Tintin

── ( j.b. ) he accidentally stares at you.

not in an intense way.

more like he'll be listening to you talk, completely invested in whatever story you're telling, only to realize halfway through that he hasn't responded in thirty seconds because he got distracted watching you smile.

when you ask, "why are you looking at me like that?"

he'll blink.

"...sorry."

he doesn't even know he was doing it.

── ( j.b. ) he's awkward whenever he wants a kiss.

instead of just asking, he'll suddenly hover closer than usual. he'll stand beside you in the kitchen for absolutely no reason. sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a couch that definitely has enough space.

look at you.

look away.

look back again.

eventually you sigh, cup his face, and kiss him first. he smiles so hard afterward that you wonder why he didn't just ask.

── ( j.b. ) he's terrified of accidentally hurting you.

he'll hesitate before pulling you into a hug or playfully nudging your shoulder, always second-guessing how much strength he's using. if the two of you are messing around and you dramatically go, "ow," even as a joke, he'll freeze immediately.

"...did i actually hurt you?"

the panic on his face is so genuine that you end up laughing and reassuring him for the next five minutes.

── ( j.b. ) he's constantly reaching for your hand... then second-guesses himself.

his fingers will brush yours while you're walking.

he'll almost intertwine them.

then he'll hesitate for a split second, wondering if now's the right time. you always notice. so you slip your hand into his first. the relieved smile he gives you afterward is so small that anyone else would've missed it.

── ( j.b. ) physical affection becomes easier once he's comfortable.

the awkwardness never really disappears.

it just changes.

he still blushes sometimes, but now he'll absentmindedly lean against you while watching a movie or rest his head on your shoulder without thinking. months into the relationship, he'll catch himself doing it and quietly laugh because there was a time when simply holding your hand felt like the bravest thing he'd ever done.

── ( j.b. ) he gets embarrassed when people point out how obvious he is around you.

his teammates don't even have to say anything.

one raised eyebrow after they catch him smiling at his phone is enough.

he immediately flips his screen over.

"what?"

"nothing."

"...why are you lot looking at me like that?"

he already knows. his ears are red before they even answer.

── ( j.b. ) he's terrible at flirting on purpose.

he'll think of something smooth to say. rehearse it in his head. walk over confidently...

and somehow end up asking if you've eaten today. you laugh every single time. he pretends he meant to say that. even though he absolutely didn't.

── ( j.b. ) he remembers tiny details because paying attention comes naturally to him.

you'll mention your favorite snack once, and two weeks later he'll show up with it without making a big deal out of it. he'll notice when you've changed your perfume, when you've cut half an inch off your hair, or when you're quieter than usual. he isn't always the best at finding the perfect words, but he's incredibly observant, and his way of loving often shows up in the little things he notices before anyone else does.

── ( j.b. ) he never stops getting a little nervous around you.

even after months together, there are moments where he'll look at you and have the same butterflies he had on your first date. you'll catch him smiling to himself after you've looked away or hear him laugh quietly when he realizes he's still getting flustered over someone who already calls him theirs. he secretly hopes that feeling never goes away, because to him, it means he'll never stop choosing you.

“Howʼs everyone doing?” Evan starts the conversation. The five of you were classmates in high school, and this is the first time you have  seen them since graduating.

“So... anyone got a partner? How about you?” Evan tugs at you while grilling the meat. You smile at him and nod. “Yes, I have a boyfriend.”

Everyone cheers and congratulates you. Evan smiles and puts meat on your plate. You donʼt think much of it. Minutes pass, but Evan still puts meat on your plate every time itʼs empty. And only you. Whatʼs he doing?

“Baby.” You look over your shoulder and find Juhoon standing behind you in his navy track jacket. Everyone stops and looks at Juhoon as well.

“Babe! Everyone, this is Juhoon, my boyfriend. And Juhoon, thatʼs Zoey, Megan, Noah, and Evan.” You introduce them properly and Juhoon shakes their hands one by one.

When it comes to Evan, Juhoon introduces himself again, gripping his hand tightly as if Evan were going to run away. “Hello, Iʼm her boyfriend.”

Juhoon gives Evan a thin smile before sitting between you and him. “What are you doing?” You whisper to Juhoon. 

He immediately grabs the tongs and starts grilling the meat. He blows on the piece of meat he just grilled and feeds you. “Say ah.”

You open your mouth and let Juhoon feed you for the rest of the night. Zoey, Megan, and Noah are fangirling over the two of you, while Evan seems to be quieter than before. After dinner, you and your friends say goodbye to each other. 

“See you soon, honey.” Zoey and Megan kiss your cheek before leaving. Noah taps your shoulder, and Evan gives you a brief hug.

“I donʼt like that red-haired guy.” Juhoon confesses.

“Evan?” 

“His nameʼs weird.” 

“...what?”

Juhoon holds your hand and keeps it in his pocket. He walks you home in silence. “I didnʼt know you were gonna come tonight. We shouldʼve come together.” 

“Yeah. Itʼs fine.” Juhoon rubs your hand and smiles at you.

When you arrive at your apartment, you sit on the couch and turn on the TV. “Come here.” You open your arms, inviting Juhoon to cuddle with you on the couch. He lies on you and intertwines his legs with yours. He clings to you like a koala. 

“I miss you so much.” He mumbles.

“Please, youʼre literally with me from morning to night.” You giggle.

“I donʼt like that red-haired guy.”

“Okay...? And whyʼs that?” You play with his hair. “He flirted with you.”

“He definitely didnʼt do it.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” he looks up at you. “His gestures, his tone, and his eyes. I saw everything. He likes you.”

“Yeah?” You meet his eyes. “And? Are you jealous?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “The meat he gave you was burnt. You didnʼt even notice it.”

“Itʼs not good for your health.” Juhoon stares at the TV screen and pulls you closer.

You chuckle. “Youʼre right. I didnʼt notice that.”

“Whatʼs your plan tomorrow?”

“Iʼm gonna go to the public library in town. I need new books to read.”

“Who are you gonna go with?”

“Evan. Because he told me thereʼs this cool book Iʼm definitely gonna like. I canʼt wait to read it.”

“No,” Juhoon sits up and looks at you. “I mean, go with me instead. You can ask for the title tonight, and we can go together tomorrow. Just us.”

“Oh, honey.” You cup his face. “You look like a turtle when youʼre jealous.”

“Tell me thatʼs a joke.”

“Well, turtles are cute.”

“Do you think Iʼm cute?” He grins at you.

“I believe I just said turtles.”

“Yeah, I donʼt like to be called cute either. Iʼd rather be called handsome or sexy.” Juhoon shrugs and lies down on you again. His hands wrap around your body.

“So, youʼre gonna go with me, right? I mean, tomorrow.”

“It depends,” you stop playing with his hair. “If you confess what youʼre feeling tonight, we can talk about it.”

Juhoon remains silent for almost one minute. “Yes, I was jealous. Iʼm not comfortable seeing you get touched or flirted with by some perverts who think theyʼre going to be with you someday. Thatʼs not going to happen because Iʼm still your boyfriend. Nobody gets to disrespect you like that.”

“Iʼm gonna go with you tomorrow.”

Juhoonʼs eyes widen and he sits again. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why not? I can text him-”

“Donʼt,” Juhoon raises his index finger. “Can I text him instead? Please.” He pouts at you. And you swear you just want to eat him alive. Heʼs such a baby. Your baby.

“Okay.” You beam at him.

“Okay.” He smiles and stares at you, completely mesmerized by your appearance. A little messy hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, and glossy lips. “What kind of gloss are you using today?”

“A pink one. I think it kinda tastes like strawberry.” You purse your lips. Seconds later, you finally realize why he asked you that. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Juhoon shakes his head, but he still looks at you. His eyes look dark and glossy under the dim light. 

“You shouldʼve known better about what you want, baby.” You squeeze his hand.

“Stop teasing me.” Juhoon groans, and you laugh. “Okay, okay. I wonʼt do that again.” You giggle. 

You turn your attention back to the TV, trying to focus on the first episode of Gossip Girl. Juhoon clears his throat and intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“I- Can I kiss you?” He mumbles.

“Of course.” You look at him. “Do you have to- ”

He pecks you. The two of you stay silent. “Thatʼs it?” You raise your brows at him, trying to hold your laugh.

“You donʼt have to be shy.”

“Iʼm not shy! I... I just- ”

And with that, you gently cup his face and press your lips on his. “Is it better?” You pull away and look at his eyes. 

“Thatʼs so much better. Thank you.” Juhoon grins at you before pecking your lips again. The two of you go back to watching TV for the rest of the night. 

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 yawnmi writes!  this wasn’t meant to be another mini series, but i ended up writing sm that the pics couldn’t all fit 😵‍💫😵‍💫 so im splitting it into 2!! (comment to be tagged in the second and final part, coming tmr!)

PERM TL 🐻 comment “perm tl” to be added!

@wonsoire @joyuuma @ilovegojosatoru13 @yawnmiuchill @ges1ca @angelicsoulv @aerienchanted @coergene @daniiixoxo @hyeonverse @junpom @psychicfunpie @seraphimuse @smokeada @jhoon5 @socratesgirllll @heartsy13 @annieruok4y @unicornfarteater6 @ghostgirlgone27 @konnilvr 

SERIES TL

The bass thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through your heels and settling somewhere in your ribs. You could feel the party before you could see it. Red Solo cups littered the walkway, bodies pressed against bodies in the living room, and that ever-present fog of sweat and body spray that seemed to follow Stella's house like a shadow.

"There you are!" Stella grabbed your wrist, her acrylics clicking against your skin, pulling you through the kitchen threshold. Her blonde hair, dyed the same honeyed shade as her brother's, caught the strobe lights from the living room, creating a halo effect that made her look almost angelic. Almost. "I was about to send out a search party."

"You know I had to finish that essay," you said, letting her guide you toward the kitchen island. "My professor won’t accept 'I was at a rager' as an excuse for late work."

Stella laughed, the sound cutting through the noise, warm and familiar. She handed you a cup of something fruity and suspicious, and leaned against the counter beside you. "You're such a nerd. That's why I love you."

You sipped, letting the sweetness hit. "Where's the music coming from? This actually sounds decent."

"Oh." Stella's smile went knowing, tilted at the edges. She nodded toward the archway leading to the living room. "My brother’s on the decks tonight. He threatened to blackball James from the next three parties if he touched his equipment."

Your eyes drifted before your brain could catch up, scanning the crowd through the archway. The living room had been transformed. Couch pushed back, coffee table relocated, and in the corner, elevated slightly on a platform of wooden crates and a folding table, was Martin.

He was wearing a white tank that clung to his shoulders, arms moving with practiced ease over the mixer. His blonde hair, dyed blonde, almost platinum under the lights, fell across his forehead in a way that looked calculated but was probably just from moving around. From here, he looked every inch the frat boy stereotype. Tall, built from basketball and gym sessions, radiating that specific brand of confidence that came from being six foot three and knowing everyone at the party.

He had his boys around him, some standing on the platform, some leaning against the wall, all of them nodding to the beat he was laying down. A couple girls were hovering nearby too, laughing too loud at something one of his bros said, but Martin wasn't looking at them.

He was looking at you.

The recognition hit like static electricity. Your gaze locked with his across the crowded room, and his hands didn't stop moving, fingers dancing over knobs and faders, but something in his posture shifted. A tilt of the head. A smirk that wasn't quite aimed at the crowd.

"Uh-huh," Stella said, drawing the syllable out like taffy. She waved her hand in front of your face. "Earth to Y/N."

You snapped your attention back to her, heat creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the body heat in the room. "What?"

"Nothing." She was grinning now, that wicked best-friend grin that meant she knew something you didn't. "Just noticing how my brother keeps looking over here like he's performing for a crowd of one."

"He's DJing," you said, keeping your voice level, taking another sip. "He's supposed to watch the crowd. Read the room."

"The room is fifty sophomores trying to start a mosh pit, babe. He's not looking at them." She bumped her shoulder against yours. "He's been asking about you, by the way. 'Y/N coming tonight?' 'Y/N working on something?' Like I don't have better things to do than keep tabs on my best friend for my little brother."

"He's being polite," you said, but you didn't believe it. You'd caught Martin's eyes on you before. At dinner when you came over to study, in the hallway when you were leaving, always from across rooms, always with that same intensity that made you feel like you were under a spotlight. But he never approached. Never said more than a mumbled "what's good" when Stella forced introductions.

A boy who looked but didn't touch? Who stared but didn't speak? That wasn't it, as far as you were concerned.

"Come on," Stella said, grabbing your hand again. "Let's go dance before the good songs end."

The living room was a pressure cooker of bodies, heat rising from skin to skin contact, the music shifting to something with a heavier bass line that you could feel in your teeth. Stella moved like she was made of water, all fluid hips and confident steps, and you fell into rhythm beside her, letting the beat loosen your joints.

But you could feel it. That weight on the back of your neck, the prickle of being watched.

Martin was still at his station, still manipulating the crowd's energy with one hand while the other adjusted his headphones. But his eyes kept finding you. In the gap between songs. During the build-up. When the beat dropped and the room erupted, his gaze stayed steady, pinned to you like you were the only fixed point in a spinning room.

You didn't look back. Not directly. You danced with Stella, laughed at her jokes, let some guy from your Econ class spin you around once before you politely extracted yourself. You were unbothered. Untouchable.

If he wanted to look, he could look. But looking was free, and you weren't a museum piece.

"He's going to strain something," Stella shouted over the music, leaning close to your ear. She'd followed your line of sight, or maybe she'd just known where your attention would drift. "All that staring. His neck's gonna snap."

"Maybe he should worry about his transitions instead," you shouted back, but you were smiling despite yourself.

Stella's phone buzzed against her hip. She kept it in a holster like a gunslinger, always accessible, and she checked the screen, her expression shifting. "Shit. I gotta go handle something. Tyler's having a crisis in the backyard about his ex."

"Do you have to?"

"Sadly, yes. I'm the only one who knows the whole story." She squeezed your arm, already backing away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"That leaves a lot of options!"

"Exactly!"

She disappeared into the crowd, a flash of blonde hair and sequined top, and suddenly you were alone in a sea of people who knew each other better than they knew you. You made small talk with a girl from your dorm, waved at someone from your study group, but the conversation felt thin, stretched too tight over the noise.

Across the room, Martin's eyes found yours again.

This time, he didn't look away. He held your gaze while his hand reached for a vinyl, actual vinyl, you noticed, not just digital files, and he held it up, showing you the label. Some old rock band you'd never heard of, probably. He raised an eyebrow, a question in the gesture.

You know this one?

You shook your head, just barely.

He smiled then. Not the performative frat boy grin he wore for the crowd, but something smaller, private. He mouthed something you couldn't hear, but you caught the shape of it. Later.

Then the beat dropped, and the crowd surged, and when you looked again, he was focused on his equipment, head nodding to a rhythm only he could hear through his headphones.

You lasted ten more minutes. The friend group you'd found was fine, nice enough, talking about summer plans and internship applications, but none of them had Stella's sharp wit, her ability to make you feel like the funniest person in the room. You did the Irish goodbye, slipping away without announcement, weaving through bodies toward the stairs.

You needed your phone. You'd gotten ready at Stella's earlier, helped her blow up balloons and arrange snack bowls, and you'd left your bag in her room upstairs. The hallway was quieter, the bass muffled to a distant thrum, and you could hear the bathroom door clicking shut, voices behind it that you definitely didn't want to interrupt.

Stella's room was at the end of the hall. But halfway there, you stopped.

Martin's door was open.

Not wide open. Just a crack, a sliver of warm light spilling across the carpet. In all the times you'd been to this house, all the study sessions and movie nights and pre-games, that door had been firmly shut. Locked, probably. A barrier between the frat boy public persona and whatever private world Martin kept hidden.

You looked left. The bathroom door was still closed, muffled laughter seeping through.

You looked right. The stairs led back down to the party, to the noise and the crowd and Martin's eyes on you from across the room.

Well fuck it.

The door creaked when you pushed it. Just enough to slip through, just enough to see.

The first thing that hit you was the smell. Not the expected scent of gym socks and cheap body spray, but something cleaner. Cedar, maybe. Old paper and vinyl. The room was surprisingly neat, bed made with military precision, desk organized with what looked like obsessive attention to detail.

And then you saw the trophies.

They lined a shelf above the desk. Basketball medals, mostly, gold and silver catching the lamplight. Regional championships. MVP awards. The physical proof of the frat boy athlete, the tall guy who dominated the court. You walked closer, running a finger along the edge of a plaque. Martin Jonathan Edwards, All-Conference First Team.

But the walls told a different story.

Posters, actual framed posters, not just taped magazine pages, covered every available inch of drywall. Not the expected sports figures or motivational quotes, but bands. Vintage rock, punk, subgenres you'd need a music degree to identify. Sonic Youth. My Bloody Valentine. Bands with names that sounded like poetry or threats.

And the CDs.

They took up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, organized alphabetically or by genre or by some system only Martin understood. Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. You moved toward them like they were magnetic, drawn by the sheer absurdity of it. This collection represented hours of hunting, of crate digging, of obsessive curation.

This wasn't a frat boy room. This was a confession.

You pulled one from the shelf. A rare pressing, judging by the worn edges of the case, and turned it over in your hands. The plastic was cool against your palms.

"Yo, most people ask before they go through someone's stuff."

You didn't jump. You should have, but something in you had been waiting for this. The voice, the presence, the inevitability of him finding you here.

Martin was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted against the frame in that specific way he had, like he was too tall for the world and had gotten used to looking down on everything. He'd taken off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck, and up close you could see the flush in his cheeks from the performance.

He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you were just more aware of it now, the way he filled the doorway, the way you had to look up to meet his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd mind," you said, holding up the CD like evidence. "Since you left the door open. Practically an invitation."

"Practically," he agreed, pushing off the frame with a roll of his shoulders. He stepped into the room, and you realized too late that there was nowhere for you to go. The CD shelf was at your back. The bed was to your left. He was between you and the door.

And then he closed it.

The click of the latch was louder than it should have been, cutting off the party noise to a distant hum. You were alone with him. In his room. With his secrets spread out like offerings.

"Surprising, isn't it?" he asked, nodding toward the posters, the CDs, the carefully curated chaos of his actual personality. "Not exactly what you'd expect from the guy who runs the aux at every party, right?"

"Which part?"

"All of it." He moved closer, not crowding exactly, but occupying space in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch between you. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture pure frat boy, all casual confidence. "The guy who plays Top 40 for the boys has a first pressing of Daydream Nation. The rush chair knows the entire discography of shoegaze. The frat star has feelings about guitar pedals."

He was smiling, but it was different from downstairs. Self-deprecating. A little sharp.

"Why hide it?" you asked.

"Why not?" He shrugged, that single gesture doing something complicated. Lifting the strap of his tank, shifting the muscle of his shoulder. "People like the frat boy. He's easy. He plays the hits. He doesn't make anyone feel stupid for not knowing who Slowdive is. Plus," he added, a flicker of that cocky grin returning, "girls dig it. No cap."

"But that's not you."

His eyes caught yours, and there it was again. That weight, that intensity from across the room, but now there was no crowd to hide behind. No DJ booth creating distance.

"Nah," he said softly. "That's not me."

He took another step. You took one back, your shoulder blades hitting the CD shelf. He kept advancing, slow, deliberate, until you were moving backward across the carpet, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress and you sat down hard, the CD still clutched in your hand.

Martin didn't stop. He kept coming, settling onto the bed beside you. Not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat coming off his arm, could smell that cedar scent up close now, mixed with something else. Something like the static before a storm.

"You know what the worst part is?" he asked, his voice dropping. The party downstairs felt like another planet.

"What?"

"I've been trying to holler at you for months." He turned to face you, one knee bent on the mattress, his body angled toward yours. "Since last semester. Since that night you came over to help Stella with her sociology project and you quoted bell hooks at dinner like it was nothing. Like everyone should just know who bell hooks is."

You blinked. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." He reached out, his hand hovering over yours where it rested on the CD case. He didn't touch. Not yet. "I remember you wearing that yellow sweater. I remember you laughing at Stella's terrible jokes and making her feel smart even when she was being stupid. I remember thinking, damn, there's someone who actually sees people."

Your throat felt tight. "Martin."

"I know I'm not," he gestured at himself, at the room, at the duality of his existence. "I know I'm not what you probably go for. I'm too tall, I'm in a frat, I act dumber than I am. But I keep looking at you across rooms, and you keep looking back, and I keep thinking maybe."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe you'd come to my game next week." He said it fast, like the words were escaping. "Saturday, three o'clock. We're playing State. And I know it's just intramural, I know it's not. I'm not trying to wife you up or anything, I just. I play better when you're there. I can feel you watching, and I want to be better."

You stared at him. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

"No, I mean." You laughed, the sound breaking some of the tension, but not all of it. "You think I make you play better? That's insane."

"Probably." He was grinning now, that frat boy charm bleeding through but mixed with something real, something desperate. "But I've been three for three when you're in the stands. Coincidence?"

"Definitely."

"Prove it." He leaned closer, and you didn't pull back. "Come to the game. Watch me lose. I'll admit I was wrong."

"And if you win?"

"Then you let me take you out. Real food, not dining hall sludge. And I tell you about every single CD on that wall."

"That's a lot of CDs."

"I've got time."

He was close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of darker gold in his dyed hair, the way his pupils had blown wide in the dim light of the room. Close enough that his knee was brushing yours, that his hand had finally settled over yours on the CD case, his fingers warm and long and slightly calloused from basketball and from spinning vinyl.

"You've been watching me," you said. It wasn't an accusation.

"Couldn't stop if I tried," he admitted. "You're a tall girl , you know that right? You walk into rooms like you own them. You make Stella laugh harder than anyone. You pretend not to see me staring, and it drives me absolutely crazy."

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You leaned in, just slightly, just enough to close some of the distance. "Maybe you should do something about it instead of just watching."

His breath caught. You could see it, the way his chest stilled, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and then back up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He moved first, but you met him halfway. It was soft, hesitant, his hand coming up to cup your jaw with a gentleness that didn't match his size, his frat boy exterior. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they moved against yours with a carefulness that made your chest ache. No rush, no demand, just the slow exploration of a first kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were in high school again, sneaking around after curfew.

The CD case dug into your palm where you still clutched it, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not with the way he tilted his head to fit better against you, not with the way his other hand found your waist and rested there, light and uncertain and sweet.

He pulled back first, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," you whispered, your hand finding the front of his tank, gripping the fabric just slightly. "This is okay."

He smiled, that same small, private smile from across the crowded room, and leaned in again. This time was shorter, sweeter, just a press of lips and a promise.

The door burst open.

"Martin, have you seen my girl? I lost her downstairs and she's not answering her..." Stella's voice trailed off, her eyes going wide as saucers as she took in the scene. You and her brother, sitting close on his bed, your hand on his chest, his hand on your waist, guilty as sin.

You scrambled upright, heat flooding your face, your neck, your entire body. "Stella, I can explain."

"Oh my god." She leaned against the doorframe, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her mouth. "Oh my god. I should have clocked that way sooner."

"Stella, it's not."

"Not what?" She dropped her hand, her expression shifting from shock to delight, that wicked grin returning full force. "Not obvious? Not inevitable? Not the fact that my brother's been down bad for you since literally the first time you came over and he spent forty minutes in the bathroom fixing his hair?"

"Stella," Martin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Forty minutes?" you repeated, looking at him.

"She's lying," Martin said, but his ears were turning pink.

"Let’s make it an hour," Stella corrected. "And he made me play three different songs to see which one you'd like best. It was pathetic, truly."

"You're not helping," Martin muttered.

"Oh, I'm absolutely helping." She pushed off the doorframe, backing into the hallway. "I'm about to go tell the whole house that DJ Martin finally made a move. You two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, which, let's be real, leaves you plenty of room."

"Hell fucking nah, Stella!"

"Love you, bye!"

She pulled the door shut behind her, and you were left in the sudden silence, the hum of the party downstairs filtering through the walls, your face still burning with embarrassment.

"She's going to tell everyone," you said.

"Probably." He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back on his palms, looking up at you with that lazy frat boy grin that didn't quite hide how pleased he was. "You cool with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking." He reached out, catching your hand where it rested on the bed, his thumb tracing slow circles against your palm. "So. Saturday. Three o'clock. You gonna come watch me ball?"

"Are you going to play better?"

"Bet." He squeezed your hand, grinning wide. "I'm gonna drop forty points if you're there."

"That's a lot of points."

"For you?" He pulled you back down beside him, easy and casual, like you'd done it a hundred times before. "I'd drop a hundred."

contains - est.relationship, keonho calls reader 'princess' 'lovely' and 'babe', ragebait, profanity, usage of bad words (bitch, fucking, ass, shit,...), use of the word 'jagiya' instead of baby (don't ask why), mention of katseye, mention of two songs (pinky up and iconic by mistake), reader gets blocked. keonho gets BULLIED

(when you check your post and then it has sm grammar errors so u js say grammar mistakes intended and move on)

prod. @jjura

masterlist

“And then he said goodnight and left ”

Your girlfriend’s mouth was wide open, stunned that all of this happened in just one night. Apparently in just 3 hours you will be on a date with Jobe. Anna, Olivia and Hayu were veryyy supportive of the situation between you and Jobe. But you weren’t the only one getting teased or interviewed, Jobe has been getting annoyed by his older brother Jude.

Jude couldn’t stop annoying Jobe, it’s funny seeing him blush just at the sight of your instagram posts.

“Mate she’s a fine ting ngl” one of Jobes Friends commented you were in fact a very beautiful woman, and you did not hide it on social media. You even noticed that some of Jobes teammates liked either your story or one of your posts. Hell even Jude started following you on Instagram.

Going on a date is cool but getting ready for one is hard. Your whole closet is on the floor , clothes spreaded like the tomato sauce on the pizza bread. Olivia is laughing, also exhausted because she wouldn’t know what to wear. Like what do you wear on a date with Jobe?? Both of you started to think hard like high school students who are high during their exam.

„What about the short black dress?“

„Idk liv its kinda coming off as if im a hoe“

„but wearing that jeans top is a dumb idea then“

„It is , fuuuuuck what do we do?“

Oliva thought really hard and looked at all of the clothes that were even optional. Both of you have different styles so this males it even more complicated, but Olivia is destined to become a stylist, so you trust her. But right now you have only two outfits who would be perfect. The short black dress, its classic and actually very cute but you don’t know if it comes off well. The jeans pair, top and bottom, both of you had an heart attack finding this but it actually enhances your body.

“Black dress, that’s my final choice” you looked at Olivia who was already handing you the dress. Holding the dress you looked at the mirror again. With your hair done and makeup already covering your face, you only missed your dress. Yeah Olivia better get that job her vision is good.

“Yeah fuck it a little black dress never goes wrong”

“Finally, would have pimp slapped you if you actually wanted to wear a jeans outfit” you rolled your eyes on your best friend and she just smiled at you.

“Kitten heels or normal-”

“Kitten ofcourse!”

At exactly 7:40 PM, the sweep of headlights illuminated your front window. You took one last, nervous breath, smoothing down the fabric of your short black dress in the hallway mirror.

Meeting a guy in a loud, crowded club and making out with him against a dimly lit bathroom wasn’t your usual way of finding romance. But Jobe had been different. There was an instant, magnetic pull between you two, and when he texted you yesterday asking to take you to dinner, you hadn’t hesitated.

You opened the front door just as he was raising his hand to knock.

Jobe stood on your porch, dressed in a crisp, dark button down shirt, looking effortlessly handsome. The moment he saw you, his hand dropped. His eyes widened slightly, taking in the black dress, and a faint, endearing dusting of pink touched his cheeks. The cool, confident guy from the club was suddenly replaced by someone who looked genuinely starstruck.

“Hi,” you smiled, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wow,” Jobe breathed out, shaking his head with a boyish, unguarded smile. “You look… you look absolutely incredible. I mean, I knew you were gorgeous last night, but wow.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Bellingham,” you teased, feeling a rush of butterflies at his reaction.

He led you to his car, opening the passenger door for you with a small bow that made you laugh. As he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the familiar, smooth beat of Drake’s Passionfruit filled the car.

“Drake?” you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully as you buckled your seatbelt. “Setting the mood, are we?”

Jobe laughed, pulling out of your driveway. “Hey, you can’t go wrong with Drake on a night drive. Plus, I needed something to calm my nerves. I was half terrified you were going to text me and cancel.”

“Cancel? After we made out?” you joked, settling into the leather seat.

The drive to the restaurant was effortless. The city lights blurred past the windows, the bass of the music wrapping around you both in the cozy space of the car. You found yourselves singing along to the chorus, laughing when Jobe dramatically lip synced a verse directly to you at a red light. As the light turned green, he shifted his hand from the steering wheel, resting it on the center console. Slowly, gently, he laced his fingers through yours. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, and he didn’t let go for the rest of the drive.

You pulled up to the Italian restaurant right at 8pm. The warm, golden glow of the building spilled out onto the pavement, smelling richly of roasting tomatoes and garlic.

Inside, the hostess led you to a cozy, candlelit booth tucked away in the back corner. Instead of sitting across from you, Jobe slid into the curved seat right next to you, his knee brushing yours under the table.

The dinner was a blur of giddy, electric energy. It was the pure, intoxicating rush of young love ,the kind where every shared laugh feels like a secret and every accidental touch sends a jolt straight to your chest. You talked about everything, stealing bites of each other’s pasta and arguing playfully over which dessert to share. Despite his height and his quiet confidence, he kept finding excuses to look at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners every time you smiled.

“You know,” Jobe murmured softly, his hand finding yours again on top of the white tablecloth as the waiter cleared your plates. “In the sober light of day… I think I like you even more than I did last night. And I really, really liked you last night.”

You felt a warm flush creep up your neck. “I like you too, Jobe.”

By the time you walked back out to his car, the night air had turned crisp. You shivered slightly in your short dress, and before you could even say a word, Jobe was shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. It was huge on you, smelling faintly of his cologne.

“Thank you,” you smiled, pulling the lapels closer together.

He didn’t step back. Instead, his hands lingered on your shoulders, and he stepped closer, gently backing you against the passenger side door of his car. The streetlights cast a soft halo around him.

Last night, your kisses had been rushed, fueled by adrenaline and heavy club music. But tonight was different.

Jobe reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes flicked down to your lips, asking a silent question. You answered by tilting your head up, closing the final inch between you.

When his lips met yours, it was slow, sweet, and incredibly deliberate. It was a kiss that tasted like tiramisu and the promise of a hundred more dates just like this one. You let your hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart beneath his shirt, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a wide, goofy smile spreading across his face.

“So,” Jobe whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

miu's corner ⋆ sooo... Finally a seonghyeon fanfic after agessss. If you like my work don't forget to follow and support<33

The keys felt heavy in your hand.

Your fingers trembled as you unlocked the front door.

The moment the lock clicked open, the last bit of your strength vanished.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet apartment.

The warmth of the living room hit your face.

It was a sharp contrast to the cold rain outside.

It was also a contrast to the cold, sterile exam hall you had spent the last four hours in.

Your stomach twisted in a sharp, burning knot.

The cramps had started early that morning, right before your final exam.

You had spent the entire day fighting two battles at once : the difficult test questions and the agonizing pain in your lower abdomen.

You hadn't cried during the exam.

You hadn't cried on the subway ride home.

But now, finally back in the safety of your own place, the walls came crashing down.

A heavy, broken sob escaped your throat.

Your backpack slipped from your shoulder, thumping loudly against the floorboards.

You slid down against the wall, burying your face in your knees.

The tears flowed instantly, hot and unstoppable.

You felt completely overwhelmed.

The stress of weeks of studying, the exhaustion, and the physical pain merged into one giant weight on your chest.

"Princess?"

A soft, worried voice broke through the sound of your crying.

Seonghyeon, who had been waiting for you to come home from your exam, hurried over from the living room.

Within seconds, he dropped to his knees right in front of you.

"Hey, hey, what’s wrong?" he asked softly.

His voice was pure warmth, laced with deep concern.

He didn't hesitate. He pulled your shaking hands away from your face.

Seeing your tear-streaked cheeks made his heart ache instantly.

"I can't... it hurts so much, Seonghyeon," you sobbed, unable to form a proper sentence.

"I know, sweetheart. I've got you. Look at me," he murmured.

He wrapped his strong arms around you and lifted you up into his embrace.

You clung to his neck like a lifeline, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder.

He carried you effortlessly into the living room and sat down on the soft plush sofa, keeping you securely in his lap.

He held you tight, rocking you gently from side to side.

"Shhh... you're safe now. The exam is over. You're home," he whispered into your hair.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the side of your head.

You cried out your frustrations into his shirt, your fingers gripping his soft sweater tightly.

Seonghyeon just let you cry.

One of his large, warm hands rubbed slow, comforting circles on your back.

His other hand gently stroked your hair, untangling the knots with ultimate care.

"Is it the exams, or are you feeling sick?" he asked in a low, soothing tone after a few minutes.

"Both," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"My period started this morning. The cramps are so bad. I couldn't focus on the test."

Seonghyeon’s expression softened even more, filled with pure sympathy.

He nodded silently, quietly acknowledging your struggles.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

Then, he kissed your left cheek, then your right cheek, wiping away the tears with his lips.

"You did so well today. Just getting through it makes you so brave," he said softly.

He tilted your chin up gently.

Your eyes met his. His eyes were filled with so much love and adoration that it made the physical pain feel a little lighter.

He leaned in and pressed a sweet, tender kiss directly to your lips.

It wasn't hurried. It was slow, warm, and deeply affectionate.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Let's get you cleaned up and comfortable, okay? Stay right here."

You didn't want to let go of him, but you nodded weakly.

He kissed the tip of your nose before gently setting you against the sofa cushions.

You watched him walk away toward the bedroom.

A few minutes later, he returned.

He was holding one of his oversized, softest hoodies and a pair of thick sweatpants.

He also had a fresh heating pad in his hand.

"Change you clothes. I'll be right here," he said, handing you the clothes.

You took them with a weak nod.

You walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and slipped into his hoodie.

It smelled exactly like him—a comforting scent of clean laundry and soft woodsy cologne.

Once you were changed, you walked back out into the living room.

Seonghyeon turned around instantly from where he was plugging in the heating pad.

A warm smile spread across his lips when he saw you drowning in his clothes.

"You look beautiful," he said.

He walked back over and placed the warm heating pad gently over your lower stomach.

The sudden warmth on your aching muscles made you sigh in pure relief.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much better," you breathed out.

He sat down next to you again, pulling you back into his lap so you were leaning against his chest.

He wrapped a thick, fuzzy blanket around both of you, sealing out the rest of the cold world.

Your head rested perfectly right under his chin.

Seonghyeon wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands resting over the heating pad to add extra warmth and gentle pressure.

"Thank you," you whispered, closing your eyes.

"You don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you," he murmured against your ear.

He leaned down and pressed a single, light kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering just for a second to show his warmth.

Then, he moved his focus back to your hands, rubbing them gently to warm your cold fingers.

"Did you eat anything today?" he asked softly.

"Just an apple in the morning," you admitted quietly.

Seonghyeon stopped his movements for a moment and sighed softly, but there was no anger in it, only pure care.

"That's not enough for a big exam day, especially when you're hurting," he said gently.

"I was too stressed to eat," you explained, looking up at him with pouting lips.

He couldn't resist. He leaned down and kissed your pout away.

"I made some warm soup earlier," Seonghyeon said after pulling away just an inch.

"I had a feeling you'd be exhausted when you got home."

"You're too good to me," you smiled faintly, the tears finally gone from your eyes.

"I'm just doing my job as your boyfriend," he beamed, his eyes turning into pretty crescents.

He shifted slightly but didn't make you get up.

"I'll bring it over here. Don't move an inch."

He left the sofa and walked into the kitchen.

Within minutes, the rich aroma of warm, homemade soup filled the apartment.

Seonghyeon walked back into the living room carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a warm glass of honey water.

He set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Instead of letting you eat by yourself, he sat down and pulled you right back into his chest.

He picked up the spoon, blew on the hot soup gently, and held it up to your lips.

"Say ahhh" he said softly.

You felt slightly embarrassed but had no strength to resist such care. You pened your mouth and took the sip. It was delicious and warmed your cold insides immediately.

He fed you slowly, patiently waiting between each bite, making sure you didn't rush.

He spoke to you in a low, soothing voice the entire time.

He talked about simple, random things—a funny thing Martin did at practice, a new melody he was working on—anything to distract your mind from the residual exam stress.

By the time the bowl was empty, you felt a hundred times better.

He handed you the warm glass of honey water, watching you take slow sips until it was finished.

"Good job," he praised, taking the empty tray and placing it back on the table.

He pulled the blanket back up to your shoulders.

The physical pain in your stomach had dulled down to a faint, manageable ache.

"How is the pain now?" he asked, his hand gently sliding under the blanket to stroke your waist.

"It's getting better. Mostly just tired now," you answered, snuggling closer into his chest.

"Then let's rest. Close your eyes" he murmured.

He shifted his body so he was leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, stretching his legs out.

You lay completely on top of him, your head resting over his beating heart.

The steady, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was the best lullaby you could have ever asked for.

Seonghyeon’s hands never stopped moving. He continued to rub your back and massage your shoulders.

He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the top of your shoulder through the thick fabric of the hoodie, leaving a few warm, comforting kisses there.

The gentleness of his touches made a wave of intense affection rush through you.

You tilted your head up to look at him.

"Seonghyeon?"

"Hmm?" he responded, looking down at you with those soft, devoted eyes.

"I love you so much."

A beautiful, genuine smile broke out across his face.

He leaned down and captured your lips in another slow, sweet kiss.

This one felt like a promise. A promise that he would always be there to catch you when the world became too heavy.

His lips moved against yours softly, parting them slightly just to deepen the affection, tasting warm and sweet.

He broke the kiss for a second to breathe, only to press another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And another one on your cheek.

And another one on your forehead.

"I love you more, princess. More than you'll ever know," he whispered against your skin.

You let out a contented sigh and closed your eyes, letting your body sink completely into his warmth.

The stress of the exams faded into the background.

The pain of the cramps became a distant thought.

Wrapped in Seonghyeon’s arms, covered in his scent, and showered in his endless, gentle kisses, you felt completely safe.

He kept stroking your hair, his breathing syncing with yours as you finally drifted off into a peaceful, deeply needed sleep.

Seonghyeon watched your face relax, a soft smile remaining on his lips as he held his entire world close to his heart.

“What?! Did you see that?” Your boyfriend, Jobe, asked. He was at the edge of his seat, his hands gripping his knees until his knuckles turned white.

With a frown, you’re quick to reply, “Jobe, babe, it’s stressful, I know—but you need to relax,” you tell him quietly. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

Offering you a glance, his expression softens, and he shoots you a small, embarrassed smile, leaning back to place a quick kiss on your hair before relaxing his frame. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“What’s funny is Jude does the same thing,” his mom, Denise, remarks with a touch of feigned annoyance in her tone. “Got it from their father.”

You let a laugh slip past your lips as you look over at her. “They did! I think he’s doing it right now.”

The older woman glances over, and both of you burst into a full-on giggle fit at the realization that you were right. He was. He shifts his focus once he catches your gazes, his eyebrows knitting together in complete and utter confusion. Denise covers her mouth while you hunch over your seat, laughing uncontrollably and ignoring the comforting feel of Jobe’s hand rubbing your back.

The sight of the two of you in hysterics only adds to the humor, and his grin seems to widen more.

It was quite a sight, for sure. He couldn’t be more pleased to see his mom and his girlfriend getting along so well. He had already known that it would be a done deal, considering you and him have been together for a while and you and his mom have shared countless laughs with one another. Still, it didn’t stop him from feeling like it was the first time all over again. This was, well, everything.

“What? What are you guys laughing at?” His father questions, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Whatever it was must’ve been hilarious.

The man beside you gives a sheepish expression. “It’s nothing—it really wasn’t that funny, guys.”

“Speak for yourself,” you say with a sigh, sitting upright and trying to catch your breath. “Oh, my God.” You spare her another glance, quickly looking away when you realize you’ll continue to laugh in their faces. “He’s right, it was nothing!”

Denise nods. “Just continue watching the game.”

As soon as you all focus back on the match at hand, there’s a foul called, causing both Jobe and you to furrow your brows. It all happened so fast that his dad saying your name, asking what happened, made you turn to him. “He stepped right on the back of his heel. Look—” you pause, pointing to the screen with a grimace. “Ouch.”

“How reckless!” He exclaims. “Did they call it?”

Jobe peeks over your head. “Not this time.”

The man takes the answer with a frown, turning his attention back to the pitch right when Vinicius races through on goal, darting in front of an opposing player. Their keeper rushes out, but he lifts the ball over him. It’s going wide, but Jude is already there to tap it into the empty net and…

GOAL! During the ninety-second minute. A win!

The four of you jump up from your seats almost immediately, cheers erupting from your lips. The stadium, once extremely tense, is now completely alive with excitement and overflowing with joy.

Seeing his brother’s celebration was enough to make him chuckle amidst the chaos. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You laugh against him, your own arms quickly wrapping around him. “He showed up!”

“Of course he did,” Jobe replied shortly after, placing a delicate kiss on the crown of your head.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

You’re pretty sure you left it in the bathroom, were you usually leave it before taking a shower, but it’s nowhere to be found.

”Where the fuck can it be???” You speak to yourself, you’ve looked from kitchen, livingroom, through the whole bedroom, other bathrooms of you house, in your car and even if it would be in the gym. Nowhere, you just can not find it.

You look through every single place again, just incase you missed something. It takes a whole 40 minutes to look through all the places again and then Jobe manages to come home.

”Hey darling,” he greets you at outside when your turning your car almost upside down while looking for the ring. You snap a little noticing that he’s back, ”oohhh hi my love,” you say greeting him with a hug and kiss.

Jobe notices somethings not right from your face expressions, ”is everyhing okay? You seem stressed?” He says taking you to his arms. You nod into his chest, ”im fine I just lost something, and been trying to find it.” you say getting away from the hug.

Jobe sees you avoiding eye contact, he takes a hold of your jaw and makes you look up at him. He looks deep into your eyes, ”I can help to find it, just tell me what are we looking for?” He says. You look at him, you don’t ever want to lie to those beautiful brown eyes, but you don’t want to tell him you lost your ring.

”Mmm it’s nothing I can find it myself, thank you J,” you say and so you continue looking the ring from the car.

That’s when Jobe notices your ring isn’t in your finger, ”wheres your ring princess?” He asks taking your hand to his. You snap your hand away, ”it’s in the kitchen I cleaned the dishes so i took it off and forgot to put it back on,” you say closing the car door and walking inside, leaving Jobe outside.

Jobe follows you inside, closing the door behind him and walking closer to you. ”Well show it to me then,” he says. You turn to look at him, then looking the kitchen counters and then to your feets, ”Mmm well…” you start. Jobe finishes your sentence before you can, ”that’s what you lost huh?” He asks, you nod to him slowly.

”Oh god y/n, you really lost your engagement ring?” He says, little sadness comes through his voice, which breaks you heart a little. ”Im so sorry, I don’t know how and not when or where im sorry J I really im,” you explain to him now looking into his eyes.

”Yeah…” he says walking away from you to upstairs. You stand there looking into where he was standing a moment ago and a tear fells down to your cheek.

You start crying and sobbing so hard, breathing gets hard just in seconds and then your knees let you down, falling to the cround. You keep crying for a few minutes, when you hear footsteps running down the stairs, Jobe.

He runs to you, kneeling so he could lift you to his arms, taking a hold of you keeping you against him, letting the tears fall and his shirt getting wet from your tears.

”It’s okay princess, im sorry, were okay, your okay, im not mad at you, i love you darling,” he says letting you calm down before taking a look at your face.

Eyes red from the crying, hair messy and lips pounted, ”…I love you…too…im sorry,” you say between the sobs. Jobe wipes your tears away and kisses the top of your nose, ”it was an accident baby, were gonna find it together okay?” He says pressing his forehead to yours.

You nod, ”okay” taking a deep breath, ”thank you J,” you continue. ”For understanding.”