought it’d be a good idea to sign the entire dance club up for a competition, and then neglected to tell them until a week prior. 

In all the years you’d known Minghao, you’d never seen him that hollow in such a short amount of time. He spent so much time at the studio that week the only reason he didn’t fully move in was because there wasn’t a magical ration of food always being supplied. You’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he didn’t wither away from exhaustion–he was already built like a stick, it wouldn’t take much.

You hadn’t thought it all that special at the time, but Minghao refused to let you sweep it under the rug. He still wholeheartedly expressed his gratitude to this day; always saying that without your electrolyte drinks and encouragement he wouldn’t’ve made it through.

He grinned–that adorable crooked smile you’ve always loved–and continued. “Anyone else who can be on the receiving end of your love is blessed beyond words. Whether they know it or not.”

Your tearstained face met the soft reassurance on his.

“But even the strongest can’t shoulder everything, so let me carry this for you.”

He was still smiling as he tucked your hair back to see your face–clumped lashes, blotchy face, and all.

His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a small spark of comfort and home along this desolate road. They left your skin for only a moment, long enough for him to whisper, “And I’ll carry it as long as it takes, until you believe every word.”

Dammit, you were crying again. But this time the tears were interspersed with breathless laughter, so it wasn’t all bad.

“You’re ridiculous, I love you,” you chuckled. “What’d I ever do to deserve you, huh? You, the epitome of grace and just overall… composure. You always make me feel valued. I can’t thank you enough for choosing me of all people to stick by.”

“Nonsense, I should be the one thanking you. My life would be entirely different without you in it.” Minghao’s smile softened. “But that’s not my reality. So, I don’t need to concern myself with that alternative.”

He looked at you with so much love that it was hard to comprehend at times. You’d considered the possibility that one day you might explode because of it. But then he’d be sad, and–as much as his pout made you want to put him in a jar for safe-keeping–you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

A beam of light passed along his features, causing his eyes to flit to the window behind you. His eyes sparkled as numerous lights illuminated his face in steady succession. He placed a hand on your shoulder, gesturing for you to turn around.

Objectively, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The bus had entered a small town; thus, more of the outside surroundings were evident thanks to various streetlamps and the occasional porch light. But what caught your eye was the bus window itself.

It’d started raining again, apparently; not that you would’ve been able to hear it over your thoughts anyway. Raindrops covered the entirety of the glass, invisible until the passing light of a streetlamp made them sparkle like tiny rhinestones.

“Don’t bother thanking me, my love,” Minghao whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. “You are already a diamond.

“You just needed a little light to see how much you shine.”

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ, ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (ᴏᴘᴇɴ) : @sparkyy00 <3

ᴍɪɴɢʜᴀᴏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (ᴏᴘᴇɴ) : @haoremiz <3

[subbydubbycarat]

Call Your Pocket 🎱

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

Jeonghan x reader

MFM | semi-public sex | praise kink | blowjob | cunnilingus | begging | double penetration | anal | creampie | cum on tits

The billiards room hums with a quiet intensity, the overhead lamp bathing the green baize in a warm glow that dances across the polished cues leaning against the wall.

You lean over the table, cue in hand, lining up your shot with deliberate slowness.

‘Five ball, side pocket,’ you sink the ball easily, straightening up with a triumphant grin.

Seungcheol's presence fills the space, his tall, muscular frame towering over you as he positions himself behind your body. His large hands—rough from handling weights and cues alike—settle on your waist, fingers splaying wide to encompass your curves.

'Arch your back a bit more, yeah, just like that,' he rumbles, his voice a deep gravel that vibrates through your chest.

You feel the heat radiating from him, his broad shoulders eclipsing the light as he leans in close, the scent of his cologne mixing with something earthier, more primal.

You're both committed to this game of strip pool, the rules simple and wicked: foul and lose a piece of clothing. The first half a hour went by with plenty of teasing but no clothing lost. Now, you have 4 balls remaining while he only has 3. Stakes are high.

‘Same pocket,’ you gesture and bend over the table to take your next shot, cue in hand, his body presses flush against yours.

His massive chest molds to your back, and you can sense the sheer size of him—how his thighs, thick as tree trunks, bracket your legs. One hand guides your arm along the cue, his grip firm and unyielding, while the other lingers on your hip, thumb tracing lazy circles that send sparks skittering across your skin.

'Eyes on the ball, baby. Don't let me distract you.' But he does, of course. His hips shift forward ever so slightly, the bulge in his jeans—a promise of his enormous cock—nudging against the cleft of your ass. It's huge, even through the fabric, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

Pushing your ass out, you grin as hear a groan. You draw back the cue, but he teasing him has consequences. His free hand slips up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, fingers inching toward the underside of your bra. The contact makes your shot wobble; the white ball going wide.

'Oops,' he chuckles, low and filthy. 'That's your shirt, then. Take it off slow for me.'

Heart pounding, you straighten up and face him, his dark eyes devouring you as you grasp the hem of your top. You peel it upward inch by inch, the fabric dragging over your ribs, exposing the soft swell of your belly first. Higher it goes, revealing the lacy edge of your bra, then the full curve of your tits straining against the cups. Finally, you tug it over your head, letting your hair cascade back down. Your breasts heave with each breath, nipples pebbling under his stare.

Seungcheol's gaze locks on them, hungry. 'Fuck, look at those perfect tits. So full and ready.'

He steps closer, his height making you feel small, delicate. His hands—those big, capable paws—cup your breasts gently at first, thumbs brushing over the peaks through the lace. You gasp, and he smirks. 'Good girl, letting me see you like this.'

His turn now. He tips his head to gesture at the corner pocket, lines up a shot effortlessly, potting number 11. But on the next, you slide up to the front of the table and bend down, elbows on the table, face resting on your hands, ‘That’s a tough shot, Cheol.’ You blink innocently as you push your breasts out with your elbows, right in his line of sight.

He scratches the shot, the cue ball flying off the table. You laugh, light and teasing. 'Oh, oppa, is that the best you can do? Maybe I should call Jeonghan or Mingyu to teach me properly. They wouldn't miss like that.'

Seungcheol's eyes darken, a low growl rumbling from his throat. He rounds the table in two strides, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp spank that makes you yelp and jolt forward. The sting blooms hot across your skin, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. 'Watch that mouth, baby. Tease me again, and I'll make you regret it.'

His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back against his hardening cock straining through his pants.

‘Yes sir,’ you whine, breathless.

'Guess I owe you a layer.' He chuckles, stands tall, towering over the table as he grips his shirt.

Slowly, he lifts it, the fabric clinging to his defined abs before revealing the deep V of his hips, the dark happy trail snaking down. Up it goes, over his pecs—solid slabs of muscle that flex under the light—and finally off, tossed aside. His torso is a masterpiece of power, shoulders broad enough to block out the world, arms corded with veins. You can't help but stare at the outline of his cock, straining massively against his jeans, the zipper tented obscenely. He's built like a god, every inch screaming dominance.

Distracted, you miss your next shot, the white ball scratching one of his stripes instead of your solids.

Cheol unhooks your bra with a familiar flick, sliding the straps down your shoulders agonizingly slow, letting the cups fall away to bare your chest completely. Your tits spill free, heavy and round, nipples stiff in the room's chill. He doesn't touch yet, just watches as they rise and fall with your quickening breaths, the weight of them shifting subtly with each inhale.

He easily sets up his next shot but doesn’t pot a ball.

Back to you. Seungcheol’s teaching resumes, but now with your tits bare, brushing the cool edge of the table as you lean down. He presses in again, his bare chest hot against your back, one huge hand sliding around to palm your breast fully. It's dwarfed in his grasp, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, kneading as you try to focus.

'Squeeze the cue like this,' he whispers, but his thumb rolls your nipple, pinching just hard enough to make you whimper. The distraction works; you miscue badly.

'Skirt next. Show me those legs.' Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs into the waistband, shimmying the fabric down your hips with deliberate slowness. It catches on the curve of your ass, then slides over your thighs, revealing the smooth skin inch by inch until it hits the floor. Now in just panties, your body flushes under his gaze, pussy already throbbing.

Seungcheol's eyes rake over you as you stand, lingering on how your tits sway gently as you step out of the skirt, the natural bounce making them jiggle enticingly. 'Goddamn, you're tiny compared to me. Gonna look so good spread out.'

He takes his shot, pots the remaining stripes and sinks the eight ball with a final, authoritative crack. “I win,” he declares, unzipping his jeans with a predatory grin.

He shoves them down slowly, the denim hugging the powerful muscles of his thick thighs before pooling at his ankles. His boxers follow, and out springs his cock—fucking massive, thick as your wrist, the length curving upward with a fat, plum-colored head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. It’s an intimidating monument of flesh, veins throbbing visibly along the shaft, his balls heavy and full below. “Be a good girl and let me claim my prize.”

You don’t hesitate, dropping to your knees on the floor. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking eagerly as he threads his fingers through your hair, gripping tight to guide you deeper down his shaft. “That’s it, take it all for oppa,” he groans, his hips giving a shallow thrust.

Your mouth is stretched obscenely wide, your tongue flattening against the thick underside as you suck hard, tasting the salty-slick pre-cum leaking from his slit. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing faster, slurping noisily while your free hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them gently. Between your thighs, your wet cunt throbs, juices already trickling down your inner legs, soaking your panties as you imagine that thick cock splitting you open.

He pulls back slightly, smirking down at you. “Such a greedy little slut, aren't you? Look at you, dripping just from sucking me off.” You nod frantically, mouth full, eyes watering as you take him deeper, gagging softly when the head hits the back of your throat. “Good girl. Keep going, get oppa nice and hard for that tight pussy of yours.” Your tits nipples are hard as rocks, begging for attention as you work him over.

Straightening up, he’s fully naked now, his cock standing straight and glistening with your spit, veins pulsing along its girth. His enormous frame closes in, towering over you. “One more lesson before I taste you.”

He maneuvers you fully onto the table, the green felt scratching your back as he spreads your legs wide, knees hooked over the edges. Your panties are last; he tugs them down torturously slow, exposing your shaved mound, then the slick lips of your pussy, already puffy and glistening.

“Look at my jagi’s pretty little cunt, dripping for my big cock,” he murmurs, voice rough with lust. He kneels between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs even wider. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs parting your folds to reveal your clit, swollen and needy, peeking out like it’s desperate for his touch. “Beg me to eat your pussy, baby. Tell oppa how bad you want my tongue buried in that sloppy hole.”

Your voice trembles, hips bucking up instinctively. “Please, Cheol… oppa, lick my pussy. Make me cum all over your face. I need it so fucking bad.” He chuckles darkly, blowing a hot breath over your exposed flesh, making you shiver. “I can’t hear you.”

You do, voice breaking, hips thrusting up to his face. “Pl-please Cheol-oppa, lick my—no, your dripping slut cunt, I need you so bad. Eat me out, finger me until I squirt. Please!”

He grins wickedly and finally dives in. His tongue—hot and flat—licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring your tangy sweetness. You moan loudly, tits heaving on your chest, the bounce more pronounced as your body arches off the table. He latches onto your clit, sucking hard while two thick fingers—his are so damn big—push into your pussy, stretching the walls with a wet squelch. He curls them, pumping lazily, tongue flicking relentlessly. Your breasts jiggle with each thrust of his hand, nipples tracing wild patterns in the air as you writhe, pinching one yourself to heighten the ache.

Foreplay drags on, teasing you mercilessly. He adds a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously, making you gasp and clench around him. “Fuck, so tight for such a slutty cunt. I’m gonna wreck this hole later, fill it with my cum until it leaks out.”

His mouth slurps greedily at your juices, chin dripping as he laps up every drop, alternating between broad licks and pinpoint sucks on your throbbing clit.

Your hips grind against his face, tits bouncing wildly now, nipples hard as diamonds scraping the air. “Oppa, more… please, don’t stop. I’m your dirty little toy, use me, I- I’m going to cum—” you plead, voice hoarse, body quivering on the edge.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and whining, then slaps your soaked pussy lightly, the sting making you jolt. “Not yet, baby. You cum when I say.”

His tongue delves back in, fucking into your entrance while his thumb circles your clit, building the pressure slowly, drawing out every whimper until you’re a trembling, begging mess, tits heaving with each ragged breath.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Jeonghan steps in, eyes darkening with amusement as he takes in the sight—you splayed out, legs wide, Cheol’s face buried between your thighs. He leans against the wall, already palming his crotch. “Starting without me? That’s no fun.”

Seungcheol lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a possessive growl escaping. “Join if you want, but she’s mine first.” Jeonghan chuckles, stripping off his shirt and pants in one fluid motion, his cock springing free—longer than Seungcheol’s, sleek and veined, tip already beading with pre-cum. “Sharing’s caring, Cheol. Let’s give her what she really wants—two cocks to milk dry.”

You whimper, still riding the edge of your denied orgasm, pussy clenching around nothing. “Please… both of you. Oppa, Cheol… fuck me together. I need your thick cocks stretching me, filling every hole.” Jeonghan’s eyes gleam as he strokes himself, stepping closer. “Hear that? Our little slut’s begging for it. Don’t make her wait, Cheol.”

Seungcheol stands, wiping his slick chin, and flips you onto your back with effortless strength, your tits smacking against your chest from the motion. He lines up his thick cock at your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds, coating it in your arousal. “You want this, jagi? Beg for oppa’s cock in your dripping cunt.”

“Yes! Please, Cheol-oppa, fuck my pussy hard. Stretch me with that fat cock,” you cry, arching back. He thrusts in deep with one brutal snap of his hips, bottoming out, your walls fluttering around his girth as you cry out, tits bouncing from the impact.

Jeonghan climbs onto the table, kneeling by your head, his long cock bobbing inches from your lips. “Open up, baby. Suck me good and get it wet for that tight ass of yours.”

You obey eagerly, mouth watering as you wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling over the veined length while moaning around the fullness. Seungcheol starts pounding your pussy relentlessly, each slam making your body jolt forward onto Jeonghan’s cock, your tits swaying heavily beneath you, nipples grazing the felt.

“Fuck, she’s swallowing me whole,” Jeonghan groans, threading fingers into your hair to fuck your face shallowly. “Such a perfect cocksucker.”

Seungcheol’s pace quickens, balls slapping against your ass, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “This cunt’s gripping me like a vice. You love being shares, don’t you?”

You can only hum in agreement, spit trailing from your lips as Jeonghan pulls out, strings connecting you.

They switch seamlessly—Seungcheol pulls out with a wet pop, your pussy gaping slightly, and Jeonghan slides into you, his longer length hitting deeper, brushing that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. “God, so fucking tight. Bounce on it—show us those tits.”

You do, hips rolling as he thrusts up, your breasts jiggling wildly, nipples erect and begging to be twisted.

Cheol moves behind you, spitting on your ass, rubbing his thick cock against the puckered hole. “Beg for it here too. Tell oppa you want your ass filled while he wrecks your pussy.”

“Please, Cheol… fuck my ass. Both of you, stuff me full. I’m your dirty whore, use every hole,” you gasp, pushing back against him. He presses in slowly, the burn intense as your ring stretches around his girth, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s seated deep. The fullness overwhelms you, cocks rubbing through the thin wall between them, hitting every sensitive spot. They find a rhythm, syncing their thrusts—Jeonghan deep in your pussy, Seungcheol claiming your ass—making your body rock between them.

Your tits bounce erratically with each pound, nipples hardening further as Jeonghan reaches down to pinch and roll them roughly. “Cum for us, slut. Milk our cocks with that greedy body.” Seungcheol spanks your ass cheek hard, the slap echoing, skin blooming red. “Yeah, squeeze tighter. You’re gonna take our loads like a good girl.”

The sensations crash over you—stretching, fullness, friction—building to a shattering peak. You beg incoherently—“Oppa, Cheol, harder… don’t stop, fuck me raw”—as waves crash over you, pussy and ass clenching rhythmically, juices squirting around Jeonghan’s pistoning cock.

They follow soon after, grunts filling the air. Seungcheol floods your ass with hot spurts of cum, pulsing deep inside, while Jeonghan pulls out to paint your tits white, thick ropes landing on your heaving breasts, dripping down your nipples. Panting, they collapse around you, the snooker table a mess of sweat, cum, and satisfaction.

To be continued.

[suhkissed]

oh i know you fucking lying… fuck onyour_NCT too

[yoonlia]

too much ☆ — y. jeonghan

wc ☆ 4k summary ☆ all the ways jeonghan has loved you throughout life, and the ways you know he will even after. warnings ☆ angst, but more the cute sad + bittersweet kind, SO much fluff, childhood bsfs2l but the kind that always were each other’s before they even realized, death an ☆ welcome home my love 🤍 this is a repost again but i needed something to celebrate my ult bias ! i will have a new fic for him soon. but i had to repost my favorite work of all time.. also, yes, this originally was a songfic paired with mark’s too much, but fuck him. so no.

the meeting ୨୧

with sticky fingers, glue extremely uncomfortable against your skin, you keep your hand raised for miss teacher to come help. she’s too busy helping the boy with macaroni noodles in his nose. you don’t care to learn his name. his personality is too big for you.. he’s always yelling, and the first time you heard his tiger roar it made you cry. 

she’s still busy. he’s got them completely stuck up there, you think. she has to take him to the nurse. miss teacher’s teacher friend comes to watch the class while she leaves with macaroni boy. you keep your hand raised, and it’s starting to hurt from how long you kept it up. miss teacher’s friend isn’t paying attention either, though.. apparently one of the other boys knows her from somewhere else, and he keeps taking her attention from you because of his singing.

you accept defeat, putting your hand down with a sigh. you look around your table, one you’re all by yourself at, and there’s not a wipe in sight. you try a tissue, but it sticks to your skin and leaves an icky feeling. you can’t use the sink, because miss teacher said to ask permission, and asking permission is too scary! 

everyone’s tinkering away on their artwork, loud sounds of crayon buckets, singing, and yelling all filling up your senses. no one sees you, and no one’s helping. it’s all too much, and your eyes screw shut. you don’t want to cry, because someone will see and make everyone look at you ‘cause they noticed. you get down under your table, hiding your head in your arms (keeping your hands a safe distance from your body) as you not only hide from the world, but also hide your tears.

jeonghan sees your entire situation from his table. he thought it’d be funny at first, watching you struggle and potentially make a really big mess, but you look sad. why are you sad at making a mess? it’s so fun! you look so icky and not happy with all the glue and fuzzies on your hand, and he notices your chest moving fast. he looks at his companion to see if he noticed, but said friend is too busy coloring in his shinchan to notice.

“cheollie, look.” he pokes the boy in his shoulder, and he looks about ready to cuss like his dad does when he hits his toe. “that girl is crying.” jeonghan points to you, body shuddering from under your workspace.

“it’s rude to point.” seungcheol smacks his friend’s hand down. “and i saw. the right thing to do is to tell miss teacher.”

“miss teacher isn’t here. she left with youngie, ‘member?”

“oh. so we get the other teacher? because she’s in charge now ‘till miss teacher comes back.” seungcheol always talks like he’s the boss, but that’s just because he got the teacher’s helper job this month. and the ones before that. 

“no!” jeonghan grabs seungcheol’s sleeve, letting him go when he stops moving and puts his hands on his hips. “i’m miss teacher now! i can fix it!” 

he looks around for the wet wipes to give to you. they’re on the big shelf, so he waits until the new lady turns away to run over and take them. with his evil laugh, he tiptoes away and puts them on your table. 

slipping down to sit beside you, he taps your shoulder. “did you make a mess?” you nod, head still down. he grabs the wet wipes, ripping some out of the container. a little water splashes out, but he makes sure it doesn’t hit you. “it’s okay. everyone makes messes sometimes. don’t be sad.” 

you pick your head up, sniffling aggressively, before putting your hands out. instead of giving you the wipes, he does it for you with a little ‘hannie can fix it!’, gently scrubbing away at the mess on your hands. you’re still sniffing away the whole time, using your now (mostly) clean hand to wipe at your eyes.

once he’s finished, he closes the container and hands you the box of tissues. “you have some boogers.” he giggles at your embarrassed face, slowing down when you don’t react or say anything.

he asks your name, and you give it to him, a little wobbly, and he takes your hand to shake it. “i’m jeonghan. i’ll be your friend now, okay?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, “we’ll be friends forever! and i’ll always be here to help you when you need it.”

childhood ୨୧

you and jeonghan are a little older now. not old enough, you both say, but old enough to start having homework and wish you were as cool as your upperclassmen. ever since you met in kindergarten, jeonghan’s kept his word, staying by your side no matter what. his “stinky” little sister started going to school too, and she’s just as fun to be around. he gets jealous though, and always pulls you away from her to focus on him instead.

right now though, he doesn’t have to worry much. little sis is in her little kid classes right now while you guys get to have recess! you and him are sitting on the bench next to all your friends, some of which are playing basketball, while the others draw with sidewalk chalk or hang upside down on the monkey bars. 

jeonghan would very much prefer playing basketball, but you don’t like the idea of getting too close to other people or the idea of contact sports. he doesn’t really understand why, but the thought of you sitting by yourself, considering the fact that you don’t like any of the outdoor activities, makes him upset. he’d very much rather stay with you, making sure you aren’t lonely, watching over you as you pluck wildflowers from the grass.

“jeonghan?” seungkwan starts, getting the attention of the both of you. you both look up from your hands, where the both of you were looking at the small collection of flora you had found. “are you two dating?”

immediately you guys are grossed out, scooting to the opposite ends of the bench. “ew, no! that’s disgusting! we’re just friends, right?” jeonghan says, grimacing at the idea, before turning to you.

you nod, a small little movement, “just friends. i’m too young to get a boyfriend, and i don’t like how much boyfriends and girlfriends touch. it’s.. icky.”

“you guys touch a lot.. so, doesn’t that mean you’re dating?” when you guys shake your head, he calls the attention of soonyoung, who eventually brings the rest of your friend group over. “soonyoung, they’re dating, right?”

“come on guys, don’t make a crowd like that, it’s overwhelming!” jeonghan complains, partly trying to change the subject, but also trying to save you because he knows you’ll start getting uncomfortable soon.

soonyoung makes his way over, pinch fingers on his chin like he’s making some sort of elaborate analysis. “um, yeah, they’re dating! my sister has a boyfriend, and they do the same stuff as her and jeonghan! they hug every day at the end of school, and you know who else does?”

this small connection creates a moment of silence before everyone bursts out in loud chatter, some complaining about your age, others yelling and screaming about cooties. the commotion is enough to bring the teacher over, ending in your recess cut short and a conversation about why having a boyfriend or girlfriend is not something you should be worried about right now.

your discomfort is eased when you go home and talk to your mom, asking her if you and jeonghan have to date. she’s full of giggles when she lets you know that yes, boys and girls can be just friends, and he’s simply someone who cares a lot about you.

teenhood ୨୧

you’re in your math class, and you’re sat next to seungcheol. jeonghan’s right behind you, not allowed to sit next to you due to his endless chatting. not a single one of you is paying attention, all too focused on the trip to the convenience store that you’re planning to make after school.

you’re writing in cheollie’s notebook with a list of everything you, him, and hannie might want to buy when something hits your head. seungcheol catches it, giving a glare to the boy across the room who threw it. you didn’t even do anything, but just seeing his face freaks you out. he unfolds the piece of paper, and when it’s fully unraveled, you take a look.

‘i like shy girls. will you be my shy girl? - hyungwon’ 

you look at cheol, who looks at you, before handing the paper to jeonghan. he takes one glance at it, switching his gaze to hyungwon, before tearing the paper up and throwing it on the floor.

the teacher asks him to pick it up and he refuses, giving him one of two referrals for the day. the next one comes after class, sending him home with bloody knuckles and one less friend. not that it mattered anyway, the only friend he truly cares about is you.

every question you ask about his outburst is avoided, not only because he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t have an answer. he’s just protective, okay? watching over you like a brother, nothing else.

college ୨୧

it’s nearly 4am when jeonghan finally comes stumbling through the front door of your home, giggling and burping like an idiot. when he sees you it only gets worse, eliciting a sigh from you as he falls into your lap. 

“hannie, can you get up please? you’re bending the pages of my book. i spent a lot of money on this.” you complain, yet you make no effort to push him away, heart warm at how content he looks to be with you.

“shit, sorry.” he brushes hair from his eyes, sitting straight up on the couch before his head eventually falls on your shoulder. “i’m so drunk.” you have no idea why he’s making such a statement, and honestly it makes you cringe because.. obviously? all it takes is one whiff for you to know. not even, just look at him.

“i know, and that’s why you should go to bed. it’s almost daytime already.” you say, already helping him up to take him to his bedroom.

“wait!” he puts his hands out, backing away from your grasp, “..can we sleep here? in the living room, like we used to?”

you look at him, so incredibly tired, both physically and mentally, pinching the bridge of your eyebrows as a headache threatens to kick in. he looks so cute, unfortunately for you, pouting as he accidentally falls back into the couch after losing his balance. he straightens back up right away though, even making an effort to put his hands together to help persuade you.

eventually you relent, grumbling about him needing to change out of his clothes as you go grab all your blankets. he follows right behind you, not even thinking twice when he starts stripping while you’re in the middle of stripping his bed of its blankets. he pays no mind to your obvious flusteredness, simply chuckling before going to help you.

there’s a little blanket cushion underneath your backs, little fairy lights creating a cozy atmosphere as you lay facing each other. jeonghan’s eyes keep fluttering shut, begging him to go to sleep, but he fights it, forcing them open to watch you. his hand falls to your cheek, knuckles brushing your skin, running over the side of your face before pushing stray hairs behind your ear.

“you know, i’ve always found you so pretty. like, a crazy amount.” he says bluntly, casually, as if it’s something normal.

“excuse me?”

“yeah.” his voice is so soft, his pupils blown wide as his eyes trail over your pretty features like he’s committing them to memory. “you just have something about you that makes me feel like i’m drowning, and i can’t get out. but i don’t want to. i love it.”

“you’re being weird, han. go to sleep.” you flush, pulling the blanket up to your nose.

immediately he’s propping himself up on his elbow, other hand pulling it back down. “let me see you, please…” he nearly zones out for a good while, making you squirm as his eyes lock onto your face.

“you know.. i think i love you. i always have.” he pauses, looking you over before taking a look at himself, his surroundings, and the entire apartment you rent together, “yeah. i never really understood what love looked like, but i get it now. i look at us, and i know. it’s us.” he chuckles.

“jeonghan, wh- you’re drunk, you can’t just say that when you don’t even mean it-”

“shh, shh, i’m not lying. there’s some saying or whatever, right? anyway, long story short, i’m telling the truth and i’m gonna go throw up now.”

adulthood ୨୧

you’re walking down the streets of paris, walking alongside your boyfriend, jeonghan, with seungcheol and the others on your other side. it’s time for one of those week-long group vacations, and for some reason jeonghan forced everyone to agree to go out of the country. usually your trips are only thirty minutes or so from home, but this time you’ve gone days away. you keep asking him why he spent so much money for everyone to come out here, but he just shrugs, saying eh, i needed a change of scenery.

the bags in your hands are getting heavy as you walk down the streets of the shopping district, everything’s lit up in the night lights, river glistening as you and the group walk alongside it. jeonghan forced you to leave your wallet at the mansion-turned-rental that you all are staying at, paying for literally everything you touched. by now, you’ve racked up copious amounts of jewelry and other accessories, and just as you turn to him, ready to indirectly ask why he hasn’t started carrying your bags for you, you realize he stopped walking. everyone stopped walking, actually.

“hannie? guys, what are you doing?” you look at jeonghan, standing alone with a nervous smile, the rest in a small clump behind him. they shush you, pointing and gesturing to your boyfriend.

“baby, come here,” he says, breathlessly, taking your hands when you come close enough. “wanna know why i brought you here?” you hum, and he tries his hardest to hide the shaking in his breath before he continues speaking.

“it’s because i wanted to give you something special. a trip with all your favorite people, me first obviously..” he chuckles, “but seriously. i want this to be a trip for you to remember, because it’s going to be the last one before our lives change.. a lot.”

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tiny velvet box, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head as he drops to one knee. your full name falls from his lips, and all of a sudden you’re tearing up as he starts a little speech.

“i still remember the first time i saw you. on the first day of kindergarten. you were crying, sobbing actually, because you didn’t want to leave your mom. a lot of our other classmates were crying too, but you were the only one i felt bad for. everyone else? i wanted them to shut up.. seriously.” he doesn’t waste a second to glance at a few of your friends behind him, laughing as their complaints help to ease his nerves a bit. “since then, i made it a mission to help things.. not suck for you. at least back then, i wanted you to be happy during school. but.. we got older, and we never drifted apart. as the years went by, i my mission changed, even if i didn’t know. it changed to me.. wanting you to be happy always. for your whole life. that’s still what it is today. so, if you’d let me try my best to succeed, will you please marry me?”

you don’t even hesitate to nod yes, falling into his arms, kissing him while you cry like the same baby you were twenty something years ago. the same crybaby jeonghan fell in love with, and will continue to love forever.

the wedding ୨୧

yet again the tears keep falling as you stand before your fiancee, stuttering and sniffling through your vows. you poured your whole heart into them, so so grateful for the life you’ve gotten to live alongside jeonghan. he’s been your rock through everything, like a little island that’s always there to listen, always there to help. there’s not a single person on this earth who knows you better than he does, not even yourself. before he learned to read the alphabet, he knew how to read your emotions, read between the lines of everything you said and help you accordingly. he’s who you go to for everything, he’s who you think of first when anything good happens, and it’s been like that ever since you were little, back when you were little, still finger painting as a class activity.

it’s his turn now, and he pretends that something’s in his eyes as he wipes them, making the crowd laugh. he takes a deep breath in before pulling a loose leaf paper from his blazer and clearing his throat.

“it’s been thirty years of knowing you, loving you, and i think it’s time that i finally make a confession.. do you remember when we were in college, and i came home drunk? yeah, yeah, i know it happened a bunch of times.. but there’s one specific occasion where i mentioned how much i love you. i always lied about that night, saying i didn’t remember, but i think now’s the time where i tell you.. i did. and i still stand by everything i said. i’ve always been yours, since i befriended you back when we were five. i didn’t know it, but that exact moment is when my heart became yours. it has been ever since then. you are the best thing the world has ever given me, and i’ll forever be indebted to you for showing me what love is like, and how proud and lucky i am to be able to give that to you. i’m incredibly grateful to have you in my life, and.. oh, you thought i could go a whole ment without any teasing? funny.. anyway, i’m so incredibly lucky to be marrying you, and so excited to be legally tied to my favorite crybaby. now, let’s get married, hm?”

after many teary giggles and kisses, you and jeonghan are finally husband and wife. it feels so right, so perfect. it’s not even anything different, you guys are just living the same life you always have, doing the same routine, all with a new title. yet, it feels good knowing that you are legally each other’s, rather than just in your heads. the whole night is spent basking in that, full of joy knowing that you are forever tied together, each other’s firsts and lasts.

getting older ୨୧

you can’t do as much as you used to, and you’re getting to the age where you start getting discounts at local events. your skin is littered with scars and wrinkles, evidence of all the joy and laughing you’ve experienced throughout life. you’re committed to a life at home, planting pretty little flowers in your garden and sitting on the porch of your country home, reading books and waving at the little kids playing in the street. it’s peaceful, and most dread the part of life where you get old, but to you? it’s perfect. everything you’ve ever needed.

jeonghan’s car pulls into the driveway, and his smile shines bright as he makes his way toward you. he falls into the seat next to you on the swinging bench with a groan, rubbing his creaky knees as he hits the cushion. suddenly, his grimace switches to something sweeter as he pulls a pretty bouquet of flowers from behind his back, placing it in your lap with a smile.

“you deserve something nice.” he says, leaning in for a kiss. you wrap an arm around him, returning the affection before placing your head in his neck.

“i love them, hannie, they’re so beautiful.” you smile, eyes closed and all as he strokes your hair, looking down at you like he’s met an angel. to him, he did.

“my pretty angel only deserves the best, no?” he leans back, letting you cuddle into him as you watch the clouds.

“i wouldn’t say pretty, now.. i’ve got wrinkles, and my hair is grey.” you pout.

he shushes you, peppering kisses over every wrinkle, and all over your crown. “bullshit- oh, sorry, i mean.. nonsense. you’re just as beautiful as you were when we met, okay? like i said, my pretty angel only deserves the best, right?” he looks at you expectantly until you hum in agreement, “now, if only i was able bodied enough to still give you the best in bed, oh i’d show you-”

“jeonghan!” you giggle, swatting at his chest. he only pouts, shrugging innocently as you laugh together. despite getting older with every day, he never fails to make you feel just as beautiful and just as loved as you did back when you were twenty.

the sixteen year old girl across the street watches you both with her friends, and they all nod in agreement when they say that they only want a love like that. something so sweet, so pure that everyone can just tell how long you’ve loved each other. every day, he comes home from work (don’t worry, it’s not taxing at all and he gets paid good) with a cute little gift for you, his eyes turning into big hearts at the grateful little smile you give him every time. the whole neighborhood adores you two, looking at you both as models of pure, true love.

the end ୨୧

it’s late at night, and after a good few hours of stiffly slow dancing to your favorite music, you and jeonghan finally lay down. you spent the night doing a lot of things you haven’t done in a while, now that you think about it, and it was quite refreshing. you ate a bunch of junk food, sang silly songs with unnecessary amounts of curse words, and now you’re ending it with endless pillow talk.

neither of you addressed it, but you both have a feeling that this is the last time you’ll be able to do this. you aren’t scared. this may be the first time you aren’t afraid, but jeonghan looks so calm that you feel like things will be okay. he simply shot up, definitely pulling something in the process, taking your hand and offering for you both to spend it having as much fun as possible.

that you did! the whole night was spent reminiscing on the past decades with each other, and it truly felt like you were traveling back to that point in time. each photobook you flipped through, each friend you thought of and silently congratulated for outliving you both, it all felt.. peaceful. maybe a little bittersweet, but every moment is looked back on fondly.

“we’ve spent all of our lives together,” he starts, fingers combing through your hair as you lay down together. “i’d say you made them the best years of my life, but that’d be dumb. you were there for the whole thing.”

you chuckle, tucking your head into his neck. “it’s okay, i’d say the same thing.” 

he hums, “seriously, though. you make me so happy. i don’t think you know just how much.” 

it’s then that you fall asleep for what would be the last time, promises of a more romantic tomorrow. no death talk was allowed, jeonghan wouldn’t have that. you only spoke of a next time, one where you were definitively together. you don’t fight it, just accept that you won't see the next morning. it’s okay, because you’re passing knowing that you lived a full, long life. one where you never doubted how much you were loved. 

rbs + feedback are very appreciated! ♡

[cherish-n-cherries]

|svt m.list|Navigation|Requests - Open|

Pairing - Idol!Woozi x Fem!Reader

Genre- ??? to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pinning, Jihoon is YEARNING

Synopsis(Pt.2) - You thought the hardest part was losing him. You were wrong. The hardest part was finding out the person who made you feel seen was someone you never truly knew.

Months after the late-night conversations, the convenience store lights, and the goodbye he never gave, he comes back with no excuses—only a promise to be honest this time. But forgiveness isn’t the same as forgetting, and love isn’t enough without trust.As he slowly lets you into the world he once hid from you, you have to decide if the boy you fell for was real… and if you’re willing to let him stay.

Word count - 5k+

Playlist - Who Knows(Daniel Caesar)

Pt.1(Can be read as a stand alone)

The first thing he noticed when he came home was that everything looked exactly the same.

And somehow, that made it worse.

The streets he had passed hundreds of times still looked familiar. The city lights still reflected against the windows of passing cars. The convenience stores still stayed open through the night, their bright signs glowing against the darkness like little reminders that somewhere, someone was still awake.

Everything was the same.

Except the one thing he wanted to find.

You.

He stood outside the convenience store, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his hoodie as he stared through the glass doors.

Three in the morning.

The same time.

The same place.

The same stupid routine he had built his entire life around without realizing it.

For a moment, he let himself believe that when he walked inside, you would be there. Maybe you would be sitting at the table outside with a drink in your hand, complaining about work like you always did. Maybe you would look up, roll your eyes, and ask where the hell he had been.

Maybe you would laugh.

Maybe you would forgive him.

But deep down, he already knew.

You wouldn’t.

Because he wasn’t the only person who had been waiting.

You had waited too.

And he had been the reason you stopped.

The bell above the door rang softly as he entered.

-

The convenience store looked exactly how he remembered it. The shelves were still lined with snacks neither of you ever bought, the lights were still far too bright for three in the morning, and the cashier still looked half asleep as they sat behind the counter. Everything about the place felt almost painfully familiar, like he could walk outside and see you sitting at the small table waiting for him like you always used to.

But when his eyes moved toward the corner, reality settled in.

The table was empty.

It was the same table where he had spent months learning every little thing about you. The table where he had laughed more than he had in years. The table where he had slowly forgotten about the pressure of being someone everyone else expected him to be.

It was the one place where he had been able to exist without pretending.

And now it was just a table.

His chest tightened at the realization, and he hated himself for being surprised. Deep down, he knew you weren’t going to wait forever. He knew that after disappearing without an explanation, after leaving you to wonder what happened, he didn’t deserve to walk back in and find you sitting there like nothing had changed.

Because if he was being honest, he had done the exact same thing to you.

He had left you waiting.

-

Before Jihoon met you, he thought he understood loneliness.

He thought loneliness was being surrounded by thousands of people and still feeling like nobody actually knew you. He thought it was standing in front of a crowd, hearing everyone call his name, and still feeling completely alone when the lights turned off.

He thought he had gotten used to it.

Then you came along.

Somehow, a random conversation at three in the morning with a stranger became the only time he felt normal. The irony was that you had no idea who he was. You didn’t know the name people screamed at concerts. You didn’t know the songs he spent months writing and rewriting. You didn’t know his face was on advertisements or that there were thousands of people who thought they knew him.

To you, he was just a tired guy in a hoodie who complained about the coffee being too bitter and always forgot to bring a spoon.

And he loved that.

More than he probably should have.

The first time someone asked him what his favourite thing about being famous was, he gave the answer everyone expected. He talked about performing, about music, about the fans who supported him, and he meant every word.

But when he thought about the moments that actually stayed with him, they weren’t the ones under bright stage lights.

They were the quiet moments sitting across from you at a cheap plastic table while you complained about your day. They were the nights where you laughed at something stupid he said. They were the moments when you looked at him and didn’t expect anything from him.

You didn’t need him to be perfect.

You didn’t need him to be anyone other than himself.

You just wanted him to show up.

And that was the one thing he failed to do.

-

He started coming back every night.

Not because he thought you would appear. He wasn’t that naïve. At least, he tried not to be.

He came because he didn’t know where else to go.

The table stayed empty, and the seat across from him remained untouched. The world kept moving around him, people walking in and out of the store without knowing that this place held the biggest mistake he had ever made.

And still, he kept coming back.

Because this was the last place where he felt close to you.

His members noticed, of course.

They always noticed.

“You’re going to that store again?”

He looked up from his phone to see Soonyoung standing in the doorway of the studio, arms crossed and clearly not buying his excuse.

He sighed. “It’s just a store.”

Vernon looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow.

“No. It’s the store.”

He didn’t answer because there was no point pretending otherwise.

It wasn’t just a store.

It was where he met someone who somehow became more important than he ever expected. Someone he never told the truth to. Someone he lost because he was too scared to let himself be known.

“You should talk to her.” Soonyoung said and Vernon nodded in quiet agreement.

Johoon’s fingers tightened around his phone.

“I don’t even know if she wants to see me.”

“Do you?”

He looked away, annoyed by how quickly he knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Then go.” He pushed.

He let out a quiet breath.

“It’s not that simple.”

His friend’s expression softened slightly.

“No, it’s not.”

They paused before continuing.

“But avoiding it is exactly what got you here.” Vernon pitched in.

The words stayed with him long after the conversation ended.

Because they were right.

He had spent his entire life controlling every part of himself. His image. His emotions. His words. Every mistake was calculated, every action carefully thought out.

And somehow, the one person who never asked him to be anything was the person he couldn’t be honest with.

-

You found out about him on a random Tuesday.

Which honestly felt pretty fucking unfair.

You always imagined that if you ever discovered who he really was, it would be something dramatic. Something obvious. Something that made sense.

Not you sitting on your couch after work, eating dinner and barely paying attention to the television playing in the background.

A performance came on, and at first you ignored it.

Until you heard his voice.

Your fork stopped halfway to your mouth.

You looked up.

The face on the screen was familiar, but somehow different. Not physically. It was still him. The same eyes. The same smile. The same expressions you had memorized without even realizing it.

But there was something else there.

Confidence.

A version of him that belonged to a world you didn’t know existed.

The crowd screaming his name felt distant, almost unreal.

Because you knew him.

You knew that voice.

You knew that smile.

You knew the tired expression he wore when he thought nobody was paying attention.

No.

Your mind rejected the thought immediately.

There was no way.

But then the screen showed his name.

And suddenly everything made sense.

The late nights.

The disappearing.

The way he avoided talking about himself.

The way he always seemed exhausted but never explained why.

You sat there frozen, trying to process the fact that the person who knew your coffee order, your worst coworker, and every tiny thing that annoyed you was someone you didn’t actually know.

You grabbed your phone and opened your messages.

Just to be hit with the same thing that happened last night, and the night before that, and the one before that.

You didn’t even have his number.

And that hurt more than you expected.

Not because he was famous.

Not because he was an idol.

But because suddenly you questioned everything you thought you knew.

Were those nights real?

Did he actually look forward to seeing you?

Or were you just an escape from the life he actually cared about?

A small break from the pressure before he went back to being someone else?

The thought made your chest ache.

Because the worst part wasn’t the anger.

It was that you still missed him.

You hated that after everything, you still remembered the way he laughed. You still remembered how he looked at you when you spoke. You still remembered how the world felt quieter whenever he was around.

You hated that you cared.

-

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The convenience store continued around you, completely unaware of the tension sitting between two people who had once spent hours talking about everything and nothing. The refrigerators hummed softly in the background, cars passed outside, and the cashier continued scrolling on their phone like the world wasn’t currently falling apart at the small table in the corner.

He looked at you carefully, almost like he was trying to memorize every reaction on your face.

Like he was afraid you would disappear again.

And maybe that was the part that bothered you most.

Because you understood that look.

You had worn it too.

You had spent weeks staring at the entrance of this store, convincing yourself that every person who walked in could be him. You had checked the time. You had waited longer than you wanted to admit. You had pretended that you weren’t disappointed every time the bell rang and it wasn’t him.

So you stopped showing up.

But one day months later it was 3 AM and work had eaten you alive. So you stopped by, just for something small.

You skimmed through the noodles section like you had that night, then the bell above the door rung. But you knew better, you had waited until the sun rose and until your body had given up on you, falling asleep—cheek pressed against the cheap plastic tables.

You knew better than to turn around.

You knew better than to expect anything.

And yet you still, for some reason had hope… so you turned.

But as if fate was mocking you itself he was already looking at you, if you hadn’t been so sleep deprived you would have seen the way his breath hitched.

You hated that you still recognized the exhaustion in his eyes.

You hated that you noticed how tired he looked.

You hated that after everything, your first thought was still wondering if he was taking care of himself.

Because you still cared.

And that made being angry so much harder.

Before you knew it you found yourself sitting, like the day it all started.

“I should’ve told you.”

His voice was quiet.

You looked back at him.

“I should’ve told you everything.”

You crossed your arms, looking away.

“Yeah.”

The answer was simple, but the weight behind it wasn’t.

You weren’t trying to punish him. You weren’t trying to be cruel.

You were just tired of pretending that everything was okay.

“I should’ve told you my name,” he continued. “I should’ve told you what was happening. I should’ve trusted you enough to let you decide what you wanted to do.”

That made you look at him again.

Because that was the first time he admitted it.

Not that things got complicated.

Not that his schedule was busy.

That he chose.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

Your voice was quieter now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He looked down at his hands.

For once, he didn’t seem like someone who had an answer ready. He looked like someone who had replayed this conversation in his head a hundred times and still couldn’t find a version where he didn’t hurt you.

“I was scared.”

You let out a small breath.

“Of me?”

His eyes immediately lifted.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

“Never you.”

He paused.

“I was scared of what would happen after.”

You didn’t say anything, so he continued.

“Everyone already knows a version of me. The version they see on stage. The version that’s supposed to always be happy, always be confident, always know what he’s doing.”

He gave a small laugh, but there was no humor behind it.

“And then there was you.”

Your expression softened slightly.

“You knew nothing about me.”

He looked at you.

“And somehow, you knew me better than people who have known me for years.”

The words sat between you.

Because you understood what he meant.

You just weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

-

“I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

You stared at him, almost unable to believe that was the reason he had given you. After everything, after months of wondering if those nights had meant anything to him, that was the explanation he had been carrying around this whole time.

“And instead, you decided for me.”

He went quiet, because he knew you were right. That was the part you hated most. You wanted him to argue. You wanted him to give you some explanation that would make everything hurt less, something that would allow you to believe maybe you had misunderstood him or maybe the situation was more complicated than it seemed.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there and accepted it.

“I know.”

His voice was barely above a whisper as he looked down at his hands.

“I know I took that choice away from you.”

The anger you had been holding onto for months suddenly felt heavier. It had been easier when you convinced yourself that he didn’t care, because then you had something simple to be angry at. It was easier to believe those nights had only mattered to you, that you had been nothing more than a temporary escape from the life he actually belonged to.

But seeing the guilt in his expression made it impossible to keep believing that.

And somehow, that hurt more.

“I spent months thinking I mattered to someone who didn’t even fucking trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Your voice cracked slightly, and you immediately looked away because you hated that he could still affect you like this. You hated that even after everything, even after you had spent so long convincing yourself you were done caring, he could still make you feel like your heart was sitting right on the surface.

“I kept wondering if I was just some escape for you.”

His expression shifted instantly, and something about the way he looked at you made your anger falter. It was like the idea that you believed that hurt him more than your anger ever could.

“You weren’t.”

The answer came immediately.

“You were never that.”

You looked away, swallowing the ache in your chest.

“Then what was I?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He looked down like he was trying to find the right words, not because he didn’t know how he felt, but because he knew words weren’t enough anymore.

Then he finally looked back at you.

“You were the person I looked forward to seeing every day.”

Your chest tightened at the honesty in his voice.

“I don’t want you to say things just because you feel guilty.”

“I’m not.”

The certainty in his response made you look at him again.

“I’m not saying this because I’m trying to fix what I did or because I want you to forgive me faster. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

And that was the hardest part.

You believed him.

-

You didn’t forgive him that night, and he didn’t ask you to.

That was the first thing he did differently.

Before, he would have tried to find the perfect words or the perfect apology, something that would erase the hurt and make everything go back to the way it was before. But he finally understood that you weren’t something he could fix with one conversation.

You weren’t a mistake he could apologize away.

You were someone he hurt.

And if he wanted any chance of being part of your life again, he needed to prove that he understood the difference.

So he started small.

The next night, you walked into the convenience store and saw him sitting outside at the same table. For a moment, you considered turning around and leaving because you weren’t sure if you were ready to deal with him again.

But then you noticed the second drink sitting across from him.

You stopped.

His eyes lifted, and you caught the brief look of uncertainty on his face.

“I didn’t know if you wanted one.”

You glanced at the drink before looking back at him.

“You remembered?”

A small smile appeared.

“Of course I remembered.”

It shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did. It was just a drink, something small and almost meaningless, but that was always how he had been. He remembered things you didn’t expect him to. Your favourite snack. The songs you hated. The little habits you didn’t even realize you had.

The smallest details that proved he was paying attention.

You sat down slowly, not because everything was okay and not because you had forgiven him, but because some part of you still wanted to hear what he had to say.

-

The weeks after that felt strange because you had to get to know him all over again. Not the version of him you thought you knew before, and not the idol everyone else saw, but just him.

This time, you asked questions.

And this time, he answered.

“What’s your favourite song you’ve written?”

He looked surprised, and you immediately noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You looked surprised.”

He smiled slightly.

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting that question.”

“Why?”

He looked down at his drink, thinking.

“Most people ask about the songs that did well or the ones everyone likes.”

His fingers traced the edge of the cup.

“Not many people ask which one means the most to me.”

You softened slightly.

“So?”

He thought for a moment.

“Probably the one I haven’t finished.”

You frowned.

“That’s such an annoying answer.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds like something someone says when they’re trying to be mysterious.”

He shook his head.

“I’m serious.”

You watched him carefully.

“Why isn’t it finished?”

His expression changed slightly, the playful look fading into something quieter.

“It’s about someone.”

The air shifted between you.

You looked away, pretending not to be affected.

“Someone important?”

His eyes stayed on you.

“Yes.”

You didn’t ask anymore, and he didn’t push.

Because he was learning.

This wasn’t about getting you back as quickly as possible.

It was about proving, slowly and consistently, that he could become someone you trusted again.

-

Little by little, he did.

Not through huge gestures or dramatic apologies, but through the small choices he made every day. If he was busy, he told you. If he couldn’t come, he didn’t disappear. If something was bothering him, he tried to talk about it instead of shutting you out.

And you noticed.

You tried not to.

But you did.

Because the version of him you remembered was still there. The quiet humor. The way he listened. The way he looked at you like every word you said mattered.

Slowly, the wall you had built around yourself started to come down.

Not all at once.

Not completely.

But enough.

-

The first time he showed up without hiding under a hoodie, you realized something you hadn’t expected.

He still looked like him.

That was the strange part. You had spent so much time building up this image in your head of the person he was hiding, that you expected seeing him without the disguise to feel like meeting someone completely different.

But it didn’t.

He was still the same person who complained about terrible songs on the radio, stayed awake far later than he should, and drank convenience store coffee at three in the morning like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

The only difference was that now you understood.

You knew why he disappeared.

You knew why strangers recognized him.

You knew why there had always been this invisible distance between the life he lived and the life you knew.

And somehow, knowing the truth didn’t make him feel further away.

It made him feel more real.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up from your drink.

He was staring down at his hands, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of the cup in front of him.

“For what?”

He hesitated.

“For making you feel like you only knew half of me.”

You didn’t answer immediately because, honestly, you didn’t know how to explain how accurate that was.

That was exactly what hurt.

The months you spent together weren’t fake. The conversations weren’t fake. The laughs, the late nights, the way he remembered every little thing about you—none of it felt like something someone could pretend.

But at the same time, it felt incomplete.

Like you had been given a piece of someone without ever knowing there was an entire world attached to it.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

His eyes lifted.

“Do what?”

You looked at him, trying to find the right words.

“Trust someone who has a whole life I don’t understand.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then he nodded slowly.

“Then I’ll let you understand.”

-

For a while, neither of you talked about what would happen next.

You existed somewhere between what you had been and whatever you were becoming.

You weren’t strangers anymore, but you weren’t exactly the same either. There was still a distance between you, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge but both of you could feel.

Trust didn’t magically return just because you both wanted it to.

Some days, you still thought about those nights you waited for him.

You still remembered staring at the convenience store door every time the bell rang, wondering if maybe that would be the moment he finally walked back in.

Sometimes you wondered how someone could become such an important part of your life while still keeping such a huge part of themselves hidden.

But then he would show up.

Not because he expected anything from you.

Not because he thought one conversation would fix everything.

He just showed up because he said he would.

And slowly, that started to mean something.

-

You learned more about him in the months after that than you had during all the time you originally knew him.

Not because he suddenly decided to tell you everything.

Because this time, you asked.

And he answered.

You learned about the parts of his life that weren’t shown online. The exhaustion that came with constantly being watched. The pressure of knowing every mistake could affect more than just himself. The fear that came with disappointing people who depended on him.

You learned that sometimes he stayed late because music was the only way he knew how to organize his thoughts.

You learned that he wrote lyrics when he couldn’t sleep and kept unfinished songs because he hated forcing emotions before they were ready.

Sometimes he would sit alone with a notebook for hours, staring at words he couldn’t finish because the feelings behind them were still too complicated to explain.

One night, while the two of you sat outside the convenience store, you noticed the notebook beside him.

You nodded toward it.

“Is that another song you refuse to finish?”

He looked down at it before smiling slightly.

“Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“I’ve heard that before.”

You took a sip of your drink, glancing back at the notebook.

“Is it about the mysterious person again?”

His fingers stopped moving.

For a second, you thought you had made things awkward.

Then he looked at you.

“It’s about you.”

The words were simple, but they changed the atmosphere between you.

You had suspected it, in a way.

The way he remembered everything.

The way certain lyrics sounded familiar.

The way he sometimes looked at you like he was trying to memorize the moment.

But hearing him actually say it was different.

“You wrote about me?”

He nodded.

“Not exactly.”

He looked down.

“I wrote about how I felt around you.”

Your expression softened.

“What’s the difference?”

He thought about the question for a while.

Then he answered honestly.

“I don’t know.”

A small smile appeared.

“I guess that’s why I couldn’t finish it.”

-

The closer you got to him, the more you started realizing something.

You had spent so much time focusing on the parts of him you didn’t know that you forgot about the parts you did.

You knew the person who always asked about your day, even when he was exhausted.

You knew the person who remembered when you had a bad meeting at work and checked in afterward.

You knew the person who could tell when you were pretending to be okay before you even admitted it yourself.

You knew the person who once told you your laugh was the first genuine thing he had heard after a terrible day.

That version of him was real.

And maybe that was what scared you.

Because if everything had been fake, if every moment had been an act, then moving on would have been easier.

But it wasn’t.

He was complicated.

He had made mistakes.

He had hurt you.

But he was also someone who was trying to become better because of them.

And as much as you hated admitting it, you could see that.

-

The conversation about his life finally happened on a night when the convenience store was quieter than usual. The rain tapped softly against the windows, and the two of you sat underneath the small awning outside, watching the streets blur as the water reflected the city lights.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy.”

You looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking back. Instead, his attention stayed on the rain as his fingers tapped lightly against the cup in his hands.

“What isn’t?”

He took a slow breath before answering.

“Whatever this is.”

You didn’t respond right away because you knew exactly what he meant. The feelings that had been growing between you, the closeness that had slowly returned, the thing neither of you had been brave enough to acknowledge out loud.

“If we actually do this,” he continued quietly.

“But?”

His eyes finally moved toward you, and you noticed the uncertainty in his expression. It wasn’t the confidence people saw when he stood on stage, and it wasn’t the carefully controlled image he showed the world.

It was just him.

“But I don’t want to pretend it isn’t happening.”

You looked down at your hands.

“Your life is complicated.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“You’re an idol.”

Another quiet nod.

“And I’m not.”

The words came out softer than you intended. It wasn’t because you thought less of yourself, but because you understood the difference between your worlds. His life existed under bright lights, surrounded by thousands of people who knew his name.

Your life didn’t.

He studied you carefully.

“Does that bother you?”

You hesitated before answering. But after everything, after the months he spent proving that honesty mattered, you knew you couldn’t hide behind a lie anymore.

“Sometimes.”

He didn’t look offended.

He didn’t try to argue or convince you that you shouldn’t feel that way.

He just listened.

“I don’t know what dating someone like you would mean,” you admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I could handle everyone knowing. I don’t know if I could handle strangers having opinions about me, or feeling like I’m sharing someone who was never really mine.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the hurt in his eyes.

Not because he thought you were blaming him.

Because he understood why you felt that way.

“You were never competing with anyone.”

His voice was calm.

“You never had to compete with my fans, my career, or anyone else.”

You looked back at him.

“But your whole life is built around other people.”

He nodded slowly.

“It is.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he looked at you.

“But the person I am with you isn’t.”

-

That was the thing you couldn’t stop thinking about.

Because when he was with you, he wasn’t an idol. He wasn’t someone thousands of people expected things from. He wasn’t someone who had to constantly worry about how he looked or what he said.

He was just the person who complained about terrible coffee and acted personally betrayed when his favourite snacks were sold out.

He was the person who got genuinely excited when he found a song he liked, who remembered small details about your day, and who looked happier when you noticed something about him.

He was the person who was scared you wouldn’t forgive him.

And maybe that was why you fell for him.

Not because he was famous.

Not because he was talented.

Because he was human.

-

The confession didn’t happen dramatically.

There was no perfect moment or grand gesture. No carefully planned speech where everything suddenly became clear.

It happened the same way everything between you had started.

Three in the morning.

A convenience store.

Two people sitting across from each other, pretending their feelings weren’t the reason they kept coming back.

The rain had stopped sometime before, but the pavement was still wet, reflecting the convenience store lights in small puddles. The city felt quieter than usual, almost like the world had decided to give the two of you a moment where nobody else existed.

He was quieter than normal.

You noticed immediately.

“You’re thinking too much.”

His eyes lifted, and a small, surprised smile appeared.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

You leaned back slightly, studying him.

“You’re doing that thing.”

He tilted his head.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you stare at your drink like it personally offended you because you’re trying to avoid saying something.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. It was small, but real.

“I didn’t know I was that obvious.”

“You are.”

He shook his head slightly.

“You always notice everything.”

The words sounded simple, but there was something behind them that made your expression soften.

Because you did notice everything.

Even now.

Even after everything that happened.

You noticed when he was tired. You noticed when he was worried. You noticed when he was pretending he was okay.

And maybe that was the problem.

You still knew him.

-

He looked down at his hands, and for a while, neither of you said anything. You waited, not because you were impatient, but because you knew him. You knew if you interrupted, he might retreat into himself again.

And after everything, you knew how hard he had worked to stop doing that.

“I don’t know how to say this without making it sound like I’m trying to fix everything.”

Your eyebrows pulled together slightly.

“What do you mean?”

He looked up at you.

“I know saying sorry doesn’t erase what happened.”

Your expression softened.

“I know telling you how I feel doesn’t suddenly make everything okay.”

He paused, taking a breath.

“But I also know that if I keep avoiding this, then I’m doing the same thing I did before.”

Your chest tightened because he was right.

The old version of him would have avoided the conversation. He would have waited for the timing to be easier, for the fear to disappear, for everything to somehow solve itself.

But this time, he was sitting across from you, clearly terrified, and still choosing honesty.

“I don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

The words were quiet.

But somehow, they carried more weight than anything else he had said.

-

You looked down at your hands, trying to figure out how to explain everything you had been carrying around since the night he disappeared.

“Do you know how hard it was?”

His expression softened immediately.

“What?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around your cup.

“When you left.”

The words sat between you, heavy with everything you had kept inside for months. He didn’t interrupt, and he didn’t try to defend himself. He just listened, letting you say everything you had never been able to tell him.

“I spent weeks trying to convince myself that I was being dramatic. That maybe I shouldn’t care because we weren’t technically anything.”

You let out a quiet breath, looking away.

“But I did care.”

His eyes stayed on you.

“And I hated that.”

There was a sadness in your voice that surprised even you.

“I hated that someone I wasn’t even supposed to miss was the only person I wanted to talk to.”

His expression fell slightly, and you could see how much your words affected him.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked back at him.

“I know.”

The answer seemed to catch him off guard because you weren’t saying it angrily. You weren’t trying to punish him or make him feel worse than he already did.

You were just tired.

“I know you’re sorry,” you continued. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you hurt me.”

He nodded slowly.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to disappear and then come back expecting everything to be the same.”

“I don’t.”

His response came immediately.

“I don’t expect that.”

You studied him carefully.

“Then what do you expect?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes moved back toward the street, like he was trying to find the courage to say something he had already known for a while.

Then he looked back at you.

“Nothing.”

You blinked.

“Nothing?”

He nodded.

“I’m not asking you to forget what happened. I’m not asking you to suddenly trust me again just because I’m sorry.”

His voice softened.

“I just want a chance to show you that I can become someone you trust again.”

And that was what made it harder.

Because he wasn’t asking you to forgive him because he felt guilty. He wasn’t trying to make you responsible for making him feel better.

He was just asking for the opportunity to prove that he meant what he said.

And somehow, that felt more dangerous.

Because part of you wanted to let him.

Part of you wanted to stop fighting the feelings you had spent so long trying to bury.

Part of you wanted to admit that you had missed him every single day.

But you were scared.

Not of him.

Not anymore.

You were scared of everything that came with him.

“You know this isn’t simple.”

His eyebrows pulled together slightly.

“What isn’t?”

“This.”

You gestured between the two of you.

“Whatever this is.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re an idol.”

He nodded.

“And I’m just…”

You stopped yourself because you didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Just what?

Just someone normal?

Just someone who didn’t belong in his world?

He noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“Don’t do that.”

You looked at him.

“Do what?”

“Make yourself smaller because my life is bigger.”

The words caught you off guard.

He leaned forward slightly, his expression serious.

“You are not less important because people don’t know your name.”

You looked away.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“It is.”

A small pause followed.

“Because I know what it feels like.”

You looked back at him.

“To be surrounded by people and still feel invisible.”

His voice became quieter.

“And you were the first person who didn’t make me feel like that.”

Your chest tightened because that was the thing you kept forgetting.

Everyone knew him.

Everyone knew the idol.

The performer.

The person under the stage lights.

But you knew the version of him nobody else got to see.

The tired one.

The quiet one.

The person who didn’t have to pretend.

“You really mean that?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“I don’t think you understand how much.”

The honesty in his voice made you look away because, somehow, you did understand.

Maybe too much.

“I think I started falling for you before I even realized it.”

You froze.

His fingers moved slightly against the table as he looked down.

“I think it happened slowly.”

A small smile appeared.

“Like when you started bringing an extra drink because you knew I’d forget.”

A quiet laugh escaped you.

“I did that once.”

“You did it every time after.”

“Because you were always forgetting.”

“I know.”

His smile grew slightly.

“You always complained about it.”

“Because you were annoying.”

“Still am.”

“Very.”

For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Almost like you were back at the beginning, before the hurt and the distance and everything that had complicated things.

Then his expression softened.

“But I love that.”

The words were quieter.

“I love that you saw all of that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full.

You looked at him, really looked at him.

The person you thought you had lost.

The person who hurt you.

The person who had spent months trying to prove that the version of him you cared about was real.

“I’m still angry.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

“I’m still scared.”

“I know.”

You swallowed, your eyes dropping toward your drink.

“But I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t allowed himself to believe those words were possible.

“You don’t have to say that because you feel bad.”

“I’m not.”

Your voice was steadier this time.

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

For once, he didn’t have a response.

He just looked at you like he was trying to understand how he had gotten a second chance after everything.

“I don’t know what happens next.”

You looked down.

“I don’t know if I can handle everything that comes with you.”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

You looked back up.

“Okay?”

A small smile appeared.

“Okay.”

You frowned slightly.

“That’s it?”

He laughed softly.

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe argue a little?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

His expression softened.

“I spent too long thinking I had to convince you to stay. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

The words settled between you.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not.”

His thumb brushed lightly against the edge of his cup.

“But I’d rather deal with something difficult with you than go back to a life where I’m pretending I don’t feel anything.”

And that was when you finally understood.

He wasn’t choosing you because it was the easiest option.

He wasn’t choosing you because you were convenient.

He was choosing you because you mattered.

The next few weeks didn’t suddenly become perfect. You still had doubts, and he still had fears. There were still moments where his schedule got complicated, where the reality of his life reminded you that loving him would never be simple.

But the difference was that he didn’t disappear anymore.

He communicated.

He explained.

He let you into the parts of his life he once kept locked away.

And slowly, you stopped feeling like you were standing outside of his world.

You weren’t just the girl from the convenience store anymore.

You were someone he chose.

Someone he fought for.

Someone who saw him before the world did.

And when he finally finished the song he had been writing all those months ago, he didn’t show it to you immediately.

He waited.

Because he wanted you to know he wasn’t giving it to you as an apology.

He wasn’t trying to turn his feelings into a performance.

He was just sharing something that was always yours.

The song was simple.

No dramatic promises.

No perfect ending.

Just a story about two people who found each other at three in the morning when they were both lost.

And at the very end, the last lyric was the one thing he never got to say back then.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

And this time, he meant it

a/n - AHHHHH its finally done!! I really hope you all liked part 2. It's mentioned at the top of the post and I edited it onto part 1 as well but I personally think that you can read part 1 as a stand alone, but I was genuinely go grateful to see so many people like it and want a part 2. Thank you so much for reading and gave a good day/night.✌️✌️

Please Like, Reblog, and or Comment!

[withlovemark]

alright, my thoughts. even though i genuinely don’t think mine is that important.

the facts are:

1. mark wore a shirt with a confederate flag on it

2. a photo was posted online which is how we found out about it

3. people brought this up to upperroom

4. upperroom posted an apology statement that stated they do not tolerate the meaning behind the symbol

those are simply the facts without everyone’s assumptions and added narratives.

now with that being said, i think:

first and most importantly, he’s ignorant as hell for this.

do i think he wore it with malice? judging from his statement. no. i don’t think so. i think it was just a shirt they found thrifting, hence the word “vintage” being thrown around.

does that make it okay? NO. NOT AT ALL.

mark lee is a public figure who is responsible for making sure he knows what he’s representing. and wearing a symbol you don’t know the meaning of is just plain stupid. he can no longer take away the fact that his name and face is now linked to the confederate flag — even though he rejects that he supports it — that is the consequence of his own ignorance.

i’ve seen people saying that mark is hiding behind upper room and/or separating the two, saying that it’s the labels fault. which i just personally think is ridiculous. how do you hide behind a label under your name? how do you blame a label when he is the label?

there is no one to blame but him. and that will be the case for everything in the future as well. he’s the literal CEO now. everything has to be approved by him. every decision, everything he wears, says, writes, does….it all falls on him.

which is why he needs to be careful and take the time to educate himself. now — i’ve seen a lot of people say he should’ve already known considering he spent time in america. but i’ve also seen so many people find out about the flag TODAY. so i do think it’s a bit unreasonable that everyone expects him OR anyone to know american history. if you do then good for you. but some people simply just do not know. it really depends on who you’re educators are and we do not know what he was taught.

BUT even with that being said — do i still think he’s dumb as hell? YEAH, I FUCKING DO! especially in our world now where information is at the tip of our fingertips. IT TAKES ONE SIMPLE GOOGLE SEARCH. he obviously did not do that.

i do think he deserves all the criticism. but at what point does criticism just turn into blatant lies and hateful narratives? there’s been so many takes/jokes made that are so clearly obvious that people don’t really care.

end of the story is - upper room and mark (you cannot separate the two; he is upper room) have taken accountability for what happened, have specifically acknowledged the symbol and apologized.

it’s up to you whether or not you accept that apology. if you do then ok. if you don’t then ok.

now for me, it’s really all up to time — if his apology is real and sincere, i expect things like this won’t happen again. but if it’s not, and he really turns out to be a racist, hateful individual then trust im the first one out the door. i’m not here to sway anyone to make a choice. nor am i here to defend him. i acknowledge that he’s a fucking idiot and i’m hoping he learns from this and make better decisions moving forward.

you guys can come to your own decisions. you’re all adults and you can all choose for yourselves.

[suhkissed]

- acknowledges mark’s ignorance

- acknowledges that he is the only one to blame

- agrees he deserves all the criticism/backlash

- but still says it’s “unreasonable that everyone expects him OR anyone to know american history”

- yet he/they are pretty familiar with american black culture/trends/aave/the n word

- “if you do then good for you” rubs me the wrong way, idk

- “end of the story is - upper room and mark (you cannot separate the two; he is upper room) have taken accountability for what happened, have specifically acknowledged the symbol and apologized”

- if you call that taking accountability and think that apology was reasonable, you’re ignorant and braindead about racism just like mark and anyone else who accepts that apology

- also acknowledges that this is not an apology for you to accept but that’s exactly what it feels like

- even if you aren’t, you were right from the beginning anyways

- your thoughts genuinely weren’t important nor needed because this was just a whole nothingburger

- seems like you’re even supporting him still unless something like this happens again? was this not enough?

- but you do you. you can support whoever you want

[suhkissed]

so lemme get this straight… apparently mark is cultured enough to use aave in his raps, surround himself by black people, collab with them, and be all up in black culture trends and fashion but is somehow ignorant about the confederate flag?? lmao, yeah okay.

talking about “vintage shirt” vintage my ass mf..

[gabzsun]

mr. sorry | johnny suh

[☀️]notinha da sun: pra falar a verdade, não sei bem o que eu escrevi KKKKKKK eu queria escrever algo, mas queria fugir do óbvio, não sei se deu certo, but é isso!! @lovesuhng essa é pra você!! 💋

•

•

•

você precisava urgentemente descansar. achou que conseguiria se concentrar e escrever algo decente nas próximas 3 horas se se deslocasse do seu apartamento até a cafeteria em que seu amigo trabalhava. no entanto, não saiu do segundo parágrafo e precisava entregar aquele capítulo na sexta-feira, até no máximo às 23h.

— pode ficar com o meu notebook? vou deixar ele pra você no meu testamento, já que provavelmente vou perder minha cabeça na sexta — sua agente já tinha aumentado o prazo na última semana, ela ia ficar uma fera se você chegasse novamente com umas míseras palavrinhas dos personagens principais e uma ou duas relacionadas ao órgão genital masculino.

é, pois é, as pessoas podiam pensar que a vida de uma escritora de livros eróticos era repleta de sexo, caras diferentes todas as noites, zerar o kama sutra, ménage quando estivesse no tédio, borboleta paraguaia, idas ao sex shop como se fosse uma loja de departamento comum. porém, surpresa! já faziam dois anos desde o seu último best-seller, dois anos desde que você passou por um divórcio horrível, um pouco mais de dois anos desde a última vez que fez amor com alguém de quem realmente gostasse, seu então marido.

— precisa de inspiração? posso te contar da noite em que eu e a... — você interrompeu Donghyuck com um gesto de mão. a namorada dele era sua amiga também, definitivamente não estava no clima de imaginá-los fazendo sexo — quer um doce? posso pedir pra Sarah fazer aquele que você gosta, com canela e tals.

— eu tô bem. só preciso relaxar — Donghyuck anuiu com a cabeça, mas mesmo assim te mimou com uma balinha azeda. você sorriu, colocando-a na boca assim que saiu do quentinho do estabelecimento. fez careta quando passou pela porta, por causa da balinha e também pelo vento frio que te atingiu, apesar do sol fraco.

resolveu se sentar de frente pra uma pista de skate, numa pracinha a uns 10 minutos do café. gostava do ambiente, principalmente porque amava assistir homens se equilibrando num skate; te dava tesão. esperava que fosse o bastante pra voltar a escrever, e esperava que fosse rápido, uma avalanche de ideias que colocaria em prática e sua agente beijaria seus pés e...

— tia, você tá sentada no meu banquinho — você fechou seu livrinho de bolso (e seu principal disfarce pra não ficar tão na cara o escrutínio em caras gostosos), olhou para a criança, minúscula como crianças deviam ser, o cabelo tão escuro que parecia até meio azulado com a luz do sol, num corte tigelinha fofo. a roupinha era um macacão jeans com uns carrinhos aqui e ali.

— ei, garotão! sua mãe tá te procurando.

— puta merda — foi automático, não conseguiu segurar o palavrão na língua, não quando um cara duas vezes maior do que você aparece de repente com um boné virado pra trás. homens tinham finalmente descoberto o poder da calça de moletom e da camiseta branca? e a jaqueta jeans pra completar era de foder. definitivamente, o estilo despojado era o seu preferido.

— tio, mas ela tá no meu lugar! — a criança fez beicinho e você fez menção pra se levantar, afinal não queria fazer aquele menininho adorável chorar. no entanto, o homem te impediu com a própria mão, abanando-a num sinal que dizia “fique onde está”.

e tudo que você queria responder era: “sim, senhor”.

reprimiu outro palavrão, porque a mão, assim como o conjunto inteiro do corpo dele, era linda: grande, dedos longos, os tipos de dedos que você gostaria de ter na boca.

— me desculpa — ele pediu, depois da criança correr para o colo da mãe. você balançou a cabeça, tinha que fazer alguma coisa, já que aquele homem grande te encarava como se você fosse aquele seu docinho favorito com canela. talvez ele lambesse os dedos, os dedos longos, as unhas curtinhas, aparadas, limpinhas.

— é seu sobrinho? — você questionou, olhando para cima, para o rosto dele. ele sorriu, um sorriso lindo, parecia um gatinho apesar do físico.

— é. um deles. o mais sapeca — ele abriu a boca e depois fechou-a. não sabia se era porque estava arrebatado por sua beleza ou porque queria perguntar algo e não sabia como — desculpa, acho que te conheço de algum lugar.

— ah, tá — você sorriu, deixando pender a cabeça para o lado só um pouquinho — olha, eu acho que essa cantada já é meio antiga.

— não, eu não tô... quer dizer, se você quiser que eu esteja flertando com você — seu sorriso se alargou mais um pouquinho, tentou contê-lo mordendo o lábio — desculpa, eu sou o Johnny.

— você pede muitas desculpas, Johnny.

— des... — Johnny sorriu, sentando-se do seu lado, colocou a mão na testa, desconcertado de um jeito adorável e ao mesmo tempo sexy, especialmente porque, novamente, ele tinha mãos bonitas.

— eu sou escritora, mas eu não acho que você já leu alguma coisa minha — Johnny colocou um braço ao redor do encosto do banquinho de praça, se aproximando um pouquinho mais sem nem perceber, e você de repente se sentia viva, como se os últimos dois anos não tivessem sido uma merda. simultaneamente, se sentiu tímida também; gostava do que escrevia, não era só sexo, era romance, e romance também envolvia desejo, calor, formigamento, tesão. não tinha por que se sentir envergonhada e, mesmo assim, o constrangimento te dominou.

— li por causa de uma mulher. terminei em 2 dias a sua trilogia — dessa vez foi você quem ficou sem palavras. homens gostavam de pornografia, mulheres gostavam dos detalhes, das preliminares, das longas descrições antes que o mocinho tivesse enfim a heroína pra si. pra você, era uma declaração e tanto um cara ler livros por sua causa, e aquele, em específico, tinha feito isso por uma mulher.

— Johnny, quem é você? — você questionou e ele sorriu, desviando o olhar, mas ele continuava em você, no bico da sua bota, subindo devagarinho, absorvendo cada detalhe de você. foi o suficiente pra você ficar incomodada com o calor repentino, avançar e beijá-lo de levinho, só um selinho, só pra saber se você ainda sabia fazê-lo — me desculpa, eu...

Johnny te beijou, avançando sobre você naquele banquinho minúsculo. suas mãos tocaram-no por cima das roupas, tomando cuidado pra não ser promíscua, mas porra, dava pra sentir cada gominho. não queria se importar que era dia, que ele era um completo estranho gostoso e que o beijara do nada porque ele estava naquela porcentagem de 5% dos homens que te liam. não queria ligar para nenhum daqueles fatos, nem queria se esforçar pra isso, não quando a boca de Johnny estava na sua, não quando ele tinha gosto de menta.

— só eu peço desculpas, tá? você só faz.

Johnny disse, o nariz resvalando no seu, meio ofegante, você igualmente, sorrindo feito uma boba. aquele homem definitivamente seria seu naquela noite.

com um aceno sutil de cabeça, você concordou:

— combinado, Johnny.

[horahae]

Drop Dead - Jeon Wonwoo - Part 1

Pairing: video game developer!jeon wonwoo x animator f!reader

Summary: jeon wonwoo has been insufferable since the day you started at Carat Entertainment. between petty arguments and snide remarks to each other, he quickly became public enemy number one in your eyes. when you’re thrown together on a high-priority project for a new video game, late work nights turn into long conversations and you begin to forget why you even hated him in the first place. 

WC: 7.5k

CW: CHAPTER SPECIFIC, the full list can be found on the series navigation here. this series is 18+ so MDNI - a few SMAU posts in there, swearing, wonwoo is kind of a prick but so is the reader, best friends seungkwan and vernon, some brief use of y/n for email correspondences, but otherwise wonwoo calls the reader “picasso”. i have genuinely never done animation or coding before in my life, so this is probably inaccurate so just enjoy it for what it is LMAO

Series Masterlist - Next Part

to join the taglist for this series, please fill out the form here xx

dividers by @uzmacchiato

There’s an unspoken hatred between you and your coworker, Jeon Wonwoo. 

Okay, unspoken is not the right way to word it. The two of you are actually very spoken about it. Being near him for longer than ten minutes is enough to set you off the edge. He’s just so rude. He’s brooding, and grumpy, and never has anything nice to say or contribute to anything. He always thinks he’s entitled to everything, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. You’re thankful every day that you work in different departments, because god only knows how much worse it would be if you had to work together.

See, Wonwoo is a programmer. He works in engineering (AKA a bunch of boring nerds who type numbers all day. Right up his alley). You, on the other hand, are an animator. When you first got hired, you figured that Wonwoo must’ve hated how cool and awesome and talented you were compared to him. Anybody with a lick of common sense (and good taste) could tell you that animation was way more exciting than, what, staring at code? 

That had to be the reason he hated you so much from the start, because nothing else made sense. There was no fight, no argument–nothing to start this boiling feud between you. It was like your existence was reason enough for him to be an asshole.

Unfortunately for you, your departments sat on the same floor. Engineering was right around the corner from art, so it took months of strategy and planning to find ways around seeing him. You’ve memorized his daily schedule so you can avoid being in the breakroom at the same time as him. He takes his lunch around one every day, so you take yours a whole hour earlier. He leaves work a little after five, so you leave a little before. The less you needed to be around him, the better. 

Besides, it was for the good of the whole company, as well: the amount of complaints the two of you had received for arguing so much was embarrassing, to say the least. Wonwoo tried to say you were instigating it, but you wouldn’t even be arguing in the first place if he kept his stupid mouth shut. If it wasn’t one thing, it was the other. Yesterday your food smelled too bad, the day before that your sweater was too bright a color, and the day before that you laughed too loud and he ‘could hear it from the first floor’ (which you know is bullshit because you work on the sixth). 

Needless to say, he is insufferable. 

Today is no exception to that fact. The second you scan your ID to clock in, Wonwoo is side-eyeing you from his employee mailbox. You, being the bigger person you are, stick your nose up and brush past him. You cannot engage with whatever snarky comment he’s thinking of saying, because that will not be good. You already woke up in a bad enough mood today: your alarm went off late, the water in your building got shut off so you couldn’t shower, and your favorite bakery was out of the pastry you get every morning. Part of you almost dared Wonwoo to cross your path today, but you knew that one more argument could land you both in the boss’s office. You did not want to jeopardize your squeaky-clean record on him, of all people. 

“I can smell your lunch from here, Picasso. What is that, fish for the nth time in a row?”

You stop in front of the elevator. You don't bother looking over to him when you say, “Keep your nose to yourself, geeksquad.”

He scoffs, but doesn’t push the matter further. You figure he’s doing the same thing as you–keeping his record clean, that is. As far as you knew, he also had never had any disciplinary marks on his employee profile. Which, truly, is baffling to you. He’s got the worst personality and an even worse attitude at work. How he’s been here for so long is beyond you. Talented or not, you’ve never been able to understand why HR puts up with his snark. Maybe with your luck, he’d quit in the next few years. All he does is complain about work, anyway. 

The elevator door opens, and before you get the chance to step on, Wonwoo slides in front of you. You frown and try to follow him, but then he hits the ‘door close’ button, and you’re stuck in the lobby. 

Because, of course he would do that. Of course he would take your elevator ride and comment on your lunch and do everything in his power to make your Friday miserable. 

Pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek, you decide that you will not let this get to you. Drawing in a deep breath, you press the button again and wait for the door to open once more. When it finally returns, you can still smell his cologne in the small space; sandalwood is now permanently ruined for you. You grimace as you press the button for the sixth floor, then let your back lean against the wall behind you. 

Above you, the floor numbers flicker slowly as they change, and the elevator comes to a stop. By the time you get to your desk, Seungkwan is already hunched over your shared workstation with his brows pushed together. Seungkwan started at Carat Entertainment around the same time as you, and he quickly became one of your closest friends. Between late-night snack runs, traveling around the world, and questionable nights in town, Seungkwan weasled his way into your life as your ride or die. As much as you enjoy being around him, though, sometimes he can be a tad overdramatic. 

As you toss your bag onto your desktop, Seungkwan looks up and sighs in relief. “Thank god you’re here. I’m having trouble with this build I’ve been working on.”

You hum as you saunter over to him. Peeking over his shoulder, you watch as he attempts to troubleshoot his project. Everything starts normally: you see the start-up menu boot up fine, the character select looks good, but then when he gets into the game mode, the movements of the character begin to lag. When he tries to interact with anything, the lag is even more apparent. 

“Did you check the motion settings?” You ask as you pull a stool up beside him. 

“Yeah, I’ve exhausted everything.” Seungkwan groans. “Motion settings, blend timing…none of it is fixing the issue.”

Shrugging, you take the tablet from him. “Well, if it’s nothing on our end, that means it could be an engineering issue. Specifically a Wonwoo issue. He was working on this with you, right?”

“Uh,” Seungkwan clears his throat, “yeah.”

Just to be safe, you maneuver through the same tests that Seungkwan already ran. If you had to guess, it was probably something in-engine that was causing the issue. His character starts to glitch at a transition point, which means the movement controller is probably fucked. 

AKA: Wonwoo’s problem. Not yours. 

You hand him his tablet again. “I’d bring it up to him, then.”

“Sure.” Seungkwan shifts uncomfortably. You can tell he’s trying not to get caught between another piss-off with you and Wonwoo, so you offer him a reassuring smile. 

“Kwan, we are not doing anything wrong by escalating the problem to engineering.” You reply. “We’ve worked through our tests, and now that we know it’s not us, we need to involve Wonwoo. Besides, I’m not on this project with you guys. It’ll be fine.”

Seungkwan tucks the tablet under his arm. “I guess that’s true. It’s just…you know how he gets when someone tries to say he’s wrong. It’s almost worse than you.”

That elicits a laugh from you. You couldn’t argue with Seungkwan on that fact, though. You may be stubborn, but Wonwoo was even more so. As if he wasn’t egotistical enough, being told he’s wrong was like throwing a cat into a tub full of water. He takes feedback as a personal attack, and it’s a little pathetic. 

“He’s an adult,” you say as your laughter slows. “He’ll live. It’s good character development.”

From: Choi Seungcheol - Lead Developer To: Group: Art Department, Sub-Group: Animation CC: Boo Seungkwan, Jeon Wonwoo Subject: Animation Blends - Investigation Hi team,  I’m forwarding a ticket that concerns animation blending. It’s been brought to our attention that there may be an issue with some in-engine mechanics, and we are investigating it.  Jeon Wonwoo is the programmer assigned to the ticket. If there are any questions, please keep them limited to the ticket thread. For the time being, halt any ongoing animation work for the game. Once everything is cleared, we will let you know.  Thanks, Seungcheol

Well, that escalated. Your advice to Seungkwan has now indirectly involved Wonwoo in your day, and you are considering going home sick. Burying your face in your hands, you let out a dramatic groan. Beside you, Seungkwan leans back in his chair. 

“Well, this sucks.” He announces. “They assigned the grouchiest programmer to the ticket. Do they not realize how shitty our day is about to become?”

You turn to face him. “What did you say to prompt all of this?”

Seungkwan's eyes widen. “Me? Don’t turn this on me! You’re the one who told me to bring it to engineering!”

Before you can argue with him, you see Wonwoo walk into your department. His hands are in his pockets until he gets to your work station and pulls up a chair. He settles into it with the backrest forward as he leans against it. He looks a little too calm right now, and it unnerves you and Seungkwan. You both exchange a quick look when Wonwoo holds his hand out. 

“Let me see the build, Seungkwan.” He deadpans.  

Seungkwan hesitates as he hands the tablet over to him. “It happens at the transition point right after character selection.”

Wonwoo is quiet as he goes through the same motions that the two of you already had. His expression is flat, but you can see his jaw clench in irritation as he works. He has a vein on his neck that is sticking out, which tells you he’s mad. You’ve seen it come out a few times when you argue with him. In the reflection of his glasses, you can see the game begin to glitch, just as Seungkwan told him it would.

After finishing a few tests, he hands the tablet back to Seungkwan. 

“It’s not the animation.” He says simply. His tone is too neutral, and that only adds to your nerves. You can tell how upset he is physically, but the fact that he’s staying so composed is new. It's an unknown territory.

“So, it’s engineering?” Seungkwan asks. 

“I didn’t say that.” Wonwoo stands, then pushes the chair back to where he got it. “I think it’s a shared problem.”

“Shared?” You chime in. 

Wonwoo looks at you briefly, then begins walking away. “That’s what I said, Picasso.”

You were not about to let him leave like that. You stumble to your feet, hurrying after him. At this point, complaints be damned. 

“You just saw that it wasn’t an animation problem,” You retort. “If it’s not us, that clearly means it’s the movement controller. Or something else in the code. The code that you made, by the way.”

Wonwoo stops, and you almost run into him. He turns to face you, then leans down to your level. You hate it when he does this. Holding your tongue, you fold your arms across your chest.

“It’s not an animation problem.” He agrees. “It’s also not an engineering problem. I just said it was shared, but I need to run a few of my own tests to be sure. I don’t just assume.”

You scoff. “I did not assume. I ran through the right process, Wonwoo. I did my own tests, and when those came back fine, I turned it over to engineering. Is that not the right way to handle this?”

“It is.”

“So what are you insinuating?” You press. 

“Am I insinuating something?” He counters. The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s finding this amusing, and you want to punch him more than ever. “I’m just speaking plainly.”

You draw in a deep breath in a final attempt to calm yourself down. Then, you force a polite smile. “Fine.”

“Fine.” He echoes. You watch as he turns and disappears back into the engineering department. 

It takes a whole two hours before you’re getting another email. But this time, it’s only addressed to you. 

From: Choi Seungcheol - Lead Developer To: Y/L/N, Y/F/N CC: Jeon Wonwoo, Hong Joshua - Lead Animator Subject: RE: Animation Blends - Investigation Please find your assigned work order below. If you have any questions, let Wonwoo know.  Thanks,  Seungcheol

Unbelievable. Attached to the email is, in fact, a new work order that’s titled: 

JOINT INVESTIGATION - ANIMATION BLENDS - ASSIGNED STAFF: JEON WONWOO, Y/L/N Y/F/N.

If there is a God out there, you’re sure at this point they have it out for you. This is a personal attack from the universe, and you can’t help but wonder why. Your first instinct is to ask Seungcheol to take you off the ticket, because who in their right mind would think it’s a good idea to pair the two of you together? But you already know the answer, because it’s the same one they give you every time you get stuck on a work order together: “You’re the best in each department. We need the best to figure this out, so figure it out”. 

Which, really, you’re flattered to be considered the best. What you’re not flattered about is the fact that being the best automatically means that Wonwoo is constantly in your orbit. At this point, your department leads are just begging HR to get involved because of the way they keep throwing you two together. 

As if on cue, Joshua, your supervisor, knocks on the door. You push yourself to your feet and grab your tablet. 

“I know, I’m going.” You grumble. “Just know I’m mad about it, though.”

“You always are.” He replies with a hum. “When you’re done with Wonwoo, I do need to see the two of you in my office. Seungcheol is calling a meeting.”

Well, that’s not good. 

“What for?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

He takes a deep breath. “Nothing horrible. We’ll discuss it later. Just fix this animation blend, and I’ll see you soon.”

He disappears back into his office, and you want to slam your head against a wall. Maybe throw yourself into traffic. Whatever it takes to get out of this work order and this surprise meeting. Basically, anything to be away from Wonwoo.

You hesitate before leaving your department, and the walk to engineering feels like torture. When you open the door to their corner of the sixth floor, Wonwoo’s back is to you. He’s already typing rapidly, staring at a screen full of code that makes zero sense to you. The chair next to him is open, so you promptly slide into it. 

He doesn’t say anything. He continues working and is obviously ignoring the fact that you’re here, now. You set down your tablet and clear your throat loudly. Still, nothing. 

“Earth to Wonwoo?” You wave a hand in front of his face, and he pushes it away. 

“I’m working.” He mutters. You roll your eyes. 

“I can see that.” You reply as you boot up your tablet. “Didn’t you see? I’m assigned to help with the work order.”

“Lucky me.”

You both fall into a very angry silence. Wonwoo’s typing becomes a bit more aggressive, which only fuels your fire to tap a bit harder against the screen of your tablet. You can feel the other engineers nervously watching, like the two of you are a bomb that’s set to detonate any second. 

“You’re too close.” Wonwoo suddenly announces. You feel his foot push your chair away from under the desk. “And you’re working too loudly. I can’t hear myself think.”

“I’m too loud?” You drop your tablet into your lap. “I’m on a touchscreen, Wonwoo. You have the loud ass keyboard. Maybe you should get your eyes checked again, because clearly your vision has gotten worse if you can’t see that.”

“Your presence alone is too loud.” He argues, not taking his eyes off his screen. He’s still typing, and that pisses you off even more. “You’re so loud all the time. Your voice, your breathing, your tapping. Just for one day, I’d love it if you would shut up and keep your opinions to yourself–”

You move before you can think, and pull the plug on his computer. Someone gasps from behind you, whereas Wonwoo is quickly standing. He’s pushing you completely out of the way, now, to hurry and plug it back in. As the screen flickers back to life, he finally looks at you. 

“What is your problem?” He asks. “Are you crazy?! None of that was saved! The file is going to be even more corrupt now–”

“My problem?” You stand as well, tossing your tablet aside. “You’re finding any excuse to ridicule what I do. I mean, my breathing, Wonwoo? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Both of you, stop.”

The two of you turn towards the doorway where Seungcheol is standing. He looks tired and annoyed. He drags a hand down his face, then steps to the side. “Come with me, please.”

Wonwoo doesn’t move immediately, so you grab your things and move first. He trails behind shortly after as you make your way down the hall towards his office. You’ve never had a reason to come in here before, but it looks like how you’d imagine it to. There aren’t many decorations, and everything is either black or grey. He has a single pencil holder on his desk with maybe five pens in it. In his own words, his office is ‘no bullshit’.

Seungcheol is a little intimidating. Way more than your supervisor, that is. He’s nice, but you’ve seen him get mad before, and that was reason enough to try to stay clear of him as much as possible. However, thanks to Wonwoo, you’re about to be at the receiving end of his anger.

Joshua is already sitting in there when you arrive, and he looks equally as tired as Seungcheol. You and Wonwoo take the two open seats in front of Seungcheol’s desk, and then it's quiet. Seungcheol closes the door and sighs. When he sits, you can feel your heart rate quicken. 

“I want to start by saying you two are some of the best employees we have in the agency.” His voice is even, but wavers on the edge of irritation. “However, this kind of behavior has to stop. Joshua and I have been talking, and we think it would be best to try to remedy this before it gets even worse than it already is.”

Neither you nor Wonwoo has the dignity to talk, so he keeps going. 

“We have a new game proposal that has come to our attention from our supervisors.” He explains, leaning back in his chair. “But, in order for it to get funding of any kind, we need to create a mock-up of the game. Just a small, playable version to show what the finished product could look like with full funding. This game has the potential to be a big deal for the company, so we can not mess it up. Which, in turn, means we need our best workers on the project.”

“Since the two of you can’t figure out how to work together on your own,” Joshua chimes in, “we will be requiring you to work together on this project. That means genuine collaboration and communication. No more using Seungkwan as a mediator or opening tickets to try and solve problems.”

You think you might puke. Beside you, Wonwoo is still. You’re both at a loss for words, because why would they think this was a good idea? They just saw how the morning played out with their own two eyes, so they think the appropriate solution is to force you to work together? The whole situation is laughable and ridiculous. So horrifically ridiculous, in fact, that you wonder for a second if this is a nightmare. It’s the only logical explanation right now. 

“What’s the game?” Wonwoo asks. His voice is low, like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s pissed by being quiet. 

Seungcheol reaches into a drawer and pulls out a manila folder. There’s already quite the stack of papers inside, which makes you wonder how long they’ve been building on this idea before deciding to greenlight it. He passes the folder to Wonwoo, who begins shuffling through the notes. 

“Fantasy RPG,” Seungcheol replies. “They want to make it an open world, with a ‘choose your own path’ style of gameplay. There’s everything between romanceable characters, vast options for customization, and over a hundred different endings to the game. The mechanics are going to need to be pretty impressive for us to get the funding we need.”

The project did sound like fun. It piques your interest enough that the idea of working with Wonwoo almost sounds tolerable if it meant you got to design the characters for it. Almost. Wonwoo closes the folder again and tries to pass it back to Seungcheol, but you reach over to take it from him. He glances at you for the first time since the argument, and your blood boils all over again. His jaw tightens as he turns to his supervisor. 

You flip through the notes, seeing a few rough sketches for concept art. It’s got everything between character names, weapons, armor, and even animal companions. Your mind is already swirling with ideas as you chew on your bottom lip. The vision is painting itself in your mind, making you eager to sketch it all up. You’re thinking of a darker concept, judging by the description of the game. Deep purples, ugly, olive green tones, with maybe a touch of mustard yellow for the ogres–

“We need a final product to present to investors in six months.” Seungcheol continues. You look up at him again. Six months was not that much time. You’d have to start on this, like, yesterday. “I’m anticipating overtime will happen occasionally, so HR has already approved whatever extra hours will accumulate between now and August.”

You glance over to Wonwoo, who is now sitting with his arms folded across his chest. You can’t fully read his expression from where you sit, but you’d kill to know what was going on in his mind right now. As you close the folder and pass it back to Seungcheol, you take a deep breath. 

“Okay.” You manage. Not that you had much of a choice in whether or not you were assigned to the project, but you knew one of you had to at least acknowledge the plan. Clearly, Wonwoo wasn’t going to. “I’ll start on some designs–”

“Don’t tell me.” Seungcheol gestures to Wonwoo. “Tell your partner.”

You feel the tips of your ears heat up. Is he seriously playing mediator right now? Swallowing, you turn to face Wonwoo. He’s still not looking at you. 

Clearing your throat, you finish your sentence, “I’ll start on some designs and color palettes.”

A few seconds pass before Wonwoo looks at you. He stands, then sticks his hands into his pockets. “Sounds good. I’m going to work on gameplay mechanics. I’ll get some demos ready.”

With that, he turns on his heel and exits the office. A tiny part of you hopes the door hits him on his way out, but it doesn’t. It never does. 

When you get home, you sink into your couch and pray the cushions swallow you whole. Your cat, Dubu, comes running from the bedroom and promptly plants herself onto your lap. You watch as she stretches out, then rolls over onto her back. 

Dubu came into your life when you first moved out of your parents’ house. So, five years ago now. Truthfully, you’re not sure where you’d be without her. Dubu has been your lifeline for every long, sleepless night, every breakup, and every hiccup you’ve had involving Wonwoo at work. Today was no different, and you’re certain she can tell when you’re having a bad day. She’s purring loudly, staring up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. For her, you probably did. You just wish you could do it for someone else, too. 

“Oh, Dubu,” you sigh, “what’re we going to do? They’re making Wonwoo and I work together.”

She meows as if she understands. She doesn’t, but you keep going anyway.

“The game is cool.” You hum as you gently scratch her tummy. She blinks slowly. “It’s fantasy. Maybe I could draw some cool dragons in it. Or maybe I could draw Wonwoo and have him get blown to smithereens in the tutorial.”

If only that’s how real life worked, too. Not that you want Wonwoo dead per se, but you wish there was a way to just…re-animate or re-code how things could be. You wonder a lot what must’ve happened to make him such a grouch, or if he came out of his mother’s womb naturally being an asshole. How miserable his life must be if he behaves that way every day. 

Does he even have a life outside of work? You’ve never considered that thought before. Who was Jeon Wonwoo outside of the office? Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you dig your phone out of your pocket and open up Instagram. It takes all but one search for his profile to pop up. 

You want to laugh at how ridiculous it seems. The only semi-accurate aspect about his profile is the fact that he’s barely smiling. Now that you think about it, you wonder if he’s just allergic to smiling in general. Have his friends seen him smile? His family? You want to shudder at the thought of being related to someone so…Wonwoo. Your eyes land on one particular recurring commenter: kimhaeun. She’s calling Wonwoo handsome and saying she misses him, and you barf a little in your mouth. If anyone has seen him smile, maybe it’s her. Poor soul. Dating someone as pretentious as him must be miserable–assuming they’re dating, anyway.

Dubu meows again from your lap, which shifts your attention back to her. Tossing your phone aside, you begin to scratch the top of her head. She paws at your phone playfully, which makes you smile. 

Until her paw somehow taps the ‘follow’ button. 

When you gasp, Dubu jumps off your lap and runs to the other room. You quickly unfollow him, and pray to god he didn’t see anything. You’re not sure you can handle that kind of embarrassment at work on Monday. Besides, who the hell is going to believe your story that your cat followed him?

“Jesus, Dubu.” You exhale as you make sure to fully close out of the app this time. 

You set your phone back down on the couch and wander to the bedroom, where Dubu is hiding under the bed. You manage to coax her out and scoop her into your arms again. As you give her a kiss on the head, your phone dings in the living room. You and Dubu wander back to the couch, and you peer down at the screen. 

wonulikesgames Followed You!

Monday rolls around, and you’re not so sure how you feel about going into work. The only plus side is that Wonwoo isn’t showing up at the same time as you today, so you can peacefully clock in and head up to your workstation. Tucked under your arm is your sketchbook, where you’ve drawn a few mock-ups for character designs. You spent your whole weekend on them and were truthfully pretty proud of the final product. The game was a big inspiration, though. If the project gets the funding it needs, you already knew you would buy a copy once the company finished making it. 

Video games were something you enjoyed from time to time. Honestly, when you got into animation, you were hoping to do something more along the lines of movies or cartoons. It hadn’t crossed your mind to animate for video games until your friend, Hansol, encouraged you to apply for the position at Carat Entertainment. Hansol, much like Seungkwan, is one of your best friends. He went to art school with you, but he left Carat a few years ago to work in an art institute somewhere in Europe. When he lived here, you, him, and Seungkwan were inseparable. You and Seungkwan had even taken a trip to see him a few months ago, and you’d forgotten how fun it was to have the three of you in the same room. 

With Hansol leaving Carat, though, you were promoted to his old position. Going from a concept artist to an animator was a dream come true. 

Well, until it began to involve Wonwoo. 

You’d known of Wonwoo when you were first hired, but your paths hadn’t started crossing until the promotion. Prior to that, you’d smile at him in the hallways, and he’d just ignore it. You figured at the time he was just awkward. When you finally had to work with him, you quickly found out that he just sucked. And as much as he sucked, you despised the fact that he was good at what he did. Like, why do shitty people also get to be talented and smart? It’s a waste, in your opinion. Some of that could go to other programmers you enjoyed, like Jihoon or Soonyoung. They weren’t assholes. Why couldn’t you collaborate with them?

You round the corner towards your workstation, where Wonwoo is spread out with his laptop. Seungkwan is tucked in the corner, looking scared out of his mind that the devil himself is there. Your jaw tightens as you set your things down. 

“Good morning.” You say flatly. 

“Sure,” Wonwoo mumbles in response. “My computer is broken in engineering. Brought my laptop to work here instead.”

“You couldn’t just work on your laptop in engineering?” You question. “You’re taking up too much room. Seungkwan needs to work, too, you know.”

“We’re working on this together, aren’t we?” He counters. “Besides, I have demos to show you. Seungkwan already told me he didn’t need this workspace today.”

Your head snaps up, finding Seungkwan’s gaze immediately. He mouths, ‘Sorry!’. You roll your eyes. Considering there was no way out or around this, you decide that there’s no point in wasting your energy on it. You slide into your chair as you boot up your tablet. 

“Well,” you sigh as you begin to spin, “I have some character designs to show you, too. Glad we both did our work over the weekend.”

Wonwoo is quiet as he types. You’re not sure when he’s planning to show you these demos, so at first you just wait. Your gaze darts back and forth between Seungkwan and Wonwoo, trying to figure out if you should say something else or let Wonwoo approach the topic first. Figuring your colleague wasn’t going to be talking anytime soon, you decide to leave the ball in his court. Spinning in your chair, you face your tablet again. As you begin moving your physical sketches onto the device, you hear a chair get pulled up to your left. You glance, finding Wonwoo there with his laptop.

Of course, he’s ready to show you when you take your attention off him. 

You spin to face him, and he gives you a look. It’s not one you can entirely read, but if you had to guess, it was annoyance. It only makes sense that he would hate someone spinning in their office chair. He probably doesn’t spin in his at all because he’s a fun hater. Just for that, you continue to spin back and forth to piss him off even more. 

“So, I made the mechanics pretty simple as far as the actual combat goes,” he begins as he faces the screen towards you. “I think the focus should be more storyline-based than combat-based, going off the notes. I’ve created a total of fifteen different fighting strategies so far. Obviously, most of them will depend on the weapon type, but I figure we can flesh that out with whatever you’ve drawn so far.”

He begins to play through his demo. You watch as the filler characters (AKA blocks essentially) move through the space. Wonwoo seems focused, and you hate that he’s so aware of what he’s doing. You hate that he’s good at this. But what you hate even more is the fact that the gameplay looks good. Like, really, really good. Once the demo ends, he looks over to you. His expression is deadpan per usual, but it’s slightly softer, like he’s looking for approval of some kind. 

All you can manage to give him is a shrug. “It looks fine.”

“It’s better than fine.” He states. “This is the best combat I’ve made since starting here.”

You know he’s right, but you’re too prideful to give him that justification. You begin spinning in your chair again as you think of what to say that won’t give him any kind of ego boost. Suddenly, his hand grabs the backrest of your chair, promptly stopping you. 

“Would you knock that off?” He asks. “Show me your sketches.”

“Fun hater.” You grumble. You turn your back to him to grab your sketchbook, then pass it to him. “All my sketches for the game are towards the back of the notebook. It’s labeled, so you shouldn’t miss–”

“I found them already.” He cuts in. Then, he goes quiet again as he slowly flips through each page. You watch as his eyes carefully examine every drawing, like he’s genuinely observing it and not just glancing. On one page, you watch him trace over the illustration with his hands. He hesitates for a second, and before you can lean in to see what picture it was, he closes the notebook and passes it back to you. “They’re fine.”

You guess you deserve that. Taking the notebook back, you sigh. “I’m going to work on transferring these over to my tablet, and then I’ll begin on animation.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything you do,” Wonwoo says, as he turns his attention back to his laptop. “As long as it gets done, I don’t care.”

You blink. “This is a collaboration, in case you’ve forgotten. When I collaborate, I personally keep my partner in the loop on the status of each stage. You know, like a normal person.”

“But I don’t think that requires giving me every detail,” Wonwoo argues. “Obviously, updates are good, but I don’t need to know what you’re doing every second of your day, Picasso. Frankly, I couldn't care less what you’re doing with your day.”

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. For some reason, his words pack a bit more punch than normal. Dwelling on it, though, wasn’t going to fix anything. When you turn back to your tablet to keep working, you’re expecting Wonwoo to go back to the workstation. Instead, he stays firmly planted at your side, typing away on his laptop as if he didn’t just insult you a few seconds ago. 

Time rolls on, and the two of you are so quiet that after a while, you forget Wonwoo is even there. You bob your head to the music in your headphones and sway in your chair as you shade and finish some character designs. The color palette you picked looks exactly as you envisioned, and it makes you feel a swell of pride. Almost like reassurance that you do know what you’re doing, and your art degree is paying off.

As you’re shading in the last dragon from your sketches, you hear Wonwoo shift beside you. You glance over to him, and he’s stretching his hands above his head. The sleeves on his white button-down fall slightly when he removes his glasses to rub his eyes. When he puts them back on, he glances at the time. It’s already one, which means you missed your lunch. It is, however, time for his lunch. So, you watch him stand. He locks his computer, but leaves it next to you. 

“I’ll be back in an hour.” He announces. 

And with that, he exits the department and disappears towards the breakroom. You drag a hand down your face, as Seungkwan all but trips over himself running over to you. 

“That was so weird!” He hisses, spinning you to face him. “He just…sat there. All morning. Is he coming back? Will it be like this for this whole project?”

You push Seungkwan off of you. “He just said he would be back in an hour, Kwan. Were you even listening? And, no, it’s only like this until his computer is fixed.”

“What is the project they have you working on? Joshua wouldn’t say.” Seungkwan slides into the seat that was previously occupied by Wonwoo. 

“It’s just some new game they’re trying to get greenlit.” You roll your eyes. “They’re making Wonwoo and I work together as a disciplinary action.”

Seungkwan makes a face at that. “So, what, how long are you going to be stuck on this with him?”

“Six months,” You groan, burying your face in your hands. “The only redeeming factor is that the game is so cool. I really want to be part of it, but the fact that it means dealing with Wonwoo–”

“Hey, on the plus side, he’s only insulted you once so far today!” Seungkwan chirps. “He seems to be staying quiet.”

“For now.” You mutter. 

He had a point, though. As much as it pains you to admit it, the morning hasn’t been awful. If the project could stay like this for the duration of the six months, you might actually make it out alive. 

“Besides,” Seungkwan shifts closer to you, “between you and me, I heard he got a job offer somewhere else.”

As if today couldn’t get any better. You gasp, fully turning your body towards Seungkwan. This deserves full attention, so you shut your tablet off to listen. Seungkwan leans in so nobody else can hear. 

“I was in the breakroom an hour ago,” he explains softly. “Soonyoung and Seokmin were in there, talking about how Wonwoo had a meeting with Seungcheol on Friday after you guys left. I guess some big-name company in the States offered him a job, and it pays really well.”

“Do you think he’ll take it?” You ask. 

Seungkwan scoffs. “He’d be stupid not to. That’s what Seokmin said, too. I mean, this could be a big break for him. Besides, he had a messy breakup a few months ago. Like, bad messy. So why would he stay?”

Your mind wanders back to the girl you saw in the comments on his Instagram profile–Haeun. Was that who he broke up with? Maybe that’s why she commented that she wished she were with him on his most recent post. Yikes. Well, really, maybe not yikes. She was now single, so you would count that as a win for her. Maybe she’d see it eventually, too. 

“Oh god, I am praying so hard he takes it.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “Could you imagine life without Jeon Wonwoo?”

“I’d imagine you’d be a lot more delightful to be around.” Seungkwan remarks. 

You kick his leg from under the desk. He winces, then kicks you back. It doesn’t hurt, though. Seungkwan never could put much power behind his physical attacks. He was too nice to do that. 

You turn back to your tablet, then happily sigh. “Maybe that will be my motivation for this project.” You hum as Seungkwan returns to his own desk. “One more day of working with him just means I’m one day closer to never seeing him again.”

You don’t even realize it’s late until you finish transferring your final sketch over. You stretch, then glance up. Outside, it’s dark. The office is quiet except for the sounds of Wonwoo’s typing next to you. Grabbing your phone, you glance at the time. 

8:47 pm

“Oh, my god.” You say, but a yawn slips out instead. You’ve missed lunch and dinner now, it seems. Dubu will be mad at you when you get home. “It’s almost nine.”

Wonwoo, unmoving, replies, “I know, I saw that a few minutes ago.”

You stand and power off your tablet. As you begin to put all your tools and supplies away, you find that Wonwoo begins to follow suit. 

“You didn’t have to stay if you knew it was late.” You comment. “I have a tendency to lose track of time.”

He packs his laptop into his backpack. “I wasn’t staying because of you. I was staying because I had work to do.”

“Right,” you laugh in disbelief. A few seconds pass before you add, “You’re so grumpy all the time.”

Wonwoo looks up at you as he puts on his jacket. “I’m not grumpy. I just don’t like you.”

“Well, that’s been established.” You roll your eyes as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you right now.”

As you turn to leave, you hear him quickly say, “Wait. You think I’m just going to let you leave alone?”

You press your brows together. Before you have the chance to look at him again, he’s already by your side. As if he could read your thoughts, he clarifies, “It’s late. This side of town isn’t fantastic at night, and I’m not going to just let you leave by yourself. I hate you, but I’m not a complete asshole.”

The two of you begin walking in silence towards the elevator, and you are incredibly unsure of how you’re supposed to feel in this moment. Jeon Wonwoo, the same person who can never be bothered to do anything for anyone, is now walking you to your car. You already know you’re going to have to call Seungkwan and Vernon when you get home to debrief this. They’re always in the loop on your ‘Wonwoo Moments’, as they’ve dubbed it.

When the elevator doors close behind you, Wonwoo leans against the wall. He sighs, then says, “I saw you followed me on Instagram.”

The blood rushes from your face. You bow your head towards the ground to hide the fact, then clear your throat. “Uh, yeah, that was an accident. I unfollowed you.”

“I know.” He replies. “Why were you looking me up?”

“Jesus.” You laugh, burying your face in your hands. “You’re so straightforward, dude. Have you never casually stalked someone before?”

When you lift your head to look at him, he’s already staring at you. He’s deadpan (shocker), but the fact that he was looking at you makes you feel…weird. It’s not bad, but it’s not good. You don’t really know what it is, but your stomach kind of flips over itself. 

“No.” He answers flatly. “I’m not on social media much.”

“I noticed.” You hum. “Your last post was from four months ago.”

“No, I posted last week.” He corrects. You think for a second he’s biting back a smile, but you can’t tell with the dim lighting of the elevator. The doors open, and the two of you are stepping off. 

You scoff, looking away from him. “Whatever. You get my point.”

Outside, the February air is crisp as it hits your face. You wrap your arms around yourself as you both trek across the parking lot towards your vehicles. True to his word, Wonwoo walks you all the way to your small, white SUV. When you stop beside it, you’re not sure why you hesitate. But Wonwoo doesn’t move, either, so you sit in the silence. 

Seoul is still alive around you, with the sounds of cars passing by and the twinkling lights of the city. It starts to snow lightly, and you consider saying something. Anything. But before you get the chance to act on it, Wonwoo is taking a deep breath. 

“Good job today.” He says. “Your designs were really cool.”

“Oh.” You give him a polite smile. “Thank you. You too. I kind of lied earlier. I really liked your combat mechanics.”

Wonwoo laughs, and for the first time in the seven years you’ve known him, you see his smile. His head dips for a second before he meets your gaze again. 

“I figured you did.” He admits. “But, I did, too. So I guess we’re even.”

“I guess so.” You say. “Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

“Goodnight, Picasso.”

Perm Taglist: @bananabelle @aelin-tiny @weasleytwins-41 @codeinebelle @parakissss @toohyperactiveforyou12

Series Taglist: @ohfucknvm @epelletart - to be added, please find the form at the top of this post xx

[sndygly]

Love me not

Waiting for you was already a part of Soonyoung's life. Loving you and yearning for you up close was part of the routine. It was a perfect balance. A perfect balance that wasn't going to last long if they both continued to avoid talking about it.

And time waits for no one, time passes, people move on, people get bored.

"Kwon Soonyoung got tired of waiting for you."

That's what your mind was telling you, when the routine was disrupted by an external presence.

Tgs. Miscommunication, angst w happy ending, a lot of drama, ummm, they're both idiots in love, idol au, kind of jealousy???, SMUT! Unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex guys!) sex in front of a bigass mirror, kind of getting caught? Praise kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, lmk if I missed something

An. FINALLY I FINISHED THIS, omfg it took so fucking long, but anyways, this is a request from @woozimyprettyprincess I really hope you like it! And I'm really sorry for making you wait.

I think this is the longest fic I've written lol, so, enjoy!

My masterlist

Join my emo band (taglist)

Make a request!

Monday 7:20 a.m.

It was the beginning of the week, there were 30 minutes left before you were due to open the cafeteria and begin your work.

And before the shift started officially, Seungkwan and Jeonghan were standing across from you behind the counter as every morning, interrogating, harassing you, asking you questions, etc., about the same person every morning. It was practically part of your daily routine at this point.

“Just tell us you like him! We won’t snitch on you!” Seungkwan insisted. You just rolled your eyes “I don't like him!” Seungkwan huffed a laugh “Ten bucks says Hoshi slips up and confesses before the month ends.” To which Jeonghan had replied, “Twenty bucks says they both grow old, gray, and completely oblivious in the same house while still claiming they’re ‘just best friends.’” And then an external voice joined their conversation “what are we talking about?” Mingyu asked, standing besides Jeonghan, completely oblivious of the topic they were discussing.

“We are talking about how she,” Jeonghan pointed at you, “Has the biggest, fattest, crush on Soonyoung and still doesn't want to confess”

“I don't have a crush on Soonyoung!” You rested your elbows on the counter and hid your face in your hands.

Mingyu’s eyes went wide, a slow, delighted grin spreading across his face as he leaned over the counter, completely invading your personal space. “Wait, really? We're still denying this? Even after he spent forty minutes yesterday trying to bait anyone into wanting something from the cafeteria, just so he had an excuse to come down and hang out with you for a half hour without anyone ‘noticing’?”

“He was just being nice!” you muttered, your voice muffled against your palms. "You know he's just a caring person. That's the only reason he was insisting on buying you guys drinks.”

"Yeah, but it doesn't take thirty minutes to make an iced americano," Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the espresso machine. “Come on. Last Friday, he literally bought three different types of coffee just because he couldn't face coming back to the studio empty-handed, otherwise we would ‘suspect’ something.”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the countertop. “Don't push her too hard, Seungkwan. Our little barista here is fragile. She thinks if she admits it out loud, the universe will manifest a giant tiger to come and whisk her away.” He peeked over your hands, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “Though, to be fair, the tiger is already lingering. He’s been texting me since 7:00 a.m. asking if the cafeteria was officially open yet.”

Your head snapped up, your face burning. "He has not!"

“Oh, believe me, he really has,” Mingyu confirmed cheerfully, pulling out his phone to scroll through their group chat. “Look, he just texted the main chat asking if anyone needs anything from here. Mind you, before he met you, he wouldn't spent a fucking dime on us.”

“See? It's a sickness,” Seungkwan sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “And you're enabling him by keeping up this 'just friends' facade. Just give us something to work with. A hint. A confession. Anything so I can win my ten bucks from Jeonghan.”

“Uh-uh! You're not getting a dime,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, leaning back and flashing a saintly smile. “Because she's stubborn. They're both going to suffer in silent, mutual pining until the year 2050, and I am going to collect my twenty dollars with interest.”

You let out a loud, frustrated groan, dropping your forehead straight onto the cool marble of the counter. The chill of the stone did absolutely nothing to cool down the intense blush creeping up your neck. “I hate all three of you. I really do. Why are you even here? Don't you have a choreo run-through to be sweating in?”

“Not for another twenty minutes,” Seungkwan replied smoothly, checking his nails with an air of supreme luxury. “And besides, watching you self-combust over your non-existent feelings is way better than waiting for the choreographer.”

“It's an investment in your future,” Jeonghan added, his voice dripping with that trademark, faux-angelic sweetness. He reached over the counter, his fingers lightly tapping the top of your head as if imparting a holy blessing. “We are just the humble guardians of love, trying to nudge two deeply troubled, deeply blind souls toward the light. Or at least toward a conversation that doesn't involve seventy percent heavy staring and thirty percent awkward stuttering.”

“Hey! I don't stutter!” You snapped your head up, glaring at him, though the effect was entirely ruined by the way your hair was now completely disheveled from the counter.

“Oh, you definitely stutter,” Mingyu chimed in, a massive, teasing smirk splitting his face. He leaned even further over the counter, practically hovering over the pastry display. “Whenever he does that thing where he leans his chin in his hand and just looks at you while you're grinding espresso beans? You literally forget how to count. Last Tuesday, you gave Wonwoo four packets of sugar. Wonwoo drinks his coffee black, like oil. He was too polite to say anything, so he just stared at the cup in confusion for ten minutes.”

“That was an isolated incident!” you defended hotly, your hands waving in the air. “The grinder was making a weird noise, I was distracted by mechanical failure!”

“The only mechanical failure around here is your emotional defense system,” Seungkwan countered, pointing a finger at you. “It’s completely compromised. Look at you! You're vibrating. And the worst part is, he’s just as pathetic upstairs. Do you know what we had to endure during the Performance Team meeting yesterday? He kept sighing. Just, out of nowhere, a massive, dramatic tiger-sigh right in the middle of a transition count. Jun asked him what was wrong, and do you know what he said?”

You tried your absolute best to lock your jaw, to look completely uninterested, to force your expression into something cool and detached. But the traitorous, desperate part of your brain begged to know. “What?” you muttered quietly, cursing yourself the second the word left your lips.

The three of them instantly exchanged a triumphant, knowing look.

“He said,” Mingyu lowered his voice, doing a terrible, exaggeratedly deep impression of Soonyoung's intense tone, “‘Guys, have you noticed the coffee tastes different when it's poured with love? Because lately, the americanos from the lounge just hit different. You can do great things if you do them with love.’ I swear to God, Hoshi actually said that with a straight face.”

“He did not say that,” you breathed, your heart doing a violent, uncalled-for flip against your ribs. “Mingyu, you are lying. You're a liar.”

“Oh, and you haven't heard everything! He's omitting the best part,” Jeonghan said, leaning in closer, his eyes dancing with delight. “Right after he said that, Dokyeom started gagging, and Soonyoung got incredibly defensive. He almost punched him in the face! It was hilarious.” Jeonghan started giggling and continued “He insisted he was just making an objective observation about the quality of the cafeteria's new staff.”

You buried your face right back into your hands. The fact that the entire group was treating your mutual, unconfessed pining like a spectator sport—complete with monetary bets—was driving you insane.

“You guys are terrible friends,” you whined into your hands. “To both of us. If he actually hears you talking like this, he's going to get so uncomfortable and he'll never come down here again.”

“Oh, please. The boy would crawl through a ventilation shaft just to get a glimpse of your apron,” Seungkwan scoffed, though his teasing tone softened just a fraction into something genuinely amused. “We're not going to scare him off. If anything, we're trying to give him the courage to finally do something. Because watching him text the group chat at 2:00 a.m. asking if someone would like something from the cafeteria the next day is ruining my sleep schedule.”

Before you could even process that terrifying piece of information, the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria hallway gave a distinct, familiar click.

Instantly, the atmosphere behind the counter shifted. Mingyu snapped his posture upright, leaning back from your personal space with the speed of light. Seungkwan’s eyes darted toward the entrance, a sharp, wicked grin instantly spreading across his face, while Jeonghan merely took a slow, deliberate sip from the water bottle he’d been holding, his expression morphing into one of pure, unadulterated innocence.

“Speak of the devil,” Jeonghan murmured smoothly, his eyes locking onto the figure walking down the corridor. “Or, well, the tiger.”

Your stomach dropped, a sudden rush of adrenaline making you try and look ‘busy, working’. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was. The rhythmic, slightly heavy scuff of sneakers against the polished floor, the faint sound of someone humming a chaotic, upbeat melody under their breath—it was unmistakably him.

“Alright, look natural,” Seungkwan whispered loudly, nudging Mingyu with his elbow. “I am natural, I'm always natural,” Mingyu muttered back, suddenly looking incredibly busy by picking up a stray napkin from the counter and folding it into a perfect, meticulous square.

You swallowed hard, gripping on a cloth, ‘cleaning’ the espresso machine for the ninth time.

“Good morning!” Soonyoung’s voice exploded into the room, practically vibrating with an absurd amount of 7:50 a.m. energy. He walked up to the counter, his hair slightly damp from an early shower, wearing a fitting shirt that accentuated his frame. His bright, tiger-like eyes instantly locked onto you, completely bypassing the three men standing right next to him. “Wow, you guys are open early today. Or am I early? I think I'm early.”

“The cafeteria opens in ten minutes, Soonyoung-ah,” Jeonghan said, his voice the very definition of pure, unbothered calm. “But our lovely barista here was kind enough to let us wait inside.”

“Oh! Perfect!” Soonyoung smiled, his gaze snapping back to you, a slight, nervous flush instantly coloring the tips of his ears. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. “Hey. Good morning. I, uh... I was just around here. In the…Opposite side of the building, actually. But I felt like a walk. And I thought, hey, why not get the guys some drinks? To motivate them. For the stage. You know?”

Behind him, Seungkwan made a face that was so violently mocking you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming. Mingyu was biting his lip, still furiously smoothing out his perfectly square napkin.

“Wow, Soonyoung, that is so incredibly generous of you,” Seungkwan chimed in, his voice dripping with sudden, overwhelming theatrical sweetness. He leaned over the counter, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I was just feeling a little sluggish. A bit unmotivated. If you're buying... I think I'll have a grande iced pistachio white chocolate mocha. With an extra shot of espresso. And oat milk. Oh, and cold foam on top.”

Soonyoung blinked, his bright smile faltering for a microsecond as his brain tried to process the tongue-twister of a luxury order. “Uh. Sure. Yeah. One... pistachio mocha thingy for Seungkwan.”

“Make that two,” Mingyu added instantly, completely abandoning his napkin to flash a massive, predatory grin. “But add caramel drizzle to mine. And a warm butter croissant. You want us motivated, right, hyung? My muscles need carbohydrates for the choreo.”

“You guys are eating gold for breakfast or what?” Soonyoung muttered, his hand tracing his pocket where his wallet was, though he still kept his eyes firmly glued to you, as if looking away would break a spell. “What about you, Jeonghan-hyung?”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the countertop. He looked up at the menu board, his eyes tracking the premium section with a slow, calculating precision that made your stomach instantly drop.

“I'll just take something simple,” Jeonghan began, his voice smooth and entirely too relaxed. “Let's do a grande iced dirty chai latte, but make it with half oat milk and half coconut milk. Two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of hazelnut, a dash of cinnamon blended into the espresso shot, and—oh, let's add the salted caramel cold foam on top, but tell the kitchen to whip it extra thick.”

Soonyoung kept his smile locked onto his face, nodding along like a soldier executing a drill, though his eyes widened slightly at the sheer length of the beverage description.

“And for snacks,” Jeonghan continued seamlessly, not even pausing to breathe as he pointed a manicured finger at the pastry display, “I'll take a slice of the dark chocolate ganache cake, a warmed almond croissant, two of those imported raspberry macarons, and a blueberry scone. Actually, throw in a savory ham and cheese croissant too, just in case I get hungry during the midday vocal check.”

Beside him, Mingyu’s jaw literally slackened. Seungkwan had to physically cover his mouth to muffle a high-pitched snort.

You stared at Jeonghan in utter horror. He was ordering enough food to feed the whole group, deliberately picking every single item that required baking, warming, or premium upcharges.

Soonyoung stood absolutely frozen. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. His brain was violently calculating the astronomical total of a single breakfast order, his fingers twitching inside his pockets as he realized Jeonghan was single-handedly trying to liquidate his bank account.

Yet, despite the internal financial crisis happening behind his eyes, Soonyoung didn't say a single word. He swallowed hard, puffed out his chest.

You stared at the three of them, absolutely appalled. They were completely milking him dry, ordering the most ridiculous, time-consuming, expensive items on the hidden menu just to punish your bank-account-oblivious crush.

“You guys,” you hissed under your breath, glaring daggers at Mingyu. “That’s too much, I can't—”

“No, no! It's fine! Let them order!” Soonyoung interrupted frantically, waving his hands in the air as if terrified you were going to tell him to leave.

He leaned his elbows on the counter, tilting his head up to look at you, his eyes suddenly soft and intensely focused. “Take your time. Really. Charge it all to my card. Whatever they want. Whatever you want, too.” He said as he slid his black card looking unbothered

Your heart did a violent loop against your ribs. The way he looked at you—totally ignoring the chaotic trio stifling their giggles right next to him—was suffocating.

“Alright! Paid and done!” Seungkwan cheered the second Soonyoung tapped his card against the reader. Before you could even finish pouring the premium random shit Jeonghan ordered, Seungkwan grabbed his over-complicated mocha from the pickup station, snatched Mingyu’s croissant, and checked his watch with a gasp that could win an Oscar. “Oh, my god! Look at the time! The choreographer is going to murder us!”

“Wait, what?” Soonyoung blinked, turning around. “We still have like fifteen minutes—”

“No, hyung, you know how strict he is about stretching with the three of us!” Mingyu lied smoothly, grabbing his caramel-drizzled drink with one hand and physically hooking his other arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder, dragging the older member toward the exit. “We have to go. Right now. Cardio waits for no man!”

“Yes, duty calls,” Jeonghan added, completely unbothered by being dragged away, casually holding his expensive coffee and his random food items. He looked back over his shoulder at you, throwing you a slow, wicked wink that screamed you're SO welcome. “Thanks for the drinks, Soonyoung-ah! Enjoy your morning!”

“Wait, guys, you forgot—” you called out desperately, but it was too late.

The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind them, their distant, echoing laughter fading down the hallway.

Suddenly, the massive cafeteria felt entirely too big, and entirely too quiet. The soft hum of the espresso machine was the only sound left between you.

You stood behind the counter, holding a clean cup, your face burning a brilliant crimson. Across from you, Soonyoung was still standing behind the marble, his hands tucked back into his pockets, suddenly looking incredibly shy now that his protective shield of members had vanished. He cleared his throat softly, his eyes darting to the floor before creeping back up to meet yours.

“Well,” Soonyoung murmured, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I guess... it's just us now.” “Y-Yeah… Are you…ordering something?”

Soonyoung’s eyes snapped up from the floor at your question, his cheeks instantly flushing a faint pink that perfectly matched the tips of his ears. He let out a nervous, airy laugh, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh! Right. Yeah. I forgot I actually came down here for a reason,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped a little closer to the counter, leaning against the cool marble again, though his posture was nowhere near as confident as it had been when he was trying to look like a billionaire in front of Jeonghan.

“Um... just a regular iced americano is fine. Whatever is easiest for you. You don't have to put any effort into it! I mean—not that you can't, or that I don't want you to, but I just mean you don't have to do anything extra, just a normal one is great!”

He trailed off, his eyes going wide as he realized he was babbling. He quickly shut his mouth, looking at you with a mix of sheer panic and intense adoration.

You had to grip the handle of the espresso portafilter just to steady your hands, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

“One iced americano. Got it,” you said, your voice coming out a little squeakier than you intended. You quickly turned your back to him, using the loud grind of the espresso beans to drown out the furious rushing of blood in your ears.

“Do you... need any help?” Soonyoung's voice drifted over the counter, sounding closer now.

You peeked over your shoulder. He had moved down to the pickup station, leaning his chin in his palm, watching you with that exact, heavy-lidded stare Mingyu had been mocking just ten minutes ago. It was terrifying how intensely focused he was on you, his eyes tracking the way you leveled off the coffee grounds.

“I can handle an americano, Soonyoung,” you teased softly, trying to regain your composure. “Though your friends did just leave me with a mountain of dishes and a pastry display to restock before 8:00 a.m.”

“They're menace animals,” Soonyoung said instantly, his expression turning into a pout. “I'm really sorry about Jeonghan-hyung. I think he was trying to bankrupt me. I didn't even know we had macarons in the kitchen.”

Then, his voice dropped a pitch, softening into something incredibly sweet. “But it was worth it.”

You froze for a fraction of a second, a piece of ice slipping from your tongs and clattering back into the bin. “What?”

“Getting them whatever they wanted,” Soonyoung clarified quickly, his face burning hotter as he realized how heavy his words sounded. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, suddenly looking very interested in the straw dispenser. “Because, you know... they would've complained all day during practice if I didn't. And this way, I got to... uh... ensure the cafeteria got good business today. Yeah.”

You poured the shots of espresso over the cold water and ice, watching the dark liquid swirl and marble through the cup. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you walked over to the pickup station and placed the cup down right in front of him.

"Here you go. One americano,” you said, offering him a small, nervous smile. “Poured with... standard corporate care.”

Soonyoung wrapped his fingers around the cold cup, but he didn't pull it away. Instead, he kept his hand there, his fingers just inches from yours, his gaze locked firmly onto your face.

The playful, chaotic energy of the morning had completely evaporated, leaving behind a thick, heavy tension that made it hard to breathe.

“Thanks,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second before darting back to your eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Are you... are you free after your shift today? I mean, I know you're busy, but the Performance Team finishes early, and I found this really cool street food alley near the old station, and I thought... Maybe we could go? Just the— I mean, with everyone! Yeah yeah, if, if that's fine with you, of course!”

“Sure, just text me the location and I'll be there” Soonyoung smiled at you, “Okay, then, see you later!”

And when you finally saw him come out, you let out the longest sigh of your life. Maybe your friends weren't wrong; you liked Soonyoung.

Monday 6:00 pm

Finally, it was time to leave. Hoshi had already sent the invitation and the location where the whole group would meet. He bribed the group by saying he would pay.

After closing the till and cleaning up, you went to the bathroom to touch up your appearance... Just in case.

You smoothed down your clothes, checked your reflection in the restroom mirror one last time, and stepped out into the cool evening air.

Your heart was doing tiny, nervous flips. Even though Soonyoung had panic-invited the entire group to save face, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement. He had walked all the way across the building just to see you, after all.

When you arrived at the bustling street food alley near the old station, the savory, mouth-watering scent of grilled skewers, spicy rice cakes, and hot tteokbokki hung heavy in the air. Bright neon signs flickered overhead, casting a warm glow over the crowded stalls.

Searching through the sea of people, you finally spotted the guys gathered around a long wooden table beneath a red plastic tarp.

They were already chaotic, laughing loudly and fighting over pairs of chopsticks. Soonyoung was sitting near the middle, looking bright and striking in a casual jacket.

As you walked up, his eyes instantly found yours, his face lighting up with that familiar, warm crinkle. He raised his hand to wave you over, his lips parting to call your name.

But before the sound could even leave his throat, Joshua, who was sitting near the end of the table, stood up and patted the shoulder of a girl sitting right next to him. You hadn't noticed her at first because of the crowded space, but as she stood up to greet you, the whole table briefly quieted down.

“Hey! Everyone, look who finally made it,” Joshua announced cheerfully, a proud, older-brother smile on his face. He gestured to the girl beside him, who was dressed effortlessly chic, her bright eyes and warm energy immediately drawing the eye. “Guys, this is my cousin, Minji. She just moved back to the city, and since she's a professional contemporary dancer, I figured she absolutely had to meet our performance team leader.”

“Hi, everyone! It's so nice to meet you all,” Minji said, bowing politely before flashing a brilliant, dazzling smile.

“Wow, Shua-hyung, you never told us your cousin was this cool!” Mingyu chimed in, immediately shifting down the bench to make room.

But it wasn't Mingyu she gravitated toward. Because she was a dancer, her eyes naturally locked onto Soonyoung, who had stood up out of politeness.

“Wait, the Hoshi?” Minji asked, her eyes widening with genuine excitement. “Joshua has told me so much about your choreography! The transition work you did for the last tour was absolutely insane. The syncopation in the bridge? I've literally rewatched it a hundred times.”

Soonyoung’s jaw practically dropped, his inner performance-nerd instantly activated. The shy, flustered boy from the cafeteria vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the passionate, loud leader of the performance team. “Wait, really?! You noticed the syncopation? None of the guys ever appreciate how hard that part was to count!”

“Are you kidding? The timing was genius!” Minji laughed, her voice bright and easy.

“Sit here! You have to tell me what style you usually train in!” Soonyoung said enthusiastically, completely caught up in the sudden rush of artistic validation. He eagerly slid over on the bench, making a space for her right beside him—the very space your heart had secretly hoped belonged to you.

You stood at the edge of the red tarp, your hand still gripping the strap of your bag, completely frozen.

The transition happened so fast it made your head spin. Within a matter of seconds, Minji slid into the seat next to Soonyoung. They clicked instantly. It was like watching two magnets snap together; their shoulders brushed as they immediately began using animated hand gestures to mimic dance formations, their laughter blending together perfectly over the sizzling sound of the street food grid.

A cold, heavy stone suddenly dropped into the pit of your stomach. It wasn't just that they were getting along. It was the terrifying realization of how effortlessly she spoke his language—a language that you had no access to.

“Hey,” a low, gentle voice murmured right beside your ear.

You blinked, snapping out of your trance to find Jeonghan standing next to you. He didn't have his usual mischievous smirk. Instead, his eyes were quiet, remarkably perceptive, and laced with a soft, protective concern as he looked from your pale face to the laughing duo at the center of the table.

He quietly pulled out the stool right next to his own, far away from the center of the noise, and gave you a reassuring nod. “Come sit by me. Let's get some food before Mingyu eats the entire menu.”

You quietly slid onto the plastic stool beside Jeonghan, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag under the table. You tried to force a small, polite smile as the rest of the members greeted you, but your chest felt so tight you could barely take a deep breath.

Across the table, the world seemed to fade away for Soonyoung. He was completely captivated.

“No, because contemporary formatting is completely different from hip-hop transitions!” Soonyoung was saying, his voice loud and animated as he gestured with a pair of chopsticks. He leaned in close to Minji, his shoulder flush against hers. “When we did the formations for Fear, I wanted to pull in that fluid, heavier weight, you know? But the guys kept hitting it too sharply!”

“I totally get that!” Minji replied, her eyes bright as she nodded along eagerly. “Contemporary relies so much on gravity. If you treat it like pop-and-lock, you lose the emotion entirely. Have you ever thought about trying a piece where you deliberately delay the downbeat?”

“A delayed downbeat?” Soonyoung’s eyes went completely wide, a look of pure, unadulterated awe washing over his face. He looked at her as if she had just handed him the secrets to the universe. “Oh my god. Minji. You're a genius. Let's look at the studio schedule—are you free on Wednesday? You have to come by the practice room. I want to show you the demo we're working on for the next unit track.”

“I'd love to! I can bring some of my old recital tapes too,” she chimed in, laughing as Soonyoung eagerly pulled out his phone, opening his calendar and entirely forgetting the food sitting right in front of him.

Every word felt like a physical blow to your chest. You sat there, staring blankly at the steaming bowl of tteokbokki Seungkwan had passed down to you, completely unable to pick up your chopsticks. It wasn't that Minji was doing anything malicious; she was sweet, genuinely talented, and completely innocent.

But watching how effortlessly she drew out his passion, how naturally he confided his artistic frustrations in her—frustrations he usually kept bottled up—made you feel entirely invisible.

You had spent the whole morning flustered over a shared look over an espresso machine. But watching him now, you realized she spoke a language that you could never learn. You were just the barista who made his daily americano. She was someone who actually belonged in his world.

“Eat up,” Jeonghan murmured softly beside you, breaking the spell. He quietly dropped a perfectly grilled chicken skewer into your bowl, his voice low enough that it didn't carry over the loud chatter of the table.

You looked over at him, your throat burning with a sudden, humiliating wave of tears. You quickly blinked them away, looking down at your hands. “I'm not really hungry, hyung,” you whispered back, your voice cracking slightly.

Jeonghan didn't push you. He didn't make a joke, and he didn't call attention to you. He just quietly shifted his position on the bench, deliberately blocking your direct line of sight to Soonyoung and Minji so you wouldn't have to watch them exchange phone numbers.

“Hey! Barista-nim!” Seungkwan suddenly called out from the other end of the table, entirely oblivious to the heavy atmosphere. “Did Hoshi actually pay for Jeonghan-hyung's massive scam of an order this morning, or did he have to wash dishes to cover it?”

The question finally drew Soonyoung’s attention away from his conversation. His head snapped up, his eyes instantly scanning the table until they landed on you. The animated, excited grin on his face faltered for a fraction of a second when he noticed how pale you were, and how your untouched food was sitting cold in front of you.

“Ah... yeah, I paid,” Soonyoung muttered, his voice dropping its loud excitement as he looked at you, a sudden flash of hesitation flickering in his tiger eyes. “Did you... did you get enough to eat? I can order more skewers if you want.”

The sudden pity—or what felt like pity to your bruised heart—was the final straw.

“No, I'm good, thank you,” you said, forcing the most believable, polite smile you could muster as you stood up from the stool. You adjusted your bag over your shoulder. “Actually, guys, I'm feeling a bit tired from the shift. I think I'm going to head home first. Have fun, and thank you for the food, Soonyoung.”

“Wait, already?” Soonyoung started to slide out from the bench, his brow furrowing with instant worry. “I can walk you to the station—”

“No, stay! You and Minji were right in the middle of planning Wednesday's session,” you interrupted quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, backing out from under the red plastic tarp into the cool night air. “Jeonghan-hyung will walk me out. Right, hyung?”

Jeonghan smoothly stood up, grabbing his jacket. “Yeah, I need to stretch my legs anyway. See you guys at practice tomorrow.”

As you turned on your heel and walked away into the crowded alley, you could feel Soonyoung's burning gaze locked onto your retreating back. But for the first time, you didn't turn around to look. The space beside him was occupied now, and as the cold wind hit your face you walked beside Jeonghan in silence.

Something you never did. But you weren't ready to speak; perhaps you were just overthinking this too much.

You were walking towards the train station, but Jeonghan grabbed your arm, saying, “I'll take you home, I'm not making you pay for a train ticket when I can drive you safely”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping as you nodded silently. “Okay. Thank you, hyung.”

The walk to his car was a blur of neon signs and the muffled chatter of the city. Jeonghan didn't say a word, completely mirroring your silence. He unlocked the passenger door for you, waited until you were safely inside, and then climbed into the driver's seat. The moment he started the engine, the quiet hum of the heater began to fill the small space, taking the edge off the chilly night air.

As he pulled out of the parking lot and navigated the dark streets, you leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching the streetlights blur into long, watery streaks. Your mind was a chaotic mess of overlapping thoughts. Am I being pathetic? She’s just his friend. He was just being nice. But he looked at her so differently. He never looks at me like that.

The car ride was completely silent, Jeonghan didn't push, he knew you, and you'll talk about it when you are ready to.

When Jeonghan finally pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building, he shifted the car into park but left the engine running, keeping the warm air circulating.

He turned his head, giving you a long, quiet look filled with that rare, older-brother sincerity he only showed when it truly mattered. “Get some sleep,” he murmured softly, reaching over to gently tap the top of your head. “Don't let your brain bully you tonight. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, hyung. Drive safe,” you whispered, offering him a faint, grateful smile before stepping out into the chilly night.

Upstairs, your apartment felt heavy and empty. You dropped your bag by the door and went straight to get changed into your oversized pajamas, crawled under the covers, and let the exhausting weight of the day finally pull you into a restless sleep.

Tuesday 7:20 p.m.

The next morning, you arrived at the cafeteria determined to bury your feelings in routine. You ground the beans, wiped down the stainless steel, and officially unlocked the glass doors. You expected Seungkwan and Jeonghan to show up for their usual interrogation, but instead, the bell above the door chimed to reveal a completely different trio.

“Good morning, barista-nim!” Seungkwan's voice carried across the room, unusually bright and cheerful, as if he was overcompensating for the heavy atmosphere from the night before.

Walking right alongside him were Joshua and Minji.

Minji looked effortlessly stunning in a casual knit sweater, her face completely fresh and glowing. The moment her eyes landed on you, her entire face lit up with genuine warmth. “Hi! Good morning!” Minji beamed, walking straight up to the counter and leaning against it enthusiastically.

“Oh wow, Joshua wasn't lying—this cafeteria is so beautiful. And look at you! Your hair is so pretty today, what product do you use? I swear, the city humidity has been ruining my curls all week, but you look absolutely flawless.” You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sudden barrage of sweet compliments. The defensive walls you had built up in your head overnight suddenly felt incredibly silly.

“Oh... um, thank you,” you stammered, a small, genuine flush hitting your cheeks. “It's just a standard serum, I can text you the brand later if you want.” “Please do!” Minji clapped her hands together, smiling brightly.

“And honestly, I wanted to apologize for monopolizing the conversation so much last night. I was just so nervous meeting everyone, and Hoshi-ssi was the only one who understood my rants about contemporary timing! But I felt so bad when you left early. Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah, much better, just a bit of burnout,” you lied softly, your heart twisting. Minji was incredibly sweet. She wasn't a threat; she was a girl trying to fit into a new city, and she genuinely liked you. You couldn't even force yourself to resent her if you tried.

“Good! Because we definitely need to hang out, just the girls; you and me! without all these noisy boys around,” she joked, nudging Joshua with her elbow.

“Hey, I am excellent company,” Joshua defended with a calm smile. “But I agree, you two should hang out. Now, can we order? Seungkwan is vibrating.”

“I am hungry,” Seungkwan corrected dramatically, slamming his hand lightly on the marble. “Give me a vanilla latte and a chocolate muffin, please.” You turned around to pull the espresso shots, smiling at Minji's continuous chatter.

Then, the glass doors clicked open again.

“Good morning!”

Soonyoung practically bounced into the cafeteria, holding a tablet in his hand. But the moment his eyes scanned the room and locked onto Minji, his performance-leader switch flipped instantly.

“Minji! Perfect, you're already here! Look, I re-watched that contemporary tape you sent me last night at 2:00 a.m., and I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about the bridge transition.”

“Wait, really?!” Minji turned around, her face instantly mirroring his excitement. “Did you see what I meant about the delayed downbeat?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Soonyoung exploded, completely bypassing Joshua and Seungkwan to lean over the counter right next to her. He tapped the screen of his tablet aggressively, showing her a dance timeline. “Look right here. If we drop the bass on the fourth count instead of the third…”

Within a matter of seconds, the entire atmosphere behind the counter shifted violently.

It was like a transparent wall had dropped around the two of them, turning the busy lounge into their own private cafeteria. They started talking a lot, their voices overlapping in a rapid-fire torrent of dance terminology, rhythm counts, and formation ideas. Soonyoung was completely animated, his shoulder pressing against Minji’s as they both leaned over the screen, totally oblivious to the world around them.

You stood frozen with the milk pitcher in your hand. The contrast was suffocating. Just yesterday morning, Soonyoung had been blushing and stuttering over an americano with you. Now, he was entirely consumed by a world you had no part in. You felt the familiar, icy weight dropping into your stomach, making you feel entirely invisible while you stood less than two feet away from him.

Seungkwan’s eyes darted from the frantic duo to your pale face, his expression instantly morphing into a sharp frown. He cleared his throat loudly, but Soonyoung didn't even blink, still humming a rhythm to Minji.

Joshua’s smile faded too. Realizing the boundary had been entirely crossed, he stepped directly between his cousin and Soonyoung, physically breaking their line of sight.

“Alright, Hoshi, wrap it up,” Joshua intervened, his voice calm but carrying a rare, firm authority that made Soonyoung blink out of his trance. “We came here to get coffee before work, don't bring work to this beautiful sanctuary.”

“Yeah, hello? Some of us are actually trying to wake up, not watch a live choreography breakdown,” Seungkwan chimed in smoothly, his tone sharp as he subtly stepped in front of you, blocking Soonyoung from looking at your tightened jaw. He grabbed his drink from the pickup tray and nudged Minji's arm.

“Come on, Minji-ya, let's go drink this in the lounge before he traps you here all morning.”

“Oh! Right, sorry, I got carried away,” Minji said, offering you a sweet, apologetic wave as Seungkwan and Joshua quickly ushered her toward the exit.

Soonyoung blinked, suddenly looking around the cafeteria as if he had just woken up from a dream. The loud, chaotic energy faded, leaving him standing alone at the counter. He looked down at you, his tiger eyes softening back into that hesitant, nervous look from the day before.

“Hey,” he murmured quietly, his fingers twitching against the edge of his tablet. “I... I didn't see you there for a second. Good morning.”

That "didn't see you there" hurt you more than anything, more than seeing him happy with someone else; being invisible to him was worse than anything.

“But anyway, I'll take my usual!”

The words echoed in your mind, sharp and heavy, cutting through whatever lingering warmth you had felt from his visit the previous morning. It shouldn't have hurt this badly. He didn't mean it maliciously—you knew his brain worked in hyper-fixated bursts when it came to dance—but being completely invisible to the person who usually looked at you like you were the center of the universe was a brand of agony you weren't prepared for. Yesterday, he had walked across the entire building just to catch your eye. Today, you were just a part of the background scenery.

“Right,” you muttered, forcing your voice to remain perfectly flat, completely devoid of the shaky emotion threatening to break through. You didn't look up to meet his eyes, terrified of what he might see in yours. “An iced americano.”

“Yeah! Thanks,” Soonyoung said, his voice dropping some of its nervous edge as he slipped his tablet under his arm. He didn't seem to notice the shift in your energy yet, his mind still half-buoyant from his conversation with Minji. He leaned his elbows against the marble counter, shifting comfortably. “Man, Minji is seriously amazing. Her brain works so fast with contemporary counts. I feel like we’re going to completely rewrite the performance unit's B-side choreography by the end of the week.”

Every word felt like a fresh layer of salt on a raw wound. You turned your back to him, reaching for the coffee grinder. The aggressive, loud buzz of the machine grinding the espresso beans was a welcome relief, drowning out the suffocating quiet of the room and the heavy thumping of your own heart.

As you locked the portafilter into the machine and pressed the extraction button, you stared at the dark liquid dripping into the shot glass. You're just the barista, a cruel little voice in your head whispered. She’s his peer. She belongs in the world he actually lives in.

You poured the cold water and ice into a plastic cup, topping it off with the fresh espresso shots.

When you turned around to place it on the pickup station, you caught him staring at you. His head was tilted, his sharp eyes blinking softly as he took in your rigid posture and the tight, forced line of your jaw. The easy, excited smile he had been wearing slowly faltered.

“Here's your americano,” you said politely, your tone matching the standard, detached voice you used for corporate executives who wandered down from the upper floors. You didn't slide it closer to his hand. You just set it down and immediately reached for a clean cloth, turning your attention to the already spotless countertop.

Soonyoung didn't pick up the cup right away. He reached for it, but his fingers paused against the cold plastic, his brow furrowing as he sensed the icy wall you had suddenly built between you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice losing all of its hyperactive energy, replaced by a sudden, hesitant worry. “Are you... are you okay? You seem kind of quiet today. Did you really recover from that burnout yesterday?”

“I'm perfectly fine, Soonyoung,” you replied, keeping your eyes strictly on the marble you were wiping down. “Just busy. The morning rush is about to start and I have a lot of prep work to finish before the doors officially open.”

“Oh.” He shifted from foot to foot, the silence between you stretching out, heavy and suffocating. He looked at the cup, then back at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry for... blocking the counter. I didn't mean to get in your way.”

“'s fine. It's my job,” you said simply, finally looking up to give him a brief, entirely empty customer-service smile before walking away to the back sink, effectively ending the conversation.

Soonyoung stood alone at the counter for another long moment, looking incredibly small in his oversized clothes. He slowly picked up his coffee, his eyes lingering on your back with a deep, confused hurt before he finally turned and walked out of the cafeteria, the glass doors clicking shut behind him with a finality that made your chest ache.

“Fuck.”

Maybe your friends weren't wrong; you liked Soonyoung.

Tuesday 5:34 p.m.

It was almost closing time, you looked at the clock and wished the hands would strike 6 o'clock. You needed to leave, you wanted to leave.

For the past eight hours, you had been moving like a machine—pouring milk, pressing buttons, wiping surfaces until your reflection stared back at you from the polished metal. You had done everything in your power to stay busy, to stop your brain from replaying that brief, devastating fraction of a second where Soonyoung looked right through you.

The door to the cafeteria hallway gave a sharp, echoing click.

“Barista-nim!” Fortunately, it was Seungcheol.

Seungcheol walked in,his gym bag slung over one broad shoulder. He looked tired from a long day of meetings, but the moment he caught sight of you standing behind the counter, his features softened into a warm, older-brotherly smile.

“You look like you're about to pass out standing up. Rough day?” he said, walking up to the register and leaning his forearms against the cool marble.

“Just the usual exhaustion, hyung,” you lied smoothly, offering him a much more genuine smile than the empty customer-service mask you’d given Soonyoung hours prior. “What can I get you? I’m about to shut down the espresso machine, but I can still make whatever you need.”

“Just a cold brew is fine, don't sweat it,” Seungcheol replied, waving a hand dismissively. He watched you move to the fridge, his sharp, leader-trained eyes taking in the rigidness of your shoulders, the slight puffiness around your eyes, and the sheer fatigue bleeding through your posture.

Seungcheol wasn't loud or intrusive like Seungkwan, but he noticed everything.

As you handed him the plastic cup, he didn't pull his hand away immediately. He kept his fingers anchored to the base, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze.

“You know,” Seungcheol started quietly, his voice dropping into that protective, leader tone he used when he was genuinely worried about someone. “Hoshi was an absolute mess during the mid-day briefing.”

Your heart gave a painful, uncalled-for stutter against your ribs at the mention of his name, but you forced your face to remain entirely blank. “Oh? Did the choreo changes not go well?”

“The choreo is fine,” Seungcheol sighed, swirling the ice in his cup. “He's the problem. He sat through a two-hour production meeting staring at his shoes. When I asked him if he was injured or tired, he just looked at me and asked if I thought he was 'obnoxious.' Then a little birdie told me he was sad about ruining the only sanctuary in this building and dragged his feet back to Studio B.”

Seungcheol leaned a little closer, and sighed, ‘wondering’. “I don’t know what happened here, but anyways. You look like you're carrying the weight of the world, really. Is everything alright, hmm?”

The heavy block of ice in your chest felt like it was starting to crack, your throat burning with a sudden, frustrating wave of emotion.

“I'm just tired, Cheol-hyung,” you whispered, looking down at the counter. “Really. It's fine.”

Seungcheol looked at you for a long moment, knowing damn well it wasn't fine, but he respected your boundaries enough not to push. He let go of the cup, giving you a firm, reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Alright. Go home early. I'll tell the floor manager I told you to close up at 5:45. Get some rest, okay?”

“Thank you, hyung,” you breathed, a wave of pure relief washing over you

“Anytime. See you tomorrow,” he said, turning on his heel and walking out, taking a large gulp of his coffee as the glass doors clicked shut behind him.

You didn't waste a single second. The moment the doors fully closed, you flipped the open sign to 'CLOSED', shut off the main lights, and ran through the closing checklist in record time. You didn't want to be here at 6:00 p.m.

You didn't want to risk the Performance Team coming down after their rehearsal ended. You couldn't handle seeing him look at you with that confused, wounded expression when you were the one who felt entirely shattered.

By 5:48 p.m., you had your jacket on, your bag slung over your shoulder, and you were locking the main glass doors from the outside.

You walked toward the emergency stairwell instead of the elevators, desperate to escape into the cool evening air before the performance team wrapped things up.

When you finally reached the ground floor and stepped outside the cold air rushed into your lungs, a sharp, bitter shock that completely shattered the fragile hold you had on your emotions.

You shouldn't feel that way, Soonyoung and you. You're just friends.

You walked home like that, in silence; your house wasn't near the building, so you arrived at approximately 9 pm.

Your phone buzzed when you arrived. A notification from the group chat. A single photo, which broke your heart even more than it already was.

It was a group photo, Minji in the middle of them. In a practice room. Speaking the language you'd never understand.

You stood in the middle of your dark, quiet apartment, the cold air from the open window doing nothing to soothe the sudden, agonizing heat blooming behind your eyes.

You stared at the glowing screen of your phone, your thumb trembling slightly as you tapped the notification, blowing up the image until it filled your vision.

It was a classic Seventeen group photo. They were all crowded together in the center of the practice room, drenched in sweat, their faces flushed but beaming with that effortless, tight-knit energy they always possessed after a hard run-through. And right there, dead center in the middle of the frame, sat Minji. She was holding up a peace sign, laughing brightly as Hoshi leaned over her shoulder from behind, his eyes crinkled into those happy, crescent moons that used to be reserved entirely for you.

The caption, sent by a cheerful Dokyeom, read: “Nailed it!! Special thanks to our honorary 14th member, Minji-ya! 💎✨”

A single, hot tear finally spilled over your lashes, splashing directly onto the glass screen, fracturing the image into a watery blur.

It wasn't just that Soonyoung looked happy. It was the crushing weight of the realization that she had integrated into their world in less than forty-eight hours, while you were still standing securely on the outside, looking in through a glass window.

Your mind, entirely exhausted and deeply bruised from the day’s events, began to twist the knife further. You thought back to all the times you had joined them for late-night hotpot, all the weekend gatherings, and the casual hangouts at the Han River. A bitter, suffocating lump formed in your throat as you realized something devastating: you barely existed in their digital memories. Every time the group gathered for a photo, you were always the one who volunteered to take it.

“Oh, let me do it, I can get all thirteen of you in the frame!”

You would always say, offering a bright smile. And they would cheer, completely oblivious, leaving you as the invisible ghost behind the camera lens. You had known them for months, yet Minji had moved into their bubble seamlessly within days, earning a spot dead center because she spoke the language of sweat, rhythm, and stage presence.

She belonged in the building. You just worked in it. To them, you were just the sweet, dependable "barista-nim" who kept them caffeinated.

The worst part of the agony—the part that made you feel utterly pathetic—was that you still couldn't bring yourself to resent Minji. She was genuinely lovely. She had complimented your hair, offered to text you, and explicitly stated she wanted to hang out "just the girls." She wasn't a villain trying to steal your life; she was just a talented, magnetic person who naturally fit into a puzzle where you had been forcing yourself into a corner that didn't belong to you.

You slowly sat down on the edge of your bed, the darkness of the room swallowing you whole. The silence of your apartment felt deafening compared to the loud, vibrant warmth of that practice room photo.

I don't belong in their bubble, you thought, a profound, hollow numbness washing over your chest. I never did.

It was a self-inflicted realization, but it felt like the only way to protect what was left of your dignity. If you stayed, you would keep watching Soonyoung look right through you. You would keep pouring drinks while he animatedly rewrote his future with someone who understood his passion. You would keep being the person behind the camera, completely erased from the frame.

With a numb, heavy finality, you tapped out of the group chat. You didn't leave the room—that would cause too much drama, and Seungcheol would be downstairs demanding answers by morning—but you firmly hit the 'Mute' button, setting the notifications to Always.

You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back onto your pillow as the tears silently soaked into the fabric. You were going to pull away. Not with an explosion, and not with an argument, but slowly, quietly drifting out of their orbit until you were just a distant memory. If you were just the barista to them, then that’s exactly what you would be.

Wednesday 7:20 a.m.

You had told yourself that you were going to pull away, that you were going to accept your place on the periphery of his world. But the human heart is a stubborn, fragile thing.

You had woken up at 5:30 a.m. before your alarm could even finish its first chime. You had stood in front of your small bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, carefully applying a touch of makeup, smoothing down a new cardigan, and making sure your hair fell perfectly over your shoulders. Every time you did something extra, Soonyoung was always the first to notice. He would blink, his entire face flushing pink, and stammer out a compliment about how “bright” you looked today.

You had dressed up for him. You had allowed yourself one final, desperate sliver of hope.

By 7:35 a.m., the espresso machine was fully heated, its metallic hum filling the empty room. The pastry display was perfectly stocked. The marble counter was spotless.

The glass doors remained entirely still.

You kept your eyes glued to the digital clock on

7:40 a.m.

7:45 a.m.

7:50 a.m.

The exact minute Soonyoung usually burst through the doors, radiating chaotic, high-energy warmth and smelling of fresh soap, came and went. The corridor outside remained completely empty.

You stood behind the counter, your fingers gripping the edges of the marble so hard your knuckles turned white. The realization hit you: he had —What you thought of as a date—a dance practice with Minji since 6:00 a.m. maybe.

He was already upstairs. He was in the practice room. And today, he hadn't felt the need to walk across the building to see you. He didn't need an excuse to escape the studio because his inspiration, his focus, his world was already up there with him.

8:00 a.m.

The cafeteria officially opened, but no one came. Seungkwan didn't show up with Jeonghan to interrogate you. Even the regular staff from the upper production floors seemed to vanish, leaving you entirely alone in the massive, hollow space.

The beautiful clothes you had picked out felt like a cruel joke. The careful touch of makeup on your face felt heavy, a pathetic mask worn for an audience that never bothered to show up.

Wednesday 2:00 p.m.

By the afternoon, the isolation became suffocating. The cafeteria was a ghost town. You spent hours wiping down surfaces that were already clean, your chest aching with a profound, hollow numbness. Every single click of the glass doors made your heart leap into your throat, only for your stomach to drop when it turned out to be a stray delivery driver or a manager rushing past without looking at you.

You pulled out your phone. The group chat was still muted, but you couldn't stop yourself from opening it.

There were no new messages from Soonyoung. No panicked boggling over complex orders. The last message was still Dokyeom’s photo from the night before, featuring Minji sitting dead center in the practice room, holding up a peace sign.

You were completely, entirely invisible.

“Why did I even try?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice cracking.

A wave of intense, exhausting sadness washed over you, burying itself deep into your bones. You couldn't stand being in this building for another minute. Every corner of it reminded you of a reality you didn't belong to.

You didn't want to wait for 6:00 p.m. You didn't even wait for the afternoon shift to officially end. There was no point in keeping the lights on for a sanctuary that felt more like a cage.

Moving like a mechanical doll, you flipped the sign on the glass door to CLOSED.

Instantly after, someone was in front of you. Soonyoung.

But it wasn't Soonyoung walking in alone, looking guilty or worried. It was a crowd. And they weren't quiet.

“No, because if we drop the bass on the fourth count instead of the third, the entire transition feels twice as powerful!” Soonyoung’s voice exploded into the room, practically vibrating with a frantic, euphoric energy.

He burst through the doors flanked by Joshua and Minji, with Seungkwan and Mingyu trailing closely behind them, all of them talking over one another. They looked exhausted from days of intense, non-stop practicing, but their faces were flushed with the absolute high of a massive creative breakthrough.

“Good afternoon, barista-nim!” Seungkwan called out, completely riding the wave of the group's excitement as he stepped up to the counter. “Give us the usual, please! We need maximum caffeine, the choreographer actually clapped at the end of the run-through today!”

“Sure,” you muttered, forcing your voice to remain perfectly flat, completely devoid of emotion.

You looked up to take the cards, and your eyes briefly met Soonyoung’s. He didn't look nervous. He didn't look like he had been losing sleep over the icy wall you’d built the past days before. His eyes were bright, wide, and entirely consumed by the adrenaline of the performance team's success.

“It was insane,” Soonyoung said, leaning his elbows on the marble counter, turning his head to look at Minji instead of you. “Minji’s formatting change completely saved the B-side. The synchronization in the second verse is literally perfect now.”

“You guys did all the heavy lifting, I just adjusted the angles,” Minji laughed, her face glowing with genuine warmth as she nudged Joshua.

“Hey, take the credit,” Mingyu chimed in, leaning over the counter to watch you pour the milk. “Hyung was so happy he almost cried during the midday briefing. We have to celebrate.”

Right there, standing less than two feet away from you, the bubble formed. It wasn't intentional, and it wasn't malicious. It was just the natural, overwhelming momentum of a group of artists who had just conquered a massive hurdle.

“Oh! We should totally do a huge hangout tonight to celebrate,” Joshua suggested, his calm voice bright with an older-brother sort of pride. “The weather is perfect, we could grab a ton of food and just head down to the river lot.”

“Yes! Han River park!” Seungkwan cheered, immediately pulling out his phone. “I’ll text the 95-liners right now to make sure Cheol-hyung buys the fried chicken. Mingyu, you’re in charge of ordering the hotpot delivery to the picnic site.”

“On it,” Mingyu nodded, his thumb already flying across his screen.

They stood at your counter, completely wrapped up in the logistics of the evening. They discussed who would drive, which blankets to bring from the dorms, and what time the vocal team would finish their recording session.

You stood right in front of them, locking the portafilter into the machine, the heavy metallic thud of the espresso grounds hitting the knock-box completely ignored. You placed Seungkwan’s latte on the pickup tray. You set down the iced americanos.

No one looked up. No one paused the conversation to look at your rigid posture. In the sheer excitement of the moment, in the high of a rehearsal that had gone spectacularly well, your presence had simply faded into the background. You were just the barista pouring the drinks that fueled the brainstorm. The casual invitations from earlier in the week, the lingering stares—it was all completely washed away by the tide of their real world.

“Alright, let’s go before the manager catches us slacking!” Seungkwan grabbed the tray of drinks, nodding to the rest.

“Thanks for the coffee!” Minji offered you a sweet, beautiful smile as she turned to follow them.

Soonyoung grabbed his americano, his fingers brushing the plastic cup, his mind already three steps ahead as he animatedly gestured a dance formation to Joshua on their way out. The glass doors clicked shut behind them, their loud, overlapping laughter fading down the polished corridor.

You stood alone behind the counter, holding a clean cloth, the silence of the cafeteria rushing back in to suffocate you. They hadn't even thought to ask if you were free. They hadn't even excluded you on purpose; you had just simply been forgotten.

Wednesday 8:30 p.m.

The evening arrived. You had closed the cafeteria exactly on time, running through the checklist, before heading straight back to your apartment.

You sat in the middle of your dark living room, the open window letting in the chilly night air. You had your phone in your hand. You knew you shouldn't look. You knew the group chat was muted for a reason. But the silence of the flat was driving you insane.

With a numb, hollow feeling in your chest, you unlocked the screen and opened the chat.

The media section was completely flooded. Dozens of photos and videos had been dumped into the conversation over the last two hours.

You scrolled through them slowly, the light from the screen reflecting in your dull eyes.

There were photos of the massive blue picnic blanket laid out on the grass by the river, covered in steaming boxes of chicken and glowing convenience store ramen containers.

In one video, DK and Seungkwan were singing at the top of their lungs into empty cider bottles, while the rest of the members cheered and laughed in the background.

And then, there was a group photo.

They were all crowded together, sitting cross-legged on the blankets under the glowing lights of the city bridge. Dead center, laughing brightly, was Minji. Right next to her was Soonyoung. He was glowing, his eyes crinkled into those happy, crescent moons, as always.

His shoulder flush against hers as he pointed a pair of chopsticks at the camera.

You scrolled to the very bottom of the messages, your thumb trembling.

There wasn't a single mention of your name. No one had texted to say, “Hey, where's our barista-nim?” No one had noticed that the person who usually joined them for late-night food wasn't sitting on the edge of the blanket. In the rush of the sweat, the rhythm, the success, and the easy integration of someone who actually spoke their language, you had been completely erased from the frame.

A single, hot tear finally spilled over your lashes, splashing directly onto the glass screen, fracturing the happy image into a watery blur.

It wasn't that they were mean. If they had explicitly left you out, you could be angry. But this was worse. They had just entirely, effortlessly forgotten you existed the moment they stepped outside the cafeteria walls. She belonged in their bubble. You just worked in the building.

With a heavy, final breath, you called your boss, telling them you would be absent for the next two days due to health reasons. After the call ended, you placed your phone face-down on your nightstand, letting the darkness of the room swallow you whole. You pulled your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your oversized hoodie as the quiet sobs finally shook your shoulders. The pining, the shared looks over the counter, the hope—it was completely over. If you were just the barista to them, then from tomorrow on, that’s exactly what you would be.

Thursday 10:30 a.m.

“Hoshi, sit the fuck down, you're making me dizzy!” Minji exclaimed from where she was sitting. Soonyoung was pacing back and forth, worried that you hadn't opened the cafeteria.

Soonyoung didn’t stop. If anything, his footsteps became faster, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking sharply against the polished studio floor with a frantic, erratic rhythm. His hair was a completely disheveled mess from how many times he had dragged his hands through it over the last four hours.

“I can't just sit down, Minji-ya,” Soonyoung choked out, his voice completely stripped of its usual bright, confident volume.

He halted for a single fraction of a second, pointing a trembling hand toward the studio doors. “The lights are completely off down there. The metal grate is pulled down. It’s 10:30. She never opens late. Even when she had that awful flu last winter, she was still behind the counter at 7:50 sharp, telling me to stop yelling because her head hurt.”

He resumed his frantic pacing, his chest heaving as a heavy, suffocating wave of panic visibly rolled over him. “Something is wrong. I know it. I went down there at 7:00, then at 8:00, then at 9:30. I even tried knocking on the back door of the kitchen. What if she’s hurt? What if she got into an accident on her way to work?”

“Hoshi, breathe,” Minji sighed, her expression softening from annoyance into deep, quiet concern. She set her tablet down on the bench, leaning forward. “Joshua-oppa already went down to talk to the floor manager on the third floor. They're checking the staff schedule right now. Just... stop walking for two seconds.”

Before Soonyoung could reply, the heavy glass door of the practice room swung open.

Joshua walked in, flanked closely by a remarkably silent Seungkwan and an uncharacteristically grim-faced Jeonghan. The moment Soonyoung caught sight of them, he practically sprinted across the hardwood floor.

“Well?!” Soonyoung begged, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his sweatpants. “Did you talk to them? Is she okay? Where is she, Shua-hyung?”

Joshua didn't answer right away. He let out a long, slow breath, his eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before he looked up to meet the younger boy's frantic gaze. The absolute lack of his usual gentle, comforting smile made Soonyoung’s face go entirely pale.

“The manager said she called in sick last night, right after the afternoon shift ended,” Joshua said softly, his voice carrying a heavy, somber weight. “She took a formal two-day medical leave. She’s not coming in today, Soonyoung. And she’s not coming in tomorrow.”

“Sick?” Soonyoung whispered, his throat bobbing violently as he swallowed hard. “But... but she looked completely fine on Wednesday afternoon when she poured the americanos. She was just... she was just quiet. She didn't look sick.”

“She isn't physically sick, you complete moron,” Seungkwan snapped suddenly from behind Joshua. His voice didn't carry its usual sharp, theatrical sting; instead, it was cracking with a sudden, overwhelming wave of genuine, defensive anger. He stepped forward, his eyes flashing as he glared directly at the performance leader. “This is completely our fault. Put two and two together, idiot”

Soonyoung flinched back as if he had been physically struck, his jaw slackening. “What... what do you mean? What did we do?”

“Think about it, Soonyoung-ah,” Jeonghan chimed in, his characteristic calm demeanor shifting into a cold protective seriousness as he crossed his arms. He leaned against the studio wall, his dark eyes locking onto the trembling boy. “Yesterday afternoon. Y'all ran down the stairs like a pack of loud, ungrateful animals. You stood right in front of her counter, completely wrapped up in our own little world, planning a massive Han River hangout right in her face. And not a single one of you thought to ask if she was free. You didn't even look at her posture.”

The silence that followed was brutal, Soonyoung stood absolutely frozen. His eyes blinked rapidly as Jeonghan’s words began to violently tear through his memories of Wednesday afternoon. The euphoric high of the creative breakthrough with Minji instantly evaporated, replaced by a cold, sickening realization. He remembered leaning on the marble counter. He remembered turning his head to look at the tablet screen instead of her face. He remembered grabbing his cup and walking out, gesturing a dance formation to Joshua while the glass doors clicked shut behind him.

He hadn't even looked at her. He had treated the person who usually looked at him like he was the center of the universe like background scenery.

“Oh my god,” Soonyoung breathed, his voice dropping into a broken, horrified whisper. He looked down at his hands, his fingers trembling violently as a hot tear finally escaped his lashes, splashing onto the hardwood floor. “The group photo... Dokyeom sent that photo to the main chat. Fuck! We fucked up, I, I fucked up!”

“Soonyoung, sit down and shut up,” Jeonghan said.

He didn't uncross his arms from where he leaned against the studio mirror, his eyes fixed on the performance leader with a cold, absolute gravity.

Soonyoung froze, his fingers still white-knuckled around his car keys. “Hyung, she’s sitting in her apartment thinking she’s nothing to us—”

“And going there to make a scene while she’s on medical leave is going to fix that?” Jeonghan countered, “You’re not going anywhere near her today. She needs space from this entire building, and honestly, she needs space from you.”

Soonyoung flinched, his chest heaving as he looked over at Joshua, silently begging for support. But Joshua just kept his eyes on the floor, his face drawn and uncharacteristically tense.

Jeonghan finally stepped away from the glass, his gaze sweeping over Joshua and

Seungkwan. “I had production meetings until late Wednesday night. I open the group chat at midnight, and what do I see? A massive media dump. Chicken boxes, convenience store ramen, and a full group photo at the river lot.” He looked directly at Joshua. “Knowing you all I'm sure you stood at her counter in the afternoon, planned the entire thing right in front of her face, and not a single one of you thought to look at her?”

“Hyung, we thought she was busy because she closed early—” Seungkwan started, his voice cracking with a sudden, defensive panic.

“Bullshit! You didn't invite her. You just assumed she’d always be there behind the marble whenever you felt like dropping by.”

“It wasn't just us!” Seungkwan burst out, his face flushing as the guilt turned into frantic deflecting. He pointed a sharp finger toward the empty corridor outside the door. “Mingyu was the one flying across his screen ordering the hotpot! He was the one managing the logistics! If anyone was supposed to send the invite, it was him!”

“Yeah, Mingyu was literally handling the food layout,” Joshua muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice heavy with a quiet, hollow shame. “We just... the momentum of the day was too loud. We didn't think.”

“Mingyu isn't in this room, and he isn't the one she looks for every morning,” Jeonghan said, his eyes shifting back to Soonyoung, who was staring blankly at the floorboards, completely unraveled. “But the three of you? You're supposed to be her friends. You've spent months treating that cafeteria like your personal living room because she made it feel like one. I am so disappointed in you all, when she comes back, you two” he pointed at Seungkwan and Joshua “are gonna apologize. And you” he pointed at Soonyoung “You need to give her space.”

Thursday 3:45 pm

Practice was dismissed for the day, too many mistakes, no energy, it was just too much. While Soonyoung was putting his things away, Minji approached him.

“You know, If you had been clear about your feelings for her from the beginning, perhaps you would already be together.”

Soonyoung’s hands froze over the zipper of his gym bag. He let his shoulders sag, a heavy, exhausted sigh rattling through his chest as he kept his eyes strictly on his half-packed bag.

“Minji-ya, please,” Soonyoung muttered, his voice dropping into a flat, incredibly weary register. He dragged a hand down his face, looking older than his years under the harsh fluorescent studio lights. “Don't tease me right now. Not today. I already feel like the worst person on this entire floor.”

“I'm not teasing you,” Minji replied smoothly, her tone entirely devoid of its usual playful edge. She leaned her shoulder completely against the metallic clothing rack next to his locker, crossing her arms. “I'm being serious. If you had just told her how you felt weeks ago instead of lingering around the counter like a nervous middle-schooler, she wouldn't doubt her position in your life.”

Soonyoung slowly zipped his bag, the metallic screech of the zipper sounding painfully loud in the empty, quiet practice room. He finally turned to look at her.

“I didn't want to rush her,” he whispered, his throat bobbing hard as he gripped the strap of his bag. “I wanted to do it right. I wanted to make sure she felt safe. But instead, I... I did exactly what Jeonghan-hyung said. I treated her like background scenery because my brain was stuck on random bullshit, when she matters to me the most.”

He took a sharp, shaky breath, his defenses completely crumbling as he looked at Minji, desperately searching her face for any kind of answer.

“What do I do, Minji-ya?” Soonyoung asked, his voice cracking with a terrifyingly genuine vulnerability. “Jeonghan-hyung told me to give her space, so I'm not going to her apartment. I'm not going to suffocate her. But the silence is literally making me sick. I can't just sit in the dorms for the next forty-eight hours knowing she’s hiding from me. What can I actually do to make this right?”

Minji looked at him for a long beat, taking in the absolute desperation rolling off his posture. The anger she had felt on your behalf earlier in the afternoon softened just a fraction, replaced by the practical, protective instinct of a peer.

“You stop trying to pull her into your bubble, and you start stepping into hers,” Minji said flatly, her voice grounded and firm. “Right now, she thinks she doesn't belong in your world because she doesn't dance. She thinks there's a barrier between us and her. So when she comes back just give her space, and when she's ready to talk, she'll reach out.”

Soonyoung wasn't satisfied with that answer. How could he bear not speaking to the love of his life? But perhaps if that was the solution, he would endure it. “Alright then… Thanks.”

Soonyoung threw his gym bag into the corner of his bedroom, the heavy thud doing nothing to break the suffocating quiet of the apartment. He didn't turn on the lights. He just walked over to his window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass, staring down at the city streetlights starting to flicker on in the early twilight.

Give her space. Minji’s voice kept looping in his head, a clinical, detached prescription for a pain that felt entirely visceral. *ÑWhen she's ready to talk, she'll reach out.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over her contact name. He wanted to call. He wanted to text a paragraph of frantic, clumsy explanations. But he remembered Jeonghan’s cold, absolute warning from this morning, and his hand dropped back to his side. The restraint felt like physical weights tying him down.

To escape the urge to look at his screen, he closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp, ragged breath.

But the darkness only brought her back.

His mind pulled up a quiet, ordinary Tuesday afternoon from last month. The cafeteria had been completely empty during the post-lunch lull. He had snuck down under the pretense of needing an extra sleeve of cup lids for the studio, but really, he had just wanted a break from his own head.

He remembered leaning against the marble counter, watching her quietly restock the pastry display. She looked peaceful, her fingers carefully arranging the small tarts, humming a low, repetitive Indie track he didn't recognize.

When she noticed him watching. She had just paused, wiped her hands on her black apron, and leaned her elbows on the opposite side of the counter, looking up at him with a soft, steady understanding that always made his frantic energy instantly ground itself.

“Choreo block again?” she had asked softly, her voice a calm, flat line that felt like a lifeline in a building that was always too loud.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dropping his head onto his arms.

She hadn't offered advice. She hadn't tried to speak his language. She had just reached into the fridge, pulled out a small glass bottle of chocolate milk—the cheap kind from the convenience store that he loved but the company nutritionists hated—and slid it against his forearm. “Drink. The world isn't going to stop spinning if you take ten minutes off, Soonyoung-ah.”

They had just stood there in the quiet lounge for a full fifteen minutes, not saying a word, the only sound being the low hum of the espresso machine. She had created a border around him, a tiny sanctuary where he didn't have to be the invincible leader of anything. He had just been a boy taking a break.

Now, standing alone in his dark bedroom, the memory felt like a ghost pressing against his chest.

He remembered the group photo Dokyeom had sent on Wednesday night—the one where Minji sat dead center, and he was smiling with his chopsticks pointed at the lens. He remembered the exact second it was taken. He had been riding the adrenaline of the successful run-through, completely blind to anything else. He hadn't even noticed who was missing from the frame. He had let the ease of someone who actually shared his job completely rewrite the space where his friend was supposed to be.

A sharp, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. It wasn't just that he had embarrassed her, or that he had been loud. It was that he had taken her presence for granted so entirely that he hadn't even checked to see if she was standing in the dark while he ran toward the light.

Soonyoung let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead pressing harder against the cold window pane.

He was going to follow the rules. He was going to let Thursday and Friday pass in absolute, agonizing silence. He wouldn't suffocate her with frantic texts or show up at her door like a child demanding forgiveness. But as he watched the traffic blur into long golden streaks below, his jaw set into a firm, unyielding line.

Friday 7:20

She was already awake; she couldn't sleep any longer because of her routine. Her wake-up time was always 6 a.m., and this day was no exception. She was staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. When she heard a knock on the door.

You didn't move at first. You stayed completely still under the covers, your eyes locked onto the white plaster of the ceiling as your heart did a sudden, chaotic leap against your ribs.

Who could it be at 7:20 on a Friday morning?

You slowly threw the blanket off your legs, your bare feet hitting the cool floorboards.

You walked down the short, dim hallway, your hands trembling slightly as you neared the entryway. You didn't look through the peephole. You just took a breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy door open a fraction of an inch.

Standing in the corridor, completely devoid of any chaotic energy, was Jeonghan.

He was dressed casually in an oversized knit sweater, a soft black beanie capping his hair, and his hands were tucked loosely into his jacket pockets. He didn't look frantic, and he didn't look like he had run up the stairs. He just offered you a quiet, remarkably gentle smile, his dark eyes instantly taking in your puffy eyelids and the tired slope of your shoulders.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan murmured softly, his voice carrying that characteristic, unbothered calm that always felt completely grounding. He lifted his right hand from his pocket, revealing a plain plastic bag with two steam-fogged containers from the porridge shop down the street. “I figured your internal clock wouldn't let you sleep past six anyway. Can I come in?”

You blinked, the breath leaving your lungs in a long, shaky sigh. You stepped aside, opening the door wider to let him pass.

“Thanks, hyung,” you whispered, locking the door behind him.

Jeonghan walked into your small living room as if he had been there a hundred times. He didn't comment on the darkness, the closed curtains, or the heavy silence of the flat. He just set the bag of food down on the kitchen counter, pulled two stools out, and unceremoniously took a seat, peeling back the plastic lids to let the warm, savory scent of chicken porridge fill the room.

“Sit,” he instructed lightly, pointing his chopsticks at the stool opposite him. “You look like a breeze could blow you over. Eat first, then we can talk.”

You quietly slid onto the stool, your fingers wrapping around the warm paper container. For the first few minutes, the only sound between you was the light scrape of plastic spoons. Jeonghan didn't push you. He didn't force you to give an explanation, and he didn't start listing off excuses for Wednesday afternoon. He just let the silence exist, changing it from a suffocating weight into a safe, quiet space

“Normally I would give you, some more time, you know, but this needs to be solved, so, go ahead, talk, tell me what's on your mind”

You stared down at the swirling steam of the porridge, the plastic spoon heavy in your hand. The warmth of the container against your palms felt entirely too real, breaking through the numbness you’d been clinging to since Wednesday night.

“I just feel like a fool, hyung,” you whispered, your voice sounding thin and small in the quiet room. You didn't look up, keeping your eyes fixed on the pale liquid. “I stood in front of my mirror on Wednesday morning, putting on makeup and choosing a new cardigan, thinking... thinking it mattered. And then an hour later, I was completely invisible. They didn't even leave me out on purpose. They just entirely, effortlessly forgot I was even in the room the second they started talking about their real world.”

You let out a shaky, bitter breath, your fingers tightening around the warm paper bowl. “Minji belongs in that frame. She speaks the language of sweat and rhythm. I’m just the person who pours the drinks that fuel the brainstorm. I got too comfortable thinking I belonged in their bubble, but the second they step outside the cafeteria walls, I dissolve. I'm just staff.”

Jeonghan didn't interrupt. He didn't offer a quick, comforting platitude or tell you that you were overthinking. He just listened, his head tilted slightly, as he let you empty out the heavy, suffocating thoughts you had been harboring alone.

When you finally fell silent, the faint hum of your refrigerator was the only sound left between you.

Jeonghan slowly set his spoon down against the counter with a soft, deliberate click. He didn't lean forward with his usual mischievous grin. Instead, his expression stayed completely serious, carrying a rare, protective gravity.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly.

You nodded slowly, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Good. Because half of what you just said is complete garbage,” Jeonghan said, his voice smooth and entirely direct. He reached across the small counter, his long fingers gently but firmly tapping the top of your hand.

“Wednesday afternoon was a mess. Shua, Seungkwan and Mingyu were riding a rehearsal high like a group of loud, ungrateful idiots, which they absolutely are. They took your space for granted, and I already told them how disappointed I am in both of them. They are going to apologize to your face when you come back, and it's going to be humiliating for them. I'll make sure of it.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as his tone dropped into a lower, heavier register.

“But you are not 'just staff,' and you never have been. If we wanted just a barista, the company could hire anyone. We come down those stairs every single day because you are the person behind that counter. You are the one who knows how chaotic our schedules get, who tolerates Seungkwan's ridiculous orders, and who actually makes that suffocating building feel like a place we want to be.”

Jeonghan leaned back on his stool, crossing his arms as a small, weary sigh escaped his lips. “And as for Soonyoung... he didn't look right through you because you're invisible. He looked right through you because he is a hyper-focused idiot who gets completely blinded by the adrenaline of his work. But the second that high wore off? Yesterday was an absolute graveyard in the practice room. He didn't hit a single cue. He sat in the dark corner of the mirrors staring at his shoes, completely miserable because he realized his own loud brain had made you feel like a stranger.”

Jeonghan pointed his chopsticks at your porridge, his features softening back into that familiar, calm demeanor. “He wanted to sprint to your apartment this morning. I had to physically threaten to hide his car keys just to keep him from showing up on your doorstep and suffocating you. I told him he needs to give you space, and he's going to suffer through it.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes holding a deep, quiet sincerity. “Let your brain stop bullying you. But tomorrow morning, you unlock those glass doors, you tie your apron, and you let them apologize to you, mhm?”

You smiled faintly, and just nodded.

Jeonghan was right all the time; you liked Kwon Soonyoung

Friday, January 13th 2026 7:35 a.m.

The rhythmic, heavy hum of the espresso machine was the loudest sound in the cafeteria.

Outside, the winter sky was a biting, pale gray, and the cold seeped through the polished glass doors of the agency’s ground floor. You had only been working at the lounge for a few weeks, still finding your footing among the massive stacks of ceramic cups, the steep learning curve of the complex employee beverage accounts, and the intimidating atmosphere of a building populated entirely by famous, larger-than-life artists.

To you, back then, the members of Seventeen were just a whirlwind of loud voices, expensive coats, and dizzying schedules. You knew them by their faces, of course, and you knew how to charge their respective unit budget cards, but you remained firmly behind the safety of your customer-service shield. You were polite, perfectly tuned to standard company hospitality, and entirely determined to keep your distance.

Until that morning.

The heavy glass doors gave a sudden, sharp click, and before you could even lift your head from the register screen, a blast of frantic, chaotic energy practically exploded into the room.

“Oh, hi good morning! Please tell me the espresso lines are fully pressurized because my brain is running on absolute zero beats per minute!”

It was Kwon Soonyoung. He bounced toward the marble counter, clad in an oversized black puffer jacket that made him look twice his size, his hair a thoroughly disheveled, damp nest from a rushed post-practice shower. He was practically vibrating, shifting his weight from one sneaker to the other, his sharp eyes wide and hyper-focused. Behind him trailed Seungkwan and Jeonghan, both buried deep into their winter scarves, moving at a much more human pace.

“Good morning,” you said, defaulting instantly to your practiced, smooth hospitality voice. “What can I get started for you today?”

“An iced americano! Extra shot! No—wait, a hot latte? No, iced. Definitely iced americano,” Soonyoung babbled, leaning his forearms heavily against the cool marble counter, completely invading your personal space without a second thought. He tilted his head up, his gaze locking directly onto yours with an intensity that caught you completely off guard. “Actually, what do you think? What's the best drink to wake up a tiger whose legs feel like jelly?”

You blinked, your fingers hovering over the touchscreen. Up close, without the barrier of a television screen or a crowded hallway, he didn't look like an unapproachable superstar. He looked incredibly human, his cheeks flushed pink from the winter wind, a faint scent of fresh soap and cedarwood radiating off his jacket.

“Um, a tiger?" you stammered, your voice coming out a fraction less polished than usual. “Uh, if your legs feel like jelly, maybe something with sugar? A vanilla latte usually helps the staff on the upper production floors.”

Soonyoung’s entire face instantly lit up. A massive, brilliant grin split his features, his eyes crinkling into those distinct, happy crescent moons that you hadn't expected to see directed entirely at you. “A vanilla latte! Brilliant! Genius! Let's do that. Make it an iced one, though. I need the frost to wake up my neurons.”

As you tapped the order into the screen, you felt a strange, sudden flutter in the pit of your stomach—a tiny, uncalled-for spark of warmth that knocked the wind out of your lungs. You quickly looked down, your face burning as you processed the transaction. “will that be cash or card?”

“Card, please!” Soonyoung beamed, but he didn't slide his card across the counter. Instead, he just kept his elbows planted on the stone, his chin dropping into his palms as he simply watched you.

It wasn't a casual glance. It was a heavy, fascinated stare, his eyes tracking the way you reached for a clean plastic cup, the way you leveled off the coffee grounds, and the careful precision of your movements. On any ordinary day, a customer staring that intensely would have made you incredibly uncomfortable. But under Soonyoung's gaze, the blood in your ears began to rush with a furious, deafening heat. Your fingers trembled slightly as you locked the portafilter into the machine, and you accidentally knocked a stray paper straw onto the floor.

Behind Soonyoung, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes darted from the performance leader's unblinking posture to the sudden, brilliant crimson creeping up your neck. A slow, wicked grin instantly spread across Seungkwan's face.

He nudged Jeonghan hard with his elbow.

“Hey, Jeonghan-hyung,” Seungkwan chimed in, his voice dripping with an exaggerated, theatrical sweetness that made your heart instantly drop. “Do you smell that? I think the espresso machine is overheating. Or maybe it's just the atmosphere around the register. It feels incredibly...warm in here all of a sudden.”

Jeonghan let out a soft, amused hum, pulling his scarf down just enough to reveal a pure, saintly smile. His dark eyes danced with pure mischief as he leaned against the pastry display, casually looking between you and Soonyoung. “Ah, you're right, Seungkwan-ah. The lounge has a very distinct energy today. Quite bright. Almost... romantic, wouldn't you say?”

“STOP,” Soonyoung barked suddenly, his head snapping around to glare at them, his own ears turning a violent, betraying shade of red. He straightened up from the counter, coughing nervously into his fist. “Don't bother her. She's working. She's a professional. Unlike you two, who are just standing there breathing my air.”

“Oh, we're bothering her?” Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms and stepping right up to the counter, entirely ignoring his leader's warning.

He peered over at your burning face, his expression full of absolute delight. “Barista-nim, please tell the truth. Is our leader being obnoxious? Because if he's staring too hard, we can write a formal complaint to HR on your behalf. He tends to look at things he likes with the intensity of a wild predator.”

“I am a tiger!” Soonyoung defended hotly, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to push Seungkwan away from the counter.

“You're a golden retriever who forgot how to blink,” Jeonghan corrected smoothly, his voice the definition of pure, unbothered calm. He looked at you, throwing you a slow, wicked wink that made your brain go entirely blank. “Don't mind him, lovely barista. Our Hoshi here usually has a very loud brain, but the second he comes down to the ground floor, his vocabulary mysteriously shrinks into single-syllable stutters. It's a medical anomaly.”

You stood behind the espresso machine, the steam wand giving a loud, aggressive hiss as you frothed the milk, desperately using the noise as a shield to hide your total meltdown. Your heart was doing tiny, chaotic gymnastics against your ribs. You had spent your entire life being practical, but looking at Soonyoung—who was currently trying to suffocate Seungkwan with his puffer sleeve while his cheeks burned a bright, beautiful pink—you realized your emotional defense system was completely compromised.

You capped the iced vanilla latte, your hands still shaking, and slid it onto the pickup station with a soft click.

“Here is your drink,” you murmured, forcing your eyes to look anywhere but his face. “Have a great rest of your day.”

Soonyoung instantly stopped wrestling with Seungkwan. He snatched the cup, his fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm. He looked at the cup, then back at you, his eyes incredibly soft and meltingly sweet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low register that made your breath catch. “I'll... I'll see you later. For real. I'll come back down when it's quiet.”

“HEY! practice waits for no man, lover boy, let's go!” Seungkwan yelled, grabby-handing his own simple iced americano from the tray and physically dragging a dazed, grinning Soonyoung toward the heavy glass doors.

The glass doors clicked shut behind them, their distant, overlapping laughter fading down the polished corridor. You stood alone behind the marble counter, clutching a clean cloth, the cold air outside completely forgotten against the raging, brilliant fire blooming in your chest.

Saturday 7:20 a.m.

You were putting away the last few things you needed, you were sure that at least Jeonghan would come today.

And finally the glass doors opened, there he was, pulling Seungkwan and Joshua by one ear. “Alright we're here, it's time to apologize.” He said, in his characteristic calm demeanor.

Jeonghan let go of their ears with a sharp, synchronized flick of his wrists. Seungkwan immediately whined, clapping both hands over his throbbing, bright-red earlobe, while Joshua merely rubbed the side of his head, wincing.

“Ouch! Ouch! Hyung! Everyone's watching!” Seungkwan meowled, his voice a sharp, high-pitched pitch that echoed off the empty tables.

“I don't care,” Jeonghan stated, his voice completely flat, carrying that terrifying, unshakable calm demeanor. He crossed his arms, staring down the two of them with an unblinking, heavy gaze. “I wouldn't even care if the CEO looks at this. You two are going to stand right there, and you are going to say exactly what you need to say.”

Instead of stepping forward with a standard, scripted apology, Seungkwan didn't say a word. He looked at your rigid, perfectly straight posture and the completely empty, professional mask you were wearing—and his face crumpled. He reached into his oversized hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, slightly crumpled brown paper bag, sliding it gently across the marble counter toward you.

You didn't move. You kept your hands neatly folded over your front, your gaze tracking the bag. Through the thin paper, the distinct, sweet aroma of toasted sugar and fried dough hit your nose.

“It's from that bakery near your apartment,” Seungkwan whispered, his voice incredibly quiet, completely devoid of his usual theatricality. “The one you said makes the only good strawberry tarts in the city. I went there at 6:00 this morning because... because I knew you wouldn't eat breakfast today. I knew your brain would be looping, and I just... I wanted you to have something sweet.”

The icy, defensive wall you had spent all night building suddenly suffered a massive, unexpected crack.

Joshua stepped up right next to him, but he didn't lean on the counter or invade your space. He kept his distance, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes heavy with a profound, quiet exhaustion that matched yours.

“We aren't here to make excuses,” Joshua said softly, his voice carrying a calm, grounded weight. “We know we completely erased you on Wednesday. The high of the choreo breakthrough was loud, but that doesn't make it okay that we treated you like part of the furniture. But when we went to the river... it wasn't a celebration. Not really. Seungkwan spent the whole night looking at his phone because we kept waiting for a text from you. We realized halfway through the night that the only reason our hangouts ever feel warm is because you're the one holding the camera, making sure everyone is taken care of.”

Joshua reached out, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the glass pastry case. “Minji asked where you were, too. She told us we were absolute idiots for leaving our best friend behind. We didn't forget you because you don't belong, barista-nim. We forgot to be good friends because we're used to you always being our anchor. And that's the worst mistake we could've made.”

You stared at the small paper bag, your fingers trembling slightly against your apron. The robotic, customer-service script you had prepared felt completely useless against the raw, quiet honesty dropping from their lips.

They weren't just saying 'sorry'; they were admitting that their world felt cold without you in it.

“I brought something too,” Jeonghan chimed in, his calm demeanor shifting into a small, remarkably gentle smile. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, professional-grade camera strap, setting it down right next to the pastry bag.

You blinked in confusion, finally looking up to meet his dark, perceptive eyes. “What's that, hyung?”

“It's a wireless shutter remote,” Jeonghan murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter, his voice dropping into a soft, older-brother tone. “From now on, nobody is volunteering to take the photos. We're setting up a tripod, and you're going to be dead center in every single frame, right where you belong. If you aren't in the picture, the performance unit doesn't get their coffee. It's a new rule.”

A small, broken laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it, a single, hot tear finally slipping over your lashes and splashing onto the marble. You quickly wiped it away with your sleeve, your chest heaving as the suffocating numbness of the last forty-eight hours finally began to dissolve.

“You guys are so annoying,” you whispered, your voice cracking completely as you looked at the three of them.

“We know,” Seungkwan sniffled, a relieved, watery smile finally breaking across his face as he reached over and lightly nudged your bandaged hand. “We're the worst. But please don't freeze us out. The practice room and the dorm has been a total graveyard. Soonyoung is currently upstairs sitting in the dark corner of the mirrors, holding his phone and staring at your profile picture like a pathetic, wet tiger. He hasn't even tied his shoes today. Please don't be mad at us.”

"STOP, HE'S NOT!" you cried out, your voice catching as your cheeks instantly flared with a sudden, betraying heat.

You shoved your hands deep into your apron pockets, desperately trying to summon back the rigid, professional mask that had just been completely pulverized. “He is not doing that. You guys are exaggerating just to make me feel better. He’s probably upstairs right now counting beats with a stopwatch or... or eating a lunchbox with the rest of the team.”

Right on cue, the glass doors chimed loudly, rattling as a massive figure practically tumbled through the entrance.

It was Mingyu. He was completely out of breath, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he was carrying a giant cardboard crate overflowing with premium coffee beans and fresh milk jugs he’d clearly sprinted down to the loading dock to fetch. To make things even more ridiculous, he had somehow managed to find a spare black apron from the back supply closet and had it tied tightly over his broad shoulders, looking like a hopelessly oversized, stressed-out trainee.

“He's definitely not eating!” Mingyu gasped, slamming the heavy crate onto the floor with a loud thud and immediately leaning his huge frame over the marble counter, his puppy-dog eyes wide with panic. “Barista-nim, please believe them! Hoshi-hyung hasn't touched a single carb since Thursday. I tried to force-feed him a sweet potato in the dorm kitchen yesterday and he literally hissed at me!”

You stared at Mingyu, your jaw slightly slack.

“Mingyu? Why are you wearing an apron?”

“Because he's doing penance,” Jeonghan answered smoothly, not even blinking at the giant's chaotic entrance. He adjusted his beanie, a sharp, satisfied glint returning to his eyes. “Since he was the master coordinator of the Han River picnic who forgot to check the invite list, his punishment is manual labor. He is your personal assistant for the next 3 days. He will grind the beans, he will carry the ice, and if you tell him to scrub the floorboards with a toothbrush, he will do it gladly.”

“I will!” Mingyu nodded aggressively, raising a hand as if taking a solemn oath. “I'll do the dishes, I'll restock the fridge, I'll even stand outside and scream the daily specials to the executives. Just please don't look at us with that blank customer-service smile anymore, barista-nim. When Shua-hyung told me you left because of us, I felt like the biggest piece of shit in the building.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes dramatically, though he subtly shifted over to make room for Mingyu at the counter. “Look at him. He’s practically vibrating from guilt. We all are.”

You looked from Mingyu’s desperate, oversized-puppy expression, to Seungkwan’s watery smile, to the tiny crumpled paper bag of strawberry tarts sitting on the stone. Your hands slowly slid out of your apron pockets, the cold, rigid mask you had spent forty-eight hours practicing completely falling apart.

A small, genuine laugh finally escaped your lips, your shoulders dropping as a wave of pure, comforting relief washed over your chest.

“You guys are completely ridiculous,” you whispered, wiping a stray, emotional tear from the corner of your eye. “All four of you.”

“We know,” Jeonghan murmured, his trademark, faux-angelic sweetness returning in full force as he tapped his fingers against the marble. “Now, Boss, your assistant is waiting. Tell Mingyu to start lifting those milk jugs before he cuts off the circulation in his shoulders with that apron. And you,” he pointed a finger at you, his eyes softening into a quiet, knowing look. “Drink some water. Eat Seungkwan's tart. And rest, you deserve it, let Mingyu handle the place”

Mingyu didn't even wait for you to give a verbal command. The second Jeonghan gave the green light, he let out a loud, eager gasp and scrambled around the edge of the counter, completely taking over your space with his massive, clumsy frame.

“I'm on it! I'm totally on it!” Mingyu chanted, his long arms already reaching into the cardboard crate he’d dragged in. He began stacking the heavy milk jugs into the under-counter fridge with terrifying speed, humming a nervous, fast-paced melody under his breath. “Do you want the oat milk in the front or the back? I'll put it in the front. You use a lot of oat milk, right? I've observed this. I'm a highly observant assistant.”

“Mingyu, slow down, you're going to break a shelf,” you breathed, a genuine, wide smile finally breaking across your face. It felt incredible to let your muscles relax, to let the hollow, symmetrical customer-service curve melt away into real, breathless amusement.

“Let him break it,” Seungkwan sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve as he watched Mingyu frantically organize the syrup bottles. "If he shatters the glass, he has to pay for it out of his wallet. It's good for his character development.”

Joshua let out a low, soft laugh, leaning his hip against the outer edge of the counter. The heavy, exhausted shadow that had hung over his eyes all morning was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, quiet relief. “He really will do whatever you tell him today. Don't be easy on him.”

“Alright, that's enough hovering,” Jeonghan cut in smoothly, clapping his hands together once with a sharp, authoritative snap. He reached over the marble, picked up the crumpled brown paper bag of strawberry tarts, and gently shoved it into your hands, his dark eyes sparkling with pure satisfaction. “The lounge is officially under new management. Shua, Seungkwan, out. We are going back to the fourth floor.”

“But hyung, I wanted to watch Mingyu do the dishes!” Seungkwan protested, whining as Jeonghan physically caught him by the back of his hoodie collar, steering him toward the glass doors.

“You have a vocal check in ten minutes, Seungkwan-ah,” Jeonghan reasoned with a saintly, unbothered calm, throwing one last, long, meaningful wink over his shoulder at you. “And besides, we need to go report to a certain wet tiger that the crisis has been averted. If we don't tell him soon, he might actually start chewing on the practice room floorboards.”

“STOP, HYUNG!” you yelled out, your face instantly combusting into a brilliant, fiery crimson as you clutched the pastry bag to your chest.

Joshua just chuckled, giving you a small, gentle wave as he followed them out. “Eat breakfast. We'll see you later.”

The heavy glass doors clicked shut behind the three of them, leaving the cafeteria suddenly quiet again—but this time, it wasn't a suffocating, lonely quiet. It felt warm. It felt safe.

Behind you, the loud, aggressive whir of the espresso grinder suddenly filled the room. You spun around to find Mingyu gripping the portafilter, his brow furrowed in intense, dramatic concentration as he stared at the coffee grounds falling into the metal basket.

“Okay, so,” Mingyu muttered, looking over at you with a completely serious, stressed-out expression. “I leveled it off, but... how hard do I press the tamper? Is it like... thirty pounds of pressure? Shua said it's thirty pounds. How do I measure thirty pounds with my hands, barista-nim?”

You let out a loud, helpless laugh, setting your strawberry tarts down on the counter and walking over to pull the heavy metal tamper out of his oversized fingers.

“Step aside, trainee,” you teased, your heart doing a light, happy skip against your ribs. “Watch and learn.”

Saturday 2:30 p.m

The chaotic lunch rush had finally subsided into a sluggish mid-afternoon lull. The stainless-steel surfaces behind the counter were spotless, courtesy of Mingyu’s relentless, eager scrubbing. He had washed every blender pitcher twice, organized the syrup bottles by height, and carried three more crates of oat milk up from the basement loading dock without a single complaint. But despite the warmth of your friends’ aggressive apologies and Mingyu’s massive, comforting presence beside the espresso machine, a different kind of suffocating quiet began to settle into your chest.

Your mind, ever its own worst enemy, started looping again.

The initial rush of relief from the morning was fading, leaving a hollow, aching question mark right where your heart was. Where was he?

Every single time the heavy glass doors of the cafeteria hallway gave a slight, echoing click, your head would instantly snap up, your breath catching in your throat. But it was never him. It was a marketing executive. It was a lyricist. It was a stray backup dancer.

Your eyes kept tracking the long, polished corridor leading toward the elevators. Twice during the midday rush, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar gray hoodie lingering near the vending machines just outside the lounge perimeter. It was unmistakably Soonyoung. He had walked past the glass doors twice, his head ducked low, his hands shoved so deep into his pockets his shoulders were entirely hunched forward. He looked incredibly small, completely stripped of his usual explosive, tiger-like aura. He had tilted his head just enough to look through the glass, his sharp eyes blinking softly as he watched you hand a cup to a customer—but the second your gaze had drifted toward the door, he had flinched violently, spun on his heel, and sprinted back toward the emergency stairwell like a frightened animal.

He was terrified. He was entirely convinced that if he stepped across that marble threshold, the icy, detached customer-service mask would drop right back over your face. He was protecting your space, just like Jeonghan had ordered him to, but his absolute avoidance was triggering a brand-new wave of agonizing overthinking in your own head.

Is he actually just giving me space? you thought, your fingers tightly gripping a clean microfiber cloth as you stared blankly at the steaming milk pitcher. Or is he relieved? Maybe after spending forty-eight hours with Minji, he realized how exhausting it is to constantly run down here and stutter over an americano. Maybe he’s up on the fourth floor right now, laughing at another one of her brilliant contemporary counts. Maybe he’s already moved past the awkward, unconfessed pining because his real world is just too loud, too fast, and too perfect for a barista to keep up with.

A heavy, visible sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders slumping into a posture of sheer, quiet exhaustion.

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu noticed everything. He paused mid-wipe on the espresso tray, his sharp, perceptive gaze tracking the way your eyes lingered on the empty hallway, the way your thumb kept nervously tapping the edge of your apron, and the profound, heavy sadness clouding your face. He didn't say a word out loud. He didn't tease you, and he didn't call attention to the sudden drop in your energy. He just quietly pulled his phone from his pocket beneath the counter, his thumbs flying across the screen into a private, four-way group chat titled:

OPERATION: FIX THE TIGER’S LOVE LIFE.

Mingyu: Guys, it’s bad. She’s doing that thing where she stares at the door and sighs every three minutes. She thinks Hoshi doesn't care anymore because he keeps doing that pathetic drive-by pacing in the hallway without coming inside.

Seungkwan: I swear to God, Kwon Soonyoung is the most tragic creature on this planet. He’s currently sitting in the corner of the practice room entirely convinced she’s going to hand him a corporate resignation letter if he breathes her air.

Joshua: We need to intervene. Jeonghan-hyung, do the thing.

Jeonghan: On it. Mingyu, get ready to clear the room.

Exactly three minutes later, your phone buzzed sharply inside your apron pocket. You pulled it out, your heart doing a strange, frantic leap when you saw a direct message from Jeonghan.

Jeonghan-hyung: Hey, lovely barista. The management team just trapped me in a recording review and I am literally dying of exhaustion. Shua and Seungkwan are down the street doing a wardrobe fitting, and the performance studio is completely empty right now. Can you do me a massive favor and bring a large iced americano up to the studio? Just leave it on the sound system ledge. You’re a lifesaver.

You stared at the screen, a sudden, nervous flutter hitting your stomach. The practice room was empty. Soonyoung wasn't there. It was just a simple delivery for Jeonghan. You could run up, drop the coffee in the quiet room, and escape back downstairs before anyone from the performance team returned from their midday break.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you said, your voice coming out a little breathless as you turned around. “I... I have to run a quick delivery up to the fourth floor for Jeonghan-hyung. Can you watch the register for ten minutes?”

Mingyu snapped his posture upright, throwing you a massive, entirely too innocent puppy-dog grin that should have made you suspicious if your brain hadn't been so compromised by overthinking. “Yes! Absolutely! Go! Take your time! I am the master of this lounge now! No corporate executive shall pass!”

You let out a small laugh, quickly pouring a fresh double shot of espresso over ice and cold water. You capped the drink, slid a black sleeve over the plastic cup, and took a deep, steadying breath. You pulled off your black apron, hanging it neatly on the hook behind the door, and stepped out into the corridor, your bare arms suddenly feeling chilly against the air conditioning as you boarded the elevator.

The ride up to the fourth floor felt agonizingly slow. When the metallic doors finally slid open, the polished concrete hallway of the training sector was completely silent. The usual thumping bass lines and echoing shouts of trainees were missing, the entire floor wrapped in a rare, mid-rehearsal quiet.

You walked down the long corridor, your sneakers making faint, squeaking sounds against the floorboards. Your chest felt tight, your fingers tightening around the cold plastic cup as you neared the heavy acoustic door of the studio.

You paused outside, taking one final breath to steel your nerves. You reached out, turned the heavy metal handle, and pushed the door open.

The room was vast, bright, and entirely hollow. The massive wall of mirrors reflected the empty hardwood floor, the high ceilings making the soft hum of the air conditioner sound incredibly loud.

But it wasn't completely empty.

Sitting dead center in the far corner of the room, flush against the mirror, was Soonyoung.

He was just sitting on his knees, his broad shoulders deeply slouched forward under his gray hoodie, his head buried completely in his arms.

The heavy door clicked shut behind you, the latch engaging with a sharp, final sound.

Soonyoung’s head snapped up violently at the noise. His sharp eyes were wide, heavily bloodshot, and completely clouded with panic.

The second his gaze locked onto your face—taking in your casual cardigan, your hair falling over your shoulders, and the iced americano clutched in your hands—his entire body went rigid. He scrambled to his feet so fast his sneakers skidded against the wood, his car keys clattering loudly out of his pocket and across the floor.

But instead of stepping forward, he immediately began to back away, his hands flying up in a defensive, frantic gesture.

“I won't bother you,” Soonyoung choked out, his voice rough, broken, and completely stripped of his usual bright volume. He wouldn't even look you in the eye, his gaze darting wildly toward the exit. “I'm leaving. I'll go. I won't breathe your air, I promise. I'm going.”

He practically bolted toward the door, his shoulder hunched as he tried to brush past you to escape into the hallway.

“Stop treating me like a stranger!” you cried out, your voice cracking sharply as you stepped directly into his path, blocking the exit.

The cold plastic cup of the americano trembled violently in your grip. The absolute absurdity of it all—the drive-by pacing in the hallway, the weeks of unconfessed pining, the sudden, freezing wall he was throwing up—completely broke through your remaining restraint.

Soonyoung halted mid-stride, his chest heaving violently under his gray hoodie. He finally looked down at you, his jaw tight, his expression twisting into a mix of raw defensive panic and unmitigated hurt.

“I'm treating you the way you want to be treated!” Soonyoung snapped back, his voice suddenly rising, echoing sharply off the studio mirrors. It wasn't his stage voice; it was a rough, defensive defense mechanism born out of sheer terror. “You treated me like a total stranger first! You wouldn't even slide the coffee to my hand! You wanted space, you took formal leave, and now I'm trying to give it to you, and you're still mad?!”

“Because you looked through me first!” you shouted right back, a hot, angry tear finally spilling over your lashes, your chest heaving as the months of suppressed feelings finally erupted into the quiet room. “On Wednesday afternoon, you stood less than two feet away from me and completely erased me! You talked about your choreography, you talked about Minji, you planned a whole life outside the building right in my face, and you didn't even notice I was standing there holding the cloth! You made me feel like an absolute ghost, Soonyoung! You made me realize that when the music starts, I'm just the staff member who pours your drinks!”

“That's bullshit and you know it!” Soonyoung roared, stepping right into your personal space, his face flushing a brilliant, angry crimson that rushed all the way to his ears. He slammed his hand against his own chest, his eyes flashing with a desperate, furious vulnerability. “I have never thought of you as just staff! Never! You think I want to buy coffee for thirteen people every single morning? You think I care about pistachio shit and mochas with cold foam? I spent forty minutes upstairs on Monday trying to bait the guys into wanting drinks just so I had an excuse to see your face for thirty seconds! I am completely pathetic for you, and everyone in this building knows it except you!”

“Then why didn't you say anything?!” you screamed back, the tears flowing freely now, your voice trembling with a raw, agonizing heartbreak. “Why did you leave me out? Why was I the only one missing from that blanket at the river while you were sitting there laughing with someone who actually speaks your language?!”

“Because I was terrified!” Soonyoung yelled, his voice cracking completely, entirely unraveled. “I didn't look at you on Wednesday because if I looked at you for even a second, everyone would have seen how desperate I am! I didn't invite you because I thought you were too busy for me! I sat on that blanket all night staring at my phone, wanting to die because my own loud, stupid brain had made the one person who actually matters to me feel like an outsider!”

“Well, you fucking succeeded!” you sobbed, turning your heel to finally smash the handle of the door, desperate to escape the suffocating intensity of his presence. “You made me feel completely irrelevant, and I don't want to stand here and—”

Before you could even touch the metal latch, Soonyoung’s hand shot forward. He didn't just catch your wrist—he gripped it, his long, warm fingers wrapping securely around your skin and physically yanking you back into the center of the room. The sudden momentum sent the iced americano flying from your grip, the plastic cup clattering against the hardwood floor and spilling dark liquid across the wood, completely ignored.

“Let go of me!” you gasped, twisting against his grip, but Soonyoung didn't let go.

Instead, he stepped completely into your space, his broad frame entirely trapping you against his chest. His other hand shot up, his fingers embedding deeply into the hair at the back of your neck, his thumb anchoring tightly against your jawline to force your head up.

“I'm not letting you go,” Soonyoung whispered, his breath hot and ragged against your lips, his eyes wide, fierce, and swimming with a terrifyingly beautiful, unyielding certainty. “I'm done being a coward.”

Before another word could leave your throat, he leaned down and slammed his mouth against yours.

The kiss wasn't gentle, and it wasn't hesitant. His lips were hot, demanding, and incredibly soft, parting yours with a fierce, unyielding hunger that instantly knocked the remaining air straight out of your lungs.

Your hands, which had been raised to push him away, instantly lost all their strength. Your fingers tangled into the rough fabric of his gray hoodie, pulling him closer as the tight, suffocating ice in your chest completely, beautifully shattered.

Soonyoung let out a low, ragged groan into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening until he was physically lifting you off your feet, pressing you flush against the solid warmth of his chest.

He kissed you until the room spun, until the memory of Wednesday afternoon, the overthinking about Minji, and the boundaries of the cafeteria walls completely dissolved into the background. There was no performance leader, no barista, and no crowd—just his heartbeat drumming a frantic, echoing rhythm against yours.

The kiss deepened, raw and desperate, years of swallowed feelings pouring out between you.

Soonyoung’s mouth moved against yours like he was starving, tasting you with a low groan that vibrated straight into your chest. His hands were everywhere—one still tangled in your hair, the other sliding down your back to pull your hips flush against him. You could already feel how hard he was through his sweatpants, thick and insistent against your stomach.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough and shaky. He kissed you again, slower this time, sucking gently on your bottom lip before deepening it with a needy tilt of his head. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you behind that counter… how many times I got hard just from thinking about fucking you dumb on that damn counter.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie, a soft whimper escaping as heat pooled low in your belly. He walked you backward until your back met the cool mirror wall, the contrast making you gasp. Soonyoung didn’t waste a second—he dropped his head to your neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weak.

“Tell me you want me,” he murmured against your throat, voice sweet and wrecked at the same time. “Please, baby… need to hear it.” “I want you,” you whispered, sliding your hands under his hoodie to feel the warm, firm muscle of his back. “Soonyoung, I want you so much.”

He made a broken sound and pulled back just enough to tug your cardigan open, hands gentle but urgent as he pushed it off your shoulders. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, drinking in every inch. “God, you’re so pretty,” he said, almost reverently, cupping your breasts through your shirt before sliding his hands underneath. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, already tight and sensitive, drawing a shaky moan from you. “Look at you… been dreaming about touching you like this. These perfect tits in my hands—soft and warm, fuck, they fit so good.”

You arched into his touch, heat flooding your face. He kissed you again, deep and filthy, while his fingers worked your shirt up and off.

Your bra followed quickly, and then his mouth was on you—hot and wet, sucking one nipple while his hand kneaded the other. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the quiet studio, mixing with your soft gasps.“Soonyoung—” you moaned, threading your fingers through his hair.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. “That’s it, say my name just like that. You’re doing so good for me already, baby. So responsive… I love how your body reacts when I touch you.” He switched sides, licking and sucking until your legs trembled, praising you between every swirl of his tongue.

“These pretty nipples are so sensitive. Look how hard they get for me. You’re perfect, you know that?” One of his hands slid down your stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. “Can I touch you here, baby? Been dying to feel how wet you are for me.”

You nodded quickly, whispering, “Yes—please.”

Soonyoung groaned in relief, the sound low and hungry. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear, sliding them down your legs. He helped you step out of them, his hands warm and steady on your thighs, all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Fuck, look at you…” he murmured, voice dropping into a soft, sweet coo. “My pretty baby, standing here all bare for me. Aww, don’t get shy now.” He tilted his head, a teasing little smirk tugging at his lips even as his eyes stayed soft. “You’re dripping down your thighs already, sweetheart. That’s so cute.”

His fingers returned between your legs, sliding through your slick folds with an obscene, wet sound. He let out a low whistle.

“Shit, baby… you’re absolutely soaked. This pretty little pussy is making such a mess just from a few kisses.” He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster, two fingers pressing inside you with a smooth, careful thrust. “Mmm, so warm and tight. Listen to that… hear how wet you are for me?”

You rocked against his hand, a broken whimper slipping out. Soonyoung leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he cooed again, sweet and slightly mocking in the gentlest way.

“Aww, listen to you. Already riding my fingers like a needy girl. That’s it, baby, fuck yourself on them. Look at you—so desperate and pretty.” He curled his fingers perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you, stroking it steadily while his thumb kept rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Who would’ve thought my sweet barista gets this fucking wet? All those mornings you smiled at me so innocently… and you were hiding this greedy little cunt?”

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans while his fingers kept their relentless rhythm. When he pulled back, his voice was husky but still laced with that affectionate, teasing coo.

“Good girl… such a good fucking girl for me. You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, like you don’t want to let them go. Does it feel that good, baby? Hmm?” He nipped at your bottom lip, eyes half-lidded with lust and adoration. “You’re taking two so well already. Can’t wait to see how you stretch around my cock. Bet you’ll look so fucking cute trying to take all of me.”

Your legs started to tremble. Soonyoung noticed immediately and pressed his body closer, supporting you against the mirror as he finger-fucked you a little faster, wet sounds echoing softly in the empty studio.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he cooed sweetly, almost like he was soothing a shy lover. “Don’t fight it, pretty. Let it build. I want to feel you come on my fingers first. Can you do that for me? Can my sweet, shy baby make a mess all over my hand?”

He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly while his fingers curled again and again against that perfect spot.

“That’s my girl… so wet, so warm, so perfect. God, I love how you sound. Those little whimpers are driving me crazy.” His voice dropped lower, filthier, but still wrapped in that tender, teasing tone. “You’ve been hiding this needy pussy from me for months? Bad girl… but such a pretty one. Come on, baby. Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart like the good little thing you are.”

The praise, the filthy cooing, and the steady pressure of his fingers finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard with a broken cry of his name, clenching rhythmically around his fingers as pleasure crashed through you.

Soonyoung kept stroking you through it, slow and gentle now, murmuring soft praises against your temple.

“There you go… that’s my good girl. So beautiful when you come. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

He dropped to his knees suddenly, gentle but eager, spreading your thighs wider with warm hands. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your hip bone, then another just below your navel, like he was worshipping every inch of you.

“Let me taste you. Please?” His voice was already hoarse with need. “I need to, baby. Been dying to bury my face in this pretty pussy.”

At your breathless nod, Soonyoung let out a relieved groan and leaned in. He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring every drop, before letting out a deep, shameless moan against your core.

“Oh my god… you taste so fucking sweet,” he murmured, almost in awe. “My pretty baby is dripping for me. Aww, look at you—already making such a mess on my tongue.”

He licked and sucked at your clit with focused hunger, alternating between slow, broad strokes and quick flicks that made your hips jerk. Two fingers slid back inside you, pumping steadily while his mouth worked you open. His free hand gripped your thigh firmly, holding you spread for him as he devoured you like a man starved.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds,” he cooed against your slick folds, voice muffled and sweet. “Don’t hold back for me. Fuck, you’re doing so well already… grinding that needy little pussy on my tongue like a good girl.”

Your legs started shaking. You gripped his hair tighter, soft whimpers and moans spilling from your lips. Soonyoung hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you.

“Mmm, listen to how wet you are,” he teased gently, pulling back just enough to look up at you with dark, adoring eyes. His chin was already shiny with your arousal. “You’re soaking my face, sweetheart. So cute. Is my shy barista really this greedy? Getting this messy just because I’m on my knees for her?”

He dove back in, sucking your clit between his lips while his fingers curled perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet studio, mixing with your broken gasps.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he praised between licks, voice thick with lust and affection. “My perfect girl. So sweet and warm and tight. I could stay right here for hours, baby—eating this pretty cunt until you can’t even stand. You taste even better than I imagined. Fuck, I’m addicted already.”

He kept cooing soft, filthy praise against your core, never stopping the steady rhythm of his fingers.

“Aww, your thighs are shaking so much. Poor baby… feels that good, huh?” He sucked harder on your clit for a moment, then soothed it with slow, gentle licks. “That’s okay. I’ve got you. Come whenever you need to, okay? Want to feel this pretty pussy fluttering on my tongue. Be a good girl and make a mess for me.”

You came for the second time with a broken cry of his name, thighs trembling violently around his shoulders as you clenched rhythmically around his fingers.

Soonyoung moaned loudly against you, licking you through every wave—slow and gentle now, drawing out your orgasm until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Only then did he pull back, kissing your inner thigh softly before rising to his feet.

He pulled you into a deep, hungry kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked down your spine.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your lips, breathing hard. His cock was straining painfully against his sweatpants, but he still took his time, pressing soft kisses to your flushed cheeks and forehead. “So fucking sexy when you come for me like that… I almost cummed on my fucking pants just watching you fall apart. My good girl.”

His hands roamed your body again. He looked at you with pure adoration, eyes soft even as lust burned behind them.

“I love you,” he said quietly, forehead resting against yours. “Want to be inside you so bad, baby. Want to feel this tight, perfect pussy around my cock while I tell you how much you mean to me.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, voice dropping into a wrecked, gentle plea. “Can I have you? All of you? Will you let me fuck you dumb on this practice room, hmm?”

You nodded frantically “I'm gonna turn your brain into fucking mush, baby, I'm gonna make you feel so so sooooo good, my pretty girl.”

He turned you around gently but firmly so you were facing the massive wall of mirrors. Your naked body were reflected back at you—flushed skin, his broad chest behind you, his hands sliding possessively over your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, eyes locked on yours in the mirror.

“Look at us, baby,” he cooed softly, voice sweet and teasing. “Look how pretty you look against me. Aww, already so flushed and needy… my shy little barista all spread open for me.”

He pushed his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening. One hand stayed on your hip while the other guided himself between your legs, rubbing the head slowly up and down your soaked folds.

“So wet… still dripping from my tongue, huh?” He nipped at your earlobe. “Gonna watch every second of this. Don’t look away, okay? Want you to see how well you take me.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a deep, guttural groan. “Fuck… so tight. That’s it, baby—relax for me. Good girl… taking my cock so nicely already.”

You gasped at the fullness, your hands pressing against the cool mirror for support. Soonyoung bottomed out with a shaky breath, his chest flush against your back, and wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you steady.

“Feel that?” he murmured right against your ear, eyes never leaving yours in the reflection. “Feel how deep I am? This pretty pussy was made for me. So warm and wet… squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”

He started moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The wet sound of skin meeting skin echoed softly in the empty studio. His free hand slid up to cup one of your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple while he fucked you.

“Look at you,” he cooed again, voice dripping with affection and lust. “Look how cute you look getting fucked. Those pretty tits bouncing every time I thrust… fuck, you’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

He picked up the pace just a little, still controlled, angling his hips to hit deeper. “That’s it, baby. Push back on me. Show me how much you want it.” He kissed your shoulder, then bit down gently. “Been dreaming about bending you over, fuck! You’re doing so well for me. Such a good girl letting me fuck you like this.”

After several long, toe-curling minutes, Soonyoung pulled out with a soft hiss. He spun you around to face him, then lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the mirror again. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.

“New position, pretty,” he breathed, lining himself up and sliding back inside you in one smooth thrust. “Want to see your face while I fuck you. Want to watch those eyes when I’m buried deep.”

He held you up like you weighed nothing, strong hands gripping your ass as he started thrusting again—deeper and harder now, the new angle making you moan louder. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and full of love as he watched every expression cross your face.

“Fuck, baby… you feel even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough but still sweet. “Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. Want you to see how much I love being inside you. This tight, perfect little pussy is gonna ruin me… but I don’t care. I’m yours.”

He kept fucking you against the mirror, steady and relentless, murmuring filthy praise between kisses.

Soonyoung kept bouncing you on his cock against the mirror, deep and steady, his eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Baby,” he cooed softly, voice sweet and raspy between thrusts, “you know you’re the only one, right? My only one.” He pressed a messy kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to watch your face. “Minji? She’s nothing to me like this. Never has been. She doesn’t make me lose my mind. She doesn’t make me hard just by smiling. That’s all you, pretty girl. Only you.”

He groaned when you clenched around him, clearly affected by his words.

“Aww, you liked hearing that, huh?” He smirked sweetly, eyes sparkling with affection even as he fucked you harder. “Good. Because it’s true. This cock is yours. This -tiger- heart is yours. No one else gets me like this. Just my sweet, perfect barista.”

He slowed down, then carefully lowered you to your feet. With gentle but firm hands, he turned you around again, pressing your front against the cool mirror.

“Bend forward a little for me, baby. That’s it… hands on the glass.” He kicked your feet wider apart and lined himself up from behind, sliding back in with one smooth, deep thrust. “Fuck—yes. Look at you in the mirror. So fucking pretty taking me like this.”

His hips snapped against your ass in a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your hip while the other reached around to rub your clit.

“You feel so good,” he praised, voice dripping with honeyed filth. “This tight little pussy keeps sucking me in… greedy girl. But I love it. Love spoiling her.”

He kept talking, sweet and teasing, eyes never leaving your reflection. “That’s my good girl… look how well you’re taking every inch. So cute when you’re getting fucked dumb in front of the mirror. You’re clenching so much, baby. You close already?”

Your moans grew louder, legs shaking as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. Soonyoung’s fingers circled your clit faster, perfectly in time with his thrusts.

“Come on, pretty. Let go for me,” he cooed, almost mockingly gentle. “Make a mess on my cock. I want to feel you gush all over me. Be a good girl and squirt for me, yeah?”

The orgasm hit you hard. Your vision blurred as pleasure exploded through your body. You cried out his name, thighs trembling violently as you gushed around his cock—hot, wet, and messy. Your release dripped down your thighs and onto the studio floor, the obscene sound of it mixing with his low groan.

“Fuuuck, baby— that’s it,” Soonyoung moaned, voice wrecked with pride and lust. He kept thrusting through your orgasm, slower but still deep, drawing it out as you made a complete mess. “Look at that… my pretty girl squirted so much. So fucking cute. You made such a big mess for me.”

He didn’t stop moving. Even as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he kept rolling his hips, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you while his fingers gentled on your clit.

“Aww, don’t tap out yet, sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning over your back to press kisses along your shoulder. His voice was sweet and teasing, dripping with affection. “You can handle a little more, can’t you? Just a little. My perfect girl is so strong… this pussy still feels so hungry for me.”

He gave you a few slow, deep strokes, letting you feel every inch while you trembled against the mirror.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby. Let me take care of you.” His hand stroked soothingly down your side as he kissed the back of your neck. “We’re not done yet… I still need to fill you up properly. You can give me one more, right? Be good for me.”

Soonyoung’s thrusts grew faster and more desperate, the mating press keeping you folded helplessly under him as he chased his high.

“Fuck, baby… I’m so close,” he groaned, voice cracking with need. “Gonna fill you up—need to cum so deep inside you. Please, let me— fuck—”

With a few final, punishing thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. A broken moan ripped from his throat as he pulsed inside you, flooding your walls with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding slowly, pushing it as deep as possible while panting against your neck.

“Good girl… taking all of it… so good for me…”

He stayed buried deep for a few seconds, trembling, then flipped you both with a shaky breath. He laid on his back on the thick mat and pulled you on top, your knees straddling his hips. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he gripped your waist with slightly trembling hands and immediately started fucking up into you with deep, powerful strokes.

“Ah—shit—” he hissed sharply, eyes squeezing shut for a second. His voice was already turning breathy and broken. “S-so sensitive… fuck, baby, you’re so warm and full of my cum… it’s dripping everywhere.”

Even though he was clearly oversensitive, he didn’t stop. He kept snapping his hips up, driving his cock back into your messy, cum-filled pussy with wet, filthy sounds. His hands guided you down to meet every thrust, bouncing you on him.

“Look at you… sitting so pretty on me,” he babbled, voice sweet but wrecked, words starting to slur together. “My messy baby… all creamy and wet… making such a big mess on my cock. Aww, you feel t-too good— hnn— I can’t— fuck—”

You were barely coherent yourself, moaning and whimpering as he hit that perfect spot over and over. Soonyoung’s thumb found your clit again, rubbing messy circles while he continued thrusting up hard, even as his own body twitched from overstimulation.

“C’mon, pretty— please,” he pleaded softly, eyes glassy as he stared up at you. “Squirt for me again… wanna feel you gush all over me. I know you can, baby— my perfect girl— please make another mess— I’m so close again already—”

You came hard with a shattered cry, squirting all over his stomach and chest in messy pulses, your release soaking him completely.

Soonyoung’s eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as your walls clamped down around his oversensitive cock.

“F-fuuuck— baby— you’re squeezing me so tight— I’m— I’m cumming again—!”

His hips stuttered violently as he came for the second time, pumping more cum deep inside you with a broken, whimpery groan. He kept thrusting up through it in short, desperate jerks, babbling praises and nonsense the entire time.

“So good— you’re so fucking good— my pretty girl— making me cum so much… love you— love this pussy— too sensitive but I can’t stop— ah— fuck—”

His movements eventually slowed to lazy, shallow rolls of his hips as you both trembled and panted. He pulled you down against his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly, still buried deep inside your dripping, cum-filled pussy.

“Stay… just stay right here, baby,” he whispered breathlessly, pressing sloppy kisses to your forehead and cheeks, still slightly incoherent. “My perfect girl… made such a pretty mess… love you so much.”

Soonyoung’s arms stayed wrapped tightly around you as you both came down, his chest heaving beneath yours. He was still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with aftershocks, overly sensitive and warm. Soft, broken whimpers kept slipping from his lips every time your walls fluttered around him.

“Baby… fuck, you’re still squeezing me,” he whispered shakily, voice hoarse and sweet. He pressed lazy kisses all over your face — your forehead, your closed eyes, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “My perfect girl… you did so well. Made me cum so much. Look at the mess we made together. Fuck, I still feel like I'm fucking shaking.”

You were completely boneless on top of him, brain still floating. Soonyoung gently rolled you both onto your sides, finally slipping out of you with a low hiss. A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaked out onto your thigh. He stared at it with dark, satisfied eyes before letting out a soft, tired laugh.

“Aww, don’t move, pretty. Let me take care of you.”

He reached for the clean towels stacked near the practice mats (always kept in the studio for sweat) and gently wiped between your legs with careful, tender strokes.

“Shhh, I know you’re sensitive,” he cooed softly when you twitched. “Such a good girl… you took me so deep and made such pretty messes for me. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Once he cleaned you up the best he could, he wiped himself quickly and pulled you back into his chest, wrapping you up in his oversized gray hoodie. He tucked your head under his chin, one hand stroking slow circles on your back while the other cradled your head.

“I love you,” he murmured again and again, voice soft and a little raspy. “So much. You’re mine now, okay? You’re my girl.”

You mumbled something incoherent against his neck and he chuckled warmly, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, I know. Brain’s all mushy, huh? That’s okay. I’ll keep you right here until you come back to me. My sweet baby.”

He rocked you slowly in his arms, pressing endless gentle kisses wherever he could reach, whispering praises and love confessions until your breathing evened out.

Down the hallway, just past the corner from the practice room door, the four of them were still loitering, trying their best to look like they had any business being there.

Seungkwan leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing the smuggest expression known to man. He wiggled his fingers expectantly.

“Alright, pay up. Don’t make me wait.”

Joshua exhaled slowly, pulling out his wallet with visible regret. He counted out the bills and handed them over. “I genuinely thought he’d at least take her somewhere nice first. Or, you know… confess like a normal human being. Not turn the practice room into his personal love nest in the middle of the afternoon.”

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, groaning as he forked over his money. “I’m never going to unsee that image. Every time I look at those mirrors I’m going to remember. My brain didn’t need that upgrade.”

Jeonghan, who had been quietly scrolling on his phone, finally looked up with a lazy smile. He peeled off a few bills and dropped them into Seungkwan’s hand.

Seungkwan pocketed the money with a satisfied grin, patting his pocket proudly. “Man’s been holding back for too long. Tiger mode activated. Zero chill left.”

Mingyu shook his head, half-laughing, half-horrified. “During the day, though? With the door not even locked? That’s bold even for him.”

“Bold?” Joshua chuckled. “That’s straight-up fearless. Or reckless. Probably both.”

Jeonghan slipped his phone into his pocket. “He’s been staring at her like she hung the moon for months. We should’ve seen this coming.”

Seungkwan nodded sagely. “Exactly. That’s why I set the terms. Thank you all for doubting the power of a man who’s completely whipped. Your contributions will be put to good use.”

Joshua let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless.”

“Uh-uh, I'm strategic, I don't bet unless I know I'm going to win.” Seungkwan corrected, tapping his temple. “Someone has to be the realist here.”

Mingyu glanced nervously back toward the practice room door. “We should probably bounce before they come out. I don’t want to get caught. Hoshi gets extra scary when he’s embarrassed, and I’m not trying to fight him today.”

Jeonghan pushed off the wall smoothly. “Yeah, and she’ll definitely throw something at us if she spots us lurking. Let’s not ruin their happy little bubble.”

The four of them started walking down the corridor, keeping their voices low but still snickering.

As they turned the next corner, Mingyu muttered, “Mirrors, man… Why the mirrors?”

Seungkwan patted his shoulder with mock sympathy. “Accept it. And next time you bet against me, just pay faster. My instincts are expensive.”

Taglist! @flamminhotlemon @mixuicecream @sunnysidesins @aaniag @fwairychlo3 @max-1404

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

･:*࿔.ೃ.⋆☀︎ 127 Love Island!au ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Islander!Johnny who you’ve been coupled up with since day one. You had signed up for Love Island as a total joke. It was the result of a girls night, too much alcohol, and a dare. Now, months later you’ve made it. You walk into the island hand in hand with a girl you’ll soon come to love like a sister and stop in your tracks at the sight of Johnny. It’s like the producers created him in a lab just for you. He’s the very embodiment of your type. You’re lucky enough that he picks you after you step forward for him, and the luck continues with every recoupling that comes after. Not only is physically your type, his personality is hot too! He brings you breakfast and coffee just the way you like it, refills your water bottle without you even asking, he lets you ogle him while he works out, and even coordinates his outfits with your own. By the end of week two you’re both locked off. You don’t want anyone beside Johnny. He’s your dream man! The weeks tick on by, you fall more and more head over heels for him, and huh, would you look at that... your drunken joke has turned into you making it to the final four. Who would have thought?

Islander!Taeyong who you honestly don’t have any hope for. You’ve been in the villa since day one, hopping from couple to couple. With every recoupling and bombshell entrance, your hope fades. Every guy you've been coupled up with has been making you look like a total fool! They flirt with every bombshell that comes in, steal kisses and lie about it, tell you you’re the only one for him, and it seems like you’re left alone, miraculously safe at every recoupling. You think you’re just an easy in for every new bombshell. They win you over just enough to secure their spot in the villa before going after who they’re really interested in. You're sad to say that you've lost hope in the Love Island experience. Taeyong comes in as a bombshell, inviting you on a date that follows its usual routine of good conversation, shy smiles, and simmering hope in the pit of your stomach. It’s hope that turns into butterflies when you guys discuss your interests and learn you actually have a lot in common, which becomes more when he stands behind the fire pit and announces that he’s decided to couple up with you. After the recoupling he doesn't follow the unfortunate sequence of redirecting his attention. His sights are set on you and you begin to have hope again...

Islander!Yuta who you have your sights set on before you even enter the villa. Yuta has been in a toxic couple since day one. He’s aware that the point of the first couple of weeks is to explore but somehow every conversation with an islander of the opposite sex ends in his partner throwing a fit and crying her eyes out while claiming he’s cheated on her. He tries to stay calm, telling her that he’s into her, there’s no one else he really feels a connection with. His reassurances seem to work until the next thing sets her off and he realizes he’ll be in for a long summer… until you come in. It’s a blindfolded kissing challenge where each islander has to rate each kiss from 1 to 10. He’s not going to lie and say he hasn’t enjoyed the kisses, he just hasn’t been wowed. The last kiss steals the air from his lungs, the softest pair of lips yet, gentle hands cupping his face and the unexpected, but very pleasant, drag of someone’s tongue against his own makes him breathe out, “10!” It’s just that, when he pulls his blindfold off, his partner is seething with a 6 written beside her name. And you, a brand new bombshell, are standing beside the scoreboard with a wide smile and a bold 10 in your row. Every other guy ranked you no higher than a 5 and he can hear the girls murmuring about you being respectful by giving all the guys simple pecks except for him. He thinks his luck is beginning to turn…

Islander!Doyoung who you have been coupled up with since day one in a friendship couple more than anything. Talking to him feels like drawing water from a rock, but he’s nice and cute. Scratch that, Doyoung's really, really hot, but your personalities just aren’t suited. You’re hoping that a bombshell will walk in and sweep you off your feet because you don’t feel like it’s going anywhere with Doyoung. You really try to make conversation and be open to him, but he clams up and the conversation never goes deeper than small talk. Yet, again and again, bombshells walk in, and there are no connections. You stay loyal to your new friend, recoupling with him when the time comes and he does the same for you. Unbeknownst to you, he’s been pretty vocal to the guys, during confessionals, and to every bombshell that’s taken him on a date— you’re his ideal type. He’s just so overwhelmed by you that he doesn’t know how to be himself. Somehow, the two of you have lasted in the villa for weeks now with you hopeful that someone more suited to you will come in and turn your head. That is, until a challenge with a tweet that reads: “I’m so obsessed with the way blank looks at blank. He’s so in love with her!” That couldn’t be about you and Doyoung could it?

Islander!Jaehyun who you actually already know when you come into the villa as a night two bombshell… the mix of nerves and confidence turn into confusion at the sight of him. You introduce yourself, standing up straight, flipping your hair over your shoulder and batting your lashes at all the other islanders. It’s only when you’re sitting around the fire pit with everyone that you reveal that you actually already know Jaehyun. He’s your ex-boyfriend’s best friend, the very person that let you know that same ex cheated on you. Of course, the two of you have conversations after that. They start off with reminiscing on old times and that horrendous ex and turn into genuine conversations where you get to know each other. It makes you wonder if you and Jaehyun always had so much in common or if you were just blinded by infatuation for your ex. It takes a few days and the push of a challenge for you two to finally kiss. And hey, would you look at that… could that warmth you always felt around Jaehyun have been hidden sparks all along?

Islander!Jungwoo who you’re actually not even initially coupled up with. You’ve both been here since day one, coupled up with the same people for a week now, but you don’t feel a real connection. You haven't been shy about getting to know the other guys, exploring your connections and being open with the girls about it. Is it really your fault that you actually feel something for Jungwoo? His partner has made it clear that she does not like you. She doesn’t support your exploration, with her man especially, but you’re not here for her. You’re here for love and if it’s with Jungwoo— sorry girl! The perfect opportunity comes during a game of truth or dare around the fire pit. It’s your turn to perform a dare after one of the guys chose you for his ideal pair of legs on a woman. Your phone pings with a text and you don’t even try to hide your smile as you read: “Kiss the islander you’re not coupled up with that you like the most.” You’re making your way straight to Jungwoo, kissing him passionately with his hands on your ass and your own tangled in his hair. By the time the kiss is broken, your lungs burn and your lips are numb, but you don’t regret it. The two of you might even talk about it while everyone makes their way inside to get ready for bed. You’re just thirsty for water, nothing else…

Islander!Mark who you meet during Casa Amor. He’s already in a couple, steady and consistent. He thinks it’s more of a slow burn, eventually he’ll feel a real connection and the sparks will go from there. He’s respectful and polite, sharing a bed with you because he already knows how bad the bugs get out on the day beds. You’re not as showy as the other Casa Amor girls, not laying on your flirting as thick as they are, clearly looking for a real connection and not just a ticket into the villa. While the other girls flirt excessively, you and Mark just kind of hang out by default, have conversations about anything and everything under the sun. He finds that he enjoys these conversations, a lot actually. He’s still set on staying in his original couple… until the dreaded Casa Amor post card comes in and there’s the undeniable image of his partner kissing a guy who couldn’t be more his opposite. By the end of Casa Amor, you and he have become close friends and he’s decided to couple up with you in the hopes that you’ll find a real connection with a bombshell or maybe… with him?

Islander!Haechan who you get coupled up with after a public vote. All summer long you’ve been lucky enough to stay in the villa, though within various couples that just never work out. The guys are all nice, albeit drawn to the other girls and you don’t fault them. You’ve had a good summer, made some good friends, and you’re glad to have had the experience. Your very best friend would have to be Haechan, who you think is the male version of yourself. The public have been watching it all unfold and then some. You and Haechan are a beloved couple who’s not even coupled! Unseen bits is made up mostly of the two of you being silly, cracking each other up to the point of tears, or communicating across the villa with exaggerated hand movements or excessively loud shouts. The producers certainly aren’t mad about all the extra buzz the two of you are drumming up for the show, so what better choice than a public vote after the mess that was the Casa Amor recoupling that left the two of you vulnerable?

a/n: are we cool if one or some of these become a fic? Possibly??? Don't hold me to it tho I would love your feedback <3

[cheers-to-you-th]

POV: jerking off Nerd!Mingyu slight popular!reader x nerd dynamic

MDNI, SMUTTY DRABBLE 18+ warnings: handjobs, pwp, big dick loser!mingyu WC: 2.2k

BETA READ BY THE LOML @nerdycheol

Mingyu had been studying for finals all week. Your poor boyfriend, locked in his dorm instead of doing his rightful job of spending time with you—it was infuriating! Top of his class, on a full-ride academic scholarship that he maintained so easily, yet you hadn’t seen him in a whole seven days (besides passing him in the hallways, and the good morning and good night texts, and the kisses he’d always plant on your cheek when you’d meet for coffee, but you insisted those didn’t count)—you were getting desperate.

So today, when you’d walked into his dorm room, using the key he’d so graciously given you, it was no wonder you had the urge to absolutely devour him. Especially when he had that furrow in his brows, the sharp canines you adored sinking into the plush pink of his lips. His glasses were perched cutely on his nose, a knit sweater hanging off his broad shoulders. Your boyfriend was an absolute snack, and it would’ve been wasteful to do nothing. So when you shut his door and he stood to greet you, who could blame you for wrapping your arms around him and kissing him stupid?

That was the thing about Mingyu. For all his smarts, for all the prodigal genius he was, he simply melted for you. The second your hands were on him, the boy was gone. You felt the tightening in his pants against your leg immediately and grinned victoriously.

“Study break?”

It didn’t take long for you to have him pressed against his wooden bookshelf, even shorter for your hands to wander to the waistband of his pants. you worked at his belt, the zipper and button following until his pants bunched around his knees.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, lip jutting out when you saw the growing wet spot on the front of his boxers where his tip stained them with precum already, the fabric stretched tight. You cooed at him, teasingly. "Oh, poor baby." Pressing your palm to the bulge, rubbing and squeezing lightly. "Missed me that much? Should’ve told me you were so pent up, you know I’m always here to help you, Gyu."

Mingyu let out a sharp, strangled sound, as your palm made contact. The sensation of the damp, tight fabric being squeezed was almost too much to bear. He felt the heat of the friction radiating through his entire lower body, a pulsing, heavy ache that made his vision swim.

"F-fuck," he whined, though he made absolutely no effort to move away. "Don't tease me—ah—please."

He looked down at you, his eyes hooded and dark, watching the way you looked at him—the teasing pout, the knowing glint in your eyes. The sheer, unashamed confidence of your touch, the way you could call him baby and mock his desperation while simultaneously driving him to the brink, was enough to make him want to both laugh and lose his mind.

His gaze dropped to where your hand was working, the sight of the dark, damp stain on his boxers a testament to how much power you held over him. He felt exposed, stripped of his dignity and left with nothing but raw, pulsing need, but he was right where he wanted to be. He gripped the edge of the shelf so hard his knuckles turned white, his hips twitching involuntarily against your hand. "Ngh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop." He panted as his brows pinched together.

"M'not gonna stop, promise." You chuckled, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as you finally tug the fabric down. He sprung out, slapping against his abs, and your hand wasted no time to wrap around him and start slowly tugging, coaxing out more sticky pre and whimpering moans. "That's it. You're doing so good for me."

He's hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing as the tip spurts more liquid, your thumb dragging over the sensitive skin to gather it and spread it along his length. It added a slickness to the friction, a slow wet shlick, shlick, shlick filling the room in response. But you don't speed up, don't let it build quickly, instead placing each brick, to unravel him until there's tears in his pretty eyes.

A broken, high pitched sound—a sound he would have died before letting anyone else hear— escaped his throat. It was a whimper, raw and unrefined, swallowed by the quiet of the room.

He was a man of discipline, a man who thrived on being the one in control, but as you began that slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm, he felt his entire foundation dissolve. The feeling of your hand, the wet, repetitive sound of skin sliding against skin, seemed to echo in the narrow aisle, filling his head until there was nothing else.

He gasped your name, his voice a wrecked, breathless shadow of itself. He reached down, his fingers tangling in your long hair, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as the world began to tilt. You weren't rushing him, no, you were being cruel in the most exquisite way, dragging out the tension, building the sensation brick by agonizing brick. Every time he thought he was about to tip over the edge, every time his hips began to buck instinctively to find a faster pace, you would slow down, teasing the sensitivity of the tip, spreading the slickness of his own release until he was practically vibrating with the effort of staying upright.

His breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. His vision was blurred, the dim light of the room turning into a haze of gold and shadow. He felt a stinging heat behind his eyelids, a physical manifestation of the sheer, overwhelming sensory overload. He was being unraveled, stripped of every layer of his composure until there was nothing left but the friction, the heat, and your voice..

His hips jerked upward, a desperate, involuntary movement seeking more of that friction, his muscles coiling tight as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

"Oh fuck," he choked out, his eyes opening just enough to see the dark, beautiful shape of you in the gloom. "Don't... don't make me wait..."

You grinned, hand speeding up slightly at his plea. "Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?" When he nodded frantically, breath hitching as more whines were ripped from his throat, her tongue clicked. "Come on, use your words. You can do it." You goaded, hand tightening fractionally.

Mingyu’s fingers tightened in your hair, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his balance. The slight increase in speed was a torture he didn't want to end, a frantic, rhythmic friction that made his entire lower body feel like it was made of liquid lightning. Every time you tightened your grip, a fresh wave of heat crashed over him, leaving him gasping for air that wouldn't come.

"It... it feels..." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking on the syllable. 

He looked down at you, his green eyes blown wide, glazed with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  "Feels s’good," he finally managed to choke out, the words a slurred, breathless confession. "God... it feels so fucking good."

He let out a long, shuddering moan as you squeezed him again, the pressure hitting the most sensitive part of his length with devastating precision. He was right there, teetering on the precipice, his muscles coiled so tight they were trembling. The sensation of the slick, wet friction was building into a roar in his ears, drowning out the noise outside the dorm, drowning out the thought of studying, drowning out everything but the feeling of you.

"Please," he groaned, his hips bucking upward in a frantic attempt to meet your hand, his voice dropping to a raw rasp that was nearly a sob. "Don't make me say it again. Just... now. Give it to me now."

"So demanding." You hummed. "Is that how we ask for things?" Your hand stopped entirely, squeezing at the base. 

The sudden absence of friction was a physical blow, making Mingyu’s entire body jolt. His hips jerked upward in a desperate, instinctive search for the heat that had just been stolen from him. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of his own ragged, panicked breathing. He felt suspended in a state of agonizing tension, his nerves screaming for the release that was being cruelly withheld.

Your name gasped from his lips as a broken, breathless plea, eyes, wet and wide, searched yours with a frantic, unshielded desperation. He reached down, his large hands trembling as he gripped your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. Mingyu didn't try to pull your hand away; he tried to force it back, to command the motion to resume, but hands trembled, his muscles weak.

"Don't..." he choked out, a small, pathetic sound that he would have loathed if he weren't so close to the brink. "Don't do that. Don't stop now. Please."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He looked down at where your hand remained, squeezing the base of him, and the sensation was almost more than he could bear a teasing, heavy weight that promised everything and gave nothing. He was a man on the verge of tears, his muscles coiled so tightly they were vibrating, his entire existence narrowed down to the single, desperate need for the friction to return.

“Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Good boy." Your hand resumed its movement as you teased him, faster now, watching his back arch and his abs tense.

The moment the friction returned, Mingyu let out a sound that was less a moan and more a broken sob tears finally slipping from his glossy eyes down his cheeks. The sudden, rapid movement of your hand was a violent, beautiful shock to his system, a rhythm that didn't give him a single second to breathe or prepare. His back arched sharply, his spine pressing hard against the wood behind him as his entire body strained toward the sensation.

"Fuck!" he choked out, his head falling back so hard it nearly hit the shelf again.

The speed was punishing. It was a relentless, driving force that bypassed all his remaining defenses, turning his thoughts into a white hot blur of pleasure. His abs were locked in a rigid, trembling knot, his muscles coiling and rippling under the strain of trying to hold himself together while being systematically dismantled.

Every time your palm slid over the sensitive, slick skin of his length, a fresh jolt of electricity shot through him, making his toes curl and his vision swim with dark spots.

"Oh fuck— baby— baby!" he gasped, the words coming out in jagged bursts, shaky and trembling.

He reached down, his hands no longer just guiding you but clutching at your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought to stay upright. He was close—so close that the pressure felt like it was going to burst. His hips began to move in an uncoordinated rhythm, trying to match the speed of your hand, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like he was drowning. The tension in his entire body reached a breaking point, a singular, vibrating frequency that demanded release.

Mingyu’s head thrashed, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that stars danced behind his lids. The demand for words was a cruel, beautiful torture, a final hurdle placed right at the peak of the mountain. He was vibrating, his entire frame caught in the violent pull of a climax.

"Please!" he choked out, the word tearing from his throat, raw and stripped of every ounce of his usual poise. He was undone, begging and sobbing your name like a prayer. "Ngh—please... ahh..."

The moment the words left his lips, the dam broke.

His hips bucked violently, a sharp, uncontrolled surge of motion as the first wave of release slammed into him. A loud, guttural groan was ripped from his lungs, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that echoed through the room. The sound was half groan, half sob—followed by a whiny whimper that had your lips twitching.  His entire body went rigid, his muscles locking into hard, trembling cords as he felt the hot, pulsing sensation of his release spilling over your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He repeated over and over, like a mantra, tears slipping down his cheeks as he trembled.

His breath came in ragged, sobbing gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes opening just enough to see the beautiful silhouette of you through the haze of his own ecstasy. As the waves began to subside, leaving him trembling and spent, he slumped back, his breath hitching in his chest. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes closed as he tried to find his bearings in the sudden, heavy silence of the room.

You licked the release off your hand with a hum. “See? You shouldn’t keep me waiting so long, Gyu. It’s rude.”

A choked chuckle escaped his lips before he pressed them reverently to your cheek. “You’re right, baby. You’re always right.” His hands slid up, fidgeting with the edge of your shirt before slipping under it slightly, just enough for his rough palms to meet the soft skin of your back.

“Wanna help me with my anatomy homework?”

don't ask about the layout, i'm too lazy to make a banner for a drabble and idk what i'm doing anymore, man.