synopsis β IN WHICH, Woojin, your boyfriend with a chronic case of ragebaiting you, decides the perfect way to spend a lazy night in is to question the integrity of the Apollo missions. What follows is a Wikipedia fueled apology, and a very soft makeup session that proves he'd drive you insane a thousand times over just to hold you at the end of it.
warnings ; fluff angst ragebaiting
MASTERLIST
It was a lazy Sunday night. We were on the couch, my legs draped over Woojin's lap, a half eaten bag of chips between us, and some reality show playing that neither of us was actually watching. Cozy. Peaceful. The kind of night where nothing could possibly go wrong.
And then Woojin looked at me with that face. You know the face. The one where his eyes go all wide and innocent and you can practically see the mischief loading up behind them like a cannon.
"Hey, y/n," he said, voice all casual. Too casual. "Quick question."
"Mm?"
"Was the moon landing real?"
I didn't even look up from my phone. "Obviously. Yes. Next question."
"Okay but like. How do we actually know though?"
And there it was. The trap. I felt my jaw tighten before I even registered why. Because I knew this game. I knew it intimately. Woojin had a hobby, and that hobby was poking me until I exploded like a shaken soda can, just so he could watch the show.
"We know," I said, still calm, "because there are photographs, video footage, moon rocks, and the testimony of every astronaut who was there. We know because it happened."
"Mm." He nodded slowly, like he was really considering it. "But like. The footage is kind of grainy though."
I set my phone down. Slowly. Deliberately. "Woojin."
"I'm just saying. It could be fake. You ever think about that?"
"Woojin, I have a poster of the Apollo 11 mission on my wall. It's literally behind you right now."
He glanced at it, then back at me, and that little twitch at the corner of his mouth appeared. The tell. The one he thought was subtle but was about as subtle as a foghorn. "I mean, posters can lie."
And that was the moment. The exact moment the rage hit me like a freight train with no brakes.
"You are ragebaiting me," I said, voice going dangerously high. "You are literally sitting here, on this couch, in my home, ragebaiting me about the MOON."
"I'm not ragebaiting you. I'm just asking questions." He put his hands up, all innocent like. "I'm a curious guy."
"No. No, you're not curious. You're a MENACE. You're a professional instigator. You're the human equivalent of a 'reply all' button."
"Wow, that's harsh."
"You know I'm a space nerd. You KNOW I have a whole shelf of astronomy books. You know I cried watching that documentary about the Mars rover. And you're sitting here telling me the moon landing was fake like it's a fun little debate topic."
His lip twitched again, harder this time, and I saw it. I saw him trying not to laugh. And that was it. That was the final straw.
"I'm done," I announced, swinging my legs off his lap. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving where? We're at home."
"Leaving the couch. LEAVING THIS CONVERSATION. I'm going to go sit in the kitchen and stare at the wall and think about my life choices."
"Y/n."
"No. You made your bed. You can lie in it. With your fake moon conspiracy theories and your grainy footage."
I grabbed my phone and stomped off, and I could hear him behind me, muffling a laugh into his hand like an absolute coward. The AUDACITY. The sheer, unbridled audacity of this man.
I planted myself at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, staring at the fridge like it had personally offended me. My heart was pounding. My face was hot. I knew, logically, that this was ridiculous. That I was being dramatic. That he was going to come crawling in here with some stupid apology and I was going to fold like a lawn chair.
I heard him get up from the couch. Heard his footsteps padding toward the kitchen. Heard him stop in the doorway.
"Y/n," he said softly.
"Don't."
"I'm sorry."
"You're not. You're literally still smiling. I can hear it in your voice."
Silence. Then, a tiny, guilty laugh. "Okay, I'm a little sorry."
I turned to glare at him, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like a golden retriever who'd just been caught chewing the couch. And despite everything, despite the rage still simmering in my chest, I felt my resolve start to crack.
"Go away," I said, with zero conviction.
"No." He took a step closer. "I'm gonna fix this."
"You can't fix this. You questioned the integrity of the Apollo missions."
"I can fix it." He pulled out his phone. "Watch."
And then, I swear to God, he started reading out loud.
"'The Apollo 11 mission launched on July sixteenth, nineteen sixty nine, and successfully landed the first humans on the Moon on July twentieth.'" He was scrolling, reading in this overly serious, documentary narrator voice. "'Commander Neil Armstrong and lunar module pilot Buzz Aldrin spent about twenty one hours on the lunar surface.'"
I stared at him. "What are you doing."
"I'm doing research," he said, dead serious. "I'm educating myself. I'm becoming a moon believer. Give me a second, there's a cool part coming up." He kept scrolling. "'The Moon is moving away from Earth at a rate of about four centimeters per year.'"
And he looked up at me with these big, earnest eyes. "Did you know that? That's actually so cool. I didn't know that. Thank you for opening my mind, y/n. You've changed me."
I felt my mouth twitch. I fought it. I really did. "That's not an apology."
"You're right." He put his phone down and stepped closer, until he was right in front of me. "Here's the real apology." He reached out and took my hands, and his voice went soft, all the joking gone. "I'm sorry. I know you actually care about this stuff, and I know I was just poking you to get a reaction, and that's not fair to you. You're allowed to like things without me making fun of them. That was a jerk move."
I looked at him. At his stupid, sincere face. At the way he was holding my hands like they were something precious.
"You read the Wikipedia page," I said quietly.
"I did. I read the whole thing. I even bookmarked it so I can bring up fun moon facts at dinner parties and credit you as my source."
I snorted. I couldn't help it. It just came out.
"There she is," he said, grinning. "There's my Y/n."
"Shut up."
"Never." He pulled me into a hug, and I let him, burying my face in his chest, breathing in that familiar smell of his hoodie and the faint hint of the chips we'd been eating. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I really do believe in the moon, by the way. I always did. I just like riling you up because you get all passionate and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen."
"That's a terrible reason."
"I know. I'm working on it." He squeezed me tighter. "But I'll always bring you noodles after. That's my promise."
I laughed against his chest, and the last of the anger just melted away, like it always did with him. Because that was the thing about Woojin. He could drive me absolutely insane, but he always, always made it right.
We ended up back on the couch, my legs draped over his lap again, the show still playing, the chips somehow already half gone again. He was scrolling through his phone, and then he held it up to show me.
"Look," he said. "I set a reminder. Every year on July twentieth, it says 'moon landing was real, tell Y/n you love her.'"
I looked at the screen. And then at him. And my heart did that stupid little flip it always did.
"You're such a dork," I said.
"Your dork," he corrected, grinning.
He cupped my face and gave me a gentle kiss on my lips.
Hey guys I just wanted to say that I'm rebooting a thin wall between us i feel it doesnβt fit the synopsis :(, so please stay tuned. I will work hard to fix this story and I will be writing oneshots and other stories to share in the meantime. Thank you for your patience, and please keep supporting this fic.
sypnosis β IN WHICH, lngshot are New York's friendly neighborhood Spider Men, spending their nights saving the city and their days trying to convince you the cuts on their faces, ripped hoodies, and constant disappearances are completely normal boyfriend behavior. Somehow, loving a superhero means patching up bruises, waiting for late night phone calls, and reminding your Spider Man boyfriend to come home in one piece.
warnings ; fluff angst kissing cuddling
MASTERLIST
.β π’₯ β. β OHYUL
I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time.
I sighed quietly, forcing myself to stand. Maybe something came up. Maybe he forgot. Maybe I wasnβt as important as I thought.
The thought hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I paid for the untouched drink I had ordered while waiting and stepped outside. The night air felt colder than it had an hour ago. I walked down the dim lit street, holding back my tears. How could he forget our date? I know heβs busy but he couldβve just texted me.
By the time I reached my apartment, I could barely hold back the tears.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, kicking off my shoes before dropping my bag onto the couch.
I sighed walking to my bedroom before flopping onto my bed. I curled up letting the tears stream down my face. The thoughts just kept piling up, no matter how much I tossed and turned I couldnβt sleep.
I pushed myself up from the bed, the sheets tangled and damp beneath me. My legs felt heavy as I crossed the room to the bathroom, the cool floor a small relief. I flipped on the light and caught my reflection, mascara streaked in dark rivers down my cheeks, eyes still puffy and rimmed red. I wet a washcloth with warm water, pressed it against my face for a moment, then gently wiped away the smudges, the cloth staining gray with each pass. When I was done, I set it down, took a slow breath, and got ready for bed.
I walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water, the chill biting into my palm. I sat down on the couch and just stared at nothing, the silence pressing in from all sides. Two minutes passed. Maybe more. Then a knock rattled the front door.
I got up and peered through the peephole. Ohyul stood on the other side, his face warped in the little lens.
"Go away," I shouted.
"Not until you open the door," he called back.
I sat back down on the couch and flicked on the TV, cranking the volume until his knocking blurred into the background noise. A few minutes later, I heard a different sound. A scrape. A thud. I turned to see him pulling himself through the bedroom window, one leg swinging over the sill, his shirt catching on the latch.
He landed softly on the floor and stood there, brushing dust off his shoulder like he had every right to be inside.
He walked up to the couch, slow and deliberate, then bent down in front of me. His hand came up to caress my face, fingers brushing my cheek like he was trying to smooth over everything with one touch. I slapped his hand away and tried to push myself up off the couch.
But before I could stand, I felt it. Something wet and web-like shot past my wrists, and when I tried to pull free, my hands were stuck. I looked down. Thin white strands pinned my wrists to my thighs, binding my arms against my body. I pulled hard, but the webbing held, elastic and unyielding.
I glared up at him. He was still kneeling in front of me, hands resting on his knees, watching me with that quiet, patient look.
"Let me go," I said.
He didn't answer. Just reached out again, this time brushing a strand of hair from my face.
βBaby Iβm sorry, there was a robbery downtown. It was supposed to be quick.β He explained. βThen another call came in. Then a building caught fire. My phone was crushed during the fight, and I couldnβt contact you.β
You looked away, the tears already welling up in your eyes. He turned my face back to him, wiping the tears as they streamed down my cheek. βI thought you forgot,β I sobbed.
βI know baby.β
He kissed my forehead gently, wiping the tears on my face.
I looked down at my hands still pinned to my sides, the webbing cool and tight against my skin. He followed my gaze and let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, but not quite.
"Right. Sorry about that."
He reached over and gently pulled at the edge of the webbing. It gave way easily under his fingers, peeling off in long silky strands. I watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration, treating my wrists like they were something fragile. When the last piece fell away, he rubbed his thumbs over the spots where the web had been, as if checking for marks.
I flexed my fingers. Then I grabbed his wrist and pulled him up onto the couch beside me.
He let out a small oof as he landed, and then his arms were around me, and I buried my face in his neck. He smelled like smoke and sweat and something metallic, but underneath it all he still smelled like him. I pressed closer.
"I really thought you forgot," I whispered into his collarbone.
He tightened his arms around me, one hand cradling the back of my head. "Never. I could never forget you. Not if I swung through every borough in the city."
I let out a wet laugh against his skin. "That's so cheesy."
"You love it."
I didn't answer. I just held on tighter.
He kissed the top of my head, then my temple, then the corner of my eye where a tear was still clinging. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was tired. There was a small cut above his eyebrow, and his suit was torn at the shoulder. But his eyes were soft, fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room.
I reached up and touched the cut on his brow. "You're hurt."
"I've had worse." He turned his head to kiss my palm. "I'd go through a hundred robberies and a thousand fires if it meant coming home to you."
I sniffled and shook my head. "Stop trying to be romantic."
"Too late. I'm already in too deep."
I leaned in and kissed him. Soft at first, then longer, my hand resting on his jaw. When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.
"Let's stay here," I said quietly. "Just for tonight. Don't go anywhere."
"Wasn't planning on it." He pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest, and I let my eyes close, listening to his heartbeat under the torn fabric of his suit.
.β π’₯ β. β RYUL
The night air was warm for August, but Ryul barely noticed. He'd been perched on the same rooftop for the last hour, watching the street below, telling himself he was just being thorough. There had been a few reports of suspicious activity in this neighborhood, and he was just doing his job. That was all.
Ryul's jaw tightened. He told himself it was nothing. You were allowed to have friends. You were allowed to have coffee with whoever you wanted. He wasn't the kind of boyfriend who got weird about stuff like this. He wasn't.
But then the guy reached over and brushed a strand of hair from your face, and Ryul stood up so fast his web shooter clicked.
He sat back down. Forced himself to breathe. You were fine. You were happy. That was good. That was what he wanted.
He just wished the guy would keep his hands to himself.
Patrol dragged on forever. Every block he swung past felt like two. Every minor crime he stopped felt like a distraction from the thing gnawing at his chest. By the time he finally landed on the fire escape outside your window, he was wound so tight he could barely think straight.
He slid the window open and climbed inside, landing softer than usual. You were on your bed, scrolling through your phone, and you looked up when you heard him.
"Oh, you're back. How was patrol?"
He didn't answer. He just crossed the room, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder.
You blinked. "Uh. Hi?"
"Hi," he mumbled into your shirt.
You set your phone down. "You okay? You seem weird."
"I'm fine."
"You're literally clinging to me like a koala."
He didn't let go. "So?"
You laughed softly and ran your fingers through his hair. "Okay, what's going on? Did something happen?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Who was that guy?"
"I wasn't watching you. I was patrolling. I just happened to see."
"Ryul."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and his eyes were doing that thing where they looked everywhere except your face. "He touched your hair."
You studied him for a second, then a small smile crept onto your lips. "Are you jealous?"
"No."
"You so are."
"I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous. That's not a thing I do."
"Babe, you just described his hair and his laugh. You definitely got jealous.β
He groaned and dropped his head back onto your shoulder. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"I really don't."
You wrapped your arms around him and held him close, your chin resting on top of his head. He melted into you almost immediately, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.
He went quiet again. Then, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said, "What if you should?"
You pulled back, forcing him to look at you. "What does that mean?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. That guy. He seemed normal. He could take you on normal dates. He could be there when you need him without having to run off because a building's on fire. He could give you a life that doesn't involve waiting for me to show up with a new bruise every night."
Your heart clenched. "Ryul."
"I'm just saying." His voice cracked a little. "You deserve someone who's around. Someone who doesn't make you worry all the time. Someone normal."
You reached up and cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "I didn't fall in love with a normal guy. I fell in love with you. The guy who swings through the city in a stupid suit and shows up at my window at two in the morning. The guy who saves people every single night and still comes home and holds me like I'm the one worth protecting. I don't want normal. I want you."
His eyes glistened, but he blinked it away fast. "That's so cheesy."
"You love it."
He let out a shaky laugh and pulled you into a kiss, soft and slow, his hands coming up to cradle your face like you were something precious. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours.
"I'm still not jealous though."
"Sure you're not."
"I'm just. Vigilant."
You snorted. "That's one word for it."
He grinned and kissed your nose, then your cheek, then pulled you back into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight it was almost hard to breathe. But you didn't mind. You just closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat, steady and fast, and let yourself be held.
Outside, the city hummed on. But in here, in the dark of your room, tangled up in each other, nothing else mattered.
.β π’₯ β. β WOOJIN
The first time Woojin canceled, you didn't think much of it. He said patrol ran late, which happened all the time. You told him it was fine, ordered takeout alone, and fell asleep watching a drama he was supposed to watch with you.
The second time, he left your text on read for six hours. Then replied with a single word. Busy.
The third time, you showed up at his favorite ramen spot and saw him eating alone. He looked up, saw you through the window, and something flickered across his face. Then he got up, threw cash on the table, and slipped out the back before you could even open the door.
You stood there in the middle of the street, phone in your hand, watching him disappear around a corner. He didn't look back.
That was the moment you stopped pretending.
You texted him that night. Did I do something wrong?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then nothing.
You called. It went straight to voicemail.
You called again. Same thing.
By the end of the week, you'd stopped trying. You stayed in your apartment, curled up on the couch, telling yourself you'd seen this coming. He was Spider Man. He had a whole world of danger and responsibility and people who needed him. You were just the girl he dated when things were quiet. And things weren't quiet anymore.
You cried into your pillow that night and promised yourself you'd move on.
But you didn't know that three blocks away, Woojin was crouched on a rooftop, watching your window through a pair of binoculars. He'd been there every night for a week. His suit was torn in three places. There was a gash on his side he hadn't bothered to stitch. His phone was in his pocket, turned off, because he couldn't bear to see your name light up the screen one more time without answering.
He saw you turn off your lamp. He saw the glow of your phone fade. He waited ten more minutes, then fifteen, then let himself breathe when he was sure you were asleep.
He pressed his fist against his mouth and closed his eyes.
I'm sorry, he whispered to the empty night. I'm so sorry.
The attack came on a Tuesday.
You were walking home from the convenience store, a bag of groceries in one hand, when you heard a whistle overhead. You looked up and saw nothing. Just the dark sky and the blinking light of a plane. You kept walking.
Then the ground in front of you exploded.
You screamed and stumbled back, dropping your groceries. A figure landed in the crater, tall and grinning, dust rising around him like smoke. He had metal plating across his jaw and eyes that glowed faintly yellow.
"So you're the one," he said, tilting his head. "The little lovebird. I was starting to think Spider Man didn't care about anyone."
You backed away, heart hammering. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." He took a step forward. "Let's see how fast he shows up when I dangle you off a building."
He lunged.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
And then something hit him so hard the sound cracked through the air like thunder.
You opened your eyes. Woojin was standing between you and the villain, his suit covered in dust, his mask still on but cracked at the edge. He was breathing hard. His hands were shaking.
"Don't. Touch. Her."
The villain laughed. "There he is. Took you long enough."
What followed was a blur. Punches and webs and the sickening crunch of metal against something that might have been bone. You pressed yourself against a wall, covering your head, and when you looked up again, the villain was gone. A web trap stuck to the side of a building, thrashing and cursing.
Woojin was still standing. His mask was half torn off, revealing the lower half of his face. Blood dripped from his lip.
He didn't turn around.
"Woojin," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
He flinched like your voice hurt him.
"You should go inside," he said, his voice rough. "It's not safe."
"Woojin."
"Please." His voice cracked. "Please just go inside."
You didn't move. He stood there, shoulders shaking, still not facing you. And then slowly, like he was carrying the weight of the world, he turned around.
His mask was hanging off one side. His eyes were red. There were dark circles underneath them that looked weeks old.
"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice broke on the second word. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. He found out about you. He was going to come for you and I couldn't let that happen. I thought if I pushed you away, if I made you hate me, he'd lose interest. He'd think you didn't matter to me. But he kept watching. He kept waiting. And I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I just kept thinking about you alone in your apartment thinking I didn't love you anymore when the truth is I love you so much it terrifies me."
You stood there, groceries scattered at your feet, tears streaming down your face.
"You idiot," you said.
He flinched.
You closed the distance between you and grabbed his face with both hands. He was warm and trembling and there was blood on his lip and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. You kissed him hard, tasting copper and salt, and he made a sound like a sob into your mouth.
When you pulled back, you were both crying.
"Don't you ever do that again," you said, your voice shaking. "I don't care who finds out about us. I don't care if the whole city knows I'm yours. You don't get to decide what's best for me without asking. You don't get to break my heart to save it."
He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands coming up to cover yours where they still held his face. "I thought I was going to lose you."
"You almost did. But not because of some villain. Because you pushed me away."
He let out a shaky breath. "I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
You pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his arms snake around your waist and hold on like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
"I love you," you said into his shoulder. "Even when you're being a dumb self sacrificing hero. Especially then."
He let out a wet laugh. "That's the worst timing for a confession."
"It's not a confession. It's a reminder."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still glassy, a small smile tugging at his busted lip. "Can I take you home?"
"You better."
He scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You yelped and grabbed his neck.
"Woojin, I can walk."
"I know. But I want to carry you."
You buried your face in his neck, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and real. He shot a web and swung up into the night, holding you close the whole way.
And when he set you down on your fire escape, he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, soft and lingering.
"I'm never letting you go again," he whispered.
"You better not."
He smiled, real and tired and full of love, and climbed through your window after you.
.β π’₯ β. β LOUIS
The first sign should've been the texts. Louis had been replying with one word answers for a week. K. Fine. Yep. Which for him was basically a red flag parade. But you figured he was just busy. Patrol had been insane lately, he kept saying. More crime than usual. Less sleep than ever.
You told him to take it easy. He said he would. You both knew he was lying.
The second sign was the way he showed up at your door that night. He looked like a ghost wearing a hoodie. Pale, glassy eyed, swaying a little on his feet. But when you asked if he was okay, he just flashed that tired grin and said he was perfectly fine. Just a little tired. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix.
You let him in because you were worried, not because you believed him.
He made it about three steps into your living room before his knees buckled.
You caught him before he hit the floor, barely. He was heavy and burning hot against your arms, his forehead slick with sweat. You lowered him onto the couch and pressed your palm to his face. He was on fire.
"Louis," you said, and your voice came out sharper than you meant. "You have a fever. A high one. How long have you been like this?"
He blinked up at you, dazed. "I'm fine. Just a little warm."
"You're burning up. You just collapsed in my apartment. You are not fine."
"I've handled worse."
"Oh my god, I'm gonna kill you."
You stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a thermometer, and came back. He tried to wave it off, but you grabbed his wrist and shoved it under his tongue before he could argue. The beep came a few seconds later. You stared at the number and felt your stomach drop.
"Louis. This is really high. You need a doctor."
"No." He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. "No doctors. I'll be fine. I just need to sleep it off."
"You can't sleep off a fever this bad."
"Watch me."
You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to shake him and ask him why he never told you, why he always had to be so stubborn, why he couldn't just let someone take care of him for once. But he looked so small lying there on your couch, shivering under his hoodie despite the heat rolling off him, and the anger just kind of fizzled out.
You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met."
He cracked one eye open. "Does that mean you're not gonna kick me out?"
"It means I'm gonna take care of you whether you like it or not."
A weak smile tugged at his lips. "I like it."
"Shut up."
You got to work. You found some medicine in your cabinet and made him take it, watching him like a hawk until he swallowed. You grabbed the thickest blanket you owned and wrapped it around him until he looked like a burrito. You made him drink a whole glass of water and told him if he didn't finish it you'd call his mom.
He finished it.
You sat on the edge of the couch and brushed his damp hair off his forehead. He leaned into your touch like a cat, his eyes fluttering closed.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should've told you."
"Yeah. You should've."
"I didn't want you to worry."
"I'm always gonna worry about you, Louis. That's kind of the deal when you love someone."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, so soft you almost missed it, he said, "You love me?"
You rolled your eyes, but your voice came out gentle. "Unfortunately. Yeah."
He smiled, small and tired, and reached up to grab your hand. "I love you too. Even when you're mad at me."
"I'm still mad at you."
"I know. You'll get over it."
"Don't push it."
He laughed, then immediately winced and coughed. You shushed him and tucked the blanket tighter around him.
"Sleep," you said. "I'll be right here."
"You're not gonna leave?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He shifted on the couch, making room, and held out his arm. "Then come here."
You hesitated. "You're sick. You need rest."
"I need you."
You sighed, because you could never say no to that face, and carefully climbed onto the couch beside him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head. He was still warm, still feverish, but he held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into him, one hand resting over his heart.
"Go to sleep, Louis."
"Only if you promise to still be here when I wake up."
"I promise."
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and within minutes his breathing evened out. You stayed there, wrapped up in him, listening to his heartbeat slow and steady under your palm. The anger had completely faded by now, replaced by something softer. Something that felt a lot like home.
You'd yell at him tomorrow. For now, you'd just hold him.
synopsis β IN WHICH, NORA debuts as a female soloist under more vision and quickly catches the attention of Ohyul, a member of the agency's newly debuted boy group lngshot. When NORA is featured on lngshotβs latest track, the two grow close behind the scenes, late-night studio sessions turning into something neither of them expected. What starts as casual chemistry between labelmates deepens into something messier, drunker, and harder to walk away from.
warnings ; oneshot drinking smoking making out smut
MASTERLIST
Two hours have passed, and finally Nora gets to record her part of βWith You.β It's a slow self produced R&B groove rooted in nostalgia for an ex-lover. Vocals that are smooth as butter, and a beat that softens your heart.
βNora, youβre up.β Woojin called.
She stood up and stretched, her joints popping in protests. βFinally.β
Nora stepped into the recording booth doing a quick vocal warm-up. She hummed the melody of her lines and waited for Woojinβs call. βWhenever youβre ready Nora.β Nora finally began singing, her airy yet controlled vocals making an angelic sound, almost like a siren, that could captivate you with just a breath. After about three takes, the song was finalized.
Nora stepped out of the booth, rolling her shoulders, and the room broke into applause. Louis was the loudest, clapping his hands above his head like she'd just finished a stadium tour. Ryul gave her a tired but genuine smile. Woojin nodded at her from the console, satisfied.
"Finally, we're finished." Nora stretched her arms out, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. "I thought we'd be here all night."
"You did a great job." Ohyul said, flashing her a smile that was warm and easy. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at her like he meant it.
"Thanks." She smiled back, and it lingered a second longer than it needed to.
Louis stood up and stretched, his joints popping. "Noona, that was actually insane. Like, I got chills."
"Actually insane?" Nora raised an eyebrow. "You thought I was gonna be bad?"
"No, no, I mean like insane good. Obviously." He backtracked fast, and Woojin laughed from behind the board.
"She knows what you meant, Louis. Relax.β
Ryul yawned loudly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm dead. I need to sleep for like twelve hours."
"Same," Woojin said, saving his project and leaning back. "I'm tapped."
Louis looked between them. "Wait, what about celebrating? We said we were gonna go out."
Woojin shook his head. "Bro, it's almost one in the morning. You're seventeen. Go home."
"But noonaββ
"Louis." Nora gave him a look, soft but firm. "You can celebrate when you're old enough to get in. I'll buy you tteokbokki tomorrow, okay?"
He pouted but didn't argue. "Fine. But you promised."
"I promised."
Ryul was already packing his bag, shuffling toward the door. "I'm gonna crash at the dorm. Don't have fun without me."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Nora grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair.
The studio emptied fast. Louis and Woojin shared a cab, Louis hanging out the window to yell "Good job, noona!" one last time before the door slammed shut. Ryul walked off toward the dorm, hood up, already yawning.
That left her and Ohyul standing on the sidewalk outside the building, the street quiet, the air cool and clean after the stuffy studio.
He looked at her, hands in his pockets. "So. Just us."
"Just us." She hugged her jacket tighter. "You tired?"
"Not really." He tilted his head. "You?"
She thought about it. The song was done. Her voice was warm and loose. The night was young enough to still be something.
"Not really," she said.
He smiled, that same easy smile from earlier. "There's a place a few blocks from here. Low key. Good music.β
"Are you asking me out, Ohyul?"
"Maybe." He held her gaze. "Is that a problem?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. It's not a problem."
They started walking side by side, shoulders almost brushing, the city humming quietly around them. The club he took her to was small and tucked away, no line, no flashing sign, just a red door and the muffled thump of music from inside. The kind of place where you could disappear for a few hours and no one would ask questions.
Inside, it was dim and warm, a narrow bar along one wall and a small dance floor in the back. A few people scattered around, couples and groups, no one paying them any attention. Ohyul ordered them both something strong and sweet, and they found a corner booth where the lights were low and the music was loud enough to feel but quiet enough to talk.
βSo...β Nora started, wrapping both hands around her glass after the bartender set it down in front of her. She gave him a small smile. βWhat do you think about the song?β
Ohyul took a sip before answering. βI like it.β
βJust like it?β
He laughed. βYou always fish for compliments?β
βOnly from people whose opinions matter.β
He looked at her for a second, almost caught off guard by the answer.
βIn that case,β he said, setting his glass down, βI think it's really good. It's nostalgic without trying too hard, and your voice...β
βWhat about it?β
βIt suits the song perfectly. You sound really good, Nora.β
She smiled, her shoulders relaxing.
βThank you. That actually means a lot coming from you.β
βWhy me?β
βYou're picky.β
βI prefer honest.β
βSee? Picky.β
He chuckled and raised his glass.
βI'll take that.β
Their glasses clinked together.
For a while they talked about the recording session, laughing over how many takes Woojin had insisted he needed before finally admitting the first one was probably the best.
βHe's such a perfectionist,β Nora said.
βNo,β Ohyul corrected. βHe's eightteen.β
She laughed into her drink.
βFair.β
βGive him a couple years. He'll stop overthinking everything.β
βI don't know. It's kind of cute.β
βYou think everything's cute.β
βNot everything.β
βMe?β
She tilted her head, pretending to think.
βSometimes.β
βWow.β
βDon't let it get to your head.β
βToo late.β
They ordered another round.
The music shifted to something slower, the bass humming softly through the room.
βDo you ever miss being normal?β Nora asked after a moment.
Ohyul rested his elbow on the table.
βDepends what you mean by normal.β
βGoing out without someone recognizing you. Meeting people who don't already know your birthday.β
He smiled.
βYeah. Sometimes.β
βMe too.β
She traced the rim of her glass with her finger.
βI miss convenience stores at two in the morning.β
βThat's oddly specific.β
βBecause I can't go anymore without putting on a hoodie and praying nobody looks too closely.β
βDoes it work?β
βNot really.β
βYou don't exactly blend in.β
She narrowed her eyes.
βIs that a compliment?β
βMaybe.β
βI'll take it.β
βWhat about you?β she asked. βIf you weren't doing this?β
He shrugged.
βProbably producing somewhere.β
βStill music.β
βAlways music.β
βThat's kind of nice.β
βWhat about you?β
She thought for a moment before smiling.
βHonestly? I never had a backup plan.β
βThat's brave.β
βOr irresponsible.β
βI'd say stubborn.β
βYeah...β She laughed quietly. βThat sounds more accurate.β
Another drink found its way onto the table.
Their conversation drifted from music to favorite late-night food spots, terrible trainee hairstyles, embarrassing auditions, and the strange loneliness that came with constantly being surrounded by people.
Somewhere between stories and laughter, Nora realized she'd had one drink more than she'd planned.
She blinked slowly before reaching into her purse.
βHold on...β
She dug around for a few seconds before frowning.
βYou've gotta be kidding me.β
βWhat?β
She pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
βI forgot my lighter.β
She looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, her cheeks just a little flushed from the alcohol.
βAny chance you have one?β
Ohyul couldn't help smiling.
βYou're lucky I came prepared.β
He pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked it open.
Nora leaned in, shielding the flame with one hand as she lit the cigarette.
βYou're a lifesaver.β
βI don't know if I'd call enabling you a lifesaver.β
She laughed, taking a slow drag before exhaling toward the ceiling.
βDon't ruin the moment.β
βI'm just saying.β
βYou're judging me.β
βA little.β
βMean.β
βHonest.β
She rolled her eyes with a smile.
βThere's that word again.β
She took another drag before glancing toward the small dance floor where a new R&B track had just started playing.
Her eyes lit up.
βI love this song.β
βDo you?β
βMm.β
She stood, grabbing her drink for one last sip before setting it back on the table.
βCome dance with me.β
Ohyul blinked.
βRight now?β
βYes, right now.β
βNora...β
βDon't overthink it.β
Before he could come up with another excuse, she slipped her hand around his wrist and pulled him out of the booth, laughing as he let himself be dragged toward the dance floor.
The dance floor was small and barely lit, just a few colored lights shifting slow across the floor, but it felt like their own world. Nora pulled Ohyul into the center, the cigarette still balanced between her fingers, and turned to face him. The music was heavy and slow, an R&B track with a bassline you could feel in your chest, and she started moving before she even thought about it. Her body swayed loose and easy, the alcohol making her limbs feel like they belonged to someone else, someone braver.
Ohyul watched her for a second, standing still, and then he stepped into her space. His hands found her hips like they were meant to be there. She let the cigarette fall to the floor and ground it out with her heel, and then her arms were around his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck.
"You're a good dancer," she said, loud enough to be heard over the music but quiet enough that it felt like a secret.
"So are you." His hands moved from her hips to her waist, pulling her closer. "But I feel like you already know that."
"I do." She grinned, slow and teasing. "I just like hearing you say it."
He laughed, and the sound vibrated through her where their bodies touched. They moved together like they'd done this a hundred times, her hips rolling against his, his hands guiding her, their foreheads pressing together. The world narrowed to the space between them, the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers dug into her waist just slightly when she moved a certain way.
"Nora." His voice was low, almost swallowed by the music.
"Yeah?"
"I've wanted to do this since the first time I heard you sing."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him. The dim light caught his eyes, dark and focused, and there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he was admitting something he hadn't planned on saying.
"You're serious."
"I'm serious." His thumb traced a slow circle on her hip. "You walked into the studio that first day and I couldn't look away. I still can't."
Her chest tightened. She didn't know if it was the drinks or the music or the way he was looking at her, but she felt it, a pull that went deeper than just wanting to hook up with someone from the label.
"I think about you all the time," she said, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Like, stupid shit. What you're doing. What you're thinking. If you're thinking about me too."
"I am." His voice was rough. "I always am."
Nora pulled him into a deep kiss. Hands roaming his chest and his hard-felt abs against his shirt the other hand found its way into his hair. Ohyul grabbed her ass while the other hand grabbed her waist pulling her in closer. The kiss was sloppy from how drunk they were but they were too out of it to care.
She pulled away catching her breath before saying, βLetβs go to my place,β They walked hand in hand through the small crowd as they stepped outside to call a cab.
The cab ride was a blur of streetlights and stolen touches. His hand never left her thigh, fingers tracing slow patterns that made her skin prickle under her jeans. She leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the hum of the engine and the warmth of his body settle her nerves. The driver didn't say a word, just drove through the quiet streets with the radio playing something soft and instrumental.
When the cab pulled up to her building, she paid quickly and pulled him out onto the sidewalk. The night air hit them, cool and clean, and she didn't let go of his hand as she led him up the steps to her front door. Her hands shook slightly as she fumbled for her keys, and he stepped up behind her, his chest against her back, his hands settling on her hips.
"Need help?" His voice was low, amused, right next to her ear.
"I got it." She found the right key and pushed the door open, pulling him inside.
Her apartment was small and warm, moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting everything in a soft silver glow. She barely had time to close the door before he was on her again, his hands cupping her face, kissing her like he'd been holding back the whole cab ride. His tongue slid against hers, slow and deliberate, and she melted into him, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt and tugging upward.
He got the hint and pulled it off over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. She let her hands roam across his chest, his shoulders, the hard lines of his abs that she'd been thinking about all night. Her fingers traced every ridge and curve, and he shivered under her touch.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmured against her lips.
"Then show me."
He scooped her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her through the apartment. She directed him with a nod toward her bedroom, and he pushed the door open with his shoulder, crossing the room in a few strides before lowering her onto the bed.
He hovered over her, propped on his forearms, looking down at her like she was something precious. The moonlight caught his eyes, dark and focused, and she reached up to trace his jaw, his cheekbone, the curve of his lips.
"You're so handsome," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
He ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You're drunk."
"Maybe." She pulled him down, her lips brushing his ear. "But I mean it."
His breath hitched, and then his mouth was on her neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down her collarbone, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat. She arched into him, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. She kicked off her heels while his hands found the button of her skirt, and she lifted her hips to help him, the denim sliding down her legs and pooling somewhere at the foot of the bed. He helped her take off her corset as her bare skin was revealed.
He sat back just long enough to look at her, his eyes tracing every curve, every line of her body. The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow, and she felt exposed in the best way, like he was seeing all of her and still wanting more.
"Your turn," she said, her voice breathy.
He stood briefly to shed his jeans and boxers, and she watched him, unabashed, taking in the way the light fell across his skin. He climbed back over her, his body warm and heavy, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against her.
He kissed her again, deep and slow, and his hand slid down between her legs, fingers finding her already wet, already ready. She gasped into his mouth as he touched her, slow circles that made her hips buck against his hand.
He pulled away from the kiss. "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough, his forehead pressed against hers.
"I want you." She looked him in the eye, her hand sliding down his stomach to wrap around him. "I want all of you."
He groaned, low and deep, and lined himself up. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust, and she clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. The feeling of him stretching her, filling her, made her gasp, her head falling back against the pillow.
"Fuck, Nora." His voice was strained, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. "You feel so good."
"So do you." She moaned lifting her hips, urging him deeper.
He set a rhythm that was slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting a spot that made her see stars. Her moans filled the room, breathy and unguarded, and he swallowed them with his mouth, kissing her through the pleasure. His hand found hers, fingers lacing together beside her head, and she held on like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Ohyul." She breathed his name like a prayer. "Don't stop."
"Not planning on it."
He shifted his angle slightly, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He found the spot, the one that made her see white, and he stayed there, driving into her with a purpose that left her breathless. The pressure built low in her belly, coiling tighter with every thrust, every moan, every whispered word against her skin.
"I'm close," she gasped.
"Cum for me." His voice was dark, commanding. "I want to feel you."
That was all it took.
She shattered around him, her body trembling, her moans breaking into something raw and unfiltered. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck as he spilled into her, his hips stuttering, his breath hot and uneven against her skin.
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing each other in. She ran her fingers through his hair, soft and slow, and he pressed lazy kisses to her shoulder, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth.
He pulled out gently and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, her back against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she laced her fingers through his.
"Stay," she whispered.
"Wasn't planning on leaving."
She smiled into the dark and let her eyes close, his heartbeat steady against her back, the city humming softly outside her window.
A THIN WALL BETWEEN US α ΰ§ β j. woojin α° .α
00. introduction
sypnosis β IN WHICH, Yuwon moves into her new apartment, excited for the peaceful life she worked so hard to create. However, her new neighbor quickly ruins that peace with his annoying habits and constant arguments. As their rivalry turns into unexpected conversations, they begin to see the sides of each other hidden beneath their frustrations. What starts as a battle between neighbors slowly becomes a love neither of them expected.
A THIN WALL BETWEEN US α ΰ§ β j. woojin α° .α
01. new place, new problems
sypnosis β IN WHICH, Yuwon moves into her new apartment, excited for the peaceful life she worked so hard to create. However, her new neighbor quickly ruins that peace with his annoying habits and constant arguments. As their rivalry turns into unexpected conversations, they begin to see the sides of each other hidden beneath their frustrations. What starts as a battle between neighbors slowly becomes a love neither of them expected.
warnings ; fluff angst slow burn jealousy (all faces used from pinterest)
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At nineteen years old, I finally had something I could call my own.
The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and for a moment, I just stood there in the doorway, letting it sink in. The apartment was small. Plain walls, a narrow hallway, a window that let in the late afternoon light. Half my boxes were still stacked by the door, and the air smelled like fresh paint and cardboard.
But it was mine.
After years of saving, of working shifts I didn't want and pushing through nights I thought would break me, I had done it. A place where no one could interrupt me. A place where I could breathe.
I set down the first box and walked to the window, pressing my palm against the glass. The street below was quiet, unfamiliar, and exactly what I had been searching for. Peace. That was all I wanted. Just peace.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of tape and bubble wrap. I unpacked slowly, deliberately, placing each item like I was building something fragile. By evening, the apartment had started to feel like mine. The kettle was on the counter. The blankets were on the bed. The silence was comfortable instead of lonely.
That was when I remembered the cookies.
I had bought them that morning, a small box of butter cookies from the bakery near my old place. A welcome gift. A peace offering to whoever lived next door. Because that was the kind of person I wanted to be here. Friendly. Open. Starting fresh.
I slipped on my slippers, fixed my hair in the hallway mirror, and grabbed the box. It was a small thing, but it felt important. A first step toward the quiet, easy life I had worked so hard for.
The hallway was empty and still. I stopped in front of the door beside mine and took a breath.
Just a simple introduction. That's all.
I knocked.
For a few seconds, nothing. I was about to knock again when the door swung open.
The boy standing there was around my age. Messy hair, like I had pulled him away from something. A plain t-shirt, sleeves pushed up. And his expression, unreadable, flat, with just the faintest edge of irritation, like I was already wasting his time.
"Can I help you?" His voice was low, neutral. Not rude, exactly. Just... distant.
I held up the cookies. "Hi. I'm your new neighbor. I just moved in, so I wanted to introduce myself."
His eyes dropped to the box, then back to me. "Okay."
That was it.
No smile. No name. No βWelcome to the building!βJust a flat, empty okay that hung in the air between us.
I felt my smile falter. "I'm Yuwon, by the way."
He studied me for a moment. Long enough that I started to feel self conscious, standing there in my slippers with my offering of cookies and good intentions.
"Woojin," he said finally.
Just his name. Nothing else.
I extended my hand anyway, because I was determined to make this work. "It's nice to meet you, Woojin."
He looked at my hand. Then back at me.
"If you're done, I'll go back to what I was doing."
The words hit like a door closing. I pulled my hand back, face burning, and managed a small bow before turning away. I didn't run, but it was close. Back in my apartment, I leaned against the door and pressed my palms to my warm cheeks.
How can someone be so rude? He doesn't even know me.
I threw myself onto the mattress in my half empty room, staring at the ceiling. The peace I had been so excited about felt a little further away now. I pulled out my phone and texted Nayun.
I smiled despite myself. That was the thing about Nayun, she could make any frustration feel smaller. I set my phone down and looked out the window. The night was settling in, quiet and blue.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm being too harsh.
But then I remembered the way he had looked at my hand like it was an inconvenience, and the warmth crept back into my cheeks.
I closed my eyes, pulling the blanket up to my chin.
Tomorrow, I would try again. Or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would just live my peaceful life and let the rude neighbor be someone else's problem.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. There was something about the way he had said his name. Like it cost him something. Like he wasn't used to giving it away.
I fell asleep with that thought lingering, the quiet hum of the building settling around me.
And somewhere on the other side of the wall, I could hear him moving around. Just faint footsteps. Just the sound of someone else living their life, inches away from mine.
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