TRASH BLOG

yeet

[xxxsarihartxxx]

[softiebb]

𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

One-shot: 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ wc 910

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The rain starts soft.

It taps gently against the window, a quiet rhythm that fills the room while you sit curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you've claimed as your own. The world outside looks blurred, gray skies, slick pavement, people rushing with umbrellas like they're trying to outrun something.

You sigh, tucking your chin into the fabric.

Perfect weather to stay inside.

Perfect weather to not deal with anything.

"Y/n."

You don't even look up. "No."

A beat.

Then, dramatically, "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I do," you mumble, eyes still fixed on the rain. "And the answer is still no."

There's the sound of shuffling, then footsteps light, quick, familiar. The couch dips beside you, and suddenly there's a face far too close to yours, eyes bright with something that should probably concern you.

"Come outside with me."

You finally turn your head, unimpressed. "Absolutely not."

"Why?" he asks, already halfway to pouting.

You gesture vaguely toward the window. "It's raining."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get wet."

He gasps like you've personally offended him. "Y/n, that is the point."

You stare at him.

He stares back, completely serious.

"...No."

He leans closer, lowering his voice like he's about to share something important. "You're missing it."

"Missing what?"

His lips curl into a soft, almost secret smile. "This."

Before you can question him, he's already grabbing your wrist.

"Taehyung—"

Too late.

⸻

The door swings open, and the sound of rain rushes in louder now, heavier. The air is cool, fresh, wrapping around you instantly as you step outside, shoes hitting damp pavement.

"Kim Taehyung!" you protest, trying to pull your hand back. "I am not—"

He doesn't let go.

Of course he doesn't.

Instead, he turns to face you, already soaked at the edges dark hair beginning to cling to his forehead, drops of water tracing down his cheeks. And yet, he's smiling like this is the best thing that's happened all day.

"Relax," he says, softer now. "It's just rain."

"It's cold," you argue, shivering slightly as another drop hits your neck.

He tilts his head, studying you for a moment really looking at you. Then, without warning, he steps closer.

"Trust me?"

You hesitate.

Because it's him.

Because it's always been him.

"...I don't like where this is going."

He grins.

And then he spins you.

A startled laugh breaks out of you as the world tilts..his hand steady in yours, pulling you into a slow circle. The rain falls harder now, soaking through your clothes, your hair, everything but somehow it doesn't feel as miserable as you thought it would.

"Taehyung !" you laugh, trying to steady yourself.

"See?" he says, voice light, almost triumphant. "Not so bad."

You shake your head, breathless. "You're insane."

"Probably," he agrees easily.

But he doesn't stop.

He spins you again faster this time and your laughter comes easier, louder, mixing with his. It echoes in the open air, blending with the sound of rain hitting the ground, the rooftops, everything.

For a moment, it feels like the world shrinks.

No expectations.

No pressure.

No noise beyond this.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

He slows eventually, hands still holding yours as you come to a stop, a little unsteady, a little dizzy. Your hair is a mess, your clothes cling uncomfortably, and you're definitely going to regret this later—

but you're smiling.

And he's looking at you like he knew you would be.

"Better?" he asks quietly.

You try to roll your eyes, but it doesn't land the way it usually does. "A little."

"A little?" he repeats, mock-offended.

"Okay..fine," you admit, softer now. "Maybe more than a little."

He beams.

There's a pause.

The rain doesn't let up, falling steadily around you, but neither of you move to go back inside.

Instead, he steps closer again. Closer than before.

Close enough that you notice the way his smile softens, the way his eyes linger just a second longer than they should.

Close enough that your breath catches just slightly.

"You should smile like that more," he says.

Your heart stumbles. "Like what?"

"Like you're not thinking about everything else."

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "And what makes you think I can just... turn that off?"

His thumb brushes lightly against your hand, still holding onto yours like he forgot to let go.

"You don't have to," he murmurs. "Not all the time."

The world feels quieter.

Or maybe it's just you.

"Just sometimes," he adds, almost like a promise, "I'll remind you."

Your chest tightens, but not in a bad way.

Not in the way it usually does.

"...By dragging me into the rain?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

He laughs softly. "Exactly."

You shake your head, but you don't pull away.

"Unbelievable."

"Admit it," he nudges. "You're glad I did."

You hesitate.

Then, quietly—

"...I am."

His smile returns, softer now. Warmer.

And for a moment, standing there in the rain with his hand still in yours, it really does feel like nothing else matters.

Not the things waiting for you tomorrow.

Not the worries you carried just minutes ago.

Just this.

Just him.

Just the way he looks at you like you're something worth pulling into the rain for.

"Next time," you say after a while, "we're staying inside."

He hums, unconvinced.

"...We'll see."

[softiebb]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌 ᢉ𐭩

╰┈➤ 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚔𝚓𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

One-Shot : 𝙲𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚔𝚓𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐… 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ wc 1007

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You shouldn't have told Kim Seokjin you were going to cook.

That was your first mistake

Your second mistake?

Letting him watch

"You know," Jin said, leaning casually against your kitchen counter like he owned the place, arms crossed and expression already suspiciously evaluative, "as someone with an incredibly refined palate—"

You didn't even look up from the pan. "If you say one more word, I'm poisoning your portion."

He gasped. "You wound me. I'm just here to support."

"You're here to judge."

"Supportively judge."

You pointed your spatula at him. "Out."

He didn't move

Of course he didn't

Instead, he leaned in closer, peering into the pan like a food critic inspecting a five-star dish. "Is that... garlic?"

You turned slowly. "Yes, Jin. It's garlic."

"Hm." He nodded thoughtfully. "Bold choice."

"Get. Out."

He didn't get out. Instead, he pulled up a chair then turned it around.

Then sat on it backwards like a judge.

"Welcome," he announced, gesturing dramatically toward you, "to today's episode of—"

"Don't you dare."

"—Kitchen Catastrophes."

You froze, slowly set the spatula down

Turned to face him fully

"...you have exactly five seconds to leave my kitchen."

He held up a hand. "Contestant, please. No hostility. It affects the flavor."

"Jin."

"Y/n."

"Out."

He smiled.

Didn't move.

—

You tried to ignore him.

You really did.

You focused on stirring, chopping, seasoning—doing everything you could to salvage your dignity as he provided a constant stream of commentary.

"Interesting technique."

"That's not even a technique."

"Very unconventional."

"I'm literally just cutting onions."

"Hm. Risky."

"Risky?!"

"Yes. Emotional instability while cooking can alter the outcome."

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying I'm emotionally unstable?"

"I'm saying the onions might be."

By the time you plated the food, you were this close to throwing the entire dish at him.

But you didn't

Because you were better than that

Mostly

You set the plate down in front of him with a little more force than necessary. "There. Eat."

Jin didn't reach for it right away

No.

He leaned back

Folded his hands together

Tilted his head

And just... looked at it

You stared at him. "Why are you looking at it like that?"

He didn't answer immediately

Instead, he leaned forward slowly, eyes narrowing as if analyzing every detail.

"The presentation," he began, voice suddenly deeper, more serious—full judge mode—"is... intriguing."

You blinked. "Intriguing?"

"Yes. It tells a story."

"What story?!"

He gestured vaguely. "A story of... chaos. Passion. Possibly confusion."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Just eat the food."

"Patience," he said, holding up a finger. "We must evaluate all aspects."

He picked up his fork.

Paused.

Looked at you.

"Tell me," he said, "what was your inspiration?"

You crossed your arms. "Hunger."

He nodded solemnly. "Ah. A classic."

—

He finally took a bite

And you watched him

Closely

Too closely

Because despite everything—despite his dramatics, his commentary, his audacity—

You wanted him to like it

You hated that you wanted him to like it

But you did

Jin chewed slowly

Thoughtfully

Too thoughtfully

Your stomach twisted. "Well?"

He didn't answer

Just took another bite

Then another

Then another

You frowned. "Jin."

Still nothing

He kept eating

"Kim Seokjin."

Silence.

You leaned forward, squinting. "Are you just going to ignore me while you—"

"Hmm."

You stopped. "What does 'hmm' mean?"

He set his fork down gently.

Looked at you.

And for a second—just a second—you thought he was about to say something real.

Something honest

Something that would make all of this worth it

He inhaled

Straightened

And said—

"The flavors are... surprising."

You stared at him. "Surprising."

"Yes."

"Is that good or bad?"

He tilted his head. "It's... an experience."

"Jin."

He broke

Just slightly

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips

Then he picked up his fork again and kept eating

And eating

And eating

Until the plate was—

Empty

You blinked

Looked at the plate

Then at him

Then back at the plate

"...you finished it."

He wiped his mouth casually. "Of course."

"But you said—"

"I said it was an experience."

"That doesn't mean it was good!"

He shrugged. "I never said it wasn't."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, "I ate everything."

You hesitated

Because he was right

Annoyingly right

Still—

"That doesn't count," you muttered.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"Because you're just being nice."

Jin scoffed. "Nice? Me? Please. I'm a professional."

"A professional what? Liar?"

"A professional judge."

You rolled your eyes. "You're impossible."

"And you," he said, leaning forward slightly, voice softer now, less teasing, more... something else, "are better than you think."

You paused

Just for a second

Because that—that—didn't sound like part of the act.

"...don't try to fix it now," you said, looking away.

"I'm not fixing anything," he replied. "I'm just telling the truth."

You glanced at him again.

Suspicious

Softened

Confused

All at once

Then you huffed, grabbing the plate from the table. "Next time, I'm not cooking."

"Next time," he said immediately, standing and following you to the sink, "I'll cook."

You snorted. "That's worse."

He placed a hand over his heart. "You doubt me?"

"I've seen you burn water."

"That was one time."

"Twice."

"Exaggeration."

You shook your head, rinsing the plate. "Unbelievable."

Jin leaned against the counter beside you, watching you with that same quiet look from earlier, the one that didn't match his usual dramatics.

"You know," he said after a moment, "for a first attempt... it wasn't bad."

You glanced at him. "You already ate it. You don't get to revise your critique."

"I'm the judge. I can do whatever I want."

You rolled your eyes again—but this time, there was a small smile you couldn't quite hide.

And he noticed

Of course he did

Because Jin always noticed

And maybe—just maybe—

That was the real reason he never left your kitchen.

[kittenan]

PROM NIGHT

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader Genre: College AU, University Romance, Rivals-to-Lovers, Heated romance, flirty chaos, rom-com, fluff, smut, bickering, jealousy, sexual tension, pining Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content [messy make-out in locker room, oral m receiving, edging, fingering, rough sex, half clothed sex, Unprotected sex (refrain IRL)], Jealousy turning in makeout, Seokjin being cocky-smug just to annoy you and get your attention Rating: 18+| Minors DNI Word Count: ~7k [MASTERLIST]

You and Jin had been classmates since the first year of university, both stuck in the same Literature club every Wednesday afternoon.

He wasn’t even interested in literature—novels, symbolism, and long discussions about character arcs bored him to tears. But when he found out you had joined the Literature club, he signed up the very same day without a second thought.

From day one, the two of you couldn’t seem to stop bickering.

He always acted smug and cocky whenever you were around, throwing teasing remarks just to watch your face scrunch up in annoyance. What you didn’t know was that it was the only way he knew how to get your full attention, and secretly, he loved every second of it.

Every Wednesday he sat through endless book talks he barely cared about, just so he could steal glances at you and find excuses to pull your focus onto him.

Jin also had a younger brother, Namjoon, who was a year junior to both of you. Namjoon was also part of the Literature club, and surprisingly, you got along with him really well.

The two of you often discussed books, shared recommendations, and had easy, comfortable conversations.

This particular afternoon, the three of you were in the club room after the meeting ended. Most members had already left, leaving just you, Jin, and Namjoon packing up the discussion notes.

You turned to Namjoon with a playful smile as you stacked a few books. “Namjoon, seriously, how are you and your brother so different? Like, you actually read the assigned chapters and have intelligent thoughts about them. Jin just sits there looking pretty and making dumb jokes the whole time.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses. “We’ve always been like this. Hyung is… well, hyung.”

Jin, who was leaning against the table with his arms crossed, let out a dramatic scoff. “Excuse me? Looking pretty? I’ll take that as a compliment, sweetheart. At least someone appreciates my visuals in this boring club.”

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to hide it. “Visuals won’t help you pass the midterm paper if you keep summarizing every novel as ‘it was fine, I guess.’”

Jin smirked, that signature cocky tilt to his lips appearing instantly. “Why would I waste my genius on overanalyzing dusty old books when I can just watch you get all fired up instead? It’s much more entertaining.”

“Fired up?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You deliberately say the most ridiculous things just to annoy me, Kim Seokjin. Admit it.”

He shrugged, still wearing that smug expression.

Though inside his chest tightened. If only you knew I joined this club just to be near you. That I sit through all these meetings pretending to hate every page so I have an excuse to argue with you.

“Maybe I do. It’s the only way I get you to talk to me for more than two seconds. Otherwise you’re too busy being besties with my little brother over here.”

Namjoon shook his head with an amused sigh, flipping through the novel you had recommended to him last week. “You two are exhausting. Every single meeting it’s the same thing.”

You turned to Namjoon with a bright smile, completely ignoring Jin’s glare.

“See? This is what I mean. Namjoon actually reads the books I suggest. He even underlined passages! Last week he told me his thoughts and it was actually insightful. Meanwhile, your brother just said, ‘The girl was dramatic for no reason.’”

Jin pushed himself off the table and stepped closer to you, his voice dripping with mock offense. “She was dramatic! Running around and always arguing with some guy. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest. “Are you calling me dramatic right now?”

“Only when you’re arguing with me, which is always,” Jin replied smoothly, his eyes sparkling with that annoying confidence. “It’s cute, though. I like it when your cheeks get all red like that.”

“My cheeks are not red!” You protested, even as you felt warmth creeping up your face.

Namjoon laughed quietly from the side. “They kind of are.”

“Traitor,” you muttered, shooting Namjoon a playful glare before turning back to Jin.

“You know what? I have no idea how the two of you are related. Namjoon is calm, thoughtful, and actually listens when people talk. You’re just… you. All smug and loud and impossible.”

Jin placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Impossible? Wow. That hurts, sweetheart. Right here.”

He tapped his chest dramatically. “I thought we had something special with all this beautiful bickering.”

“Special?” You snorted. “The only special thing here is how much you enjoy getting on my nerves.”

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just for you. “And yet you never ignore me. Interesting, isn’t it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Namjoon interrupted before you could.

“Hyung, maybe stop teasing her so much,” Namjoon said mildly, though there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “One day she might actually stop talking to you.”

Jin waved a dismissive hand. “She won’t. She loves the attention as much as I do. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Keep calling me sweetheart and I’ll throw this book at your head,” you warned, holding up the thick novel in your hand.

Jin grinned wider. “Violent. I like that side of you too.”

Namjoon sighed again, packing his bag. “I’m going to leave before this turns into another full argument. See you both later.”

As Namjoon headed toward the door, you called after him sweetly, “Namjoon, wait! We should discuss that new recommendation sometime. Without your brother interrupting every five seconds with his nonsense.”

Jin immediately stepped in front of you, blocking your view of his brother. “Hey, no. You can discuss your boring books with me. I’m right here.”

You looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “You? You’ll probably just say it’s ‘fine’ again and then brag about how your face is better than the plot.”

“Exactly,” Jin said, flashing his most arrogant smile. “At least I’m honest. And way more fun than my nerdy little brother.”

Namjoon paused at the door, shaking his head with a small smile. “You two really need to figure this out someday.”

“Figure what out?” you asked, still glaring at Jin.

Namjoon just shrugged. “Nothing. See you around.”

He left the room, leaving you and Jin alone.

Jin turned back to you, still wearing that cocky smirk, but his eyes lingered on your face a little longer than usual. “So… still think my brother is better company than me?”

“Definitely,” you answered quickly, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be. “At least he doesn’t annoy me on purpose just to get my attention.”

Jin’s smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered. “Who said I do it on purpose?”

“You basically just admitted it two minutes ago.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his black hair. “Maybe I like having your eyes on me. Even if it’s because you’re mad. Ever think about that?”

You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the honesty hidden under his usual smug tone. Before you could respond, he straightened up and threw his signature cocky grin back on.

“Anyway, don’t get too cozy with Namjoon. I might get jealous.”

You laughed in disbelief. “Jealous? Of your own brother? Please.”

Jin just shrugged, picking up his bag. “You never know, sweetheart. You never know.”

He walked toward the door, but paused and glanced back at you one last time, that familiar smug look firmly in place. “See you next meeting. Try not to miss my charming personality too much.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips as he left.

“Idiot,” you muttered to the empty room.

But deep down, you already knew you’d be looking forward to the next bickering session.

A few days before prom, the Literature club meeting had just ended. Most members had left, but Jin lingered near your desk while you packed your things.

Jin leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, wearing that familiar smug smile. “So… prom is coming up. It’s going to be lame if someone doesn’t bring actual good company, don’t you think?”

You didn’t look up, continuing to zip your bag. “Hmm.”

He waited a beat, then tried again. “I mean, some people might end up going alone… or with someone boring. Would be a shame if the night got wasted on bad conversations.”

“Probably,” you replied flatly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Jin shifted, still trying to sound casual. “If someone smart wanted to avoid a terrible night, they should pick their date carefully. Someone with… taste. And good looks, obviously.”

You finally glanced at him, keeping your expression neutral. “Sounds like you have someone in mind.”

He smirked, but there was a slight hesitation in his eyes. “Maybe I do. Just saying… it would be interesting if certain people went together. You know, people who already argue well. Could make the night entertaining.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“What? I’m just making conversation,” he said, trying to sound innocent. “Prom is a big deal. Wouldn’t want you stuck with some random person who doesn’t even read the books you like.”

You stood up, ready to leave. “I’ll manage. See you later.”

Jin’s smirk faltered slightly as you walked past him. “Hey, wait... I was just saying it could be fun if—”

You didn’t stop. “Bye, Jin.”

He stood there, watching you go, muttering under his breath, “She’s ignoring obvious the hints…”

The next day, after classes, Namjoon caught up with you near the quiet corner of the library steps.

No one else was around.

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little awkward but straightforward. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you asked, smiling at him.

He took a breath. “Prom is in a couple of days, and I don’t have anyone to go with. I was wondering if you’d like to be my date? It’s not… you know, romantic or anything. I just thought it would be nice to go with someone I can actually talk to.”

“Plus, I’ve been reading that novel you suggested last week, and I really want to discuss the ending with you. I have so many thoughts about the protagonist’s choices.” He continued.

You blinked, then smiled warmly. “Really? You finished it already?”

“Yeah, I stayed up late last night. The way the author handled the moral dilemma was so well done. I wanted to hear what you think about the final chapter.”

You nodded, a small mischievous spark in your eyes.

Part of you knew this would push Jin over the edge, and honestly, you were tired of his proud, indirect hints. “Sure, Namjoon. I’d love to go with you. As friends, of course. And we can talk about the book all night if you want.”

Namjoon’s face brightened with relief. “Great! Thank you. I promise I won’t be a boring date. We can even grab coffee before and discuss the symbolism if you’re up for it.”

You laughed softly. “That sounds perfect. Friendly prom date it is.”

“Awesome. I’ll text you the details later,” he said, giving you a genuine smile before walking away.

That same night, at their home, Jin and Namjoon were sitting on the couch in the living room, controllers in hand, deeply focused on a fighting game. The sounds of punches and special moves filled the room.

Jin was trash-talking like usual. “Ha! Got you again. You’re too slow tonight, Namjoon. What’s up with you? Usually you put up more of a fight.”

Namjoon dodged an attack on screen and replied calmly, “I’m just thinking about prom.”

Jin snorted, mashing buttons aggressively. “Prom? Don’t tell me you’re still worrying about finding a date.”

Namjoon paused the game for a second, then casually said, “Actually, I already asked someone. She said yes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin replied without looking away from the TV. “Who? That quiet girl from your philosophy class?”

“No,” Namjoon said, still sounding completely relaxed. “I asked Y/n.”

Jin’s character on screen suddenly stopped moving. He slowly turned his head toward his brother, eyes wide. “Y/n? You mean… the Y/n from Literature club?”

Namjoon nodded, unpausing the game like it was no big deal. “Yeah. I asked her after classes today. She said yes. We’re going as friends. We want to discuss that novel she recommended to me last week. I’ve been reading it and I have a lot of thoughts about the ending.”

Jin dropped his controller onto the couch, staring at Namjoon in disbelief. “Wait… what? You asked her? Directly?”

“Mhm,” Namjoon replied, eyes still on the screen. “She seemed happy about it. Said it would be nice.”

Jin’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he exploded. “WTF, Kim Namjoon! Why would you ask her?!”

Namjoon shrugged, still playing the game. “Because she’s cool to talk to. And I didn’t have a date. Plus, I really wanted to discuss the novel with someone who actually understands it.”

Jin stood up from the couch, voice rising. “No, I mean... why her?! Of all the girls in the university, why did you have to ask her?!”

“Because someone was too proud to ask her directly,” Namjoon said simply, finally pausing the game and looking up at his brother with a small, knowing smile.

Jin pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Excuse me? Too proud? I was being subtle! I was dropping hints all week! I told her prom would be lame without good company, that someone with taste should pick their date carefully. I practically spelled it out!”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Those weren’t hints, hyung. Those were vague comments. She probably thought you were just complaining about prom in general.”

“I was not complaining!” Jin exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I was trying to make it obvious without sounding desperate. And now you... my own brother... go and ask her directly?!”

Namjoon leaned back on the couch, calm as ever. “She said yes. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Jin repeated, his voice getting louder. “Why would you go with my girl?”

Namjoon blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. “She is not your girl yet, hyung. You’ve just been bickering with her for months and acting smug to get her attention. That doesn’t make her your girl.”

Jin groaned, pacing in front of the couch. “It does in my head! I’ve been annoying her on purpose because I like having her eyes on me. And now you’re taking her to prom to discuss some stupid novel? While I’m stuck here—”

Namjoon interrupted gently, “It’s still not too late, maybe if you ask her directly.”

Jin stopped pacing and glared at his brother. “Don’t give me advice right now. You’re the one who ruined everything by asking her first.”

“I didn’t ruin anything,” Namjoon said, picking up his controller again. “I just did what you were too proud to do. If you really want her to go with you, just ask her properly tomorrow. Stop hiding behind those cocky comments.”

Jin threw his hands up in annoyance. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation. I can’t believe my own little brother betrayed me like this.”

He turned and stormed off toward his bedroom, muttering loudly, “Unbelievable. Asking her directly… my girl… discussing novels at prom… I’m going to bed before I say something worse.”

Namjoon watched him go, calling after him calmly, “Goodnight, hyung. Think about what I said.”

From the hallway, Jin shouted back, “Shut up, Namjoon! And stop smiling like that!”

The sound of Jin’s bedroom door slamming echoed through the house.

The next day in the university hallway, Jin was leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

His black hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed in that exact intense, jealous glare... eyebrows furrowed deeply, jaw clenched, lips pressed together in clear irritation and anger.

The moment you walked closer, he pushed off the wall and stepped right in front of you, voice low and sharp. “So… you’re really going to prom with my brother?”

You stopped, looking up at his furious expression with a small smirk. “Looks like it. Namjoon asked so nicely. Sounds way better than vague hints from someone too proud to say what he wants.”

Jin’s jaw tightened even more, his glare intensifying. “Vague hints? I was being considerate! I told you prom would be lame without good company. I said someone with actual taste should pick their date carefully. That was practically an invitation!”

You tilted your head, deliberately poking at him. “Oh, was it? Because it sounded more like you complaining about prom in general. Meanwhile Namjoon was straightforward. No smug comments, no cocky attitude… just a simple ‘will you go with me?’ Maybe I like that better.”

Jin’s eyes flashed with more jealousy. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? To annoy me. You know I’ve been trying to get your attention for months with our bickering, and now you say yes to him just to watch me explode?”

“Maybe,” you said sweetly, shrugging. “It’s entertaining watching the great Kim Seokjin get all mad and jealous. Your face is all red and everything.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off with a light laugh. “Anyway, I should get to class. See you later, Jin.”

You walked past him, leaving him standing there fuming with that same narrowed, angry glare.

Later that afternoon, you were alone in the quiet locker room, putting some books away in your locker. The door suddenly opened and Jin slipped inside, closing it behind him with a firm click as he locked it from the inside.

He turned to face you, still wearing that mad, jealous expression, arms crossed. “We’re not done talking.”

You turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Jin? What the hell? You can’t just lock us in here.”

“Oh yes I can,” he said, stepping closer, voice tight with frustration. “Because you keep ignoring me and acting like going with Namjoon is no big deal. It is a big deal!”

You crossed your arms, matching his energy. “It’s not like you asked me directly. You just made those stupid comments and expected me to read your mind. Namjoon actually said the words. ‘Will you be my date?’ Simple as that.”

Jin ran a hand through his hair in frustration, still glaring at you with that mad, jealous intensity. “I can’t believe I have to say this directly because of him, but fine. I’m jealous. I’m mad. I don’t want you going with Namjoon. I want you going with me.”

Before you could answer, the tension snapped.

Jin closed the remaining distance in one step, cupping your face with both hands and pulling you into a messy, heated kiss. His lips crashed against yours, all frustration and jealousy pouring out as he backed you against the lockers with a dull thud.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands gripping the front of his jacket, the bickering finally boiling over into something raw and desperate.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you gasped between kisses, nipping at his bottom lip. “Always acting so smug… making me wait for you to say it properly.”

Jin groaned against your mouth, pressing his body flush against yours. “And you love it. You love arguing with me. Admit it. That’s why you said yes to Namjoon—to make me snap like this.”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, tugging at his hair hard enough to make him hiss.

“But you’re the one who’s been too proud to just ask me. All those stupid hints… ‘good company’… ‘someone with taste’… You’re such an idiot, Seokjin.”

He deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a hot, messy tangle, his hands sliding down your sides to grip your waist possessively.

“Shut up… just shut up for once,” he muttered breathlessly, though his words had no real bite.

“You drive me crazy. Every time you bicker back, every time you roll your eyes at me… I can’t stop thinking about you. And now you were going to prom with my brother? Over my dead body.”

You moaned softly into his mouth as his hands roamed lower, pulling you even closer.

Your fingers threaded tighter into his black hair, tugging again. “Then why didn’t you just say it earlier? Why make me wait until you’re jealous and pissed off?”

“Because I’m stupid,” Jin admitted between heated kisses, his voice rough and low. “But I’m saying it now. I want you. Not as a hint. Not as a joke. I want you with me at prom. I want your attention all night. Only mine.”

The kiss grew deeper, tongues tangling wildly, breaths coming fast and uneven. Jin’s hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as if afraid you’d disappear.

You tugged at his hair again, earning a low, throaty groan from him that vibrated against your lips.

“Fuck… you taste so good,” he panted, breaking the kiss for just a second to breathe before diving back in, sucking on your lower lip. “Even when you’re annoying me… even when you’re trying to make me jealous… I still want you so bad.”

You smiled against his mouth, nipping at him playfully.

“Good. Because I’ve been waiting for you to stop being cocky and just admit it.”

Jin pressed his forehead to yours for a moment, both of you breathing hard, lips brushing. “I admit it. I’m jealous as hell. I’m mad. And I’m done pretending I don’t want you all to myself.”

That’s when you felt it... his obvious hardness pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants.

You pulled back slightly, eyes widening as a teasing smirk crossed your face. “TF... Kim Seokjin… you’re hard? Just from kissing?”

Jin’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let out a shaky laugh, voice husky and low. “You don’t know what you do to me. You never have. All that bickering… every time you argue with me and look at me like that… it drives me insane. I’ve been like this for months because of you.”

You bit your lip, glancing down between you before meeting his eyes again, voice dropping into something bolder. “Want me to take care of it?”

His eyes widened, surprise flashing across his jealous, flushed face. “Wait… here?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you sank down to your knees in front of him, eyes locked on his the entire time.

“Shut up,” you murmured, already working on his zipper with steady fingers, voice husky and teasing. “You’ve been annoying me for months with all that smug attitude. Let me shut you up for once.”

Jin’s head fell back against the locker with a loud thud, breath already ragged. “Fuck… you’re really doing this right now? In the locker room?”

You pulled his cock free, already hard and leaking.

You wrapped your hand around the base and gave one slow stroke, looking up at him with a wicked smile. “Why not? You locked the door, remember? All because you were so jealous of your own brother.”

You leaned in and ran your tongue slowly along the underside, teasing the head with light flicks.

Jin’s hips jerked forward involuntarily.

“Shit— baby…” he groaned, one hand gently threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding on. “Don’t tease me like that. I’m already losing my mind.”

You pulled back just enough to blow cool air over the wet tip, watching him shiver. “But teasing is what we do best, isn’t it? You’ve been edging me with those stupid hints for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

You took him into your mouth, sucking slowly and deliberately, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed your head. Every time his moans grew louder and his hips started thrusting more desperately, you pulled off completely, stroking him lazily with your hand instead.

Jin whined, actual desperation creeping into his voice. “No... fuck, don’t stop. Please… don’t stop now.”

You looked up at him innocently, lips shiny. “Please? That’s new. The great Kim Seokjin begging? I thought you were too proud for that.”

“I am begging,” he panted, eyes dark and glassy, fingers tightening in your hair. “Please… put your mouth back on me. I need it. You’re killing me here.”

You smirked and took him deep again, swirling your tongue around the head before sucking harder, faster. His broken moans filled the small room.

“Ah— yes, just like that… fuck, your mouth feels so good. I’ve imagined this so many times when you were arguing with me.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tremble.

Then you pulled off with a wet pop, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his length, light little pecks from base to tip, deliberately avoiding where he needed you most.

“Tell me,” you whispered against his cock, placing another soft kiss right under the head.

“What exactly did you imagine while we were bickering in club? Did you picture me on my knees like this? Sucking you off after every argument?”

Jin let out a broken whine, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Fuck… yes. Every time you called me an idiot or rolled your eyes at me… I’d go home and imagine shutting you up with my cock down your throat. Or bending you over the club table after everyone left… God, please... stop teasing.”

You smiled and gave his tip one more soft, open-mouthed kiss before taking him back in, sucking harder for a few moments, tongue swirling.

Just as his breathing turned frantic and his hips started stuttering, you pulled off again, stroking him torturously slow.

Jin let out a frustrated groan, head thunking back against the locker. “You’re evil… such a tease. I was so close... please, baby, let me come. I’ll do anything. Just stop edging me.”

“Anything?” you asked sweetly, licking a long stripe up his length while keeping eye contact. “Even admit that you’ve been dying for my attention all this time? That you get hard every time we bicker?”

“Yes— fuck yes,” he gasped, voice cracking.

“I get hard every single time you glare at me. Every time you call me an idiot. I’ve wanted you so bad for months. Please… I’m begging you. Let me come in your mouth.”

You rewarded him by taking him all the way to the back of your throat, sucking with purpose now, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit.

Jin’s moans turned into desperate, broken whimpers.

“Oh god— I’m close… I’m so close. Don’t stop— please don’t stop this time.”

You didn’t.

You worked him faster, tongue pressing against the sensitive underside, until his entire body tensed.

“Fuck... I’m coming...!” Jin choked out your name like a curse and a prayer as he came hard down your throat, hips jerking, hand gripping your hair tightly while his body trembled against the lockers.

You swallowed everything, then slowly pulled off, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you stood up.

Both of you were breathing hard, faces flushed.

Jin stared at you, eyes still dark but softer now, the jealousy mixed with pure want and satisfaction.

Before you could speak, he pulled you back in for another deep, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

When you finally pulled apart, you looked at him with a teasing smile and said, “Don’t you think it will be rude to say no to Namjoon now? He has already asked me for prom.”

Jin’s eyes darkened instantly, jealousy flaring hot again. His breath hitched as he pressed you harder against the lockers, voice low and rough. “Rude? You’re still teasing me about my brother? After you just sucked me off like that?”

You smirked, biting your lip. “What? It’s true. He asked so nicely… said we could talk about the novel all night. Sounds cool, doesn’t it?”

“Cool?” Jin growled, one hand sliding down your body possessively.

He pushed your skirt up roughly and hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them aside. “You think discussing books with my little brother is cool while I’m standing here hard again because of you?”

His fingers brushed over your already wet pussy, teasing your folds lightly, circling your clit without giving you any real pressure.

You gasped, hips twitching toward his hand.

“Jin…” you breathed, trying to sound steady but failing.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with jealousy and heat. “No. You’re not going with him. You’re soaked right now because of me. Because I finally snapped and told you I want you”

You let out a soft moan as he rubbed slow, teasing circles over your clit, barely dipping his fingers between your folds. “Then why are you still so jealous? I was just joking…”

“Joking?” He pressed two fingers against your entrance, rubbing up and down but not pushing in yet, spreading your wetness.

“Every time you mention his name it makes me want to remind you who you really belong with. Who makes you this wet.”

He finally pushed one finger inside you, curling it slowly while his thumb kept teasing your clit.

You moaned louder, gripping his velvet jacket.

“Fuck… Jin, stop teasing,” you whimpered, hips rocking against his hand.

“Teasing? This is nothing compared to what you just did to me,” he murmured, adding a second finger and thrusting them deeper, faster. “You edged me until I was begging. Now it’s your turn. Tell me… if anyone else can make you this wet?”

“No... ah... only you,” you gasped, head falling back against the locker. “Stop being so jealous and just fuck me already.”

Jin’s eyes flashed with dark satisfaction. He pulled his fingers out, quickly tugging his pants down a little more. “That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t bother undressing fully.

He lifted one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist, and pushed into you in one rough thrust, both of you moaning at the feeling.

“Shit... you feel so good,” he groaned, starting to move with hard, deep strokes, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the small locker room. “This is what you get for trying to make me jealous. My cock instead of his stupid book talk.”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his jacket as he fucked you against the lockers. “Harder… Jin— fuck, yes. You’re so jealous over nothing… but it’s hot.”

He laughed breathlessly, pounding into you faster, one hand gripping your hip while the other held your thigh up. “Nothing? You said yes to him just to watch me snap. Admit it. You wanted me to get mad and claim you like this.”

“Yes... ah... I did,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts. “I wanted you to stop being proud and just take what you want.”

“I’m taking it now,” he growled, kissing you messily, tongues tangling as he fucked you harder. “You’re mine. Not Namjoon’s prom date. Mine.”

The pace turned frantic, half-clothed and desperate, your panties still pushed aside, his pants barely down his thighs. You could feel yourself getting close, clenching around him.

“Jin... I’m gonna come—”

“Come for me,” he demanded, voice rough. “Come on my cock...”

You came hard with a cry, body shaking against him.

Jin fucked you through it, groaning at how tight you got, but he didn’t finish inside. He pulled out suddenly, breathing ragged. “On your knees again. Now.”

You dropped down without hesitation.

Jin stroked himself fast, aiming at your open mouth.

“Fuck— take it. Swallow everything like a good girl,” he panted.

You took him back into your mouth just as he came again, moaning around him while he spilled down your throat for the second time. He trembled, hand in your hair, whispering your name hoarsely.

When it was over, you swallowed and stood up, both of you flushed and breathing heavily, clothes rumpled and skin sticky.

Jin blinked, still catching his breath, then shook his head firmly. “No. I’m not letting you go with him.”

He turned slightly and opened his nearby locker, pulling out a small packet of wet wipes.

Without a word, he gently cleaned between your legs first, wiping away the mess with surprisingly careful touches, then cleaned himself.

“Stay still,” he murmured, voice still rough but softer now. “Can’t have you walking around like this after I just fucked you against the lockers.”

You let out a small laugh, cheeks warm. “Look at you being all caring after acting so jealous and possessive.”

Jin smirked as he tossed the used wipes away and grabbed his extra jacket from the locker. He draped it over your shoulders, helping you slide your arms in.

The jacket was big on you, and it smelled like him.

“There. Now everyone will know you’re with me,” he said, zipping it up halfway and tugging you closer by the collar. “My jacket looks better on you anyway. And it covers up how wrecked you are from me.”

You raised an eyebrow, still teasing. “So possessive. Are you going to march me to Namjoon like this?”

“Exactly,” Jin replied, taking your hand firmly in his, fingers interlaced. “We’re going to talk to him together. Right now. I’m not letting my little brother think he can take you to prom after what just happened in here.”

He unlocked the door and pulled you along with him, still holding your hand tightly as you both stepped out.

You couldn’t resist poking at him more. “What are you going to say? ‘Stay away from my girl because I just fucked her in the locker room’?”

Jin squeezed your hand, glancing at you with that familiar cocky-yet-jealous smirk. “Something like that. I’ll tell him I finally asked you directly and you’re going with me.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his side as you walked.

He gave your hand another squeeze, voice dropping lower. “And later… we’re finishing what we started properly. No more teasing about my brother.”

You smiled, squeezing back. “We’ll see. You still owe me for all those months of smug comments.”

Jin leaned in quickly to press a kiss to your temple. “Deal. But first... let’s go tell Namjoon he’s officially uninvited as your date.”

Jin held your hand tightly as he pulled you straight toward the Literature club room where Namjoon was still sitting alone, flipping through a book.

You were still wearing Jin’s oversized jacket, the sleeves a bit too long on you, and your cheeks were still flushed from everything that had just happened in the locker room.

The moment Jin pushed the door open, he didn’t waste any time.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jin announced loudly, stepping inside with you right beside him, your fingers still interlaced.

“Stay away from her. She’s going to prom with me now. I asked her directly... well, after I finally snapped because of your little stunt — and she’s mine. So back off. Got it?”

Namjoon looked up from his book, eyes shifting between the two of you... your messy hair, Jin’s slightly disheveled appearance, and most obviously, you wearing Jin’s jacket.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

He closed the book calmly and leaned back in his chair. “Oh? You finally did it, hyung?”

“Yes, I did it!” Jin exclaimed, gesturing dramatically with his free hand while still gripping yours.

“After you casually dropped during gaming last night that you asked her to prom and she said yes, I lost it… and well, things happened. But the point is... she’s going with me now. So stay away from my girl.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Your girl, huh? Took you long enough. I was starting to think you two would keep bickering forever without doing anything about it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, squeezing Jin’s hand. “Wait… what do you mean?”

Namjoon shrugged, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“I plotted the whole thing. I asked you to prom because I knew you’d say yes just to push hyung’s buttons. Then I casually told him while we were gaming. I wanted him to explode with jealousy. And look — it worked perfectly.”

Jin’s mouth fell open, his jealous energy shifting into pure disbelief. “You… you schemed this? My own brother? You told me ‘because someone was too proud to ask directly’ on purpose?”

“Exactly,” Namjoon replied with a calm laugh. “You’ve both been pining for months. It was painful watching you two dance around each other. So I decided to give you both the push you needed. Jealousy is a great motivator, right?”

Jin ran his free hand through his hair, still holding yours tightly.

“Unbelievable. You asked her out knowing I liked her? You let me rant about how you were taking ‘my girl’ to prom while we were playing games?”

Namjoon nodded, completely unfazed. “Yep. And it worked. You finally confessed, locked her in the locker room, and now she’s wearing your jacket. Mission accomplished. You two stopped pining and actually did something about it.”

You laughed, leaning against Jin’s side. “So the whole ‘friendly prom date to discuss the novel’ was just bait?”

“Pretty much,” Namjoon admitted with a grin.

“I really did want to talk about the book, but that was secondary. I figured if hyung saw you saying yes to me, he’d finally drop the proud act and tell you straight that he wants you.”

Jin groaned, but there was clear relief mixed with lingering annoyance in his voice. “You’re the worst little brother ever. I was genuinely mad and jealous. I thought you were actually trying to steal her.”

“Not steal,” Namjoon said lightly. “Just… helped. Now you can both go to prom together, argue, make out, whatever you want — as long as you stop making the rest of us suffer through your endless bickering.”

Jin pointed at him with his free hand, still holding yours possessively. “Fine. But stay away from her from now on. No more asking her to prom, no more cozy book talks that make me jealous. She’s going with me. End of story.”

Namjoon chuckled again, raising his hands in surrender. “Relax, hyung. I won’t. She was never mine anyway. She’s been yours since the first time she called you an idiot in club and you smirked like an idiot back.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You two are ridiculous. But… thank you, I guess? Even if your method was sneaky.”

“Don’t thank him,” Jin muttered, tugging you closer. “He’s still in trouble for making me suffer through that gaming session.”

Namjoon leaned forward, his smile turning slightly mischievous as he looked at both of you. “Hyung… well, just don’t get caught on campus while doing stuffs. That’s all.”

Jin’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing as he realized what Namjoon was implying.

Namjoon shrugged innocently, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “The jacket, the flushed faces, the way you’re both still breathing a little heavy… I’m not blind. Just be careful next time.”

You buried your face against Jin’s shoulder, half embarrassed, half laughing. “Oh my god…”

Jin groaned loudly, squeezing your hand tighter. “I hate you. I really hate you right now.”

Namjoon laughed warmly. “No, you don’t. You’re welcome. Now go enjoy your prom planning. And hyung — try not to be too smug about finally getting the girl. We all saw it coming.”

Jin pulled you toward the door, still muttering under his breath but unable to hide the small, satisfied smile on his face. “Come on, let’s get out of here before my scheming brother says anything else embarrassing.”

As you both left the room, Jin leaned down and whispered in your ear, “He’s right about one thing though… you look really good in my jacket. And next time, we’re doing this properly. Not in a locker room.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand back. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Jealous.”

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex . @bebabido . @seokjinxlia

[mysingularitybts]

ORAL FIXATION(S) || KIM SEOKJIN X READER

blurb: jin has an oral hyperfixation...kissing

pairing: idol!kim seokjin x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: slight foul language, kinda smutty but not really, just lots of kissing and some mentions of sex

a/n: it's been nearly four years since i last published a fic here but i've recently been on a bts high with the comeback and the tour so here...have this prompt as a gift!

it partially came about cause i was watching this kdrama and you know how tame their kisses are, and while i love the drama i just want them to kiss properly!! so then i began thinking of bts and the array of jin thirst traps on them and now i am here...enjoy!

Out of all the members of BTS, no one would believe you if you said that Kim Seokjin would have the most prominent oral fixation. Some would argue Jungkook, with his mischievous grin, or perhaps Namjoon, as the mv theories suggest, but Jin?

No, ARMY wouldn’t peg the comedic, protective member to possess such a characteristic.

Their mistake to make. He is the one always blowing kisses to his fans, a clear reflection of his personality.

Much like them, you were left to discover this trait all by yourself. It was quite shocking because Jin never held back; it's not in his nature. A kiss is meant to be enjoyed between two people, and he intends to take full advantage of the opportunity.

From that first kiss, Jin memorizes your shallow breaths on his cheeks as he nears your personal bubble, his hand gently yet firmly resting on your cheek. He looks into your wide eyes and down your lips.

The lull right before a kiss is his favorite. The stutter in your breath from expectation. Will he or won't he?

He can't help brushing his plump lips on yours before you give him permission. Your gasp is a tease all in itself. He practices restraint, his hand on your waist, grasping your clothes.

He thanks whatever cosmic entity exists when you subtly nod and push forward. His restraint vanishes with that minuscule action. Jin moves his lips eagerly, enveloping yours in an intense kiss. You close your eyes and hear the sharp intake of breath, a sigh of relief. As if the restraint was pure torture.

Kim Seokjin is an intoxicating person, yet his kiss surpasses everything you've ever known. He pours every wish and desire into it as if they'll vanish if he so much as pulls away from you.

Truth is, Kim Seokjin would rather have his mouth pressed against your lips than have his dick wet. The sound of content in the back of your throat endears him further.

Jin loves his fans, loves the cheers mid-concert, loves his bandmates, and loves all the experiences they've shared over so many years.

There's nothing he loves more, though, than pulling you completely flush against him to feel your curves against his lean body. The way your chest rises and falls as you try to keep up with him. The hand on your cheek journeys to your hair, pulling on a knot that has an alluring moan erupting from your lips.

It's the perfect opportunity for him to slip his eager tongue past the seam of your lips, successfully deepening the kiss as he tilts his head. Jin completely ignores the pain in his neck from leaning down for so long. Nothing will stop him from kissing the life out of you.

He tilts his head to achieve that better angle. His lips never tire of moving. They never tire of tasting your sweet mouth. That hand in the back of your neck guides you, complying with his every wish. While the other drags down your back, squeezing your curves along the way.

He’s hyperaware of the way your body reacts to him. Your face flushes warm, your hands grip him tight, closer and closer, your chest quickly rising and falling until you have to pull away. You’re no singer; your breath control is plainly average.

"Jin..." his name is the only thought you can formulate. You're lightheaded from a kiss that is far from simple. This is not what you expected from Jin, not that you’re complaining. He has your skin feeling on fire.

Jin is so merciful that he gives you a break. His slick lips kissing your cheek, your jaw, down your neck, sucking red bruises that’ll fade in a couple of hours. "You taste so fucking sweet," Jin's voice vibrates against your skin.

That's only the first kiss.

As feelings and familiarity continue to grow, the more intense Jin becomes. He's shameless about it. He is who he is, and he likes what he likes.

Seokjin would much rather have a steamy make-out session than a quickie. He would much rather have you grinding on his thigh as he swallows every precious sound you make. His tongue licking the roof of your mouth.

Small pecks are unacceptable. If you wish to touch his lips with yours, expect more than a peck, expect movement.

"I'm heading out now, Jinnie," you mention, approaching him from where he sits watching TV.

"Will you have dinner with your friends or should I make something?" He asks, pausing the TV and standing. He places his hands on your hips, swaying you lightly. Moments of domesticity quickly become scarce as his agenda fills up after enlistment. “You look beautiful.”

"I'll have dinner with the girls," you smile, grateful for his attentiveness. Leaning into him, you quickly peck his lips and step back to head out.

His hands don't budge, holding you in place. "Huh?" Looking up at him, you find him with furrowed eyebrows and a prominent pout, "What was that?" He asks firmly.

"A kiss?" You shrug, throwing him a questioning glance.

"You call that a kiss? Have I taught you nothing?" He says, exasperated, mouth agape with offense.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, "Are you serious?"

"I am! Come here, it seems like you need another lesson in French Kissing 101," he chastises, hand on your cheek as his thumb caresses your cheek.

He ignores your pleas and complains that you'd be late, holding you still and dipping his head to press his pillowy lips on your talking ones. They are effective in silencing you. You're quickly swept away, briefly forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

Expect wet, messy kisses day and night. He’s not scared of saliva. He wants that string between the two of you when he’s forced to pull away. Hell, he will spit in your mouth and kiss you after to get it back if you let him.

Adores pinching your cheeks so your lips pucker, the gesture riling him up more than he cares to admit. Such an adorable gesture was corrupted by him.

Let’s not forget how utterly beautiful you look afterward with mussed, tangled hair, lips of various shades of pink, and a heaving chest. He will wipe your wet lips himself, an action reserved solely for him; no one but him is allowed to touch your mouth.

For Kim Seokjin, kissing should be an Olympic sport. Kissing is very important for him emotionally, but it's such a physical thing. He will pour every ounce of energy he has into one. Eyes closed, hands restless, head tilting, jaw opening and closing, tongue licking. Must be one of the reasons his face and jaw are so defined.

You're a quick learner, taking tricks from his book and applying them yourself. The one that sends him spiraling and coming in his pants is lip biting. That fucker will bite your lips when he makes out with you, leaving them swollen and red. So when you copy him and pull at his bottom lip with your teeth, he's done.

Because, yes, if the make out is good enough and he has you grinding against him, he will cum in his pants. Not a care in the world.

At your most comfortable, when he's unable to reach and kiss you, you'll apply a thick layer of lip gloss that reminds him of how your lips look after a lengthy session on his couch to tease him. To deny Jin access to your lips is pure torture. As dramatic as it sounds, he would much rather have 24/7 dance drills than have restricted access to your lips.

Granted, there are other ways he can put his mouth to use, but those are stories for another day.

liked this oneshot? like, reblog or let me know in the comments!

[kittenan]

Masterpiece

Pairing: Jin x reader Warnings: Fluff, post-intimacy fun and teasing, smut-ish touch Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Word Count: ~1.3k (Drabble Prompt: The concept of him casually going back to playing his game shirtless, scratch marks all over his back after an intense lovemaking session.) Inspiration post: by @bebabido [MASTERLIST]

The soft clicking of the controller filled the room again.

You were still sprawled across the bed, sheets tangled around your legs, watching the broad line of Kim Seokjin’s back as he sat at the edge of the mattress.

Completely shirtless... Completely unbothered...

Completely focused on Mario Kart, rainbow road stretching across the screen.

You couldn’t stop staring. Your eyes narrowed from the pillows as you watched him.

His broad shoulders moved every time his thumbs flicked the buttons, muscles flexing slightly… and the thin red scratch marks running down his back caught the light every time he leaned forward.

Your handiwork... long pink scratch marks trailing over his shoulders and dipping dangerously low toward the waistband of his sweatpants—glowed faintly under the TV’s shifting colors.

Without even turning around, he muttered, “You’re staring.”

You blinked. “How do you even know that?”

Jin snorted, thumbs still moving over the controller as he dodged a blue shell. “Because the room got suspiciously quiet. That only happens when you’re plotting something… or admiring me.”

You rolled onto your side, chin resting in your palm.

“In this case, I’m admiring.”

“Admiring... What exactly?” He chuckled.

The blanket slipped as you sat up.

You winced slightly, thighs trembling when you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. A dull, delicious ache bloomed between your legs with every small movement... evidence of how thoroughly he’d wrecked you earlier.

You grabbed the sheet anyway, wrapping it around yourself like a robe before getting out of bed. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, but you padded across the room regardless, limping and sighing just a little.

Each step sent a tiny, secret throb through your core.

Jin’s shoulders shook once—with silent laughter.

“Something funny?” you asked, voice still a little hoarse.

He didn’t look away from the screen, but the corner of his mouth curled. “You’re limping. Cute.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks heating. “This is your fault.”

“Proudly,” he replied without missing a beat, drifting past Bowser on the final lap.

You reached him and traced one of the scratches down his back with your fingertip, slow and deliberate. “BTW... I was admiring my masterpiece.”

Jin paused the game.

Slowly... Dramatically...

Then he turned his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“Masterpiece?” he repeated. “You attacked like you were climbing a mountain.”

You gasped. “Excuse you. That was passion... and love...”

“Mhmm,” he said skeptically.

Your fingers kept gliding over the marks, softer now. “Besides… you’re clearly proud of them. Look at you. Sitting here shirtless like a walking art gallery, playing Mario Kart like nothing happened.”

Seokjin leaned forward slightly, pretending to concentrate on the frozen screen.

“Wait... wait—wait—NO... DON’T—” He groaned, unpausing just long enough to replay the memory of lose. “You distracted me.”

“You were losing anyway.”

“I was not losing,” he protested.

You hummed thoughtfully while your fingers again traced the faint red lines on his back. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and he visibly shivered, shoulders rolling under your palm.

“Careful,” he warned, voice dropping an octave.

“Why?” you teased, dragging a finger down another mark, letting your nail catch just enough to make him tense. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he muttered. “…it tickles.”

That made you grin wider. “You’re such a baby.”

“Hey,” he protested, finally glancing over his shoulder fully. “You’re the one who attacked me like a feral cat earlier.”

You leaned closer to inspect your handiwork, then... on impulse... leaned forward and lightly kissed one of the scratch marks, lips brushing warm skin.

Seokjin froze. Completely froze.

The controller stopped moving.

Jin huffed a laugh and suddenly grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward.

Before you could protest, you landed sideways in his lap, the sheet bunching up around your hips. Your bare thighs pressed against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, and you immediately felt him—already half-hard beneath you, thick and insistent.

“Jin—!”

He started another round of the game with one hand like nothing had happened, the other sliding possessively around your waist.

“You were distracting me,” he said calmly.

“You literally pulled me here!”

“Exactly.”

You tried to glare, but it was hard when he was already nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, warm breath brushing your skin, lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Then he reached over, and grabbed the second controller, and pressed it into your hands.

“Race with me,” he said, voice low and playful, eyes flicking to yours for a split second before returning to the screen. “One round. Winner gets to decide what happens next.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, fingers curling around the controller even as your hips shifted—just enough to grind down once, slow and teasing, feeling him twitch and thicken beneath you in response.

His arm automatically tightened around your waist to keep you steady, fingers digging into your hip.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice rougher now.

“Are you?”

“Mhm.” His thumb stroked the underside of your breast through the thin sheet. “Very.”

A quiet moment passed.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest while the starting countdown began to flash on screen—3… 2… 1…

His chin absentmindedly rested on top of your head.

Another few seconds.

The race started.

You both lurched forward instinctively, controllers clicking furiously.

Then few minutes later his lips brushed against your neck again—this time open-mouthed, a slow, wet drag of tongue that made your breath hitch and your grip on the controller falter.

You smirked.

“Focus on your game, Kim Seokjin.”

“Multitasking,” he murmured against your skin, teeth grazing lightly.

“I literally just beat you,” you reminded him, smirking as you swerved around a banana peel.

He looked at the screen and pouted. You laughed softly.

Slowly… he turned his head toward you, lips brushing your ear.

“…let’s finish this one more level,” he said calmly. “And then we’re having a serious conversation about your artistic skills.”

You grinned. “Oh?”

He smirked, free hand sliding beneath the sheet to cup your bare ass, squeezing once—hard enough to make you gasp and rock forward against the growing bulge in his lap.

“And this time,” he added, voice dropping to that low, velvet register that always made your stomach flip, “I’m leaving the lights on so I can see exactly where you’re attacking… and I am making sure you can’t walk straight tomorrow.”

You jolted when his thumb brushed the sensitive crease where your thigh met hip.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the slick heat between your thighs, circling your entrance with maddening patience while his other hand still gripped the controller like he wasn’t currently ruining you with the lightest touch.

“Jin,” you hissed, trying to keep your kart on the track.

“Hm?” he answered mildly, voice velvet-smooth against your ear. “Something wrong, baby?”

You clenched your jaw and mashed the button harder, accelerating out of a drift. “You’re cheating.”

“I’m multitasking,” he corrected, lips curving against the shell of your ear. His thumb stroked once... slow, feather-light, along the slick seam of your folds.

Not dipping in. Not yet. Just… reminding you he could. “You’re the one squirming.”

“Because you’re...” Your breath hitched as he pressed the pad of his thumb flat against your clit, holding it there without moving while you both barrelled toward the item boxes. “...distracting me.”

“Good.” He nipped the spot beneath your earlobe. “Means it’s working.”

“Fuck—Jin!” Every tiny shift of your hips ground you down on him in return.

“Gonna come before you win?” he teased, lips brushing sweat-damp skin. “Or are you gonna be good and wait until I pin you down and fuck you properly?”

Your answer was half moan, half growl. “I’m... gonna... beat you... and then ride you until you forget how to talk.”

“Finish the race, baby,” he whispered against your ear, thumb brushing your clit just once—enough to make your whole body jolt. “Then it’s my turn to leave some marks.”

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex . @seokjinxlia

[stlllle]

Friends with benefits

Notes: Writing this just because I realized I have basically NOTHING about BTS, not even about my husband Jin, and that might be bad but I tried

Words:10k

Tag:Friends to Lovers,smut,idol AU,light ,angst,fluff,jealous, comedy (??)

Main masterlist / masterlist bts

You never thought that a simple stack of damp reports would change your life so much.

It had been almost six years since that rainy autumn afternoon in the hallways of the old BigHit building. You were just a nervous marketing intern, newly arrived, your feet slipping on the polished floor. The folders flew everywhere. And there he was — Kim Seokjin, still in his practice clothes damp with sweat, brown hair stuck to his forehead, wearing that ridiculously wide and perfect smile.

“Hey, careful there!” He grabbed your arm firmly, preventing the fall. “If you fall, I’ll have to save you and then tweet that the Worldwide Handsome performed an epic rescue. Imagine the trending topic.”

You laughed. He laughed. And that’s how it all began.

In the first few months, the friendship was light and easy. Jin would include you in staff lunches whenever he saw you eating alone in the cafeteria. He’d send you pictures of the meals he cooked at home with ridiculous captions: “Look at this kimchi jjigae. Want me to save you some or are you going to keep surviving on coffee and despair?” You reciprocated by bringing him strong coffee when he complained about headaches or ibuprofen after long dance practices.

Over time, the friendship grew deeper. It became something rare in the middle of that chaotic idol world. Jin told you things few people knew: the pressure of being the “visual” of the group, the frustration of wanting to be recognized as a singer and composer too, the insane homesickness. You vented to him about your insecurities, the burnout of working in the industry, and how your relationships always ended badly because no one understood your crazy schedule.

He became your safe place. And you became his.

That’s why, when Jin invited you to dinner at his house that particular Friday, you didn’t think twice. The other members were away — Namjoon in a meeting, Yoongi in the studio, the younger ones on individual schedules. It was just the two of you, as always.

His house smelled like home-cooked food. Jin had prepared everything: galbi jjim, various banchan, fresh rice, and a bottle of red wine that an older staff member had brought from France. You ate in the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the low table, laughing loudly like always.

“Seriously, Jin,” you said, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “You cook better than any restaurant I’ve ever been to. Why don’t you open one after you retire?”

He huffed, pretending to be offended, but his eyes sparkled.

“Because then I wouldn’t have an excuse to call you over and force you to praise my food. Where’s the fun in that?”

After dinner, you moved to the huge couch. The wine went down way too easily. Two glasses became three, then four. You had your legs thrown over his thighs, head resting on the back of the couch, feeling warm and relaxed. Jin’s black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair messy from running his hands through it so much.

The conversation inevitably drifted to relationships.

“I gave up,” you confessed, laughing without much humor. “Dating in this industry is impossible. Everyone wants something I can’t give right now. 24/7 attention, public exclusivity, stability… I just want to focus on my career, you know? But sometimes…” you hesitated, the alcohol loosening your tongue, “sometimes I miss being touched. Intimacy. Having someone make me feel desired without all the ‘forever’ pressure.”

Jin stayed quiet for a moment. He swirled the wine in his glass slowly, dark eyes fixed on you. The air between you shifted. It became thicker. Hotter.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual. “I can’t date either. The company, the fans, the schedules… it would be a fucking mess. But I miss it too. Having someone I can just be Jin with. Not the idol. Not the Worldwide Handsome. Just me.”

He looked straight at you. No jokes. No filter.

“We get along so well. We trust each other. We have fun together. So… why don’t we make a deal?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What kind of deal?”

Jin set his glass down and leaned forward slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

“Friends with benefits. For real. Only when both of us want it. No labels. No pressure. No jealousy. If one of us isn’t in the mood, just say ‘not today’ and that’s it. No drama. No complications.”

You blinked, surprised. The wine made everything feel more surreal. But also more tempting. It had been months — almost a year — since you’d slept with anyone. And Jin… Jin was gorgeous. He smelled good. He was funny. Safe.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.” He smiled, that dangerous smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “But only if you want to. If it feels weird, we can pretend I never said anything and keep eating my kimchi jjigae in peace.”

You bit your lip. Looked at him. At his full lips, broad shoulders, and large hands resting on his own thighs.

“I want to,” you whispered.

The silence that followed was heavy. Jin stared at you for long seconds, as if giving you one last chance to back out. Then, slowly, he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you.

It started slow. Almost experimental. His soft lips pressing against yours, the taste of wine mixing between you. Then you opened your mouth and his tongue met yours. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent. Jin let out a low groan against your mouth, a sound that went straight between your legs.

He pulled you onto his lap effortlessly. You straddled his thighs, feeling the heat of his big body underneath you. His hands slid down your back, squeezing your waist, slipping under your shirt.

“If you want to stop…” he murmured against your lips.

“I don’t want to stop.”

Jin smiled against your mouth.

“Thank God.”

He lifted you from the couch like you weighed nothing and carried you to his bedroom. The light was low — only the bedside lamp on. Jin laid you down on the king-sized bed carefully, climbing on top of you. He removed your blouse slowly, kissing every inch of skin that appeared: your neck, collarbone, the valley between your breasts. When he reached your bra, he unclasped it skillfully and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly while his hand massaged the other.

You arched your back, moaning. Jin was ridiculously good with his mouth.

He moved lower. Kissed your stomach, removed your pants and panties together. He spread your legs with his large hands and settled between them. The first touch of his tongue on your clit made you moan loudly.

“Fuck…” Jin murmured, his hot breath against you. “You’re already so wet.”

He devoured you calmly. Slow tongue circling, sucking, two thick fingers sliding in and out in a perfect rhythm. He moaned against your pussy, the vibration delicious. You came for the first time like that, gripping the sheets and trembling against his mouth.

Jin moved up, pulling off his own shirt. His body was perfect — broad shoulders, defined abs, fair skin. He removed his pants and boxers. His cock was thick and long, the pink head glistening with precum. You licked your lips instinctively.

“Next time you can suck me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Right now I need to be inside you.”

He grabbed a condom from the drawer, put it on quickly, and positioned himself between your legs. He entered slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in the most delicious way. When he was fully inside, both of you moaned together.

“Shit… you’re so tight,” Jin whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect. Move, Jin.”

He started moving. Slow at first, rolling his hips, then faster. The bed creaked. The wet sound of your bodies filled the room. Jin kissed you the whole time — on the mouth, neck, breasts. He was vocal, moaning your name, dropping stupid jokes in the middle of fucking just to make you laugh.

“You know that… ah, fuck the joke for now.”

You came a second time with him inside you, clenching hard around him. Jin didn’t last much longer. He thrust deep a few more times, pulled out, removed the condom, and came on your stomach with a long, rough groan.

Afterward, the silence was comfortable. Jin went to get a warm towel, cleaned you gently, gave you water, and lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest.

“So…” he said, tracing lazy circles on your back. “The agreement is on?”

You laughed, still breathless.

“It’s on.”

Jin kissed the top of your head.

“Good. Because I’m already thinking about round two.”

You fell asleep like that — naked and tangled together. For the first time in a long time, you felt light. Safe. Desired.

Neither of you imagined, that night, how much that “simple agreement” would complicate everything.

-----

Sunlight filtered softly through the half-closed curtains, warming the tangled sheets. You woke up slowly, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and the heavy weight of an arm wrapped securely around your waist. Memories from last night flooded in — Jin’s mouth on you, his groans, the way he’d cracked a terrible joke right in the middle of thrusting into you.

You smiled into the pillow.

A soft, lingering kiss landed on your bare shoulder.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Jin murmured, voice deep and raspy from sleep. He pulled you closer, spooning you tighter, his nose nuzzling into the back of your neck. “How are you feeling?”

You turned in his arms to face him. Jin looked illegally handsome in the morning light — messy dark hair, slightly puffy eyes, and that lazy, satisfied smile. He was still completely naked under the sheets, just like you.

“I feel good,” you answered, reaching up to fix his bed hair. “Really good, actually.”

His hand slid down your side, resting on your hip with gentle strokes. It was surprisingly tender. More boyfriend than “benefits,” but you weren’t complaining.

Jin leaned in and kissed you — slow and sweet, not rushed like last night. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm.

“I’ll make breakfast,” he declared, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before rolling out of bed.

You watched him walk across the room, admiring the view of his broad back and perfect ass for a few shameless seconds. Before he reached the door, he stopped, grabbed a pair of black sweatpants from a chair, and pulled them on.

You raised an eyebrow. “Putting on clothes? I thought the Worldwide Handsome preferred to cook in his birthday suit.”

Jin turned around, now safely covered from the waist down, and gave you a dramatic look.

“Yah! Do you want me to burn the eggs because I’m distracted by my own handsomeness? Or worse — do you want me to burn something important?” He pointed at himself. “This treasure needs protection. The apron will handle the rest.”

You burst out laughing as he disappeared into the hallway.

A few minutes later, you slipped on one of his oversized white t-shirts (which reached mid-thigh) and padded to the kitchen. The delicious smell of food hit you immediately. Jin was standing at the stove wearing the black sweatpants and a pink “Kiss the Cook” apron, humming cheerfully while flipping eggs. His broad shoulders looked even wider with the thin straps of the apron.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you and broke into a huge grin.

“Look who decided to join the living! Sit down, my favorite friend-with-benefits. Breakfast is almost ready.”

You sat at the kitchen island, chin resting on your hand as you watched him. He moved around with confidence, plating everything beautifully — perfectly cooked eggs, grilled spam, fresh rice, kimchi, and even some sliced fruit on the side.

When he placed the plate in front of you, he didn’t just set it down. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then gave you a quick peck on the lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked.

“Okay… what is this?” you asked, amused. “Last night you said ‘no labels, no pressure,’ and now you’re kissing me like we’ve been married for ten years. Are you sure you read the friends-with-benefits contract correctly, Kim Seokjin?”

Jin froze mid-motion, chopsticks in hand, ears turning bright red. He tried to play it cool but failed miserably.

“I-I’m just being a good host!” he protested, voice going comically high. “Worldwide Handsome etiquette demands post-sex care. It’s in the manual. Page 47.”

You laughed harder.

“Page 47? So there’s an official manual now?”

He sat down across from you, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered but still smiling.

“Fine, fine. Maybe I’m being a little… extra. But you looked cute sleeping in my bed, okay? And you smell like me now. It’s satisfying.” He pointed his chopsticks at you. “Don’t tease me or I’ll burn the next batch on purpose.”

You took a bite of the eggs and moaned in appreciation.

“Jin, this is so good. If this is what I get after sex, I might start demanding benefits every other day.”

His eyes lit up with mischief.

“Every other day? Bold of you to assume I’d say no.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I could do every day. Morning, lunch, and dinner service. I’m very dedicated.”

The two of you ate while chatting comfortably. Jin kept stealing glances at you, smiling softly every time your eyes met. At one point he reached across the table and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, then casually licked it off.

You raised both eyebrows this time.

“Jin.”

“What?” he asked innocently, but his ears were still pink. “I hate wasting food. Very eco-friendly of me.”

After breakfast, you helped with the dishes. Well — you dried while he washed, because he was extremely picky about how the pans were cleaned.

“You know,” you said while drying a plate, “for someone who proposed a no-strings-attached agreement, you’re being suspiciously cuddly and domestic this morning.”

Jin flicked water at you from the sink, laughing when you yelped.

“Stop exposing me! I’m allowed to be nice. We’ve been friends for six years. One night of amazing sex doesn’t erase that.” He paused, then added quieter, “It actually makes me want to be nicer.”

Your heart did a small flip.

You poked his side.

“Careful, Jinnie. If you keep this up, I’m going to think you like me.”

He turned off the water, dried his hands, and suddenly pulled you into his arms, back against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“Maybe I do like you, idiot,” he whispered, voice playful but sincere. “As a friend. A very attractive, very good-in-bed friend.”

You laughed and leaned back into him, enjoying the warmth.

Later, you both ended up on the couch watching a random variety show. Jin pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him. His hands rested on your thighs, sliding under the hem of the t-shirt he’d lent you.

“So…” he started, more serious now, “we should probably talk about the rules. Before this becomes too chaotic.”

You nodded, playing with the strings of his apron (he still hadn’t taken it off).

“Okay. Rules.”

Jin ticked them off on his fingers, still looking ridiculously cute with you on his lap.

“1. No jealousy. We can see other people if we want, but… honestly, I don’t think I will.”

“2. Whenever one of us doesn’t want it, just say so. No pressure.”

“3. This stays between us. Nobody knows — not the members, not staff.”

“4. We can still be normal friends. The benefits are extra, not the whole thing.”

He hesitated, then added with a shy smile, “And 5… breakfast after sex is mandatory. Chef’s orders.”

You laughed and leaned in to kiss him.

“Deal. All of it.”

The kiss quickly grew heated. Jin’s hands squeezed your thighs as you rocked slowly against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

“Shower?” you whispered against his lips.

“Shower,” he agreed, standing up with you still wrapped around his waist like it was effortless. “But I’m warning you — I plan to be very thorough.”

As he carried you toward the bathroom, both of you laughing between kisses, you couldn’t help but think that this agreement was already feeling dangerously comfortable.

And Jin, holding you tight, seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

------

Three weeks had passed since that first night, and the agreement was working better than either of you had expected.

At least on paper.

The sex was still incredible — spontaneous, fun, and ridiculously hot. Sometimes it was quick and filthy in the Hybe parking garage after late meetings. Other times it was slow and lazy at his place on Sunday afternoons, with Jin taking his sweet time until you were a trembling mess beneath him. He still made you laugh mid-sex with his terrible jokes, and the aftercare remained top-tier: warm towels, water, cuddles, and always something delicious to eat afterward.

But something was… changing.

It started small.

---

Monday – 11:47 AM

Your phone vibrated for the fifth time during a marketing meeting. You discreetly checked it under the table.

Jin 🍳:

Are you still in that boring meeting?

I made extra kimbap this morning. Want me to bring some to your desk?

I miss your face. Send me a selfie so I can survive until I see you later.

You bit your lip to hide a smile and quickly typed back.

You:

Jin, I’m literally in a meeting with your manager right now. Behave.

And stop sending me food every day, I’m going to get fat.

Jin 🍳:

Good. I like you soft and huggable.

Also, no. I will not behave.

[photo attached — Jin making a sad puppy face while holding a perfectly arranged lunchbox]

You had to mute your phone before you laughed out loud.

---

Tuesday – 7:32 PM

You had just gotten home from work when your doorbell rang. Confused, you opened it to find Jin standing there in a black hoodie and mask, holding two large plastic bags.

“I brought dinner,” he announced, walking straight in like he owned the place. “And dessert. And myself. You’re welcome.”

“Jin, what— how did you even get here without being seen?”

He shrugged, already taking off his shoes and heading to your kitchen as if it was routine.

“I have my ways. Now sit. I made your favorite doenjang jjigae and I even added extra tofu because I know you like it.”

You watched him move around your small kitchen with ease, humming happily. He had been over four times this week already. Last week it was five.

While you ate together on the couch, he kept one hand on your thigh the entire time, thumb stroking absentmindedly. Every few minutes he’d lean over to kiss your cheek, your shoulder, or the top of your head.

“You’re extra clingy today,” you teased lightly, poking his cheek.

Jin just smiled, uncharacteristically soft.

“Can’t help it. Work was exhausting and I wanted to see you. Being with you makes everything better.”

Your heart did that annoying little flip again. You told yourself it was just the agreement working. Close friendship plus great sex. That was all.

---

Thursday – 2:15 PM

Your phone buzzed nonstop during your lunch break.

Jin 🍳:

What are you doing?

Jin 🍳:

Are you eating properly?

Jin 🍳:

I saw a video of a cat that looks like you when you’re sleepy. Sending it now.

Jin 🍳:

[video]

Jin 🍳:

When can I see you again? This weekend? Tomorrow night? Tonight?

You stared at the messages, a mix of warmth and slight unease settling in your chest. This wasn’t exactly “no pressure, whenever we want.” This was Jin acting like… well, like a boyfriend who missed his girlfriend.

You replied carefully.

You:

Busy with deadlines this week, Jinnie. Maybe Saturday?

His reply came in seconds.

Jin 🍳:

Saturday is too far.

I can come over late Friday after practice. I’ll be quiet. I just want to hold you while we sleep. No sex if you’re tired. Promise.

You sighed, smiling despite yourself. How were you supposed to say no to that?

---

By the end of the third week, the pattern was clear.

Jin texted you good morning every single day — sometimes with selfies, sometimes with photos of breakfast he wished he could share with you. He found excuses to bump into you at Hybe: “accidentally” showing up at the same floor, bringing coffee to your team “because he was already there,” or pulling you into empty practice rooms just to hug you for ten minutes.

During one late-night session when you stayed behind to finish a project, he appeared at your desk at 10:47 PM with snacks and a blanket.

“You work too hard,” he scolded gently, draping the blanket over your shoulders before sitting beside you. He rested his head on your shoulder, arm wrapped around your waist. “Take a break. Five minutes.”

“Jin… someone could see us.”

“I locked the door,” he mumbled, already closing his eyes. “Just stay like this for a bit. I missed you today.”

You froze for a second. Missed you today.As if you hadn’t seen each other yesterday.

You let him stay there anyway, one hand gently playing with his hair while you tried to focus on your screen. Inside your head, thoughts were spinning.

This is getting dangerous.

Because the truth was… you liked it. You liked his clinginess. You liked how he looked at you now — softer, warmer, almost fond in a way that went beyond friendship and benefits. But the agreement had rules. Clear rules. And Jin was breaking them one by one without even seeming to realize it.

Or maybe he did realize it.

That thought scared you more.

Later that night, after he finally convinced you to go back to his place, Jin fucked you slow and deep in his bed, face buried in your neck the entire time. Every thrust came with soft praises and little kisses.

“You feel so good… I love being inside you like this,” he whispered, voice rough. “Love having you here with me.”

He didn’t say “love you,” but the word hung heavy in the air anyway.

When you both finished and he pulled you tightly against his chest like always, refusing to let even an inch of space between your bodies, you finally asked, half-joking:

“Jin… are you okay? You’ve been really clingy lately.”

He stiffened for half a second, then let out a dramatic sigh and kissed your forehead.

“I’m fine. Just… enjoying the benefits. A lot.” He paused, then added quietly, almost too casually, “Is it bothering you?”

You looked up at him. His eyes were vulnerable in the dim light.

You shook your head.

“No. It doesn’t bother me.”

But as he smiled and pulled you even closer, falling asleep with his face pressed into your hair, you lay awake wondering how long this could stay “just benefits” before one of you — probably both — got hurt.

---

Jin’s POV

I’m screwed.

That was the only thought running through my head as I stood in the middle of the shopping mall, staring at a delicate silver necklace with a small star pendant. It reminded me of her — the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at my stupid jokes, even the ones that made everyone else groan.

I bought it anyway. No occasion. Just because.

Three weeks. Only three weeks since our agreement started, and I was already acting like a man obsessed. Every spare second my mind drifted to her. During dance practice, while recording vocals, even in meetings with Bang PD. I’d catch myself smiling like an idiot thinking about how she looked in my t-shirt the morning after, hair messy, cheeks still flushed from the night before.

It was supposed to be simple. Just sex. Just comfort. Just two friends helping each other out.

So why did I miss her the second she left my apartment?

---

I slipped the small gift box into my bag and headed back to the dorm. As soon as I walked in, Namjoon looked up from his book, one eyebrow raised.

“You went shopping again?” he asked, eyeing the bags. “That’s the third time this week, hyung. What’s going on?”

Yoongi, sprawled on the couch with his laptop, let out a low chuckle without even looking up.

“He’s in love. Or at least heavily whipped.”

My ears burned instantly.

“Yah! Both of you shut up,” I complained, walking straight to the kitchen so they wouldn’t see my face. “I just felt like buying some stuff. Can’t a man treat himself?”

Hoseok appeared from the hallway, grinning like he knew everything.

“Treat himself, huh? Since when does ‘treating himself’ involve buying women’s skincare, a cute keychain with a chicken on it, and that expensive-looking necklace box I saw earlier?”

I froze.

“You went through my bags?!” I hissed.

“Didn’t have to,” Hoseok laughed. “You left them on the table like a lovesick puppy. So… who is she? Do we know her?”

I groaned, rubbing my face with both hands. The members had been teasing me nonstop for the past week. They noticed I was smiling more, disappearing at odd hours, and constantly on my phone. But they had no idea it was her. My longtime friend. The one person I wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for.

“She’s… someone,” I muttered vaguely. “And it’s not like that.”

Yoongi snorted. “Hyung, you literally hummed while doing laundry yesterday. You never hum while doing chores. You’re down bad.”

I escaped to my room before they could interrogate me further, heart pounding.

---

Later that evening, after a long practice, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her. She said she was busy with deadlines, but I wanted to see her so badly it almost hurt. I sent her another text.

Jin🍳:

Just got out of practice. You probably haven’t eaten properly, right?

I can bring you something light if you’re still at the office.

Her reply came after a few minutes:

You:

Jinnie, you don’t have to keep feeding me 😭

I’m okay, really. Working late but I’ll eat soon.

I stared at the message, thumb hovering. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t doing it because I had to. I was doing it because the thought of her tired and hungry made my chest feel tight. Instead, I just sent:

Jin🍳:

Okay. But text me when you get home. I miss talking to you.

Pathetic. I was completely pathetic.

I headed to the bathroom for a shower, hoping the hot water would clear my head. It didn’t.

The moment I stepped under the spray, my mind went straight to her. The way she moaned my name when I was deep inside her. How her thighs trembled around my head when I ate her out. The soft, sleepy smile she gave me the morning after.

My cock hardened almost instantly.

“Fuck…” I muttered, leaning one hand against the tiled wall.

I wrapped my other hand around myself, stroking slowly at first. Water cascaded down my back as memories flooded in. Her on her knees in my kitchen, looking up at me with those pretty eyes while she sucked me off. The way she gasped when I fucked her against the shower wall last week, legs wrapped around my waist, nails digging into my shoulders.

I tightened my grip, pumping faster, thumb rubbing over the head.

“Shit… baby,” I whispered to myself, imagining it was her hand. Her mouth. Her tight, wet heat squeezing around me. I remembered how she looked riding me — head thrown back, breasts bouncing, moaning my name like it was the only word she knew.

My breathing grew ragged. I stroked harder, hips jerking into my fist.

I wanted her here right now. Wanted to pin her against this wall and bury myself inside her until she couldn’t think straight. Wanted to hear her laugh turn into those breathy whimpers right before she came.

“Fuck… I miss you,” I groaned quietly, eyes closed tight. The pleasure built fast, too fast. My thighs tensed, balls drawing up as I imagined her voice moaning “Jin… Jin, please—”

I came hard with a choked groan, thick ropes of cum hitting the shower wall. My legs shook as I kept stroking through it, milking every last drop while her name echoed in my head.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of water and my heavy breathing.

I leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, eyes still closed.

This wasn’t just benefits anymore.

I was falling for her. Hard. Every message, every gift, every moment I craved her presence… it was because I wanted *her*. Not just her body. Her laugh. Her teasing when I got clingy. The way she looked at me like I was just Jin, not the idol.

And it terrified me.

Because the agreement was clear: no feelings. No labels. No complications.

Yet here I was, buying her gifts for no reason, jerking off in the shower while moaning her name, and counting the hours until I could see her again.

I cleaned up slowly, mind still racing. As I dried myself, I caught my reflection in the mirror and let out a bitter laugh.

“You’re so fucked, Seokjin.”

I already knew I wouldn’t stop. Even if it meant breaking every rule we made.

Because the truth was simple.

I didn’t just want the benefits anymore.

I wanted her.

------

Jin had been planning this for days.

He stood outside your apartment building, heart beating faster than it had any right to after years of performing in front of thousands. In his hand was a small, elegantly wrapped box containing the silver star necklace he’d bought weeks ago. He’d even gotten it engraved on the back with a tiny “For my brightest star” — something he told himself was just a friendly, harmless thing. Nothing that broke the rules. Nothing that screamed I’m falling in love with you.

He adjusted the hood of his black sweatshirt and the mask covering half his face. It was late — almost 11:30 PM — but he knew you usually stayed up working on projects. He had texted you earlier saying he was exhausted after practice and would probably just sleep at the dorm. A little white lie so he could surprise you properly.

“I just want to see her smile,” he whispered to himself as he climbed the stairs, refusing to use the elevator in case someone recognized him. “Drop off the gift, maybe steal a kiss or two, and leave. Easy. Simple. Still within the agreement.”

His stomach fluttered with excitement. Lately he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every spare moment. Every quiet second in the practice room. Even during recordings, his mind would drift to the way you laughed at his dad jokes, the way you looked when you came undone beneath him, the way you teased him for being clingy but never actually pushed him away.

He was in deep. Deeper than he wanted to admit.

When he reached your door, he raised his hand to knock but paused. He could hear voices inside. Your voice… and a male voice. Laughing.

Jin’s hand froze mid-air.

He told himself it was nothing. Maybe a delivery guy. Maybe your cousin. Maybe a colleague dropping off work stuff. But then he heard it again — loud, genuine laughter. Your laughter. The one you usually saved for him.

His chest tightened.

Instead of knocking, he leaned closer to the door, ears straining. The voices were muffled, but he could make out words.

“…you always make me laugh so much,” the guy said, voice warm and familiar. “I swear, these late-night talks are the best part of my week.”

Your reply came soft, affectionate. “You say that every time, Mark.”

Mark.

Jin knew that name. You had mentioned him before — a colleague from the marketing team who worked on some of the same campaigns as you. Friendly. Harmless. Or so you’d said.

But right now, standing outside your door with a gift in his hands like a lovesick fool, it didn’t feel harmless.

He heard movement. The sound of glasses clinking. More laughter. Then your voice again, lighter, happier than it had sounded with him in days.

Something ugly twisted in Jin’s stomach. A burning, heavy feeling he wasn’t used to. Jealousy. Real, raw jealousy.

She’s laughing like that with someone else. While I’m out here like an idiot bringing her gifts and missing her every second.

His hands started shaking. He looked down at the perfectly wrapped box and felt stupid. Pathetic, even. Here he was, breaking every boundary they had set, catching feelings he promised he wouldn’t, and you were inside having a cozy night with another man.

He didn’t knock.

Instead, Jin crouched down slowly and placed the gift box right in front of your door, along with the small bag containing your favorite late-night snacks he had picked up on the way. He stared at it for a long moment, throat tight.

Then he stood up, turned around, and walked away.

Each step down the hallway felt heavier. By the time he reached the street, his eyes were burning. He pulled the mask higher, but it didn’t stop the sting. He got into the car he had borrowed (one of the company’s discreet ones) and just sat there for several minutes with the engine off.

“Why am I like this?” he whispered, gripping the steering wheel. “We had an agreement. No jealousy. No strings. She can see whoever she wants.”

But logic didn’t stop the pain. The image of you laughing with Mark kept replaying in his head. The way the guy’s voice sounded so comfortable in your space. In his space.

By the time he got back to the dorm, the anger and sadness had mixed into something suffocating. The members were mostly asleep or in their rooms, which was a relief. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this.

He went straight to his room, closed the door, and sat on the edge of his bed. The necklace box he had kept for himself (he’d bought two, just in case) felt heavy in his pocket. He took it out and stared at it.

Then the first tear fell.

“Fuck,” he choked out, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He cried quietly, shoulders shaking. Not loud dramatic sobs — just silent, painful tears that came from somewhere deep. He felt betrayed, even though he knew, rationally, that you hadn’t done anything wrong. You were single. You had made no promises. But his heart didn’t care about rationality right now.

All he could think was: She’s mine. She’s supposed to be mine.

After several minutes, he wiped his face roughly and grabbed his phone. His thumbs moved across the screen almost on autopilot, messages pouring out faster than he could think.

---

Jin🍳:

I came to surprise you tonight.

I brought you something. And food.

But you already had company.

I heard you laughing with him. Mark. You sounded really happy.

I know we said no jealousy. I know it’s just benefits. I know I have no right.

But it hurt. It hurt so fucking much, Y/N.

I stood outside your door like an idiot holding a gift I bought weeks ago because I saw it and thought “this reminds me of her smile.” And then I heard you with someone else.

I left the box there. You’ll see it when he leaves. Or maybe he’s still there. I don’t know. I didn’t stay to find out.

I feel stupid. I feel pathetic. I promised myself I wouldn’t catch feelings but here I am. Crying in my room because my “friend with benefits” was laughing with another guy.

I think about you all the time. Every day. Every night. When I’m practicing, when I’m eating, even when I’m on stage. I keep buying you things just because. I make extra food hoping you’ll come over. I check my phone constantly waiting for your texts.

And tonight it hit me that maybe I’m the only one feeling this way.

I’m sorry. I know this breaks the rules. I know I’m being unfair. But I can’t pretend anymore.

Seeing you with him felt like you were cheating on me. Even though we’re not together. Even though I have no right to feel this.

I hate this. I hate feeling like this.

---

He sent the messages in a long string, one after another, without giving himself time to regret them. Then he threw his phone onto the bed and lay back, covering his eyes with his arm.

Tears kept slipping down the sides of his face.

He didn’t know what would happen now. Maybe you’d panic. Maybe you’d get angry. Maybe you’d end the agreement.

But for the first time since this all started, Kim Seokjin didn’t care about keeping things simple anymore.

He just wanted you.

And the fear that he might lose even the “benefits” version of you was tearing him apart.

------

Your POV

You woke up the next morning with a slight headache from the wine you and Mark had shared while working on the campaign presentation. Nothing had happened between you two — just two colleagues laughing over bad ideas, ordering takeout, and finishing a project that was due in two days. Mark was funny, safe, and had zero romantic interest (he was openly seeing someone else). But last night had been genuinely fun.

You stretched, checked your phone, and froze.

There were dozens of notifications. All from Jin.

Your heart dropped as you opened the chat and began reading. Message after message. Long paragraphs. Raw. Vulnerable. Hurting.

I came to surprise you tonight…

But you already had company.

I heard you laughing with him…

It hurt. It hurt so fucking much, Y/N.

You sat up in bed, stomach twisting. Scrolling further, the messages kept coming — each one heavier than the last. He admitted to crying. He admitted to thinking about you constantly. He admitted that seeing you with Mark felt like betrayal even though you weren’t together.

Your eyes burned.

“Shit… Jin,” you whispered, voice cracking.

You got out of bed on shaky legs and walked to the front door. When you opened it, there it was — a beautifully wrapped box and a small bag with your favorite snacks. You brought everything inside, heart pounding, and sat on the couch.

The necklace inside the box was stunning. A delicate silver star with tiny engraving on the back: For my brightest star. You ran your thumb over the words, feeling a wave of warmth mixed with overwhelming guilt.

You liked Jin. A lot.

You loved spending time with him, loved his laugh, loved how safe and wanted he made you feel. The sex was mind-blowing and the friendship even better. But this… this level of intensity? The crying, the jealousy, the “I think about you every second” — you weren’t there yet. You cared deeply, but you weren’t in love the same way he clearly was. Not even close.

And that realization made you feel like the worst person alive.

You read the messages again, slower this time. Each word felt heavier. You could practically hear his voice — that usual playful tone completely gone, replaced by raw pain. The image of Jin, your confident, worldwide handsome Jin, sitting in his room crying because of you made your chest ache.

You typed and deleted several replies before finally sending something.

You:

Jin… I just saw all your messages.

I’m so sorry. Can we talk? Please?

No reply. You waited ten minutes. Nothing.

You tried calling. It rang twice and went to voicemail.

The silence hurt more than you expected.

You spent the entire morning in a fog. You tried to work from home but kept rereading his messages. Part of you understood his jealousy — things between you two had been getting blurrier for weeks. The constant texts, the surprise visits, the way he held you after sex like he never wanted to let go. You had noticed. You had enjoyed it, even. But you never thought it had reached this point for him.

You liked what you had. The friendship. The benefits. The comfort. You weren’t ready for more — not with his idol life, not with the secrecy, not with the risk of losing him completely if things went wrong. But reading how much he was hurting made you question everything.

By afternoon, you couldn’t take the silence anymore. You grabbed your things and headed to a quiet café near the dorm area that you both knew. You sent one more message.

You:

I’m at the café we went to last month. The one with the terrible strawberry cake. I’ll wait here for an hour. If you can come, please. If not, I understand. But I really want to talk. I’m sorry, Jinnie.

You sat by the window, nursing an iced americano that was slowly turning warm. Your leg bounced under the table. Every time the door opened, your heart jumped.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then the door opened again and there he was — Jin, wearing a black hoodie, mask pulled up, cap low. He looked exhausted. Eyes slightly puffy. Shoulders tense.

He spotted you immediately and walked over, sitting across from you without a word. The silence was painful.

“Jin…” you started, voice soft. “I’m really sorry about last night. Mark was just helping me with work. Nothing happened. We were just laughing because the presentation concepts were awful. That’s all.”

He stared at the table, jaw tight.

“I know,” he said quietly. “Logically, I know. But when I heard you laughing with him… it felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I stood there outside your door holding that stupid necklace like an idiot and I just… I couldn’t knock.”

You reached across the table but stopped halfway, unsure if he wanted you to touch him.

“I saw the necklace,” you whispered. “It’s beautiful. The engraving… Jin, it’s really sweet. But I didn’t expect you to feel this way. I thought we were both on the same page with the agreement.”

He let out a bitter laugh, finally looking up at you. His eyes were glassy.

“I thought so too. But I can’t help it anymore. I think about you all the time. When I wake up, when I go to sleep, during rehearsals… I keep buying you things just because they remind me of you. I make extra food hoping you’ll come over. I get happy when your name pops up on my phone. And last night it hit me that maybe I’m feeling all of this alone.”

The confession hung heavy between you.

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“You’re not alone, Jin. I care about you so much. I love spending time with you. The sex, the talks, the mornings after… I enjoy all of it. But I’m not… I’m not at the same level as you right now. I like you. A lot. But I’m scared. Your life is complicated. Mine is too. If we turn this into something real and it goes wrong, I lose my best friend. And I don’t know if I can handle that.”

Jin stayed quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands.

“So what do we do?” he asked, voice rough. “Pretend everything’s fine? Keep fucking and acting like I’m not falling for you? Because I can’t do that anymore, Y/N. Not after last night.”

You felt tears prickling your own eyes.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want to lose what we have. But I also don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

Jin reached out and gently took your hand. His thumb brushed over your knuckles — that familiar, comforting touch that always made you melt.

“I left the gift because I was angry and hurt,” he said softly. “But I bought it for you. Because you make me feel lighter. Even when everything else is heavy.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest hurt even more. You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, Jinnie. I loved it. Really.”

You both sat there in heavy silence for a while, hands linked across the small table. The café noise felt distant.

Finally, Jin spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m not asking you to feel the same way right now. I just… I needed you to know. No more hiding it. If you want to end the agreement, I’ll understand. It’ll hurt like hell, but I’ll understand.”

Your heart clenched.

“I don’t want to end it,” you whispered. “But I need time to think. And I need you to be honest with me from now on. No more pretending everything is casual when it’s not.”

He nodded slowly.

“Deal.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes — holding hands, unsure of what the future looked like, but at least the truth was finally out in the open.

The agreement had cracked. Now you both had to figure out whether to repair it… or let it become something entirely new.

---

Four weeks later

The agreement was still technically standing, but everything felt… off.

You and Jin had fallen into a strange, careful rhythm. After that emotional conversation at the café, you both promised to try and keep things as they were — friends with benefits, no pressure, no heavy feelings. Jin said he would try to dial back the intensity. You promised you wouldn’t pull away or treat him coldly.

It sounded healthy in theory. In practice, it was exhausting.

---

Jin still texted you, but the messages were shorter now. More controlled.

Jin🍳:

Practice ran late.

You eaten yet?

You:

Not yet, ordering something now.

Jin🍳:

Okay. Good night.

No selfies. No long voice notes. No “I miss your face.” Just polite, safe replies. It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

He still invited you over sometimes, but the visits felt different. Less spontaneous. More planned. Like both of you were walking on eggshells.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You were at his place again. The dorm was empty — the members had gone out for dinner with some staff. Jin had cooked (of course), but instead of the usual playful teasing while he moved around the kitchen in his apron, the atmosphere was quieter. He smiled when he saw you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it used to.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, placing the plate of bulgogi and perfectly arranged side dishes in front of you. “I made it mild this time. I know you’re not in the mood for spicy lately.”

“Thanks, Jinnie,” you replied softly, offering him a genuine smile. “It looks amazing, as always.”

You ate in relative silence for a few minutes. The quiet felt heavy.

Jin cleared his throat. “How’s the new campaign going? The one with Mark?”

He said the name casually, but you caught the tiny tension in his jaw.

“It’s going well,” you answered carefully. “We finished the main concepts. Mark is actually really good at coming up with slogans. Nothing more than that, though.”

Jin nodded, poking at his rice.

“Good. That’s good.”

You hated this version of him — the one who was clearly holding back. The old Jin would have made ten jokes by now, would have reached across the table to wipe sauce from your lip, would have pulled you into his lap halfway through the meal. This Jin was polite. Distant. Trying so hard not to be “too much.”

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. Usually this was when things would turn heated — hands wandering, kisses turning greedy, clothes coming off. Tonight, you sat with some space between you, pretending to watch a variety show.

Jin lasted fifteen minutes before his hand slowly moved to rest on your thigh. Not possessive like before. Just… there. Testing.

You turned to look at him. He was staring at the TV, but his ears were slightly red.

“Jin,” you said gently.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to hold yourself back so much. I can feel you doing it.”

He let out a long breath and finally looked at you. His eyes were tired.

“I’m trying not to overwhelm you,” he admitted. “You said you needed time. You said you’re not at the same place I am. So I’m… giving you space. Even if it’s killing me a little.”

Your heart squeezed. You shifted closer and cupped his face with one hand. He leaned into your touch immediately, almost instinctively, before catching himself and pulling back slightly.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to walk on eggshells around me,” you whispered. “I still want you. I still enjoy being with you. I just… I’m scared of rushing into something serious when your life is already so complicated.”

Jin gave you a small, sad smile — the kind that made him look younger and more vulnerable.

“I know. And I’m trying to respect that. But it’s hard when I still want to text you twenty times a day, buy you random stuff that reminds me of you, and kiss you every time I see you.” He laughed quietly, self-deprecating. “I’m not very good at being casual anymore.”

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft at first. Then deeper. Jin responded immediately, hands finally moving to your waist and pulling you onto his lap. The kiss grew hungry, almost desperate — like he had been starving for weeks.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking lightly on that spot he knew drove you crazy.

“I missed this,” he murmured against your skin. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” you breathed, running your fingers through his hair.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark.

“Can I have you tonight?” His voice was low, almost hesitant. “Not just sex. I want… I want to feel close to you again.”

You nodded.

Jin stood up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing and carried you to his bedroom. He laid you down gently on the bed, undressing you slowly, almost reverently. Every touch was careful. Every kiss felt loaded with things he wasn’t saying out loud.

When he finally pushed inside you, both of you groaned at the same time. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, breathing shakily.

“Fuck… you feel like home,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

He started moving — slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. There were no jokes tonight. No laughter in the middle of it. Just intense eye contact and heavy breathing. Jin held your face with both hands, kissing you between thrusts like he was afraid you might disappear.

You came first, clenching around him, moaning his name. He followed soon after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled inside the condom, hips jerking.

Afterward, he didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed on top of you, still inside you, breathing against your skin. His arms were tight around your body.

For a moment, it felt like old times.

Then he pulled out, cleaned you both up, and lay beside you. He wanted to pull you into his chest like always, but stopped halfway, unsure.

You noticed. You moved closer yourself and rested your head on his chest. Jin’s arm came around you instantly, but looser than before.

“You’re still holding back,” you said quietly.

“I’m trying to find the middle ground,” he replied, voice tired. “I don’t want to scare you away by being too much. But I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel anything. It’s… hard.”

You traced patterns on his chest with your finger.

“I know. I’m trying too. I don’t want to be cold with you. You mean a lot to me, Jin. More than just benefits.”

He stayed silent for a long time, just holding you.

Eventually he spoke again, softer this time.

“Sometimes I miss how it was in the beginning. When it was easy. When I could text you stupid shit at 3 AM and you’d send me memes back. When I didn’t have to think so much about every word.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Me too.”

Neither of you said what you were both thinking: that the agreement was slowly dying. That the feelings were already there, messy and uneven, and pretending was becoming harder every day.

Jin kissed the top of your head — a small, careful kiss.

“Let’s just… try to sleep,” he murmured. “We don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”

You nodded against his chest, closing your eyes.

But as you lay there in the dark, listening to his heartbeat, you both knew the truth.

Things had already changed.

And neither of you knew how to go back.

------

Six months later

Time had a funny way of reshaping things without ever asking permission.

Six months had passed since the night Jin had poured his heart out through dozens of painful messages, since the café conversation where everything cracked open, and since you both had promised — somewhat naively — to keep things “normal.” The agreement was still there in name only, a ghost of what it used to be. You no longer called it “friends with benefits” out loud. It felt too small, too cheap for whatever this had become.

You weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of you had said those words. There had been no official confession, no “will you be my girlfriend,” no changing of statuses on anything. But the way you treated each other told a completely different story.

Jin still had his schedules. You still had your work. The secrecy remained. Yet somehow, you had slipped into a rhythm that felt dangerously close to something real — something deep, warm, and quietly committed.

---

It was a cold Thursday evening in mid-November when you arrived at his apartment again. Jin had managed to get the dorm mostly to himself for a few days while the others were away on individual schedules. The moment you stepped through the door, the familiar scent of his cologne and whatever he was cooking wrapped around you like a hug.

Jin appeared from the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and one of his oversized white t-shirts, hair still slightly damp from a shower. His face lit up in that genuine, eye-crinkling smile that always made your chest feel warm.

“You’re here,” he said softly, walking over and pulling you into his arms without hesitation. He held you tightly, one hand on the back of your head, the other around your waist, burying his face in your hair. “I missed you. These four days felt like a month.”

You hugged him back just as tightly, letting yourself melt into his broad chest. “I missed you too, Jinnie.”

He didn’t let go for a long time. These long hugs had become routine now — wordless, grounding, full of everything you didn’t say out loud. When he finally pulled back, he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you slowly, deeply, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

“Come on,” he murmured against your lips. “I made your favorite. And I even attempted that brigadeiro thing you taught me last time. It’s… questionable, but edible.”

You laughed as he led you to the kitchen, his hand never leaving yours. The table was beautifully set — two plates, wine glasses, candles (he always lit candles now when you came over). The food smelled incredible. Jin pulled your chair out for you like he always did, then sat across from you, watching with soft eyes as you took the first bite.

“Jin… this is amazing,” you praised.

His ears turned pink, but he tried to play it cool. “Of course it is. Worldwide Handsome Chef Seokjin never disappoints.” He paused, then added more quietly, “I just like making you happy.”

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. You reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back immediately, thumb stroking your knuckles.

After dinner, you moved to the couch. Jin pulled you into his lap without asking, wrapping his arms around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. A drama played on the TV, but neither of you was really watching. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on your stomach under your shirt.

“How was work this week?” he asked, voice low and warm against your ear.

“Stressful. Deadlines, meetings, Mark being dramatic as usual…” You felt him tense slightly at the name, but he didn’t say anything. He had gotten better at that. “But I survived. How about you? The new choreography looks brutal.”

“It is,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But thinking about seeing you made it easier. I kept imagining you here, wearing my clothes, complaining about my dad jokes.”

You turned your head to look at him. “You think about me that much?”

“Every day,” he said simply, no hesitation. Then he smiled softly. “But I’m trying not to be overwhelming anymore. I know you need space sometimes.”

You turned fully in his lap, straddling him, and cupped his face. “You’re not overwhelming me, Jin. Not anymore. I like this. I like us like this.”

His eyes darkened with emotion. He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, hands sliding under your shirt to caress your bare skin. The kiss turned heated fast. Clothes came off gradually, scattered across the living room floor. Jin carried you to his bedroom like you were something precious, laying you down on the sheets with care.

That night, he made love to you like he had all the time in the world and still not enough. Every touch was reverent. Every thrust deep and intentional. He kept eye contact the entire time, forehead pressed to yours, whispering things between kisses.

“You feel so good… I love having you like this.”

“You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

“I’m so lucky you’re here with me.”

He didn’t say “I love you,” but the words floated in the air anyway, unspoken but felt. You came undone beneath him, moaning his name, and he followed right after, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your bodies together.

Afterward, he cleaned you gently with a warm towel, then pulled you into his chest, tangling your legs together under the blankets. You traced the lines of his collarbone while he played with your hair.

“Sometimes I wonder what we are,” you whispered into the darkness.

Jin was quiet for a long moment, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “We’re not just friends anymore. We’re definitely not casual. But we’re also not… labeled.” He kissed your forehead. “And honestly? I’m okay with that for now. As long as you’re here with me, as long as I can hold you like this, cook for you, miss you when you’re gone… I’m okay.”

You nodded against his skin. “Me too.”

But deep down, you both knew it wasn’t that simple.

---

The following weeks continued in that same gentle blur.

Jin would show up at your apartment with groceries when he knew you were tired. You would surprise him with coffee at the company when you could sneak in safely. He kept buying you small things — a new scarf because “your neck looked cold,” a plush chicken because “it reminded me of you complaining about my dad jokes,” and once, a beautiful pair of earrings he saw and “couldn’t leave behind.”

You wore the star necklace every single day.

You treated each other with the quiet devotion of people in a relationship, but without the title. He called you “baby” when you were alone. You called him “Jinnie” with so much affection it made his ears red. You slept over multiple nights a week. He kept your favorite snacks stocked in his pantry. You knew his schedules by heart and he knew yours.

Yet the fear remained.

You were still scared of what a real label would mean — the secrecy, the company rules, the fans, the risk of losing this beautiful thing if it went wrong. Jin was scared of pushing you too far and watching you pull away.

So you existed in this beautiful, terrifying in-between.

---

One quiet Sunday afternoon, months into this new rhythm, you were both lying on his bed again. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Jin had his head on your stomach while you played with his hair.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked suddenly.

He turned his head to look up at you, eyes soft and thoughtful.

“All the time,” he admitted. “I think about what it would be like to not have to hide. To take you on real dates. To introduce you to my parents as someone important.” He paused, smiling sadly. “But I also think about how much I love what we have right now. How safe it feels. How happy you make me without any pressure.”

You swallowed hard.

“I feel the same,” you whispered. “I don’t know what we are, Jin. But I know I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

He crawled up your body and kissed you deeply, pouring everything he couldn’t say into it. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining.

“Then let’s not lose it,” he said simply. “Whatever this is… let’s keep it.”

You nodded, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Outside, the world kept spinning — schedules, work, expectations, secrets. Inside his bedroom, with his arms around you and the star necklace warm against your skin, everything felt possible.

You weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend.

But you were each other’s.

And for now, in the soft golden light of a quiet afternoon, with Jin’s heartbeat steady against yours and his gentle kisses on your shoulder, that felt like more than enough.

The future was still unwritten.

The label didn’t exist.

But the love — quiet, patient, and growing every single day — was undeniably there.

And neither of you were ready to let it go.

[kittenan2]

Come Here, Baby

Pairing: Husband!Jin x Content_Creator!Reader Genre & Warnings: Established relationship, Domestic Fluff, Jin pouting-sulking-whining for attention, fun and teasing, smut-ish touch, suggestive smut at the end Rating: 18+ | Minors DNI Word Count: ~1.4k Inspiration: JK's last Live A/n: The amount of things this man makes my single ass feel is the only proof I have left that I'm still attracted to men. 💀 lol. This little drabble was inspired by JK's last live, where he had me completely losing my mind, and my sanity off-course. Enjoy! [MASTERLIST]

The ring light casted a gentle glow over your bedroom as you sat cross-legged on the bed, camera focused on your smiling face.

You were not live, just recording a storytime video for your channel.

“So a lot of you have been asking in the comments about the brand collab video I posted a few days ago,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “The one with the espresso coffee? Okay, so the behind-the-scenes was actually chaotic. First of all...”

You continued with the story for few minutes until the door creaked open.

You paused mid-sentence, heart doing that familiar little flip it always did when Seokjin came home.

He looked exhausted, hair slightly messy, black shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up his forearms, but still unfairly handsome.

He kicked off his shoes without a word, crawled onto the bed, and flopped down beside you... head resting near your lap, one arm draped lazily across the pillow, chin propped up slightly as he stared up at you with those warm, tired eyes.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, smiling down at him.

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a long, dramatic sigh and nuzzled closer, his cheek brushing your thigh.

You tried to keep filming, but your focus was already wavering. “Jinnie, I’m almost done. Just five more minutes?”

He pouted.

Full, glossy lower lip pushed out, eyebrows drawn together in the world’s most devastating sulk. “Five minutes feels like five hours when I’ve been counting down to this exact moment since lunch.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so mean,” he whined softly, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. His fingers traced lazy circles on your knee.

“I came straight home. Skipped the team dinner. Ignored three calls from my manager. All because I wanted to bury my face in my wife’s neck and sleep for ten years.”

Your stomach fluttered.

You kept one hand on the camera, trying to salvage the storytime. “Just let me finish this story real quick—”

Seokjin shifted, rolling onto his side so his broad chest pressed against your leg. He looked up at you through his lashes, pouting harder. “You love your subscribers more than me. I see how it is.”

“Jin.”

“Come here, Baby.” His voice dropped into that low, teasing register that always melted you. “I’m dying here. Starving for cuddles. Look at me. I’m practically withering away.”

You snorted. “You’re literally the most beautiful man alive right now and you know it.”

He grinned for half a second before the pout returned, even stronger.

“Then why won’t you hold your beautiful husband? Hm?” His hand slid higher under the hem of your shirt, tracing slow circles just below your breast, thumb deliberately brushing the soft skin where your waist meets your ribs.

He was testing you, seeing how long you could keep talking while he was clearly trying to distract you. “I’ve been good. I deserve rewards.”

The suggestive little touch sent warmth rushing through you.

His thumb brushed slow, deliberate circles against your side, and you had to fight the urge to shiver. “Jin, I’m recording... I will have to retake if you keep going...”

“Record me complaining then,” he mumbled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh.

He pressed another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, tongue flicking out just enough to make your breath hitch.

His lips moved higher, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts, hot breath fanning over your skin. “Tell them how cruel you are. ‘My husband came home tired and I made him wait.’ They’ll cancel you for me. I’ll be trending.”

You laughed despite yourself, the camera shaking in your grip. The footage was completely ruined now—your cheeks were flushed, your voice breathy, and Seokjin was making it worse by nuzzling closer, lips brushing higher.

“Ugh, fine. This is useless anyway.” You clicked the camera off, set it on the nightstand, and turned fully toward him. He immediately brightened, arms opening wide like a needy koala.

You slid down into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you, but one hand immediately slid down to grip your ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled you flush against him.

He let out the happiest little hum, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “There she is. My wife. Finally.”

You could already feel him half-hard against your thigh.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, grinding slowly once against you.

“Rough day?” you asked softly, threading your fingers through his dark hair.

He nodded against your skin, lips brushing your pulse point. “The worst. Client meeting that was supposed to be thirty minutes turned into three hours. They kept circling back to the same pointless slides. I fake-smiled so much now my face hurts.”

He pressed a slow, wet kiss just below your ear, then another, sucking gently until you felt the faint bloom of a hickey. “And all I could think about was coming home to you.”

You melted, tilting your head to give him better access.

His hand roamed your back, slipping under your shirt again, palming your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Mhmmm... Jinnie…” you breathed, half-warning, half-plea.

“Mmm?” He nipped at your collarbone, soothing it immediately with his tongue. The touch was lazy and possessive, full of tired affection. “Missed you so much. Wanted this exact thing. You in my arms. Smelling like home.”

You cupped his face, pulling him back just enough to look at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly swollen from kissing you. “Did you eat anything?”

He shook his head, pouting again. “No time. Rushed straight here as soon as meeting ended like a lovesick fool.”

“I’ll cook something quick...”

“No.” His arms tightened around you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest. One leg hooked over yours, effectively trapping you in the coziest cage imaginable.

“I’m not that hungry. Not for food, anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, then ruined it by yawning adorably.

You giggled, kissing the tip of his nose. “You need to eat, baby.”

“Later,” he murmured, voice turning husky as he rolled you both so you were half beneath him, his weight warm and comforting.

“I’ll order takeout in a few minutes. Thai? Pizza? Or that fried chicken you like? Whatever. But right now?” He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like longing and exhaustion and love.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Right now I just need you. Your cuddles. Your voice. Your hands in my hair. Let me stay like this until the food arrives. Please, my pretty wife?”

How could you possibly say no to that?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so his head rested on your chest. “Okay. But only because you’re cute when you whine.”

“I’m always cute,” he mumbled happily, already sounding half-asleep.

His fingers slipped under your shirt again, tracing idle patterns on your lower back, roaming around waist, promising more once he wasn’t running on fumes. “Tell me about your day while I recharge on you. Did the storytime go well before I ruined it?”

“You ruined it in the best way,” you laughed softly, scratching his scalp the way he loved. “I was telling them about the espresso brand collab incident.”

He hummed, pressing another wet kiss to the swell of your breast over your shirt. “Tell me instead. I’m a better audience. I give kisses as reward.”

You spent the next ten minutes recounting your day while Seokjin alternated between sleepy cuddles and teasing little nips along your neck and jaw, occasinally along the swell of your breasts.

Every time you tried to wiggle free to grab your phone and order food, he whined and tightened his hold.

“Five more minutes,” he’d murmur, echoing your earlier words with a mischievous grin. “Just five more minutes of this. Need you... Your skin. Your little sounds. Let me stay between your legs for a while, yeah?”

You melted under him, cheeks warm but still teased, “You need to eat actual food, baby.”

Seokjin gave you that devastating pout again.

“I’d rather eat you,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m so fucking tired… but I still want to bury my tongue inside you until you’re shaking on my face. Then I’ll feed us. Deal?”

His fingers played with the waistband of your shorts, dipping lower teasingly, brushing over your panties as he waited for your answer.

Taglist: @3racha-agustd . @jeonjamiekim . @jinnieminie  . @minpdrecs . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse . @petersasteria. @orionsworld420. @amarawayne . @unknownbeknowst. @knjkitten. @kissmeashx. @wendysworldhae. @maar-lenaa. @mikrokookiex. @dltyum . @bebabido . @seokjinxlia

[inkedwithcharm]

It's Always You | Kim Seokjin x Reader

Pairing: Y/N × Kim Seokjin

Genre: Friends-to-lovers, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Second Chance, Emotional Romance, Smut

Sypnosis: You’ve always been in the background, quietly loving him while he shined in the spotlight. One drunken night, everything changed — a single, impulsive moment between you that left your heart tangled and your world uncertain. By morning, he pulled away, leaving you to wonder… can you keep loving someone who will never choose you?

A/N: Excited to share my new story! It's Always You is a slow-burn, heartbreaking romance about loving someone quietly, standing in the background, and all the tension that comes when everything finally spills over. It will be posted on Feb 28 on Ko-fi and March 7 on Tumblr. Can’t wait for you to read it! 🤍

The taglist is open, comment below if you’d like to be added.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Final

Prologue

The dorm always sounded like a living thing.

Tonight it was loud enough to shake the walls.

Music thumped from the speaker someone had dragged into the living room. The kitchen smelled like ramyeon, fried chicken, and whatever disaster Taehyung had tried to cook before being chased out. There were shoes scattered near the door like evidence of a crime. Laughter burst from every corner, overlapping, colliding, filling the space with something warm and chaotic and alive.

You slipped inside without knocking.

“Yah!” Jimin pointed at you from the couch. “She didn’t even ring the bell again. She thinks she lives here.”

“I basically do,” you shot back, toeing off your shoes. “I’ve survived more of your arguments than your managers have.”

Hoseok ran over and pulled you into a quick hug that smelled like fabric softener and cologne. “You’re late. We started without you.”

“You always start without me.”

“Because you take two hours to decide what to wear.”

You gasped. “That is slander.”

Namjoon was in the corner trying to fix the Bluetooth connection while Yoongi sat cross-legged on the floor pretending he wasn’t invested in the chaos. Taehyung was draped over the back of the couch like a cat, observing everything with suspicious amusement.

And then there was him.

Seokjin was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, arguing with Jungkook about how long to microwave something. His voice rose above the others, half dramatic, half playful.

“Trust me, I have experience,” he declared.

“With what?” Jungkook challenged.

“With surviving you.”

The room exploded in laughter.

You smiled before you even realized you were smiling.

It had been like this for years. This rhythm. This orbit. You never had to try to belong here. You were folded into their world naturally, as if the couch always had a space waiting for you.

You walked toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Are you two fighting over plastic again?”

Seokjin turned.

And there it was. That split second when his expression softened before he could stop it.

“Yah,” he said, but the word came out lighter than it should have. “You’re late.”

“You said that already,” you replied, nudging his elbow.

He nudged you back.

The contact was small. Casual. The kind that wouldn’t make anyone blink.

Except everyone noticed.

Jimin let out a dramatic gasp from the living room. “Ah. It begins.”

“Hyung,” Taehyung called lazily, “control yourself. She just got here.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Can you all stop being weird for five minutes?”

“You’re the one who sat closer,” Hoseok chimed in.

“I did not.”

“You always do,” Jungkook grinned.

You tried to laugh it off, but you could feel the heat climbing your neck. This was normal. The teasing had been happening for so long it almost felt like tradition.

Almost.

Seokjin carried two bowls of ramyeon to the coffee table. Without thinking, he set one down in front of you before sitting beside you.

Your knees brushed.

The contact was brief, but it traveled through you anyway.

Yoongi watched the two of you with the quiet knowing look he never bothered to hide. “Should we leave?”

“Please do,” Seokjin muttered.

“You’re the one who keeps choosing her side of the couch,” Namjoon added.

“I don’t choose,” Seokjin insisted.

“You always choose,” Taehyung said softly, almost sing-song.

The room went quiet for a second. Just long enough.

Seokjin glanced at you.

You looked down at your bowl.

It had been like this for years.

The inside jokes. The glances that lingered a second too long. The way he would save you the last piece of fried chicken even if he claimed he didn’t want it. The way you knew when he was tired without him saying a word.

Everyone thought it was funny.

Everyone thought you were stubborn.

No one knew how deeply it ran.

Jungkook plopped down on the floor in front of you. “Noona, tell us the truth. If Jin hyung confessed, would you say yes?”

The room erupted.

“Yah!” Seokjin barked, but his ears were red.

You forced a scoff. “Confessed what? That he’s dramatic?”

“Confessed love,” Jimin corrected, eyes sparkling.

You picked up your chopsticks slowly, buying time. “He wouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Hoseok asked.

You shrugged. “Because he doesn’t look at me like that.”

The words came out lighter than they felt.

The teasing quieted just a little.

Seokjin didn’t laugh.

He looked at you then. Like he wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead he flicked your forehead gently. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

You rubbed your forehead. “Ow. Violence. In front of witnesses.”

“You deserve it.”

“For what?”

“For thinking I wouldn’t look at you.”

There it was again. That tone that made your chest tighten in a way you hated.

The others started shouting over each other again, the tension dissolving into noise, but your mind stayed there.

For years.

You had loved him for years.

It hadn’t happened all at once. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no lightning strike, no cinematic revelation.

It was slower than that.

It was the way he remembered your coffee order without asking. The way he would sit next to you during long car rides and fall asleep with his shoulder brushing yours. The way he once stayed up until three in the morning listening to you talk about your fears.

It was the way he said your name when he was tired. Softer. Unfiltered.

You fell in love quietly.

And you never told him.

Because this. This mattered too much.

Taehyung suddenly leaned over from behind the couch and wrapped his arms around both of you. “I ship it.”

“Stop shipping real people,” you groaned.

Seokjin gently pried Taehyung off. “Go away.”

Taehyung only grinned wider. “You know what I think?”

“No one asked,” Yoongi muttered.

“I think,” Taehyung continued anyway, “if one of you dated someone else, the other would lose their mind.”

The room oohed.

You laughed loudly to drown out the sudden pounding in your ears. “I would throw a party.”

“Liar,” Jungkook sang.

Seokjin stayed quiet.

You could feel the warmth of him beside you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The familiar scent of his detergent mixed with something sweet.

This was the part no one saw.

How you memorized him.

How you measured your distance so you wouldn’t lean in too much.

How every time someone teased you both, a part of you hoped he would say something real instead of brushing it off.

“Yah,” Seokjin said suddenly, turning to you. “Why are you so quiet?”

You blinked. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being bullied in this house.”

“You come here voluntarily.”

“That doesn’t mean I consent to emotional damage.”

He laughed. That full, bright laugh that made everyone else laugh too.

“You love it here,” he said.

You looked at him.

I love you, you almost said.

Instead you rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”

He watched you a second longer than necessary.

Then he reached over and wiped a drop of broth from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

The room froze.

It was intimate in a way that didn’t belong in a room this loud.

“There,” he said, like it was nothing.

Your heart felt like it had been turned inside out.

“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, scandalized.

Seokjin finally seemed to realize what he’d done. He pulled his hand back quickly. “She looked messy.”

“I hate all of you,” you muttered, standing abruptly.

You walked to the balcony to get air.

The city stretched out below, Seoul glowing in soft gold and white. The noise from inside blurred into background static.

You rested your hands on the railing.

You had loved him through debuts and breakdowns. Through world tours and quiet winters. Through girlfriends he never introduced and rumors he never addressed.

You loved him in the spaces between jokes.

Behind you, the balcony door slid open.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You okay?” Seokjin asked.

“Yes.”

“You ran away.”

“I went to breathe.”

He stepped beside you. Close enough that your shoulders almost touched.

“You’re weird tonight,” he said.

You laughed softly. “I’ve always been weird.”

“No,” he replied, voice quieter now. “Not like this.”

You looked at the skyline instead of him. “You ever think about how long we’ve known each other?”

“All the time,” he answered immediately.

That surprised you.

He leaned against the railing. “It feels like you’ve always been there.”

Your chest ached.

“That’s because I have,” you said gently.

He turned his head toward you.

The noise from inside swelled again as someone shouted your names.

Seokjin smiled faintly. “If I ever date someone, you better not disappear.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

You forced a grin. “Why would I?”

“Because you’re dramatic.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

You looked at him then. Fully.

“If you ever date someone,” you said carefully, “I’ll still be here.”

Even if it breaks me.

He studied your face like he was searching for something.

“Good,” he said at last.

Inside, Taehyung yelled, “Stop flirting and come back!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “We’re not flirting.”

You gave him a small smile. “We never are.”

But as you walked back inside together, your shoulder brushing his, your heart whispered a truth you had never dared to speak out loud.

You had loved him yesterday.

You loved him tonight.

And you would probably love him tomorrow.

Even if he never chose you.

Chapter One

[rie-jpg]

Am I the only one that gets turned off from reading fanfiction that has ai covers? Like there are billions of pictures on the internet of hot men and women... and you chose to participate in killing the earth to generate it, for what?

[rie-jpg]

I'm sorry but if you use AI photos as a banner/cover for your stories, I'm gonna assume you use it to write your stories too.

I just commented on a fanfic to remove a picture because it was clearly AI and girlie deleted my comment, crazyy.

[novkiss]

boyfriend!jin instagram stories+posts

#1 | #2 | #3

[bleudandelion]

SOFT AND SERVED | LJC

Minors do not interact (18+)

Lee Chan may be younger than you, but boy, does he know how to please you.

You’d come home late at night after working extra hours, your body aching, and he would immediately tend to you.

Drawing a warm bath for you to relax in. Massaging you until your sore muscles ease. Pressing soft kisses to your temple, just to show his affection a little more.

Then he would let you have your alone time in the bathroom while he prepared a light meal, knowing how you often skipped dinner whenever you worked late and didn’t really have an appetite.

After you finished eating, he’d clean up quickly and guide you to the bedroom, laying you down so gently, like you were made of glass.

He slipped in beside you, pulling the soft blanket over both of your bodies. One arm slung over your waist, resting on your stomach, while the other slid behind your neck, becoming your pillow.

If he felt like you weren’t going to sleep anytime soon, then he’d take a little extra care of you.

His hand would start to roam around your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. And when you didn’t pull away, he’d slide his hand lower—down to your stomach, then toward your sleep shorts. He’d toy with the hem first before slowly slipping inside, cupping your pretty mound over your panties. Your breath would hitch slightly.

“Chan…”

“Yes, baby?”

He’d kiss your neck with tenderness, littering your shoulder with soft, lingering kisses while his hand began to rub against your core.

He would pull your panties to the side and slide his finger into your wetness, the sound filling the quiet of the bedroom.

“Chan… please,” you’d moaned, your body shifting restlessly against his. Unconsciously, you’d grind back against him, pressing into his clothed cock, now straining against his pants.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, finding that sensitive spot like the back of his hand. He had memorized every little detail—every reaction, every sound you made. He knew you were close. His thumb circled your clit, adding just enough pressure to make your body tremble.

“Let go, baby. It’ll make you feel better,” he whispered against your ear, his lips still brushing along your neck. His voice was so soft it unraveled you completely, making you come undone on his fingers.

He guided you through it, and when you were done, he pulled his fingers out, then brought them to his lips, licking them clean. The sound sent another wave of arousal through you.

Despite your exhaustion, you wanted him. Wanted to feel him, to move with him, to take him in.

But the moment he sensed it, he held you still, pulling you closer into his chest.

“Let’s sleep now,” he murmured, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “I know you’re tired. You can ride me in the morning.”

And true to his promise, the second your eyes open the next morning, you don’t waste a single moment before climbing over him.

“Good morning,” he whispers, already smiling because he knows exactly where this is going.

A very good morning for the both of you, indeed.

[vernonverse]

HOW DID WE END UP HERE ✶ Lee Chan

SYNOPSIS. Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he’d have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league. But it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.

PARING. Lee Chan x F!Reader 

GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad!chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.

WC. 20k (sorry)

RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).

WARNINGS. Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie.

AN. Officially my first Chan fic and I’m SO happy I finally get to post it... hope you love it as much as I loved writing it! Also, since I forgot to say it earlier: this whole fic is based on End Up Here by 5SOS.

🎧 SOUNDTRACK. end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the apartment. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence, a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Well, their expressions made it very clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself—though that certainly played a part—it was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something.

And he, well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of his apartment looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin. It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t.

That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you during orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course, he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan’s voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan — who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist — a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it.

Not that he was openly hitting on you whenever he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn’t even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a backing vocal for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon stated, deadpanned. “Mingi just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Yeah, he was that obvious.

He watched as Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?”

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program, meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned.

“I mean, come on,” his eldest friend cut him off, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him again. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, scoffing.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him.

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the luckiest dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, and the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan if he could peek into his brain and see all the dreams he had about you over the years. 

The guy also irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else — someone like him — made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan finally said, feeling the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan stared again, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously, dude,” Vernon chimed in. “You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

He froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips — marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen — curved into a smile.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then—just as quickly as it happened—, you turned back to your friends, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand and leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” announced Vernon, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” he whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a glare, but before he could tell his friend to shut the hell up, you were there, standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something so soft and delicate that made his breath catch.

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix: Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their apartment. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had thrown since Vernon and Seungkwan became seniors and he a junior. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in their apartment right at that moment, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” they chorused in perfect unison. You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking?” He knew you weren’t just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body slowly but surely. “I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as Namsan Tower.” 

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house, and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. 

“What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second.

Even though the two of you weren’t close, or even friends, he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was one of his best friends. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn’t know his name? Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging a surprised and amused look, definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie.” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh.” Was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.”

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go to his bedroom and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He’s fine,” Seungkwan answered for him. “We’re all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he was clearly trying to fill the awkward silence that Chan had created. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed apartment, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable with the couch pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in one corner with beer and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, the homecoming parties that were happening around campus this time of year were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you come alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We’re a great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his teasing tone. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan again, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile per minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink.” You pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it, he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, like that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name so casually, so effortlessly, made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for — right after you, of course — was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus. Hell, he was the current best dancer on the program since Xu Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know…” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words.

“So…” you mused, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically as if trying to convince both of you.

You just hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams. Just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it definitely shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up and a smile so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, and before any of them could say anything, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

“I have to go.” You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend like they haven’t seen her there, shattering Chan’s dream of spending more than ten minutes near you. “See you guys around.”

His heart sank a little at your departure, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan, just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the bedrooms with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for partying tonight, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected at all by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently somewhere in the living room, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone in the coat closet, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was nearly two in the morning when Chan finally decided he’d had enough of the party. You had disappeared a while ago to God-knows-where, and even though your friends were still in the living room playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home without them. Your boyfriend had probably swung by to pick you up at some point—like he always did—and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten in a way that hurt.

You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much out of reach.

Now, Chan was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed to his bedroom.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head.

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right: this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos around the apartment. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every single move.

He was such a big fool.

A fool for you, apparently.

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

When the fabric shifted again, his breath caught in his throat. It was unmistakably you perched on the balcony railing with your legs dangling over the edge, one hand resting casually against your knee. Even under the dim glow from the city lights below, he knew that silhouette by heart. He didn’t know how long you had been out there, but seeing you, calm and distant and seemingly lost in thought, entirely unaware of him, rooted him to the spot.

He hesitated. Again.

The cool night air slipped into the room, sweeping the curtains aside and making them billow like they were inviting him forward. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But the thought of you sitting out there by yourself pulled at him, tightening something deep in his chest. It felt like the universe was placing a second chance right in front of him, daring him not to waste it this time.

Before he could overthink, before doubt could drag him back down, Chan pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room toward the balcony.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party still faintly echoing in the distance. Chan took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close, when all it took was one glance to unravel him completely.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never really liked people invading his space — especially his room — and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But this was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes. 

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance. “Chan?”

The way your voice sounded when you said his name — disbelieving — made it seem like you were the one wondering if he was real, not the other way around. And he couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Hey,” Chan managed to say, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a beat before leaning against the railing beside you. His posture was a little stiff, like even though it was his bedroom, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there, intruding on your moment alone. Yet, somehow, your presence made him and the space feel calmer.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dance major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends’ advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, as if they’d been made for you just as much as for him.

Still, Chan forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah. Well, dancing is… different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense, you know? It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet here you were, wrapped in his hoodie, on his bedroom balcony, as if you belonged there.

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening.

God, you were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action. 

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known Chan and his friends long enough to recognize their signature chaos. They moved like a unit, very loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically themselves. Each one matching and amplifying the other’s quirks without a single trace of embarrassment. It was refreshing. Maybe that was why you liked being around them so much; they weren’t like the typical guys you met on this campus.

Every now and then, you’d end up hanging out with one of them. Sometimes it was Vernon, your friend, your classmate, basically unavoidable. Other times it was Seungkwan, who somehow knew everyone and always drifted into whatever group you were in.

Lee Chan, however, was the one you barely ever heard speak. You could never tell if he was always that quiet… or if he just became that way around you. You suspected it was the last one.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” The question left you in a light tone, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He scrambled for words, anything to not look like a complete idiot. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant! Just brilliant.

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, Chan hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips, even with the awkwardness hanging in the air. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy. You didn’t make him feel self-conscious. If anything, you made him feel noticed, and something about that sent a slow warmth spreading through him.

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he defended himself, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just… not always the best at small talk.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway.”

Silence settled between you, strangely comfortable. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like the two of you were sealed off from the rest of the world. Right here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something Chan couldn’t quite name. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room. 

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

So instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you suddenly froze, eyes widening as his question sank in. Your gaze followed his, tracing down to the hoodie hanging loosely on your frame, and the realization hit you. A soft laugh slipped past your lips and it sent his pulse straight into overdrive.

“Oh shit.” You blinked rapidly, the disbelief written all over your face. You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. “Wait, no—” you rushed out, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I didn’t even realize this was your room. I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t come in here to—” 

“You just… what?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could catch them. 

He was still trying to process all of it. you, standing in front of him, frustration and embarrassment coloring your face, and wearing his hoodie of all things — did he stress that enough?

Chan had spent the entire night convinced he’d already ruined every chance he might’ve had with you, and now here you were, undoing every conclusion he’d drawn.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. I found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

He stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over his whole body. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all. 

You stayed seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.  

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a small smirk. “It looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Maybe it was the cool night air. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now, almost shy. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his clothes, looking at him like that. Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he blurted out, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

You held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

“Okay,” you said at last. Then your lips curved into a teasing smile. “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he could ever say no to you. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks, Chan.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that again, just the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges just for you and him. 

You tilted your head slightly, studying him, studying him like you were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Chan felt his pulse jump all over again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. 

Or maybe — just maybe — it was simpler than that. Maybe it was because he wanted to be on the receiving end of the softness you reserved for your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “So where’s your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He’s...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” he repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn’t want to be, I guess.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with his step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“Then he’s an idiot,” Chan muttered with no hesitation. Like it was a fact, not a judgment. 

When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion. Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was a little more sharper when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him, like a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel tonight. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Chan.”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even though a smile tugged at his lips. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative, made him braver, lighter, more him.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. 

Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him, the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk.” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?”

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you continued, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

Chan hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

His heart beat faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. 

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment.

“Maybe,” you murmured quietly, though your voice didn’t waver, eyes locked on his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you, not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the curtain of rain before inevitably returning to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, the hesitance in his voice sounding less like uncertainty and more like an offering. Chan was trying to give you an escape, if you wanted it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his eyes softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, in the tiny pause, the quiet wobble of your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience. If anything, you were the one person he wanted there, more than anything, more than anyone.

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.”

“Never,” you replied, sounding casual, though something in your voice slipped past his understanding. Particularly when you added, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart giving a sharp, startled kick. At this point, a heart attack felt like a valid possibility. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

Chan cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips.

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went to his bedroom and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answered, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout, but contained himself. 

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn’t help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance group, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely.

“Lee Jung Chan?” you read aloud, curiosity threading through your voice as your eyes went back to his children’s dance trophies. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It’s cute,” you remarked, throwing him a look over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you’d only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn’t help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips or else his blood would rush south.

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it’s adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it beautifully.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look beautiful now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you’ve probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you said under your breath, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he replied, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way Chan said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. The streetlights made his features look even more defined, shadows deepening along his strong jawline. 

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure simply because he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said gently. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I think I prefer when you call me cute.”

“Duly noted.”

Chan exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn’t need to say his name that way, or shape the word with your lips like that. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and a flicker crossed his expression. His eyes met yours.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued the exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he was standing between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He paused, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you pointed out, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo, and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.”

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn’t see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. 

You noticed him. 

Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had. Every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did he end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. Hard. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different?

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night so he could scan every face in the crowd to find you standing by the side stage, maybe watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time.

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken.

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, making his head spin in the best way.

His eyes stayed fixed on you as you pressed your hands into the mattress and stared at the wall ahead, as if you were deliberately avoiding his gaze for reasons he couldn’t name. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, a brief hesitation before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. The question seemed to be answered to you. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He paused, eyes lifting to the ceiling and then settling on you again. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. 

“I make you nervous?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as your eyes widened. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he confessed. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew how your stomach was doing backflips because of the way he was looking at you like you were something impossible and unreal  all at once. 

You hadn’t expected this and most certainly didn't expect him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words.

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, sounding like you were trying to defend yourself. You had never looked so cute as you did now.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan tried to explain, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things.

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you’d heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. It seemed like every word that came out of Chan’s mouth was meant to surprise you, even if you didn’t believe he was doing it on purpose. You hadn’t expected this at all, not from him, least of all, not tonight. 

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything!”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. “Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

“Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what Chan had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous.

“Would it?” he managed, clearing his throat in the process.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn’t say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real.

He was messing with your head? That’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. His first instinct was to joke, to brush it off, to act nonchalant, as he always did. But the look in your eyes—quiet, expectant, tinged with something dangerously close to hope—left him no room to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. 

You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. 

“Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe. “Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

“What do you think?” you asked, biting your lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful.

You kept your lip under your teeth for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, “and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Chan let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head.

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this. Hell, scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this. But the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

That’s all it took.

Chan closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. It was slow, tentative at first. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips, engrave it into his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped completely.

He exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it.

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt absolutely muted. The only thing that existed was your lips against his, the way they fit together, your fingers threading through his hair, the soft sound you let out when he nipped your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side, and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. 

A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter, if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time.

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hips to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him and the fact that you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling his full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him.

Chan’s breath came in uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” Chan rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, breathless, “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. “Then take me, baby,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You really are on a mission to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath deliciously warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize it, in case this was the last time he’d ever get to.

Your hips rolled instinctively again, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands traveled higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you.

“I want you to sit on my face.” His voice didn’t waver; it was an order wrapped in certainty, his eyes darkened with something you’d never seen in him before, something you instantly craved. The sheer weight of it dragged a whimper from your lips.

Still, you can’t help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure?” The words slipped out on a shaky exhale, your breathing already unsteady.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You got off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you stepped out of the bed. You pulled off your skirt and panties, while Chan got up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returned to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burned with desire as he watched you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset, clearly on purpose.

When your breasts finally spilled free, his mouth parted slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world.

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawled across the bed toward where he was lying close to the headboard, and Chan helped you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settled on either side of his head as you both adjusted, ensuring the position was comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against you, followed by a groan, and you felt his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you were so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you were sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill ran through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you were the most delicious meal he was ever going to have in his life.

“You smell delicious, noona.” The way he spoke made you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat was right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips found your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate.

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him.

The gasp that left your lips was a sound you’d never made before, completely immersed in the pleasure he was giving you. His nose nudged against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moved over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who had been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moved on you was pure, unrestrained hunger, and it felt so good that, only for a moment, you entertained your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to do exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cupped your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that made you shiver around him.

His tongue circled your entrance, sliding in as more of your slick spilled into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wanted this to end. All day, every day, Chan was sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wanted was to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that was you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans were the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty sure this was the soundtrack of paradise and he couldn’t wait to get there.

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sensations.

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choked out, closing your eyes shut.

“Hmm.” His hum sent vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would have fallen forward on the bed.

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone.

There was no one else for him in this world.

Only you.

You.

You.

You.

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked-out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn’t resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would have made you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length—aching, neglected, and probably leaking—pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing second. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and you arched into him, desperate to feel more, to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm.

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it.” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.”

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips.

“You were driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you.

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn’t argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his thighs in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you.

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake.

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said, “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive.

“Didn’t you wanna take me raw, Channie?” You pouted, sliding forward again. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint.

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze.

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender.

Another soft moan escaped you as you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch. The way he fit inside you felt achingly right, as if your bodies had been carved for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan’s hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you grew harder, more intense, driven by pure need.

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him too, the pressure mounting with each thrust.

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!”

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison.

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you’d run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together.

Still buried inside you, Chan could hardly believe any of this was real. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment.

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Mmm,” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?”

Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him.

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I’ve been wanting this… for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed.  “I...I didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought… I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on.

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he’d been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something… that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren’t scared off by my… awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you’ll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I’m willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn’t think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was… persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed… distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He’d been so afraid of rejection that he’d inadvertently pushed you away. “I… I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we’re not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Jimmy Neutron,” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I’m a tough negotiator. You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m a very hard worker. And, I’m more than happy to put in the overtime for you.”

“We’ll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You’re incredible, Lee Chan. Don’t ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore.”

Not even seconds before he fully opened his eyes, Chan already had a smile on his face.

His arm instinctively reached for you, only to find you already curled against him, leg thrown over his, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your hand sprawled across his bare chest like it had always belonged there. His shirt — the one you’d stolen off the floor around 3 a.m — was hanging loosely on your body, oversized, and entirely too intimate. Your soft breath tickled his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile wilder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder. 

He loved that sight. Your sight. It felt like a livid dream.

Except he knew this wasn’t a dream because last night replayed in his mind on repeat. Every whispered word, every touch, every breathless plea. He had thought about it for so long, imagined it in so many ways and scenarios. Yet, nothing compared to the reality of holding you now.

Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room—and you—in a soft golden glow. Chan swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment: peaceful, warm, and completely wrapped up in him. His heart swelled as he took in the way your lashes fluttered slightly, the way your fingers still clutched at his arm like you never wanted to let him go.

God, only if you knew.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tightening his arm around your for a bit. You only stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him with a soft sigh. Chan chuckled under his breath, his hand running down your back soothingly. He wanted to stay like this forever, stay with you here forever. But he also wanted you to feel welcomed in his house, to make you never want to leave.

So carefully, Chan slid out from under you, heart pounding as he sat at the edge of the bed. You curled into the warm spot he left behind, sighing softly like his scent comforted you. He had to bury his face in his hand to keep from screaming into them.

With a quick look around his room — the clothes on the floor, shoes scattered as if they had been thrown off their feet, the hoodie you’d worn discarded on his desk chair — and exhaled a shaky, lovesick breath.

Yeah, he was a total lovesick puppy, and honestly? He didn’t mind admitting it one bit.

Taking just one more look at you sleeping in his bed, dressed in his clothes, looking very much like an angel sent from up above, Chan smiled. He took a mental picture of the sight, hoping it would be the first of many, then slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound.

The first thing he saw when he entered the kitchen was Vernon pouring cereal like a man who hadn’t slept in three days and was on the verge of starvation. Seungkwan was slumped over the counter, half-dead, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Both looked up when Chan walked in wearing nothing but sweats and a very evident bruised neck.

Seungkwan squinted. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Chan asked, voice definitely not and octave higher. The look on their faces said it all; they already knew he had something to say. He was terrible at pretending to be nonchalant. 

“Like you’re thrilled to be alive,” Vernon added, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “Did you see god or something?”

Very close. 

Chan opened the fridge just to have something to hide behind. “I didn’t see God. I just… had a very good night.”

Seungkwan snorted loudly. “You? A good night? With who? Your pillow?”

“Actually…” Chan closed the fridge door, trying his absolute hardest to be casual. “Y/N and I—”

They both rolled their eyes as if to say, ‘here we go again with this subject,’ and Chan did his best to hide the smile threatening to appear on his lips, along with the urge to shout to the four corners of the apartment about what had happened last night. Of course, he held back, because you were sleeping like an angel in his sheets, and he would never risk disturbing you.

“Chan, seriously,” Seungkwan said, exhausted. “It’s time to let it go. You couldn’t even speak in front of her last night.”

Vernon nodded. “Pretty sure her boyfriend came to pick her up anyway.”

“Could you let me finish?” Chan huffed, arms crossing over his bare chest. “As I was saying, Y/N and I… we kinda talked. A lot. And then we… uhm… we—”

“Are you high right now?” Seungkwan cut in.

He blinked. “What?”

“Why are you referring to you and Y/N as ‘we’?”

“Because… last night we finally…”

Vernon stared at him, monotone as always. “You didn’t.”

“I DID!” Chan whisper-yelled, pointing vaguely toward his bedroom. “She was wearing my hoodie and then we talked and the she kissed me and—”

Seungkwan burst into laughter so loud it echoed. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you, but you dreamed that. No way Y/N was in your room last night.”

“I didn’t dream it!”

“You definitely did,” Vernon said, crunching cereal like this was a court trial. “You were drunk. Did you use that thing I bought Wednesday? Seungyoun said the trip was insane—”

Chan groaned. “Guys, I’m serious.”

Seungkawn patted his shoulder sympathetically, shooting his voice like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay, buddy. One day you’ll kiss her for real. Just maybe not in your dreams next time. Okay?

He opened his mouth to argue, but footsteps echoed down the hallway, making Vernon and Seungkwan look over and watch intently. It didn’t take long for Chan to notice their eyes growing wide in their socket, almost popping out. Vernon dropped the cereal bowl, while Seungkwan looked like his soul had been yanked straight out of his body and shoved back in, choking violently on his iced coffee.

And there you were.

Smiling shyly. Sleepy-messy hair. Bare legs. Chan’s oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder like it was made for you. Blinking in the sunlight and looking way too soft and way too pretty for this hour, and for anyone else’s eyes; he should be the only one allowed to see you like this from now on.

You walked over to Chan like it was the most normal thing in the world, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on your toes to peck his lips. 

“Morning,” you murmured against his lips. 

He smiled into the kiss. Vernon and Seungkwan were nothing but white noise now. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” Then you finally noticed the two frozen men staring at you. “Oh—hi. Good morning. Do you guys have coffee?”

Seungkwan made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.

Vernon blinked slowly. “Bro.”

Chan shrugged at them with a smug little smile, arm slipping around your waist. From now on, it was the one place it belonged.

“Told you.”

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[mingyuonlyfans]

Maybe This Is Wishful Thinking

Mingyu doesn’t really need the reminder. He’s played back that moment so many times—that wretched, snowy December afternoon. He still wonders if he could have done something, anything, to change the trajectory of your relationship.

themes: angst with comfort, hs to adults

word count: 2840

a/n: hi! if this scheduled post is up then that means uni and my thesis are beating my ass. it's been a little over a month since i cut off this... guy i was with for like 2 years lol. mostly over it but, you know, sometimes your mind just betrays you. so i dug up this quick fic. it hurts a little but there's comfort <33 love my gyugyu <33

asks are open here!

You remember the first time Kim Mingyu told you he loved you. It was during your first year of university, on the roof of your old high school. It had been one of your worst weeks, the thought of not being cut out for higher education was starting to get to you. Mingyu, being the loving and doting boyfriend that he is, told you you were just stir crazy (“Wow, gaslighting much, Gyu?”) and dragged you all the way to the nearest convenience store. Armed with your favorite junk food and soft drinks, you somehow managed to sneak into the empty school. Mingyu still knew the way to the rooftop. 

(“How many of your little dates have you snuck in here, Gyu?” he flushed red at your question. His refusal to give you a straightforward answer had you giggling like it was the funniest thing he’s ever said. You’ve never even responded this well to any of his jokes before.)

“In group projects, you take it upon yourself to carry everyone in the group. You’re too nice for your own good, babe.” he was listing all the reasons you were definitely punching college in the gut while you inhaled packet upon packet of different flavored potato chips. Mingyu watched you with fondness, certain that if you looked at him right now, all you’d see were his eyes gleaming in pure adoration. He’s almost thankful you’re too busy drowning your anxiety with chips and his never-ending list to actually see how whipped he is for you. But Mingyu being Mingyu, he just had to show you anyway.

“I love you.” the proclamation stopped your hand midair, as if you were some cartoon character and this moment was a gag. Your eyes and mouth were wide open, the latter’s sides covered in potato chip dust. And, for some reason, that’s how you knew it was real. Yes, you can tell he’s genuine and that he meant it just by the soft smile on his face and the blissful lilt to his voice– but what sane 20 year old man would tell their partner he loved them for the first time in the middle of a convenience store to school rooftop breakdown?

So you shoved the handful of chips into your mouth, chewed slowly and carefully, all the while looking at him bewildered. You really took your time, but that caused no worries for your boyfriend. You’ve been dating this long, from around your last year of highschool through the summer and up until this moment. You both knew the timing was somehow appropriate (though Mingyu has been sure ever since the first day and fought the urge to tell you those three words during your first week as a couple). He just sat there, that stupid look still on his face as he watched you stuff your face with junk.

“I love you too.” you finally said after chugging down some lemon soda to push the chips down. Mingyu felt like he could die right then and there. His whole body could combust or disappear out of thin air, but he’d be happy. Possibly the happiest person alive. He was almost squirming, so you figured your words beared repeating. “I love you too, Gyu.”

It was a milestone for your relationship, one you’d find yourself revisiting often even after years of separation from Mingyu. 

“Happy anniversary!” Mingyu’s voice boomed into the corridor as you opened your door. There he stood in the middle of your dorm, holding up a strawberry shortcake, candles forming a shape of a heart lit on top of it. You nearly let go of the heart-shaped balloon he’d gotten you for your first class (its string was neatly tied along the armrest of where you usually sat. Thankfully, you got there early enough to avoid the teasing from your classmates. Your friends still gave you shit though.) 

Clutching a hand to your chest, you laughed, your body seemingly unable to hold any negative feelings towards Mingyu. Even if he did almost scare you shitless. “Gyu! You… you surprised me!”

“That’s the point, babydoll.” he nudged you to sit down on your bed before kneeling in front of you, still holding out the cake with the steadiest hands he could manage. “Your roommate let me in and help me set this up.” he nodded in the direction of you and your roommate’s little dining table. It now displayed a spread of plates of cookies and takeout containers of pasta, a big bowl of jjapaghetti, some fried chicken, and two tall glasses of boba. A rather unconventional menu, but entirely satisfying every craving the two of you could have.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to do all this,” you couldn’t help but coo. Mingyu just about melted at your tone, but just shrugged coyly.

“It’s our first anniversary, of course I had to do this,” his eyes twinkled, reflecting the light of the melting candles. “Now blow on this before wax gets on the cake.”

Food seems to play a large role in your relationship because it’s as Mingyu’s slurping enough jjapaghetti to make his cheeks bulge that you sigh dreamily and say, “I love you so much, Gyu.”

It’s his turn to be comically frozen now, black bean sauce smudged on the corners of his lips and his cheeks flaming. Neither of you have ever added ‘so much’ ever since you first said those three words those months ago. 

Mingyu’s convinced you didn’t even realize it yourself as you’re still looking at him dreamily. So he hastily chews and swallows his food, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and chokes out your name. You only respond with an airy ‘hmm?’

“Nothing,” he smiled, shaking his head. Mingyu’s completely whipped for you, everyone knows that, but it’s moments like this that remind him that you’re just as in love with him as he is with you. For the two of you, there’s no such thing as one loving the other more. He reached for the bowl of jjapaghetti and piled more noodles onto your plate. “I love you too, so much.”

With the meal finished, you moved onto scrolling through the endless selection of movies on Netflix’s home screen as you sipped on your boba. Mingyu had an arm around you, his other hand in control of the remote. You offered him a sip of your drink every now then. 

“You know,” he started. The hand on your shoulder has started to absentmindedly play with the sleeve of your shirt. “Sohee promised she’d stay out for the rest of the day, as a treat.”

“So?” you teased, wiggling your body against his.

“So,” Mingyu dragged the vowel out, almost whining as per his nature. “I would like to show you exactly how much I love you.”

“You’re so cheesy!” you screeched but nonetheless ended up with your boba set down on your nightstand and your boyfriend’s face between your legs.

Funnily enough, everytime you get boba now, you’re just reminded of your first anniversary, and the fact that you never got to experience the next one with him.

-

You’re shaking. As much as you’d love to blame it on the cold air of late December, you know it’s no good to lie to yourself. No, you’re shaking because you could see him. Just right there, sitting by the window of the cafe you’d told him to meet you at. He’s just sitting there with his godly side profile and his grown-out hair. He always had short hair during your school days; you never realized how good longer hair looked on him until now. Well, you haven’t seen him since graduation and that was more than 3 years ago. A person could change in that much time, and Mingyu was not immune to the passage of it.

The sound of the jingling bell attached to the door makes Mingyu look up. He’s been doing that for the past half hour, and to his surprise, it’s actually you this time. He stands up, almost abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor catching the attention of the other customers along with yours. You smile at the sight of him. Even under your mask, Mingyu could tell it was a genuine smile, one that reached your eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. His chest warms at the thought. He lifts his hand up and offers you a small wave.

“Thank you,” you say as he helps you into your seat. His fingertips tingle at the sound of your voice; Mingyu feels like he’s 20 again on one of your weekend dates. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he starts once he’s seated. And he doesn’t know how to continue. Despite being a grown man and convincing himself he’s moved on from you after all these years, even the mere sight of you has him melting into an incoherent puddle.  So he sticks to the cliches. “How have you been? You look good.”

“Thank you!” your words come out before you could process them, shocking the both of you. “I mean, thank you, Mingyu, you look good too. And thank you for meeting me here, I know you’ve been busy.”

“No, of course…”

“I just- it’s been a long time, you know? Plus, we didn’t exactly end on the best of terms so I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to come.”

Mingyu doesn’t really need the reminder. He’s played back that moment so many times—that wretched, snowy December afternoon. He still wonders if he could have done something, anything, to change the trajectory of your relationship.

“I’m sorry, Gyu!” you were crying. Tears were streaming down your beautiful face and Mingyu wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms. He wanted to wipe your tears away, but that’s not exactly what an ex-boyfriend does, huh? Because that’s what he is now. An ex-boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend.

“Baby, I don’t understand.” the petname slips from him and he sees the way you flinch at it, its letters searing into your skin no matter how thick the padding of your wintercoat is.

Heaving breaths shake your body. “I just can’t do this anymore, Gyu.”

You never gave him an explanation. No matter how many times he tried to reach you, you just couldn’t face him. Not after breaking his heart like that. You didn’t even prepare or word yourself well. You didn’t tell him you still loved—love—him. You left out the fact that it’s you not him. He doesn’t deserve that shit of a reason anyway. But you just wish you had said anything else. Anything that didn’t imply he wasn’t good enough for you or that you’ve fallen out of love with him because Kim Mingyu will always be more than enough. Who in their right mind would let go of him like that?

“I never did learn to say no to you.” 

Oh, Mingyu. “Would’ve thought five years were enough to make you hate me at least.”

It might just be insecurity, but it’s all you’ve thought about. To say you were surprised he didn’t just hang up on you in the first place would be an understatement. Only you were surprised though. When you told your friends of the call, all they did was click their tongues and say they expected nothing less from him. Kim Mingyu is no saint, but for you he’d be the most forgiving one there is. 

How could he ever hate you? Even just hearing you say that broke Mingyu’s heart all over again. Possibly even more compared to the first time. His fingers twitch over the darkly stained wood, chest feeling like it’s closing in on itself. He hasn’t felt like this in so long; you’re once again the cause of his whirlwind of emotions. It really does feel like he’s 20 again, letting his heart win over his head. All because of you.

“Don’t say that,” Mingyu chokes out. Your lips part, gears in your brain turning trying to come up with something. He cuts you off, “It’s like you don’t even know me, Y/N. I could never hold a grudge against you– o-or anyone for that matter.” he ends with a nervous laugh. The burning on his cheeks and tips of his ears are thankfully covered by his mask and grown-out hair, but his incessant blinking gives him away. 

(“Ah! Stop it!” Mingyu whined while fanning his burning face with his hands. Ignoring him, you amped up your antics. 

“I’m serious, Gyu! These are so good,” you were completely in awe as you flipped through the sketchbook ungracefully propped on one of his pillows. You’d accidentally ‘discovered’ it while helping him clean his dorm. His roommates were never ones for hygienic habits. “I mean, I always knew you sketched and stuff but this is like, amazing. I know you and Hao are besties but you could seriously give him a run for his money.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” he’s tearing up now. Your face drops in concern but he just waves you away. “Ugh, I hate it when this happens.”

“Are you crying? Y-you cry when you’re embarrassed, Gyu? What about your ki-”

“Embarrassment and humiliation are different!” he rushed out, voice turning shrill. Mingyu wiped at his eyes before fully turning to you. “You know how your whole face heats up when you’re embarrassed? That, but it’s a hundred times worse for me. Like, it’s so hot I literally start crying.”

“Are you serious?” you deadpanned. “Because yeah, I’ve had my moments but damn.”)

The memory plays in your head as clear as day. As much as you’ve willed to forget about him, to fill your mind with anything else these past few years, your own body betrays you. This whole meeting is just a sore reminder that you still know every little thing about Kim Mingyu, every sordid detail marked in your brain and haunting the back of your eyelids when you close them at night. 

“I’m still sorry, Gyu.” You couldn’t say that enough. No amount of apologies could undo the damage you inflicted upon him. Even begging on your knees won’t magically unbreak his heart. You’ve had years to swallow down this stone-hard pill, but now that you’re in front of the man who’s held your heart while you stomped his into the ground, the pill is suddenly smaller and easier to digest. 

Mingyu sits up impossibly straighter and his lips part and close, part and close as he tries to find the right words to say. He’s imagined this a million times – this is a scenario he dreams about when he’s not regretting things that he’s convinced were his fault. Had he been a few years younger, he would’ve already jumped at this opportunity; you’ve already apologized, he can still see the love and longing in your eyes and surely you could read the same emotions in his. The daydream version ends with the two of you walking out of the cafe, hand in hand, and into the bright future.

In the reality version, however, Mingyu sits there in silence. His daydreams and wishes and longing did not prepare him for this. 

“I’m not asking for a second chance, I just- I don’t even know where I’m going with this. I’m just sorry, Gyu, for that night, for leaving you like that, for never saying why. You deserved better – you still do.” You swallow hard, pushing the pill down, and exhale. “I still love you, and I’m sorry.” and with that, you stand up, chair scraping against the floor, once again leaving Mingyu confused and hurt.

Snow descends slowly as you walk down the street. You tug your coat closer to your body as if it could shield you from the unnecessary hurt you’re once more putting yourself through. You remember the first time Kim Mingyu told you he loved you, it was during one of your lowest moments. It’s a treasured memory, but Kim Mingyu always resolves to one-up himself.

“Wait!” Mingyu thanks his long legs for the fact that he still caught up with you even after sitting dumbfounded in that stupid cafe for a good minute or so. Or maybe you were just a slow walker, you didn’t exactly get very far, retail shops playing their Christmas jingles still surrounding you.

Your body immediately responds to his exasperated voice. Mingyu stops a good few paces away from you – he’s cautious, that much you understand, but it still squeezes at your heart a little. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then takes two strides. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, but still far enough to maintain that much needed space. You remember the first time Kim Mingyu told you he loved you, and he does it again this time, but it sounds a little different.

“If we do this again, we have to do it right. We’re not kids anymore, my love.”

[6round-zer0]

hello everyone! this is my very first post and my first time writing fan-fiction i really hope you all enjoy as much as i enjoyed writing it! please feel free to comment or give me tips for all of this! i can’t wait to hear what you think 🩷 please be nice 🥺

Collateral Damage💥

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

warnings: angst, arguing, mature themes, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: ~2.6k

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Part One: The Match That Burned Everything

The smell of smoke and ash clung to Katsuki’s hero costume long after he’d stripped it off, but it was the tension in his jaw that you noticed first.

You’d watched the joint training exercise from the observation deck. Watched him get countered — twice — by a third-year. Watched his explosions get neutralized mid-air by a quirk that absorbed kinetic energy and redistributed it. Watched Katsuki Bakugou, the most aggressively competent person you’d ever met, get benched on a technicality in the final round.

You knew the look on his face when he came through the common room door.

You should have let him go upstairs.

That was your first mistake.

“Hey.” You set down your textbook and pulled one leg up onto the couch, offering him the space beside you. “That third-year’s quirk was genuinely broken. You almost had him in the second round —”

“Don’t.”

The word landed flat. Clipped. A warning.

You heard it. You just didn’t listen.

“I’m just saying it wasn’t a skill issue, it was a matchup problem. Even Todoroki would’ve struggled with —”

“I said don’t.” He moved to the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator open with more force than necessary. “I don’t need you to explain what happened to me like I’m a child who needs consoling. I know what happened. I was there.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t explaining it to you, I was just —”

“You were coddling me.” He turned around, water bottle in hand, jaw tight. His eyes were the color of burning embers — red and furious and looking for somewhere to go. “Sitting there with that face like you feel sorry for me. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Katsuki, it’s called being supportive —”

“Supportive.” He laughed, and it was the ugliest sound you’d heard from him in months. Sharp. Humorless. “Right. Following me around. Watching my fights like you’re waiting for me to fall apart so you can swoop in. That’s not support. That’s babysitting.”

The word landed like a slap.

“Babysitting,” you repeated quietly.

“You hover. You always hover.” His voice was rising now, filling the kitchen, filling the space between you until there was nowhere for it to go except directly into you. “Like you don’t think I can handle my own life without you watching over my shoulder. I don’t need a keeper —”

“Then say that,” you said, and your voice cracked at the edges in a way you hated. “Say ‘I need space’ like a normal person instead of —”

“Instead of what?”

“Instead of tearing into me for caring about you!”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Katsuki’s expression didn’t soften. If anything it locked down harder — that wall slamming into place behind his eyes, the one he built when he felt too seen, too close to something real.

“Maybe,” he said. Very slowly. Very deliberately. Like he was choosing each word as a weapon and selecting the sharpest ones. “You should care about something that actually wants it.”

You stood there.

Just for a moment.

Long enough for that sentence to carve itself somewhere permanent. Long enough to feel it settle into your chest like something with weight and edges.

Then you picked up your textbook from the couch. Walked to the stairs. Kept your footsteps even.

“Goodnight, Katsuki.”

You didn’t slam your door. You didn’t cry in the hallway where anyone could hear.

You sat on the edge of your bed in the dark and pressed your palm flat to your sternum like pressure could stop the feeling of something quietly breaking.

Care about something that actually wants it.

You’d given him two years. Two years of learning his silences and his triggers and the specific way he needed to be loved — carefully, without hovering, without smothering, but consistently, always there. You’d learned when to push and when to step back and when to simply exist beside him without asking for anything in return.

And he’d taken all of it and sharpened it into something he could throw at you.

You sat in the dark for a long time.

Part Two: What Silence Builds

Three days.

That’s how long you waited.

You told yourself you were giving him space. That was true. You were also telling yourself that he would come to you — that he would knock on your door with that jaw tight and those eyes doing their complicated thing and say I shouldn’t have said that in the grudging, effortful way he said hard things.

He didn’t come.

Day one, you ate lunch at a different time. Day two, you took a different route to class. Day three, you stopped waiting entirely and texted Yuna instead.

Yuna was a support course third-year with an apartment off-campus and a friend group that laughed loudly and didn’t discuss hero rankings over dinner. She’d been trying to get you to come to her Friday nights for months.

I need to be somewhere that isn’t here, you texted.

Get over here, she texted back.

Her apartment smelled like candles and takeout and felt nothing like the dorms. Her friends were loud and easy and nobody looked at you like they were calculating anything. You sat on her couch and felt your shoulders come down from around your ears for the first time in three days.

Ren was Yuna’s friend from general studies. Quiet, dark-haired, with an easy smile that asked nothing from you. He refilled your drink without being asked and listened when you talked and laughed at the same moments you did, and being around him was effortless in the way that things were effortless when there was nothing at stake.

You went back the next Friday. And the one after that.

You told yourself it was just friendship. And it was — mostly. But there was something underneath it that you recognized and didn’t examine too closely.

The third Friday, you had too much wine and the conversation drifted close and Ren looked at you with a question in his eyes that was clear and uncomplicated.

You thought about Katsuki.

You thought about care about something that actually wants it.

You thought about twelve days of silence.

You made a choice.

It was the worst decision you’d made in two years, and you knew it approximately four minutes into making it. Not because of Ren — he was kind, he was careful, he checked in with you, and none of that was the problem.

The problem was that it wasn’t him.

You went home at 2 a.m.

You sat in the shower for a very long time.

Part Three: Kaminari’s Cousin

Katsuki heard it at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday.

He’d been managing. That was what he told himself — he was managing. Six-hour training sessions that left him too physically exhausted to think. Cold showers. Protein. Sleep that came eventually if he was tired enough.

And then Kaminari sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and said, in the carefully casual tone of someone who knew they were handling something volatile, “Hey, so. My cousin was at some apartment in the city last Friday… He saw you-know-who. With some guy from general studies. They left together around —”

The chair scraped back.

Katsuki stood in the middle of the kitchen with his jaw locked and something horrible twisting in his chest.

It was the feeling of something being taken.

Part Four: Livid

He didn’t go to the apartment.

He went to your door.

He knocked twice.

You opened it in sweats, textbook in hand, looking like a normal Tuesday evening. The normalcy of it infuriated him.

Then you saw his face and went very still.

“Katsuki —”

“Was it him.” His voice was dangerously controlled. “The general studies guy. Kaminari’s cousin saw you. Friday night. Was it him.”

“Yes.” Quiet. Steady. “Yes. It was.”

The silence was suffocating.

The argument spilled out between you — raw, ugly, and honest. All the hurt, the fear, the mistakes.

“I was trying to figure out how to fix it,” he said, voice rough.

“I didn’t need the right way,” you shot back, eyes burning. “I needed you.”

The tension snapped.

Katsuki surged forward, slamming the door shut so hard the frame rattled. He grabbed your wrist with bruising force and backed you against the wall, his other hand slamming into the plaster beside your head hard enough to crack it. His eyes were wild, body radiating heat. Real fear shot through you.

“Katsuki, you’re scaring me—”

“Good.” He pressed in closer, caging you in completely. “You should be scared. You think you can just give my pussy away and I’ll smile about it?” His hand left your wrist to fist tightly in your hair, yanking your head back. “After two fucking years?”

The confessions kept coming — jagged and desperate — but the jealousy burned hotter than everything else.

“I’m in love with you,” he growled against your mouth. “But right now I want to fucking ruin you for anyone else.”

You should have pushed him away.

Instead, you pulled him closer.

“Then do it.”

Katsuki lost it.

He ripped your sweatshirt off, the fabric tearing. Your sweats and panties were shoved down roughly and kicked aside. He freed his thick, heavy cock and spun you around, slamming your chest against the wall.

“You’re still dripping,” he hissed, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds before thrusting into you in one brutal, punishing stroke.

“Fuck—!” you cried out at the harsh stretch.

He didn’t wait. He fucked you hard and vicious, hips snapping with savage force. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, the other gripped your hip so tightly his fingers dug into your skin. The wet, filthy slap of his cock slamming into your cunt filled the room with every violent thrust.

“This what you needed?” he snarled in your ear, biting down hard on your shoulder. “Needed me to fuck that loser out of this sloppy pussy?”

“Yes—god—harder!”

He railed you mercilessly, balls slapping against your clit, cock driving so deep it bordered on pain. “Say it. Say whose cunt this is.”

“Yours—Katsuki—it’s yours—fuck!”

You came hard, walls spasming around him as your legs shook. He growled and kept pounding through it until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural moan, flooding your pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum.

For a moment, only ragged breathing filled the room.

Then the rage cracked. He pulled out slowly, turned you around, and his expression shifted — the violence bleeding into raw regret as he saw your tears and the fresh marks on your skin.

“Shit…” His voice broke. He cupped your face with shaking hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. The thought of him touching you made me lose it.”

You kissed him, still trembling. “I know. I’m sorry too. It didn’t mean anything. It was always you.”

The anger drained away, replaced by aching love and need.

He walked you to the bed, laid you down gently, and pushed back inside you — slow and deep this time, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“I love you,” he whispered, rolling his hips in a steady, intense rhythm. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. This round was desperate but reverent — grinding, claiming, full of soft curses, apologies, and promises. You came again moaning his name, and he followed right after, filling you once more as he buried his face in your neck.

Afterward, he held you tight against his chest, stroking your hair.

“No one else,” he murmured. “Never again.”

“Never again,” you agreed.

You stayed tangled together, sweaty and spent.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said quietly.

This time, you believed him.

— end —

[bvidzsoo]

Haunted me, haunting you

⁀➷ District 12 ⭒ District 12 was the smallest and poorest of the thirteen districts of Panem; their main industry is coal mining; victors: Lucy Gray Baird, Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: victor!Song Mingi x female reader

⁀➷ Warning: cursing, ptsd, panic attacks, violence, blood, mentions of death, hunting, injuries ⁀➷ Word count: 19.7k ⁀➷ Rating: mature, nc-17 ⁀➷ Genre: Hunger Games!au; acquittances since childhood to lovers!au, set before Katniss and Peeta became victors ⁀➷ Summary: After the 72nd Hunger Games, Song Mingi wasn't the same. The spark in his eyes was gone, his once bright smile disappeared and his face became ashen, cheeks hollow, he was merely a shell of the man he once used to be. It hurt seeing him lose himself to the trauma he was forced to endure in the Arena, still haunted by memories...memories of killing someone you both cared about, someone who meant the world to you. Will you be able to help Mingi before it's too late? But most importantly, will Mingi be able to let you in when you bear the very same face he was forced to murder in the Arena in order to become a victor?

A/N: Y'all! My lovelies, it's here!! My thesis was about The Hunger Games and I actually came up with the plot back in like...May?? Uh, anyways, no more gatekeeping this story too lmao, let's all thank Choi San for his appearance this weekend at fashion week, because his outfits inspired me to finally write this oneshot and also come up with a story for him, so, stay tuned! ^^ This piece is actually so very dear to me, I absolutely loved writing it and I just really want to hug Mingi in this, so I really hope you'll love it and enjoy it as much as I did while writing. If I forgot to mention any warnings, let me know so that I can fix it, and sorry for any mistakes, they do slip through sometimes when I proofread. Let me know what you thought of this oneshot, your feedback is always greatly appreciated! Enjoy now! ^^ divider

            His hair was outgrown again, black strands fell into his small and sharp eyes, obscuring them from the world. He had a certain crazed haze in them, irises shaking as the warm brown was overtaken by darkness, a never-ending blackness. The meadow was silent apart from the breeze rustling the leaves, twigs snapping underneath the weight of our feet if we didn’t watch where we stepped. It was quiet apart from the surprised sound I had made and his pants, hurried and frantic as if he was still trying to catch his breath, as if he was frightened by my mere presence. And perhaps he was as our weapons pointed at each other. My hideout had been behind a large bush while his had been behind a tree, wide enough to hide his tall and lanky form. You wouldn’t be able to tell he had lost weight due to the excessive clothes he always wore, but if you knew where to look, you’d spot his sunken collarbones and sharp cheekbones, hands decorated with veins that popped out and a jawline that seemed unnaturally sharp.

My body finally relaxed as it registered no danger, my arm going lax as I lowered my bow and arrow. It took a few more seconds for the man standing in front of me to mirror my actions, eyebrows furrowed deeply with conflict on his face. I knew why he was looking at me like that, a striking reminder of the crimes he was forced to commit, but I didn’t let that deter me from the kindness I always showed to him.

“Hello,” I spoke up softly, mindful of the animals around us and the fact that he was here to hunt too, “I’m sorry for startling you.”

He didn’t speak up, he rarely did when he was in my vicinity—not that he spoke much around people ever since the Games—but that didn’t throw me off from continuously treating him like a human being, something he was, had always been, will continue being. I knew many didn’t treat him like that anymore, everyone threw him glares and spat harsh words at him, but the absent look in his eyes never changed. It was like he wasn’t really there.

“Are you just starting your hunt, by chance?” I questioned, placing my arrow in its holster as I continued holding onto my bow. Despite having lowered his weapon—a bow and arrow, as well—his fingers still curled tightly around the butt of the arrow, almost as if his body refused to relax in my presence. I understood why.

“No.” I tried not to show my surprise when he answered verbally, his voice a low rasp and a deep rumble in his chest. It hadn’t always been like that, when we were younger, his voice used to be squeaky almost like a mouse and oftentimes shrill when he giggled or laughed.

“I have just come out to hunt,” I continued, keeping the soft smile on my lips, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore as I watched him struggle to release his arrow, “Would you like to join me?”

He stiffened again, and I knew why, but his movements became frantic all of a sudden, the arrow slipped in its holster and the bow was back around his wide shoulders. He looked up, face almost pained as he stared at mine deeply, then he shook his head. I didn’t move nor say anything as he suddenly took off, feet tangling in weed and almost sending him flying onto the floor of the forest, but I didn’t help him. I knew he’d hate it, he didn’t let anyone touch him, so I just stayed put and willed myself to watch him as he just barely regained his balance. I wanted to help, but he didn’t allow me, he never has and never will. The meadow was wide, covered in lush green weeds, trees, bushes and colourful flowers, fallen twigs and leaves, logs and rocks, but he still came towards me, not avoiding my body. It was new, most of the time he’d walk around me and not even spare me another glance, but today his eyes were piercing and his stance held more confidence than I have seen in him ever since the Games. My smile didn’t slip off my lips, I was grateful that he wasn’t so keen on avoiding me anymore. But still, almost as if he realized what he was doing, his steps veered away and he went around me just last minute, the fabric of his forest green jacket brushing against my knuckles. I swallowed, nervous for no reason as I turned my head to look after him, “Goodbye, Mingi.”

He flinched when I said his name, he always did and perhaps always will, but instead of ignoring me he looked back too, jaw clenched, but he offered a silent greeting with a nod of his head. My smile widened and his eyes did too at the motion, then he paled, body visibly shaking as he suddenly took off in a sprint, leaving my heart aching and hands trembling as he disappeared from view, my legs giving out as I sat on the muddy floor of the forest. I couldn’t blame him, I never did and I never will, but he made it infinitely harder to cope with the pain of having lost my twin sister because of him.

            The hunt had been successful, I managed to catch four wild ducks, which meant plenty of good coins for a tasty dinner for three. I have started training to become a nurse around a year ago, right after losing my sister, and that meant we were tight on money. I couldn’t say my family struggled much despite being from District 12, but after my sister’s death, it felt like things had slowed down. Money started coming in rather scarcely and it made me realize that she had been an important contributor to our income. Unable to sit back and watch my parents struggle, I decided to follow her path. It had been her dream to become a nurse, to reach the Capitol and become a great doctor, but the Games took both her and her dream away from us. It was a hard blow, it was hard because Mingi could’ve sacrificed himself for a woman who had a whole future planned ahead of herself unlike him, who failed to finish school in his last year and was supposed to work in a mine for the rest of his life. He was selfish, scared, and desperate to remain alive, all reasonable emotions when you’re faced with the choice to kill someone or be killed.

I never blamed him for killing my twin sister, I never hated him for being selfish and shooting his arrow straight into her heart. At least she left this terrifying world quickly and painlessly. I never wished death upon Mingi when my mother wailed while my father held her in his arms and rocked her, sobbing just as loudly as her when the camera span on my sister’s lifeless eyes and face. I never blamed Mingi for her death because he sobbed just as hard as us after the kill, holding her frail frame in his arms as he screamed towards the sky, words unheard as the cameras didn’t record audio too. I didn’t blame him when I found refuge in the meadow my sister loved so much, curled up in a ball in the tall grass as I cried loudly, chest aching and ears ringing until nightfall, when I finally felt empty and numb. And I still didn’t blame him when he returned home, crowned as the winner of last year’s Hunger Games, rewarded with so much money it would last him generations and a house at the Victor’s Village so big three families could fit inside. And despite the pain I felt when the train came to a screeching halt and he got off with empty eyes and sunken cheeks, our eyes meeting for a brief moment, I couldn’t hate him or blame him because the Song Mingi once everyone had known was gone.

The sky had turned darker as the sun hid behind the trees, the moon taking its place in the sky as mist settled upon the forests that surrounded our district. And despite the nightfall, the Hob was alive and buzzing with people who were desperate to trade their goods in exchange for some coins in order to survive another day. The four wild ducks I had caught, I had cut up and taken their feathers off, were displayed on the small table I managed to fetch from behind the building that has seen better days, and I set it up next to an old lady who sold trinkets and jewellery that looked older than even her. I have promised to give her the smaller duck in trade for a silver bracelet that had one pearl. I had never seen a pearl up close, and despite knowing that I’d never wear it, I’d figure out eventually what I wanted to do with it. Perhaps I’ll give it as a gift to my father, since it looked way too big for a woman’s wrist, or perhaps I’ll bring it to my sister’s grave and leave it as a gift to her. I didn’t dwell on the thought much.

The Hob was well-lit despite the old lamps that hung above our heads, and the late summer chill had settled inside, prompting everyone to wear their warmer clothes. I had accepted the battered blanket the old lady handed me when she saw me shivering, and promised to return tomorrow with ointment for her cut-up hands. I couldn’t tell whether she had nobody to look out for her or if her family had simply abandoned her, but I have promised myself after my sister’s death that I would help those who needed help yet couldn’t pay with coins for my services. A flower, cheese and bread, or even a small trinket would be good enough for me, I’d make use of it if it meant I helped a soul that needed attention and care.

Three ducks still sat on the table in front of me and I smiled warmly at everyone who wandered towards me, hungry eyes fixating on the ducks. The man that stood in front of me was a mine worker, I knew him because he worked with my father numerous times before.

“Hello, sir.” I greeted him and his eyes briefly looked up at me.

“Your father must be proud of you for helping out,” He muttered under his breath as he scratched his already irritated neck, “he speaks of you a lot on our breaks. How much for one duck?”

“Five coins will do, sir,” I answered him politely, but as he looked inside his pouch his face had turned ashen, then furious.

“Five is too much, child, who do you think can pay so much?” His voice turned harsh, and the lady next to me cast a glance our way.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I risk my life stepping outside the boundaries of our district, five coins are cheap for my sacrifices and the duck.” I didn’t let him waver my resolve, I knew how people were here. They would try to trick their way out of paying the worth of the items, and I wouldn’t fall for his manipulations. But the man seemed displeased as his fist came down on the table, making me jump. I wasn’t a violent person, but I was glad for the knife that was hidden underneath my clothes, pressing against my hip as a reminder that it was there. The old lady now looked at us, eyebrows furrowing.

“Maybe you should return to your little nursing school and fuck off to the Capitol like your sister had—”

“If you cannot pay five coins, walk along!” The old lady snapped next to me, eyes hardened and voice raised as it turned heads, curious eyes watching the tense exchange. The man threw her a glance and scoffed before he reached inside his pouch and retrieved the coins I had asked for, throwing them on the table as he grabbed one duck and stalked off. I sighed but gave the old lady a thankful smile and collected the coins, crouching down to retrieve one as it had tumbled to the ground. The cacophony of the market seemed to quieten at once until it turned into just murmurs, and I stood back up with a confused look on my face. I was a bit far from the entrance of the Hob and couldn’t see far ahead due to the number of people inside, but when the crowd started parting for a certain person, I understood their reaction.

Despite the camouflage he tried wearing, his clean and thick clothes managed to make him stick out like a sore thumb, his small eyes sharper now that the lower half of his face was concealed by a black silk scarf. He still wore the same jacket as earlier today, a satchel bag sitting against his hip as he wandered further inside the market. People whispered behind his back and stepped aside when he came too close, and I watched as people glared at him behind his back, pointing fingers and no doubt throwing insults at him. I wondered if people from other districts treated their Victors the same way people here treated Mingi. Maybe it was because my sister was a beloved figure in our district, a professional healer and always kind to everyone, maybe it was because Mingi had lost himself halfway into the games and murdered those who crossed his path viciously. Behind all the stares, glares and whispers lay something deeper. It was fear because people were reminded of their animalistic side, of who they could turn into when faced with the question of whether they wanted to live or die. They were scared because everyone knew they would do the same Mingi had done, kill an innocent and kind person in order to survive.

It was almost as if the market had frozen over when Mingi finally reached my humble table, silence so loud it irked my ears as everyone watched on edge our exchange. His eyes didn’t settle on my face for long, reluctant to look at me when so many were watching us, but I just smiled and looked at him with kindness, “Good evening, Mingi.”

I could hear gasps even, mouths hanging open as the Victor halted in front of the ducks I managed to hunt, eyes sweeping over them as if he did a quick count in his head. Even if minuscule, his eyes conveyed surprise and somewhat admiration when we looked up at me again, but upon seeing my smile, his eyes steeled, becoming devoid of any emotion. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement, then swiftly walked off, eyes set on a table that was littered with old and new weapons alike. Mingi had the money to buy the best of the best, but he always came to the Hob, late at night, probably hoping fewer people would be here. He could afford luxuries, but he preferred helping out those in need. He never said anything when they demanded more of him, he just wordlessly handed them the coins and left with a quiet ‘Thank you’. People catalogued him as selfish and ruthless, but he was deeply caring and rather selfless. It all mattered on the perspective you had of him and whether you wanted to spot the good in him or not.

Once Mingi was on his way towards other stalls and tables, the market seemed to regain its liveliness while remaining aware and alert of his presence amongst the crowd. Nobody approached him and nobody spoke to him, the vendors gave him second glances and seemed reluctant to acknowledge him despite the money they knew he could offer them. My eyes remained on his tall form, his shoulders hunched forward, as people passed by my table, sometimes stopping to inquire about the price of the wild ducks. A girl, too young to be here, bounced towards my table as she held onto her mother’s hand, eyes stuck on the ducks. My heart ached at the sight of her frail frame and the ghastliness of her mother’s face, and when she tried to veer her daughter away because they barely had any money, I cleared my throat and stepped around the table.

“Hello,” I greeted them kindly, and smiled at the girl as her eyes shone with enthusiasm, “Would you like to buy some wild duck?”

“We don’t have enough money, sorry.” The mother muttered embarrassed and I quickly shook my head.

“Well, you’re in luck tonight then, because I’m not looking for money.” I have acquired ten coins as I have sold two ducks, and while I still needed at least ten more, everyone had to make sacrifices and I wasn’t about to let them walk away without the duck in a bag and in their hands.

“But—”

“Come.” I beckoned the little girl towards myself, disregarding the mother as her eyes widened, “Which one would you like?”

I crouched down to be at the same height as the girl and she smiled widely at me, eyes sweeping over the two ducks that have remained on the table. She stuck her tongue out as she seemed to analyse both, then pointed to the larger one and I grinned back at her.

“That’s a good one,” I said with a chuckle and the girl shyly ran back to her mom to hide behind her skirt. I grabbed a paper bag and carefully placed the duck inside of it as the mother’s eyes followed my every move.

“I cannot accept this.” She tried to refuse but I was having none of it as I handed the bag to the little girl instead.

“You can.” I said with a reassuring smile, “My mother is looking for a seamstress, perhaps you can help her out sometime?”

I knew the woman was a seamstress whose business wasn’t flourishing anymore, but she was still clinging on to it, trying to do her best as she raised her daughter. Nobody knew who her father was and they had been treated harshly ever since she was born. Tears sprung into the mother’s eyes and she bowed her head deeply, “Thank you, I’ll make sure to do a good job. Bring in your clothes too, if they need fixing.”

“I sure will, thank you.” I bowed back and looked at the little girl, “Do you like pies?”

“I do!” She exclaimed happily and I chuckled.

“Well, then, I’ll see you two sometime next week with a pie and three dresses.” The mother bowed her head again and thanked me as a tear fell down her cheek, then she veered her daughter towards the exit as she blabbered on about how she loved duck meat the most. With a content smile on my lips, I walked back behind my table as I felt eyes on me. The old lady had a thoughtful look on her face as I faced her, and then she looked towards the crowd and sighed loudly.

“Your parents have raised you well, both you and your sister.” The old lady said and I nodded, agreeing with her, “She was kind too, but you are kinder, my dear. You have never expected anything in exchange for your actions, ever since you were little.”

“If we don’t stick together, then who will help us out?” I asked, eyebrows furrowing and my mood souring, “Surely not President Snow and the people from the Capitol, right?”

The old lady gave me a long look as she hummed, eyes looking back onto the crowd as I heard someone yelp. Curious, I turned my head and tried to pinpoint whoever had called out in fright, but the crowd was big and I couldn’t see anyone.

“Be brave and honest, but careful, even the walls have ears, my dear.” The old lady advised as men started shouting, the crowd crying out in fright again as suddenly it started dispersing not far from us, the people hid behind tables and next to vendors as another man exclaimed in pain. My eyebrows furrowed as I perked up, walking around my table as the crowd was clearing and I could almost see what was happening up ahead.

“What is the matter—” My eyes widened when I realized someone had Mingi’s torso pressed against a table, face down, wrists held behind his back as he struggled to break free as he hissed and glared viciously. My eyes widened as suddenly he kicked his leg backwards, and the man holding him folded over in pain as he released the Victor, scrambling back as Mingi whirled around with a wild look in his eyes, hands held out protectively in front of himself. The crowd steeled for a second, my heartbeat quickening as I realized he had the same look in his eyes as earlier today. Then, almost at once, three men jumped forward and tried to restrain him as Mingi pulled a knife from his pocket, sneering at whoever jumped at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I didn’t know what led to this altercation, but something felt wrong. Mingi was inoffensive, he never attacked first and he wouldn’t even hurt a fly even if it bothered him. Someone must’ve done or said something that made him so defensive.

But the men didn’t care as more women screamed, and I gripped the edge of my table as they jumped towards him, trying to take him down. Mingi was alone and despite being strong, he couldn’t defend himself against three men who were stronger and really angry. The way he held his knife was obvious enough that he didn’t intend to harm anyone, it was obvious enough to me that he was scared. My heart leapt into my chest as a man jumped at him from behind, unseen by almost everyone, an arm going around Mingi’s neck as the one to his right slapped the knife out of his tight hold. Then, his knees were kicked out from underneath him and he fell with a terrified cry, trashing around as the men tried to restrain his frantic movements. I took off without realizing my legs were taking me in their direction, heart beating fast as my ears rang, head aching the more Mingi’s cries started sounding less aggressive and more scared, but nobody seemed to hear them or care about them.

I pushed people out of the way, unapologetic and frantic, running around tables and jumping over crates as they were in my way, the only goal in my mind to reach him. Held down like that, his eyes were wide and filled with helplessness, the same look had been reflected in my sister’s when she had been shot in the heart. Mingi was still trashing around but his body was trembling now and it was audible that he was struggling to breathe. My body was lit with deep anger as I realized everyone was feeding off of his fear instead of realizing he was having a panic attack. The last person I pushed aside gave me a look and went to grab at me, but I threw them a menacing glare before I broke free of the crowd finally, panting as the attention was on both Mingi and me now. The men who held him were smirking and mocking him, but a look of confusion crossed their faces when I stood in front of them, frantic and desperate to stop this.

“Stop it!” I snapped, voice a lot more high-pitched than I expected it to be, “Let go of him!”

“He’s like a rabid dog,” One man hissed, “Like hell, are we releasing him. He’ll hurt us—”

“I said,” My voice held danger as I itched to grab my knife and hold it threateningly towards the men, “let him fucking go!”

And if my scream didn’t chill the onlookers, then Mingi’s helpless whimper did as his eyes screwed shut tightly, even his head shaking as he struggled to breathe. I didn’t wait for the men to listen to me as I scrambled towards Mingi, falling to my knees with a loud thud as my knees shook from the impact, but I didn’t care as he was finally released. He flinched and tried to flee, but my cold fingertips traced his forehead as his eyes snapped open, wide and shaking as they bore into mine.

“It’s okay,” My voice was quiet and gentle, assuring, “I’m going to take this off.”

I gently grabbed the scarf that covered his nose and lips, and a strong hand suddenly grabbed at my bicep. The men tried to touch Mingi again, but I threw them a warning look.

“You’ll be able to breathe better, Mingi,” I said with the same softness as the grip on my arm continued to tighten, but Mingi didn’t object as I slowly pulled the scarf off his lower face. He gasped and clung onto me with both hands now, lips trembling as his body shook. He looked smaller than he was, he looked on the verge of passing out. With a shaky breath, I traced his thick eyebrows and brushed his long bangs out of his eyes as I offered him the smallest smile.

“Mingi, what we’ll do next is easy, alright?” He gasped as he was hyperventilating, but his eyes were stuck to my lips, “We’ll breathe together, alright? We inhale big and exhale long, good? You’re safe, Mingi.”

I didn’t know how much my words managed to reach his mind, but I started taking big inhales and long exhales, hoping that he’d soon follow my lead. People gawked at us and murmured, horrified that I was helping the man who mercilessly killed my twin sister. I didn’t care, Mingi was human too and he was suffering. It was right in front of their noses, the fact that he was still struggling and paying the consequences of his actions, but nobody seemed to actually care that he wasn’t just a rich and scary Victor now.

“In,” I inhaled, holding Mingi’s cold face in my hands as his fingers dug into my cardigan, “Out.”

And he was slowly catching on to how to breathe in and out, his chest expanding and then falling back as he emptied his lungs. His body was shaking and he would still whimper or become smaller when someone made a sound too loud, but I was here, and I was determined to help him regain his senses, regain himself. It took him a few good minutes, but his frantic breaths have found a new rhythm, much calmer and quieter than before, inhaling and exhaling at the same time with me. A small smile crossed my face when I realized he was slowly returning to himself, my thumbs gently rubbed the skin under his eyes, trying to bring the smallest form of comfort. His grip relaxed around my biceps and his body leaned towards mine as if it was trying to drink in my warmth, I let him nuzzle his face into my hands as his body finally stopped trembling. The people around us went quiet and I gulped, trying to keep my composure in front of everyone. I was mad, I was angry and I wanted to scream at them for treating him like an animal, for caging him in and making him feel like he was in danger, like he was back in the arena once again, triggering a panic attack and probably unwanted memories that he tried to bury deep down.

“You’re safe, Mingi.” His eyes snapped open and bore into mine, irises expanded and still alarmed as he took breaths through his mouth, hands slipping down from my biceps to my wrists. His grip was painful and I understood that he wanted my hands off his skin, so I pulled them back into my lap, but he didn’t let go of me just yet. His eyes were shaking again, tears sprung into them and he gulped, subtly shaking his head. He had become paler than he was before, and I knew the crowd was too much, the eyes and the whispers, the fingers that were pointed at us and the sneers, the judgemental stares. I gripped his wrists back and stood, looking down at Mingi as I silently asked him to stand as well.

His eyes continued boring into mine, face ashen, but at least he knew he was safe as long as he didn’t let go of me.

            The petals of the soft pink flower felt dainty underneath my fingertips as I gently traced them, a small smile on my lips as I inhaled their scent before rearranging the bouquet in the vase. I had brought them in from the meadow just yesterday, so they were still fresh and flourishing. The meadow was full of the pinkish coloured Musk Mallows which was my twin sister’s favourite flower. She’d always gush about their softness and beauty, collecting a small bouquet for herself to decorate her grim side of our shared room. I wasn’t fond of the flower at first, its smell irritating my nostrils, but with the passing of years and sneaking to the meadow before sunset, I started loving their familiarity. The meadow was peaceful, quiet, and far away from the Peacekeepers and the grey haze of District 12. It was a reminder of what our Earth must’ve looked like before the nuclear war destroyed it and forced it to become what Panem is today.

The pink flowers reminded me of freedom and of my sister, of a dream that was possible to achieve if you never gave up and fought for it. It reminded me of love and laughter and the look on my sister’s face whenever she cradled it to her chest, of the chastising of our parents for sneaking out once again, but the fondness on their faces when my sister and I would sprint to our rooms giggling and talking about going to the meadow again tomorrow to make flower crowns for our mother and father. It reminded me of tender touches and a quiet love that you didn’t have to talk about or scream it out into the world for everyone to see it or understand it, it reminded me of a toothy smile and small eyes that once used to laugh, of sneaked glances and shy looks passed between classes.

The deep voice of my father's and my mother’s gentler one carried outside of their room, all the way to the kitchen as I changed the flowers’ water, my parents’ murmur gentle and warm. The water was cold against my skin and it made me shiver despite the warm summer breeze that came inside through the open window, and I smiled when I heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. My father was dressed in his overalls, his tools in a handbag and a cap low over his eyes as my mother came following him outside, fussing about the hole in his jacket’s arm. Their love had always been quiet and subtle, it was always about noticing the small things, about doing something quietly for the other one.

“Don’t worry, a small hole won’t make me feel cold down in the mine.” My father’s voice held amusement as he grabbed the jacket out of my mother’s hands. I rearranged the flowers in the vase once I was satisfied with the amount of water inside the glass, and chanced a glance in my parents’ direction.

“But it will seem like your wife is unable to sew it for you,” My mother’s eyebrows were furrowed and I chuckled quietly, picking out seven pink flowers from the bouquet.

“And isn’t that true?” Teasing bordered my father’s tone as he gave my mother a cheeky smile, and she looked away with an embarrassed huff, “Don’t worry, nobody will notice it. It’s rather dark down there.”

“Do you remember the small pink and purple boutique at the square?” I perked up, gaining my parents’ attention as if they were oblivious to my presence.

“The lady who has a daughter now?” My mother asked as she fixed my father’s collar, remaining close by his side.

“Yes, hers.” I nodded, then crouched down to place the flowers I picked out of the vase inside my basket, “She owes me a small favour, we should bring our faulty clothes to her.”

“I heard she’s been struggling,” My father trailed off as he looked at me, but not for too long, then grabbed my mother’s hand, “well then, why not? Everyone needs some coins to make due.”

“Right.” My mother nodded with a smile as I grabbed my basket and mentally prepared myself for a good enough excuse, “We should visit her, then, sometime this week—Y/N, where are you going, honey?”

I froze in front of the front door and tried to look as innocent as possible, “I’ll stop by at a house before I head to the Nursery, one of my patients was sick lately.”

“In the middle of summer?” My father asked with confusion, eyes straying from my face when I looked at him sadly.

“Some old people are barely hanging on, dad.” I muttered but shook off the grim thought, “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

“Sure, take care of yourself.” He said gently and I nodded, eyeing my mother as her fingers curled around my father’s arm just a bit tighter. Working in a mine had always been dangerous, it had always taken away lives way too abruptly and painfully.

“See you, then.” I waved at my parents and they smiled, proud but with sadness bordering their eyes as they never looked at me for too long. I understood why. The face which was mine hadn’t always been just mine, it had once been my twin sister’s too, even if slightly different. I didn’t blame them like I didn’t blame Mingi, and I never got angry at them like I never got angry at Mingi. Everyone suffered and coped in their own way with loss, and when things got too difficult to bear anymore, I knew I would find solace in the meadow that reminded me so much of my sister.

The walk to the Victor’s Village wasn’t too long, but it was midday and the streets were littered with people going on about their day. I greeted those who offered me smiles and I stopped to talk with those who needed my advice as a nurse. Young children laughed and screamed in the courtyard as I passed by the school, pleasant memories flooding my mind as a young girl clung to the gates and waved at me with a giggle. It reminded me of when I tried to scale the gate in order to prove that I was strong, only to fall and twist my ankle as I tried not to wail, but instead swallow the pain and smile when my classmates started fussing over me. It had been—an already—tall and lanky figure that pushed everyone aside with worry on his face as he came to kneel next to me, thick eyebrows furrowed as he clumsily grabbed my leg, applying pressure where it hurt most. I cried out, scaring everyone, and they started shouting at the boy, trying to pull him away from me as they accused him of hurting me, but I didn’t want him to go. His touch was warm and gentle, scared but willing to help, and I only stopped throwing a fit when the other children left him alone and made him pick me up and carry me to the Nursery that was close by. His voice was still scratchy back then, but it was soft and friendly, “You’re safe, Y/N.”

Nervous for no reason, I readjusted the collar of my lavender-coloured dress and then knocked against the perfectly white door, the air a bit clearer over here. The Victor’s Village was just by the borders of District 12, meaning that it was closer to the forest and meadow I loved so much. It was always silent here, and it smelled of flowers and baked goods whenever the Song’s front door was open to let the fresh air in. Only two houses were inhibited inside the Village and at night it could seem eery, almost haunted by all the lives lost in the Hunger Games. But my irrational nervousness came to a stop when the front door opened and an elderly smiling face welcomed me on the other side.

“Oh, my dear,” The elder woman, Mrs. Song, had a surprised look on her face, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon!”

After everything that’s happened at the Hob last night, I wouldn’t have abandoned Mingi, leave him alone to deal with the aftereffects of his panic attack. I stuck to his side and walked him back to the Victor’s Village as no words were exchanged between us, but the fact that he didn’t shuffle too far from my body was the confirmation I needed that he appreciated my presence and persistence. I was a nurse in training, after all, and he was just a person fighting against the demons inside his mind.

“It was due time I brought you a new ointment, Mrs. Song.” I said with a smile as Mingi’s grandmother beckoned me inside, “And I picked fresh flowers yesterday, I figured they would look nice in your kitchen or living room.”

The old lady’s face lit up upon hearing about the flowers, and I had just barely stepped out of my sandals when her hand gripped my wrist and pulled me after herself. Despite the house being managed by an elderly couple and their grandchild, it was in perfect condition and always pristine clear. I have offered to help them out more often, but Mrs. Song had always said that they were doing fine and capable of handling the huge house on their own. I didn’t want to push them or make them feel incapable since they had Mingi back now, thankfully, and they wouldn’t need another pair of hands to help out. While my sister and Mingi were in the Games, I frequently stopped by the Song’s small house to help the elderly couple with anything I could. Sometimes I cooked for them, other times I helped scrub the house clean, and when their legs hurt too much, I would sell their baked goods at the market and bring back the coins for them.

“You’re so sweet,” Mrs. Song mused as she directed me towards the large table in the kitchen, “Take a seat, I made some apple pie just this morning, it’s my Mingi’s favourite. Would you like some too?”

“I wouldn’t want to take it away from him, then, since it’s his favourite—”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Song waved her hand, hurrying to take a plate and fork, “That boy is so tall but so skinny. He barely eats anything lately, my dear, what should I do to bring back his appetite?”

It’s been almost a year since his Games, and sometimes I found myself throwing up after eating, my sister’s lifeless eyes flashing behind my eyes, a constant reminder that she wasn’t here anymore. That she wouldn’t go to the Capitol and that she wouldn’t become a nurse, never to hunt again or lay in the flower field at the meadow.

“Just be gentle and patient with him, Mrs. Song,” I placed the basket on the table and opened it, “I can’t guarantee he’ll ever be fine, but he’s doing better. I can see it in his eyes.”

“He’s still haunted by memories,” Mrs. Song whispered defeated as I grabbed the flowers and the tin can of ointment for her leg, “but he doesn’t wake up from nightmares so often anymore.”

“He’ll get better with time, he’ll eventually stop blaming himself.” I whispered as I headed towards Mrs. Song, who had paused and had her head lowered, “He’s lucky to have you and Mr. Song, and you’re doing everything you can for him. It’s good, I am glad he has people who love him and support him.”

Mrs. Song hummed and turned her head to look at me, taking the items from my hands. She smelled the flowers and grinned, placing the ointment by the sink as she went to fetch a vase for the pinkish flowers, “I had always been able to tell whether it was your sister or you, you know? Remember when you brought my Mingi candies when he helped you with your homework? Your sister never quite liked him, I once watched her kick him in the shin because he refused to carry her to school on his back.”

I blushed and looked away feeling embarrassed as Mrs. Song started laughing quietly, amused by the recall of a longtime memory, “You’ve always been soft-spoken and calm, you always looked at my Mingi with admiration and understanding in your eyes. I know he’s not—he appreciates everything you’ve done for him since—since that day, and he’s trying to mend your once bond.”

“It was her who volunteered to take my spot,” My throat felt a little tight, like something was bothering it from the inside, “she knew what she’d have to face, she chose her fate willingly. Mingi only did what everyone else did before him and will do after him, I just wish he was …more willing to receive kindness and love.”

Mrs. Song hummed and gave me a long look before she walked back to me, grabbing the curtain of the small window as she pulled it to the side. She had a big smile on her lips as she gazed outside, and I followed her line of sight, stunned by what I saw. Mingi was outside in the back garden with his grandfather, crouched down and digging up the soil as a half-empty sack lay next to him. His grandfather was fanning himself and holding a bottle of water as his mouth moved, telling Mingi something that made him smile. It was small at first, barely a twitch of the corner of his plump and red lips, but then it expanded slowly into something wider. Something which pulled at the corner of his sharp eyes and softened them up, the brown in them brighter and warmer as his smile only became bigger, crooked front teeth on display, boxy and warm. It lit up his sharp face and made him look kind and friendly, so easily lovable, so easily approachable. The smile made his eyes so small you almost couldn’t see them as they creased, long and tall nose scrunching up as his chest started shaking. It looked like when he was sobbing, but now he was laughing, loudly and joyously, and it made it harder to look at him than at the blazing sun.

My breath hitched and something dormant stirred in my chest, something that made my heart pump my blood faster and my palms ball up into fists as my eyes widened, lips parting in surprise the longer I watched the joy expand on his whole face, making him throw back his head, his black hair not obscuring his eyes for once. His skin was pale despite its tan complex, making it obvious that he didn’t spend much time outside anymore, but under the warm rays of the sun, it made him glow brightly and breathtakingly. He looked casual in his white shirt, which threatened to fall off his right shoulder, and his dark blue trousers were dirtied by the soil his knees dug into. He looked gorgeous, beautiful and mesmerizing, and I have just realized I never wanted to see him cry or frown or tremble in fear ever again. I wanted Mingi to be happy, to be joyous and grateful that he was still alive. I wanted him to smile and laugh every day, his warm eyes trained on me—on my face—without pain or hesitance lingering in them. I wanted Mingi to see me and not my dead twin sister in the reflection of my features.

I gulped, suddenly aware of the tears in my eyes when Mrs. Song placed her wrinkly hand on top of my fisted one, gently squeezing it. Her eyes bore into the side of my head and I sniffed once, trying to gather myself and blink the tears away. Mrs. Song remained silent, but she hummed and gently helped my hands relax as I uncurled them, pressing them into the cold countertop, “He smiles like that from time to time, when he’s able to let go of everything and just be in the moment. I know you miss my grandson, and I know you miss your sister even more.”

“I was never meant to lose both of them,” I whispered, voice strained as I forced my head to turn, Mingi’s laughter and happiness burned into the forefront of my mind, “The Games were never supposed to take away the sister I loved with my whole being, and they were never supposed to take away the innocence and light in Mingi.”

“Life isn’t always fair, my dear,” Mrs. Song said as she let the curtain fall back in place, “Sometimes unexplainable things happen and if we dwell on them trying to find an explanation, whether ordinary or divine, we threaten to lose ourselves in an impossible quest. You’re stronger than anyone has ever thought you’d be, don’t let the darkness get to you like it gets to most of us. You have no idea how much it means that there’s someone who views Mingi like a human being besides me and his grandfather, I was afraid he’d end up like Haymitch, but he’s still fighting and trying to do his best.”

“Mingi’s stronger than he gives credit to himself,” I said with conviction as I walked towards the sink to fetch the ointment I brought, “He’ll never end up like poor Haymitch. I’ll have to check on him soon.”

“He’s still breathing, if you’re worried about him.” Mrs. Song’s tone was sour as she knocked on the window, “I went over today, brought him some pie too. It was the first time since we moved here that he didn’t slam the door in my face, I suspect apple pie is also his favourite.”

Mrs. Song and I chuckled to ourselves as we heard the front door open and then close loudly, manly voices conversing about whether the new seeds they had planted would grow out fast or not. I opened the tin can and handed it to Mrs. Song so that she could smell it and realize I had infused some cinnamon into it since it’s her favourite scent. Her eyes lit up and she grinned just as the men appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, Mr. Song’s laughter gruff, followed by a scratchy cough. I let my eyes fall on the grandfather and grandson, their eyes and noses very similar, it seemed like the traits had carried over to Mingi too. His grandparents weren’t tall people, but judging by the small fragments of memories of Mingi’s parents, I could remember his father being an intimidatingly tall man. Unfortunately, he died in a mining accident when Mingi and I were barely five years old, and his mother unfortunately died not even two years later due to an incurable sickness.

“Oh, Miss Park, what brings you our way?” Mr. Song asked in surprise as he tried to stand up straighter, dusting off his pants and making soil fall onto the clean floors. Mrs. Song’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t say something as Mr. Song acted like he was innocent.

“I wanted to bring Mrs. Song a new ointment for her leg, hopefully, this will work better.” I tried to act like it didn’t hurt when Mingi’s expression fell once he realized it was me who stood in their kitchen, “Is your chest alright, Mr. Song? Do your lungs still hurt when you cough?”

“Ah, no, don’t worry about me!” He quickly brushed my concerns off, but my eyes were stuck on Mingi as he shuffled on his feet, shoulders hunching as if he was trying to look smaller. He didn’t look my way, sharp eyes pointed to the floor, but his face was void of any expression. I could still see his smile in front of my eyes, I could even imagine what his deep laughter sounded like—probably higher-pitched because it had always been breathy—but it remained as an unfulfilled desire because Mingi would never look at me like that, just with anguish and pain in his eyes, “And are you well? I hope our Mingi didn’t inconvenience you too much last night—”

“Helping him, or anyone for the matter, is never an inconvenience to me, Mr. Song.” I didn’t mean to cut the elder man off, nor to sound too snappy, but I couldn’t help myself. The anger and rage I felt last night for the treatment Mingi was forced to face at the Hob still simmered just underneath my skin, making me sensitive, “It wouldn’t have even happened if people stopped seeing him the way the Capitol has painted him, I—I can’t just stand and watch them torment him, I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re feeling better today, Mingi.”

The Victor flinched when I said his name, gripping his left arm as he started scratching it through the fabric of the loose white shirt he wore, but he nodded his head and briefly looked up at me, a glimpse of gratitude visible on his face, “Thank you for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” I said, and then Mingi was looking anywhere but at me, my presence in his home clearly making him feel uncomfortable. Realizing that despite his grandparents always welcoming me eagerly with open arms, Mingi still didn’t feel comfortable nor keen on seeing me in the one place where he was supposed to be safe from everyone and everything. I understood why, so I didn’t let the thought sour my mood or bring my spirits down, instead, I went and gathered my basket with a smile on my face and glanced at Mrs. Song, “Thank you for the apple pie, but I’m needed at the Nursery, I’ll have it some other time perhaps. Mr. Song, don’t exert yourself too much and if you’re feeling unwell, let me know.”

The men stood aside so that I could leave the kitchen and despite making sure I didn’t walk too close to Mingi, my knuckles still brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt, just barely but it felt soft and warm. My body stiffened, but I didn’t stop despite Mingi’s head turning to look after me, eyebrows furrowed as he looked conflicted.

“Goodbye!” I called before I was out the door, forced to take deep breaths as my heart was hammering against my chest. I had thought I could do this. But the longer he looked at me with disdain, reluctance and pain in his eyes, the more my chest ached and my lungs constricted, trying to call out for the man I was missing, for the boy who always smiled when he saw me and averted his eyes shyly if he looked for too long. But I wasn’t giving up, I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t treat him like the monster the Capitol made him out to be.

            The Hob once was a place filled with laughter and good disposition, a place where people went to dance, listen to music and enjoy their evenings. Now, after the war that destroyed District 13, the Hob became a mere warehouse that was worn down by the passing of time, destroyed by harsh winters and scorching summers. With its missing windows and hollow insides, the people of District 12 made a place out of it that would host illegal night markets, a means of trying to earn more coins in plus despite it being illegal. The Peacemakers knew of it but they never interfered as long as those guarding it got something out of it too. But with the disappearance of what the Hob once used to be, it needed a replacement, a place that would bring people together still, bring some light into their dark every day. The Hut was that place, an old house of a family that have long died since, in a slightly better-off part of District 12. As expected, the Peacekeepers knew of this place too, but they rarely came to bother people as it was close to the mayor’s house, thus leading to fewer displays of aggressive behaviour. But there were exceptions, there always were exceptions.

The people of District 12 couldn’t be considered hostile or unfriendly, but they knew how to hold grudges, and they weren’t afraid to show their hatred toward one another. It’s this reason why they so blatantly mistreated Mingi, swearing and cursing at his face, brave to lay their hands on him without thinking that it could trigger memories from the Games, making him lash out. At the Hob, when he had a lapse of judgment, his panic attack was induced by something that triggered a terrible memory from the games, leading to the altercation. But people seemed to not understand this, ignorant and unwilling to hear me out and realize that they were hurting him more by their attitudes towards him, ostracizing him even more. My friends, who had always known how I felt about Mingi, were just as ignorant at first, blaming him and mocking him, but they’ve gotten better at accepting him and leaving him alone. They weren’t children anymore, I wouldn’t be held accountable for their actions and words, but I could at least try and open their eyes to reality.

The Hut was almost overflowing by the time me and my friends had arrived, rushing inside as the summer breeze bit at our exposed skin. The long-sleeved dress I wore was dark green, like the forest I’d go hunting at, and I had a dainty brown belt around my waist that my sister had gifted me a long time ago. It was made of leather and it must’ve cost a fortune to her, but she smiled widely and clapped her hands when I opened the small gift box, my eyes widening at the expensive clothing item. Now, knowing that she loved it when I wore it, I made sure to wear it as often as I could even if she wasn’t here to see me. It’s the thought that mattered, and I knew she’d be elated if she were here.

We managed to catch an empty table, just about fitting for seven people as we settled in our chairs, voices raised as the live band played their upbeat music, gathering dancing couples close by the scene and cheering everyone on to come and dance. My friends wanted to grab each a pint of beer before we’d mingle with others our age, so I volunteered to walk up to the bar and order us drinks as three Peacekeepers off duty had approached our table, obviously trying to charm the single ladies who sat there. I wasn’t keen on them, they were ruthless in their practices and unforgiving and fake even when they didn’t wear their uniforms. I had no interest in men like them, men who chose to serve the Capitol and earn a paycheck by asserting violence on others.

I pushed my way through the crowd and tried to dodge every drunk person that came my way, but someone had pushed me from behind just as I neared the bar, making me fall forward and crash into someone’s back. The person stiffened instantly and before I could panic, the familiar scent of the person reached my nose. The fabric of his sweater was soft underneath my fingertips, obviously being a gift from someone wealthy as nobody from District 12 could’ve afforded it. It was beige and had an intriguing black pattern knitted into it, making the sweater look even more cozy. I stepped back and up to the bar, cheeks flushed from the heat inside the place but also from stumbling so clumsily into Mingi.

“I’m sorry,” I spoke up as our eyes met, his widening as mine looked away, “someone pushed me and I lost my footing.”

Mingi didn’t answer, but his hand curled around his pint, knuckles turning white as he squeezed it. His eyes remained stuck on me, though, something unusual as I fumbled with my small purse to find enough coins for my order. I threw him a quick glance and he quickly averted his eyes, staring ahead as his eyebrows furrowed. His hair, surprisingly, was brushed out of his eyes and his cheeks were tinged pink, finally not so pale and sickly looking. His plump lips were chapped but Mingi didn’t seem to mind that as he took a small sip of his own beer. I leaned over the bar and motioned towards the one managing it that I needed seven pints. I wouldn’t be able to carry them to my table, but someone would help, I didn’t worry about that. Now that I had to wait, I turned my body to face Mingi’s, and watched as he stiffened when he realized I was looking at him.

“Are you here by yourself?” I asked with a small smile on my lips and he nodded, picking at a thread of his sleeve as they were longer than his hands and covered them. The sweater created the illusion that it swallowed Mingi’s broad and tall form, giving him a cosy look that oozed safety. I fought against the pull to step closer, to touch his sweater to feel its texture, to compliment him about the way he had styled his hair, finally not obscuring his beautiful eyes. Mingi remained silent, eyes pointed forward as the men standing by the bar gave him irritated looks, as if his mere existence was an inconvenience to them. I sighed and leaned back just a bit, throwing them a warning glare until they turned away, looking uncomfortable.

“Would you like to join me?” I tried with an innocent offer, my smile slightly widening, “I’m here with my—”

“No.” But Mingi’s answer was quick and almost frantic as his eyes widened a bit, his head turning just a little to look at me. He looked almost appalled by my offer and I felt bad for making him feel uncomfortable, but lately, I felt like I didn’t know what to say to him, what was appropriate and what was triggering.

“Right, sorry,” I muttered an apology as the host appeared with my pints of beer, a younger boy trudging after him with a grimace. He looked like he didn’t want to be here, and by the baby fat on his cheeks, he probably wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Here, help the lady!” The host announced loudly and grabbed the coins I pushed towards him, pushing the younger boy around the bar. Mingi’s eyes fell on the boy, who seemed to pay Mingi no mind other than a quick glance, and I offered him a smile as I grabbed four pints.

“I’ll be here, Mingi.” I ignored it when he flinched, instead smiling wider, “In case you change your mind or need me.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t let my surprise show as he thanked me, quietly and almost hesitantly, but our eyes met and he nodded his head, eyes unsure as they remained stuck to my face. I lingered for a second, wishing to say more, to look at him more, but the young boy was already walking off with the other pints and I couldn’t stay by the bar forever. I nodded my head and swiftly walked off, not without looking back and realizing Mingi’s eyes were following me. It made my chest constrict, a lump in my throat rise as I forced a smile onto my face once I reached my friends’ table, which was filled with laughter and joy.

It felt nice breaking away from the monotonous days, from the grey mood everyone in District 12 seemed to have, it felt nice to spend an evening laughing and enjoying myself. Music seemed to always uplift my mood, and I loved watching people dance, eyes stuck to the way they twirled and moved, sometimes laughing, sometimes looking like they were concentrating too much. I loved to watch the gentleness they held each other with, the spark in their eyes and the ease with which they knew how to follow one's lead. The evening had turned into the late hours of the night, my stomach ached from laughing, but my feet still felt fine as I hadn’t danced just yet. Nobody had approached me and I didn’t want to dance with just anyone, so I also didn’t try to find a dance partner. Despite laughing and conversing with my friends, my eyes often strayed towards the bar, unable to focus on the conversation as I gazed at Mingi, wondering what was going through his mind. He didn’t move from the bar but he did find a seat on a stool, and he didn’t drink more than two pints of beer, but he did eat a pie that looked to be with apples. Nobody approached him and he didn’t approach anyone, he remained alone and stuck to himself as he often would look towards the dancing crowd, picking at the skin around his nails.

Mingi had once used to love to dance, whenever we came here, he wouldn’t sit down for even a second. We never came together, our friend groups were different, but we always somehow stumbled into each other. He had once tried to ask my sister to dance with him, but she gave him a disgusted look and stomped on his feet before storming off towards the boy she was head over heels. Taking pity on Mingi, whose lips were downturned and his head hung low, I told him I really wanted to dance but nobody wanted to dance with me. The joy was back on his face as he took my hand and led me towards the dancing people, blabbering on about his favourite songs and how he had tried playing the guitar before but failed. After that, Mingi always seemed to save me a dance before we’d head home. Perhaps there was one person, after all, that I expected to ask me to dance tonight, and it was Mingi.

I was sat at the table with just two of my friends as they drunkenly tried to ask about how my nursing school was working out, but I barely paid them any mind as I saw two men creeping towards Mingi. They seemed to be drunk too, but they had vicious smirks on their lips and narrowed eyes as they spoke between each other, pointing at Mingi’s back. My jaw clenched when one grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backwards, startling Mingi who almost managed to fall off the stool. The other leaned in uncomfortably close, spatting words in his face as Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, face falling slowly as fear coated his eyes. Sitting up abruptly and alerting my two friends, I paid them no mind as my legs carried me over to the bar, storming up to Mingi and the two idiots without paying mind to anything else.

“Excuse me.” My voice was loud and harsh as I snapped, jaw clenching when only Mingi seemed to realize I was there too, “Get your hands off him, now.”

And then I grabbed the man’s wrist who still held onto Mingi tightly, making sure to dig my nails into his skin as he yelped, turning around with fury on his face. I didn’t release him, not yet, as his face got red and his chest puffed up, prompting Mingi to slide off his stool, standing tall as he watched the exchange.

“You failed to hear me the first time,” I said, then pushed the man back by his hand before I released it, “surely a woman’s grip didn’t hurt you?”

The man scoffed as his hands balled up into fists, and suddenly Mingi was moving, making me gasp when I felt my back pressing into the bar, body shielded by his much taller and bigger one as he stood in front of me, gripping the other man’s forearm with a sneer on his face, “Don’t touch her.”

Mingi’s voice was low and threatening and it only took seconds for the man to start trembling as he tried to yank his arm free, looking towards his companion with a helpless look. But the man didn’t seem like he wanted to help as he watched Mingi with an open mouth.

“Mingi.” I whispered, scared that this would turn into a really bad scene, something I couldn’t help him get out of like at the Hob, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Mingi froze, dropping the man’s forearm as he turned around, eyebrows furrowed and body too close to mine. I looked up at him, finding myself breathing harder when I felt faint fingertips brushing against my knuckles, making my heart somersault.

“Yes.” And before my mind could register that Mingi had accepted to dance with me, a large hand on my waist was gently veering me around the crowd, leading me towards the dancing one, where the band’s music was louder and everyone was smiling and enjoying themselves. My heart raced in my chest as Mingi led us into the middle of the crowd, coming around me as his eyebrows were furrowed, hands hesitant to touch me anywhere despite having led me here by a hand on my waist. I gulped and raised one hand, deciding to make the first step and offering him a gentle invitation.

I didn’t think he’d actually take me up for a dance, I only said that to de-escalate the situation and to have an excuse for us to walk away from it. But Mingi seemed to take it seriously, his warm and large hand hesitantly slipping into mine. His hand was calloused from wielding a bow and arrow and from working in the back garden too, but his touch remained gentle and mindful. He didn’t wait for me to hold onto his shoulder as he pressed his other hand flatly against my lower back, guiding my body closer to his, but leaving a small gap. I gulped as I looked up, eyebrows furrowed as I fought against the tears that wanted to fill my eyes.

It felt like the world had stopped moving around us, as if the Games never existed, as if the old Mingi was back and my sister was watching us from the sidelines with a displeased look on her face. The tension eased from Mingi’s body and he looked at me with less guilt in his eyes as we made eye contact, but he still swallowed hard, lips parting as his voice was gruff and raspy, “Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because you deserve kindness,” I answered without hesitance, gripping his shoulder and clinging onto him too tightly, having little care about the fact that perhaps this was too much for Mingi, that maybe he didn’t want us standing so close, touching each other in familiar ways. But he remained silent as his body further relaxed, shoulders lowering as I felt his fingers jab into my lower back, with a tug on my belt he closed the gap between our bodies.

I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, what was supposed to be a dance position felt an awful lot like an attempt at a hug, and I couldn’t breathe as I drowned in Mingi’s closeness, warmth and safety, letting my forehead press against his collarbone as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I hadn’t cried since my sister’s death.

            The days went by quickly here, people were used to their routines and they followed them diligently. Nothing ever interesting or intriguing happened, life was mostly grim and grey. Our District wasn’t well off and there were days when even the wealthiest had to sit back and consider whether throwing out money for luxuries was truly necessary or not. The Hob was filled with more and more people trying to earn a little more in plus, desperate as hungry children hid behind their mothers and hollow-cheeked men tried to be louder so that they’d attract attention upon their stalls. It was a hard-to-swallow picture at times, but it was what I grew up seeing my whole life. I still took pity on everyone, never getting quite used to seeing all the suffering these people had to endure, frequently reminded that I was one of them too, struggling at times to get by. Training to become a nurse had made me realize that I felt fulfilled helping others and that it made me find a purpose other than trying to survive day by day. It gave me hope that if I was capable of helping and healing others, instead of harming them and taking their lives away, then others were capable of taking me as an example to become better and more helpful towards their peers. District 12 had always been forgotten and misjudged by the public—hence why it came as a shock to the Capitol that Mingi was strong and perfectly capable of handling a weapon and defending himself—if our people didn’t stick together, then who would vouch for us?

Helping others, even in the smallest ways like bringing them water or even a slice of bread shouldn’t have been considered something impossible, offering a helping hand to an elderly couple shouldn’t have surprised others when they found out about it. That is why helping the Song family had never seemed like a nuisance to me. Before the Games, it didn’t feel wrong to anyone, but after Mingi returned as a Victor it wasn’t just him who was shunned, his grandparents were too, treated poorly by those who once had happily visited their small patisserie, looking out for the elderly pair who have raised a small child into a fine young man. It was disheartening to watch how the people treated the family, only to realize my own family viewed them the same way. My parents stopped asking about their well-being, about whether Mingi would’ve liked having dinner with us, whether I would go hunt with Mingi and bring back flowers for my sister, they acted as if he never existed. I understood their reasoning, but I couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t blame him for something that was out of his control, for something he was forced to do. That is why I never cared what others thought of me, what they said about me behind my back, whether they judged me or not for keeping in touch with the Song family. Only I could change my mind about them, nothing anyone else said about them could influence me in any way.

That is why I continued to stick around, that is why I visited them weekly to make sure the elderly couple was healthy and Mingi wasn’t cooped up in his room all the time. Today, just shy of a week since Mingi and I had danced at The Hut, I stopped by to see whether Mrs. Song needed help with house maintenance. I memorised the days she liked to clean the house, opening all windows and dusting off all shelves, moping the floors clean and baking something delicious for her husband and grandchild. The blueberry muffins were in the oven, their aroma making my stomach churn as Mrs. Song was perched on a chair, rearranging a shelf of books as she carefully cradled their spines, smiling whenever she opened a book, flipping through pages that were yellow already. I was sat on the windowsill as I cleaned the hinges of the window with a green rag, humming to myself as the birds outside chirped loudly, making me smile. Mr. Song had ventured inside the District, looking for trinkets as he was building a small jewellery box and needed something to decorate it with. If Mingi wasn’t home during the day, he most certainly was out hunting, so I didn’t have to ask Mrs. Song about his whereabouts.

“The Capitol people are coming next week and they’ll be here for a few days,” Mrs. Song spoke up as I felt her eyes on me, “you shouldn’t come over, for your own safety. They are curious people and they always ask questions, they always pester Mingi whether he has someone or not. There’s—bad people in the Capitol who tried to buy him but Haymitch didn’t let them, it’s a dangerous world. Mingi wouldn’t want you involved either.”

I gulped, gut coiling upon hearing people tried to buy him as if he wasn’t a living person with a will and control over his own choices, it didn’t sit well with me, “Is something the matter?”

“No, the Reaping is getting closer and President Snow wants to showcase last year’s Victor.” Mrs. Song sighed and carefully got off the chair, sitting on it instead, “Update the public about what he’s been up to lately and how he’s doing, it’s all for show, really. But Mingi hates it, he’s been more—silent and avoidant, he doesn’t leave his room so often anymore. I know he’s scared, he’s dreading the Reaping. He will probably have to go as a Mentor this year and he doesn’t want to. The nightmares are back too, I don’t know how to be there for him anymore. I don’t know what to do to reassure him anymore.”

A feeling of sadness permeated my whole being as I closed the window, shiny and as good as new as I faced Mrs. Song, “He knows you’re trying your best, and he’s trying his best too. Just let him be and offer him a shoulder to lean on when he comes to you, I think he’s gotten better at coping. I can make a tea for him, to sleep better and have less nightmares, if you want me to.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” Mrs. Song smiled and stood, bringing the chair back to its spot in the kitchen. I drew the curtains together and grabbed the rag to bring it to the bathroom and wash it clean, but as I stepped into the hallway, the front door opened and Mingi stepped through the threshold. His black hair was dishevelled and his attire was completely green, his jacket undone and t-shirt underneath muddy as he kicked his dirty shoes off by the door. He hadn’t noticed me yet as he held a wild duck in his hand, an arrow still lodged in its heart.

“’Ma, I’m—” When he looked up his body tensed, eyes stopping on me. I stood up a bit straighter and offered him a small welcoming smile.

“Hello.” I greeted, holding the rag with both hands in front of me. It’s been a week since we danced together and he hadn’t been as tense around me as before, he spoke a bit more, but he still kept his distance. He didn’t look at me for too long, but his eyes looked less haunted whenever he did, “How was your hunt?”

Mingi swallowed then his eyes looked down at his hands, the dead duck wasn’t dripping blood on the clean floor at least, “Short, but I caught something at least.”

“That’s good,” I smiled a bit wider, “your grandma will make a delicious stew out of it, I’m sure.”

Mingi hummed as his eyes were stuck on the arrow that went through the duck’s heart as if he was unable to look away. His thick brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, but he abruptly raised his head, eyes hard and body alarmed as I tried to stand as unthreateningly as I could. I didn’t want to trigger any memory if able, so I looked to the side as Mingi’s eyes continued boring into the side of my face, “Would you—would you like to—if my grandma makes stew, would you—the duck I caught, I—I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched between us as I sighed, not annoyed and neither tired, just feeling defeated when I chanced a glance at Mingi. He looked disappointed as he chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders hunched forward again as his bangs fell into his eyes, “Would you like me to come over for lunch if your grandma makes stew, Mingi?”

He stiffened, flinching slightly, but he wordlessly nodded slowly, looking at me through his eyelashes. I chuckled and nodded, feeling like we had just taken an immense step towards finding common ground again, towards reestablishing what we once had, “Alright, I’ll come over if you still want me to.”

“I will.” Mingi said hurriedly, I had barely finished talking, “I won’t change my mind.”

I felt my chest slowly warm up as my smile slightly faltered, forcefully ignoring the need to walk over and hug him, inhale his earthy scent and thank him for trying to mend our lost relationship. I nodded, eyes boring into his as Mingi nodded back, shifting on his feet as if he didn’t know what to say more or what to do next. But to his luck, Mrs. Song had just walked out of the kitchen, eyes widening in delight when she noticed her grandson, “Mingi! You’re back! Go wash up, you can take care of the duck afterwards.”

Mingi nodded and walked further inside the house, making sure to avoid touching me when he passed by me as I pressed myself up against the wall. I watched him press a quick kiss against his grandmother’s cheek and then disappear inside the kitchen before he raced up the stairs without looking back. Mrs. Song chuckled before she looked at me with a knowing look in her eyes, then pointed towards the bathroom, “Were you headed in there?”

“Yes, do you need anything?” I asked as I approached her, trying to stop my eyes from gazing up at the stairs as Mingi’s loud footsteps thudded against the floorboards as he entered his room, closing the door loudly.

“I will hang up the laundry, can you bring Mingi’s clothes up to him after you’ve washed the rag?” Mrs. Song had a sweet smile on her lips as I nodded, setting into motion as I headed inside the bathroom, “My knees are old, my dear, they don’t function as well as yours or my grandson’s…”

I heard Mrs. Song mutter to herself as I chuckled quietly, nearing the sink as I looked up, met with my reflection in the mirror up on the wall. I turned on the faucet without looking down, my eyes a dark colour but under the sunlight a blazing amber—if I believed what everyone has always told me—and my short hair was braided behind my ears as that’s how far I could actually braid the strands. The two ponytails that sat at my nape were small and sometimes managed to tickle me, but I didn’t mind them, the hairstyle was practical and looked cute. I didn’t like my hair getting in my eyes when I was working with my patients, and today had been a rather packed day at the Nursery before I could leave to help Mrs. Song out.

The water was warm against my skin as I rinsed the rag out, carefully hanging it on the side of the bathtub, eyes looking around the bathroom in search of Mingi’s freshly folded clothes. They were placed on top of a low stool behind the door and I went and grabbed them, fingers curling into the soft fabric of the shirt that was at the bottom of the pile. They smelled fresh, devoid of the earthy scent Mingi usually carried with himself, a tinge of citrus could be smelt in the fabric as I brought it up to my nose, taking a deep inhale. Realizing that what I was doing was probably inappropriate, I stopped myself and rolled my shoulders back, trying to stop the blush from spreading widely onto my cheeks.

Mrs. Song was outside in the back garden as I headed for the stairs, the double doors opened and the curtains fluttered as the wind blew inside, Mrs. Song’s pleasant singing voice carried by the wind made me smile. I carefully walked up the stairs, which were made of marble like the rest of the ground floor’s flooring, and was met with pictures hung on the wall of the Song family. There were some older ones, black and white, and some newer ones where Mingi was small and smiling widely as his parents held his hands, his mother’s smile a perfect replica of Mingi’s. Mingi was the perfect mixture of his parents’ traits, but he seemed to take slightly more after his father, who had the same small and sharp eyes as his son, his nose long and tall. I was familiar with the pictures, I’ve seen them numerous times in the Song’s old house, but it brought comfort seeing them once again. The Victor houses were devoid of colours and any life, they exuberated coldness and stripped the home of any cosiness. It felt nice to see Mrs. Song trying to bring it more life with the pictures, her favourite paintings that were family heirlooms and carpets that she and Mr. Song had inherited over the years, with flowers littered around every part of the house.

I knocked on Mingi’s door, his bedroom was the last in the hallway and faced towards the forest, unsurprisingly, but there was no answer. Trying again, not intending to intrude on his privacy, I knocked some more but there was still no answer. I grabbed the doorknob and whispered his name as I poked my head inside just a little, only to realise he wasn’t in the room. Eyes widening, I pushed the door further open and froze, taken aback by what I was seeing. I had never stepped foot inside Mingi’s bedroom ever since he moved inside this house, but upon one glance, it was a replica of his old bedroom. Even the way his things were positioned was the same, his furniture the same, the only difference being the white walls while in his old bedroom, they were grey and the paint was chapped, falling off in some places. It smelled like musk and something citrusy inside, perhaps oranges, as I let the door close behind me, a single lamp lit on his desk despite it being daytime. His blackout curtains were drawn together, but based on the volume of the birds chirping, I could tell the windows were open. Walking further inside, I noticed a small notebook opened on top of his desk, a pencil on the floor and the beginning of a sketch that looked an awful lot like the meadow.

There was a thud behind me and as I turned around, I just realized there was a door inside the room, closed but light flooded out from underneath it. Deciding to place the clothes on Mingi’s bed, I took off towards it just as the door opened and warm steam wafted outside of it. Freezing, I opened my mouth to quickly explain myself but was caught off guard by what I saw. Mingi, still oblivious to my presence fumbled with the light switch as he stepped outside of the joint bathroom, hair dripping wet and torso bare as a black towel hung low on his hips. His cheeks were flushed and the water from his hair dropped to his wide shoulders, quickly trailing down his broad chest, between his pecks until they disappeared into the towel. The beginning of a happy trail started just where the towel concealed his lower body and I gasped, turning my head away when I felt my whole face on fire.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were showering!” My voice was high-pitched, flustered and sounded embarrassed too, “Your grandmother asked me to bring up your clothes and I—I knocked, I really did but you didn’t answer and I—I’m sorry. I really am, I’ll go, I just—”

My heart was beating so fast and loud, I was sure Mingi could hear it too in the silence that followed my frantic explanation, hands slightly shaking as I placed the pile of clothes on his bed, clumsily knocking some over. Letting out a frustrated huff, I fumbled around as I grabbed them, folding them again as I tried to ignore Mingi’s frozen form in the room, dark eyes trained on my body, watching me wordlessly.

“You can leave them, I have to put them away either way.” Mingi’s voice was deep, tone light despite our predicament. I gulped and stopped, closing my eyes as I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves before I stood up straight, letting go of the short-sleeved white shirt I was about to fold.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized again, keeping my eyes glued to the floorboards, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” It was unlike Mingi to cut me off, especially with so much understanding in his voice. He hadn’t talked to me like that since the Games, he hadn’t kept his eyes so insistently on me ever since the Games. My cheeks were still burning, not because I caught Mingi half-naked, but instead because he wasn’t looking away, he was trying to catch my gaze as he lowered his eyes, “Thank you.”

My muscles became tense, eyebrows slightly furrowing as I licked my lips, not quite understanding what he was saying thank you for so earnestly. I hadn’t done anything of great importance, I just merely brought his clothes up for him because his grandmother was old and probably struggled scaling the stairs so many times a day. Willing myself to look up, to tell him that he didn’t have to thank me for something so simple, the words got stuck in my throat as we made eye contact. His face looked relaxed, wet strands falling onto his forehead in a way that didn’t obscure his vision and he wasn’t hyperventilating and neither looking uncomfortable. I gulped, opening my mouth to say something, but my eyes slipped and landed on his left arm where a big red gash stood out strikingly against his tan complex. My eyebrows furrowed as I continued looking at it, and when Mingi realized, he hid his arm behind his back.

“When did you get that?” I asked, concern lacing my voice.

“Yesterday.” Mingi’s answer was short, voice once again void of any emotion.

“Did you treat it?”

“Washed it with warm water.”

“That’s not good enough,” I muttered, eyebrows furrowing in worry as I looked back up at him, “you need to disinfect it and put ointment on it, you should also probably wrap it up with gauze too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve survived worse.” I knew he didn’t mean to sound so aggressive as he said that because he flinched, his right hand balling up into a fist as he averted his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“I know,” I whispered, but I wasn’t about to let him walk around with a fresh cut, “but you need to treat that. I’ll be right back.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—” But I was out the door before he could finish his sentence, hurrying down the long hallway and then skipping down the stairs as Mrs. Song remained outside, now sitting in a chair as she watched the bees that flew onto the flowers in her garden, a content smile on her lips. I rushed towards the downstairs bathroom and opened the cabinet above the bathtub, grabbing the distilled water, saline solution, a soothing ointment I learned how to make from my sister, and some gauze. As I left the bathroom and raced back up the stairs, I heard the front door opening, meaning that Mr. Song had also returned home. In my rush to get back to Mingi and treat his fresh wound, I forgot to knock to warn him that I was heading in, but thankfully he was fully dressed and sitting on his bed, left leg bent while the right one hung off the side of the bed. He looked up alarmed as I heaved a sigh, closing the door behind me and placing everything on the bed in front of Mingi as I neared him.

“May I wash my hands in your bathroom?” Mingi didn’t hesitate to nod and I quickly went inside and washed my hands thoroughly with soap, letting them dry on their own as I walked back inside his room, pulling the bathroom door closed with my foot. Mingi watched me, neck craned as I stopped next to him staring down at the bed as I debated whether I should ask him to turn around or sit opposite him. Deciding that he looked comfortable and I didn’t want to bother him, I got on the bed across from him, sitting on my knees as I lowered myself on my legs, looking down at the solutions I brought, “May I see the wound?”

Mingi froze for a second, but he didn’t stall for long as he extended his arm, shuffling closer when he realized we sat too far from each other. He gulped, loudly, but I ignored it as I grabbed his arm and pulled it towards my lap, eyebrows furrowing as I inspected it. The skin wasn’t red around it, thankfully, but the wound seemed rather irritated. I looked at him for a brief second, surprised to find Mingi looking at me intensely, “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” His voice was low and raspy as he answered, and he tensed when I hummed, looking back down at the wound. I sighed and gently traced the skin around the wound, making sure there were no bumps or smaller cuts before I grabbed some gauze and poured distilled water on it. Mingi helped me uncap the bottle and then held it for me as I placed his arm back in my lap, gently tapping the gauze on the wound, knowing that it probably wouldn’t hurt him. He remained silent and I didn’t speak up despite wanting to ask questions about how he got this wound, I just handed him back the lid and he lidded the bottle before putting it aside.

“This might sting a bit,” I warned him as I grabbed the saline solution and opened the bottle, pausing to look at him, “did the soap sting?”

“Yeah, yesterday,” Mingi mumbled and looked away, lowering his head as his shoulders were hunched forward. His hair was damp, but at least water wasn’t dripping everywhere from it anymore. He wore fluffy trousers and a white t-shirt which was a bit tight and clung to his body, enunciating his scrawny but broad form. I hummed and tapped his wrist to warn him that I would pour the saline solution on the open wound now, which thankfully didn’t need stitches as it wasn’t deep enough. The muscles of Mingi’s arm tensed when the solution reached his wound, but he made no sounds. I made sure to pour only as much as was needed to disinfect the wound and glanced up at him, finding his jaw clenched and nose scrunched up as he stared down at his lap. Closing the saline solution bottle, I grabbed a clean gauze and folded it so that I could tap it against his skin. We remained silent as I worked slowly and carefully, not wanting to cause more discomfort. I felt Mingi’s eyes on me when I placed the bottles aside and grabbed the small can, my hand falling next to his as I paused.

“This won’t sting, it’ll help ease any discomfort and soothe the burn.” I informed him and then opened the can, taking a copious amount of ointment on my fingers before I started rubbing it into the wound, not pressing it too much as I knew it would hurt, “You should use this three times a day until it fades into a scar, and if you go hunting, you should wrap it up with gauze for some extra protection. If anything gets into it, it might get infected. I should check up on it in two weeks, but if it starts bothering you in any way, let me know as fast as possible, okay?”

I looked at Mingi with raised eyebrows and he nodded wordlessly as I sighed, glad that I could help. I closed the small can and placed it next to his knee so that he’d put it away somewhere where it was close by, and prepared to grab the dirty gauze and bottles, when long and thick fingers curled around my right wrist, halting my movements. I froze, staring ahead at Mingi’s chest as it was rising and falling rhythmically. His head was still lowered, eyes obscured as his big hand felt cold against my skin, the hold gentle and not bruising.

“Thank you.” I smiled and nodded with a hum, letting my eyes rest on his face, which he was trying to hide.

“Of course, Mingi.” But maybe I said something wrong because his head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes searched mine, lips pursed as he looked confused and even annoyed.

“Why are you so nice to me, Y/N?” He asked, voice shaking as his fingers uncurled from my wrist, dropping down between us, accidentally brushing against my knee.

“Because you deserve kindness,” I wanted Mingi to understand that he wasn’t different than anyone else, that he was a person who deserved to be treated well and with love and tenderness, “Because you’re a human being with feelings and thoughts and struggles just like everyone else. You don’t deserve to be treated badly for what you were forced to do, everyone would’ve done the same if they were in your place, Mingi. You’re gentle and compassionate, you’re easily spooked and you’re clumsy despite being tall and strong, you listen to others and you help them. You’re kind and you’re a good person despite what others might think and say now about you. You’ve always picked me up when I fell, you never laughed when I didn’t know something, you waited for me when nobody else did, and you never seemed to forget about me when everyone else did.”

My breath hitched in my throat when Mingi’s hand raised, warm and hesitant as it cupped my right cheek, his fingers burning my skin as I continued speaking, “I’m not scared of you Mingi, you’ll always be the shy little boy to me who carried me on his back when my feet started hurting and pulled on my hair when I threatened to fall asleep in classes. Nothing will change that, not even you pushing me away.”

I watched as Mingi’s eyes got teary, his bottom lip shaking as his hand fell from my cheek, making me miss his warmth as I almost grabbed onto his hand to press it back against my skin, yearning for his touch. But he only hunched more into himself, shoulders shaking, and I knew he wanted to be alone, with nobody to see him as he became vulnerable and emotional. Gathering the things I brought with myself beside the ointment, I left the room, leaving him alone to mule over the words I had said to me.

I could only hope he would start believing them

            And maybe my words did get through to him because the next time the two of us were out in the forest to hunt, we ran into each other and instead of him running away like always, he stopped walking and waited for me to reach him. He was just about to jump over the fence when he glanced over his shoulder and spotted my approaching form. I smiled widely at him and waved as I hurried my steps, holding onto the bow that was around my shoulders, ten arrows sitting in the holster by my hip. Mingi’s bow was around his shoulders too, but his holster was next to it instead of it being on his hip, and he wore his green jacket and black-coloured pants. It was a sunny day today, so I didn’t wear my usual hunting gear, just a light blouse that had to be laced up at the chest and trousers that once belonged to my sister.

“Hello, Y/N.” I froze when I heard him greet me, usually not being the first one to acknowledge my existence. My smile became wider as I had to look up at him, shielding my eyes with a hand as the sun shone down on us brightly.

“Mingi, hi!” My tone was laced with enthusiasm, and despite Mingi not smiling, I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t in a displeased mood, “Did you just arrive?”

“Yes, I planned to hunt for a few hours today, it’s too warm to sit by the house.” It was a long sentence, a longer answer, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. I tried to tell my racing heart to calm down, to savour the moment while it lasted. In his eyes, which were lighter under the bright sunlight, I recognized the spark which was always present in the Mingi before he left for the Games.

“I agree, it’s even worse further into the District,” I nodded and grabbed the fence, “Would you…like to hunt with me?”

It was a bold offer, I knew it could sour Mingi’s mood rather quickly, but I could only hope he wouldn’t turn me down. I missed hunting with someone, I missed the dynamic that came when you had someone next to you, how much more silent you needed to be, more careful and more vigilant. I used to hunt with my sister almost daily, we’d sneak out when our parents were busy and would only return by nightfall. Once, we ventured further into the forest, far from the meadow, and discovered that there was a small but beautiful lake an hour away. We rarely went out there, out of fear of the Capitol watching over it, but I cherished the memories we shared there with my sister.

“Yes, we could hunt together.” Mingi’s answer was unexpected, and my eyes widened as I looked up at him, trying to read his expression but it didn’t say much. He nodded more to himself before he gripped the fence and pulled himself up halfway, jumping over it and landing with precision, it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Knowing that I’d never be able to jump over it, I crouched and pulled on the fence just underneath the sign that warned us of high voltage, creating a gap where I could go through. Mingi watched with surprise as I came up next to him, pushing the fence back so that it wouldn’t be visible that there was a passageway.

“Was that always there?” Mingi asked amazed, still looking at the fence as I readjusted my blouse.

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle, taking off towards the trees, “I’m too short to jump over the fence, did you think I did the same as you to get out?”

“Yes?” Mingi asked as he averted his eyes, cheeks dusted pink as he made me chuckle. I bumped my shoulder into his as we walked further inside the forest, covered by the shade of trees which brought me instant relief as sweat had broken out on my forehead and temples. I patted them off with the sleeve of my blouse and grabbed onto my belt as we walked around bushes and stepped over fallen logs, hiding behind a boulder as we spotted a deer. Our breaths were synchronised as Mingi and I peeked out above the boulder, watching the pretty deer as it remained oblivious to our presence. Mingi’s fingers tightened around his bow as he exhaled, and I turned my head to watch him curiously. We had to remain silent in order not to alert our prey, but I couldn't help myself.

“Will you claim it?” I whispered, the sound quiet as Mingi took his bottom lip between his teeth, his head turning. Our faces were close as he exhaled, the warm air brushing against my cheeks, but he shook his head.

“I don’t hunt deer anymore, they are too beautiful,” Mingi answered, voice less cautious as the deer’s head snapped up and looked around, aware that it wasn’t alone anymore. I didn’t say anything for a second, just savoured our closeness and Mingi’s musky scent combined with the earth around us, as our eyes bore into each other. I hummed and faced the deer at last, watching as it continued eating once it decided that it wasn’t in danger.

“Should we head further in, then?” I raised an eyebrow, a friendly smile settling on my lips, “Find the wild ducks?”

Mingi and I made brief eye contact as he nodded, and then we both straightened up and stepped around the boulder, alerting the deer and making it run off in fright. My eyes followed it, remembering the one time my sister ruthlessly hunted down one of them, telling me that an animal was a source of food no matter how pretty as I started crying while I watched it die. I didn’t join my sister for a week after that incident, and I felt warmness spread through my chest that now I knew Mingi didn’t like hunting them either. Wild ducks were a little bit easier to hunt, at the beginning I wasn’t keen on capturing them, but famish was horrible and it made us do things we didn’t want to.

I followed after Mingi in silence as he jumped over rocks and logs, navigating his way around the forest as if it was his second home—which it might’ve been at this point—watching closely the way he moved, the way he carried himself. His shoulders were pulled back and his back was straight, he moved with elegance and confidence as he pushed the branches of a tree to the side, waiting for me and holding it for me as well. His muscles weren’t too tense and he seemed to be at ease as a small smile played at his lips, probably subconsciously, as his sharp eyes surveyed the place every other minute, looking for the wild ducks but also to spot any other possible prey. A red fox jumped in front of us and made me gasp as I didn’t expect it, and once Mingi’s initial shock was gone and he lowered the protective arm he’d put in front of me, he grinned at the fox and stomped his foot once, making it run off. I curled my palms into fists when our knuckles brushed together as we walked side by side, trying to fight the urge to hold onto his hand and intertwine our fingers. I missed holding his big hands, feeling their callousness and the few silver rings he wore dig into my skin.

Mingi slowed his steps when he spotted the wild ducks and I made sure to remain quiet as I watched mine too. He motioned behind a tree and we lowered ourselves behind it, peeking out at the ducks from both sides of the trunk. Mingi faced me with a questioning expression and I nodded once as I moved slowly and silently, taking my bow and an arrow as I hooked it, getting in a better position to pull it back. Mingi watched me closely as my muscles tensed and my arm pulled even further back, lips brushing against the arrow as Mingi hummed once, throwing a pebble to make the ducks fly off. I sprung up and locked onto my prey, letting go of the arrow at once as we watched it shoot straight at a wild duck, hitting it and making it fall onto the forest ground. My heart was beating fast, making my body warm as my blood flowed faster, cheeks tinged red as I smiled widely, pulling another arrow to shoot another duck that wasn’t spooked and remained behind. I hit that one too, and wondered when Mingi would shoot his own shot, but when my head turned to look at him, he was frozen and his eyes were wide. His knuckles were white as he had grabbed onto the tree tightly, breathing faster than before.

Realizing that something wasn’t right, I lowered my bow and scootched closer to him, “Mingi?”

My voice was quiet and cautious as Mingi mumbled to himself, seemingly stuck somewhere inside his mind as his body shivered, “No.”

I realized he was having a flashback when he gasped loudly and stood up straight abruptly, shaking his head more feverishly, “No! Stop, no!”

I let my bow fall to the ground as I stepped closer, trying to stabilize my breaths, “Mingi, focus on me. Listen to my voice—”

“No, she’s dead!” He screamed, voice raw and raspy as he faced me frantically, his body shaking, “I—the arrow—I killed her, she’s—she’s bleeding, I—”

“Mingi!” My tone was higher as I grabbed his wrist tightly and stared up into his eyes, “Snap out of it, it’s not real. We’re in the forest—”

“No, I killed her. She’s dead, you—you are dead, I—” Mingi gasped loudly and tried to yank his wrist free, but I grabbed onto his arms and yanked him closer to myself, forcing him to remain by my side.

“I’m not her.” My voice was harsh, eyebrows furrowed, “It’s me, Y/N, we’re back in District 12, in the forest, hunting. It was a wild duck, Mingi.”

It took him a few seconds to realize I was saying the truth, that the face which was talking to him wasn’t that of my dead twin sister’s, but of the girl he left behind when he left for the Games, the girl who he abandoned when he returned, “Mingi.”

“Why?” His voice was shaky and he suddenly stepped closer, all up in my personal space. I had to crane my neck back to look up at him, “Why are you doing this? Why are you still here? Why do you talk to me? Why don’t you hate me? Why don’t you—just kill me?!”

His tone rose with each desperate question, his bottom lip shaking as his eyes filled with tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “What do you want from me? Just let me—hate me, Y/N, shun me away, scream at me and slap me, I—I don’t deserve any kindness. I don’t deserve you anymore, I’m a monster. I’m a criminal, I murdered her, I shot the arrow straight through her heart. I have no future, I’m a nobody, I don’t deserve to be alive, why are you still with me?!”

“Mingi!” I screamed, making him flinch as I shook his hands off my arms and cupped his cheeks instead, pulling his head down to be eye level with me, “Look me in the eyes, Mingi.”

But he didn’t, he looked at the ground and shook his head, sniffing loudly as my jaw clenched, “Look me in the eyes, I said, Song Mingi.”

I had never spoken to him harshly, I had never demanded anything of him before, and upon hearing my tone and words, his eyes snapped up, wide and shaking, “Look at me. My eyes are dark, just like yours, hers were light like the sky during the day. My hair is short and wavy, hers was long and straight, always in a perfect bun while mine is almost impossible to tame. I’m tall, she was shorter and always complained about it. My voice is higher-pitched and warmer, more comforting, hers was raspy and always demanding, always ordering something. We smell different, she loved flowers and smelled like them, and I hate flowers and would rather cover myself in mud than smell like it. My body is covered in moles and hers barely had three, all on her face meanwhile mine has none. I like to read about nature and birdwatch as well as stargaze and braid hair, she hated reading and she only watched the night sky because she knew I loved it, she never braided her hair because the strands were too thin and would constantly fall out. I want to heal and help people because I love our humanity and I’m conscious that we are here one day and the next maybe not, she wanted to heal people because it made her feel like she had control over life, because she never got to control her own life, Mingi.

“She was mean to you and she didn’t like you, she pushed you around and made fun of you whenever she could. I never did, I always wanted to be by your side, I wanted to talk to you and listen to your stories, I wanted to shield you from her harsh words. You wanted to dance with her, but she always refused, so I took her place hoping it’d make you happy since I looked like her, I hoped you’d be able to imagine it was her and not me. I help your grandparents because I want to and because I care about them, not because our parents sent us over to your house to help you out, I didn’t do it because I knew our mother would buy us new dresses. I don’t want to see you in pain and agony over having killed my twin sister, Mingi, I have never hated you for it, and I have never resented you for what you had done, so please, stop seeing her in me and look at me. See me, Mingi, please.”

Mingi was crying by the time I was done talking, his body shaking as he forced his eyes shut, his tears wetting my hands as I rubbed the skin under his eyes as his arms no longer lay limply by his side but circled my waist and pulled me into him, embracing me in a tight hug as I let him burry his head in my neck, heart-wrenching sobs leaving his mouth as I ran my fingers through his smooth hair, allowing him to let out all the grief and pain he’s felt and tried to push down.

“I forgive you, Mingi,” I said it because I knew it was what he needed to hear and not because he had anything to be forgiven for, “for everything.”

He nodded his head frantically as he continued crying, fingers digging into my blouse desperately as his loud sobs echoed around us, a few Mockingjays picking up on it and carrying it further inside the forest. I hugged him closer to my body when his muscles started easing up and I massaged his scalp when his sobs started vanning, hiccups and sniffing following it, tight embrace turning into comfortable body warmth that screamed out for companionship.

And I knew he’d get better, he was strong, and he was no pawn of the Capitol.

2 months later

            The sun had lost some of its warmth now that autumn was approaching and I didn’t feel ready to let go of the lush green scenery, of the forest that brought such huge refuge and safety. The meadow was full of blooming colours, of flowers that made me sneeze, of bees that were loud and made Mingi jump every time they flew past him. I had my eyes closed as I played with the petal of a Musk Mallow, the person lying next to me fidgeting every few seconds as he was afraid of bugs. I had a smile on my face as he finally sighed and gave up, sitting up as he pulled his knees into his chest. The Reaping was tomorrow, the Peacekeepers were getting the square ready, and the train bringing the Capitol people would arrive tomorrow. Effie Trinket would act like picking a boy and girl for the Games was normal and Haymitch would be probably black-out drunk while Mingi would stand on the podium shaking and looking sickly pale.

“I’m scared.” As if hearing my thoughts, he whispered, “I’m not ready to return, I don’t want to go back, Y/N.”

“They will never make you go back into the Games.” I tried to remind him.

“I know, I just can’t watch a child I know attempt to train for something that will lead to their dismay.” Mingi’s voice was defeated as I blinked my eyes open, raising my hand to shield them from the sun.

“Perhaps District 12 will have another Victor, Mingi, have more faith in them.” I tried to sound encouraging, but I knew it was of no use. Mingi and my sister got reaped when they were eighteen, what was supposed to be their last year participating in the Reaping. The odds were rarely in our favour.

“I can’t be a mentor, it’s too soon.” Mingi pressed his forehead against his knees, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. I sighed and followed him, sitting up as I pulled something out of my pocket.

“You’ll be fine, you won’t be alone and you’ll be a good mentor, Mingi.” I said with an encouraging smile as he turned his head to look at me, “They won’t hurt you at the Capitol, they can’t. Remember, you are your own master and you can’t let President Snow get inside your head. You did well when they came to take the interview all those months ago, you’ll be able to ace this too. I believe in you, Mingi.”

He bit his bottom lip, eyes searching my face before they settled on my own, our gazes boring together as I looked down at my hands, playing with the single pearl on the bracelet. Taking a deep breath, I looked back up at Mingi and smiled at him softly, extending my hand with the bracelet towards him, “For you, as a token of good luck and trust, because I trust you and I—I’ll be here, home, waiting for you to return to me, Mingi.”

Gaze softening as he straightened up, he took the bracelet from me, his warm fingers grazing my palm as they curled around the bracelet, a small happy smile spreading onto his lips. He looked at it for another long moment, inspecting the pearl just like I had done after I brought it home, and then he looked up again, turning his head to face me. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’ll miss you, Y/N, so much.”

I smiled and released a quiet breath as Mingi leaned closer, supporting himself with a hand as my eyes fluttered closed, his plump lips hovering just for a second before they pressed against mine firmly. They were warm and not as chapped as they usually were since I had made him an ointment to use, and they were soft and tasted of the chamomile tea his grandmother made us drink before we headed for the meadow. I kissed back with passion, hoping it would convey all the unspoken things, all the words I wasn’t able to say yet, but would say when the timing was right. His kisses were always careful and gentle, like him, hesitant until his brain registered that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, only becoming firm and demanding when he couldn’t withhold himself anymore. I smiled as we pulled back, our lips making a funny sound when Mingi chased after mine and pressed a loud quick kiss against them again, making himself blush and giggle as he turned his head, gazing out towards the trees and shade.

“I’ll take care of your grandparents in your absence,” I promised as I offered him my hand, heart leaping in my chest when his longer and thicker fingers slipped between mine, intertwining with confidence and conviction.

“Thank you, they’ll probably ask you to sleep over sometimes.” Mingi said, his thumb rubbing my knuckle as I squeezed his hand, “They don’t like the quiet when it’s just the two of them.”

“I’ll make sure to spend the night from time to time,” I promised again with a smile on my lips as Mingi and I glanced at each other, settling into a comfortable silence as I helped him wear the bracelet before we scooted closer to each other, hands still intertwined and gazing forward at the serene nature, the deer that played around oblivious to our presence, the leaves that were moved by the wind.

There were days when things were harder to cope with, when Mingi couldn’t get out of bed and when he didn’t want to see anyone, but there were days when Mingi couldn’t stop laughing, when he cradled me against his chest and told me he loved me, when he promised to marry me if our world miraculously changed for the better. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to remain by his side, that we’d both be faced with challenges and hardships, judged by our people and by the Capitol, but we didn’t care. Something that we both loved and cherished had been ripped from us by tyrants, my sister and his innocence, we’d stop bowing down to the pressure to live a life that we didn’t want.

And, sometime in the near future, we both knew that dire days were coming before a bright and free future,

“And the Tributes from District 12 of the 74th Hunger Games are…Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!” ~ Suzanne Collins

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