“welcome to my little corner of chaos ✧ I write fanfiction for cortis — strictly soft, fluffy, comfort-core vibes only ♡ and for katseye… let’s just say things get a little more grown here (18+ only). Read responsibly, stay kind, and enjoy the stories ♡”
tropes: close proximity, mirrors everywhere, “don’t look at me like that”, teasing x flustered, who’s in control?, slow burn → tension snap, dom x sub
warnings: explicit content, smut, finger!ng, eating (lara) out
The studio was supposed to be empty. That’s why you stayed.
Late nights meant quiet; no distractions, no wandering eyes, just the sound of your shoes against the floor and the faint echo of music bouncing off mirrored walls. You liked it that way. Controlled. Predictable.
So when the door clicked open behind you, your entire rhythm broke. You turned. Lara Raj stepped in like she owned the place. Of course she did.
“Didn’t know anyone else was here,” she said casually, dropping her bag by the wall, already tying her hair up without waiting for a response.
“You’re early,” you replied.
“Or you’re late.”
You scoffed, turning back to the mirror. “I booked this slot.”
“So did I,” she said, stepping closer. “Guess we’re sharing.”
Great. Out of everyone, it had to be her. Lara was… a problem. Not because she was loud or annoying. No, that would’ve been easier to deal with. Lara was quiet in her own way. Confident. The kind of person who didn’t need attention because she was attention. And she knew it. The music started again, low and steady, and you tried to focus. Tried. Because Lara moved. And suddenly, focusing became impossible. She danced like the music belonged to her every step precise, every movement controlled but fluid, like she was barely trying and still doing everything perfectly.
You looked away. You didn’t. You looked again. Bad idea. Your eyes met hers in the mirror. She didn’t look away.
Instead, she smirked. “You keep staring,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“Mm,” she hummed, unconvinced.
You forced your gaze forward. “Focus on your own practice.”
“I am,” she replied smoothly. “You’re just in my space.”
“You came into mine.”
“And you didn’t leave.”
Your jaw tightened. She stepped closer. Too close. You shifted to the side, trying to create distance, but she followed, adjusting her position like it was part of the choreography. Your arms brushed. You froze. She didn’t.
Her breath ghosted against your ear as she leaned in, her body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your leotard. "Maybe you like it,'' Lara murmured, her voice a low vibration that sent a shiver racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat, but you didn't pull away. Couldn't, really. Her presence pinned you like an invisible force, her hip pressing firmly against yours in what could pass for a dance hold but it wasn't.
You tried to step back, to reclaim your space, but her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with a grip that was deceptively gentle yet unyielding. ''Where are you going?'' she asked, her dark eyes locking onto yours, challenging. The music swelled, a sultry beat that matched the tension coiling in your core. Your free hand came up instinctively, pushing at her shoulder, but she caught that too, twisting your arms behind your back in one fluid motion. It was effortless for her, like she'd choreographed this dominance long before stepping into the studio.
''Lara, stop,'' you whispered, but your voice cracked, betraying the heat pooling between your thighs. She chuckled softly, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. ''You don't mean that. Your body's telling a different story.'' To prove it, she shifted her weight, her thigh sliding between your legs, pressing up against your pussy through the tight spandex. You gasped, the friction igniting a spark that made your clit throb.
She released your wrists but didn't give you room to escape instead, her hands slid to your hips, fingers digging in as she guided you into a slow grind against her leg. The mirror reflected it all: your flushed cheeks, her smug expression, the way your breasts heaved with each shallow breath. ''Dance with me,'' she commanded, not a request. You hesitated, but her nails scraped lightly over your skin, urging you forward. Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, hips rolling tentatively against the pressure of her thigh.
That's when she took it further. One hand trailed up your side, cupping your breast through the fabric, thumb circling your hardening nipple until it peaked painfully. ''Good girl,'' she purred, pinching just hard enough to make you whimper. The sound echoed in the empty studio, amplifying your vulnerability. You wanted to protest, to assert the control you craved in every other part of your life, but here, under her gaze, it melted away. Replaced by a needy ache that had your pussy clenching around nothing.
Lara spun you suddenly, your back pressing against her front, her arms banding around your waist like a vice. She rocked into you from behind, her own curves molding to yours; firm breasts against your shoulder blades, the heat of her core grinding against your ass. ''Feel that?'' she whispered, her free hand dipping lower, slipping under the hem of your leotard to trace the edge of your panties. ''You're soaking through already.'' Her fingers found the damp spot, rubbing slow circles over your clit that made your knees buckle.
You gripped the barre for support, knuckles white, as she worked you with expert precision. No rush, just deliberate strokes that built the pressure until you were panting, hips bucking back into her touch. 'Please,' you breathed, not even sure what you were begging for more, less, release. She nipped at your neck, teeth grazing the skin. ''Please what? Use your words.''
''More,'' you admitted, voice barely audible over the music. Satisfied, she pushed your panties aside, two fingers sliding through your slick folds, coating themselves before plunging deep into your pussy. You cried out, the stretch filling you just right, her thumb pressing your clit in rhythm. She fucked you like that, steady and unrelenting, her other hand kneading your breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers.
The mirror showed everything: your legs spreading wider, her hand disappearing between your thighs, the way your pussy gripped her fingers with each thrust. Lara's breath grew ragged against your skin, her own arousal evident in the way she rutted against you. ''Cum for me,'' she ordered, curling her fingers inside you to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. The orgasm crashed over you hard, your walls pulsing around her as you soaked her hand, a muffled moan escaping your lips.
But she didn't stop. Pulling her fingers free, she brought them to your mouth. ''Taste yourself.'' You did, sucking obediently, the tangy flavor mixing with your racing heartbeat. Lara turned you to face her then, pushing you down until your knees hit the cool floor. She stepped back, shedding her top in one smooth motion, revealing full breasts with dark nipples already stiff. Her hand went to her waistband, shoving down her leggings to expose her shaved pussy, glistening with need.
''Eat me out,'' she said, threading fingers through your hair and guiding your face forward. You leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at her clit, savoring the salty sweetness. She moaned, hips canting to fuck your mouth, her grip tightening as you sucked and licked with growing fervor. Your hands roamed her thighs, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, but she controlled the pace, using your hair like reins.
When she came, it was with a sharp gasp, her juices flooding your tongue as she ground against your face. She held you there until she trembled through the aftershocks, then pulled you up for a bruising kiss, tasting herself on your lips. ''This slot's ours now,''she declared, her eyes gleaming with promise. ''Every night.''
You nodded, spent and sated, already craving the next time she'd shatter your control.
Genre: fluff, soft romance, slice of life, seaside AU
Tropes: quiet boy x persuasive reader, classmates to lovers, post-exam freedom, beach day chaos, “only soft for you”, accidental confession, protective moment, learning to swim, skinship, teasing x shy dynamic
The last exam ended with a collective sigh that echoed through the classroom like a storm finally breaking. Pens dropped, chairs scraped, and voices rose all at once; relief, excitement, freedom. Someone shouted about going to the beach, and within minutes the idea stuck, spreading through the entire class like it had always been the plan.
You didn’t think twice before agreeing.
The bus ride was loud, chaotic, filled with half-asleep students and leftover exam stress dissolving into laughter. By the time you reached the shore, the sun was beginning to dip slightly, painting the sky in soft golds and pale blues. The sea stretched endlessly, waves rolling in with a steady rhythm that felt almost calming after weeks of tension.
Everyone rushed forward. Everyone except Juhoon.
He stayed back, hands in his pockets, watching from a distance as your classmates ran toward the water, shoes abandoned in the sand. He looked… comfortable, in his own quiet way. Observing. Detached. Typical. You spotted him immediately.
“Juhoon,” you called, walking over.
He glanced at you, expression softening just a little. “You’re not running with them?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
He shrugged. “I like it here.”
“You like standing alone while everyone else has fun?”
“I am having fun,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I get to watch you make bad decisions.”
You scoffed. “Excuse me?”
“You’re definitely going to fall or get dragged into the water,” he added, more amused now. “I’m just waiting.”
You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes. “You’re coming with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You grabbed his wrist. He blinked.
“You don’t get a choice,” you said simply, pulling him toward the shoreline.
“Y/n—wait—seriously?” he stumbled slightly, trying to keep up. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Too bad.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re boring,” you shot back.
That made him laugh softly. But he didn’t pull away.
—
The water was colder than expected. You stepped in without hesitation, waves brushing against your ankles, then your calves, then higher. The salty breeze tugged at your hair as you turned back to him. Juhoon had stopped. Right at the edge.
“Come on,” you said, waving him over.
“I’m good here.”
“You’re not even in the water.”
“Exactly.”
You frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then come here.”
He hesitated. For a moment, you thought he might actually refuse. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping forward. Slowly. Carefully. Like he didn’t trust the ground beneath him. You watched him, something about the way he moved making you pause.
“Juhoon,” you said, softer now. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied quickly. “Just… not used to this.”
“To water?”
He huffed lightly. “Something like that.”
Another wave rolled in, higher this time, and he instinctively reached for you. His hand wrapped around your wrist. Tight. You stilled.
His grip loosened immediately. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you said, though your heart had skipped slightly. “You can hold on if you want.”
He looked at you.Then away.
“…Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
You smiled faintly. “Then stop reacting like that.”
He didn’t respond. But this time, when the next wave came, his hand found yours again. And stayed.
—
It started off playful. You splashed water at him. He blinked, startled, then narrowed his eyes slightly before splashing back; more controlled, but definitely intentional.
“Oh, so you can have fun,” you teased.
“Don’t push it,” he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice now.
You moved a little deeper. He followed. Closer. Always just a step behind you. The water reached your waist now, waves stronger, the pull beneath your feet more noticeable. Juhoon’s grip on your hand tightened again.
“Relax,” you said. “I’ve got you.”
He let out a quiet breath. “That’s the problem.”
You frowned. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, another wave hit, stronger than the last, and this time he lost his balance. His other hand shot out, grabbing onto you as he stumbled forward. You barely had time to react before he collided with you, arms wrapping around you instinctively. Close. Too close. You could feel his breath against your neck. His grip wasn’t playful anymore. It was desperate.
“Juhoon—”
“I can’t swim,” he admitted suddenly, voice low, almost embarrassed. “I thought I could manage, but—”
You softened instantly.
“Hey,” you said gently. “It’s okay.”
He didn’t let go. If anything, his hold tightened slightly. You shifted, adjusting your stance so he wouldn’t lose balance again, your hands coming up to steady him.
“It’s shallow here,” you reassured. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”
He nodded against your shoulder. Slowly, his breathing steadied. But he didn’t move away. And you didn’t make him.
—
The moment lingered longer than it should have. Waves rolling in. Your classmates laughing in the distance. And Juhoon still holding onto you like you were the only stable thing in the middle of it all.
“…You’re not letting go, are you?” you murmured.
“Do you want me to?”
You hesitated.
“…No.”
That was enough. He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hair was damp, strands falling over his eyes, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.
“You’re not scared?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“This.”
You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Something quieter. Deeper.
“…You’re really bad at convincing people,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
“You dragged me into the ocean knowing I couldn’t swim.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Exactly.”
You huffed. “You’re fine now.”
“I am,” he admitted.
Then, softer;
“Because of you.”
Your chest tightened.
“…Don’t get used to it.”
“I already have.”
You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t pull away.
—
He stayed close after that. Not as tense. Not as unsure. Just… close. Your hands brushed. Your shoulders bumped. And every now and then, his fingers would find yours again, like it had become something natural. The sun dipped lower, the sky shifting into warmer hues, the water reflecting it all in soft ripples. It felt quieter now.More personal.
“Y/n,” he said suddenly.
“What.”
He hesitated. Then leaned in. Closer than before.You didn’t move.
“…Can I try something?” he asked.
You raised a brow. “That sounds concerning.”
He smiled faintly. “Trust me.”
“You literally just said you can’t swim.”
“And yet I’m still alive.”
“Barely.”
He huffed softly. “Just stay still.”
You did. He stepped closer, one hand resting lightly at your waist; not pulling, not forcing, just there. Your breath caught slightly. And then he kissed you. Soft. Careful. Like he was testing the moment rather than taking it. You froze for half a second. Then leaned in. Your hand came up to his shoulder, fingers curling slightly into his damp shirt as you kissed him back. The water shifted around you, waves brushing past, but neither of you moved. Not until he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“…Still not scared?” he murmured.
You shook your head.
“…Good,” he said quietly.
Then kissed you again. This time, a little more certain. A little less hesitant. And when his hand tightened slightly at your waist, pulling you just a bit closer, you didn’t stop him.
Because maybe the ocean wasn’t so intimidating. Not when you were standing here.Not when he was holding onto you like this. Not when everything felt steady, despite the waves. And for once Juhoon didn’t mind not knowing how to swim. Because he had you. And that was enough.
genre: fluff, campus romance, slice of life, soft comedy
tropes: sunshine x grumpy (leaning sunshine x reserved), college AU, forced proximity, accidental skinship, tall boy x shorter reader, flustered Martin, “he’s loud but soft for you”, new semester reset
warnings: none (sfw), mild embarrassment, accidental touches, excessive blushing, loud boy energy
Spring semester arrived like a reset button no one asked for. Over the break, the university had decided to “optimize student experience,” which apparently meant switching lecture halls, reassigning departments, and completely reshuffling dorm allocations. Buildings that used to belong to arts students were now for engineering, common rooms got turned into study labs, and the usual shortcuts everyone relied on were suddenly blocked off or redirected. Even the dorm routines had changed—new curfew timings, new floor arrangements, new roommates.
That last part was where your problem began.
Martin.
You didn’t even meet him properly at first. You just heard him. “Wait—this is 3B? No, that can’t be right—oh my god, I’m so sorry—!”
A loud crash followed, then a string of frantic apologies. You paused outside your dorm room, staring at the door like you were reconsidering every life choice that had led you here. You pushed it open. And there he was. Tall. Way too tall. Practically folded in half as he tried to pick up a pile of books he’d just dropped. His hair was slightly messy, his hoodie half slipping off one shoulder, and his face was bright red.
“I didn’t know anyone was—oh—hi,” he stammered, immediately standing up straight, which only made him look even more ridiculously tall. “You must be—uh—y/n? I’m Martin. I think we’re roommates. I mean, obviously we are, I just—yeah.”
You blinked at him. He blinked back. “…You’re loud,” you said.
“I—what? I didn’t even—okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, face somehow turning even redder.
You stepped inside, setting your bag down. “Don’t break anything else.” “I won’t!” he said quickly. Then paused. “…I’ll try not to.”
This semester was going to be a disaster.
—
It didn’t take long for you to realize that Martin wasn’t just loud. He was chaos. The kind that followed you around no matter how much you tried to avoid it. The new campus layout didn’t help. Your classes had been moved to opposite ends of the university, meaning longer walks, unfamiliar buildings, and way too many chances to get lost. Which Martin did. Constantly.
“Y/n!” he called one morning, jogging toward you across the courtyard. “Wait up!”
You groaned internally but didn’t stop. He caught up anyway—of course he did, with those stupidly long legs—and fell into step beside you, slightly out of breath.
“I think I went to the wrong lecture hall,” he said. “Again.”
“That’s the third time this week.”
“I know,” he sighed. “They changed everything. It’s confusing.”
“It’s not that confusing.”
“It is when you’re used to the old map,” he argued, then accidentally bumped into you when someone passed too close.
Your shoulders collided. You both froze for half a second.
“Sorry!” he said immediately, stepping back like he’d just committed a crime. His ears turned pink. “I didn’t mean to—there’s just—people—”
“It’s fine,” you cut in, continuing to walk.
He hovered beside you again, quieter this time. That lasted about ten seconds.
“So where are you heading?” he asked.
“Class.”
“Yeah, but which one?”
You glanced at him. “…Why?”
“So I don’t go the wrong way again.”
You sighed. “Follow me.”
His face lit up instantly. “Okay!”
—
Living with Martin meant constant interruptions. He knocked into furniture. He forgot where he put things. He talked to himself while studying. And somehow, no matter how big the room was, he always ended up too close to you. Like now. You were sitting at your desk, trying to focus, when he leaned over your shoulder to look at your notes.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Notes,” you replied flatly.
“I can see that,” he said, squinting. “But for which class?”
“The one you keep getting lost trying to find.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t move. You could feel his breath near your ear.
“Martin.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re hovering.”
“Oh—right, sorry!” he stepped back quickly, nearly tripping over his own foot in the process.
You caught his arm without thinking. He froze. You froze. Your hand was still wrapped around his wrist.
“…You okay?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “Are you?”
You let go immediately. “Fine.”
He nodded, but his face was red again.
—
It kept happening. Small touches. Accidental brushes. Moments that lingered just a little too long. Until one evening..
“Move,” you said, trying to get past him to reach the shelf.
“There’s no space,” he argued.
“There is if you stop being a wall.”
“I’m not—okay, wow, rude.”
You tried to squeeze past him anyway. Big mistake.
Your foot caught on something; probably one of his abandoned books and you stumbled forward. Straight into him. His hands came up instantly, catching you before you could fall. But the momentum didn’t stop. You ended up half on top of him as he dropped back onto the bed. For a second, neither of you moved. You were sitting on his lap. Your hands pressed against his chest. His arms still loosely around your waist.
“…Oh,” he said.
“…Oh,” you echoed.
His face turned red. Yours followed. Which never happened. And he noticed.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, eyes widening slightly. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he insisted, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Y/n, you’re actually blushing.”
“Shut up.”
“This is insane,” he laughed softly. “You never blush.”
“I said shut up.”
He leaned in slightly, still smiling. “What happened? Did I finally get to you?”
You glared at him, but it lacked its usual bite.
“Get over yourself.”
“Make me,” he shot back, teasing now.
You didn’t think. You just leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t soft at first. It was quick. A little firm. Enough to shut him up. He froze completely. Then melted. His hands tightened slightly at your waist, pulling you just a bit closer as he kissed you back, slower this time. When you pulled away, his expression was unreadable for a second.
Then..
“Oh,” he said again, softer now.
You didn’t move off his lap. Neither did he.
“…You’re still blushing,” he murmured.
You immediately tried to get up. He didn’t let you. His grip tightened just enough to stop you, not forceful; just enough.
“Wait,” he said, laughing quietly. “Don’t run away now.”
“I’m not running.”
“You are,” he grinned. “You kissed me and now you’re embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Y/n.”
“Martin.”
He leaned closer, clearly enjoying this. “You’re cute like this.” Your brain short-circuited.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“…Maybe a little.”
He laughed, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re still sitting on my lap, by the way.”
You froze.
“…I know.”
“Okay,” he said, like he was just going to accept that.
Silence.
“Are you going to move?” he asked.
“…Do you want me to?”
He blinked. Then smiled.
“…Not really.”
Your heart did something weird. So instead of moving, you stayed. And this time when he kissed you again, it was slower. Softer. And somehow, despite everything that had changed this semester. This felt like something you didn’t want to change at all.
tropes: sunshine(kh) x grumpy(y/n), birthday fic, soft domesticity, “you’re my favorite gift”, puppy chaos, gentle confession
warnings: none (sfw), slight grumpiness, excessive cuteness, mentions of cake/food
Keonho had always been the kind of person people noticed before they even realized they were looking. Maybe it was the way his smile came so easily, bright and unguarded, like sunlight spilling through an open window. Or maybe it was the way he carried warmth with him, something soft and inviting that made strangers feel like they’d known him forever. Either way, being born on Valentine’s Day only made it worse; better, according to everyone else. Worse, according to him.
“Happy birthday, valentine boy!” someone called across the street, handing him a small pink box tied with a ribbon far too sparkly for his taste.
Keonho laughed anyway, wide and genuine, bowing slightly as he accepted it. “Thank you!”
You stood a few steps behind him, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“They didn’t even ask if you like chocolate,” you muttered as he walked back toward you, already opening the box.
“I do like chocolate,” he said, grinning, holding one up toward you. “Want one?”
You stared at him. “You just got that.”
“And I’m sharing it with you,” he replied, like it was obvious. Like it was natural. Like he always did this.
You sighed, taking one anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“And you still hang out with me,” he shot back, eyes crinkling. “So what does that say about you, y/n?”
“That I have questionable judgment.”
He laughed again, louder this time, and it drew a few more looks from passersby. Of course it did. Keonho was impossible to ignore.
Cookie, his tiny, overly energetic puppy, barked happily from where Keonho held the leash, tail wagging so hard it looked like it might fall off. The dog mirrored him perfectly—bright, clingy, and always desperate for attention.
“See?” Keonho crouched down, scooping Cookie into his arms. “Even Cookie agrees you’re mean.”
“I’m not mean,” you said flatly. “I’m realistic.”
“Same thing.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away when he stepped closer again. You never did.
That was the problem.
—
You hated Valentine’s Day.
Not in a dramatic, heartbroken kind of way. It was just… too much. Too loud. Too pink. Too full of expectations and forced emotions and couples acting like the world revolved around them for one day.
And Keonho—your best friend, unfortunately was right at the center of it every year.
He was Valentine’s Day personified. It made you want to scream.
“Y/n,” he called softly, tugging at your sleeve. “Where are you going?”
“Away from the crowd,” you said. “Before I start committing crimes.”
He blinked, then smiled. “Can I come with you?”
You glanced at him. At the hopeful tilt of his head, the way his fingers still lightly held onto your sleeve, like he wasn’t entirely sure you’d let him follow.
You huffed. “You’re already here.”
His face lit up instantly, like you’d just given him the best news of his life. “Okay!”
You turned before he could see the way your lips twitched.
—
You had planned this day carefully. No big surprises. No crowded cafés. No loud parties filled with people who only showed up because it was his birthday.
Just something simple. Something quiet. Something real.
“Close your eyes,” you said once you reached your apartment.
Keonho froze. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
He hesitated, then slowly squeezed his eyes shut, his expression soft but curious. Cookie barked at his feet, confused by the sudden lack of attention.
“You’re not going to push me, right?” he asked.
“I should.”
“Y/n.”
“Relax,” you muttered, taking his wrist and guiding him forward. “I won’t let you trip.”
Your hand lingered a second longer than necessary. His fingers curled slightly, like he noticed too. You ignored it.
“Okay,” you said once you got him inside. “Open.”
He did. And for once, just once; Keonho didn’t immediately smile. Your living room wasn’t decorated with over-the-top Valentine’s nonsense. No balloons. No glitter. No obnoxious pink overload. Just a small cake on the table. A few soft fairy lights. Cookie-themed decorations you’d reluctantly added because you knew he’d love them. And a quiet kind of warmth.
His lips parted slightly. “You… did this?”
“Obviously,” you said, shifting your weight. “Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s not weird,” he said quickly, eyes still scanning the room. “It’s just… no one’s ever—”
He stopped.
You frowned. “Ever what?”
He shook his head, smiling again, softer this time. “Nothing. It’s perfect.”
You crossed your arms. “It’s basic.”
“It’s perfect,” he repeated, more firmly now.
Your chest tightened.
“Sit down,” you said, turning away before he could see your face. “Before Cookie eats the cake.”
“Hey!” he laughed, rushing over to grab the puppy before it could leap onto the table. “No crime today, okay? It’s my birthday.”
Cookie barked in protest. You watched them for a second. And something in your chest softened.
—
“Make a wish,” you said, lighting the candles.
Keonho leaned forward slightly, the flickering light reflecting in his eyes.
“Do I have to say it out loud?” he asked.
“No,” you said. “That defeats the purpose.”
“Okay.” He closed his eyes again, quieter this time.
You didn’t look away. For someone who smiled all the time, Keonho looked different like this. Still. Almost… vulnerable. Like the sunshine dimmed just enough for you to see what was underneath. He blew out the candles.
“Done,” he said, glancing at you. “Do you know what I wished for?”
“You’re not supposed to tell me that, idiot.”
“I know,” he grinned. “But I want to tell anyway.”
You rolled your eyes. “Annoying.”
“You love it.”
“Debatable.”
He pouted. Actually pouted. Lower lip jutting out, eyes soft and expectant. You stared at him.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” he asked innocently.
“That.”
He leaned closer. “What?”
You clicked your tongue, reaching out and pressing your fingers against his lips, pushing the pout away. “Stop it.”
He froze. For a second, neither of you moved. Your hand was still there. His breath was warm against your skin. And then; he smiled. Soft. Small. Different.
Your hand dropped immediately. “Eat your cake.”
“Okay,” he said, but his voice had changed.
You didn’t acknowledge it.
—
Somehow, you ended up sitting closer than usual. Not that you were going to think about it. Keonho fed Cookie small pieces of cake (after you scolded him twice), laughing every time the puppy licked frosting off his fingers.
“Don’t encourage him,” you said.
“He’s cute,” Keonho replied.
“So are you. Doesn’t mean you should get everything you want.”
He blinked at you. “…You think I’m cute?”
You froze. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You said it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” he insisted, leaning closer again, that stupid hopeful expression back on his face. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Y/n.”
“No.”
He pouted again. You groaned. “Oh my god.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
He leaned even closer this time, his shoulder pressing against yours, his hand lightly grabbing your wrist like he wasn’t going to let you escape.
“Say it,” he repeated softly.
Your heart did something annoying.
“You’re—” you stopped, glaring at him. “You’re tolerable.”
He gasped dramatically. “That’s so mean.”
“And accurate.”
He shook his head, smiling anyway. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he said, quieter now. “You think I’m cute.”
You didn’t answer. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to lie.
—
It happened slowly. That was the worst part. There wasn’t a single moment you could point to and say, “That’s when it changed.”
It was in the way he leaned on you without thinking. The way you didn’t push him away. The way your hands brushed and neither of you moved. The way his smile softened when it was just the two of you. The way your grumpiness wasn’t really grumpiness around him anymore.
It was something else. Something warmer.
“Y/n,” he said quietly at some point, his head resting against your shoulder now.
“What.”
“You stayed.”
You frowned. “Obviously.”
“On my birthday,” he added. “On Valentine’s Day.”
“…So?”
He lifted his head slightly, looking at you. “You hate today.”
You looked away. “I don’t hate it.”
“You do.”
“I just don’t like it.”
“Same thing.”
You nudged him lightly. “Stop copying me.”
He laughed softly, then went quiet again.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said after a moment.
You swallowed. “…Yeah.”
“That’s it?” he teased gently. “No sarcastic comment?”
“Don’t push it.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t as bright as before. It was softer. More careful.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“You just did.”
He huffed. “A real question.”
You sighed. “Fine.”
He hesitated. And for once Keonho hesitated.
“Do you…” he started, then stopped, frowning slightly. “Do you only like me when I’m like this?”
“Like what?”
“Happy,” he said. “Smiling. Easy.”
Your chest tightened.
“Everyone does,” he added quickly, like he was trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal, I just—”
“Keonho.”
He stopped. You turned to face him fully now.
“I don’t care if you’re smiling or not.”
He blinked. “I don’t care if you’re annoying,” you continued. “Or loud. Or quiet. Or… whatever this is.”
You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “I just—” you paused, jaw tightening. “I just like you.”
Silence. For once, Keonho didn’t immediately react. Didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. He just looked at you. Like he was trying to process it.
“…You do?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “Don’t make me repeat it.”
“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I just—” His voice caught. And that was new.
“I didn’t think you would,” he admitted.
Something in your chest twisted. “Idiot,” you muttered.
“Yeah,” he laughed weakly. “Probably.”
You reached out without thinking, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. “Don’t say that,” you said.
He stilled.Your faces were closer now. Too close.
“Y/n,” he whispered.
“What.”
“You’re really close.”
“I know.”
“Is that… intentional?”
You stared at him. At the way his eyes flickered between yours and your lips. At the way his breath hitched slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Sunshine boy. Always smiling. Always confident. Except right now. Right now, he looked nervous. And you liked it.
“…Maybe,” you said.
His lips parted. “Can I—” he started, then stopped again.
You sighed. And closed the distance yourself.
The kiss was soft. Careful. Like neither of you wanted to ruin it by rushing. Keonho froze for half a second before melting into it, his hand coming up to rest lightly against your arm, like he needed to make sure you were real. You pulled back first.
“See?” you said, voice quieter than usual. “Not that hard.” He blinked at you.
Then smiled. But not the usual bright, blinding smile. This one was smaller. Softer. Yours.
“Can I do it again?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes. But you didn’t say no. Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in first. This time, the kiss wasn’t as careful.
It was a little firmer, a little impatient—like you were done overthinking it. Keonho made a small, surprised sound against your lips, something soft and almost like a whimper, his hands instinctively tightening at your waist as he tried to keep up. When you pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, eyes slightly wide, like he hadn’t expected that from you.
“…y/n,” he breathed. You didn’t respond.
Instead, you reached over to the table, swiping a bit of leftover frosting onto your finger. He blinked. “What are you—” Before he could finish, you dabbed it right onto his cheek. He froze.
“You did not just—”
You leaned in again, cutting him off as you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, right over the frosting, wiping it away. For a second, he didn’t move at all. Then—His face turned even redder.
“You’re—” he started, completely flustered now, one hand coming up to touch the spot like he couldn’t believe it. “You’re so unfair.”
You smirked slightly. “You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You asked for another kiss.”
“I didn’t ask for that,” he mumbled, still blushing.
Cookie barked loudly from the floor. You both glanced down. “…He’s judging you,” you said.
Keonho let out a breathless laugh, leaning forward until his forehead rested against yours again, still a little dazed.
“I think I like this version of you,” he admitted softly.
You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. “…Don’t get used to it.”
He smiled anyway. And this time, when he slipped his arm around you and pulled you closer, it felt a little more certain.
A little more real. And you didn’t pretend to mind.
