Sometimes you were embarrassed to be his girlfriend.
Joker was the antithesis of weakness, not just physically, but also emotionally. This man was a mountain of stoicism and silent strength. It didn't matter he was dressed in potato sacks of oversized clothes; anybody can see from his tall stature and wide shoulders that he was carved in danger.
The added responsibilities as the eldest child only heightened his image further. An unbeatable fighter and a protective, nurturing brother? He was every woman's dream.
But only your reality.
A reality you believed you didn't deserve.
You had spent hours holed up in your room before he forcibly barged in, covering your tear-stained cheeks and damp pillows – witness to your quarterly life crises that crumbled your self esteem. Neither were you athletic, neither were you weak, neither brave, nor responsible — just not anything.
And he still had the audacity to demand an answer from you. To demand your love, your attention, your deepest confessions.
So when you refused, he gave you the biggest shock of your life by making you cry again.
But for a completely different reason
“Aah–Ah! Hajun–wait–”, your breaths were rapid and relentless, matching the pace of your erratic heartbeat as long fingers tickled bare inner thighs. Faded bleached locks caressed the soft curls framing your nether region, another whine escaping your lips as his tongue played with the sensitive entrance.
Your pussy was damp and swollen, the combination of his spit and your essence gliding his tongue seamless into your hole, teasing the soft gummy walls with his agonizingly slow pace.
He liked to savor the sweet moments in life.
Dull aches raced up your thighs as he pushed up in the air, giving him better access to savor your juices whilst simultaneously locking hands; his trademark method of offering comfort.
A soft slap snapped you out of your lustful trance, causing you to hiss sharply as his lips sucked on your clit. “What did I tell you to.”
It was less of a question and more of an order. “To—haaa—to praise myself…”
Another slap. “And what were you doing?”
You swallowed thickly, chest shuddering with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “N-Not praising me myself.”
This time, he slapped pussy, softly. “So, are you going to call yourself a good girl?”
Another slap, followed by a fresh wave of tears, “Y-Yes.”
“And that you're a pretty girl?”
Slap. “Yes.
“A really hard-working and intelligent girl?” His voice was steady and slow as thick fingers massaged circles around your swollen clit.
"Hajun would be provider" "to be Hajun's housewife" SHUT UP.
MAKE HIM A HOUSE HUSBAND. HE CAN CANONICALLY COOK AND CLEAN AND IS GOOD WITH KIDS. MAKE!! HIM!! A!! HOUSE!! HUSBAND!! I'M TIRED OF SEEING HIS FANS ONLY MAKE HIM BREADWINNER, LIKE NO. MAKE ME A BREADWINNER AND MAKE HIM A GOOD HOUSE HUSBAND
The clock face over the station flickered with pale morning light, its long black hand ticking forward until it cut across the Roman numeral XI. Eleven sharp. You exhaled, a breath curling in the cool air, and adjusted the strap of your suitcase. Right on time, the deep whistle of the train rolled through the platform, and in the next moment, scarlet blur and gleaming brass swallowed the space before you—the Hogwarts Express had arrived.
You could see your wavy reflection from the windows as you stepped closer. It wasn’t like you hadn’t taken magical trains before. Your own school had its own way of sending students between continents. But this was different—an exchange, a year abroad, a chance to stand in the heart of a place everyone whispered about. Hogwarts.
The doors clattered open with a hiss of steam. You gripped your ticket tighter, moved forward with the wave of students, and the first thing you did after stepping on was collide shoulder-first into someone.
"Ah—Sorry!", you hear a voice come out almost at the same time as you. You look up to see a girl, lean and laid back. She had white hair with some black streaks and striking purple eyes, one hand lifting to steady the broomstick case slung across her shoulder. Beside her was a tall boy—dark, long hair and a scar across his face.
“Kaneshiro,” the first introduced quickly, brushing off the bump like it was nothing. “This is Ryohei. You good?”
“Yeah,” you managed, giving a small nod, clutching your suitcase a little closer to your side.
They didn’t linger; the current of students pulled them along toward a nearly full compartment. As you stepped up the stairs into the train. The heat immediately embraces you as you start walking towards finding a suitable seat. You let yourself drift the opposite way until you found an empty one near the back. The corridor chatter dulled the moment you slid the door shut, sealing yourself in with only the faint hum of wheels beneath the floor.
Your suitcase clicked softly as you set it down. You slipped your headphones over your ears and leaned back against the cushioned seat, letting the rhythm of the train lull your thoughts. The steady rumble beneath your feet and the faint echo of laughter from the corridor outside made it almost easy to imagine you were alone, just a traveler passing through.
That illusion broke the moment your compartment door slid open with a sharp clatter. A tall boy stepped in without hesitation, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, a thin moustache catching the light when he grinned. His voice boomed, though muffled by your music, until he noticed you weren’t reacting. He paused, waiting until you tugged one side of your headphones down.
“Hey—uh, is there somebody else sitting here? Everywhere else is packed, and we haven’t found a seat yet,” he said, still speaking louder than necessary.
“Um, no,” you answered, setting your headphones in your lap. “I’m the only one here. You can sit if you want.”
“Awesome!” His smile widened, and he straightened, already leaning halfway out the door. “I’ll bring my friends as well, if that’s alright?”
You gave him a small nod. That was all the permission he needed.
“Oi, in here!” he shouted down the hall, his voice carrying easily over the chatter.
One by one, more students spilled into your quiet space. Four in total—first a lean boy with sharp, composed features, his dark eyes flicking around the compartment before settling on you with a polite incline of his head. Then a girl followed, confident and striking, her long blonde hair smooth as glass and her posture effortlessly elegant. Behind her came another boy, his round face warm with an easy smile as he murmured a quick thanks. The last was wheeled in—a boy with brown eyes bright beneath his fringe, maneuvering his chair with practiced ease as he offered you a cheerful nod.
They settled quickly, filling the space with the scrape of trunks, the shuffle of cloaks, the low hum of introductions murmured between them. The tall boy—the first one—flopped down opposite you with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere.
“Dom, by the way,” he said simply, flashing you a grin like you’d already agreed to be friends.
And just like that, your quiet compartment was no longer yours.The compartment didn’t stay quiet for long. Once the first introductions were out of the way, it grew lively—snatches of laughter bouncing off the walls, playful arguments sparking between Dom and the others, the occasional thud of a Chocolate Frog hitting the window when it escaped its box. Wrappers crinkled, Bertie Bott’s beans were passed around with exaggerated dares, and someone’s owl hooted indignantly from its cage overhead.
Hours passed in a blur of chatter and scenery rushing by outside. The countryside stretched from rolling green to shadowed forest, and by the time the sky had changed into late afternoon, you decided it was time to change.
Sliding the door closed behind you, you returned a few minutes later dressed in your new uniform—black robes falling neatly over your shoulders, the fabric still stiff from never being worn before. The others glanced up from their seats as you entered. Dom let out a whistle.
“Oi, look at that—proper Hogwarts gear,” he said, tugging on the lapel of his own robes. Only then did you notice the details: the inner lining of his robe was deep crimson, matching the loose tie at around his neck. June’s shimmered golden-yellow, while Shelly’s and Minu's shone with a Ravenclaw blue. Even Jay’s robe carried that same blue mark of his House.
Yours was plain. Just black.
Dom squinted at you for a moment, then leaned forward. “Are you not sorted?”
You shifted slightly, clutching the fabric at your side. “Oh—I’m an exchange student.”
The whole group blinked in unison before the realization lit across their faces. Dom grinned wide, his elbow hitting Minu’s chair playfully.
“Well then, that makes sense,” he said, nodding with such exaggerated wisdom you had to bite back a laugh. “If that’s the case, ask me any questions you’ve got. I’ll help you. These guys will, too.”
The others nodded—June with eager warmth, Shelly with a small but genuine smile, Jay with a quiet dip of his chin, Minu adding a bright “Of course.” For the first time since stepping onto the platform, you didn’t feel completely out of place.
The train whistle echoed, long and low, as the landscape outside darkened. Lanterns flickered to life in the corridor. The rumble slowed to a crawl until, finally, the train screeched to a stop at a shadowed station.
You were herded with the upper-years toward the waiting carriages—dark, ornate, and drawn by creatures with skeletal wings, invisible to some but very real to others. The ride jolted forward, wheels crunching gravel, the night air sharp against your face. Then, over the rise of the hill, the castle came into view.
Hogwarts. Its towers clawed at the night sky, windows glittering gold against the darkness.
The Great Hall doors swung open to reveal an expanse lit by floating candles and a ceiling enchanted to mirror the stars. Long tables stretched into the distance, House banners draping from the walls, golden plates glinting in the candlelight.
While the others broke off toward their tables, you were steered to the side, near the staff tables. A professor—Mahon Jo, who introduced himself to you— rested a hand on your shoulder as the Sorting Hat ceremony began. One by one, the first-years stepped forward, the Hat shouting their House for the hall to cheer. You remained where you were, an observer, apart.
When the last cheer faded, the feast appeared. Platters gleamed with roast chicken, steaming potatoes, golden puddings, and flagons of pumpkin juice. Dom, seated nearby at the Gryffindor table, was already piling food high, waving a chicken leg at you with an unbothered grin. “Oi, don’t just stand there! Eat something!”
You also notice the two you bumped into earlier—Kaneshiro and Ryohei, at the Gryffindor's table, staring at you occasionally curiously. Probably wondering why you were not sorted.
Shelly inspected her plate with a delicate critique before sampling the treacle tart. Minu’s hands reached for the potatoes as dishes refilled themselves the moment they were emptied, June happily piling his plate while talking to everyone within reach.
And you, still on the edge of it all—felt both very far away, and closer than you’d expected.
By the time the last golden plates cleared themselves away and the candles floated higher toward the enchanted ceiling, the Great Hall buzzed with sleepy contentment. Conversations dimmed to murmurs, the scrape of benches echoing as students began filing out in clusters behind their prefects. Robes swished, laughter bounced off the stone walls, and little by little, the room emptied until only a few professors lingered by the staff table, some you learned their name were Professors' Mario Nam, Bale Armstrong, Sangho Choi, Mark Scott, and Michele Doss.
You stayed where you were until a firm but gentle voice drew you back.
“Come along, then,” Professor Mahon said, his sharp eyes softening slightly when they landed on you. “The others will be led to their common rooms. You’ll be shown to your quarters.”
A small flick of his wand lit the sconces along a narrow side corridor. You followed his footsteps, the echo of your shoes stark against the stone while muffled laughter from distant staircases reminded you how different your night would be from theirs.
The path wound past portraits who craned curiously from their frames—witches with books half-open, knights tipping helmets as you passed, a few whispering behind gloved hands as though trying to place your face.
Finally, Mahon Jo stopped at a modest wooden door tucked between two tall windows. He opened it with another flick of her wand. Inside waited a small, tidy room: a single bed tucked neatly against the wall, a wardrobe, a desk stacked with parchment and ink. A lantern glowed faintly in the corner, casting warm light that softened the otherwise space.
“Your quarters,” he said, voice warm but welcoming. “The faculty wing is quiet, but you’ll be close enough to classes. The Potion Class is nearby, as well as the Slytherin House Dorm, which is closest to you out of the rest. Breakfast is served in the Great Hall at eight. I trust you’ll settle in.”
With that, he gave you a short nod and departed, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
You stood alone in the silence, suitcase still heavy in your hand. Beyond the window, the castle grounds stretched in shadow—the Black Lake glittering faintly, the outline of the Forbidden Forest looming against the horizon. Somewhere deep in the stonework, muffled cheers and chatter carried from the dormitories where the other students were still laughing, still meeting new friends under House banners.
You set your suitcase down with a soft click. The lantern flickered once, steadying. For the first time all day, you were truly alone.
And though the bed looked inviting, you weren’t sure yet if you’d be able to sleep in a castle that still felt like it was holding its breath around you.
I got this idea while reading HTGMHOMS new chapter! No warnings, just fluff and comedy! @shintaru @bfwooin @zyart-jpg @wthphe1n @sylith @wh0ish4jun @nixruniii @bunnygirlgonewild @i-nssomniia
Snow painted the ground white, freezing cold nestled into the air, snowflakes kept falling, some getting on your eyelashes despite the hat and scarf.
You were outside of your fiance's house, building a small snowman with smile on your lips.
You were happy.
It's not everyday that you get to play in the snow, especially due to climate changes and your weak immunity. To have such heavy snow in Korea—it feels like the prayers being finally heard.
You didn't even bother to put on gloves, too occupied with building a snowman, finally sticking the rocks on it. Eyes, nose, frown—it honestly looked like certain someone. Just the small scar, on the jaw, was left and it'd be done.
But you got startled by the sound of footsteps.
"Love?"
You recognized his voice before you even glanced at him. He was dressed in warm, baggy clothes, hat protecting his ears from the cold, his nose was red because of freezing weather.
He looked too adorable, like a puppy craving some warmth.
"Hajun!" You exclaimed, abandoning the snowman to greet your fiance.
He stretched his arms forward, as you immediately embraced him. His hands sneaked around your waist, lifting you from the ground effortlessly.
"What are you doing here alone?" He asked, his cold lips meeting your cheeks. "It's freezing outside."
"I was bored." You eased your grip around him to break the hug and Hajun immediately let you down, but his hands slid down to yours, furrowing his eyebrows when seeing your hands bare.
"You aren't even wearing gloves." He let out a sigh and immediately grabbed his own gloves, processing to take them off his hands.
"Won't you get cold?" You asked him, but he took your hands in his and put them in his gloves.
"I'll be fine." He answered, tagging the gloves down to your hands.
When he was done, he held both of your hands in his, staring down at how funny his gloves looked on you. They were much bigger than your size, but at least they could keep you warm.
"Oh, by the way!" You suddenly remembered about the little guy you abandoned. You stepped aside so Hajun could see the snowman you made. "This is the snowman I made, he looks like you!"
Hajun crouched down to get better look. The snowman had frown on its lips, eyebrows furrowed—in short, it looked like it wanted to start a fight.
"Do I really look that mean?" He tilted his head to the side.
"Impressive work, big sis." The sudden voice of unexpected guest, caught you both guard. It was Hajun's middle brother, his hair falling to his forehead as he eagerly stared at your snowman, like it was sacred work of art.
"The—?? When did you get here?" You questioned the little guy, but he grinned in return.
"Just now! I woke up early and saw snow, so I wanted to play outside!"
"And you decided coming outside in freaking pajamas was good idea?" Hajun declared, frowning at the clothes his little brother was wearing.
"Well, I ran here the moment I realized it was a snowy day." The child scratched his head awkwardly, avoiding looking into Hajun's eyes.
"Well, what do you think of my masterpiece?!" You pointed at the snowman that, according to you, looked like Hajun.
Hajun's brother chuckled to himself. "I can't even tell which one's my real brother."
"The hell are you talking about?" Hajun threw a look at his sibling, but got ignored instead.
"We should name him Hajun number 2!" The child exclaimed, earning approving nod from you.
"That's great idea. Let's tell your brother when he wakes up!"
"Sure! I'm sure he'll add something on Hajun nr. 2!"
"A scarf, maybe?"
"Nah, we should get him small boxing gloves."
Hajun's eye kept twitching upon hearing each sentence from you and his brother. He couldn't help but find this situation ridiculous. I mean, c'mon, it didn't even look like him!
"Stupid." He interrupted. "He doesn't even look like me."
"How so?" You asked him.
Hajun crouched down again, before pointing at the sticks of the snowman, that were supposed to be arms. "He has no muscles."
"Pft—" laughter escaped past your lips, earning a look from Hajun but you chose to ignore it.
"Wow, look at you flexing." His brother spoke up.
"I'm not flexing." Hajun grumbled.
"Dude, you are, in a way, flexing."
"You're just saying that because you don't have muscles."
"See?!" His brother gasped. "And mind you, I have muscles from working in construction site. You're flexing your strength but I've never seen you lift 50 bricks together?!"
That made you laugh harder. Watching them two bicker with each other, despite the argument they had not too long ago, was refreshing.
It felt only yesterday when they didn't even talked to each other.
"You shouldn't have worked there in the first place." Hajun grumbled again.
Suddenly, new footsteps paddled in the snow, small hand rubbing his eye from the sleep, still wearing his purple pajamas with puppy in his hand, his brown hair getting wet. "What are y'all doing?"
All the three of you turned around to see Hajun's youngest brother, half-awake, half-asleep.
Hajun immediately took his coat off and wrapped it around the child, while you gave him your scarf. "Why are awake so early?" Hajun asked, kneeling down to scoop his brother on his lap, since he was barefoot.
"I had a bad dream." The child whined. "Big, mean, snowman swallowed the big sis and hyung went to help her but never returned." He leaned closer to Hajun. "I wanted to check if you two disappeared."
"Aww, baby," you pinched his cheek. "We aren't going anywhere, we promise. We aren't gonna disappear."
"Speaking of snowman," Hajun's middle brother spoke up. "Big sis built a snowman that looks like Hajun—"
"He doesn't look like me." Hajun glared once again.
"Wow!" The child exclaimed in surprise. "He looks exactly like hyung!"
Hajun muttered something under his breath, but it was drown out by the the laughter of you and his middle brother.
"Let's just go inside and eat." Hajun mumbled again after the laughter died down, holding his youngest brother in his arm. But, even so, his hand still found yours to hold.
"Shouldn't we give boxing gloves to Hajun number two?" You looked back while asking, the snowman looked as grumpy as ever.
Hajun sighed in return, as if deeply stressed by this situation. "Stop that. Or I'll pinch your cheeks."
Summary: You couldn't spend his birthday with him...sike
Tags: Fluff, Established RS, Domestic, Surprises, His brothers are with you lol
A/N: Happy Birthday to this baby boy! A little something because he deserves the best.
The morning of Hajun’s birthday started like any other—but you could see the weight of it on his shoulders.
He sat at the kitchen table in silence, silver hair falling in strands that caught the weak light from the window. His scar—a pale, hard line from his lip to his jaw—looked sharper when his mouth was set in a grim line. He wasn’t sulking out loud, not the type to throw words around carelessly, but the quiet thundercloud mood hung thick in the air.
You knew why.
You’d told him last night, with a deep sigh, that you wouldn’t be able to spend the day with him because of work—and even though you delivered the news smoothly, the way his shoulders stiffened and his eyes flickered down told you he wasn’t happy about it.
“You’re not coming tonight?” His voice had been low, rough with sleep still, but edged with something else—disappointment he wouldn’t admit to.
“I can’t, love” you’d said, forcing your eyes to your phone so you didn’t cave under his stare. “Work called me in.”
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t pout or demand.
He just gave a grunt, a small nod, and turned away. That was Hajun—quiet, guarded, swallowing more than he let out. But the heaviness in the room told you you’d cut him deeper than he let show.
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” you hummed softly behind him.
The tension in his broad shoulders was obvious, the set of his jaw iron hard. He looked like he was preparing for another fight, though this one was invisible.
You hated lying to him. But if you wanted today to matter—if you wanted it to feel like something more than another date on the calendar—you needed the lie.
And you needed help.
That’s why Wooin had promised to drag him out, keep him moving all afternoon, and Hyuk had agreed to back him up. Between those two, Hajun wouldn’t be home until the sun dipped—that gave you just enough time.
The moment the door shut behind him, you rolled up your sleeves and tied an apron on. Hajun’s little brothers—bright-eyed and buzzing with energy—were already bouncing in the kitchen. They’d been up early, whispering about their secret mission.
“Noona, do we really get to decorate the whole house?” the youngest asked, eyes wide.
“Of course.” You grinned, handing him a roll of streamers. “He deserves it, right?”
“Right!” he beamed, already racing off to find a chair to climb on.
The older one leaned against the counter, trying to act cool but failing to hide his excitement. “Do you think hyung will like it? He doesn’t really… celebrate stuff.”
“He’ll love it,” you promised softly. “Because it’s from you two.” bopping him by his nose.
Cooking began first.
You set pots simmering, guided the boys as they chopped vegetables—though half the pieces ended up uneven, and one onion had to be rescued before it turned into mush. The kitchen filled with warmth: sizzling garlic, savory broth, the sharp sweetness of frosting sugar in the air. Every so often, one of the boys snuck a taste, and you swatted at their hands with mock sternness that made them giggle.
Decorating came next.
Balloons inflated with haphazard effort, some lopsided, some perfect. Streamers draped unevenly across the living room ceiling. It wasn’t polished or fancy, but it was alive—colorful and warm, the kind of joy this humble home rarely saw.
The cake became the heart of it all.
You showed them how to spread frosting carefully, though it ended with smears across their cheeks and laughter bouncing off the walls, along with how they argued over toppings, until finally, with compromise, it was crowned with cream and blueberries.
When the last candle was placed, you stepped back with them, wiping your flour-dusted hands on your apron and watched as the house glowed with more than just decorations.
It glowed with life—and you couldn’t wait to see his face.
The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long and then you heard the heavy tread of boots outside. You signaled towards the boys, who ducked behind the couch, barely able to contain their excitement behind their muffled giggles and snickers.
Then the door finally opened.
Hajun stepped in, his presence filling the space instantly—tall, broad, silver hair tousled from the day, mood still carved into his face. His eyes swept the room lazily at first, ready to greet the same quiet home he always came back to.
But then he froze—eyes widening in realization as the dull room greeted him with a burst of colors. Streamers hung from the ceiling. Balloons dotted the floor. The table brimmed with food, candles glowing softly.
His brothers leapt from their hiding spot with a chorus of, “Happy birthday, hyung!”
And then there was you—standing at the center, apron still dusted with flour, cheeks flushed from the day’s work, smiling softly as you stepped toward him.
He didn’t move.
His dark eyes just widened slightly, flicking from his brothers to the decorations, and then to you. His jaw working like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
You reached up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his scarred cheek. Your lips lingering a second, and when you pulled back, you whispered with a smile—
“Happy birthday, Hajun.”
For a long moment, silence stretched.
Then his hand lifted, rough and hesitant, finding the small of your back. His thumb brushed there once, almost like a question.
“…You lied,” he muttered, voice low, but it lacked any real bite.
You laughed. “Worth it, wasn’t it?”
His brothers rushed him then, tugging him further inside, shouting over each other about the cake, the food, the balloons. Hajun let them pull, still a little stunned, but his gaze—steady, unshakable—never left you.
The dinner that came next was chaos—-the good kind.
His youngest brother dropped his fork three times, each clatter making everyone laugh harder. The older one told stories with dramatic flair, hands waving wildly until Hajun flicked his forehead to make him settle down.
You watched Hajun between it all—silent, stoic as always, but his eyes softer than you’d ever seen. He didn’t speak much, but every time he glanced around the table—at the food, the laughter, his brothers, you—the corners of his scarred mouth threatened to curve.
The cake came next.
Candles lit, frosting shining, his brothers sang loudly and off-key, their voices echoing through the small house. Hajun sat there, staring at the cake like it was foreign, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. His brothers nudged him.
“Make a wish, hyung!”
Hajun looked at you.
You only smiled, nodding gently. Something flickered in his eyes—something raw, almost vulnerable—before he leaned down and blew the candles out in one slow breath.
The boys cheered, and the cake was cut unevenly, frosting smeared, crumbs everywhere. You laughed when one of them dabbed a bit of icing on your cheek, only for Hajun to swipe it away with his thumb, quiet but protective. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, and you felt your heart stutter.
It was an eventful birthday dinner—but a fulfilling one.
Hours later, the boys were asleep, curled up in their rooms, the house finally quiet—you stood in the kitchen, stacking plates, humming softly. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, the only other sound the steady rhythm of Hajun’s footsteps as he entered.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gaze fixed on you. You could feel the weight of it, heavy and unflinching.
“You did all this,” he said finally. Not a question.
“I did,” you whispered, setting down a plate.
He didn’t move for a long time.
Then, slowly, he pushed off the counter and closed the distance, each step sure and deliberate. His hand reached for yours, large and warm, rough from fights but steady. He didn’t squeeze hard, just enough to ground you, tether you.
“You lied to me,” he repeated, voice softer this time.
You smiled faintly. “For the right reason.”
Hajun stared down at you, his scar casting a shadow across his jaw, his eyes unreadable but burning with something you could feel in your bones.
Finally, he bent his head, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was warm, his voice rough as he murmured, “Best birthday I’ve ever had.”
Your heart ached at the honesty in his tone. You tilted your head up, and his mouth found yours—not rough, not demanding, but slow. Careful. Like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. Gratitude, relief, love. It was nothing like the fire of a fight.
It was something far more dangerous—something far more permanent.
When he pulled back, his hand was still holding yours, his forehead resting against yours as though he couldn’t let go.
And you smiled through the warmth in your chest, whispering, “Happy birthday, Hajun.”
This time, his lips twitched—the closest thing to a smile you’d ever seen, “Thank you, love.”
Note: for @dzvelinaskebiyars (For the two of you!)
as a reader who is below 160, met a tall guy. and then he became a boyfriend
you remember once bumping into his figure in the crowd. or rather it was he bumping into you, completely not noticing because you were even lower than the level of his shoulders
and you would have definitely fallen down if his hands hadn't caught you, in a chaotic manner, clinging to the hood of your sweatshirt and trying to grab your hand
you turned your head just to tell him to be careful, because you were already exhausted from people not looking at the road in front of them so they wouldn't end up finding you. but when you looked up, it seemed like you turned your head all the way 90 degrees.
like, "fuck, what the hell..." you were more surprised by his height than angry that he had pushed you and kept holding you. Hajun only blinks in confusion as you try to stand up straight and he finally lets go of your arms.
you feel the pain start to radiate into the back of your neck as you continue to stare at him, and you can barely hear him muttering something quietly, "what?"
he only swallows to lean a little closer and mumble an apology to you again
you exhale the last of the air from your chest, "be careful" frowning and walking away in the direction you were originally going. no matter how angry you try to act, as soon as you turn the corner, you cover your mouth with your hand and try to stretch your neck. he's fucking tall, and you're sure it's not just because of your height.
the next time you met him was by chance. it was still the same neighborhood, just you were in the playground when the sun was setting. sitting on a bench, swinging your legs in the air, texting with your friends, not wanting to go home in such a stuffy weather. you didn't even immediately notice that someone sat down next to you
only when something hit your thigh did you pay attention. A package of strawberry milk and pastries in a transparent wrapper, and he's sitting right next to you, completely hunched over, moving the package's arms toward you, "this..Sorry about that time, you left angry."
Hajun noticed your solitary presence on the playground and hurried to the nearest grocery store to choose something for you, typing in the search bar on the internet to find out what girls like.
you turn off your phone and place it on your thighs, and your legs stop swaying in the air. He seems to notice this immediately, glancing at your heels hanging in the air a few inches off the ground, and then scanning the playground to try to find something good enough to avoid burning with shame in front of you.
that evening was accompanied by your quiet gratitude and the rustling of the packaging as you stuck a straw into the jar and opened the pastry with cream, followed by silence and constant awkwardness every time you looked at him.
even when the sun finally set, it seemed so difficult to leave. but as you slid off the bench, throwing away the empty wrappers, he also stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, "it's late, it's dangerous to walk alone."
you noticed how he tilted his head down of you so you could hear better and not have to look up so high. you just gave a short nod and let him lead you home.
and then it happened again
when you returned to the same playground, around the same time, feeling a flutter in your chest. why did you want him to be there? and he was, sitting on the same bench, scanning the streets, when his gaze caught yours, and he gave you a brief wave and moved to the other end of the bench.
and again, the strawberry milk and the same cream-filled sweet
that evening, you learned his name and that he also lived in the neighborhood, having moved there recently with his younger brothers.
and then it became something regular. only not so quiet anymore. you started talking, Hajun answered you, occasionally telling some stories and one day he came with his bicycle, offering you a ride
you were so excited, only it was bad. terribly bad. you couldn't reach the pedals
and just when you were about to give up, you could feel his presence behind you, his hands reaching out to hold the steering wheel and the seat so that you could get in, and he would gently push you so that you could drive.
and you could have sworn that it looked so funny from the outside, but you felt so good and so embarrassed that the laughter never came out of you.
you always noticed how he tried to be careful with you. bent down to hear you better, spoke a little louder, and helped you get things from the top shelves of the store if you decided to stop in shop by before going home.
one day you even used it as your book of complaints. you talked about how you were going to meet up with some old friends, and how one of the guys was constantly making fun of your height and putting his hand on your head, calling you his comfortable armrest
Hajun only remained silent, looking at your profile as you poked the straw into the strawberry shake packaging and at some point jerked his hand towards you, placing his palm on the top of your head, "so he did that and called you his armrest?"
you turn your head to him, almost choking on your milk, coughing a little. Hajun's hand immediately pulls back so he can move closer to you, too close, "are you okay?—"
"Yes!" you say more sharply, looking up at him, and oh, he's too close, looking at your face with concern, looking for any sign of discomfort, not realizing the situation he's put you both in.
and if he hadn't gathered his thoughts by turning his head, you're sure you would have moved closer to him to kiss him.
and it began to haunt your mind, this thought, until you realized that you were in love with him.
you started looking at his profile for too long, longing for his touch on your hair, and wanted to know what it was like when he held your hand with his own
so you did it first
“it’s a trend” you show him a Tik Tok video, as he leans closer to see what you were showing, Hajun’s gaze runs to your face, “..is it a trend for couples?”
you nod, "yes, but does that stop us from doing it?" he just sighs, watching you reach out to him, your hand hovering in the air as his fingers finally touch your palm, your skin coming into contact with his. you freeze, realizing that his hand is two phalanges larger than yours.
That evening, you didn't record a video, and he looked at you in confusion.
The next time, you took it a step further. asked him to get up from the bench, late in the evening, when the streets were lit up, the packages were thrown aside, and you stood on the bench, finally meeting his face with yours.
"What are you doing?" You shrug at his question, dismissing it by telling him that you want to look at the street from his height. Hajun just snorts, the corners of his lips twitch, and you're so caught up in it that you reach out to touch his shoulders, leaving a kiss on his lips.
"I'm sorry..." You move away from him abruptly, as if trying to escape from a crime scene, and like in all the comical movies, you slide off the edge of the bench. and you might have broken your head if Hajun's hands hadn't grabbed you by the hips first, lifting you up and holding you tightly.
"you could have asked to be taken if you wanted to see..." his voice is muffled as his face rests on your shoulder. that night, you were taller than him for the first time.
and after that night, you could officially claim that this tall guy belonged to you. you could hold his hand on the streets or invite him to spend the first night at your place.
you remember how Hajun stood in front of your bed, wondering if he could fit on it. but no. when you patted the mattress so he could lie down next to you, you noticed how his legs were sticking in the air
you also noticed that he became more tactile (oh yes, touch starved). constantly holding your hand, playing with your fingers or tracing your lines with his fingertips all the way to your nails
or how he could stand behind you to wrap his arms around your neck, looking down at the top of your head, occasionally allowing himself to use you as an armrest for his hands (now only his)
and if you couldn't reach something on the top shelf before, he would just give it to you, but now he would grab your hips or waist to lift you higher.
he's not the type of guy who would use "shorty" or "dwarf" or anything like that. but he's the type who would say "little princess" or "little sun" to you.
every time you got tired, Hajun would just pick you up and carry you.
don't see a guy who would fight with you, because he seems too attentive and would never raise his voice at you to avoid scaring you. Even if the situation got out of control, he would listen to you calmly and try to talk to you.
but if the situation was genuinely shitty, he'd just throw you over his shoulder, making you swing your legs in the air, "if you want to continue this argument, at least do it at my level."
He also knows that your neck starts to hurt whenever you look up at him for too long. So he uses his hands, sliding his fingers across your skin to give you a massage.
Hajun would definitely put your head on his arm so that you could rest your head on his shoulder if you were too tired.
if you fell asleep on him, wrapping your arms around his torso like a koala, Hajun wouldn't let go of you, even if he was in an uncomfortable position, "I don't mind being your tree if you want to climb on me."
sometimes he might just carry you in his arms, and you'd swing your legs in the air. he found it cute from the moment met.
and if he was training at home, you could lie on his back while he was doing push-ups or planks. it's definitely not a problem for him, but the first time he fell on the floor, it was because he was too embarrassed to lift his face when you were running around him, thinking you had caused harm (no, not at all, don't think he even felt it).
if someone once told him shit that he was dating a girl who was too short and that it was wrong because tall should stay for tall, he would beat the crap out of that dude
and by the way, just for the record, he would put your picture together on his phone wallpaper, where he can see the difference in your height, bringing your figure closer
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