Do not trust people like me. I will take you to anime conventions, and the manga section of the library, and Hot Topic, and kiss you in every sugoi place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like stale pocky in your mouth. Watashi will destroy you in the most kawaii way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people desu
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
we need more boxer san i absolutely loved the one you already have!!
산 c.S
boxer!choi san 𖹭 gn!med student!reader (strangers2lovers) part ii
a burning passion.
synopsis: an amateur medic assigned to treat a famous, professional boxer. what possibly could go wrong?
contents: strangers2friends2lovers, fluffy, reader is a college student, worldbuilding-ish (underground/surface thing), makeout sesh, angst at the end if u squint, playful fighting/banter, not proofread, lowercase intended.
zuzu's note: part i here. thanks for reading, anon !!! all the love<///3 stayed up all night writing this. possible part iii???
it's past midnight. the streets are empty, lit only by sickly neon signs and the faint orange glow of dying lamps. you and san walk side by side through the quiet rot of the city — past stoners hunched over in the alleys, cats fighting over scraps of garbage. you wonder what kind of japanese spot he's dragging you to at this hour. you glance at him — relaxed, but his jaw's tight, like he's holding something in. you look back at the road ahead and breathe out a thin puff of air, watching it disappear into the cold.
"you don't think this is weird?" you ask, rubbing your hands together, breath ghosting in the cold air.
he glances at you, panicked. "no, not at all. why? do you?"
you shrug, a small laugh escaping. "i didn't... but i bet you take all your nurses out."
his brow lifts slightly, unreadable. you don't sound bitter — more curious than anything, like you're trying to figure him out. most people would take offense at the thought of being another name in his string of late-night dinners, but for some reason you just want to know more about him.
san doesn't answer right away. the silence stretches, broken only by the hum of a vending machine and the crunch of gravel under your shoes. somewhere down the street a cat knocks over a can, and san finally exhales, slow. "would that bother you?"
you blink, then let out a quiet laugh. "well, i think there's a better way to look for a hot date as a famous, sexy boxer than settling on someone who works for you—" his mouth twitches, just barely — not quite a smile, not quite mockery. the kind of look that makes it impossible to tell if he's amused or trying not to be. "what?"
he shakes his head. "nothin'." he shrugs. "i don't take all my nurses out by the way." he finally pushes the glass doors of a bright japanese restaurant on the sidewalk.
"then what made you ask me?" you ask, following suit.
"really? what made me ask you? the cute nurse who isn't afraid to hit me?" he smiles. "also gave me these sick bandages." he lifts his hands to show your fine craftsmanship.
"please, anyone could have done that if it were their job." you rolled your eyes and take a seat in the table san leads you to.
"not the way you did it..." san mutters and takes a seat across from you.
°ᡣ𐭩 . ° .
"come on! you owe me some lore — i keep talking about me," san's practically begging now, leaning a little closer over the table. the ramen's gone cold between you, untouched for the last half hour. somehow, your conversation slipped from jokes to stories to quiet confessions, (all mostly on san's part) and before you knew it, it’s 2 am.
"okay, fine…" you chuckle, setting your glass of water aside. "i grew up… fine. nothing too traumatizing or special. single mom, no siblings, no major life changes. i was hit once or twice, had your typical high school drama. i don’t think too much about the whole underground-surface thing. i’m becoming a doctor to get rich. end of story."
you finish, and for a moment, the air between you stills. san's staring — not in that playful, easy way he usually does, but with his brows drawn and hands clasped together like he's studying you.
"nah," he says finally, voice low. "i don’t believe you. there's gotta be more than that."
you grin, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "ouch. is my life that unbelievably boring?"
he doesn't laugh right away, and that silence says more than anything else could. "i'm sorry, look— just, i believe there's more to you than you're letting on. let's leave it at that."
"of course there's more to me than that lame story! i won't define myself like a romance author, san. you'll get to know me as time passes by."
"so there's a second date?"
"...what?"
"you practically wrote it yourself, no backsies, there's gonna be a second date."
you roll your eyes again. you fear if you spend the rest of your days with this man you'll go cross-eyed.
"i'll see you again, right?" san asks.
you tilt your head curiously. "...sure. it's a small world."
"i'll meet you here again. 5 pm. but i'll take you somewhere else, what do you think?"
"i think i have a class tomorrow afternoon, 1 through 5."
"oh. i'll pick you up then?"
"do whatever you please, choi san."
°ᡣ𐭩 . ° .
and he was actually there. you weren't sure why it surprised you — maybe you expected him to flake, or maybe you just didn't think he’d show up like this.
the moment you step out of your building, you catch sight of a small group of college students circling around him giggling as they ask for autographs. he doesn't seem to mind, just leans lazily against his sleek black chopper like it's second nature. a pair of shades rest on his head, his leather jacket hanging open just enough to reveal the bandages you'd wrapped the day before. underneath, the white wifebeater — the one you've seen plastered all over fight tapes, it does not go unnoticed.
as you walk closer, the students scatter away, whispering as they drift off. san's eyes follow you and he stands straight.
"hi," you say, a wide grin plastered on your face as you clutched your notebook with both hands. "are you choi san?"
"in the flesh." he lowers his shades and grins, that familiar, cocky kind of smile. "want a signature? you can have as many as you want."
"eh, don't need it." you shrug, meeting his gaze. "i have a feeling i'll be seeing a lot of you from now on."
he laughs under his breath. "hop on. i'll take you someplace nobody will recognize me."
you roll your eyes. "jackass…" you mutter, but you climb onto the chopper anyway. the engine growls to life, and for a second, you wonder if this is a good idea — but then the wind hits, and it's too late to care.
you arrive at a hidden, cozy café tucked between narrow alleyways — the kind of place that doesn't look like it should exist here. inside, the air smells like roasted beans and old paper. soft candlelight flickers against walls lined with real books, potted plants filling every corner like they're trying to breathe life into the place. it’s empty. too quiet for somewhere this beautiful.
you glance around, curious. "a friend runs the place. it’s going awful," san says, tone casual.
"i wonder why," you murmur, tracing your fingers along a stack of books. "this place seems amazing."
"it's a front," he leans in and whispers.
your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.
"kidding!" he raises both hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. you exhale, rolling your eyes, but the corner of your mouth gives you away. "it kind of is actually, now that i think about it. but not in the sinful way—" he corrects himself before you could hit him. "there's a boxing ring out the back, kinda like a second face. nothing illegal. my manager works here as well."
"your manager? as in the one who hired me? do i get to meet them?" you ask, oddly excited.
"oh, yeah, of course." san rings the bell on the counter.
"i'm awake!" a man suddenly jolts up from behind the counter and you can see his eyes adjust to you two in front of him. "what can i do ya for?"
"it's me, wooyoung." san says with a cheeky smile.
"oh." wooyoung says, notably disappointed and he sinks back onto his chair. "black coffee and a croissant coming up." his eyes drift to you and he runs a hand through his hair. "and for the company?"
you suddenly look at san. "i-i'm not good on the spot orders, i haven't even looked at their menu yet!"
"so, look." he casually grabs one from the counter and hands it to you.
"sorry, i'm not usually so panicked."
"i can tell. by the way, y/n, this is my manager. wooyoung."
"oh! wooyoung— so nice to meet you, i'm y/n."
"y/n..? y/n..." wooyoung mutters, brows furrowed, and suddenly it's like someone switched the light on in his brain. "the nurse?!" he grabs san from his wifebeater across the counter "i swear, choi san, if you—"
"i won't! i won't, let go, jeez."
you watch the exchange between the two men before placing the menu down on the counter again. wooyoung eventually lets go and san fixes the wrinkles on his top. "...i'm ready to order." you say innocently and offer a small smile. wooyoung's voice softens when he returns to take your order but the air feels a little heavier.
"what was that all about?" you ask san as you two take a seat next to the books (per your request).
"oh, that was nothing. wooyoung is just being paranoid..." san fiddles with the fork he was given for his croissant. "how was your class today?" san asks, looking at you with a smile. you decide to let it go for now.
"tiring. as usual, you wouldn't wanna hear about it." you look at the selection of books before choosing one and skimming through it, you look at him. "i was looking forward to this all day, anyway."
san visibly blushes and scratches the back of his neck. "cool..." he mutters, avoiding eye contact before he clears his throat and looks back at you. "so, after eating, i was thinking i could take you to the ring out back. i spend a lot of my free time there."
"sounds cool." you tease and he giggles. literally giggles.
after pastries sweet enough to make your teeth ache and just the right dose of caffeine, san leads you through a narrow hallway behind the café. the sound of the city fades with every step until all you can hear is the soft buzz of the overhead lights.
he pushes open a heavy door, revealing a small training ring tucked neatly behind the kitchen — dimly lit, the floor smelling faintly of resin and soap. the ropes are worn but clean. it's intimate in a way that feels unintentional.
"this is where i keep shape," san says, kicking off his shoes. "no cameras, no noise."
you look around. "feels... different from the usual ones. not that i've been in much. it's... smaller— quieter."
"yeah," he murmurs, tugging off his jacket and setting it on a bench. "no crowd to hide behind."
there's something in his tone that makes you look up. he's watching you, that lazy grin gone, replaced by something more careful.
you lean against the ropes. "what, planning to show off again?" you begin to tease, but the gaiety isnt there anymore. san chuckles, taking a slow step forward.
"depends. you sticking around long enough to see it?"
the air feels thicker now. he's close enough that you catch the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of coffee and sugar clinging to him. neither of you move, not really; it's just that the distance kept shrinking on its own. and then the lights hum a little louder, the world pressing in around you — soft, electric, waiting.
and san pulls back.
"hold the pads for me?" he asks.
you punch his shoulder — hard, and intentional. "ow!" he stumbles back a bit, grinning despite himself.
"don't play with me, san."
"for someone who should be treating people, you're pretty good at hurting them." he laughs, rubbing the spot you hit. "i'm serious this time, y/n, just—" he grabs a pair of worn-out focus pads from the shelf and tosses them your way before stepping inside the ring. "hold them like this."
you sigh but comply hopping inside the ring as well and holding the pads up in front of your chest. "you're impossible."
he shrugs, putting on his gloves. "you like that about me." he cracks his neck.
you roll your eyes, but your heart beats faster as he steps closer. "san—"
he throws a light jab that lands on the pad with a satisfying thud. "relax," he mutters, his voice a little softer now. "i won't hurt you..."
a few more hits, rhythmic and controlled, echo in the small room. the air feels thicker. your arms tremble — not from the force, but from how focused he looks, how every muscle in his face moves with intent.
then he stops. drops his hands. looks at you.
"see?" he says, a breathless smile curving his lips.
you barely have time to respond before he leans in — and finally connects your lips together. it's sudden, like he'd been holding back ever since that moment earlier... or maybe since the very first time you met.
his kiss is fierce, almost impatient. there's a quiet desperation in the way he moves, the way his breath mingles with yours between hurried kisses. then he softens — as if remembering where he is, who he's holding. he pulls back just slightly, just long enough to tug off his boxing gloves with a clumsy sort of urgency, letting them drop behind you with a dull thud.
his hands find your hair next, slipping through it, tugging gently until your head tilts just right. you can barely think, the pads still strapped to your hands uselessly pressing against his chest as you try to steady yourself. the scent of him — sweat, cologne, a hint of coffee from earlier — it clings to the air around you, dizzying and warm. he murmurs your name against your lips once, almost reverently, before deepening the kiss again. it's slower this time, less about hunger and more about everything he's been trying not to say.
when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths uneven and shallow. his voice is rough, low, and threaded with a laugh. "still think i'm playing with you?" you stay silent as you catch your breath, eyes looking down at where his hands hold yours against his chest and you finally look into his eyes.
you hit him lightly against his chest. "fuck, that was too good." and suddenly it bothers you.
"is that a bad thing?" he asks half amused half worried as you step away, back turned toward him. needing space but you don't know what from.
"i'm sorry." the words fall out before you even think them through. you step off the ring, the air suddenly too heavy, too real. your heartbeat feels wrong in your chest as you crouch down, searching for your bag.
"wh— y/n!"
his voice cracks through the silence, startled, then urgent. you feel the mat shift behind you as he follows, his hand catching your wrist before you can reach the zipper.
"why? what's wrong? you can't just storm out on me."
his grip isn't rough — just desperate enough to make you freeze. you glance up, and he looks wrecked, confused, like the moment you pulled away rewired him entirely.
you let out a shaky breath, avoiding his eyes. "i just—" you swallow, the taste of him still ghosting your lips. "i can't do this. not if i'm just another name."
his brows knit, that familiar flash of hurt crossing his face. "another name?"
"i thought i could handle it," you start, voice cracking a little as you exhale, "but i— i don’t know, with what wooyoung said earlier—" you shake your head, laughing under your breath like you’re trying to make sense of it. "i don't know what you do, san. and i'm not even obligated to know. it was a fever dream at first but reality is sinking deep inside now. we're not exclusive or anything eitherz so yeah, everyone has a past, i get that — i know i’m not your first kiss, that doesn't bother me. but i'm not gonna settle for being your twentieth, either."
the silence that follows stretches thin — you can hear the hum of the broken light above, the faint echo from the café outside. san just stands there, still breathing hard from before, eyes flicking between yours like he’s searching for something to hold onto.
he finally whispers, almost to himself, "you think that's what this is?"
"...no, i don't know what i think it is." you finally say and shrug. it's the kind that looks more like surrender than indifference.
san watches you, jaw tightening like he's trying to swallow a thousand things he wants to say. his gloves still hang loose from his hands, the tape around his knuckles half undone. you can see it — the part of him that wants to close the distance, to explain, to touch. but he doesn't.
"y/n..." he says your name like it’s something fragile. "you think i'd bring you here if you were just another name?"
you look at him, and for a second, you want to believe it — want to fall into the low rasp of his voice and the ache behind his eyes. but the air between you feels like static, full of things neither of you can say.
"i don't know," you whisper. "you're choi san. maybe this is what you do."
he exhales, sharp and quiet, like the words cut deeper than you intended.
"i don't know about you, y/n," he starts, voice calm but trembling under the weight of it, "but i'm the hopeless romantic between us."
you blink, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.
"that other nurse wooyoung was referring to?" he pauses, a faint, bitter smile tugging at his lips. "she broke my heart. i told him i'd never fall for another nurse again, but…" his gaze finds yours, quiet and heavy. "here you are."
his smile fades into something more tired than sad. "leave if you wish. we aren't exclusive, after all."
you linger by the doorway, the hum of the flickering light behind you and the faint echo of your heartbeat in your ears. for a moment, you think about turning back — saying something, anything — but the words won't come.
so you leave.
and san stays standing there, staring at the empty ring, the sound of the door closing louder than it should've been.
zuzu's note: sorry idk what i did lol 😭😭😭 part iii?
𖹭 zuzu's note: everything is fictional and for entertainment purposes only! ^^ i am a sporadic writer and i usually write whatever i want whenever i feel like it but if you have any thoughts or requests, don't be afraid to send them in. i wanna hear them. the drivers listed below are the only ones i can/will write for. with certain missing drivers, i either haven't seen enough of their content or i'm just not that into writing for them.
i suddenly had the (suuuuper original) idea of making a formula 1 (mostly current grid) 18+ mafia au multi-chapter novel (female reader) that i write in between my classes.
it will be inspired by peaky blinders, sopranos, six of crows, goodfellas, disco elysium, and a bunch of other mafia rickety shit that i read and watch (and played.)
it will include my own worldbuilding and will feature older drivers. i already have a plot in mind. what im unsure of is who the reader will be paired with since all of them will be there...
please please please let this blow up and please support this idea.
HMU if you wanna be part of the taglist for the special opening night of this work !!!
°ᡣ𐭩 . ° .
who shall the reader be paired with for the whole of the book? (incl. trope, whichever one you choose will determine the fate and role of the reader in the whole story unless i decide to change it lol)
options only include those who will be majorly involved in the plot.
who?
oscar (mafia x mafia)
lewis (right-hand x the boss)
fernando (forbidden love rival mafia x rival mafia's daughter)
lo and behold, the winner of the dutch gp and in the mafia poll. might take me awhile to get the story started, college has been hectic n im also working on a long ahh cl¹⁶ oneshot. sorry in advance for the delay :PPP
𖹭 zuzu's note: everything is fictional and for entertainment purposes only! ^^ i am a sporadic writer and i usually write whatever i want whenever i feel like it but if you have any thoughts or requests, don't be afraid to send them in. i wanna hear them. the drivers listed below are the only ones i can/will write for. with certain missing drivers, i either haven't seen enough of their content or i'm just not that into writing for them.
i suddenly had the (suuuuper original) idea of making a formula 1 (mostly current grid) 18+ mafia au multi-chapter novel (female reader) that i write in between my classes.
it will be inspired by peaky blinders, sopranos, six of crows, goodfellas, disco elysium, and a bunch of other mafia rickety shit that i read and watch (and played.)
it will include my own worldbuilding and will feature older drivers. i already have a plot in mind. what im unsure of is who the reader will be paired with since all of them will be there...
please please please let this blow up and please support this idea.
HMU if you wanna be part of the taglist for the special opening night of this work !!!
°ᡣ𐭩 . ° .
who shall the reader be paired with for the whole of the book? (incl. trope, whichever one you choose will determine the fate and role of the reader in the whole story unless i decide to change it lol)
options only include those who will be majorly involved in the plot.
who?
oscar (mafia x mafia)
lewis (right-hand x the boss)
fernando (forbidden love rival mafia x rival mafia's daughter)
Ik it was from sooooooo long ago but I remembered reading a hyjn e2l piece and for the life of me I couldn't find it but recently I came across it again and it was actually part of your hyung line My Enemy headcanons? So just stopped by to say I still think of it from time to time
hi! i just saw this now ㅠㅠ i reread the fic u were talking about and im so sorry you had to read that, it sucks and it's questionable, but i know that feeling ur talking about LMAOOO it's so cool u found it and that it happened to be one of my works, im proud of that so thanks for dropping by lol 🙏
synopsis: after more banter with mingi, you reflect on your meeting with seonghwa, the president of the programming club, and the excitement of being accepted into a club that could help you achieve your dream of creating your video game. however, your enthusiasm is quickly tempered by your frustration when you are paired with mingi to work on some designs for an event.
content: typical college romance, significant hate to significant others, robotic!reader, lighthearted fluff, probably an inaccurate depiction of art majors (even as an art major myself), not proofread, lowercase intended.
zuzu's note: i decided to write this back-to-back with the first chapter so don't expect any updates so soon lol ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ inspired by the kbl semantic error.
4:30 AM. you breezed past the half-conscious zombies (aka college students) in the hallway, either trudging toward class or escaping one. you, on the other hand, cheerfully stepped into your classroom, taking in the dim space with a dreamy sigh. before you could fully settle in, a body bumped into you. you looked up to see a figure in a vibrant orange tracksuit, stepping back and turning to face you. your eyes traveled from his outfit to his face. song mingi.
you sighed, rolling your eyes. you were already contemplating dropping the class right then and there. sadly, art history was a required subject. "are you gonna take a seat, love?" he tilts his head toward the classroom, hand holding onto the strap of his bag. the nickname he settled for after failing to find your true name was the bane of your existence. love. you scoffed to yourself.
"why..." you grumbled.
"well—"
"why, God, why?" you interrupted him and stared at the ceiling, eyes closed and brows furrowed. you took your seat before he could beat you to it — too bad, you could still see his stupid outfit in your peripheral vision as he took the seat next to you, scootching it closer, once again invading your personal space.
you took out one of your extra notebooks and set it upright on your desk between you and mingi's side of the table, as though it would set some sort of boundary between you but he probably has already long broken that boundary.
complete silence.
well, almost. the faint ticking of the clock filled the room, accompanied by footsteps echoing in the hallway and the soft sound of mingi's breath near your ear. his finger tapped rhythmically against the desk, the sound just enough to get under your skin.
then, with a single deliberate poke, your notebook tipped over, sliding onto your side of the desk.
your gaze flicked down to the notebook, then up to mingi, meeting his sweet, unapologetic smile.
"so," he began, tone light but voice deep, "what’s your favorite beverage?" you sighed, already suspecting it was another one of his orange antics. you opted to keep your mouth zipped and you focused on your activities. mingi, suspecting your hesitance, rested his cheek on his fist and leaned against the table. he smiled. "let me guess — kq energy?"
you stiffened.
he giggled. "really? you like that sewage crap? i never would've known you had such garbage taste in beverages after hearing you admire my artwork, i'm embarrassed for you, really—"
"it's an acquired taste." you defend yourself. "it's bitter at first, but once i realized that nobody else buys it from the vending machines, it'll never sell out—" within an a flash, mingi scurries out of the table and runs to the exit.
you didn't want to know what he was up to now. only glad he was out of your space, you moved his bag a chair farther away, and placed your bag on the chair next to you.
soon, mingi walked back into the classroom carrying an obnoxiously large number of kq energy cans, stuffing some into his bright orange jacket pockets while balancing the rest. he nonchalantly sat back down beside you.
you raised an eyebrow. "are you… okay?" you asked, giving him a once over. "did you just raid the vending machine?"
mingi shrugged. "can’t have you hogging all the good stuff, can i?"
you narrowed your eyes. "you bought all the kq energy so i wouldn’t?"
mingi grinned, leaning back in his chair. "exactly. a little self-control might do you good."
you scoffed. "self-control? you’re the one who just spent your weeks budget on caffeine."
mingi smirked. "worth it. at least i’m not the one with a dependency issue."
annoyed, you snatched one of the cans from his desk. "well, guess what? finders keepers."
mingi gasps dramatically, as if you've committed a grave sin — at the same time, surprised by your immaturity. "but that’s stealing! "
"i call it karma," you reply with a smirk, popping open the can.
the banter pauses for a moment as mingi leans in, his expression unusually serious. “careful there, love. trying to match my energy? you might fall for me...”
you froze for half a second, then you rolled your eyes. “unlikely.”
another student walked in, slowly breaking the tension. mingi glanced at her before he leaned back casually into his chair but you can’t shake the thought of the smug grin on his face for the rest of the day.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.
you adjusted your grip on the sheet of paper in your hands as you walked down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. the memory of your meeting with seonghwa weeks ago surfaced unbidden, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of excitement.
the president of the programming club had been everything you'd expected: professional, composed, and just intimidating enough to make somekne nervous. his reputation preceded him — someone who not only excelled in programming but had also led the club to several university-wide recognitions.
“why do you want to join the club?” seonghwa had asked, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled. his expression was calm, but his gaze had felt piercing, like he could see through your hesitation.
you had hesitated for only a second before replying. "i want to make a game that feels real. something people connect with. but i need to improve. my programming, my management skills, all of it. i think being part of this club will help me get there."
seonghwa’s lips had curved into the faintest smile. "ambitious. i like that." he had paused, then added, "but the club isn’t easy. we take on big projects, and expectations are high. are you ready for that?"
you had nodded, your resolve firm. "i wouldn’t be here if i wasn’t."
"good answer," seonghwa had said, standing to shake your hand. "welcome aboard."
even now, the memory gave you a thrill of pride. getting into the club felt like a step toward your dream — a dream you had clung on to ever since you first started sketching game concepts in your notebooks as a kid.
but as you approached the bulletin board, reality crept back in. your excitement dimmed as you smoothed out the ad in your hand. of course, in your pursuit of progress, you'd have to deal with people like him. song mingi this, song mingi that, you thought. his name like a sour note in your mind. the ideal designer you'd hoped to work with turned out to be an arrogant, insufferable presence who couldn’t resist making your life harder.
with a sigh, you pinned the ad to the board, pressing the thumbtacks harder than necessary. fine. if the universe thought it was funny to throw mingi in your path, you'd just find someone better.
speak — or rather think of the damn devil, mingi appeared out of nowhere and leaned casually against the wall. giving you a slight deja vu. "looking for talent already?" he teased. "you could’ve just asked me."
you don't even look at him.
"i'm looking for reliable talent."
mingi mock-pouted. "ouch. i thought i was your ideal artist."
"i thought so too," you muttered under your breath, trying to finish your task.
he leaned closer, reading your ad out loud. "creative? efficient? willing to meet impossible standards? sounds a lot like me."
you give him a sharp look. "i doubt you’d survive the interview."
you turned on your heel and left, ignoring his amused laughter as he called after you, "see you around!"
you soon noticed mingi following you and you pick up your pace, determined to lose him. he kept up effortlessly with his long legs, hands in his pockets, humming a tune as if he’s just out for a stroll.
finally, you stopped and turned around. "why are you following me?"
he grins. "coincidence. i’m just heading this way."
when you both reach the clubroom door, you block his path. "i'm serious. go away."
mingi raises an eyebrow. "serious? like barium enema serious? or serious like joining the programming club?"
you blinked, confused, as mingi brushed past you and opened the door, motioning for you to go in first. "after you, love."
inside, the club president, seonghwa, recognized mingi immediately. "ah, our star designer has arrived!" he spotted you behind him. "ah, and you must be y/n — welcome!"
"y/n? " mingi repeated your name under his breath. he was bound to find out one way or another. as you stepped into the room, you see a neat, organized space with several members already chatting. a large bulletin board on one wall displayed future projects, tasks, and members’ names.
seonghwa, cheerful and welcoming, introduced you to the group. "everyone, meet our newest member! y/n has a lot of potential, and we’re excited to have her." a few members inside cheered for you. seonghwa continued. "and it seems like you two are already acquainted, i have a feeling that you’ll get along well with our club secretary, mingi. he’s been with us for two years and is one of our most dedicated officers."
you stared, stunned. "secretary?"
mingi stepped forward and he stretched, clearly enjoying your reaction. "that’s right, baby. which means i’ll be keeping track of your attendance and… performance." he winked.
you seethed internally. of course he’s the secretary. why wouldn’t he be?
you forced a polite smile for show. "great. looking forward to working with you."
"under me." mingi corrected you.
"okay! let's start the meeting!" seonghwa interrupted. "mingi, lead the opening prayer..."
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
during the meeting, seonghwa announced the annual semester-opening festival and he assigned you and mingi to collaborate on creating designs for it. "mingi, since you’re our most experienced designer, you’ll take the lead on this. y/n, our new member, you’ll be assisting him and handling the programming aspects."
your jaw tightened as you nodded reluctantly. meanwhile, mingi leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself, amused with the situation.
"don’t worry, y/n." he said. "i’ll take good care of you."
story synopsis: you, a determined college student, are starting fresh this semester — cutting off toxic friends and focusing on your goals, including creating your own video game when you cross paths with mingi, a vibrant and cheeky guy from your art history class, your interactions begin with an awkward and teasing exchange. as your dynamic shifts from annoyance to unexpected connection, you find yourself caught up in mingi's playful persistence and your growing curiosity about him, despite your best efforts to keep your distance.
content: typical college romance, significant hate to significant others, robotic!reader, lighthearted fluff, probably an inaccurate depiction of art majors (even as an art major myself), not proofread, lowercase intended.
zuzu's note: hey! this is long overdue from this post LMAO. a small something to fulfill my carnal need for romance w/mingi. it started off as a oneshot but now i am making it a series. inspired by the kbl semantic error, so credits and all that<333
you stood in the quiet corner of the art gallery, the soft hum of muffled voices fading into the background as your eyes remained glued to the painting in front of you titled "hop." it was a striking piece — bold strokes of color, carefully chaotic, yet it held a balance that tugged at something deep within you. your heart swelled with admiration, the kind reserved for things that felt like they could tell your secrets if you stared long enough.
the small placard below the painting displayed the artist’s name in elegant script. song mingi. next to it, a phone number was scribbled in pen on the gallery brochure pinned to the wall. it was as if the artist himself had left breadcrumbs, daring someone to reach out. you fumbled for your phone, angling it to capture the number before anyone else noticed.
“that’s my favorite too,” a voice said, uncomfortably close.
you jumped, nearly dropping your phone. you turned your head to find a tall figure leaning casually against the wall beside you, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. he nodded toward the painting as though the two of you were old friends sharing a secret.
“do you like it?” he asked.
“it’s beautiful,” you replied stiffly, edging away. “i was just admiring it...”
“want a picture?” he asked, his grin widening.
you raised an eyebrow. “of the painting?”
“no,” he said, that maddening smirk still in place. “of me. with it. you know, the whole ‘art and artist’ kind of vibe.”
you blinked, incredulous. you gave him a once-over, noting the messy hair, casual clothes, and sketchy skateboard that screamed wannabe cool. an artist? not likely. just another obnoxious student fishing for attention, you thought.
“pass,” you said curtly. without waiting for a response, you snapped a quick photo of the phone number, rolled your eyes, and walked away. as you disappeared into the crowd, the man chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. he glanced up at the painting — his painting — and muttered to himself, “tough crowd.”
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚
the new semester was finally here, and you were ready for a fresh start. after months of dealing with toxic friends who drained your energy and motivation, you had decided that enough was enough. this semester, you promised yourself that things would be different. you had cut ties, reorganized your priorities, and — most importantly — you crafted a brand-new schedule that fit the new you perfectly.
your first class was at 5:30 in the morning, a time that scared most students away. but not you. to you, the early hour was a badge of determination. at 3:30 AM sharp, your alarm blared, and you sprang into action.
your routine was methodical, almost meditative. a quick stretch to shake off the sleep, a hot shower to wake your senses, and a mug of coffee strong enough to jolt you into productivity. you pulled your hair into a neat ponytail, threw on a hoodie and slacks, and grabbed your carefully packed bag. by 4:30 AM, you were stepping into the quiet, still classroom, where the air felt almost sacred, untouched by the chaos of the day to come.
your eyes immediately sought out your favorite spot — third seat by the window, a perfect balance of sunlight and solitude. you claimed it as yours by sheer determination, arriving an hour early to ensure no one else dared to take it. and you planned on doing that every monday to wednesday for the rest of the semester.
as you slid into the chair, you sighed in contentment, your heart swelling with the promise of a fresh beginning.
your plans for the semester went far beyond simply surviving your classes. you were building your own video game, a project that had been a dream for years. every pixel, every line of code — you wanted it to be perfect. the artwork you had admired at the gallery just days ago lingered in your mind, its vibrant strokes and unique style calling out to you.
that work wasn’t just beautiful — it was exactly what you needed. you could already picture it in your game, bringing your world to life in a way you couldn’t achieve alone (something you had to learn to accept). your goal this semester was clear: find the artist, collaborate with them, and create something extraordinary together.
little did you know that the artist was closer than you thought.
the seat next to you remained empty for the rest of the class — probably because your aura wasn’t exactly the most welcoming. you probably should’ve adjusted to your new schedule before committing to a two-hour class right after your 5:30 AM start. the second you stepped out of the classroom, you yawned and darted to where you knew the nearest vending machine stood. after buying your usual, kq energy (black coffee in a can), you slid into a booth nearby and decided it was time to phone the number. it was now or never.
it rang.
at the same time, a phone in the park rang as well. you searched the area, only to spot a familiar tall man in vibrant colors — and a skateboard. you watched as he fished his phone from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, and promptly declined the call. you checked your phone — your call had also been declined. hell no. it couldn't be him? you glanced back at him, but he was already looking at the menu, placing an order.
you let out a sigh and set your phone down, opting to take out your laptop instead. you needed to get a head start on the essay from class. better sooner than later.
just as you started to focus, a stranger slid into the seat across from you, a casual grin on his face as he tapped the edge of his coffee cup.
you glanced up, mildly surprised, "you again?"
"i’ve been here the whole time," he replied, his voice teasing, "you just haven’t noticed."
you rolled your eyes, "what do you want?"
he leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with amusement. "i was thinking… we’ve never really had a proper conversation. you know, beyond your ‘nobody’ assessment at the gallery the other day."
you didn’t flinch. "i didn’t say that."
"you thought it, though."
"...and what makes you think we're obligated to have a proper conversation?" you asked, slamming your laptop down and locking eyes with him.
"i’m in your art history class."
"i just had art history." you narrowed your eyes. "you weren’t there. i’m sure i would've recognized your vibrance anywhere."
"aw, you recognize my vibrance?" he looked at the colors on his lapels, smirking smugly.
"i don’t like sleazes who skip their first class of the semester." you opened your laptop again, getting back to work.
"hey, i couldn’t make it. i had an interview and emailed the professor 12 days early, we’re all good." he reassured and shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.
you paused, absorbing that information. "oh."
"oh." he mimicked you in a teasing tone. "okay. fine. so tell me, what’s your least favorite color?" his question came out of nowhere, playful but sharp.
you blinked, taken aback. "my least favorite color?"
"yeah, you know. just something you don’t like. something you’d never wear."
you stared at him, wondering if he was serious or just messing with you. finally, you sighed. "orange. definitely orange. i hate orange. my second-grade teacher loved it, and i never understood why."
he let out a low whistle. "that’s a pretty strong opinion. are you sure?"
"positive." you narrowed your eyes. "now, why would you even ask me that?"
he shrugged, his grin widening. "i was just curious. you seem like the type to have strong opinions about random stuff."
you tilted your head, lips quirking upward. "and you seem like the type to ask stupid questions."
he laughed, leaning in closer. "hey, no such thing as a stupid question. and no need to get defensive. i'm just trying to get to know you better."
you raised an eyebrow. "i think we both know you’re only doing this to annoy me."
"is it working?"
you shot him a side-eye. "unfortunately, yes." you begin typing away at your laptop again, eventually, you paused and stared at him as he fiddled with the cup holder of his hot drink. "by the way," you mused, a slight pout on your lips. "were you really the artist of the work 'hop' in the gallery the other day?"
"yeah... and I just came from an interview at nexora interactive this morning," mingi said matter-of-factly.
nexora? your dream company? for a moment, his immature, irritating image faded, replaced by a faint flicker of... something admirable.
"and," he continued, a sly grin spreading across his face, "were you the one who just rang my phone?" he dangled his phone in front of your face, the gesture obnoxiously playful as his tongue skimmed across his teeth. then, he giggled.
annoying mingi was back.
"why'd you call me? wanna work together or something?" he teased, his tone light but teasingly smug.
"no," you replied curtly, scoffing as you turned your focus back to your laptop. "not anymore..." you mumbled under your breath.
why not? you couldn’t decide. maybe it was the way he dressed like an overgrown kid. maybe it was his relentless antics. or maybe — just maybe — it was because you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine working with someone who might actually land a job at nexora freaking interactive.
or perhaps you just decided, right then and there, that you officially hated song mingi.
"no." you scoffed, your attention returning to your laptop. "not anymore..." you grumbled. why not? you asked yourself. was it because you didn't expect him to dress like a child? act like a child? or was it out of consideration if he actually gets a job at nexora fucking interactive? maybe it was because you just decided out of nowhere that you officially hate this man.
"awww! you wanted to work with me?" he pointed at himself adorably, in disbelief. "me?" he repeated innocently and pushed what little hair he had behind his ear and he smiled sweetly. "i'm flattered..."
suddenly he perked up — like a dog hearing another dog bark.
"i never caught your name."
"you'll never hear it from me." and you slid your laptop back into your pouch, you stood up and you left your drink as you dashed for the exit.
boxer!choi san 𖹭 gn!med student!reader (strangers2lovers)
a burning passion.
synopsis: an amateur medic assigned to treat a famous, professional boxer. what possibly could go wrong?
contents: strangers2friends2lovers, fluffy?, reader is a college student, weird worldbuilding underground type shi (imagine it's arcane or something), lots playful fighting/banter, suggestive/adult themes, swearing, not proofread, lowercase intended
zuzu's note: y'all will never understand how long it takes me to look for the perfect photos to use for the banner thingies 💀 i'm too perfectionist for that shii. i wrote this with a more numb reader? bc life sucks kinda in the story. anyways, i hope this is up to your expectations! ^^ i wrote this as a side-fic to stay active while i work on an extremely long slowburn jongho x reader oneshot<3 (drafted in july 21 LOL finally decided to finish this.)
teaser: it's too silent. you noticed san watching you intently, his lips slightly parted as if he's contemplating whether to speak his mind. "do you like what you're doing?" you suddenly asked, cutting off his thought process and patting his hand gently, smoothing out the slightly wrinkled parts of the bandage you just wrapped.
"do i like what you're doing?" san repeated the question that he heard, distracted by the way you hold his hand. "i love it. why? is it bad?" he blurted out and you look at him, confused. he's probably hearing things. you squint your eyes, you didn't really process what he said so you repeated your question.
"i mean... what you're doing. boxing. do you like it?"
they say the sun is the center of the galaxy; a symbol of glory and hope that everyone loves, worships, and chooses to wake up to over the beautiful moon. but the sad truth is that the sun can only be seen and appreciated on the surface. you wish that you could see the sun sometimes, but in the world you lived in, hope was nonexistent. the only hope that existed — the sun that you all knew and admired was a man named choi san.
boxing was undoubtedly one of the most endeared forms of entertainment in the underworld. the people raised in the underworld thrive off of the adrenaline — whether from being in a match or simply observing it; they enjoy the sight of violence and blood, the sound of the boxers' passionate screams and pained grunts, the bond of the crowd, and most importantly; the thrill and suspense.
what everyone especially looks forward to are the bloody matches of the all-too-well known, young and sexy, choi san. people wait months to watch his matches — it's always "the" fight to boxing enjoyers. guards exclusively took watch in his matches just in case any fights broke out anywhere but inside the ring due to lost bets. his matches are the equivalent to the olympics in the overworld.
the the rare occasions that san had a boxing match would be the only time the boxing center is filled to capacity with people and those were the occasions that everybody would forget about oxygen and only live off of the stench of each other's hot breath, body odor, the blood, and sweat all mixed altogether. the atmosphere is charged with boisterous cheers, but there is also an underlying unease. no matter where you look, each person's face would be etched with intense expressions, ranging from anger to anticipation or anxiety. so, in the underworld, if you think boxing is a relaxing pastime or mere entertainment; well, it is. it's just that choi san's matches are surely not for the faint of heart.
but what about you? oh, you. you are his personal nurse as of today. it's rumored that san always mistreats his nurses or "somehow" ends up hurting them, which led to their continuous resignations and which also led his managers to hire you; an unqualified med student who is a year away from graduating. there were no such thing as crimes, malpractice, or even a law in the underworld, you had to pay your tuition and you weren't afraid of san for some reason. they were baseless rumors and you always believed that behind a rough exterior was a soft interior. to be a personal nurse was to be a therapist — not just treat his wounds but treat his heart (wow, cringe) but the strategy works. you just had to test it on him.
your last class was delayed a few hours so you were a bit late on your first day of work. it was san's first match after an 8-month hiatus and the venue was fucking cramped. people were squeezing against each other and practically seeping out of the door. not a step could be taken inside otherwise you'd be vacuumed into the crowd and suffocated like the incident in itaewon 2022 just to get to san's private room where you were supposed to be more than an hour ago.
a deep sigh goes past your lips and you stand still behind the crowd, unaware of your next move and mind not too bothered — it is what it is. the cheers grew louder and louder as the announcer yells out san's introduction and you watch from the isolated area you stood in as he emerges from the back with a few people, bare and all. the crowd somehow manages to make space for him. his body is nothing you haven't seen on posters or the internet, but tbh, damn. you watch as the crowd's cheers slowly lessen in volume, some even yelling dirty boos, when the announcer yells out the opponent's name.
not being able to go to your work area, relax, and prepare like you intended. you decide to dejectedly stand back, cross your arms, and unamusedly watch the match through the end. even as someone who grew up surrounded by glorified violence, you still never really found yourself consuming or indulging yourself in that kind of entertainment as you grew up, in fact, you grew to hate it. so this job will prove quite a challenge for you.
you watch intently as each round passed, flinching and grunting as if you were the one being beat up down there, observing as each injury inflicted onto san's ripped body, and you swore that the only reason was so that it made your job easier once he went into the medical room.
the final round ended with san's expected victory and it took hours for the crowd to fully dissipate as many fans got signatures and pictures with their idols, san's line in particular was longer than the fucking nile river, so as the crowd slowly reduced in numbers, you sneakily made your way into the medical room and got all your materials ready as fast as you could for your first ever official patient who is also am underworld renowned celebrity.
time passes quickly and the door opened with a loud bang, you glanced in the direction for a second, catching a glimpse of san, as you expected.
"please take a seat over there." you said in your professional tone you practiced for this day, gesturing for the patient bed in the center of the room and you calmly and put on your gloves for sanitary measures (although you probably should've just forgotten about it considering how dingy the room is). "how are you feeling?" you turned around and looked at him, but he seemed distracted by the room as if he hadn't been here a thousand times before.
"shitty." he unhesitantly answered. "been worse, though."
"are you feeling any discomfort? where does it hurt most?" you continue to prod, keeping his mind busy, beginning to dab some of the more visible injuries with cotton balls with alcohol and he barely reacted, eyes carefully watching you and the way your hands move swiftly around his body.
"it feels weird somewhere in the neck." he tilts his head and rolls his shoulders back with little regard to the fact that you were just wiping the scratch on his forearm and you just look at him with a deadpan face, damn, you hate arrogant people like this. of course he's like this. "mostly my chest aches, i dunno why though." his eyes flickered to yours and a smile small falls on his face, changing his entire demeanor. you guessed he isn't as bad as the rumors made him out to be though — a tough, scary, big man who was rude to everyone.
"that's my job to figure out," you mumbled, clicking your tongue. you've always puzzled over why boxers choose this path, given the constant cycle of pain and treatment involved. who could have a passion for that? are they driven by money? you glanced skeptically at san, who's been famous long enough to comfortably retire. you discarded your gloves, finding them too cumbersome for the following activity. "please lie down on your front," you instructed. san swiftly complied, grunting softly as he repositioned himself on his chest. you approached him with an essential oil, pouring a decent amount onto his broad back — "i can relieve some tension in your neck with a massage," you explained, and san just chuckled, perhaps amused by your professional approach because you spoke like you were from a textbook. he'd much prefer if you spoke like you just came from a PR seminar like all the others. it was clear that you were inexperienced. he found it cute if anything. "if the silence makes you uncomfortable, we can engage in small talk." you stated blankly.
he glanced up at you but your gaze is fixed on his upper back as you work your magic. "sure." he said and lookd back forward. "do you have any questions for me?" your eyes flicker towards him momentarily before returning to your hands.
"actually, i do." you responded rather quickly than he expected — what could possibly be lingering on your mind? "what led you to choose this career, this path?" hoping to gain insight into his mindset, you thought understanding his motivation might help you empathize or comprehend his journey. san paused for a moment, a soft hum escaped him as he considered your question.
"i started when i was 15."
your movements froze and your eyes widened in surprise, a rare display of emotion. you looked into san's eyes, and you asked, "real?" he nodded in response. despite his fierce stage presence, san is surprisingly calm and sincere. confused, you wonder what made the nurses before you quit and what prompted his manager to hire you. but the thought is quickly set aside as San speaks up once more, looking at you.
"i had a tough upbringing." san began. "actually i was quite the delinquent in school... but i never hurt anyone," he clarified quickly, but then he looked forward again in thought, then back at you. "actually, that's a lie. i did. but it was mutual! we would hurt each other, kind of like gang fights in public, you know? our friends would cheers us on and stuff like that, wooo~"
"but why would you put yourself through that?" you inquired, genuinely curious.
"i don't know! petty reasons. like this one time, me and my friends were hanging out at a new skate park, and some kids came up to us, claiming they 'owned the territory.' they thought they owned the place just because 'they were there first.' we weren't going down without a fight, so we taught them a lesson!"
you chuckled, amused as he passionately recounts the incident while you rubbed his nape gently with a bit of force, he makes a sudden comment: "ooh, that's good. keep doing that." he was momentarily distracted by the sensation, appreciating the massage. "anyways, during one of those public fights, my manager found me. gave me his card. kind of like those weird scouting idol thingies from the surface." san explained and you nodded with a hum. "i was offered a shit ton of money, like, my parents practically forced me into accepting it. i dropped out of middle school and... i guess i've been in the industry for so long, i can't leave now."
"where are your parents now?" you asked, not thinking.
"they're at the surface, living happily. i got them a house." san said and looked forward, a gentle smile rested on his face.
"...do they not watch your matches? i heard the taped versions are banned from the surface."
"yeah, no, they probably forgot i exist." he replied calmly. "what about you?" san turned to you, seeking more conversation, but you broke contact from his bare back to wash your hands. "there's no need to talk anymore," you responded matter-of-factly — as if that authentic conversation didn't just happen a second prior. "the massage is finished, i will now proceed to wrap your wounds."
san is taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor. "what the hell?" he grumbled, sitting up and sounding a bit irritated. "i just shared my entire life story with you. it's your turn now!"
"what do you mean? i didn't force you into telling me your life story." you turned to him, bandages in your hand.
"you did too! you... asked..." san's tone became softer when he realized that he had no valid argument. "agh, fine. okay." he conceded, and you reach for his hand to gently apply bandages he suddenly liftes it up so quickly that it almost hits you in the face, you recoiled in surprise.
"hey!" you intinctively smacked the back of his hand, scolding him like a kindergartener, and you gave him a stern look.
"hey!" san yelled back in response, pulling his hand away from you, his tone more surprised than angry. "what kind of nurse hurts their own patient?"
"the kind that doesn't want their patient punching them in the face." you retort.
"well then i guess some arrangements will have to be made."
after a brief moment of gazing into each other's eyes, you both erupt into lighthearted giggles. okay, you think, he's not as bad as you initially thought. san playfully hits your shoulder, prompting you to playfully raise your hand in a threatening gesture, causing him to flinch back.
"carry on with your work, you weirdo," san laughed, still trying to put some distance between you. you firmly grabbed his hand again and you carefully wrap the bandage on his knuckles and scratches, focusing on placing them just the right way like a baby's diaper, not too tight but not too loose.
it's too silent. you noticed san watching you intently, his lips slightly parted as if he's contemplating whether to speak his mind.
"do you like what you're doing?" you ask, cutting off his thought process and patting his hand gently, smoothing out the slightly wrinkled parts of the bandage.
"do i like what you're doing?" san repeats the question that he heard, distracted by the way you hold his hand. "i love it. why? is it bad?" he blurted out and you look at him, confused. he's probably hearing things. you squint your eyes, you didn't really process what he said so you repeated your question.
"i mean... what you're doing. boxing. do you like it?"
"ohhhh," he awkwardly looked around the room, then back to you. "y- yeah, totally. it gives me life, y'know?"
"but... do you ever want to stop? you said you've been doing it for too long to leave, is that the only reason? you feel trapped?" you question, grabbing his other hand and he pondered, his tongue gliding from inside his cheek to his lips, sticking out for a moment before turning back to you.
"no." he says "i love boxing. as cliché as it sounds, i have a lot of pent up emotions boxing is a good way i can express myself, while also being beat up because i know it's something i deserve." the room filled with silence, san resumes speaking. "...so, it makes me feel relieved in those two ways..." he pursed his lips and noticed the solemn expression on your face. "also, people love me! i'm the brand of boxing. when people think of boxing they think: choi san. like painting = mona lisa or ballet = swan lake, y'know? i'm happy where i am. i am where i'm meant to be."
you don't speak but you give him a small smile and nod, finally finished with his other hand, you turn around to the sink again. "sooo, can i ask you a question now?" san asked softly.
you exhaled deeply and responded, "sure, i guess i owe you one."
san then turned the question on you, asking, "what about you? do you like what you're doing?"
you paused momentarily, replying, "it's my first day ever working, but i guess primary reason for enjoying it would be the amusing client."
"it's your FIRST day?" san feigns surprise, but it morphs into a frown as he mutters, "no, no, i shouldn't be surprised. you're bad..." he muttered.
you quickly counter, "hey, watch your language with me, or you might lose another nurse." san's eyes flash with a hint of intrigue before you added, "besides, i'm still a student. i shouldn't even be allowed to treat a distinguished boxer like yourself."
"you're a student?!" san backed off dramatically, a hand clutching to his chest. "i can't believe i entrusted my life in your hands!"
"hey! don't be so dramatic! i'm as good as a real doctor. i'm graduating. " you said, genuinely offended by his over-the-top reaction.
"but you're not a real doctor- you don't even have a phd yet!" he exclaimed and got off of the bed, aiming for the door and you just dejectedly watch at how fast the entire atmosphere changed. when you slightly frowned, san laughed and began to walk toward you. "nah man, i'm just kidding. i've had middle schoolers treat my wounds once."
your face contorted from one of confusion to anger. "don't scare me like that then!" you harshly punched his chest and he grunts, grabbing it in pain and staring at you in shock.
"ah! ow? i was just joking! that hurtsss! i told you that it hurts! here. it hurts here!" he whined and tapped gently on his chest where you hit.
"i know. that's why i hit it." you said harshly, making san laugh. "teach you not to mess with me." you grumbled and turned your back to him, moping.
"yaaa, don't be like that. is the treatment done? can i take you to dinner now?"
you turned around, eyes blown wide and innocent. "what?"
"dinner. you and me. in a romantic context."
"san," you call him by his name for the first time since he walked through the door and his heart skipped a beat. "i'm sure of all the nice, wonderful, young, and attractive nurses you've had at least one of them has brought up corporate policy."
"well, not necessarily the reason but i have heard the policy —" san clarified. "it's just that since you were already kind of breaking policy by taking a job without having graduated or having a phd yet i figured i could take you to dinner without a problem, but it seems like you're not interested, so—"
"no." you found yourself cutting him off and you offered a small smile. "i'd like to have dinner with you."
san gave you the sweetest smile — sandeoki? — one you have never seen, those paparazzi catches of him smiling amounted to nothing compared to this because all you ever see him on media was a serious man but this one was... too different. too... deceptive. for all you know, he'd have dinner with you and fire you the next day — but y'know, maybe it would be worth it.
"are you sure you can handle it? as your doctor i totally suggest you rest for about a week before doing any strenuous physical activities." you shrugged off your white coat and you hing it on the side of the creaky door where you found it.
"strenuous?" san asked with a smirk, eyebrow raised. "what do you think we'll be doing tonight?" he stepped up behind you, figure looming over you.
you turned around, looking up at him, then his lips — you grabbed his white tank top from the counter behind and shoved it in his chest, you smiled sweetly."if you fuck this date up," you went on your tip toes and whispered, hot breath hovering over his lips. "i might just beat you up."
silence filled the room. you proceeded to open the door and walk away — san smirked, a puff of air escaping him as he rubbed at his chin. he couldn't help himself. he followed you out and caught up with your steps. "where you headed?"
"just wanted to see if you would follow me," you halted your steps and looked up at him. "you pass the first test. now, take me to your dinner spot."
san tilts his head and crosses his arms, inhaling deeply. "well, do you enjoy... japanese cuisine?"
synopsis: they eventually give in after years of hatred, rivalry, and built-up tension only to get caught by another member.
content: changbin, hyunjin, han, felix (seperate) 𖹭 reader, enemies, suggestive/nsfw/18+ (minors do not interact), idk what this is honestly, poor attempt at comedy, reader has gender neutral pronouns and no specified genitalia, gentle brat tamer!cb x brat!reader, mean dom!hj, switch!felix x switch!reader, subby!han x mean-ish dom!reader, bondage, unprotected sex (cb), big dick | blowjob | dubcon penetration | photography (hj), implied feelings | doggy style | penetration (felix), lots of teasing and some pet names in all of them, swearing, not proofread, lowercase intended.
zuzu's note: part 2!!! hope u enjoy. part 1 here.
binnie.
"you need to learn your place," changbin spoke softly, his tone dripping with condescension. he had chased you around his room for quite some time before he finally caught you, and with a swift and experienced motion, he grabbed your wrists and skillfully bound them together behind your back with a length of silk rope. his grip was firm, yet gentle, as he tied the bindings tight against your skin.
what could you have possibly done to make the kind and lovable seo changbin hate you? you were a brat, a nuisance who pushed his buttons and tested his patience. he tried to be patient with you for months, but your bratty behavior was too much to handle. and worst of all, you sent him mixed signals. half of 'i am a brat because i have a crush on you' and the other half being 'i am a brat because i hate you.' years passed and changbin had finally had enough, he decided it was time to do something about it.
with a swift and powerful motion, changbin easily picked you up off the floor, walked to his room, and tossed your form onto his bed, not missing a beat as he quickly locked the door behind him. he looked down at you with a stern expression, his tone firm as he spoke.
"you can't just go around doing what you do." he scolded softly.
you looked up at him, feigning innocence. "doing what i do?" you repeated his words, genuienly confused. "y'know, changbin, if you want me to come up with a great comeback you're gonna hafta give me some details—" your words were cut short when changbin stuffed a piece of fabric in your mouth.
changbin looked at you directly, his gaze intense and focused. "let me do the talking," he said firmly. "i need to know if you want to fuck me or not." he held your gaze as he waited for your response. "so, just nod if you do." he continued, his voice steady. "and shake your head no if you don't." he wasn't afraid of the consequences of his actions. it was you sending mixed signals, and he wanted to clear the tension by being direct.
he watched. struggling to keep the smile off of his face as he watched you nod your head, eyes staring directly into his. finally. for once, you were easy to talk to.
"okay... may i take you... here, now?" changbin sat on the bed next to you and removed the fabric from your mouth.
"...yes... you may." you said, breathy.
"but i wanna be able to use these ties, is that okay?" he asked. "to be able to do that, you'll have to get naked."
"yes, fine, please, whatever! just- just take me." you shook around, trying to free yourself from the restrains so you could undress yourself.
"don't get too excited." changbin reached for the hem of your baggy shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your exposed chest — he wanted to roam his hands all over your body so badly but he had to be patient. he pushed you against the bed so you laid down on your arms. he steadily, cautiously, painfully slowly pulled your shorts and underwear down. finally taking the remainders of the silk rope on your wrists and he tied them expertly around your thighs, keeping them spread.
you watched all but in silence, giving bratty, annoying commentary about how he was taking his sweet time, but he was patient once more because he knew he would be able to fuck you in silence. but you're not very quiet in bed to no one's surprise.
finally, when he was done, he stood up and observed his masterpiece, you, spread all perfect for him — you looked at him in silence, expression defeated by how he took his sweet time and you were still horny. finally, changbin climbed onto the bed, hed in between your legs and he collected his saliva before spitting onto your hole. fitting his middle finger inside, you squeezed tightly around him and let out a soft mewl.
"ah, come on, do you have to be such a tease~?" you whined out. you couldn't move much so your only weapon was your words
"yes, yes i do." changbin curled his finger in your hole right where you wanted it and your entire body jolted at the sensation.
"f-fuck, just take me now. don't wait. i can't take it anymore!" you shuffled around his bed, almost crying.
"beg for it." changbin watched your desperate form freeze at his words.
"what? this isn't a porno, quit making me do shit and just fuck me already—"
"beg. for. it." he stood up and pulled out something from his drawer. "i got a vibrator here and i could edge you all night if you're not up for begging,"
"f-fuck. fuck you. fuck." you closed your eyes and sighed deeply. "please. please, changbin, fuck me. i want your cock in me so bad, please... i'm begging." you whined, tears forming on your eyes.
"good job." changbin placed down the vibrator on the table and climbed over you, one hand stroking the side of your hair and his thumb grazing over your cheek. "don't cry. s'beautiful." he whispered. unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard, fat cock, pushing it against your entrance that begged for him to come inside.
"ahh, please..!" you whined. your legs were already sore from the restraints and you just wanted his cock to fill you up so good. "seo changbin!" you yelled. finally, he pushed his dick inside without a warning, erupting a yelp from your throat.
"fuck..." changbin hissed. hips unmoving as he let you adjust to the pain. "fuck, are you okay?" he asked, looking into your eyes and you nod, lips parted and unable to speak.
"better than okay. keep going..." you took deep, ragged breaths, squeezing tightly around changbin's thick cock as he began to thrust into you with an unrelenting pace — he was so much faster than you ever would have expected him to be. (not that you ever imagined having sex with him.) "ahh, changbin! keep going~" you moaned out, your voice high and desperate as he thrust into you faster and faster, the bed creaking beneath the force of his movements. the sound of you being pounded filled the room, mingling with your pleas for him to continue.
the noise of your moans and changbin's thrusting filled the room, effectively covering up the sound of keys jingling and the door slamming open. however, the moment was quickly ruined by a high-pitched scream that didn't come from either of you.
han stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth and eyes wide with shock as he took in the surreal scene before him. "OH MY FUCKING JEEBUS," he yelled, too traumatized to even flinch. he began crying and quickly barged out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. "I'M SO FUCKING SORRY, I'M SO SORRY." he sobbed. you weren't sure if he was apologizing to you guys for barging in or apologizing to himself for ever coming inside unwelcomed.
jinnie.
"hyunjin, i swear on my unborn dead great grandchild's grave. delete that photo right now." you chased hyunjin around the living dorm room as he cackled like a maniac. "hyunjin, i'm fucking serious! someone might walk in! don't be such a dickhead."
"oh, but throughout our relationship when was i not a dickhead?" he stopped running and held the phone farther out of your reach when you attempted to grab it. "y'know, i'm starting to think you wanted me to see this."
he held his phone tightly in front of your face, revealing the nude mirror selfie you took a few minutes ago and accidentally shared to him. in a panic, you accidentally unsent the photo 'for you' rather than 'for everyone' causing you to quickly cover up in a robe, run to his room in hopes that he was asleep so you could delete it before he saw anything, only to lead to this very moment.
"why on earth would i want you to see that?! delete it! " you whined and grabbed his phone but he pulled it away from your grip, his eyes flickering down to your exposed chest in your loosened robe.
"come on, y/n, stop playing hard to get." he held your chin and put his forehead against yours. you pushed him away and scoffed.
"fucking forget it. asshole." you grumbled and walked away.
"you sure?" hyunjin called out to you. "i know a way you can get me to delete it."
you froze in your step and slowly turned around, eyes meeting his across the room. of course he knows a way. it's hyunjin. you let out a small sigh and crossed your arms over your chest.
"...fine. what is it?"
hyunjin shrugged. "deal with the problem your pic caused," he set the phone aside plopped himself down on the couch, legs spread wide.
you wanted to scoff and tell him to fuck off but you thought this could be an opportunity an eye for an eye, or in this case, a nude pic for a nude pic — so, you walked over and sunk down on your knees. hands roaming his pyjama-clad thighs before ghosting over his erection. you smirked, looking up at him. "is this all just for my picture?"
"do you want it to be?"
"ugh, you're impossible."
"i technically can't be 'impossible' because i exist, the term you're looking for is that i'm 'improbable'—" his retort cut off short when you squeezed his cock through the thin fabric before kissing it softly.
"blah blah blah. you're hard for me." you looked up at him before slowly pulling his pants down along with his underwear. your breath hitching in your throat as you catch sight of his large, long, and pretty penis — fuck, you're starting to just wanna suck him off but you can't let your plan go to waste.
hyunjin looks down at you, brows a bit furrowed and lips slightly parted as he takes in steady breaths. you take in the tip of his dick into your mouth and he lets out a soft moan, you bob your head a bit before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you together. "fuck." hyunjin mutters under his breath, throwing his head back, eyes closed.
"is it good?" you ask as you pump his length with one hand. the other reaching down for your own phone in the pocket of your robe.
"more." he whines.
you smirk as you turn on your camera and turn the flash off, your right hand pauses from jerking him and you stand up to take the perfect photo of his fucked out form on the couch, legs spread and dick exposed in all his glory. hyunjin looks at you and immediately runs to grab your phone. "hey! what do you think you're doing?" he grabbed both of your wrists, squeezing your left hand until you dropped your phone to the carpeted ground.
"taking your picture since you have mine." you winced at his grip but that didn't stop you from being a bitch.
"i already told you i'd delete yours if you just-"
"what? sucked you off? nah, i'd rather use your own picture against you." you chuckled in his face.
"but you already- why did you have to- ugh, you're so frustrating!" hyunjin tossed you on the couch and pinned you down, his large frame over yours. he uses one hand to undo your robe and he lines up his member with your entrance. it was all so fast but you didn't want to interject.
"you need to finish what you started, darling." hyunjin pushed his tip inside you.
"fuck, fuck-" you hissed out as he stretched your insides and you grabbed on tightly to his shoulders. "it hurts!" you cried out and hit his back, he immediately pulled out and looked at you.
"fuck, sorry, are you alright?"
"asshole, couldn't you prep me first? you know you're big." you grumbled
"ayyo what the fuck," a deep voice erupted from the doorway. your heads simultaneously snapped to felix. his eyes darted from your position, your exposed body through the undone robe, to hyunjin's hard dick. the sparkle in his eyes faded as they grew wider and wider. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
hannie.
"stop making a fuss about everything! focus on a way to get out."
you didn't know how a private discussion with the hate of your life inside the storage room would lead to you both being trapped in it. you were convinced one of the members did so, but it was not funny.
"kick it down, asshole!" jisung stepped back, giving you space.
"you kick it down!" you yelled, almost offended that he even believed you had enough strength to kick the damn door down. "you have the years of training and working out for performances—"
"quit yapping about and just do something about it, i'm tired of sharing oxygen with you—" you slammed jisung against the wall, rendering him and yourself speechless. you didn't know what your next move was at this point, but when you saw the small tent forming on jisung's thin pyjama pants, you knew what your next move would be.
"you—"
"shut up." jisung darted his eyes away from yours, stepping closer to the door and repeatedly banging his hand against it. the loud, irritating noise filling the room. "guys! is anyone there? let us out!"
"stop it." you stepped closer to jisung, your form sandwiched his with the door on the other side. "you don't want them to hear what's gonna happen next, no?" you gently guided his body to turn around so he faced you before you got on your knees and slowly pulled his pants down, revealing his large hard-on squeezing past his black underwear.
you looked up to see jisung with no objections but still avoiding your gaze, so you slapped his bare thigh to garner his attention. "hey." you blankly called out for him. "look at me." without hesitation, he looked at you, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were watering a bit.
"fuck, can you just suck me off already?" his hands reached for your hair, pulling you toward his crotch, but you fought back, pushing yourself away from him with the help of the door behind him.
"don't be so eager, jisung—" you attempted, but he was too strong, one hand turned your head to face his dick and pushed your lips against him.
"shit," he hissed, throwing his head back. he began rocking his hips and pushing his clothed groin against your lips.
"jisung!" you yelled and slapped his thigh again, erupting a yelp from him, pausing his actions. "i told you not to be so eager."
jisung's knees fell weak and he slid down the door, sitting against it and covering his face in shame. "b-but i wanted it so bad—"
"well, you're gonna have to earn it." you got on your feet and stood, looking down at him.
"h-how?"
"make me cum."
jisung eagerly nodded and went on his knees, going straight for your crotch, but you grabbed him by his hair and pulled him back. "ah ah," you tutted. "don't be eager." slowly, you gently guided his head to your crotch. "slow and steady," you whispered and let out a breath of relief as you felt his warm breath against you.
slowly, you let go of his hair and pulled your shorts down — the scandalous sight of your enemy, han, on his knees for you, his warm breath against your skin, his erection still evident and aching against his underwear — all of it combined turned you on more than you thought it should.
you stepped backward so you had something to lean on while han pleasured you, instantly, your back met with the shelf and you hit it a little too hard — causing a stack of unopened canned paint to fall down and clatter against each other as they rolled across the floor, you and han slowly watched as it rolled from your side, all the way down to the door that was now open. your eyes went from the bare feet, slowly going up to the skinny form see hyunjin with his jaw dropped (you were surprised you didn't see it on the ground next to his feet.)
"BANG CHANNNNNN," hyunjin ran away from the ungodly sight.
"fuck." you cursed and pulled your shorts back up, running after hyunjin and leaving han on the floor. "HYUNJIN, WAIT, WHAT YOU SAW IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS." (what the fuck else could it be, y/n?)
lixie.
"c'mon, don't tell me you haven't imagined us making loveeee~" you purred, sauntering towards felix's bedside. you'd walked in on him mid-fanfiction, his phone glowing with the words of a steamy enemies-to-lovers scenario on ao3, his phone discarded and long forgotten on the floor. he flung it across the room when you walked in. funnily, he flung it in your direction. so, you picked it up and read enough to get the gist.
"don't tease, y/n. it's art, it's a- a novel—" felix tried to excuse his behaviour with a scoff and made a weak attempt to push you off of his bed, you remained seated.
"novel my ass. the literature published on ao3 are nothing but for self indulgence and the pleasures of dirty minds like yours."
"aren't most books?"
"come on, just say it. say you wanna fuck me." you giggled, poking his side teasingly. "say itttt~ ah!" you let out a pained yelp when your head bangs against the headboard and felix pins you down on his bed.
his face hovered inches above yours, his breath hot against your face. "is that so bad?" he growled, his voice dropping to a lower octave that sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. you gulped, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
"oh shi, my bad bro, i didn't mean to trigger the demon within-" you attempt to laugh it off. but your heart raced in your chest as felix continued to pin you down with his gaze, his grip tightening around your wrists. "come on, i was just teasing, bro, let me go. i have work to do."
"come on, if you had time to come in here and tease me, you can take a few hours off work, no?" he purred, tilting his head closer to your face.
"quit joking, felix-"
"you're one to talk about joking," felix whispered, his lips brushing against your neck. you let out a breathy moan in response as he placed open-mouthed kisses on your sensitive skin.
"no, really," you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair to keep his head close. "you can't handle hours with me. you'll tap out first."
felix chuckled darkly, his hands roaming over your body. "wanna bet?" he asked, mouth against your neck, peppering kisses up until he finally connected your lips together, you moaned into his mouth and chased him as he pulled away.
"fine, let's bet then," you challenged, breaking free from his grip and reversing your positions. straddling his hips, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, grinding once, twice. his hands dug into your hips, and he buried his face in his pillow to muffle a deep groan. "what's wrong, baby boy? can't handle it anymore?" you teased. grinding again before taking your sweater off and tossing it aside.
"nah, come on, you can do better than that." felix laughed and pulled his pyjama pants down, revealing his plain black boxer shorts. you pushed his shirt up, exposing his chiseled abs, and you peppered them with kisses, pressing a soft kiss against the bulge in his underwear.
"do you think i could take you?" you tilted your head and pulled his underwear down, revealing his pretty erection. you began pumping him slowly, licking the precum off of his tip. you can feel him shiver under your touch and you smile sweetly. "can't take it anymore, honey?"
"you're being unfair." felix complained, sitting up and turning you around to put you on all fours. he pushed the small of your back down, forcing you to arch, and then expertly pulled your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. you decided to let him have his way and see what he could do to please you.
"shut. the. front. door." hyunjin stood at felix's doorway with a cheeky smile. "Y/N, YOU DID IT! I TOLD YOU BEING A BITCH TO HIM WOULD WORK!"
areudirty
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
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